The bus rattled over the uneven mountain road, its old frame groaning with every turn. Yoon Ji-won pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched as the city disappeared behind her. The buildings and neon lights were replaced by thick trees, their branches twisting together like dark fingers. The deeper the bus went into the countryside, the quieter it became, until even the sound of traffic had vanished. Only the occasional cry of a crow broke the silence.

Ji-won pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She had never been this far from Seoul, and the isolation pressed against her chest like a weight. She glanced at the few other passengers scattered across the bus—students like her, clutching bags stuffed with uniforms and books. Some whispered nervously, others stared at their phones, trying to find a signal.

The driver’s voice cracked through the silence. “Next stop, Wolha Boarding School.”

A ripple of unease passed through the bus. Even the students who had been chatting went quiet. Ji-won frowned. Why did that name sound so heavy, like it carried a secret?

When the bus finally came to a halt, Ji-won stepped off and breathed in the sharp scent of pine. The school loomed ahead—a massive structure of gray stone, its pointed rooftops silhouetted against the fading sun. The building was old, older than anything she’d ever seen in Seoul, with ivy crawling up its walls and windows that reflected no light. Behind it stretched the forest, dark and endless.

Her best friend Han Soo-min hurried to her side, dragging a heavy suitcase. “Creepy, right?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Ji-won gave a small laugh, though her stomach twisted. “It’s just… old. That’s all.”

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that the windows were watching her.

Inside, the main hall smelled faintly of dust and something metallic—like old blood. A stern-looking teacher handed out room assignments while warning them about curfews and study schedules. Ji-won barely listened, too distracted by the strange silence that hung in the air. It wasn’t the normal quiet of a school between classes. This silence felt… expectant.

Her room was on the third floor, at the end of a narrow hallway lined with portraits of former headmasters. The painted eyes seemed to follow her as she walked. When she reached the door marked 3-12, she hesitated before pushing it open.

The dorm room was small but neat, with two beds, two desks, and a single window that looked out toward the forest. A cold draft slipped through the cracks, brushing against her skin. She shivered.

“Guess we’re roommates,” Soo-min said cheerfully, tossing her bag onto one of the beds. She flopped down dramatically, sending a puff of dust into the air. “This is going to be fun. Just like a sleepover—except, you know, with exams and scary teachers.”

Ji-won smiled faintly and sat on the other bed. “Yeah. Fun.”

But that night, as the students gathered in the cafeteria for dinner, the whispers began.

“Have you heard about the Eyes?” a boy asked at the next table, his voice low but urgent.

Ji-won froze with her spoon halfway to her mouth.

A girl leaned in, her hair hiding half her face. “Don’t talk about it. They say if you talk about it, it notices you.”

Soo-min frowned. ““Noticeyou?”

The boy’s voice dropped even lower. “The glowing eyes in the forest. If you see them, you disappear within a week. No one ever finds your body.”

The girl shushed him, glancing around nervously. “Stop! What if the teachers hear?”

Ji-won forced a laugh, though her throat felt tight. “Just rumors. Every school has them.”

But the way the boy’s face had drained color told her he didn’t think it was just a rumor.

That night, Ji-won lay awake in her narrow bed. The dorm was silent except for Soo-min’s soft breathing. The forest outside was a wall of darkness, the trees swaying in the wind. Ji-won told herself she was being silly, that the rumors were nothing more than ghost stories meant to scare new students.

And yet—she couldn’t shake the memory of those painted portraits in the hallway, their eyes fixed on her.

She turned over, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ji-won’s eyes snapped open.

The sound came from the window.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she slowly sat up. The curtains stirred as if touched by invisible fingers. The tapping came again—soft, deliberate. She glanced at Soo-min, but her friend was still asleep.

Ji-won swallowed hard and forced herself to move. Step by step, she crossed the cold floor and pulled the curtains aside.

At first, she saw only her own reflection in the glass. Pale face, wide eyes, trembling lips.

Then, just beyond the faint outline of the trees, something shifted.

Two glowing eyes stared back at her from the darkness.

They weren’t human.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. She blinked, desperate for the vision to vanish.

But when she looked again, the eyes were gone.

Only the black forest remained.

Ji-won pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe she was overtired from the trip.

But deep inside, she knew.

The rumors weren’t just rumors.

The Eyes were real.

And they had seen her.

The morning bell rang, sharp and metallic, dragging Ji-won out of a restless sleep. She sat up, sweat clinging to her skin, her heart still racing from the memory of those glowing eyes.

But when she looked at the window, the forest stood quiet and ordinary in the daylight. No eyes. No tapping. Nothing but a faint mist curling between the trees.

“Ji-won, you look awful,” Soo-min said, yawning as she stretched. Her hair stuck out in every direction. “Bad dreams?”

Ji-won hesitated. Should she tell her? The words pressed against her lips, but something inside warned her to stay silent. If she told Soo-min she’d seen the Eyes, what if it made it real?

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ji-won muttered instead.

---

The students shuffled into the assembly hall for the principal’s welcome speech. Ji-won barely heard his words about discipline and excellence. Her gaze wandered over the sea of faces—some excited, some bored, some as uneasy as she felt.

That’s when her eyes met Kang Min-jun. He was sitting near the front, broad-shouldered and confident, but his expression wasn’t relaxed like the others. He kept glancing toward the windows, as if he, too, was waiting for something to appear in the dark.

Ji-won quickly looked away.

When the assembly ended, the hall erupted with chatter. Ji-won and Soo-min were making their way toward the cafeteria when a voice stopped them.

“Hey. You two.”

A girl with sharp eyes and neatly tied hair stood leaning against the wall. Choi Hye-jin, Ji-won remembered from the introductions. She had a reputation for being quiet and observant, the kind of person who saw things others overlooked.

“You’re in 3-12, right?” Hye-jin asked.

Ji-won nodded cautiously. “Why?”

Hye-jin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Be careful at night. That room… it faces the forest.”

Before Ji-won could ask what she meant, Hye-jin walked away, her shoes clicking softly against the floor.

Soo-min snorted. “Okay, dramatic much? What’s wrong with facing the forest? It’s just trees.”

But Ji-won wasn’t so sure.

---

At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with energy. Students traded snacks and gossiped about everything from the difficult teachers to the rumors they’d heard about Wolha School. Ji-won picked at her food, her mind still tangled with the memory of those eyes.

Across the table, a boy with glasses—Kim Jae-hwan, the bookworm—was telling a group of students about the school’s history.

“They say Wolha was built on the ruins of an older village,” he explained, his voice low but steady. “The villagers disappeared one winter without explanation. When workers tried to rebuild, they heard strange noises at night. Some refused to keep working. But eventually, the school was built anyway.”

“Creepy,” someone muttered.

“Just stories,” another said, rolling his eyes.

But Jae-hwan leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “It’s not just stories. There are records in the town archives. Disappearances, going back decades. Always near the forest. Always students.”

A hush fell over the table. Even the loudest ones didn’t laugh.

Soo-min quickly changed the subject, but Ji-won’s appetite vanished completely.

---

That evening, as the students returned to their dorms, the hallways felt different. The buzz of the day had drained away, leaving behind a heavy silence. The portraits lining the walls seemed to stare even harder.

Ji-won stopped at one—the painted face of a headmaster from decades ago. His eyes were dull brown, yet somehow, under the dim light, they looked as though they glowed faintly. Watching.

Her throat went dry. She forced herself to look away and hurried after Soo-min.

Inside their room, Soo-min was already sprawled on her bed, humming a tune as she unpacked snacks from home. “Want some?” she asked, holding up a bag of chips.

Ji-won shook her head. She moved toward the window almost against her will, peeking out into the night.

The forest was nothing but a black mass beyond the glass. She held her breath, waiting.

Nothing.

Relief washed over her. Maybe last night really had been her imagination. Maybe—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ji-won froze. The sound was faint, but unmistakable.

Her gaze shot to the window.

This time, the glowing eyes were closer.

Burning. Unblinking. Fixed on her.

Her breath hitched, and before she could scream, a hand grabbed her wrist.

She spun around—Soo-min. Her face pale, her eyes wide.

“You see them too?” Soo-min whispered.

Ji-won’s heart plummeted.

The Eyes weren’t just hers to see.

They were real.

Ji-won didn’t sleep.

Even after the eyes faded from the window, their glow lingered in her mind like afterimages burned into her vision. She lay stiff in bed, clutching her blanket as if it could shield her. Soo-min, restless on the other side of the room, turned over again and again, whispering, “It wasn’t real… it wasn’t real…” though her trembling voice betrayed her disbelief.

By morning, the dark circles under both their eyes told the truth.

---

The day began as if nothing had happened. Students shuffled to classes, groaning about early lectures, yawning, passing notes. The teachers droned on about mathematics and literature, their voices dull against the pounding storm in Ji-won’s head.

She kept glancing at the windows, half-expecting to see those glowing eyes pressed against the glass even in daylight.

But the day passed quietly—until the evening study period.

---

The library smelled of paper and dust. The tall windows let in only faint light, the rest swallowed by shadows between the shelves. Ji-won sat with Soo-min, their books spread open but unread. Across the table sat Oh Na-ri, the artistic girl with the soft voice, sketching absentmindedly in her notebook.

“Do you think it’ll come back tonight?” Soo-min whispered.

Ji-won stiffened. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“I said don’t.”

The weight of her voice silenced them both.

Na-ri looked up, her eyes wide. “Come back?” she echoed, confused.

Before Ji-won could answer, a loud thud echoed from somewhere deep in the library. Everyone froze. Heads turned.

Silence.

Then another thud, followed by a faint dragging sound.

Students exchanged nervous glances. The supervising teacher snapped, “Return to your studies,” but her voice trembled.

Ji-won’s skin prickled. She wanted to leave, but her body wouldn’t move.

A scream tore through the silence.

It came from the far side of the library, near the back shelves.

Chairs scraped. Books fell. Students stumbled over one another in panic. Ji-won forced her way through the crowd, Soo-min clinging to her arm.

When they reached the back, a small group had already gathered. A boy—Hwang Ji-hoon, arrogant and sharp-tongued—stood pointing at the floor, his face pale.

Ji-won followed his gaze.

A bag lay abandoned on the ground. Pages from an open notebook fluttered in the breeze from a cracked window.

But its owner—Song Mi-rae—was gone.

“She was right here!” Ji-hoon shouted, his voice cracking. “I was sitting next to her! She—she just—”

His words broke off into ragged breaths.

The teacher barked orders, ushering the students back, demanding calm, but her own hands shook as she slammed the window shut.

Ji-won’s stomach churned. She clearly remembered Mi-rae’s face. Just hours ago at lunch, she’d been laughing nervously about the rumors, swearing she believed every word. The Eyes are a curse, she’d whispered. They’re watching.

And now she is gone.

---

The school tried to cover it up. At dinner, the teachers claimed Mi-rae had “left early due to family matters.” But the students weren’t fools.

“She didn’t even take her bag,” someone muttered.

“No one leaves in the middle of the term,” another whispered.

The cafeteria buzzed with tension, every voice low, every glance darting toward the windows. Ji-won and Soo-min sat in silence, their food untouched.

Finally, Soo-min whispered, “Ji-won… you don’t think—”

Ji-won’s fork clattered against her plate. “Stop.”

But she couldn’t stop the thought of herself.

Mi-rae had vanished. Just like the rumor said. Just like the legends Jae-hwan had warned them about.

And Ji-won had seen the Eyes.

Her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe.

Was she next?

---

That night, the dormitory was tense and restless. Whispers slithered through the hallways, students daring each other to say the word they all feared.

The Eyes.

Ji-won sat by the window, staring into the dark forest. Soo-min sat close beside her, their shoulders touching, as if afraid to separate.

“Ji-won,” Soo-min whispered, “what if we’re marked?”

Ji-won’s throat went dry. She thought of the glowing eyes, the tap at the glass, the way they had stared at her with an intelligence that felt alive.

She thought of Mi-rae’s abandoned bag, her unfinished notebook.

Finally, she whispered back, “Then we don’t have much time.”

And outside, deep in the trees, two faint lights flickered.

Watching.

Waiting.