Hae-won tried not to let her brain short-circuit as she walked away from the Grand Hall bathroom, feeling like someone had poured hot tea directly into her spine. Kyung-min's voice still clung to her skin like smoke. His breath, his fingers tilting her chin—his warning. It wasn't even what he said. It was how close he'd been when he said it. Like her mouth belonged to him for that one second.
She hated him.
And—worse—she hated that part of her brain that wouldn't shut up about how soft his voice had sounded.
She pressed a hand to her cheek, shook it off, and rushed down the corridor. Ji-ae was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with two canned iced coffees she must've stolen from somewhere.
"You took your sweet time," Ji-ae said. "Did the school ghost drag you into a dimension of mirrors?"
"No. Just... girl stuff. Bathroom line. And ghosts. Maybe."
Ji-ae squinted. "You look flushed."
"I'm literally always flushed. It's called a nervous system."
Ji-ae handed her one of the coffees. "Well, brace yourself. The school forum is in full nuclear meltdown. Someone made a meme of the merit list kids photoshopped into rags with a caption: 'From peasants to pool parties.' We're going viral."
"Why does this place feel like a K-drama with a marketing budget?"
"Because it is."
---
That afternoon, the notices went out.
Subject: First-Year Social Invitation
> Baekhyun Academy cordially invites all first-year and final-year students to a private Welcome Night Mixer. Mandatory attendance for all merit students. Dress code: semi-formal. Venue: The Atrium.
Hae-won stared at her phone.
It might as well have said: Don't show up poor.
Two hours later, Hae-won was in the backseat of the same sleek black car that had dropped her off at Baekhyun Academy five days ago. It felt ironic somehow—Outside, the city gave way to neighborhoods that looked less like catalog pages and more like reality. Uneven sidewalks. Red bricks. Faded laundry on balconies.
Home.
Min-jin was already waiting by the gate, barefoot, holding two melting ice pops and wearing an oversized shirt that said "Not Today, Satan" in pink glitter. She grinned the moment she saw Hae-won.
"Look who decided to return from Mount Olympus. You ghosted me!'
Hae-won didn't even bother with a response—she ran the last few steps and threw herself into Min-jin's arms. There were no tears. Just laughter. And the kind of tight squeeze that made your spine click back into alignment.
"Too bad I have to go now!" Minjin quickly detached herself "I have a shift in five minutes ...nahh I'm actually 15minutes late already"
"You should go now ...I miss you a lot and I'll text you a lot from now on, better be ready" Hae-won said excitedly.
She hadn't thought she missed her this much.
"You better! Bye girl...save all the gists!" She shouted hurrying down the streets.
The neighbors stared whispering and pretending not to look. They will definitely show up tomorrow. More customers for them. Which is all good.
Hae-won ignored them and walked towards the doorsteps.
The house smelled like gochujang and lemon floor cleaner. She was barely through the door when her mother burst out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"You're thinner! Are you eating? Are you sleeping? Do they let you sleep in that place?" she asked in one breath.
Her little sister, ji-woo, peeked out from behind the fridge door. "She probably doesn't sleep because she's dating some chaebol prince."
"I'm not," Hae-won muttered.
"That means she is," ji-woo whispered loudly, disappearing into the fridge again.
Her father stepped in from the back door, a box of peaches in one hand and dirt on his shoes. "You're just in time. Your mother made kimchi stew. Come, eat."
She did. The kind of eating that made you forget silverware etiquette and school rules and boys with black gloves.
Her father leaned over the table. "So. This welcome party—"
"Mixer," Hae-won corrected.
"Same thing. Do you need a dress? Shoes? Makeup? What do kids even wear to these things now—ballgowns?"
"Apparently just money and trauma."
Her mother frowned. "We don't have money, but you're not wearing trauma."
She disappeared into the bedroom and returned minutes later with a folded garment bag. "This was what I wore to your aunt's engagement party years ago. Don't laugh. I was very trendy back then."
The dress was soft cream with delicate beadwork at the sleeves. Vintage, yes. But elegant.
"I'll take it to the dry cleaners tomorrow," her father said, already pulling out his phone to check their weekend opening hours. "And we'll polish your shoes. You'll be the most beautiful one there."
"Right," Hae-won mumbled, but her chest swelled a little.
"You'll be unforgettable," her mother added.
Ji-woo looked up. "Just don't trip on the stairs. That would be iconic."
Later that night, curled up in her old bed with the familiar scent of detergent and noises from the neighborhood around her, Hae-won stared at the ceiling.
The dress hung from the closet door like a symbol. Not quite glamorous but hers.
There was something about going back that terrified her. The halls of Baekhyun. The eyes. The whispers. Kyung-min. That moment in the hallway. The soft threat of his voice. The fact that she might not made the grading system.
She closed her eyes and pretend to sleep.
---
Back at Baekhyun Academy, the campus had transformed. Banners swayed above the entrance, reading: WELCOME TO THE FUTURE. First-years and seniors alike whispered about the gala—some pretending not to care, others already booking makeup artists.
The glass-paneled halls glittered with expectation, but in one corner of the west courtyard—half-shadowed by climbing ivy and the reflective shimmer of the koi pond—three girls stood like the beginnings of a storm.
So-hee—tall, ice-blonde, with a voice like a violin string pulled too tight—tapped her manicured nail against her phone. She zoomed in on a blurred shot of Kyung-min, leaning in far too close to a girl in the hallway.
"Tell me that's not the merit kid," she hissed.
"She looks so plain in real life," drawled Nari, dark curls tied with velvet ribbon. "Like... default setting energy."
"I saw her face," said Eun-jeong, the quiet one—short bob, cold eyes. "She was flushed. Either embarrassed... or she liked it."
So-hee's lip curled. "Let her wear whatever borrowed dress she's bringing to the gala. Let her smile. Let her think she belongs."
"She won't by the time we're done," Eun-jeong said softly, snapping her gum.
"Do we start at the gala?" Nari asked.
"No," So-hee said, lowering her phone. "We start now."
She held up her phone. A blurry but scandalous-looking photo sat on the screen—Kyung-min leaning close, Hae-won's head tilted just enough to imply something. The hallway lighting helped. Shadows could lie better than words.
Nari grinned. "This is going to be fun!"
So-hee's fingers flew across the screen, adding another image—Kyung-min turning away coldly, hands shoved in his pockets. Hae-won standing there like she'd been discarded.
She captioned it with care, making sure the sting would bleed.
#ScholarshipStrategy
#golddinging
#SomeoneCheckHerResume
"Kyung-min sunbae doesn't even look interested. Did she think sleeping her way in would work at Baekhyun?"
Post.
It took five seconds for the school forum to go up in flames.
So-hee didn't smile.
She didn't have to.
The internet was already doing it for her.