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Three days. Three days of Chaeyoung's elusive "not-going-home" routine.  My sigh mirrored the erratic flight of the birds outside the classroom window, a restless counterpoint to Professor Kim's droning lecture.  Jihyo's nudge and silent question – "You okay?" – went unanswered, my gaze fixed on the chaotic dance of wings against the pale sky.

The end of class brought a text from my dad, a familiar blend of urgency and pragmatism.  A business trip overseas meant I was in charge of the family hospital, a task I sweetened with a successful negotiation for a doubled allowance.  The money arrived instantly, a digital reward for my blackmail.  A whoop of triumph escaped me as I hailed a cab.

The hospital was in good shape; shares, rates, everything was in order.  My text to my dad was met with a ridiculous penguin sticker – my brother's influence, no doubt. I chuckled, the image of my dad awkwardly holding up a thumbs-up a surprisingly accurate representation.

Bidding farewell to the secretary, I decided to explore the recently renovated VIP wing.  A year's transformation had rendered the place almost unrecognizable.  I was tracing the sleek lines of the hallway when a sharp smack cut through the quiet.

Another smack followed, then another.  A woman, late 40s, her face etched with fury, was slapping a girl with a shockingly familiar back.  The blows were brutal, each one a sickening thud against flesh.  The woman left as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving the girl hissing in pain, clutching her swollen cheek.  Then, she turned, offering a bitter, almost broken smile, and my breath hitched in my throat.

I tried to hide behind the vending machine, a pathetic attempt at concealment.  But luck, it seemed, wasn't on my side.

"Mina?"

Fuck.

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