Annyeongz One-shots

68. Lost

The prestigious halls of Seoul Elite High School buzzed with the usual afternoon energy—students rushing to clubs, laughter echoing off marble floors, and the faint scent of cherry blossoms drifting in from the courtyard. At the center of it all stood Jang Wonyoung, the undisputed vice president of the student council. Tall, poised, with long dark hair that fell like silk and an effortless grace that made heads turn, she was the epitome of the "good girl." Her uniform was immaculate, her smile polite yet distant, and her reputation spotless. Everyone knew she was dating Choi Soobin, the towering student council president—186 cm of quiet confidence, dimples, and perfect grades. They were the golden couple: power couple of the school, untouchable, ideal.

Then there was Ahn Yujin.

Yujin was the school's resident bad boy. Not the cartoonish delinquent with dyed hair and a motorcycle—he was subtler, sharper. Tall like Wonyoung (173 cm of lean muscle and careless swagger), with messy black hair that always looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, sharp jawline, and eyes that held a perpetual challenge. He skipped classes when he felt like it, hung around the back gates smoking with his crew, got into fights (though he never started them), and somehow always slipped out of serious trouble. Teachers called him "troublemaker with potential." Students called him dangerous. He never bothered Soobin before—never even looked his way. Until last semester.

It started small. A rumor. A whispered story that Soobin had overheard in the locker room: Yujin had supposedly hooked up with a girl Soobin had once liked in middle school. It wasn't true—Yujin didn't even know the girl—but Soobin believed it. From that day, the president decided Yujin was his personal enemy.

The attacks were petty at first. Yujin's desk vandalized with crude drawings. His locker stuffed with trash. Notes left saying "orphan trash" or "poor nobody lives in a box." Yujin ignored most of it. He had no parents—true enough; they'd passed when he was twelve, and he lived alone in a small rented apartment paid for by a distant aunt's stipend and his part-time job at a convenience store. He didn't talk about it. He didn't need pity.

But Soobin kept pushing.

One rainy Thursday, Yujin walked into homeroom to find his entire desk covered in black permanent marker: "No parents = no manners," "Beggar," "Stay away from people who matter." The class went silent when he entered. He stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight, then calmly gathered his things and left without a word.

That afternoon, he waited outside the council room.

Soobin emerged last, laughing with Wonyoung at his side. She was carrying a stack of event flyers, her expression soft as she listened to him.

Yujin stepped forward, voice low. "We need to talk."

Soobin smirked. "About what? Your sad little life?"

Wonyoung frowned slightly. "Soobin..."

Yujin ignored her. "Cut the crap. You've been at this for months. What's your problem?"

"My problem?" Soobin stepped closer, towering over him. "You're a walking disgrace. No family, no money, no future. You think you belong here? You don't."

Yujin's fists clenched. "You don't know shit about me."

"I know enough. People like you ruin everything you touch."

Something snapped.

Yujin had brought a water bottle filled not with water—but with the dark red paint he'd found dumped in the art room trash earlier. It was thick, sticky, meant for murals. He'd planned to dump it over Soobin's pristine white shirt in the courtyard where everyone could see.

He uncapped it.

Soobin laughed. "What, gonna cry now?"

Yujin lunged forward, arm swinging.