I watched him from a distance that morning. Kang Daehyun laughed too loudly with his friends by the gym, his voice echoing off the walls like a challenge. I knew I had to get closer, to peel away the layers of arrogance and see what lay beneath.
After class, I lingered near the entrance of the old courtyard. I made sure to appear casual, blending into the chatter and laughter of students. When Daehyun stepped away from his group for a brief moment, I took my chance. I approached him with a relaxed smile, masking the calculation in my eyes.
"Daehyun, isn't it?" I said in a low, steady tone. "I've seen you around. You always seem to have things under control."
His eyes narrowed for an instant—a flash of surprise quickly hidden by his usual bravado. "Yeah, that's me. What do you want?" he replied, his tone edged with curiosity and caution.
I leaned against a weathered bench, careful not to seem intrusive. "I know you like your routines," I continued, "but sometimes, breaking them can be fun. I know a quiet spot behind the school—a place where you can really breathe. No one's watching, no one's judging."
He hesitated, his thick confidence warring with a spark of interest. "Why would you tell me that?"
"Maybe I'm just tired of the same old crowd," I answered simply. "Sometimes, you need a change of scenery to clear your head."
There was a pause. I could see the gears turning in his eyes as he weighed the idea. Slowly, his posture relaxed, and his guard lowered just a bit. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll bite. When do you want to go?"
"After school," I replied, keeping my tone casual. "We can meet by the side entrance of the academy. Just you and me."
As he nodded, I felt the thrill of the game intensify. Every detail of his answer confirmed he was falling into my carefully laid trap. I had to be patient. In the days that followed, I made sure to cross his path often—at the cafeteria, in the hallways—always exchanging brief words or smiles that deepened the trust between us.
I paid close attention to his habits. I noticed how he always took a longer walk after lunch, as if he craved solitude. I learned that his friends rarely saw him alone. Slowly, I nudged him away from his crowd with quiet suggestions: "Sometimes, it's good to get away from everyone," or "There's a lot more to life if you step off the beaten path."
Each small word built a bridge between us—a connection that made him believe he was choosing his own escape. All the while, my mind was mapping out the perfect moment, the precise details of a scene where no one would interrupt, where I would have him exactly where I needed him.
I could see the shift in him. His laughter became less boisterous, his eyes a bit more thoughtful. That change was subtle, but it meant he was listening. He started to trust the suggestion of this secret place, and soon, we had an appointment.
That afternoon, as the final bell rang, I waited in the shadows near the side door. My pulse remained steady, my thoughts clear and simple—nothing mattered but the moment when everything would fall into place. I could almost taste the tension in the air as I pictured the scene: a quiet, deserted area, the sound of my footsteps mingling with his hesitant steps.
In that moment, the hunt truly began. Every smile, every word, and every small act of kindness was a thread woven into a trap from which there would be no escape. And as I watched him walk toward our meeting place, I knew that soon enough, the final act of this dark performance would unfold exactly as I had planned.