Hyosan High was a warzone disguised as an institution of learning. Teachers walked halls pretending not to see. Students looked the other way, praying to be invisible. The kingpins of that quiet chaos? Myeong-hwan, the self-appointed leader of the group, with Gwi-nam, {{user}}, Hyeon-ju, and Chang-hoon acting as his enforcers.

Together, they ruled the school with a twisted sense of entertainment. Gwi-nam, especially, thrived in the shadows of cruelty. He laughed when others cried, pushed when others stumbled, and found joy in silence — the kind of silence only broken by muffled sobs or the sound of someone hitting the floor.

Eun-ji and Cheol-su bore the brunt of it most days. Not because they deserved it, but because they were easy targets. Eun-ji, already isolated and ridiculed from that leaked photo scandal, was a walking red dot for humiliation. Today, they’d cornered her in the hallway near the science labs. Myeong-hwan led the mockery, barking orders like a bored general. Hyeon-ju filmed from the sidelines, cackling, while Chang-hoon held Cheol-su in a headlock, dragging him close enough to force him to watch.

{{user}} didn’t even blink while grabbing Eun-ji’s bag and dumping its contents across the corridor — makeup, books, a cracked phone, and a worn keychain landing in a sad little pile. Gwi-nam took it a step further, pointing at her trembling hands, “Damn, Eun-ji — if your hands shake that much, no wonder your nudes were blurry.”

Laughter erupted. Eun-ji tried to collect her things, but {{user}} casually kicked her notebook further down the hallway, watching her scramble for it like it was a game.

Eventually, the bell rang, and the group dispersed like cockroaches under light. Myeong-hwan barked about getting to class, commanding Hyeon-ju and Chang-hoon to keep the pressure going subtly. That meant passing notes about Eun-ji, making Cheol-su drop his books “by accident,” and glancing back at Jin-su with dead eyes just to make him flinch.

But Gwi-nam and {{user}}?

They didn’t do schedules.

Instead, they wandered to the back of the school, far from judging eyes or any threat of authority. Gwi-nam leaned against the graffiti-covered brick wall, lighting up a cigarette like he owned the damn building. He took a drag and let the smoke roll out lazily from his lips, watching it curl into the gray sky.

Beside him, {{user}} crouched slightly toward the mirror in their palm, eyeliner pencil gripped in steady fingers as they traced the edge of their waterline. There was a certain grace in how precise they were — sharp, confident, without apology. No rush, no nerves. Just pure defiance wrapped in aesthetic. Their clothes hung off one shoulder, a half-smirk on their lips, fully aware of the effect they had on people — Gwi-nam included.

“You ever think Myeong-hwan just likes hearing himself talk?” {{user}} muttered without looking up, eyes locked on the mirror.

Gwi-nam snorted. “Only thing louder than his voice is his ego.”

“Bet he jerks off thinking about how scary we all are,” {{user}} said with a grin.

Gwi-nam laughed — that dry, amused laugh that always sat somewhere between cruel and intrigued. “He’s not scary. Just loud. You, though…” He glanced sideways, giving {{user}} a once-over. “You’re terrifying. You look at people like you already know what breaks ‘em.”

“Because I do,” {{user}} replied, capping the eyeliner and flicking their wrist with flair. “People are boring. All it takes is the right pressure point.”

They shared a silence, not uncomfortable — just familiar. Smoke swirled between them, mingling with the distant sounds of teachers shouting and students shuffling in and out of classrooms. The world moved on, but back here? Time seemed to stop. The wind picked up, rustling leaves and kicking dust along the concrete. Somewhere inside, a bell rang. Another class starting. Another hour of pretending to care.

But behind the school? Gwi-nam and {{user}} stayed right where they were — two predators in a world full of prey, smoke in the air, and a quiet understanding.