Season One: The Invisible Girl & The Bully
Chapter Four
It was raining again.
The sky wept in her place.
Class had just ended when Mr. Min, her homeroom teacher, called her name. Not loudly—just enough to startle her.
"Shin Hae-won, could I speak to you for a moment?"
She froze mid-step.
Ji-hoon, lounging by the window, watched with mild curiosity as the class emptied around her.
"Yes, sir," she whispered.
She followed him out into the hallway, her wet shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. They stopped near the door to the counseling office—a place she had only heard about in whispers.
Mr. Min glanced down at her with gentle eyes. He looked too kind for this world. He reminded her, painfully, of someone she used to call uncle. Before her father broke his nose for "interfering."
"You've been quiet, Hae-won," Mr. Min said softly. "I've noticed… the way you flinch sometimes. The way you look at the floor when people laugh."
She gripped her sleeves tightly, heart pounding.
"You're doing well in your tests," he continued, "but that's not everything. A school isn't just for studying—it's a place to grow, to feel safe."
Safe.
The word echoed in her skull like a cruel joke.
Mr. Min gently gestured to the office behind him. "Would you be willing to talk to our counselor? Even for just five minutes?"
Her lips parted slightly.
But nothing came out.
Not a single sound.
A trembling silence stretched between them.
Mr. Min waited patiently.
She wanted to speak—God, she wanted to. But her throat locked up. Images surged through her like a flood:
her father's fist slamming the table
her old classmates dunking her lunch in the toilet
the counselor from her last school reporting her and the beating that followed
She took a step back.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
Mr. Min's eyes searched hers. Then slowly, he nodded.
"If you ever want to talk… my door's open."
She nodded, barely, and walked away.
---
That afternoon, Ji-hoon found her in the stairwell.
"Did you snitch?"
She flinched.
"What?" she asked, voice hoarse.
"You were with Mr. Min. You tell him something?" His tone was light, but his eyes were cold.
"No," she said quickly. "I didn't say anything."
He leaned closer, the stairwell dim around them. "Good. Because if you talk, things will get worse."
Then he shoved a crumpled paper bag into her hands.
"Clean the classroom today. All of it. Windows too."
She stared at the bag. "Why… me?"
He shrugged. "Because you're already filthy."
Then he walked off.
---
As she cleaned the room in silence, her mind played old tapes:
"You're useless."
"Don't you dare tell anyone what happens in this house."
"They'll take you away and lock you up like your mother."
Her vision blurred as she wiped the windows.
She wasn't crying.
Her body just remembered what her heart tried to forget.
And as always, the world kept spinning.
While she quietly disappeared.
The third-floor girls' bathroom was always quiet after lunch.
That's why Hae-won went there.
It was the one place she could breathe—even if only for five minutes.
She stood in front of the sink, gently dabbing a wet tissue against a fresh cut on her wrist. It wasn't deep—just a scrape from earlier when Ji-hoon had "accidentally" pushed her into a desk. Again.
Accidents happen to girls like her. All the time.
She heard the door creak open.
She didn't turn.
Three pairs of heels clicked against the tiles.
"Look who thinks she owns the mirror," Da-bin said, voice sugary sweet and cruel underneath.
Hae-won lowered her eyes. "I was just leaving."
"Why?" Da-bin stepped closer. "You think we don't want to spend time with our dear class pet?"
Laughter.
Another girl snatched her bag from the counter. "Let's see what garbage she carries around."
"No, wait—" Hae-won reached for it, but a hard shove sent her stumbling into the stall door.
"Oops." Da-bin smirked. "You're so clumsy, Shin."
They opened her bag. Her diary fell out.
Hae-won gasped. "Don't—please—!"
Too late.
Da-bin flipped it open and began to read:
"Sometimes I wonder if I'd be happier if I just disappeared…"
A beat of silence.
Then explosive laughter.
"Oh my God, this is tragic," one girl snorted.
"Drama queen much?"
"Wait—are these scars real?"
They yanked her sleeve up.
She shrieked and pulled away, eyes wide.
Da-bin's smirk faltered. "Are you… like… crazy or something?"
Before Hae-won could answer, the door slammed open.
All three girls jumped.
Ji-hoon stood in the doorway, eyes cold.
He looked between them. Then at Hae-won—shaking, sleeve halfway up, eyes full of something ancient and broken.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ji-hoon's voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.
Da-bin blinked. "We were just messing with her. It's not a big—"
"Give her the bag."
Da-bin scoffed. "Are you serious?"
Ji-hoon stepped forward.
"I said. Give her the damn bag."
Reluctantly, the girl shoved it into Hae-won's chest. Her diary crumpled. Her hands trembled as she clutched it close.
Ji-hoon turned to the girls. "Touch her again, and I'll make sure you regret it."
They left without another word.
Silence settled.
Hae-won couldn't lift her head. Her heart pounded like a trapped bird. She waited—for more mocking, more orders, more pain.
But none came.
Instead, Ji-hoon's voice, for the first time, softened.
"…Did they hurt you?"
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
So he left.
And for the first time, he was the one looking back.