Yeon Ha-yeon, having arranged to miss school for a day due to pressing guild matters, found herself unexpectedly in the faculty office.
It was a rare occurrence for her to be voluntarily present in such a mundane setting during school hours.
She had a brief errand to run, needing to clarify something with a particular teacher about her absence.
However, upon arriving, she discovered the room to be completely deserted.
The specific teacher she needed to consult was nowhere to be found, and even the usual low murmur of other instructors, typically bustling about their desks or conversing quietly, was conspicuously absent.
A quiet sense of resignation settled over her.
She sighed softly, a faint whisper of air escaping her lips, deciding it would be best to simply sit and wait for a while, perhaps just a few minutes, before trying again.
The silence of the empty office was profound, almost unsettling, broken only by the distant, muffled hum of the school’s daily activities – the faint echo of footsteps, the occasional burst of laughter from a far-off classroom.
She leaned back in her chair, the hard plastic unforgiving against her back, contemplating the unusual quiet.
Her mind, ever restless, began to drift towards the intricacies of her guild assignments, the challenging missions that truly held her interest.
Crash!
Her thoughts were abruptly, violently shattered by a deafening crash as someone ruthlessly threw open the faculty office door, as if determined to break it clean off its hinges.
The sudden, jarring sound made Ha-yeon jump, her quiet contemplation instantly replaced by startled alertness.
The very air in the room seemed to vibrate with the force of the impact.
A young girl burst into the room, her school uniform slightly disheveled, her voice frantic as she yelled, “Teacher! Teacher!”
Her desperate cries echoed in the suddenly small space.
Ha-yeon recognized the face immediately; it was a familiar, slightly anxious countenance that frequently shadowed someone else, a constant companion to a particular classmate.
Though Ha-yeon couldn’t quite put a definitive name to the face at that exact moment – her memory for such details was notoriously poor – a silent realization clicked into place within her methodical mind.
‘Dana’s friend?’
The girl, Dana’s friend, oblivious to Ha-yeon’s presence initially, looked around the now-not-so-empty faculty office with a completely bewildered and utterly desperate expression.
Her eyes darted wildly from one empty desk to another, searching for any sign of authority, her body language radiating a profound sense of helplessness.
A wave of despair seemed to wash over her, evident in the slump of her shoulders and the trembling of her lips.
Then, her desperate gaze fell upon Ha-yeon, sitting quietly and observing her from the corner.
As soon as her eyes landed on Ha-yeon, they widened significantly, a flicker of something akin to frantic, almost irrational hope sparking within their tear-filled depths.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she moved, propelled by raw urgency.
Her steps were uninhibited by politeness or formality, pounding heavily on the linoleum floor, heading straight for Ha-yeon with an almost desperate, unthinking momentum.
“Ha-yeon! Dana, Dana…!”
The words tumbled out of her, breathless and panicked, her voice thick with unshed tears, a guttural sound born of pure terror.
The raw emotion in her cry instantly grabbed Ha-yeon’s full attention, pulling her away from her detached observation.
“Dana? Is something wrong?”
Yeon Ha-yeon asked, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.
The girl’s obvious distress was contagious, a tangible weight in the air, and a prickle of unease, a rare sensation for Ha-yeon, began to settle in her chest.
The atmosphere had shifted dramatically, becoming heavy with unspoken urgency and a growing sense of foreboding.
Dana’s friend, still sobbing, didn’t answer directly. Instead, her hands reached out, grabbing Ha-yeon’s arm with surprising strength, her grip tight and desperate, almost bruising.
She began to pull, urging Ha-yeon out of the office, her urgency bordering on frantic.
“Dana was dragged away by those Iljin Sanggo guys! Help, Ha-yeon!”
The plea was a raw, heart-wrenching cry, torn from the depths of her fear.
The mention of “Iljin Sanggo” sent a jolt through Ha-yeon.
The name, though unfamiliar, carried an immediate negative connotation, a whispered warning in the school’s unofficial hierarchy.
Iljin Sanggo?
Yeon Ha-yeon, typically so indifferent to her surroundings that remembering the names of her own classmates was often a struggle – let alone the names of students from other schools – drew a blank when it came to the “Iljin Sanggo guys.”
She had absolutely no idea what kind of kids they were, their reputation, or their usual haunts. Her world revolved around her demanding guild work, the intricacies of her powers, and her own internal equilibrium, leaving little room for mundane high school drama or the trivialities of school politics.
Her life was defined by gates and dungeons, not schoolyard bullies.
However, the sheer desperation in Dana’s friend’s voice, combined with the frantic tugging on her arm, was enough.
Ha-yeon, despite her previous ignorance, could now roughly grasp the gravity of the situation.
Dana was in trouble, and these “Iljin Sanggo guys” were the undeniable cause.
The implications were clear: a friend was in distress, and action was required.
She was pulled out of the faculty office almost inadvertently, swept along by the raw urgency of Dana’s friend’s desperate tugging.
The momentum carried them quickly into the main hallway.
But as they entered the bustling corridor, things changed.
The initial, impulsive rush gave way to Ha-yeon’s usual calm and decisive control.
She gently but firmly stopped the crying girl who was still pulling her along, her grip on the other girl’s arm steadying them both.
Her voice, though low, was now calm and subdued, carrying an undeniable edge of seriousness that cut through the other girl’s panic.
“Do you know where she went?”
Ha-yeon asked, her eyes sharp and focused, instantly cutting through the other girl’s lingering hysteria.
Her gaze was direct, unwavering, demanding precise information.
“I know a few places they might go,” Dana’s friend replied, her voice still trembling slightly but now tinged with a faint glimmer of hope, relief washing over her face at Ha-yeon’s composed demeanor.
She quickly listed the notorious gathering spots, the unofficial territories of the local toughs: “The neighborhood construction site, the alley behind Iljin Sanggo’s back gate, the intersection PC bang, and the empty lot.”
These were the places where all the so-called tough kids from Iljin Sanggo congregated, their unofficial strongholds.
As Nabi, who seemed to possess an almost encyclopedic knowledge of everything related to nearby schools, their cliques, and their various haunts, was relaying this crucial information to Yeon Ha-yeon, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed from the nearby stairs.
Four male students, radiating a distinct air of youthful confidence and camaraderie – the school’s renowned “Heavenly Kings” – descended the steps next to the faculty office.
Their presence filled the hallway with a different kind of energy.
“Oh? Wasn’t Ha-yeon absent today? Why’s she here?”
Han Ji-bin, who had spotted Yeon Ha-yeon first, tilted his head slightly in confusion, a playful curiosity in his voice.
He quickly clattered down the stairs, his movements light and quick, eager to greet his classmate.
“We need to get to the construction site quickly first,” Ha-yeon instructed Nabi, her voice crisp and decisive, devoid of any emotional inflection.
“You go to the intersection PC bang and the empty lot. Contact me if you find Dana.”
She spoke with an authority that starkly contrasted with her usual indifference, her focus entirely on the impending task.
The seriousness in her tone was unmistakable.
Han Ji-bin, who was just about to turn the corner and greet Yeon Ha-yeon and Nabi with his usual cheerful demeanor, froze in his tracks.
He had only caught the tail end of Ha-yeon’s words, “Contact me if you find Dana,” but what truly stopped him was the palpable shift in the air around her.
A chilling aura, a subtle yet undeniable sense of killing intent, seemed to emanate from Yeon Ha-yeon as she issued her instructions.
It was fleeting, a mere whisper of danger, a hint of something primal and fierce beneath her calm exterior, but enough to make Han Ji-bin’s blood run cold.
He’d never felt anything like it from her before.
“What’s that sound?”
Eun Ba-da, who had been listening to all of Yeon Ha-yeon and Nabi’s conversation with growing concern, took an involuntary step forward.
He was about to approach Yeon Ha-yeon to speak, to perhaps offer assistance or ask for clarification, when she suddenly sped past them at a terrifying pace.
She moved with a focused intensity, a blur of motion that left the Heavenly Kings momentarily stunned.
Her speed was unnatural, almost inhuman.
Eun Ba-da awkwardly retracted his outstretched hand, feeling a sudden sense of foolishness and inadequacy, and stared at her retreating back with a thoroughly puzzled expression.
The silence she left in her wake was heavy, almost ominous, a vacuum where her intense presence had just been.
Soon, all four Heavenly Kings turned their heads in one direction, their gazes drawn by the remaining movement.
Their eyes followed Nabi, who was now running down the corridor with all her might, her schoolbag bouncing against her back.
She was diligently pursuing Ha-yeon, her speed impressive, but still at a pace that was, critically, catchable compared to Yeon Ha-yeon’s superhuman burst.
Nabi’s desperation was clear in her every stride.
“Nabi!”
Han Ji-bin, who was known for his friendly disposition and his ability to get along with all the classmates, shouted out, his voice cutting through the hallway.
At his call, Nabi’s frantic sprint came to an abrupt halt.
She spun around, her eyes wide.
The Heavenly Kings flinched slightly at Nabi’s expression as she looked up at them.
Her eyes were excessively sparkling, reflecting an almost desperate hope, as if she had suddenly met her saviors, the cavalry arriving just in the nick of time.
The Heavenly Kings reacted differently after hearing the full story of Dana’s disappearance, which Nabi quickly, tearfully explained.
Eun Ba-da, ever the responsible one, focused solely on the fact that a classmate was in grave danger and insisted they needed to save her quickly, his sense of duty paramount.
He was already urging them to move.
Han Ji-bin immediately, pragmatically, sent out an Earth Spirit, a small, nimble creature of solidified earth, to check if Dana was in the empty lot Nabi had mentioned, his mind already working on efficient solutions.
Ji Gang-han, more stoic, summoned a Wind Spirit, a swirling miniature vortex, watching his friends with a quiet intensity, ready to act as soon as a clear path was set.
And then there was Ban Eun-hyul.
“Why worry when Yeon Ha-yeon’s gone?”
Ban Eun-hyul stood there, hands casually shoved into his pockets, his posture radiating a profound air of disinterest.
He did nothing, his body language exuding a clear, almost theatrical unhappiness with the entire situation.
Nabi flinched and looked back at Ban Eun-hyul with eyes full of utter disappointment, a flicker of betrayal in their depths.
His callous remark cut deep. Ignoring Eun Ba-da’s reproachful gaze, which clearly implied, “Is that really what you should say in this situation, with a friend’s safety at stake?”, Ban Eun-hyul remained unperturbed.
He simply stood there, one hand still shoved in his pocket, seemingly unconcerned by the moral weight of the moment or the distress of his classmates.
“You guys go. I’m not interested.”
He spoke curtly, his voice flat, a definitive dismissal.
Sometimes, there were other female students who would try to create such “situations,” fabricating dramas or feigning distress just to get involved with him, to break through his aloof exterior, to gain his attention.
Ban Eun-hyul had seen it all before; it was a common tactic.
So, he spoke definitively and turned away, convinced this was just another such charade, a cheap trick to draw him into some meaningless high school melodrama.
He had clearly stated he wasn’t going, that he wasn’t interested, that he had no intention of getting involved. But why…
‘Why am I here?’
Ban Eun-hyul looked up at the long-abandoned construction site in front of him, its skeletal metal framework reaching towards the sky, rusty girders silhouetted against the pale afternoon sky, a monument to stalled progress.
The air hung heavy with the smell of damp earth and disuse.
He placed a hand to his throbbing forehead, a dull ache reverberating behind his eyes, a physical manifestation of his profound annoyance.
His friends and Lee Nabi were already disappearing into the gloom of the construction site, their figures swallowed by the shadows within the gaping maw of the unfinished building.
Since Yeon Ha-yeon seemed to have arrived already, having shot off like a bullet, Ban Eun-hyul saw no need to rush.
He slowed his pace further, taking languid, almost reluctant steps.
He told himself, with a practiced air of detachment, that he was only here out of responsibility as the “focus” of Gamseong High, a leader by title if not by inclination, a presence that commanded respect whether he sought it or not.
Just as Eun Ba-da came out of responsibility as the class president, driven by a clear sense of duty, he was here to fulfill his own inherent obligation: to protect a school student, something he, as the #1 ranked student of Gamseong High, should rightfully do.
It was a matter of principle, of maintaining order, not personal involvement or genuine concern.
Anyway, that kid was an utterly annoying presence.
He sighed, a faint wisp of irritation escaping him.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on why she bothered him so much, but she did.
She had a way of disrupting his carefully cultivated detachment.
‘She said she wouldn’t chase me, but she made me come find her?’
The thought was bitter, laced with a strange mix of annoyance and a grudging, almost subconscious, respect for Ha-yeon’s uncanny ability to defy his expectations and somehow pull him into situations he utterly loathed.
As even Ban Eun-hyul, who was utterly displeased with the current situation and the very fact of his presence here, finally stepped into the interior of the derelict construction site, a chilly autumn wind swept through the skeletal structure, swirling with loose debris.
It stirred up a cloud of fine, gritty dust from the concrete floor, sending it dancing around his ankles, a fitting atmospheric touch to his foul mood.
The metallic scent of rust mingled with the damp earth, creating a desolate tableau.
***
I looked up at the Iljin Sanggo guy with a genuinely bewildered expression. He was a stocky individual, adorned with cheap, flashy accessories, and his smirk spoke volumes about his inflated ego.
He was telling me to stand still, as if it were a polite request, because he was going to “dent” me a bit.
Did he not realize how utterly strange that statement was?
How absurdly illogical, even deranged, it sounded to say, ‘I’m going to hit you now, so just stand still’?
The sheer audacity of it, the casual cruelty in his tone, left me momentarily speechless, my mind struggling to process such blatant disregard for basic human decency.
‘Ah, I wonder why a gate isn’t opening now. Isn’t the System doing its job properly?’
My mind, ever the pragmatist, ever reliant on the extraordinary in my ordinary life, immediately went to the supernatural.
If a spontaneous gate, a portal to a dungeon, would just open right now, right here, I could clear the entire situation along with the boss inside.
It would be a neat and efficient solution, a swift way to deal with these unsavory characters without drawing undue attention or breaking my own rules.
But no matter how much I tried to sense the magic in the air, how intensely I focused my latent abilities, stretching my senses outward, I felt nothing.
The air remained disappointingly inert, devoid of any magical fluctuations, as stubbornly mundane as these thugs themselves.
It was frustrating, a system failure at the most inconvenient time.
I tilted my head slightly, just enough, a small, almost imperceptible movement, expertly dodging the hand reaching for my face.
The guy, misinterpreting my slight movement as a genuine, futile attempt at resistance, curled his lips into an even wider, more amused smirk.
It was a sneer more than a smile, radiating smug self-satisfaction, a clear sign of his confidence in his own superiority.
He then squatted down in front of me, bringing his face closer to mine, his breath warm and stale.
“It’s no use resisting. You should’ve just attended school quietly, huh?” he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, a patronizing tone that grated on my nerves.
How quietly did I attend school?!
The sheer unfairness of his accusation, the blatant disregard for my actual efforts at being inconspicuous, made my blood boil.
It was an insult to my carefully maintained low profile.
Not a single one of the incidents that had drawn attention to me so far had been intentional on my part.
I hadn’t sought out trouble; trouble had, instead, with an almost uncanny regularity, found me.
All of them had happened because the circumstances around me unfolded that way, because of forces beyond my control, inadvertently forcing me into the spotlight.
I was merely a reluctant participant, an unwilling spectacle, a pawn in a larger game.
My past, now a complex web of extraordinary events, was a testament to this unwanted notoriety.
“Who ordered you to drag me here?”
My usual low patience, already teetering precariously on the edge of its limits, was rapidly hitting rock bottom.
The simmering irritation began to manifest as a low thrumming behind my eyes, a faint buzz of impending fury.
I tried my absolute best not to glare at the Iljin Sanggo guy squatting in front of me, to keep my expression neutral despite the surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm my composure.
But the effort was immense, a struggle against my own rising fury.
My hands, still crudely bound by the cheap rope, twitched with suppressed power, aching to be unleashed.
The desire to break free and retaliate was almost overwhelming.