The bottle finished rolling and came to a stop near the leg of a chair.
Eun-Woo bent, picked it up, and set it back on the table as if nothing had happened.
"Hey," Ji-Woo said lightly. "You okay?"
He nodded once. Too quickly.
"I have to go," he said, already stepping back.
"What? Now?" She laughed softly, confused. "We're not done yet—"
"I said I have to go."
Not angry. Not cold. Just… final.
He turned before she could ask anything else, his coat brushing past her arm as he walked away.
His phone stayed in his hand the entire time, screen dark, unreadable. She didn't reach for it.
Didn't think to. Why would she?
She watched his back disappear between the lights and equipment, her smile fading slowly, like it hadn't gotten the memo yet.
Something felt off.
Too off.
Ji-Woo stood there for a moment, heart tapping uneasily against her ribs.
She replayed his face in her mind—the way his eyes had gone distant, the way his voice had changed.
Then it hit her.
Not all at once.Not loudly.
Just a quiet, terrifying thought.
Does he know…?
Her fingers curled at her sides.
The truth—the one they had buried, the one that was never supposed to surface—felt suddenly closer, like a shadow stretching toward her feet.
And for the first time, Ji-Woo realized she wasn't ready for what would happen if Eun-Woo had seen it.
--
The classroom was wrong.
Ji-Woo felt it the moment she stepped inside.
Too quiet.
Not the sleepy-morning quiet—but the kind that presses against your ears.
Every desk seemed abandoned except for one place where students had gathered, bodies angled inward, whispers half-swallowed.
Mi-Sook's table.
Ji-Woo's steps slowed.
Ji-Bok was slumped at his desk near the window, head resting on his arms, fast asleep—untouched by whatever storm was waiting.
Eun-Woo wasn't there.
Her chest tightened.
Then Mi-Sook stood.
The scrape of her chair against the floor sounded too loud.
She turned, eyes locking onto Ji-Woo, and walked toward her with deliberate calm.
"You really have a talent," Mi-Sook said quietly, stopping just short of her.
"For ruining people's lives."
Ji-Woo's breath caught. "What are you—"
Mi-Sook didn't wait.
She turned and walked back to the front of the room, stepping behind the teacher's desk as if it belonged to her.
Ji-Woo stood frozen at the doorway.
Her lungs wouldn't work properly. Each breath came shallow, unfinished.
Every eye in the room had shifted to her now—Ji-Ho, watching tensely.
The blonde-haired girl leaning forward.
The girl with her hair in a bun, lips parted. The messy-haired boy whispering under his breath.
The popular boy's gaze sharp, curious.
Almost everyone.
Ji-Bok slept on.
Mi-Sook placed both hands on the desk.
"The girl you're all looking at," she said, her voice calm, controlled, "is not who you think she is."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"After the accident," Mi-Sook continued, eyes never leaving Ji-Woo, "did any of you bother asking what really happened? Did you check? Did you question anything beyond what you were told?"
Ji-Woo took a step back.
Mi-Sook reached into her bag.
That was when Ji-Bok stirred.
His eyes opened slowly—then snapped fully awake.
The first thing he saw was Ji-Woo.
Pale. Rigid. Hands clenched at her sides like she was holding herself together by force.
Then his gaze shifted.
To Mi-Sook.
She pulled out a folder.
Thick. Official.
She dropped it onto the desk.
The sound echoed.
Mi-Sook opened it and turned it outward.
Two photos.
Two girls.
Same face. Same eyes. Same lips.
Different hair.
The room inhaled sharply as one.
"How is that possible?" someone whispered.
"No way—"
"That's fake, right?"
Ji-Woo backed away another step, shaking her head, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the whispers.
Ji-Bok stood up.
Slowly.
His chair slid back, unnoticed.
His eyes moved between the photos and Ji-Woo, something dark and unreadable settling in his expression.
Mi-Sook's voice cut clean through the noise.
"This," she said, tapping the folder, "is a DNA report."
The whispers grew louder. Accusations tangled with disbelief.
Ji-Woo's legs trembled.
The truth—exposed, undeniable—hung in the air like a held breath that no one knew how to release.
And Ji-Bok, fully awake now, took one step forward.
-+-
Eun-Woo stared at his phone again.
Same photo. Same faces.
He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled hard. "No… this can't be."
But the doubt wouldn't leave.
He grabbed his jacket from the chair, didn't bother zipping it, and walked out—then broke into a run.
The air burned his lungs as he headed straight for the school, one thought pounding louder than his footsteps.
Please be there. Please still be there.
He didn't slow down when he reached the building.
He took the stairs two at a time, heart hammering, fear sharp and unfamiliar.
Then he reached the classroom.
The door was open.
And the moment he stepped inside—everything stopped making sense.
Voices.Whispers.A heavy, choking silence layered underneath it all.
Mi-Sook stood behind the teacher's desk.
Ji-Woo stood near the doorway, pale, backing away.
And on the desk—a folder. Open.
Two photos.
Eun-Woo's breath left him.
It's real.
Before he could move, a chair scraped loudly across the floor.
Ji-Bok was standing.
"What are you doing?" Ji-Bok snapped, his voice cutting through the room like glass.
"Stop this."
Mi-Sook turned slowly. "Sit down, Ji-Bok. This doesn't concern—"
"Yes, it does!" he shouted.
Everyone froze.
Ji-Bok stepped forward, eyes blazing—not at Mi-Sook, but at Ji-Woo. His fists were clenched, his chest rising fast, frustration spilling over.
"Ji-Woo," he said, voice breaking under the strain, "tell them."
Her head snapped up.
"Tell the truth!" he yelled.
"I'm tired of this—of everyone talking, of lies being thrown around like weapons. Just—"
He dragged a hand through his hair, raw and desperate. "Just say it. Say what's real."
The room held its breath.
Eun-Woo stood rooted near the door, his gaze locked on Ji-Woo.
He could see it now—the fear she couldn't hide, the way her body trembled like she was bracing for impact.
His heart sank.
She knows I'm here.
Mi-Sook smiled faintly, cruel and satisfied.
"Go on," she said softly. "This is your chance."
Ji-Woo's lips parted.
No sound came out.
And in that moment—before the truth was spoken, before the room shattered completely—Eun-Woo realized something with terrifying clarity:
Whatever Ji-Woo said next would change everything.