The morning after my father's death, I sat at the dining table, drinking coffee as if nothing had changed.
The city outside was alive—cars moving like veins pumping through a mechanical heart, people rushing to jobs they hated, lives they barely controlled. It was fascinating, how they clung to routine, convinced that predictability equaled safety.
I stirred my coffee. My mother, Seong Minji, sat across from me, her manicured fingers delicately slicing into a grapefruit.
Not once did she mention the corpse rotting in our basement.
That was our unspoken language. She played the role of the refined, grieving widow, and I played the dutiful, accomplished son. Society required masks, and we wore ours well.
I took a sip of my coffee. "Mother."
She hummed in acknowledgment, never looking up.
"Do you think anyone will notice?"
Finally, she met my gaze. There was no concern in her eyes, no anxiety—only amusement, as if the question itself was unnecessary. She dabbed her lips with a napkin before answering.
"Only if you give them a reason to."
That was the first lesson: Perception is everything.
So, I got up, grabbed my backpack, and left for school.
---
Jinhwa Private Academy was a place where appearances mattered.
The sons and daughters of the elite gathered here, polished and poised, trained from birth to be the next generation of rulers. They thought wealth and privilege made them untouchable. They had no idea how fragile their little world was.
I walked through the gates, slipping effortlessly into my usual performance.
"Jiwon! Over here!"
Han Jisoo—my closest 'friend.' I turned, offering him a casual smile. "Jisoo."
He grinned, slapping my back. "Man, you always look like you have your life together. What's your secret?"
I chuckled. "Discipline, Jisoo. You should try it sometime."
He groaned. "Ugh, my parents would love you. Anyway, are you coming to the party this weekend? It's at Sungho's place—his parents are out of the country."
I feigned hesitation. "I'll think about it."
It was exhausting, this dance. The endless small talk, the fake laughs, the pretending. But routine was necessary. If I ever slipped—if I ever let them see the hollowness behind my mask—they'd recoil. And I wasn't ready for that yet.
Then, something caught my attention.
At the far end of the hallway, a boy I had never paid attention to before stood near the lockers. He wasn't talking to anyone. He wasn't even moving. Just… watching.
His eyes flickered toward me for the briefest second before he quickly looked away.
That was interesting.
"Who's that?" I asked Jisoo.
Jisoo followed my gaze. "Oh, him? That's Choi Taesung. New transfer. Kinda weird. Keeps to himself."
Weird.
People used that word when they didn't understand something.
I smiled. "I think I'll introduce myself."
Jisoo laughed. "What, feeling charitable?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I made my way toward Choi Taesung, every movement controlled, deliberate.
When I stopped in front of him, he looked up. His fingers twitched. He knew.
"Choi Taesung, right?" I said smoothly, offering my hand. "I'm Seong Jiwon."
There was a hesitation—too brief for most people to notice, but I wasn't most people.
His grip was weaker than I expected. But his eyes…
For a moment, I saw something I recognized. Something that made my pulse quicken.
He wasn't afraid of me.
He was studying me.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt something close to excitement.