"Move."
Yohan’s farewell was as absurd and empty as the ending of a B-grade movie.
***
"Of all things, why did it have to be your right arm? How are you going to take notes?"
My horoom teacher looked at my cast with sympathy.
"They said I only have to wear it for three months."
I muttered my response like an excuse. The teacher lowered their gaze.
"Sigh, how did you even get hurt?"
It was a light scolding. I wondered—was my soft-hearted teacher really worried about my grades? Or was it the thought of the class average dropping that concerned them? Maybe it was both. People always think in ways that benefit them.
At least, that’s how the adults I grew up watching behaved.
I had skipped morning classes today, using my injury as an excuse to avoid Yohan. The result was a one-on-one conversation with my horoom teacher, but that was still better than facing Yohan. I really didn’t want to co today. But skipping school without permission would lead to my parents being contacted. What scared most wasn’t their reaction—it was the questions they would ask.
"I fell. Down the stairs."
"You should be more careful. You’re usually so quick on your feet. Why would you make a mistake like that?"
Yeah. Why did I make a mistake like that?
I forced a slight smile, hiding my sour mood. Then, like an idiot, I unconsciously scratched my neck with my left hand. A sharp pain, like a knife slicing through my skin, made wince.
"Ah…"
"Oh dear, you hurt yourself there too?"
"Ah, yeah."
"What a ss. Even I feel frustrated just looking at you."
"I’m sorry."
"You’ll still do well on your exams, right? Even with your left hand?"
"Probably, yeah. I think I can manage."
I nodded to myself.
"I have to do well."
"If you ever have any trouble, don’t hesitate to talk to , okay? I’ll help however I can."
"Min, you don’t have to worry so much. He said he’s fine, didn’t he?"
The voice belonged to the geography teacher, an older man lounging in his chair, reading a newspaper. Apparently, he didn’t have a class right now.
"Why did you have to get hurt now, of all tis?"
As if I wanted to get injured. I clenched my teeth, looking at the wrinkled face before . That teacher always acted like this around . Always sarcastic, always nitpicking.
Clear throat. The deep, phlegm-filled sound echoed as he adjusted his throat. His wrinkled upper lip twitched.
"Don’t cause trouble for your teachers. Handle your own problems."
I lowered my head without a word. What did I even do wrong? I hid my irritation behind a neutral expression. My horoom teacher smiled awkwardly at the geography teacher before turning back to .
"He doesn’t an it like that. All your teachers care about you, Jun. You won’t be any trouble to them. You can always co to us if you need anything."
"I’m fine."
Did she think I couldn’t tell the difference between advice and malice? But since my grades depended on teachers, there was nothing more terrifying than being on their bad side. So, I played along.
"You’re right. I’ll take care of it myself."
"Sigh. I’ll tell the other teachers to keep an eye out for you."
Clear throat!
The old teacher cleared his throat again. His murky eyes darted between and my horoom teacher before quickly returning to his newspaper. His glances were so obvious.
What an annoying old raccoon.
He had never liked from the start—for no reason at all. He had spent years sitting in the faculty room, hoarding useless authority, and using it to pick on students. It was like he was fishing, throwing out bait and waiting for soone to get caught.
I didn’t need more reasons for him to dislike . I needed to get out of here before I drew any more attention.
"Thank you. I’ll head to class now."
"Alright. Be careful with your arm. Seriously, what a ss."
"Don’t worry. I’m really fine."
"Still…"
"I’ll see you in class later. Goodbye, teacher."
"Oh, alright."
"Yeah, yeah."
The phlegmy voice replied without even looking at . The rustling of newspaper was louder than his response.
As I adjusted my bag—its weight unevenly pulling on my shoulder—I walked out of the faculty room. Just as I was closing the thin, flimsy door, I heard the old teacher’s voice from inside.
Unlike before, his voice was loud and clear.
"That kid gives the creeps. There’s sothing off about him."
"Jun? No way, teacher. He’s really sweet. He helps so much."
"Min, you really have no sense, do you? That boy isn’t kind—he just acts kind. There’s no warmth to him… Tsk. I just don’t like him."
"Min, don’t listen to him. That old man just hates all the good-looking kids."
"What the hell?"
"Jeez, can’t you grow old with a better attitude, Lee?"
The voice that butted in belonged to another teacher, soone around the geography teacher’s age. He had been silently listening the whole ti, but the mont I left, he finally chid in with teasing remarks.
No matter how much they insulted each other, they still ate at the sa table. They always knew where to draw the line—never going beyond what could be brushed off as a joke.
I should’ve shut the door faster.
There was no point in listening to teachers gossip about . What was I supposed to do with that information? It wasn’t sothing I could change. All it did was leave a bad taste in my mouth.
Still, I couldn’t stop myself from being annoyed. Did they get a kick out of picking on students?
Saying that right after I left—before the door even fully shut—what was that supposed to be? Did he want to hear it?
I pouted in frustration.
"Hey."
"Huh? Oh."
"Are you going to the faculty room?"
The sudden unfamiliar voice startled so badly that I flinched. I quickly turned my head. A familiar-looking face stood awkwardly by the door, but I didn’t know their na. I waved my hand, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.
“No, I was just closing the door.”
“Then, I’ll head in.”
“Yeah.”
I nodded and pulled up my slipping bag strap again. Worried that the teachers inside might catch a glimpse of through the open gap, I hurried away from the hallway.
As I walked, the break period started. Standing in the middle of the crowded hallway filled with boys running around, I found myself staring at the classroom door, feeling an inexplicable sense of dread.
Yohan is in there.
I wrapped my left hand around the back of my neck. My breathing, as weak as a candle flickering in the wind, wavered before escaping in a rough sigh. The frosted classroom window seed just as suffocating as I felt inside. The contrast between the noisy hallway and the eerily silent classroom unnerved even more.
If I open that door, all eyes will be on .
My chest tightened.
“Damn it, if this was going to happen, I should’ve been in a delinquent class in second year.”
But avoiding things wouldn’t solve anything. Before opening the door, I prayed to every god I could rember. I knew I was just a pathetic atheist throwing a tantrum, but miracles were all I had left to rely on.
At least I had decent luck with this kind of thing.
Please, just this once, let be lucky. Let Yohan want to avoid too. Let him not be in the classroom.
I must have prayed a dozen tis before I finally opened the door—only to experience the worst luck of my life.
“Move.”
They say there's an unlucky age. But at eighteen, I shouldn’t be at that stage yet, right? And if I were, wouldn’t that an Yohan was too?
The first thing I saw as I opened the door was Yohan.
He had also been about to step out, his arm half-raised awkwardly. Without even looking at , he spoke a single word, blocking the doorway.
“……”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t refuse to move.
There was a strange malice in his eyes. It reached into so deep-rooted fear inside . My mouth went dry. Yohan brushed past , shoulder bumping against mine. The gesture carried a clear sense of displeasure.
That was when I realized—
I was discarded.
My mind went cold. My blood felt like it was draining to my feet as I lifted my head.
At the back of the classroom, two guys exchanged glances and whispered. I could tell they had been looking at . Slowly, I opened my mouth, pretending nothing was wrong, as if none of this mattered to .
“What the hell…”
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. If I could take back that mont, I’d trade my life for it.
“…Ah, fuck.”
There are days when nothing goes right.
Just like the ti I fell for Han Junwoo.
Looking back, my life had never revolved around . I wasn’t the center of anything. No matter how much I struggled, I was just a high schooler.
And wasn’t this supposed to be an unlucky year? If I compared my battle of luck against Yohan’s, he had always been the winner.
That fact beca undeniable because of the midterms.
I had been waiting for Yohan’s retaliation. He hadn’t done anything yet, but I knew he was only biding his ti, and that made my nerves worse.
The worst part? Yohan really did nothing.
Little by little, he started treating like a third party in the class. Not overtly—just subtle enough to be dismissed. Like how he would call over Kim Seokmin and Lee Seokhyeon but not , or how he’d exclude from lunch without making it obvious. Everyone else laughed along, following the flow of conversation I couldn’t understand.
It felt like chewing on a rock—jarring, uncomfortable, numbing.
“Hey, rember that guy from first year? He works at that gas station now.”
“Shit, after that ss he caused, I figured he would.”
I had no idea what they were talking about.
Who had ssed up in first year?
What gas station?
Why was it even relevant?
But everyone except knew.
In the end, I read the room and stood up.
“Uh, I’ll head out first.”
“Ah, man, sorry. We got caught up in our own conversation.”
Kim Seokmin genuinely apologized, but I could only force a strained smile.
“No, it’s fine. I have to study… Midterms are in a few days.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Hey, Yohan, are you heading up too?”
Kim Seokmin and Lee Seokhyeon turned toward Yohan.
Yohan, lazily licking the inside of his cheek, glanced at with an icy stare.
He didn’t answer.
Seokmin and Seokhyeon exchanged a look. Their eyes changed—subtle but clear. It was scary how fast the atmosphere shifted.
“…I’ll go.”
“……”
I grabbed my tray and hurried away. I didn’t dare look back.
My throat was parched.
After that, I never ate lunch with them again.
Like always, Yohan would co to my desk at lunchti. But now, instead of waiting for , he’d simply tap my desk with his finger before walking away.
He never gave a chance.
This was how the nightmare of senior year began—the event that marked the start of my downfall.
****
Damn it. I had no idea my left hand was this useless.
I checked the clock—only one minute left.
For other subjects, it wasn’t a problem since they were all multiple-choice. But math…
I had no talent for ntal calculations. And my left hand was too clumsy to scribble out equations quickly.
I forced myself to focus, grabbing my marker, but by the ti the paper was collected, I had only managed to fill in up to question 25.
I sat there stiffly, forehead pressed against the desk. Just before the P.E. teacher—our exam proctor—could speak, I scrambled to fill in the remaining bubbles.
“Pens down. Collect the answer sheets from the back.”
The lines I had marked were shaky and uneven.
Didn’t matter. At least I wrote sothing.
Now, all that was left was to turn over my OMR sheet and fill in the written response section.
That’s all I had to do.
A hand reached into my desk.
I froze.
The student in the back hesitated before whispering cautiously.
“You didn’t finish marking your answers?”
“……”
Only three short-answer questions left.
I looked at the blank backside of my answer sheet, and my stomach dropped.
If I kept writing now, it’d be cheating.
The rule had been drilled into since I was eight years old.
I felt like I was choking.
How many points would I lose?
The short-answer section was worth a lot.
How much exactly?
“Shit, what are you gonna do? The whole written section is blank.”
The other students were already holding their test papers, comparing answers, but my row had stopped dead in its tracks right in front of . A few gazes shifted toward .
“What’s going on?”
“Kang Jun couldn’t finish the short-answer section.”
A hushed whisper carried through the air.
The shock of seeing my blank answer sheet snapped back to reality.
Trying to fill it in now would be insane.
I was already walking on thin ice—I couldn’t afford to give anyone more ammunition against . Yohan wasn’t on my side, and if I ended up being resented by the whole class, it’d be over for .
Yeah. A few missed questions in math wouldn’t be the end of the world. The subject average was low anyway, so the impact shouldn’t be that bad.
It should be fine.
I had to believe that.
I reassured myself and forced a smile as I handed over my answer sheet.
“No, it’s fine. Take it.”
Even though my stomach felt like it was twisting into knots, I knew this was the best choice I could make. The rational choice.
As soon as I let go of the paper and put my pen down, I realized my palm was drenched in sweat. I wiped it against my uniform, glancing around.
A few classmates were looking at with different expressions. Most of them seed… pitying.
That look made sothing burn in my chest.
What the hell are you staring at? This isn’t even a big deal.
…Right?
It better not be.
I convinced myself of that, pressing my lips together.
At that point, it wasn’t so bad. It could’ve been worse. Math was unpredictable. Sure, my grade might drop a little, but I was still confident I’d land in the top five of the entire school.
That should have been enough.
I should have been satisfied.
But then—
“Huh? Jun, you didn’t finish your answers?”
Fucking hell.
The P.E. teacher blurted it out loudly, reading my na from the answer sheet.
I stiffened, staring dumbly at him.
“…Huh?”
“Bring your test here for a second.”
“…Why?”
“‘Why’ isn’t an answer. Just bring it here.”
The P.E. teacher always spoke like that—half like an order, half like a threat.
He was the type who exaggerated everything, trying to assert his authority since his subject was often ignored. And honestly, his intimidation tactics worked. A loud, physically imposing adult yelling at a room full of kids was bound to get results.
I knew arguing would just stress out more, so I hesitated before reluctantly carrying my test paper to the front.
The mont it left my hands, the teacher flipped to the back page.
“27, -1. 394, 0. Hah. You did finish it.”
“……”
“This little shit, if you were done, you should’ve said so. Do you know how much a drop in your score will affect the class average? If it’s bad enough, your horoom teacher will have to write a formal apology report.”
Then, right in front of the whole class, he pulled a pen from his pocket.
“Teacher?”
“Don’t worry about it. Go back to your seat. Let’s see… 27… -1… 394… 0…”
“Wait, no, teacher, I’m fine. I chose not to fill it in because the ti was up—”
“What? Listen, kid, why the hell would you leave a correct answer blank? Are you insane? I’ll let it slide this ti, but don’t ss up like this on the college entrance exam.”
With one hand, he copied my answers onto my test.
With the other, he pointed at my arm.
“And don’t go breaking your arm again.”
I could feel the stares from the back of the room.
Without a doubt, the entire class was watching.
Shit. The worst possible outco flashed through my mind.
What if they start talking behind my back?
What if this gives them a reason to hate ?
Fear gnawed at , and before I even realized it, my gaze flickered toward Yohan.
He was easy to find—always seated in the back, lounging arrogantly.
And sure enough—
“……!”
I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked my eyes toward the window.
Yohan was watching .
Casually peeling open a chocolate bar, his gaze locked on with that sa unreadable expression.
As if this whole thing was hilarious.
As if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
My fingers twitched.
Was I imagining it?
Or was he actually laughing at ?
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