|| Philophobia || Baek Kyung

Chapter - 2 The possession of Hwang Yeona

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm asking if you're possessed?"

"If she was possessed she wouldn't admit it. Maybe we should call an exorcist," Aeil suggested, tilting her head with that annoying I-look-pretty-even-while-talking expression.

"I don't know..." Illjin shrugged lazily.

"She just called the whole A3 gross. What more proof could you possibly need?!" Saemi shrieked, waving her hands like she was auditioning for Drama Queen: The Musical right in front of Soochul and Dan Oh.

"Oh my god," Soochul turned his camera to her like she was the season finale, "as you can see, Yeona here is clearly possessed-"

Yeona slammed her palms over her ears, glaring at them so sharply the air temperature probably dropped three degrees. The room collectively shivered. She didn't even have to say a word before whispers started. The rumor mill had a new headline.

Sagak.

Her surroundings shifted. Control of her own body slipped away like sand through fingers. And now-what the actual hell-she was hanging off Baek Kyung's arm, words spilling out of her mouth like someone else was piloting her.

Kill me. Actually kill me.

Baek Kyung looked down at her, eyebrow arched in disgust. "Shh. Yeona, what the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" she thought, her inner voice dripping with venom. "Dude, look at you-me-clinging on him like a five-year-old begging for candy. Jesus Christ, get a damn life."

"Oh, she is definitely possessed," Saemi announced from somewhere behind them.

"The fuck I'm not!"

"Yes you are, missy."

"Bleh."

"Now who's the five-year-old?"

"You."

"Sure."

Baek Kyung didn't even wait for the bickering to end. He just walked off, expression unreadable, like nothing happened. Yeona wasn't embarrassed. Why would she be? He'd forget by tomorrow. That was the twisted comfort of this world-nothing stuck unless the "author" wanted it to.

Meanwhile, little Dan Oh was busy chasing after Haru like an overly determined Pokémon trainer.

Sagak.

Yeona's lunch vanished. Her body dropped into a different scene-home this time. Barney, her dog, sat beside her like a loyal fluffy shadow. At least she wasn't glued to anyone's arm this time.

Then her cat, Shrimp, decided to launch himself off the ceiling fan like he was auditioning for Mission Impossible: Feline Edition.

"Oh my god, Shrimp!!! You little piece of-cat!" She caught herself mid-curse. No swearing in front of Barney, her angel. The cat didn't deserve the same respect.

"Meow." Shrimp's tone basically translated to: If I wanna jump, I jump. Try and stop me, human.

"Woof." Barney wagged his tail, convinced this was a celebration of their now-broken TV.

Yeona sighed, locked both fur menaces in a plant-free room, then swept up shards of glass while muttering "Sweet Home Alabama" like some grim reaper karaoke.

Sagak.

The air was colder now. The walls tighter. The lighting dim. The sound of leather hitting flesh cut through the silence. A boy's strangled cry followed.

Baek Daesung stood there, stepmother's nails digging into his arm like talons, dragging him away while she barked accusations. His crime? He'd acted too cold toward Dan Oh in front of her father.

Baek Kyung watched from the corner, jaw tense. His father's voice was syrupy-sweet when he talked about "marrying the girl for the family's sake." Everyone knew she was dying soon. Daesung knew. He didn't care-she was just money to him.

Baek Kyung cared. That was the problem.

The price of caring in this house was pain. His father didn't tolerate softness. So Baek Kyung kept his face carved from stone, his voice edged in ice, because anything else meant more bruises to hide.

And when the whipping came for him later that night-because it always did-he stayed silent. He didn't scream anymore. Screaming only encouraged them.

Sagak.

The next morning didn't bring relief. The ache was still in his bones, and Daesung's voice still slithered in his ears: "Act sweet to Dan Oh. Make her believe you care." He even had the audacity to try and bribe him with 500,000 won, waving the bills like a joke.

Baek Kyung didn't take it.

Cheap tricks from a cheap man.

He wished his father would just disappear. Death didn't scare him anymore. Living like this did.

What he didn't know-what none of them knew-was that the author had already set something in motion. Something that would change everything.

Baek Kyung stared at his reflection in the mirror, the early morning light barely touching his bruised skin. His knuckles hovered near his cheekbone, not because it hurt, but because he couldn't remember the last time he looked in the mirror and didn't see damage staring back.
It was strange - pain had a way of becoming background noise. The ache in his ribs, the split in his lip, the weight in his chest... it all blended into something numb.
The only thing he couldn't tune out was the voice in his head. You'll never be enough. His father's voice.

School was supposed to be an escape, but lately, even the hallways felt like a cage. The girls screaming for A3, the boys watching them with envy, the staged scenes that made no sense - it all felt like a script he hadn't agreed to read. Every step was heavy, but not because of the bruises. It was the knowledge that after the pages flipped, he'd be forced back home again. Back to him.

He hated the way people looked at him like they knew him. Like the arrogant smirk and cold remarks were the whole of him. No one saw the nights he spent awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would be like to live without fear. No one saw the way his hands shook after his father's footsteps faded down the hall.

Pathetic, he told himself.
He was supposed to be strong.
He was supposed to be untouchable.

"Kyung-ah."
His father's voice sliced through the silence, laced with fake warmth.
Baek Kyung didn't answer.

The door opened anyway.
A shadow filled the frame, and with it came the smell of expensive cologne that made Kyung's stomach churn. "Remember what I told you. Be good to Dan-oh. Play your part. Smile." His father tossed the envelope onto the desk - thick, stuffed with money - as if that could buy obedience. "Five hundred thousand won. Consider it motivation."

Baek Kyung didn't even look at it. "Consider it trash."

His father's smile vanished. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. "Watch your mouth, boy."
And then the door shut.

Baek Kyung sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door. Every instinct told him to take the money, to play along, to survive. But another voice - quiet, unfamiliar - whispered something else. What if you didn't? What if you stopped letting him write your story?

He didn't know it yet, but that thought... that small flicker of rebellion... was the start of something.
Something that would shatter the script.
Something that would change everything.