Mi-ra stayed where she was, her legs locked, her chest tight like it was being crushed from the inside.
Something dark had just cracked open.
She found her again in the bathroom.
The girl was bent over the sink, vomiting violently, hands gripping the porcelain as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her reflection looked shattered—eyes red, skin pale, lips bitten raw.
Mi-ra stepped closer.
“Are you… okay?”
The girl flinched, spinning around, terror flashing across her face before she forced a nod.
“I’m fine.”
The lie was weak. Transparent.
Mi-ra hesitated, then asked gently, “Why are you throwing up?”
“I—” the girl swallowed hard. “Just sick.”
Mi-ra’s voice softened further, careful, precise.
“…Are you pregnant?”
The girl’s face went completely blank.
“you can trust me.”
Then she broke.
Her knees gave out, and she slid down the wall, hands clutching her uniform as sobs tore out of her chest—raw, ugly, uncontrollable.
“My name is Seoryeon,” she whispered through tears.
Rare. Fragile. Like frost on glass.
“There’s a boy here,” she continued, voice shaking. “Kang Jiwook.”
Mi-ra stiffened but said nothing.
“He transferred this year. He goes after girls like me—girls with no backing, no powerful families. Girls no one would protect.” Her laugh cracked, bitter and hollow. “At Haneulhwa, status is everything. People like him can do anything… and the school will look away.”
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