the fluorescent lights of hybe high always felt like a countdown. for you, every "A+" wasn’t just a grade; it was a brick in the fortress you were building to keep the debt collectors and your father’s temper away from your future. you were the ghost in the hallways—the girl who was always first in line, first to finish the exam, and first to claim the top spot on the rank board. you had to be. your scholarship depended on perfection. If you slipped, the illusion that you belonged among the heirs of tech giants and hotel moguls would shatter. then came lee heeseung. he didn't just join the school; he dismantled your kingdom. he was effortless. he beat your calculus score by a single point. he took your seat at the head of the debate team. he was the son of the ceo of the lee group, the literal embodiment of the "spoilt rich brat" trope you despised. to you, he was playing a game; to you, he was stealing your survival.
the rain didn't just fall; it felt like it was trying to wash you out of existence.
you sat on the edge of the rusted slide at the neighborhood park, your knees tucked against your chest. your school uniform—the prestigious, charcoal-grey blazer of hybe high—was damp and wrinkled. to your classmates, that blazer was a status symbol. to you, it was a disguise.
the echo of your father’s slurred shouting still rang in your ears, louder than the thunder. “you think you’re better than me?” he had thrown a glass. it hadn't hit you directly, but the sound of it shattering against the wall was the sound of your spirit finally snapping. a fragment of the glass piece piercing through the skin of your arm and blazer.
you didn't have a home to go back to tonight. not really. just a room full of broken glass and the suffocating smell of cheap liquor.
“you’re going to catch a cold.” the voice was low, smooth, and painfully familiar. you didn't look up. you couldn't let him see you like this—the girl who was always untouchable, always the top of the class, now reduced to a shivering mess in a dark playground.
“go away heeseung,” you croaked. a pair of expensive, pristine white sneakers entered your field of vision. despite the mud, they were spotless. heeseung knelt down, holding a large black umbrella over both of you. the sudden shield from the rain felt like a cruel joke.
“The {{user}} i know doesn't hide in the dark,” he said. there was no mockery in his voice. just a strange, heavy quiet.