(緑) ongoing
۶ৎ Multi-Idol Winter Special
ⓘ in which, step into a winter's embrace, where the intertwined lives of fourteen senior high girls in the same classroom reveal love in fourteen unforgettable forms-each one a tale of heartbreak, obsession...
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— Baby, no more real love.
won't you cry for me? : prologue
The classroom is quiet now.
Silent, almost as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for something that will never come.
Fourteen desks, fourteen stories—a symphony of quiet tragedies, written in the cold air that hangs heavy like an unspoken secret.
Outside, the winter sky stretches wide and grey, the wind whispering forgotten confessions through cracks in the old windows. Snow falls slowly, softly, covering everything in a blanket of cold indifference.
Each flake melts, leaving only a trace of what was once there, much like love—beautiful, fleeting, and gone before you realize it.
This isn’t a fairytale.
No warm endings here.
Love doesn’t bloom like spring flowers; it freezes like frost on the glass, delicate and destructive, leaving behind patterns of heartbreak that only the brokenhearted can see.
Fourteen girls sit in this classroom, each carrying a weight that no one else sees—a quiet war behind their eyes. They smile, laugh, move through the hallways like ghosts of themselves, each step echoing with the memory of something lost.
You’d think love is the same for everyone, wouldn’t you?
The butterflies, the trembling hands, the stolen glances.
But here, in this place, love wears fourteen faces, each one a different tragedy.
First love, forbidden love, unrequited longing—love that destroys, love that betrays, love that leaves nothing but ashes in its wake.
They’ve all felt it.
They’ve all been burned by it. And now, they sit here, in this cold room, with stories that no one else will ever fully understand.
Look closer. Can you see them?
The quiet girl at the back, tracing faded initials on her desk.
The one who laughs too loudly, hiding the crack in her smile.
The one who stares out the window, watching the snow fall, lost in a memory she can’t forget.
They’re not looking for sympathy.
They know better.
The world doesn’t cry for girls like them.
Itwatches, judges, and moves on.
They are trapped in this winter, in this classroom, in these stories that no one wants to hear.
But you’re here now.
You’ve found your way into this room, into their stories. They know you’re watching, listening. And they’re not asking for much.
Just a moment of your time.
Just a flicker of your heart.
They’re not asking for understanding—no, that would be too much. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel something. Maybe you’ll hear the echo of their quiet suffering in the rustle of the falling snow.
Won’t you cry for them? Won’t you let the winter seep into your bones, let the weight of their stories settle heavy on your heart?
Fourteen tragedies, woven together like the snowflakes outside: fragile, fleeting, gone too soon.
The bell will ring soon, and they’ll go back to their lives, back to their masks. But for now, in this moment, the classroom is theirs.
