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⚠️ Content Warning: A Word of Caution 🛡️
🌀 Every spiral has a point of no return. This is Yuki's.
🧠 In the following scenes, the pressure ceases to be a motivator and becomes a cage. We step inside a mind at war with itself, where familiar knowledge feels like a stranger and the body begins to shut down.
💔 It is a story of collapse, but also of the rescue that follows. 🤝
🕊️ If your own mind feels like a fragile place today, please protect it.
You can skip from the line "Evening — The Descent" to "When Jennie Found Her" without losing the thread.
There is no shame in choosing your own stability. 🌿
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The second exam hall was colder than yesterday.
Yuki sat there with her pen tapping quietly, flipping the question paper like it was a puzzle she'd half-solved and half-forgotten.
50% answers came smooth — like old friends.
The other 50% stared back at her blankly, waiting for a memory she no longer had.
She tried.
She really did.
But halfway through, her mind became fog — words slipping like soap underwater.
At the last thirty minutes, she looked sideways and whispered,
"...Momo..."
Momo blinked, understood without explanation, and nudged her book corner forward under the desk just enough — nothing big, just a reminder of something Yuki already knew but couldn't reach.
Yuki wrote again, slowly, shakily.
Not perfect.
Not terrible.
Just... average.
That evening, when she reached home, she fell face-first on the sofa and exhaled,
"Okay... today wasn't like the last exam. Better.
If I just... studied a little more... maybe it could've been great."
And that tiny "what if"
grew teeth.
So she opened her books again.
Third Exam Preparation — The Spiral Begins
Night turned into dawn.
Tea cups stacked like trophies of exhaustion.
Pages highlighted, scribbled, rewritten.
At first she was just studying.
But soon — she was running.
Against time.
Against herself.
Eyes bloodshot, hands trembling, she read the same paragraph again and again, as if meaning would appear on the 11th try.
She whispered while writing notes,
"I have to do better... Just one more page... one more topic... I can't fall again...
If I stop—I'll lose everything."
Her heart pounded like it was racing ahead without her.
Evening — The Descent
Evening bled into the room like ink spreading through water.
Yuki sat at her desk, face pale under the yellow desk lamp. The pages weren't papers anymore — they were walls. Walls closing in, suffocating. Every line she read dissolved the moment her eyes moved to the next. Her notebook trembled under her hand, but it wasn't the paper shaking — it was her.
Her heart was loud, too loud.
I studied this... didn't I? I did... right?
Why does it feel like nothing stayed?
What's wrong with me? Why can't I remember?
Her fingers dug into her hair as if she could squeeze memory back into her skull.
She flipped page after page, her handwriting staring back like a stranger's. Margins highlighted. Formulas circled. Notes freshly written. Yet her mind was blank — frighteningly blank.
Her phone rang.
Momo.
Yuki forced her voice steady.
"Hey..."
"Did you study the part Professor Kang emphasized? The one from chapter nine?"
Yuki froze.
Silence pressed like a hand on her throat.
Chapter nine.
Emphasized? When?
Her breath stuttered.
"No... I—I'll study it soon," she forced out, voice paper-thin.
When the call ended, she opened her notebook again.
The Moment Reality Broke
Yuki stared at her notebook.
Not looked — stared.
Eyes unblinking. Breath stalled in her throat.
The handwriting on the page was hers — the shapes, the arrows, the neatly numbered points — yet it felt like she was reading a stranger's thoughts. Familiar letters, familiar words, yet her mind responded with terrifying emptiness.
She had studied this.
She remembered studying it.
She had written every explanation with confidence just hours ago.
But now?
It felt like she was seeing it for the first time in her life.
Her fingers slowly loosened, the pen slipping from her grip.
Her shoulders dropped.
She sat frozen — brain blank, body cold, eyes locked on the ink like it was mocking her.
This is mine... so why does it feel new?
Why can't I understand what I already learned?
Why is it... gone?
Her throat tightened.
Something inside her was breaking.
Yuki forced herself to sit up straight, forced her hands to move, forced her eyes to scan the page again. She read the same paragraph once, twice, three times — every time it felt foreign. Empty. Like water running through a sieve.
Panic sparked.
She grabbed another book — highlighted lines, diagrams, formulas — none of it connected.
Her heart hammered faster.
She read harder, faster — as if speed would force her brain to obey.
Her breathing became sharp, shallow.
She studied like she was drowning — desperate, frantic, tearing through lines and pages.
Then, suddenly —
Her stomach lurched.
A violent wave shot through her, nauseating and sharp.
She stumbled up from her chair, one hand gripping the desk, the room tilting. The floor warped under her feet, the air twisting like heat haze. She rushed to the bathroom, barely making it before she leaned over the sink—
And everything came out.
Violent, painful vomiting, her body shaking, teeth clattering, eyes watering.
Every retch felt like her insides were being ripped open — like her body was rejecting her panic, her thoughts, her fear.
The world blurred — sink, tiles, light — melting like wet paint.
Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
Her knees buckled.
Her breath fractured.
Something inside her snapped — the quiet kind of breaking, the kind you don't hear, only feel.
Not loud, not messy — just final.
She slid down onto the cold bathroom floor, cheek pressed to tile, fingers curling weakly.
Vision dimming.
Mind blank.
Body heavy.
And just like that —
she collapsed, swallowed by exhaustion and panic, the world fading into distant, echoing silence.
When Jennie Found Her
The apartment was unusually quiet.
Jennie returned from buying dinner, plastic bags rustling at her side, humming something casual — unaware.
"Yuki? I got your favorite—"
No answer.
A faint dripping sound echoed from the hallway. Water running? No — not water. Something softer. Something wet, irregular.
Jennie's heart skipped.
She walked closer — slow at first, then faster.
Bathroom door slightly open.
Light on.
A shadow on the floor.
Her breath caught.
She pushed the door open — and froze.
Yuki was on the tiles — body curled in like a child, knees drawn toward her stomach, hair stuck to her damp cheek. Her fingers twitched weakly, like she'd fought to hold on and lost halfway. The sink had splashes where she had thrown up, water still running — untouched, forgotten.
"Yuki?"
Her voice cracked.
No response.
"Yuki!"
Jennie dropped everything — bags spilling, plastic tearing — and fell to her knees beside her. She lifted Yuki's head carefully, shaking hands brushing hair from her face. Yuki's skin was burning hot, but her lips were pale — frighteningly pale.
"Hey — look at me, okay? Yuki, open your eyes. Please..."
Nothing but a faint breath escaped Yuki's lips.
Jennie fumbled for her phone, fingers shaking so violently she nearly dropped it. She dialed emergency, voice quivering, words crashing into each other as she tried to explain.
"I– my friend— she collapsed, she's burning up, she's not responding, please come quickly— please—"
The wait for paramedics felt like hours even though it was minutes.
Jennie sat there the entire time, hand gripping Yuki's like an anchor — terrified to let go.
Hospital / Emergency Room
Bright lights. Rushed footsteps. Medical voices slicing the air.
Yuki was wheeled in on a stretcher — Jennie running behind, clutching her bag with numb fingers. Doctors surrounded the bed, attaching monitors, checking pulse, temperature, hydration levels.
Words Jen never wanted to hear floated around her like broken glass:
"Severe exhaustion."
"Possible shock response."
"Dehydration."
"Stress-induced collapse."
"Her blood pressure is unstable — prepare IV."
Jennie could barely breathe.
She stood outside the ER doors, fingers digging into her sleeves so she wouldn't scream or cry. Her world narrowed to the faint beeping rhythm coming through the wall — proof Yuki was still alive.
After what felt like eternity, a doctor stepped out.
"She's lucky she was found quickly. Her body was pushed far beyond its limit. She needs rest — not study, not stress."
Jennie nodded, tears finally slipping down.
"I'll stay. She won't be alone," she whispered.
And she meant it.
Yuki lay unconscious under soft blue hospital lights, IV dripping slowly into her hand.
Jennie sat beside her, holding that same hand gently — as if afraid that letting go would make the world collapse with it.
Silence filled the room.
The past days, the pressure, the endless studying — all of it suddenly made horrible sense.
This wasn't just fatigue.
This was a breaking point.
Hospital – Cabin Room
Jennie sat outside Cabin 12, phone trembling in her hand.
Her fingers typed quickly into the school group chat:
"Yuki collapsed. I'm at the hospital with her. Cabin 12. Stable but unconscious. Please come if you can."
Within minutes, footsteps echoed down the corridor. One by one, her closest friends arrived — Momo, Jihyo, Minjae, Sana, Junho — faces pale, eyes wide, voices tight with panic.
They crowded around Yuki's bed. She lay motionless under the blanket, her breathing shallow, her hands limp at her sides. Jennie sat nearest, brushing a stray hair from Yuki's forehead.
Momo: (voice trembling) "I... I thought she was just stressed. She said she was fine... how did this happen?"
Jennie: "She pushed herself too hard... panicked... then collapsed. I called the hospital right away."
Jihyo: (softly) "How long will she take to recover?"
Jennie: "The doctor says she just needs rest. Fluids, sleep... her mind has to calm down."
Sana and Minjae exchanged anxious glances.
Sana: "I can't imagine... all that pressure... and she hides it from everyone. How scary it must have felt."
Junho: (whispering) "Even a strong person like her... there's a breaking point."
Momo knelt beside the bed, fingers lightly tracing Yuki's hand.
Momo: "Do you think she knows we're here?"
Jennie: "Even if she doesn't, she can feel us. She won't wake up alone."
Hours passed quietly. Every small beep of the monitor seemed loud in the room. Jennie watched Yuki's chest rise and fall, whispering softly.
Jennie: (to Momo) "You should go home and sleep. You have an exam tomorrow. If you fail because you stayed awake... Yuki will blame herself."
Momo shook her head.
Jennie: "Momo... please. I'll stay here. She needs to wake up and see you rested. She'll worry less, trust me."
Finally, Momo nodded reluctantly, wiping her tears. She bent over Yuki, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
Momo: "Get well soon, okay? Don't scare us like this again."
Jennie stayed beside Yuki through the night, silently watching over her, afraid to blink.
In the quiet of Cabin 12, only the soft sound of Yuki's breathing reminded them that she was still here — still fighting.
Midnight
The room was quiet, the faint hum of the IV drip the only sound. Outside, the corridor was empty, dimly lit by soft hallway lights.
Yuki's eyelids fluttered open. Her head felt dizzy, her vision foggy, as if she were staring through a thick haze. The world tilted slightly, and a wave of nausea rose in her chest.
Jennie leaned over immediately, panic in her eyes. "Yuki... are you okay? Wait... stay still!"
Before Yuki could answer, Jennie's hand darted to the call button. "Hold on, I'm going to get help!" she whispered sharply, rising from the chair. She rushed out into the corridor and found an on-duty nurse walking the night rounds.
"Miss Yuki collapsed—she just woke up, she's dizzy and foggy," Jennie explained, voice urgent but controlled. "Can you come with me?"
The nurse nodded quickly, following Jennie back into Cabin 12.
Back inside, Yuki's hands trembled slightly on the blanket. Momo, half-awake, and the others stirred from their dozing, moving closer.
The nurse knelt beside Yuki's bed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Yuki, I'm Nurse Kim. You're stable, but you've overexerted yourself. Let's check your vitals."
She measured Yuki's pulse, blood pressure, and oxygen levels, adjusting the IV drip carefully. Yuki blinked slowly, nodding weakly.
Jennie crouched beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from Yuki's face. "See? You're okay. Just rest. I got help."
Yuki's lips moved faintly: "I... dizzy..."
The nurse smiled softly. "That's normal. We'll monitor you through the night. Try to sleep again — your body needs it."
Slowly, Yuki let her eyes close. The fog in her mind began to lift just a little. Jennie, relieved, sank back into her chair, watching over her friend. Jihyo, Minjae, Sana, and Junho each quietly settled into their spots, still tense but finally able to breathe slightly.
The nurse whispered: "She's stable. No complications, but she needs proper rest. You all can rest assured — she's being looked after."
Yuki's breathing evened, the room silent except for the gentle hum of the IV. Slowly, she drifted back into sleep, the friends' eyes softening as they watched over her through the night.
"Yuki's asleep... stable. She's alright now. You all can go home and get some rest. No need to crowd this cabin. If you're rested, you'll be able to help better tomorrow," Jennie said gently.
Jihyo shook his head, voice tired but hesitant. "I don't know... you stayed here all night alone with her. Maybe we should stay too."
Minjae added, "Yeah... she could wake up anytime. Better if someone's here."
Jennie's eyes were firm. "I'm fine. I need to be here whenever she opens her eyes. One person can stay with her — the rest should go home. Don't keep this room too crowded. Sana, you stay; Jihyo, Minjae, Junho, you should get some sleep. Come back tomorrow if needed."
After a moment of exchanging tired, resigned looks, the three nodded silently.
"Alright... we'll come back tomorrow," Junho whispered, stepping toward the door.
Sana settled into the chair closest to Yuki, keeping watch as Jennie adjusted the blanket, her hand lightly brushing Yuki's arm. The room fell into a quiet, protective calm, broken only by the gentle hum of the IV drip and Yuki's steady breathing.
Her fingers twitched in sleep, not for a hand to hold, but for the feel of a textbook she knew she wasn't strong enough to open.