Episode 7
“Why don’t you just skip college altogether?”
Hwayoon’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
So this was what it was about. Yoon realized instantly—Jin Hwayoon had applied to the same university as her.
“I’m better than you. Why should I?” Yoon replied quietly.
“What?” Hwayoon blinked in disbelief.
“It’s true. Whatever my dad did, I still beat you at the competition fair and square.”
At Yoon’s calm remark, Hwayoon’s face flushed crimson. She glared daggers, but Yoon didn’t back down an inch.
“What the hell are you talking about? So what if you’re better than me—how much better could it be, really?”
“You didn’t even place.”
“You bitch!”
“Must be nice,” Yoon went on, cutting off any further swearing, “to just trash-talk me without a thought and still play the piano. Whether you go to an arts college or not, whether you quit piano or not—it’s not me who has to worry. It’s you.”
Yoon didn’t give Hwayoon another chance to speak. People like her were pathetic. They didn’t practice until their fingers bled, didn’t study, and couldn’t do anything better than badmouthing those who did.
Hwayoon’s face was now mottled red and white. She raised her hand sharply, making the onlookers gasp.
“Hey! What are you two doing in front of the staffroom?”
A young teacher stepped outside. Hwayoon, who had been ready to pounce, stopped with a huff.
“Jin Hwayoon, are you bullying people again?”
“She started it,” Hwayoon muttered.
While she grumbled, Yoon bowed to the teacher and walked toward the stairs. She didn’t want to get dragged further into it. She had no energy left to argue right and wrong.
Right now, she just wanted to be alone—anywhere she could shut herself away.
But her phone buzzed in her pocket. Ever since her father had disappeared, any incoming message made her flinch. Yoon froze and checked the screen.
[Hello]
It was from an unknown number.
[Baek Yoon]
Another message followed instantly. Her grip on the phone trembled. She could almost hear Choi Hyunha’s voice echoing in her ear.
Hello, Baek Yoon.
[See you later.]
The words swam before her eyes. Slowly, she sank down, cold sweat running down her spine.
After homeroom, the hallways were a riot of noise as students spilled out of the building. Yoon changed her shoes at the cubbies.
Hyunha’s messages kept replaying in her mind. Even as she left through the school gate, she was debating—should she go there? But she didn’t even have an address yet. Would that secretary, Kang, come to get her again?
“Yoon, hi.”
She had her head down when a pair of expensive shoes blocked her path. She almost tripped.
Hwayoon stood there, arms crossed. When Yoon tried to pass, she stepped in front of her. Yoon turned to go the other way, but Hwayoon grabbed her elbow and dragged her into a side alley.
“Where are you going? You don’t even have a lesson today.”
“Let go.”
“Why so touchy? Seriously, you call this a uniform?”
Hwayoon yanked at her skirt hem. Rip. Threads snapped, and the edge of the skirt dangled loose. Yoon slapped her hand away and smoothed the fabric.
The alley was empty. At the entrance behind them, a broad-shouldered boy blocked the way. They had planned this. Weariness sank into Yoon’s bones.
“What’s your problem?”
“Apologize for mouthing off at me.”
The sheer absurdity of who had wronged whom must have shown on Yoon’s face, because Hwayoon’s tone turned even harder.
“I said, apologize, you bitch.”
“I’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
“You’ve got some nerve. The only thing you’ve got going for you is your fingers. Hey—grab her arm.”
The boy at the alley entrance hesitated but came over to obey.
“Let go.” Yoon’s voice was cold.
Hwayoon stepped close and seized her fingers.
“Cover her mouth.”
“Wait, Hwayoon, how far are you gonna—”
“Shut up, Jinwook. She won’t apologize.”
Jinwook’s big hand covered Yoon’s mouth, pressing her nose too. She couldn’t breathe. She thrashed, and pain shot through her fingers as Hwayoon bent them back.
“I’ve had enough of seeing you in the practice room.”
There was a feverish edge to her words. Yoon whimpered under Jinwook’s palm. Hwayoon’s eyes glittered.
“If you can’t play piano anymore, I won’t have to see you. What’ll you do then? You’ve got no mom or dad—and piano’s all you’ve got.”
“Yeah. What’ll she do?”
The voice came out of nowhere. Hwayoon turned.
Yoon didn’t look. She didn’t need to. She knew who it was.
“Would be a shame if she couldn’t play.”
Choi Hyunha sat on the wall, still in her school uniform. Who knew how long she’d been watching.
“Who the hell are you?” Hwayoon stammered.
Hyunha hopped down, eyes fixed on Yoon.
“You’re popular, Baek Yoon,” she said, grabbing Jinwook by the collar.
“Maybe it’s ’cause you’re pretty.”
Before anyone could react, she tore him away from Yoon. He staggered back, stunned, before—thud—he hit the wall hard enough to kick up dust. Hyunha planted a foot on the back of his neck.
Yoon coughed, wiping her mouth. She’d known Hyunha was tall and solidly built, but to toss a boy her age aside like that—it didn’t seem real.
A kick landed square in Jinwook’s chest. He curled up, wheezing.
Hyunha didn’t hesitate to hit people. The sight made Yoon’s spine go cold. Even Hwayoon shrank back.
“If you’re going to hurt someone, you should be ready to be hurt yourself,” Hyunha said.
It was the kind of thing her father would have said. She couldn’t just tune it out.
“What do you think, Baek Yoon? Should I break her fingers for you?”
Hyunha nodded toward Hwayoon. The question was so flat it was chilling.
Hwayoon darted a glance toward the open end of the alley, but Hyunha moved lazily to block her. She caught Hwayoon by the hair and yanked her back.
“Jinwook! Do something!”
But Jinwook was swiping blood from under his nose, his front teeth stained red.
Dragging Hwayoon forward, Hyunha tossed her at Yoon’s feet.
“What’s it gonna be?” she asked, grinding her sneaker into Hwayoon’s hand. The girl’s eyes, once gleaming with malice, now shook with fear.
“Apologize.”
The word came unbidden to Yoon’s lips. She crouched, meeting Hwayoon’s gaze.
“Say you’re sorry for what you did, and I’ll let you go.”
Hwayoon’s cheek twitched. Yoon studied her face like a diagram, noting every trembling muscle.
“Why the hell should I apologize to you? You’re the one who—” She cut herself off too late.
“You’ve got plenty to brag about without the piano. So you won’t mind if your fingers get broken, right?” Yoon’s voice was ice. A part of her she hadn’t known before—the urge for revenge—flared.
Maybe, just like Dad said, she was a bad person like her mother.
“Fine. Don’t apologize,” Hyunha murmured.
Her weight shifted, pressing down harder. The fingers beneath her shoe writhed like trapped worms. One more push, and they’d snap.
If it was Hyunha, she might really do it. Yoon didn’t know her well, but she could tell.
Maybe she should stop this—
“I’m sorry!”
Hwayoon’s scream echoed down the alley. Hyunha smiled.
“I’m sorry, Baek Yoon! I’m sorry, okay? Please—please tell her to stop!”
Tears and rage burned her voice ragged.
Yoon crouched lower, peering into her face. There was no remorse there, only raw terror.
“Be careful from now on, Hwayoon. Like you said, I can’t do anything but play piano. And if I lose even that… who knows what I might do.”
She spoke each word with deliberate clarity.
Seeing Hwayoon pale to the color of paper brought Yoon a rush of satisfaction. She hated herself for enjoying it.
“Let her go,” Yoon said to Hyunha.
As if she only moved on Yoon’s command, Hyunha stepped back without a word.
Hwayoon clutched her marked hand, whimpering. Jinwook finally helped her up, and the two bolted without looking back.
“You get funnier every time I see you,” Hyunha said, dusting off her hands. Her easy grin was that of someone who had just finished a pleasant game.
Was this… fun for her? Seeing people hurt and afraid? Yoon bit her lip. Hyunha was strange. And right now, Baek Yoon wasn’t much different.
