At that moment, deep down, I knew that Go Yohan would take my side. I was absolutely certain of it. And yet, once again, I found myself bitterly realizing why I had come to like Go Yohan in the first place.
As I turned my head, I heard the chair behind me scrape loudly against the floor. The door hadn’t been closed. Typical of Go Yohan. He stood by the back door for a long time before slowly walking over and taking his seat. In the midst of this suffocating silence. Of all times? I felt like I was about to suffocate.
"......."
For some reason, the sandwich in my left hand felt like it was burning. The only people in the classroom were me, Shin Jaehyun, and Go Yohan. A nauseating silence filled the air. I stared at my sandwich for a moment before taking a big bite. Crunch. The egg mashed between my teeth.
Without a word, Shin Jaehyun stood up and closed the back door that Go Yohan had left open. Click. The sound of the door shutting echoed through the room. And in that moment, the wind whispered to me.
Remember, Kang Jun. May isn’t over yet.
****
On my way home after school, I found out my shoes had been stolen.
I’d heard that stuff like this happened from time to time at a school where even some dirt-poor kids were mixed in, but it was my first time experiencing it firsthand. It wasn’t like I had any real attachment to those shoes, so I wasn’t heartbroken. Just irritated. I quietly shut my locker and looked down at my indoor slippers.
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"Guess I’ll just have to wear these home today."
Great. Now I’d have to walk around broadcasting to everyone that my shoes had been stolen. Fuck.
The only comfort I had was the saying that people don’t pay as much attention to others’ appearances as you’d think. Please, let that be true. Let them not notice. And the bastard who stole them—I’m going to fucking kill him.
"Stealing my shoes now, of all times?"
This was deliberate. So now that I’m in this state, they think they can just walk all over me?
Maybe I was being paranoid, but considering everything that had been happening to me lately, it would be more surprising if I wasn’t thinking like this. This wasn’t just in my head. One of my notebooks had gone missing. Once, when I came back from the bathroom, I found my eraser and mechanical pencil rolling on the floor. And just earlier, my desk had been pushed out of place, as if someone had bumped into it. I could already picture what had happened. Someone must have hit my desk while messing around, knocking my pencil case to the floor, and yet no one had bothered to pick up my stuff.
When I stood there, staring at my desk—isolated in the middle of a loud, indifferent crowd with wet hands—I knew this wasn’t just my imagination.
"They change their attitudes like flipping a damn switch. Fucking pricks."
I couldn't help but feel resentful.
Just before midterms, those very same people had been all over me, calling out, Kang Jun, Kang Jun like we were best friends. And now look at them. My anger boiled over, making my steps rough and uneven. Without realizing it, I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
Then, in that moment—
"Ah!"
A sharp pain shot through the bottom of my foot. It burned. When I lifted my foot to check, I saw my white sock had turned red. Underneath, a shard of green glass glinted. I had been walking in slippers without paying attention to where I was going, and now I was paying for it.
As if I wasn’t already pissed off enough. As if I wasn’t already going insane from this constant streak of bad luck.
"......Fuck."
Nothing ever goes right for me. Why the fuck does nothing ever go right for me? I always— I always end up—!
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!"
I couldn't hold it in anymore. Fuck. What a goddamn shitty life. Was it only my fault?
If I really thought about it, Go Yohan had wronged me too. He had clearly done things he shouldn’t have. So why was I the one being ignored, I the one forced to keep my head down, I the one watching my every step, I the one getting my shoes stolen, I the one stepping on some piece-of-shit glass and bleeding for it? It wasn’t just my fault. I was a victim too.
By not holding Go Yohan accountable, I had, in my own way, apologized for my own mistakes. But Go Yohan? He had been selfish from the very start.
"Then why! Why! Why am I the only one who has to deal with this shit?!"
This is why guys are obsessed with hierarchy. It’s never about what someone did wrong—it’s about who did it. The world is fucked up like that. So unfair. So fucking annoying. I hate this. I hate all of it! Do you think I wanted to stick close to Han Junwoo and Go Yohan from the start? Do you think I wanted to play both sides like some two-faced rat?
"If you don’t pick a side, you get fucked over! You bastards made it that way!"
If you weren’t on Han Junwoo or Go Yohan’s side, you got ignored. If you weren’t part of their group, you were treated like a loser. And even if you got humiliated, you had to laugh it off like it was nothing. In that tiny little space, where every move was being watched, what the fuck was I supposed to do?
"What, did you expect me to just sit there like a dumbass all by myself?"
So what did I end up with, huh?
After Go Yohan discarded me, I was thrown away for good. Look at what my life had turned into. Fucking bastards. If you’re going to call me a rat, then don’t fucking put me in a situation where I have to be one. If you don’t want people like me, then stop forcing us to exist like this.
Look at Hong Huijun, Choi Donghwan, and Park Dongcheol. Those guys got thrown out too. How the fuck are they living at school now? Like pathetic losers. They couldn’t even do it themselves.
So why the hell do I—why do I—?
"Goddamn it!"
I couldn’t hold back anymore. I ripped off my slipper and hurled it at the ground.
Then— BEEP!
The sharp blare of a car horn hit my ears, making me flinch. I jerked my head up.
A huge, foreign luxury car was parked right in front of me. And lying on the ground behind its bumper was my slipper. My eyes widened as far as they could go.
Kang Jun. You dumbass.
Slowly, the window rolled down. A man who looked to be in his early thirties stuck his head out.
"What the fuck are you doing to my car, you little shit?!"
"......I’m sorry."
"Goddamn brat, get out of the way!"
My face burned hot with humiliation. I quickly bowed my head, fumbling as I rushed to pick up my slipper. In the process, my injured arm, still in a cast, felt unbearably heavy, making me stumble and nearly fall again. The car roared as the driver slammed the ignition. The acrid stench of exhaust filled my nose, making me cough.
"Keuk—Cough, cough!"
I hurriedly got up, dragging my bleeding foot toward a side alley. I leaned against a wall, inhaling and exhaling, trying to steady myself.
As my heartbeat slowed, the humiliation crashed over me all at once.
"Fucking hell... What a goddamn joke."
I was embarrassed by my own outburst. By the pathetic consequences of my reckless anger.
Of course, nothing in my life ever fucking worked out. Goddamn it.
Slowly, I sank to the ground. My once-white sock had turned completely red. I must have cut myself pretty deep. Maybe I had stepped on a few more shards while stumbling around.
But more than the pain in my foot, the humiliation cut even deeper. And so, for a long while, I couldn’t bring myself to get back up.
****
As expected, the wound was deep.
I had to remove the tiny glass shards embedded in my skin and get eight stitches. On the bright side, I no longer needed to buy new shoes—there was no way I’d be able to wear them properly anyway. With my left foot wrapped in bandages, I had no choice but to wear my indoor slippers to school. At least the weather had warmed up.
My right arm was already injured, so what did it matter if my left foot was too? The doctor told me to avoid putting pressure on the wound, which, in a way, was a relief. At least now I had a reason not to wear shoes. It meant I could keep the fact that my shoes had been stolen a secret.
I didn’t tell my parents.
Still, I couldn’t ignore the housekeeper’s gaze lingering on my foot during dinner. That indifferent stare pricked at my conscience, and before I knew it, I confessed first.
“I hurt myself at school by accident. It’ll heal soon. Please don’t tell my parents.”
“Your parents?”
“Yes. I don’t want them to worry.”
“......”
The housekeeper didn’t respond, but I knew she wouldn’t tell them. If she did, she’d be the one getting scolded by my parents, not me.
She might even be grateful that I asked her not to say anything.
The pain in my foot was bad enough that walking to school didn’t seem like an option. I should’ve taken the crutch the hospital offered. But I refused, thinking it would draw too much attention, and now even everyday tasks were a hassle. After a brief moment of reconsideration, I decided I still didn’t need crutches. I pulled out my phone. I could just take a taxi.
"......."
When I arrived at school and opened the classroom door, I was greeted by a silence so deep it felt suffocating. The students who hated studying had already spilled out into the hallways, chatting noisily, while those uninterested in conversation were buried in their workbooks.
The world kept moving on peacefully, even while I struggled.
To most people, my miserable days were nothing out of the ordinary.
At that moment, I was grateful for it.
I didn’t want anyone to see Kang Jun walking in with his foot wrapped in bandages. Of course, they would find out eventually, but I wanted to delay the attention for as long as possible.
But the things you want the most never seem to happen.
Had I been limping too obviously? My uneven footsteps must have irritated someone’s ears because a few students lifted their heads to look at me.
Damn it.
One of them—a guy I had never spoken to since transferring classes—glanced at me as he passed, then his eyes landed on my foot.
No way.
His face twisted in surprise, and his mouth fell open.
“Kang Jun! You got hurt again?”
“Uh, uh... yeah.”
“Damn, that must hurt.”
His gaze lingered on my foot, brows furrowed. The attention made me uncomfortable. Even now, I’m not sure why, but back then, I instinctively hid my injured foot behind me. Probably because I was embarrassed.
There was no excuse I could make this time.
“What happened?”
“Oh, I just stepped on some glass.”
I told the truth—just not all of it.
“Ahh—”
He nodded but didn’t stop staring at my foot. His expression was uneasy.
What the hell are you looking at?
I quickly headed to my seat. The moment I sat down, Im Yoonki and Park Haon stopped whispering to each other. A short silence passed before they exchanged glances, and then Im Yoonki turned toward me.
“Heard you got hurt?”
“...Yeah.”
“Damn. How’d that happen?”
What is this?
My face twisted in irritation. I spoke less and thought more.
“I dropped a cup while getting water at night.”
“Ahh, got it.”
Im Yoonki chuckled and glanced at Park Haon, who nudged him with his elbow before turning to me.
“Damn, you must be cursed this year.”
“Yeah. Guess I was careless.”
If I wanted to make it seem like it was nothing—just an accident—I had to sound casual. This was one of those times when my expressionless face came in handy.
I shrugged.
“I’ll just think of it as bad luck getting burned off early.”
“That’s some hardcore bad luck, though. How many stitches?”
“Eight.”
“Shit. What’d you step on, a knife?”
“The glass cup was kinda big.”
But Im Yoonki didn’t reply. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the back of the classroom.
I knew immediately.
Go Yohan had arrived.
I watched as Im Yoonki’s pupils followed Go Yohan’s movements—left to right, then slightly downward.
Scrape.
The sound of a chair dragging across the floor.
Im Yoonki’s gaze flicked back to me.
“Yeah, stainless steel cups are the best, huh?”
“You’d die if you used glass twice.”
Park Haon and Im Yoonki chuckled at their own joke. It wasn’t funny.
And I didn’t bother to laugh along.
Maybe I should have, to avoid making enemies. But I didn’t.
I still had that much dignity left.
I was still Kang Jun, after all.
They didn’t force a laugh out of me either. It was just a joke between themselves.
"......."
Unease built up like dust in the corners of my mind.
Like when you clean your room and suddenly find a massive dust pile hiding under your bed, my problems had grown into a huge mess before I even realized it.
When did things get this bad?
That dust pile.
It was P.E. class.
Ever since the math exam incident, P.E. had been uncomfortable for me.
But P.E. itself seemed to have no issue with me.
If anything, it almost acted like it had done me a favor, taking on a strangely overbearing attitude—like it wanted to show off that it had helped me.
Maybe it thought this was its way of showing affection.
I fucking hated it.
So whenever P.E. came too close, I pretended to be busy and avoided it.
Today was one of those days again.
It was the day our class had P.E. with Class 8.
Class 8 meant Kim Minho and Park Dongcheol were there.
Of all people.
As if things weren’t already bad enough. My foot was injured, my arm was useless, changing into my gym clothes would be a hassle, and I didn’t even want to be anywhere near P.E. I debated using the infirmary as an excuse to skip class.
The decision came quickly. No matter how I looked at it, skipping was the right call.
So I told P.E. that I wanted to sit out. P.E. responded with an oh-so-generous compromise.
“Physical endurance is crucial for seniors. At least get some sun. What are you, a creature of darkness? Stop rotting away in the classroom and come outside.”
It was an unspoken order.
In the end, I was dragged to the field under the pretense of resting.
I should’ve just asked someone to pass the message along and skipped entirely.
Still, there was a small benefit. Sitting at the far edge of the field, staring blankly into space, I had a full view of the students playing.
Among them was Go Yohan.
And that was when I realized something.
Go Yohan had a lot of friends.
Or, to be more precise—there were a lot of people who wanted to be his friend.
“Disgusting.”
Here I was, forced to watch every step I took. Meanwhile, Go Yohan was hoarding two out of the five soccer balls given by P.E., playing around as he pleased. The bulky guys surrounding him shouted, “Pass it! Pass it!”—showing off like idiots.
And surprisingly, among them were Kim Minho and Park Dongcheol.
They really had no self-respect, huh?
Even after being ignored by Go Yohan, they still stuck to him like leeches.
Of course, Go Yohan didn’t pass the ball. Instead, he smirked at Kim Minho—the same Kim Minho he had mocked before—and sneered,
“What? You trying to eat the soccer ball too?”
Kim Minho, as if he had already forgotten his previous humiliation, barked out a laugh.
“Fuck off, this is muscle, not fat. Don’t you know what a solid build looks like?”
“Looks like straight-up spam to me.”
Disgusting. That whole dynamic was disgusting.
And what was worse—what made my skin crawl—was the fact that I had been part of it.
“Hey! Block Go Yohan!”
Go Yohan dodged the guy trying to steal his ball. With a powerful kick, the soccer ball soared high into the sky before landing neatly against his ankle.
His fangs showed as he grinned.
I shut my eyes.
By now, I should be filled with the same violent hatred I had for Han Junwoo back then. I should be.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have looked.”
But I wasn’t. Not yet.
With my eyes closed, the noises from the field became even clearer.
The chatter.
The thud of soccer balls against feet.
If I opened my eyes, all I would see was the reality I didn’t want to face.
Kang Jun—the idiot still clinging onto useless hope for Go Yohan.
Kang Jun—who still wondered when this would finally end.
Kang Jun—who, even after swearing not to, would open his eyes and instinctively turn to look at Go Yohan.
I hated all of it.
But what I hated the most—more than anything—was the distance between us.
Go Yohan still sat atop the highest peak.
And no matter how much I stared at him, he never once looked back at me.
"Ah—ah!"
Someone’s voice jolted me awake.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t met with the usual scenery.
I was met with a soccer ball.
“...Huh?”
Before I could react, the ball, kicked with full force, slammed into my face. My body reeled backward.
"Hey! You okay?!"
As I scrambled up, pain bloomed under my nose. I wiped at it with my palm.
Bright red.
I looked up, eyes burning, scanning for the culprit.
It wasn’t hard to find them.
Everyone’s eyes had turned in one direction.
Standing there was Park Dongcheol.
The bastard had the audacity to lazily raise a hand and call out,
“Kang Jun! My bad! That was an accident, I swear! You’re not mad, right? Sorry, man!”
"Hey."
That half-assed apology pissed me off.
“How the hell did you even kick the ball hard enough for it to reach here?”
"What?"
Park Dongcheol cupped a hand to his ear like he hadn’t heard me.
I wiped my nose again. More blood smeared onto my skin.
Fucking hell.
And yet—
Despite everything—
I turned to look at Go Yohan.
That was proof.
Proof that some pathetic part of me still had hope in him.
Like always, I was waiting for him to humiliate Park Dongcheol, just like he had before.
But he didn’t.
He just stood there.
Watching me.
Saying nothing.
I was frozen in place, dumbfounded.
The one who helped me wasn’t Go Yohan.
It wasn’t anyone from my past.
It was just some random classmate—the same guy who had spoken to me that morning.
He only helped me because he was nearby.
No one else stepped in.
No one called out Park Dongcheol.
Everyone just looked.
Looked at Go Yohan.
Looked at me.
And I—
I was still looking at Go Yohan.
"Please..."