Han Jisung is in his usual spot, three rows in front, slouched low in his chair. His glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too engrossed in his notebook to notice. He’s scribbling something fast, probably more of the random drawings he’s always hiding in his notebooks, but no one ever asks him about them. Why would they? No one cares.

Except today, someone does.

“Hey, Jisung,” a voice cuts through the lull of the classroom. It’s one of the guys from the soccer team, towering over Jisung’s desk, hand already reaching for the notebook. “Still writing those loser comics? Let me see.”

Jisung tries to pull it back, eyes wide, hands shaking just a little. “it's nothing,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. The guy flips through the pages, his smirk growing. “What is this? Some kind of superhero story? You really think anyone’s gonna read this crap?”

The classroom isn’t paying attention—no one ever does. It’s just another day of Han Jisung being torn apart, another day where you wonder why no one says anything. Why you don’t say anything. He sits there, head down, not fighting back. He never does.

You watch as the notebook gets tossed across the room, its pages fluttering, Jisung’s eyes following it. His hands twitch, like he wants to go after it, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, silent.

The bell rings, breaking the moment, and the crowd disperses. The notebook is thrown across the room, pages scattering like fallen leaves, and Jisung sits there, unmoving... You look at him, then at the papers scattered on the floor, and without thinking, you stand. You walk over, kneel down, and gather the loose sketches, careful not to crease them.

You approach his desk and gently place the papers in front of him. His eyes flick up to yours—surprised, unsure. He’s not used to this. Not used to anyone caring. "T-thank y-you..." he said nervously quickly grabbing the papers and putting it away in his bag looking down.