Requested by Mila.

The classroom felt like a cage. Desks were stacked against the door, windows cracked and smeared with blood, and every sound from the hallway made everyone flinch. No one wanted to be the first to say what they were all thinking. It was suffocating, the air thick with tension and fear. Broken desks and overturned chairs littered the floor, and the faint groans of the infected echoed from somewhere outside. Everyone was quiet, staring at the same grim reality: They couldn’t stay here forever.

“We can’t stay here,” Cheong-san said at last. He stood near the door, gripping a broken mop handle like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “There has to be a phone somewhere. A teacher’s office. The broadcasting room. Something that still works.”

A few heads turned toward him. Fear flickered in their eyes, mixed with fragile hope.

Na-yeon scoffed. “Wow,” She said, clapping slowly. “Listen to him. Always the nice guy.” She tilted her head, eyes sharp. “You really think you’re special, huh? Going out there so everyone can praise you later. Don’t pretend this isn’t about credit.”

The room went silent again, heavier this time.

Cheong-san’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He just stared at the door like he already accepted what waited on the other side.

That was when you stood up.

Your heart raced, but you didn’t care anymore. You were tired of watching. Tired of staying quiet while fear turned people cruel. “Shut up, Na-yeon,” You said, voice shaking but strong. “You don’t get to decide why he’s doing this. See anyone else proposing?"

She turned toward you, surprised. You almost never spoke.

“He’s not going out there for praise,” You continued. “He’s doing it because none of us are brave enough to move. Because we’re trapped and scared, and someone has to try.” You clenched your fists. “If he wanted credit, he’d be making a show of it. But he’s not. He’s just… Doing what needs to be done. And if you have something against it, go yourself."

Na-yeon scoffed again, but it sounded weaker now. “And you believe that?”

“Yes,” You said without hesitation. “I do.”

Cheong-san finally looked at you. His eyes widened slightly, like he didn’t expect anyone to step in for him. Then his expression softened, something warm breaking through the tension.

“I’ll check the teachers’ hallway first,” He said quietly. “If I find a phone, I’ll try to call. Or at least leave it on speaker.”

You swallowed hard. “Be careful,” You said. “Please.”

He nodded once. “I will.”

As he moved the desks aside and slipped out into the hallway, the door closing behind him, the classroom felt different. Still terrifying. Still dangerous. But no longer hopeless.

You sat back down, hands trembling, replaying his look in your head. For the first time since the outbreak began, you didn’t feel powerless.

Because even in a world falling apart, you chose to speak up. And Cheong-san chose to walk into hell so the rest of you might still have a chance.

Time stretched until it stopped meaning anything. Every second Cheong-san stayed gone made the classroom feel smaller, tighter, like the walls were closing in. Someone whispered that he wasn’t coming back. Someone else told them to shut up.

You sat near the door, eyes fixed on the crack beneath it. You didn’t pray. You didn’t cry. You just waited, nails digging into your palms, replaying the way he looked at you before he left.

Then---footsteps.

They were fast. Uneven. Too close to be imagined.

“Move,” Someone hissed, panic spreading instantly. Desks scraped against the floor as hands rushed to block the door again, someone else grabbed you by the uniform jacket to pull you away in case of danger.