Chapter 1: The Transfer

The air was crisp that morning, sunlight falling softly on the brick walls of Hwayeon Private High School. Everything looked polished, proper, expensive.

It suited her.

Jiyun stepped through the school gates in a neatly pressed uniform. Her white blouse was tucked perfectly, her skirt uncreased, her long black hair catching light like silk. She looked like she belonged in a brochure — a vision of elegance and calm.

No one could guess how carefully constructed the image was.

In the front office, the homeroom teacher looked over her file. “Seo Jiyun, transfer from Busan.” He smiled kindly. “Welcome.”

When she entered Class 2-B, all eyes turned.

"She’s really pretty..." someone whispered.

"Model type."

"I heard she’s from some big business family."

Whispers rose and fell like background noise. Jiyun didn’t respond. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, calculating. The teacher gestured to the only empty seat — back row, near the window.

“Take the seat next to Kang Minjae.”

The boy beside the window didn’t react. His head rested on his folded arms, hoodie half zipped, eyes closed. His desk was a mess of scribbles and a basketball keychain.

Jiyun quietly took her seat. She glanced at him once. Then turned to the window. She had no intention of speaking.

In front of her sat Lee Areum, top of the class, soft-spoken and tidy. She turned back with a polite smile, and this time, added a soft comment.

“You’re new, right? I’m Areum.”

Jiyun gave a brief nod. “Jiyun.”

Areum smiled again, warm but not pushy. She had a gentle aura — the kind that made people feel safe. But her gaze shifted quickly to the sleeping boy next to Jiyun. She stared at him with something like tenderness.

Areum and Minjae had been friends since they were little. Their houses were a street apart. Growing up, they’d shared late-night walks, comic books, and every kind of secret. At least, every kind from her side. She wasn’t sure Minjae had ever really looked at her the way she saw him.

At lunch, Minjae joined his basketball teammates at their usual table. Areum was already waiting with a packed bento she’d made herself. She placed it beside him without a word, and he grinned sleepily.

“You didn’t have to,” he said.

“You skipped breakfast. Again.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“I should start charging,” she muttered.

Their routine was effortless — the way only childhood bonds could be. Areum looked like she belonged by his side. But Minjae never noticed the way her eyes lingered.

Jiyun made her way to the rooftop, tray in hand. The soft wind tugged gently at her hair. She placed her lunch beside her, untouched. The city stretched far below, glittering with life — so full, so distant.

She pulled out a small voice recorder from her pocket — the same one she carried everywhere.

Pressed play.

“Jiyun-ah. Daddy’s always proud of you, okay? Always.”

Her fingers tightened. Her eyes stared at nothing, lost.

She didn’t cry. But her throat ached.

Her phone buzzed. A name flashed on the screen: Eunbi.

“Hi,” Jiyun said, voice barely audible.

“You ate, right?” Eunbi’s voice was bright but careful. “Tell me you did.”

Jiyun glanced at the untouched lunch. “Mm. I’m fine.”

A pause. Then Eunbi sighed softly. “You didn’t have one today, did you?”

Jiyun looked at the sky. It was too blue. Too peaceful.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not. But I’ll believe you for now,” Eunbi murmured. “Call me if it happens again. Promise?”

“Promise.”

After they hung up, Jiyun pressed play again. The rooftop wind muffled the words, but she didn’t need to hear them clearly. They lived inside her anyway.

“I love you, Jiyun. Never forget that.”

In the library after school, Areum reached for a reference book on Korean history. A hand brushed hers at the same time.

“Ah, I think I need that too.”

She looked up to see Baek Haneul — calm, effortlessly attractive, and from another class. He smiled politely.

“Oh, you can have it,” she said quickly.

“No, let’s share. I’m only reviewing two chapters.”

They sat together for a few minutes, quiet but companionable. The moment was innocent.

But it wasn’t invisible.

Behind a bookshelf, Jisoo watched with narrowed eyes. Her expression tightened at the sight of them. She didn’t miss the way Haneul leaned a little closer, or the way Areum laughed — soft, sweet.

Jisoo’s gaze darkened.

That evening, in her room at her grandfather’s house, Jiyun opened the drawer of her desk and touched the voice recorder again.

This time, she didn’t press play.

She just held it.

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