Ji-Soo didn't remember how she got home.
Only that her feet kept moving long after her mind stopped cooperating.
The gate clicked shut behind her with a soft sound that felt too loud in her ears.
And then—
She was inside.
The moment she stepped into the courtyard, someone was already there.
Min-jun.
Like he had been waiting.
Like he always somehow knew.
"Ji-Soo."
Her name came out fast—worried, breath already uneven as he rushed forward.
Before she could even answer, he pulled her into a hug.
Not hesitant.
Not careful.
Just immediate.
Like if he didn't hold her, she might disappear again.
Her hands stayed frozen for half a second.
Then she grabbed onto his shirt.
Hard.
Her breath broke.
"I saw them," she said quickly, voice cracking before she could stop it. "Ji-Woo… Mi-Sook… all of them."
Min-jun stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away.
He just held her tighter.
"I know," he said quietly. "I'm here. You're okay."
Her fingers trembled against his back.
"I walked past Eun-Woo," she added, almost too fast, like she needed it out of her chest. "He didn't see me. He didn't even—Min-jun, he didn't see me."
That was what broke her voice completely.
The last word came out thin.
Min-jun finally pulled back just enough to look at her face.
His hands stayed on her shoulders.
"Hey," he said gently. "Sit down."
He guided her to the front porch steps without waiting for protest.
Ji-Soo sat.
He sat beside her immediately, close enough that their shoulders touched.
The world felt quieter there.
For a second.
Her breath still wasn't steady.
She stared at the ground.
Then whispered, almost to herself, "I'm enjoying staying here… living her life."
But even as she said it, her voice didn't match the words.
Her throat tightened.
Tears slipped down before she could stop them.
She didn't wipe them.
Just blinked again like she could reset herself.
Min-jun exhaled slowly, watching her.
"I know," he said softly.
A pause.
"I know why it's like this."
At that, Ji-Soo looked up slightly.
Min-jun didn't rush his words.
He just reached over and patted her shoulder once.
Warm.
Steady.
"Mi-Sook… your mom… all of it," he said carefully. "It's not simple for you. Or for her."
Ji-Soo let out a shaky breath.
Still crying, but quieter now.
Min-jun's hand moved up gently, cupping her face.
He wiped her tears with his thumb without making a big deal out of it.
"You're doing fine," he said. "Ji-Soo is strong. Your sister is strong."
A faint, tired silence.
Then—softly, almost like he was trying to make her breathe again—
"I remember when she used to yell at me for literally everything?" he added.
Ji-Soo blinked through tears.
Min-jun continued, a small smile forming.
"She'd say I'm 'dramatic' just because I coughed once. Like I was personally attacking her peace."
A pause.
"And she once told me I breathe too loudly."
That got it.
A small laugh slipped out of Ji-Soo before she could stop it.
Weak.
But real.
Min-jun smiled a little more at that, like he had been waiting for it.
"There she is," he murmured.
He pulled her into another hug, slower this time.
Ji-Soo leaned into it without hesitation now.
Holding on tighter.
The porch creaked slightly as someone stepped out.
Mrs. Han.
She didn't interrupt.
Just walked over quietly and placed a glass of water beside Ji-Soo.
Her hand rested briefly on Ji-Soo's head—gentle, grounding.
"You're home now," she said simply.
Ji-Soo nodded faintly.
Then, without words, she leaned forward and hugged her too.
Short.
Soft.
Grateful.
Mrs. Han patted her back once before sitting nearby, letting the silence settle properly this time.
No questions.
No pressure.
Just presence.
Min-jun stayed beside Ji-Soo as she slowly calmed down, his shoulder still against hers like an anchor she didn't have to ask for.
And for the first time since she saw them on the road—
Her breathing started to match the quiet again.
The bus ride back to school felt shorter than usual, but heavier.
Ji-Woo didn't speak to anyone on the way in.
She just stared out the window, watching the buildings slide past like nothing had changed—when everything clearly had.
When the bus stopped, she stood up quietly and stepped off with the others.
No hesitation.
No stopping.
Straight into the school gates.
The familiar noise of students, shoes on tile, distant shouting—it all hit at once, but she didn't slow down.
She went straight to her classroom.
Sat down.
Placed her bag beside her desk.
For a brief moment, she just stayed there.
Still.
Like she was trying to reset herself into "normal."
But then—
The air shifted.
Ji-Woo felt it before she looked up.
Mi-Sook.
Standing at the doorway.
Not rushing in. Not loud.
Just there.
Watching her like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Ji-Woo's fingers paused on her bag strap.
Mi-Sook walked in slowly.
Each step deliberate.
The class didn't fully react—some students noticed, some didn't—but the tension between them made everything else feel distant.
Mi-Sook stopped right beside Ji-Woo's desk.
"Back already?" she said lightly.
Too light.
Ji-Woo didn't answer immediately.
She looked up at her.
Calm on the surface.
But her eyes were sharp now.
Mi-Sook smiled faintly.
Then leaned in just slightly.
Her voice dropped.
"You should be careful," she said. "Things are… shifting for you."
Ji-Woo didn't move.
Mi-Sook's gaze flicked over her face.
Like she was measuring something.
Then—
She gave a small push to Ji-Woo's shoulder.
Not enough to knock her down.
But enough to make her shift sideways and hit the edge of the wall beside her desk.
Ji-Woo's shoulder tensed on impact.
A small wince slipped out before she could stop it.
The classroom went quieter.
Ji-Woo's hand twitched slightly.
For a second—just a second—she considered standing up.
Turning it into something else entirely.
She could.
She knew she could.
But she didn't.
Because it wouldn't end there.
It would escalate.
And Mi-Sook wouldn't be the only one who got hurt in the aftermath.
Ji-Woo slowly straightened herself instead, exhaling through her nose.
Controlled.
Still.
Mi-Sook noticed the restraint.
Her smile sharpened a little.
"See?" she murmured. "That's what I mean."
She leaned back slightly, folding her arms.
"I'll ruin your life," she said casually, like she was talking about something ordinary. "Don't think I won't."
A pause.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're just lucky I'm choosing when."
Ji-Woo met her gaze.
No reaction.
No visible fear.
That silence alone made the air feel tighter.
Mi-Sook tilted her head.
Then stepped back.
"You should prepare yourself," she added softly. "You're going downhill."
She turned slightly, then paused at the doorway.
Without looking back fully, she said one last thing—
"And don't forget… I'm not done with you."
Then she walked out.
Just like that.
Ji-Woo stayed where she was for a moment longer.
Her shoulder still faintly tense from the push.
The classroom slowly returned to noise around her, like nothing had happened.
But Ji-Woo didn't move yet.
She just stared at the empty doorway.
Quiet.
Thinking.
And very aware that whatever Mi-Sook had just started… wasn't going to stay small for long.
Mi-Sook stepped out of the classroom with slow, measured steps, her expression still carrying that calm sharpness like nothing had happened at all.
She didn't get far.
Ji-Bok was in the hallway.
Leaning slightly against the wall, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed—but his eyes weren't.
The moment Mi-Sook saw him, she stopped.
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Then she spoke first.
"Take care of your little friend," she said lightly, like she was commenting on the weather.
Ji-Bok didn't react immediately.
His gaze lifted fully to her face.
"Which friend?" he asked, voice flat.
Mi-Sook smiled faintly.
"Don't play stupid," she replied. "Ji-Woo."
That name made the air tighten just slightly.
Ji-Bok's expression didn't change—but his eyes sharpened.
Mi-Sook continued anyway, stepping a little closer as she spoke.
"Things are going to get bad for her," she said. "And I mean that properly. Not your usual school drama."
Ji-Bok tilted his head slightly.
"Is that a warning?" he asked.
"It's advice," Mi-Sook corrected. "You should think carefully about who you stand next to."
A pause.
Her gaze flicked over him.
"She's not as safe as she looks."
Ji-Bok exhaled softly through his nose.
Then, calmly—
"You done?"
Mi-Sook blinked once, slightly thrown off by how unbothered he sounded.
Then she smirked again.
"For now."
She walked past him.
Shoulder brushing the air between them like it meant nothing.
Ji-Bok stayed still for a second longer.
Then sighed quietly.
Not stressed.
Just… aware.
He pushed off the wall and looked through the classroom window.
Ji-Woo was inside.
Sitting at her desk.
Head resting on folded arms.
Completely still.
Like she had run out of energy somewhere between thoughts and reality.
Ji-Bok watched her for a moment.
Then glanced at the doorway.
He started to step in—
Stopped.
His hand hovered near the frame.
He didn't want to interrupt her.
But she didn't look like someone who should be left alone either.
After a short pause, he walked in anyway.
Quiet.
Unhurried.
He pulled out the chair beside her desk and sat down without saying anything.
Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned forward and rested his head on his arm on her desk too.
Close.
Casual.
Present.
Ji-Woo shifted slightly almost immediately.
"...Hey," she muttered, lifting her head a little. "Don't do that."
Ji-Bok didn't even look up.
He just gently pushed her forehead back down with two fingers.
Not forceful.
Just enough to stop her from fully sitting up.
She groaned softly into her arms.
"My life's getting ruined," she said, voice muffled but sharp with frustration. "And you're just—doing this?"
Ji-Bok finally turned his eyes slightly toward her.
"No, it's not," he said simply.
Ji-Woo lifted her head again a little, eyes tired.
"You don't know that," she replied. "You didn't hear her. You didn't see her face. Mi-Sook isn't—she's not normal about this. I don't even know what she's going to do next."
Ji-Bok leaned back slightly in his chair.
"What's the worst she could do?" he asked.
That made Ji-Woo turn her head properly toward him.
A sharp glare.
"Seriously?" she said.
He blinked once.
"What?"
"She's not dumb," Ji-Woo continued, voice tighter now. "She's actually very smart. Very smart, Ji-Bok. That's the problem."
Ji-Bok stared at her for a second.
Then shrugged slightly.
"She didn't look that smart talking to me," he said.
Ji-Woo let out a small, frustrated breath.
"That's because you're not the one she's targeting properly yet," she said.
A pause.
Then her shoulders dropped slightly.
The tension didn't leave—but exhaustion crept in under it.
"I'm really tired," she admitted quietly. "I can't even think properly right now."
Ji-Bok didn't respond immediately.
He just shifted a little closer in his chair.
Then, in a lower voice—
"Then don't think."
Ji-Woo glanced at him again, softer this time.
He leaned his head back down on his arm, staying right beside her.
"No fixing everything today," he added. "Just sit."
Ji-Woo hesitated.
Then slowly rested her head back down on her arms again.
This time, she didn't argue.
The room stayed noisy around them.
But at their desk, everything felt slightly quieter.
Not solved.
Not safe.
But steadier than before.