nurse's office | minsung ✓

1

Han Jisung was an ordinary quiet kid, unnoticed in the background of a not-so-ordinary institution where wealth and status were practically prerequisites for existence. But he had something different—he had brains. While his peers were busy flaunting their last names or luxury items, Jisung was focused on something else: survival. He wasn't born into privilege, unlike almost everyone else in this place. His family wasn't wealthy, his clothes weren't designer, and he certainly didn't have the connections that opened doors without knocking. What he did have, though, was an unyielding determination. For someone studying law, Jisung was exceptional. He didn't just memorize textbooks and ace exams—he understood the intricacies of the system. His mind worked differently, dissecting arguments, finding loopholes, and challenging the rules in ways others didn't. He worked harder, stayed up later, and knew more than most of his classmates combined. He had earned his place here, no doubt. Pretty inspirational, right?

Wrong.

Beneath the surface, there was nothing glorious about the path Jisung had walked. Each step forward was a struggle, and each success came at a cost. The long nights of studying weren't filled with the satisfaction of learning, but with the suffocating pressure of needing to be the best—because anything less meant failure. And failure wasn't an option when you had nothing to fall back on. In a world where everyone else seemed to have everything handed to them, Jisung had to fight for every inch of ground he gained. His brilliance wasn't celebrated. It wasn't admired. It was expected. To them, he wasn't exceptional—he was just another cog in the machine. And that's what hurt the most.

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The school bell rang, its sharp echo pulling Jisung back into the present. He blinked, staring blankly at the half-finished math problem in front of him, though the numbers blurred together. The noise in the classroom swirled around him, but it might as well have been miles away.

His hands gripped the sides of his desk as the familiar whispers started to crawl through the air again. His name, tossed around like it was something to laugh at. Something to poke fun at. Jisung kept his head down, shoulders hunched, hoping he could disappear, if only for a moment.

He could feel the stares—eyes lingering on him, waiting for him to react. It was the same every day. A quiet kid. A ghost in the background. Easy to target.

A few seats away, a snicker broke through the hum of the classroom. "What a loser. Always by himself."

Jisung's jaw tightened, but he didn't look up. He couldn't. If he did, they'd know it bothered him. That's what they wanted, wasn't it? He pressed his lips together and tried to focus on the math sheet again, the one he couldn't even begin to understand.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if anyone cared. The teachers certainly didn't. The counselors just spouted clichés about making friends, learning to "get along." No one wanted to hear about how exhausting it was to be trapped in a place where everyone seemed to want you gone.

Jisung's pulse quickened as another sharp laugh echoed across the room, loud enough that he felt it in his chest. He could feel the heat rising up his neck, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to get up, run out, find somewhere—anywhere—that wasn't here.

But he didn't. He never did.

The bell rang again, signaling the end of class, and Jisung let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He shoved his books into his bag and stood up quickly, trying to avoid any more attention. His movements were stiff, robotic, as though he could disappear into the crowd of students filing out into the hallway.

As he walked, he kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he could just make it through another day without anyone noticing him.

The truth was, Jisung felt invisible most of the time—until they decided to see him. Until they remembered he was there, waiting for their ridicule.

And each day, the weight of that silence—the kind no one but him seemed to feel—grew heavier.

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