2: The Cake and The Shadow
The memory of the little cake lingered in Son oh-gong's mind, a tiny, warm ember in the cold fortress he had built around himself. He knew the feeling now: it was attachment. It was Jin Seon-mi.
He found himself waiting for her every morning, an unprecedented shift in his routine. Today, she was late. The minute hand swept past the start of the first bell. He felt a sudden, sharp jolt of anxiety, an emotion he quickly crushed, telling himself it was just irritation at the disruption.
Just then, a hurried figure burst through the door. It was Jeon Yeo Been, the junior girl who had defended the victim the previous day. She scanned the room, spotted Son oh-gong, and quickly approached his desk, her face unusually serious.
"Son oh-gong," she whispered, leaning down. "Jin Seon-mi is not well. She collapsed near the main gate. They took her to the infirmary."
The word "collapsed" hit him harder than Yoon Eun-seong's punch. Before he could process the information, Jeon Yeo Been quickly added, "Don't worry, she insisted I give you this." She placed a small, foil-wrapped package on his desk—the familiar cake. "She told me, 'He needs his breakfast'."
Son oh-gong stared at the cake, his mind a blank, terrifying storm. He abandoned the class, ignoring the teacher's stern call, and sprinted toward the infirmary.
When he reached the room, he saw her. Jin Seon-mi was pale, a gentle sweat beading on her forehead, but she smiled weakly when she saw him. "Oh-gong... you came," she managed.
"What happened?" His voice was rougher than he intended.
"Just... low sugar. I forgot my own breakfast this morning," she admitted, rubbing her temple. "You shouldn't have left class."
He didn't reply. He only sat beside her, the cake still clutched in his hand. For the first time, the urge to retreat vanished. He felt a fierce, protective emotion—the thought of losing her, losing that sense of belonging, was unbearable.
Later that evening, while walking back alone, the fear he had felt in the infirmary returned, overwhelming him. He diverted his path toward his mother's old, abandoned house, needing the solitude to process the chaos of his emotions.
He sat on the crumbling porch, his head buried in his hands. He felt the cold air, the silence, and then that familiar, chilling awareness—the presence of an unseen observer.
But this time, it was different.
He slowly looked up, his eyes scanning the dark shadows under the large oak tree near the house. He saw nothing. Yet, just as he was about to dismiss it as panic, a piece of folded, thick paper floated down from the tree branch and landed at his feet.
He unfolded it. Written in sharp, careful handwriting were two words: "Be Strong."
This time, the unseen person hadn't offered comfort; they had offered a command. Son oh-gong was no longer just being watched. He was being guided.