Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the fields of Cheongha-ri, painting the rice paddies in liquid gold. The breeze carried the earthy smell of wet soil mixed with the faint sweetness of blooming wildflowers. A lone bicycle cut through the narrow dirt road, its wheels crunching softly against the gravel.
On the bike was Yujin, tall for her age. The wind cooled her flushed face as she pedaled hard, lungs filling with the crisp, clean air of the countryside. Out here, life wasn’t loud or rushed like in the city — it moved with the rhythm of the seasons: planting, harvesting, feeding animals, collecting milk.
The small wooden gate of her home came into view — a weathered but sturdy fence enclosing a yard where laundry danced on a line and chickens clucked lazily around a coop. Yujin slowed down, her sneakers scuffing the ground as she hopped off her bike.
“Yujin! Yujin!”
A voice called from the gate. Hanni, was standing there, her dark eyes wide with excitement. Her hair was messy, cheeks flushed, as if she had sprinted out the moment she heard the sound of Yujin’s bike. In her hand, she waved a long white envelope like a victory flag.
“It came!” Hanni’s voice cracked with a mix of nerves and joy. “The exam results — Janghwa Girls’ High sent it!”
Yujin froze for a moment, the handlebars still gripped tightly in her hands. The memory of a few weeks ago returned sharply: two sharply dressed officials arriving at their humble public school, introducing themselves from Janghwa Girls’ High, the most prestigious all-girls’ academy in the country. They had come after hearing about Yujin’s surprising performance at a regional basketball match and found out how smart she was, as part of their experimental program to have more scholars from humble background — though Yujin had only joined the sport for extracurricular points, her natural talent had turned heads. The school had offered them both a chance to sit for the very hard entrance exam.
She remembered sitting beside Hanni in the exam hall, the two of them scribbling answers with quiet determination. It hadn’t been about escaping Cheongha-ri — their school here wasn’t terrible, their home wasn’t terrible. But both of them knew what graduating from Janghwa Girls’ High could mean. It was a door to a future they couldn’t get otherwise, a chance to lift their foster family, to prove themselves in a world that rarely noticed kids like them.
Yujin exhaled slowly, unclenching her hands from the handlebars. She nodded at Hanni, a small smile breaking through her calm face.
“Let’s go show them,” she said quietly.
They pushed the gate open, stepping into the familiar yard. Inside, the house was buzzing with warmth and chatter. The wooden floors creaked as they entered, and the scent of soybean stew simmering on the stove drifted through the air. A few of the other foster kids were sprawled across the low table doing homework, while their foster mother, Eun-soo, moved around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, humming softly as she cooked.
Eun-soo turned when she heard the door slide open. Her face, lined from years of work and hardship, softened immediately. She wasn’t Yujin’s real mother, but she had been there since the accident — when Yujin’s parents, had been taken from her in a sudden car crash, leaving her as the only survivor. Eun-soo had been their neighbor back then, and without hesitation, she had opened her home, her table, and her heart.
“Back already? Did you—” Eun-soo started, but Hanni cut her off, bounding forward, waving the envelope with both hands.
“It came! The results came, eomma!”
The room stilled. The girls at the table set down their pencils, eyes lighting up. Eun-soo’s hands froze over the pot. Slowly, carefully, Yujin stepped closer, standing beside Hanni as if to anchor her restless energy.
Haerin was the first — her catlike eyes watching curiously from the doorway. At fourteen, she carried herself with a quiet, thoughtful air, the kind of girl who only spoke after weighing her words carefully. She hugged her arms around herself, dark hair tucked neatly behind her ears, but her gaze lingered on the envelope with unspoken anticipation.
Behind her bounded Hyein. At just twelve, she was already growing tall, her long limbs awkward but full of restless energy. She burst forward with a grin that could light up their small yard, clapping her hands as if she already knew the answer inside the letters.
“Unnie, unnie, open it! Hurry!” she chirped, bouncing beside Yujin and Hanni.
Yujin chuckled, exchanging a look with Hanni. The two fifteen-year-olds stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder as they had all their lives.
They had been together for so long — not just as foster sisters, but as children who had shared scraped knees, bedtime stories, and whispered secrets in the dark. And now, they stood on the brink of something bigger than any of them had imagined.
“Alright,” Yujin said, her voice steady, though her fingers trembled just a little against the paper. “On three.”
Hanni nodded, her lips curving nervously. “One… two… three!”
The sound of ripping envelopes filled the yard. For a heartbeat, silence fell, broken only by the rustling of papers. Then Yujin’s eyes widened. Across from her, Hanni gasped.
They looked up at the same time.
“Accepted,” Yujin whispered.
“As full scholars!” Hanni added, her voice breaking with joy.
The yard erupted. Hyein squealed, jumping in place and flinging her arms around them both. Even quiet Haerin cracked the smallest of smiles, her eyes glimmering with pride. From the doorway, their foster mother, Eun-soo, clapped her hands together, laughter spilling out as she pulled the girls into her embrace.
“You did it,” Eun-soo said warmly, tears shining in her eyes. “I knew you both could do it. Janghwa Girls’ High… you’re going to soar higher than ever.”
The family gathered close, congratulating, hugging, the air filled with laughter and shouts. Hanni turned to Haerin, her grin wide. “Next year, it’ll be your turn. You’ll take the exam too.”
Haerin lowered her gaze, shy. “I’ll need better grades first.”
Yujin ruffled her hair gently, her hand warm and steady. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
Hyein, ever the cheerleader, raised both arms like a referee calling victory. “Our Yujin unnie and Hanni unnie are going to Janghwa High! The most elite girls’ school in all of Korea!”
Her voice rang through the yard, and everyone laughed — because in that moment, it felt true. Their little house in Cheongha-ri, filled with patched clothes and secondhand furniture, had never known such big dreams. But tonight, it brimmed with hope.
***
The morning was filled with the smell of earth and food. The front yard of Eun-soo’s house had turned into a small gathering, baskets and jars stacked neatly by the gate. Their foster mother had already prepared bags of kimchi, jars of jangajji, and crates of fresh fruits. Neighbors from Cheongha-ri came and went, each with something in hand — a box of dried persimmons, bundles of homemade tteok, even a few bottles of makgeolli for Eun-soo to drink when she missed the girls too much.
“Yujin-ah, take this,” one elderly farmer said, pressing a bundle of sweet potatoes into her arms. “You’ll miss the taste of real earth once you’re in Seoul.”
“You better write to us,” another added, ruffling Hanni’s hair as if she were his own.
Everyone knew the foster kids. Yujin and Hanni weren’t just children from Eun-soo’s home — they were all had been part of the community, helping during harvests, running errands, tutoring the younger kids after school. Now that they were leaving for the city, the village sent them off with everything they could give.
While the adults busied themselves chatting, Haerin tugged on Hanni’s sleeve, pulling her and Hyein away from the crowd. They slipped toward the shade of the persimmon tree, away from their foster mother’s watchful eye.
Haerin leaned against the trunk, arms folded. Her expression, as always, was calm — but her sharp catlike eyes flickered with something almost mischievous. “So,” she began, her voice flat and cutting, “when are you going to tell Yujin unnie?”
Hanni blinked, startled. “Tell her… what?”
Haerin raised a brow. “Don’t act dumb. That you like her. You’ve liked her since we were little.”
Hanni’s cheeks heated instantly, color rising to her ears. “W-what? No, I— it’s not like that.”
Hyein, bouncing on her toes, gasped dramatically. “It is like that! Haerin unnie’s right!” Her grin stretched wide, eyes sparkling. “I’ve seen the way you look at her! You should tell her before you leave, Hanni unnie. It’s like… the perfect timing. You two are going to live together in Seoul! Just the two of you! That’s so romantic!”
Hanni covered her face with both hands, groaning. “Oh my god, you guys— stop…”
Haerin tilted her head, unbothered. “I’m serious. Opportunities don’t wait forever. If you keep quiet, someone else might take her first.”
Hanni peeked between her fingers, frowning at her younger sister’s bluntness. “Why are you even saying this now?”
“Because it’s true, and it’s the perfect timing,” Haerin replied simply, her tone steady as always.
Beside her, Hyein clasped her hands together, already lost in daydreams. “Imagine Yujin unnie carrying your bag for you, or walking you to class, or defending you if someone’s mean! You two will look so good together at Janghwa High. Like… the perfect couple!”
Hanni groaned again, this time louder. “Hyein, you watch too many dramas.”
“But it’s true!” Hyein insisted, hopping in place with a huge smile. “Good luck, Hanni unnie! You have to tell her! At least before winter break, okay?”
Hanni didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her gaze across the yard, where Yujin was crouched beside her duffel bag, organizing the gifts and food into neat stacks. Her short hair stuck slightly to her forehead, sweat glistening as she heaved another basket into place. There was something about the way Yujin moved — so reliable, so steady — that made Hanni’s heart thrum painfully in her chest.
She swallowed hard. Maybe Haerin was right. Maybe Hyein’s childish fantasies weren’t that far off. Living in Seoul together would be different, strange, exciting — a new chapter.
But as she watched Yujin laugh with one of the neighbors, her deep dimples lighting up her whole face, Hanni’s courage faltered. Could she really say it out loud? That she didn’t see Yujin as just a foster sister… but something more?
***
The bus groaned as it pulled away from Cheongha-ri, its windows rattling slightly with every bump in the road. Yujin and Hanni pressed their foreheads to the glass, watching as the fields slipped away — endless stretches of green, dotted with cows and small farmhouses, slowly giving way to highways and overpasses. Eun-soo and the others stood by the bus stop until they disappeared from sight.
They promised to call, they promised to come back for winter break. But for now, the familiar was behind them. Ahead was Seoul.
The ride was long, but the further they went, the more the scenery transformed. Mountains gave way to wider roads, then to clusters of buildings, then to sprawling cityscapes. Neon signs flickered even in the late afternoon, and billboards stretched high above the streets. Glass and steel towers climbed into the sky, glittering in the sunlight.
Hanni’s eyes widened. “There are so many people,” she whispered, her breath fogging the window.
Yujin leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, but her gaze was fixed on the skyline. She had seen Seoul on TV before, in pictures, in textbooks. But being here — watching cars flood intersections, people dart across crosswalks, streets lined with shops and cafés — it was overwhelming. The city looked alive, restless, like it never slept. Compared to Cheongha-ri’s slow, steady rhythm, this world felt enormous, intimidating, and brimming with mystery.
By the time the bus reached their stop, night had already begun to fall, and the city was alight. They hefted their bags, stepping onto the busy sidewalk, their heads swiveling as horns blared and strangers brushed past them without a second glance.
The address they’d been given led them to a modest condo building, five stories tall with pale concrete walls and a row of mailboxes by the entrance. It wasn’t fancy — not like the high-rises they had passed earlier — but it was clean, functional. For two girls who had never lived anywhere but a small town, it felt impossibly new.
As they lingered outside, Yujin tilted her head. “Do you think this place is just for students?”
Hanni shrugged, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder. But the question answered itself when they saw a middle-aged couple walk out holding hands, and a young mother enter with her toddler tugging at her sleeve. This wasn’t a student dormitory — it was an ordinary apartment building, a place where families, couples, and single workers all lived side by side. Somehow, that made it feel both comforting and intimidating.
Inside, they approached the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the counter barely looked up as Yujin and Hanni slid their IDs across the polished surface. After checking a list, she handed them a single silver key attached to a tag stamped with 407.
“Fourth floor. Keep noise down after ten,” the woman said flatly.
They rode the elevator until they reached their floor. Room 407 was at the end of the hall. Yujin slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.
The apartment was small — just like the rooms they shared back in Cheongha-ri. Two single beds pressed against opposite walls, each with a plain desk on the footboard. A wardrobe stood between the beds, its doors slightly squeaky when Hanni pulled one open. A kitchenette hugged one corner, just big enough for a single burner, a sink, and a small fridge. The bathroom door was tucked to the side, leading into a space no bigger than a closet.
For a moment. They just stood there, taking it in. It was new. And this is the place they are gonna live in until graduation.
“First things first,” Yujin said, rolling up her sleeves. “We clean.”
Together, they opened the windows, letting in the cool city air. Dust clung to the corners, and the furniture smelled faintly of disuse, so they wiped every surface until it gleamed. Hanni hummed as she shook out the bedsheets, while Yujin scrubbed the tiny kitchenette. The sound of water running, cloths wringing and slowly, the room began to feel less like a box and more like a home.
When everything was fresh and clean, they unpacked their clothes. One by one, shirts and skirts were folded into the shared cabinet. Their few belongings — books, notebooks, and a couple of framed photos Eun-soo had given them — found places on the desks.
Hanni smoothed out the sheets on her bed, stepping back to admire the simple order of it. Across from her, Yujin dropped onto her mattress with a sigh, arms spread wide.
“It feels full already,” Yujin admitted, staring up at the ceiling. Then she smiled. “Our little home.”
Hanni sat down on her own bed, glancing around the room. The two beds. The two desks. The tiny kitchen that would force them to cook side by side.
A whole new life was beginning.
***
The next morning, a knock on the apartment door startled both girls awake. Yujin shuffled over, rubbing her eyes, and opened it to see a delivery man standing stiffly with two garment bags draped neatly over his arm.
“Delivery from Janghwa Girls’ High,” he said briskly, checking their names before handing them over.
The moment Yujin and Hanni unzipped the bags, their breath caught in unison.
Inside gleamed the kind of uniforms they had only ever seen in magazines or on television dramas about the rich. The deep navy blazers were heavy and crisp, the golden buttons gleaming under the apartment’s yellow light. Burgundy ties folded neatly in their plastic wrapping. Pleated gray skirts hung with perfect symmetry, like the fabric itself refused to wrinkle. The set came complete with a sweater, a trench coat for winter, and a lighter short-sleeved blouse for summer — luxury for every season, all in one.
“They… gave us all this?” Hanni whispered, almost afraid to touch the blazer.
Yujin frowned, picking up a slip of paper that had fallen from the bag. It was a statement of value, a kind of receipt. She skimmed it once, and then her eyes widened so much that Hanni thought she had misread.
“One set…” Yujin’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “One million won.”
Hanni nearly choked. “What? For one uniform?” She snatched the paper and stared at the numbers printed in neat black ink. She leaned over her shoulder. The number glared back at them, printed in neat, black ink: ₩1,000,000. One uniform. One set. Worth more than everything they had packed into this little room. The seasonal uniforms weren’t even part of that exaggerated one million set.
Yujin placed the receipt down carefully, like even touching it too hard would cause debt to appear. “No wonder they only gave us one set for free.” She let out a long breath, glancing at the pristine blazer again. “If this gets stained, we’re doomed. This is more than what we saved up all summer.”
Hanni’s stomach tightened. Back home, all their clothes were secondhand, sometimes patched or frayed. Now, the idea of washing this delicate, million-won fabric by hand every night felt like walking on a tightrope.
The apartment was quiet for a moment, the weight of reality pressing down. Then Hanni broke the silence with a small, nervous laugh. “We’ll just… take turns with the washing machine downstairs. And pray no one spills kimchi on us.”
Yujin smiled faintly, though her eyes were still troubled. “Yeah. Pray really hard.”
But the truth was unavoidable — they were stepping into a world where their classmates could afford five or ten of these uniforms without blinking, while Yujin and Hanni would cling to their single set like lifelines.
Hanni forced a smile, though her chest was tight. “We can do it. We’ve done harder things.”
At least, thanks to one of their neighbors from Cheongha-ri who had called ahead to a relative in Seoul, both girls had part-time jobs lined up. Yujin would work evenings at a fried chicken shop two streets away, and Hanni had been set up with a café just around the corner. They would spend the week working full-time until classes began, saving whatever they could to keep themselves afloat.
***
The first day of school at Janghwa Girls’ High was always an event, more spectacle than routine. The wrought-iron gates gleamed under the early September sun, and the line of sleek black sedans and foreign cars stretched down the drive like a runway show.
Inside a long, polished limousine, Jang Wonyoung sat with her back straight and her legs crossed neatly at the ankles, gazing at her reflection in a small hand mirror. She had only landed from Paris that morning, still faintly carrying the scent of designer perfume from the airport duty-free, but her appearance was flawless. Her glossy hair fell in soft waves, held back by an expensive jeweled hairband imported from Milan. A delicate brooch sparkled against the burgundy tie of her Janghwa uniform, and a limited-edition leather handbag rested on her lap — a fall collection piece that no one else at school owned yet.
Her watch ticked softly, platinum and understated, the kind of accessory that whispered wealth without needing to scream it. On her feet, her shoes shone like glass, polished to perfection by staff the night before.
The limousine rolled to a smooth stop before the school’s grand facade, and the driver hurried out to open the door for her. As Wonyoung stepped onto the paved lot, the world seemed to slow for a moment. Heads turned — students arriving with their families or chauffeurs paused to watch the school’s crown jewel return. Wonyoung lifted her chin slightly, her expression practiced: cool, composed, untouchable.
From across the parking lot, a familiar voice called out.
“Good morning, sis.”
It was Kim Minji. Her step-sister.
The sight of her brought an odd mix of comfort and complexity. Minji stood beside her own luxury sedan. She was buttoned up neatly in her uniform, her long straight hair down. Wonyoung’s father married Minji’s mother after her parents divorced. He lived with Minji and her mother in the old mansion where Wonyoung herself had grown up. Meanwhile, Wonyoung lived apart, in the penthouse high above the city with her own mother, a former beauty queen whose perfectionist shadow was never far away.
It was strange, yet despite the tangled web of their parents’ choices, Wonyoung and Minji had carved something like a real bond. Not rivals, not estranged. A tentative friendship, even a kind of sisterhood, had grown between them.
A bright voice rang out before Wonyoung could say anything else. “Wonyoung!”
Danielle Marsh appeared from the crowd, practically bouncing her way over. Dani’s presence was like a burst of sunshine in the marble-white campus, her warm smile instantly softening the cold elegance of Minji beside her. She slid her hand through Minji’s arm with the ease of habit, her cheerfulness balancing Minji’s steady composure.
“Good morning!” Dani chirped, looking at Wonyoung with wide, friendly eyes. “You’re finally back! How was Europe?”
Wonyoung adjusted her expensive bag on her shoulder, posture poised as though she were posing for a magazine photo. “Busy. Paris, Rome, Milan — my mother insisted on introducing me to a few designers. Exhausting, but worthwhile.” Her voice was casual, as if dropping names of fashion capitals was no more unusual than mentioning the local market. She tilted her head slightly. “And you? Australia again?”
“Yes!” Dani nodded eagerly, her accent softening the Korean words. “I went home to see my parents. It’s been a while.” Her tone warmed, glancing at Minji with a quiet fondness. “And Minji came with me.”
Wonyoung’s brows lifted just a fraction. “Of course. How lovely.”
Together, the three girls walked into the grand hall. The polished floors reflected the morning light streaming from the tall windows. As they entered, a hush seemed to ripple through the students scattered inside. Heads turned; whispers fluttered like invisible threads. Everywhere they went, people watched. Some with admiration, others with envy, a few with longing — Jang Wonyoung and her circle were untouchable, a constellation of names that carried weight both inside and outside the academy’s walls.
Near the entryway, another figure stood, posture precise and gaze sharp enough to cut glass. Kim Winter. Petite but radiating an intensity that silenced even the boldest onlookers. Her uniform was flawless, every fold pressed, her blazer buttoned to perfection. When her dark eyes landed on Wonyoung and the others, it felt like the room itself steadied.
“Winter,” Wonyoung greeted smoothly, lips curling into the faintest of smiles.
“Wonyoung,” Winter returned.
“Where’s Ningning?” Wonyoung asked, noticing the absence.
“Still in China,” Winter replied, her voice as even as a soldier’s march. “Her family wanted her home longer this time.”
Before Wonyoung could nod, a tall figure slipped into their circle with all the confidence. Shin Yuna. The way she carried herself — the tilt of her chin, the natural swing of her hair, the casual luxury in her fashion choices was enough to draw eyes instantly. Her beauty was bold, eye-catching, the kind that turned hallways into runways. But it wasn’t just her looks; Yuna’s athletic energy, the kind that came from being involved in sports, made her magnetic.
“Good morning,” Yuna greeted with a bright grin.
They exchanged small talk, the easy rhythm of girls who had grown up in the same gilded world. Then Yuna leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to spark curiosity. “I heard from one of the teachers — there’ll be two new transfers today.”
That got Wonyoung’s attention. Her perfectly glossed lips parted in mild surprise. “Transfers? Here? That’s… rare.”
“Mm,” Yuna hummed, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I don’t know who they are though. Could be daughters of a politician, or someone from overseas. Maybe even a celebrity.”
For a moment, Wonyoung felt her curiosity sharpen. Who would be bold or worthy—enough to enter Janghwa Girls’ High halfway through? She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you know their family names?”
Yuna shook her head. “Nope. Just that they’ll be introduced at the assembly.”
The moment lingered, heavy with intrigue. But then Wonyoung gave a little shrug, the kind that dismissed entire possibilities. “Probably not anyone important then. If they were, we’d have heard about it weeks ago.”
Her words hung in the air as the group walked deeper into the school, their presence commanding every glance that followed.
***
The grand auditorium of Janghwa Girls’ High gleamed as sunlight filtered through tall glass windows. Velvet curtains framed the wide stage where the school crest — embroidered magnolia blossoms and gilded Hangul spelling out JANGHWA hung proudly. Rows upon rows of students sat in perfect order, the sea of navy blazers and gray pleated skirts giving the illusion of uniformity. Yet, anyone with eyes could tell where the lines of status ran — designer brooches, custom-fitted uniforms, limited-edition handbags perched daintily on laps.
On the front row, Wonyoung sat with her usual circle — Minji with Dani close at her side, Winter who is bored and using her phone, Yuna adjusting the cuff of her blazer as though she were posing for a photoshoot. They whispered among themselves, passing idle comments as the principal launched into the usual opening speech.
“Welcome back, young ladies of Janghwa…”
The words were polished, practiced, but dull. Wonyoung leaned her chin on her hand, her expression unreadable, though inside she was counting the minutes. These speeches always sounded the same — tradition, excellence, the future leaders of the nation. She shifted her gaze to the student body, catching the way dozens of eyes kept flicking toward her group. Awe, envy, reverence. It was nothing new.
Then the principal’s voice shifted, drawing sudden attention.
“This year, we are pleased to welcome not one, but two new students from the province of Cheongha-ri — exceptional young women who have earned their place here through scholarship.”
The word seemed to ripple through the room like a stone cast into a still pond.
“Scholars?” someone whispered.
“From where?” another muttered.
“Cheongha-ri…? Isn’t that some farming town?”
A low murmur swept across the auditorium. Girls exchanged confused glances, some smothering giggles behind their hands. Scholars at Janghwa were rarities — oddities, really. The school prided itself on pedigree, on status. For someone without a name or fortune to sit among them was almost unthinkable.
Wonyoung’s lips curved into a faint, dismissive smile. She hated this. Scholarships. As if intelligence alone could make someone fit for Janghwa. No class, no elegance, no understanding of how their world moved. They didn’t belong here.
“And yet,” the principal continued, “one of these scholars has achieved something remarkable. In fact, unprecedented.”
The murmurs sharpened into silence.
“An Yujin,” the principal announced, “has scored a perfect 100 on her entrance examination.”
The silence broke into stunned gasps. Heads turned, voices overlapped.
“Perfect?!”
“No one’s ever—”
“She was tied with Jang Wonyoung?”
“Is that even possible?”
Wonyoung’s spine went rigid. Her eyes narrowed as the words sank in. She had been the only one, the sole student in Janghwa history to achieve that score. It was a badge of superiority, proof that she was untouchable. And now — a poor, nameless scholar from some countryside school had matched her?
Heat rose in her chest, not quite anger yet, but insult. To be placed on the same level as her, as if they were equals. She clenched her fingers around the edge of her skirt, jaw tightening. Whoever this An Yujin was, she had already crossed a line without even stepping foot onto campus.
“An Yujin. Please come up to the stage.”
The name rang clear through the auditorium. A hush fell across the sea of students, every head turning as if on cue. Whispers darted between rows like sparks — who is she? where is she?
From the far side of the hall, a figure rose. At first, some students craned their necks, expecting another girl with glossy curls and a ribboned headband, polished in the way Janghwa students always were. But what they saw instead drew a collective intake of breath.
She was tall — unusually tall for a girl their age, her head nearly level with the tallest of second-years seated nearby. Her blazer fit her shoulders in a way that made her silhouette sharper, cleaner, and her short hair, trimmed neatly above her collar with soft bangs brushing her forehead, gave her an androgynous air. For a moment, it was almost jarring — if not for the pleated skirt, one might have mistaken her for a boy in uniform.
And she walked… differently. Not with the delicate, practiced steps the wealthy daughters of Seoul carried themselves with, but with a straightforward stride, like someone used to moving quickly, practically, with no thought of elegance or display.
The murmur of voices grew louder.
“Is that her?”
“She’s so tall…”
“She doesn’t even look like us.”
From the front row, Wonyoung’s lips curled slightly. Of course. This was their perfect scorer? This provincial girl with blunt bangs and no polish, who wore the expensive navy blazer like it was any other uniform, not a badge of prestige? Already she could feel irritation prickling down her spine. No poise, no grace, no refinement.
Yujin climbed the steps of the stage with ease, gave a simple, curt bow, and accepted the certificate from the principal. Her expression was calm, almost unreadable, her dark eyes flicking briefly over the crowd before lowering again. And just like that — she turned and walked back down the stage, her stride as plain and unbothered as before.
No speech. No thanks. Not even an introduction.
The room buzzed with confused reactions. Some students scoffed, others whispered excitedly about her height, her face, her boldness.
Beside her friends, Wonyoung scoffed audibly. Unbelievable. First, this girl dares to claim the same perfect mark she had achieved, and now she couldn’t even show the slightest sense of dignity in front of the entire school?
Her nails pressed lightly into the fabric of her skirt as she leaned back, expression cold.
Already, she hated her.
***
By the time the morning assembly ended, Yujin and Hanni had already discovered that they weren’t in the same class. That small blow settled like a stone in Yujin’s stomach, though she didn’t show it. They had grown up side by side, through Cheongha-ri’s dirt roads and rice paddies, and now, in this enormous glittering fortress of wealth, they were being pulled apart for the first time.
Still, lunch gave them the chance to regroup. They followed the stream of students down long corridors that gleamed like glass palaces until they reached the cafeteria. Except, calling it a “cafeteria” felt laughable.
There wasn’t just one hall. Instead, they found a sprawling food court — mini cafés with gleaming counters, bakeries where croissants cooled on racks, a noodle shop steaming with rich broth, even a sushi counter with a glass case full of glistening cuts of fish. Signs hung proudly above each corner like boutique storefronts.
Yujin blinked, stunned. In their old high school, “cafeteria” meant one metal counter, stainless steel trays, and the same two ahjummas serving kimchi stew and fried mackerel for everyone. Here, the students queued like they were at a luxury mall.
When they checked the menu boards, the prices made Hanni choke on her breath.
“W–what the heck? One-hundred thousand won for noodles? This is robbery!”
Even a sandwich cost more than what their foster mother spent on groceries for a whole day back home. The two stood frozen, until they remembered the meal vouchers tucked safely in their blazers. Scholars received daily credits, enough for one proper meal. Hanni had been worried the “scholar food” would be plain or humiliating, but when they swiped their vouchers, the cashier handed them lacquered trays with steaming rice, braised short ribs, a golden fried egg, and fresh strawberries for dessert.
They sat in a far corner, almost hidden behind one of the tall pillars, careful not to intrude on the clusters of girls who gathered in loud, glittering circles with their matching handbags and manicured nails. Every so often, Yujin caught the weight of eyes on them — curious, disdainful, or just amused. They were whispering as they looked at them.
“Don’t mind them,” Yujin muttered as she slid into her seat. “We’re here to study, not to impress anyone.”
Hanni poked nervously at her rice. “I know. It’s just… it really does feel like we don’t belong here. Maybe K-dramas weren’t lying about rich kids.” Her laugh was small, nervous, not quite a joke.
Yujin leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with deliberate ease. “Let them stare. They can keep their designer bags. As long as we keep our grades up, that’s all that matters.” Then, to soften the edge, she added with a grin, “Besides, this food—” she took another bite of the braised beef and practically groaned— “this is insane. Like actual restaurant quality. Are we sure this isn’t cooked by real chefs?”
Hanni giggled, shoulders relaxing, her eyes curving into crescents. “Right? Even the rice tastes different. I don’t even want to know how much it would cost without the vouchers.”
***
The rest of the school day blurred into a rhythm of introductions and exploration. Yujin and Hanni, though separated into different classes, regrouped whenever they could — two familiar faces clinging to each other in an ocean of strangers. After lunch, the school held an orientation for the extracurricular clubs, the gymnasium and nearby halls buzzing with activity.
Hanni’s eyes lit up when they passed the music wing. The soft hum of a piano drifted from one of the open rooms, voices mingling in harmony, and she immediately tugged Yujin’s sleeve.
“Let’s go there,” she whispered.
Inside, the music club welcomed them warmly. Yunjin, a charismatic second year with a confident presence, introduced herself first. She had an easy smile, the kind that instantly put people at ease. Beside her was Liz, a fellow first-year, soft-spoken but bright-eyed, who perked up when Hanni mentioned she liked singing. Rei, a cheerful Japanese student, chimed in with her accented Korean, already practicing beats. Hanni’s shoulders loosened as she chatted with them.
Yujin, meanwhile, lingered by the door, her gaze wandering. Music wasn’t her thing. Later, she drifted toward the sports booths lined across the gym. She skimmed over archery, fencing, even equestrian but when she saw the basketball club flyer pinned against the bulletin board, her lips tugged upward. Winter season tryouts. It was perfect, since soccer would only begin in the spring. She stuffed the flyer into her bag.
By the time schedule officially ended for the day, Yujin was buzzing with quiet excitement. But the first thing she thought of wasn’t basketball or clubs. It was finding Hanni. They had work waiting for them — her at the fried chicken shop, Hanni at the café and if they didn’t hurry, they’d be late.
She pulled out her phone and dialed. One ring. Two. Three. No answer.
Yujin frowned, glancing at the dwindling crowd of students leaving classrooms. Hanni wasn’t the type to ignore her calls.
Just as she started toward the stairwell, voices drifted past her — two girls chatting animatedly as they walked by.
“Did you hear? The transfer girl messed up big time.”
“Yeah. She’s dead now. You don’t upset the Queen and live to tell about it. I bet she’s gonna drop out soon.”
Yujin’s steps faltered. Transfer girl? As far as she knew, there were only two new transfers this year. Her and Hanni.
Her pulse quickened.
Another pair of students passed by, whispering louder than they probably intended.
“She spilled something on Wonyoung-ssi’s uniform, can you believe it? Those shoes alone cost more than her life.”
“No way. She’s screwed.”
Yujin’s brows knitted together, a muscle ticking in her jaw. Her stomach dropped at the mention of “Wonyoung” Whoever that was, Hanni was in trouble and that was all that mattered.
And if Hanni had crossed her, even by accident…
Yujin turned sharply and strode toward a group the gossiping girls loitering by the lockers. They froze when she approached, eyes widening at the intensity in her gaze.
“You,” she said, pointing to the one in the middle. “Where are they? The transfer girl and the ‘queen’?”
The girls exchanged nervous looks, shuffling under her stare. One of them whispered, “Courtyard. Near the east wing. But… don’t get involved. It’s none of your business.”
Yujin didn’t wait for the rest. Her hands curled into fists as she pushed past them, her long strides echoing down the hall. Her chest tightened with every step, the thought looping in her head like a drumbeat.
Hanni’s in trouble. Hanni needs me.
***
Yujin’s heart hammered against her ribs as she sprinted into the courtyard, eyes scanning desperately. Her voice cracked the still air, sharp and frantic.
“Hanni! Hanni!”
Heads turned toward the commotion, but Yujin didn’t care — she only cared about finding her friend.
Hanni was kneeling on the stone pavement, shoulders trembling, her long hair falling forward to shield her flushed face. Standing over her, tall and immaculate in her deep navy blazer, was another girl Yujin had never seen before. The girl tilted her head slightly at the sound of Yujin’s voice, a slow, amused arch curling across her brow.
Honey? Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed. Did she just hear that right? This transfer had called the other one “Honey”? Her lips twitched, almost smiling as the thought sank in. So not only are they poor scholars who don’t belong here, they’re also… a couple? Lesbians? Her chest buzzed with indignation. The audacity. The absolute lack of shame.
The courtyard filled quickly with murmurs, students flocking closer like moths to flame. All around them the hum of gossip grew louder. Wonyoung’s friends lounged a few steps away, arms crossed, watching with a mix of curiosity and expectation. Minji leaned toward Dani with a spark of interest in her eyes, even she seemed entertained. Something about this felt different.
Hanni, kneeling low with her head down, and the tall girl’s glossy black shoes planted directly on top of her bowed head. Shoes so polished they gleamed, except for the shocking splash of pale white liquid staining the leather.
For a split second Yujin’s brain short-circuited. The shoes… the drink… the humiliation.
And then the rage hit.
Her vision blurred with heat as she stormed forward, voice cutting sharp and loud.
“Get away from her!”
Wonyoung didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. She just looked at Yujin, cool and unreadable, like a queen amused by a peasant’s defiance.
Something in Yujin snapped. Without hesitation she stepped right into Wonyoung’s space, grabbed her arm, and shoved her back. Not a hard shove — but enough. Enough to break the pose, enough to make the taller girl stumble a single step and lift her foot off Hanni’s head.
The courtyard erupted.
Gasps tore through the crowd like a wave. Eyes widened, hands flew to mouths, whispers sharpened into stunned, scandalized hisses.
“She shoved her—”
“She touched Jang Wonyoung—”
“Oh my god—”
Wonyoung’s clique froze where they stood. Winter’s sharp eyes narrowed; Yuna’s lips parted in disbelief. Even Dani clutched Minji’s sleeve with both hands. And Minji herself, rather than angry, looked faintly entertained — her gaze gleaming with the thrill of seeing someone do what no one else ever dared.
No one touched Wonyoung.
No one even thought of it.
And the new girl just had.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” Wonyoung screamed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Yujin’s voice rang sharp, slicing through the whispers. Her eyes burned into the tall girl who had just stepped back, her whole body vibrating with barely checked anger.
Wonyoung blinked slowly, almost lazily, before lifting a perfectly manicured hand to point at Hanni. Her tone was smooth, but sharp enough to cut glass. “She ruined my shoes.”
Yujin’s gaze flicked down, and for the first time she took a proper look. The pristine, glossy black leather was marred by nothing more than a pale splash of Yakult, already drying at the edges. She blinked once, then twice, unable to believe this was what all the fuss was about.
“Ruined?” she echoed flatly. “Are you serious? It’s Yakult. Wash it and it’s gone. Drop it off at a cleaner. You’re bullying someone over this?” Her eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with disbelief. “How old are you?”
A ripple of gasps and murmurs burst from the crowd. No one talked to Jang Wonyoung like that.
Wonyoung’s lips parted, her composure cracking for half a second before she snapped back, voice rising. “Accident?? Do you even know how much these cost?”
“How much?”
“Five million won.”
The words dropped heavy in the air, silencing even the whispers for a moment. Yujin’s jaw went slack. Five million? For shoes?
Of course, this was a school for the rich. Of course.
But she didn’t let her surprise show for long. Setting her jaw, she said firmly, “Fine. I’ll pay for it.”
The students around them erupted into muffled laughter, some failing to hide their smirks. This scholar girl thinks she can pay Jang Wonyoung back? Even some of Wonyoung’s clique looked amused — Winter’s lips twitched, Yuna bit back a grin, and Minji was openly entertained now.
Wonyoung, however, didn’t smile. Her gaze hardened, cold as marble. She tilted her head just slightly, her long hair slipping over her shoulder, and sneered.
“I don’t want your money. I have plenty. What I want—” she lifted her foot, elegant and deliberate, arching her glossy shoe forward until it hovered right in front of Yujin’s face—“ is for you to kiss them. Do that, and I’ll forget what your friend did.” Yeah, that’s right, An Yujin, I will show you your place in my school.
Gasps tore through the courtyard like fireworks.
On the ground, Hanni’s eyes went wide, her head snapping up. She shook it violently, her long hair swishing. “No, Yujin, don’t—! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, bowing her head again. Her hands trembled as she clutched her skirt, silently begging Yujin not to lower herself like this.
Yujin froze, staring at the polished shoe now practically touching her. For a heartbeat, she actually thought about it — for Hanni’s sake. To end this humiliation. To shield her.
But then her gaze lifted. Past the shoe, past Wonyoung’s perfect blazer and expensive brooch, up into those proud, mocking eyes. Eyes that looked down at them as if they were less than human. As if one accident, one splash of Yakult, defined their worth.
And Yujin hated it.
Her fingers curled tightly around something by her side. The Yakult bottle, half-full, still cold in her grip. She didn’t think. She just acted.
With one swift motion, she snapped the cap off and splashed the drink upward, straight onto Wonyoung.
The sweet, sticky liquid burst against her immaculate blouse, soaking into the fabric in pale stains, dripping down the edge of her collar. Droplets speckled across her perfect face, catching in the strands of her hair.
The courtyard erupted.
A collective scream of gasps and shrieks filled the air. Hands clapped over mouths. Eyes bulged in disbelief. Some students even laughed in shock, unable to believe what they had just seen.
Wonyoung herself froze, blinking as the cold Yakult slid down her cheek. Her hand twitched at her side, fingers trembling. For the first time in anyone’s memory — Jang Wonyoung looked truly, utterly stunned.
Her face twisted, her porcelain mask cracking under the sticky sheen of Yakult running down her cheek. Her jaw clenched, lips trembling with rage before parting into a scream that echoed across the courtyard.
“WHAT THE FUCK—” she spat, her voice sharp enough to pierce glass. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”
Her words cracked like a whip, and the crowd recoiled, some students stumbling back, others continue filming with their phones. A dozen cameras lit up in the sunlight, recording. This wasn’t just a fight anymore — this was history in the making. Someone was standing up to Jang Wonyoung.
Yujin stood firm, shoulders squared, chest heaving, the empty Yakult bottle still hanging loose at her side. She didn’t flinch.
“You’re the one stepping on someone’s head,” Yujin shot back, voice low and steady, laced with disbelief. “And over what? Spilled milk? You think that makes you better than anyone?”
Wonyoung’s laugh rang hollow, bitter, like broken glass. Yuna gave her a handkerchief then she stepped forward, liquid still dripping from her ruined blouse, her towering frame casting a long shadow over Yujin. “Better than anyone?” Her tone dripped venom. “I am better than you. Look at you—” she gestured at Yujin’s plain uniform, her scuffed shoes, her simple hair. “You’re nothing. A poor little nobody who got lucky on one stupid test.”
The words landed like daggers, but Yujin didn’t break eye contact. Her jaw clenched, fists curling at her sides.
“You don’t scare me,” she said firmly.
The courtyard gasped again, louder this time. Students leaned in closer, holding their breath, unable to look away.
Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed. She leaned down ever so slightly, close enough that Yujin could see her flawless skin beneath the sticky mess. Her voice dropped, venomous and low.
“You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
The words slithered like poison, curling around the crowd’s spine.
“You don’t belong here,” she continued, her words measured now. “This is my school. Every hallway, every classroom, every corner — you walk in them because I allow it. You breathe in this place because I don’t stop you.”
Wonyoung straightened to her full height again, eyes blazing, the stain on her blouse spreading like a badge of war. Her voice rang loud and merciless, enough for everyone gathered to hear.
“Welcome to Janghwa Girls’, An Yujin.” She let the name curl on her tongue, sharp and mocking. “From now on, I’ll make sure your life here—” she flicked her gaze toward Hanni, who was still trembling on the ground— “and your friend’s — will be a living hell.”
The courtyard erupted again — shouts, gasps, a rising tide of chaos. Some students laughed nervously, others whispered in horror, phones still recording, the glow of screens catching Wonyoung’s dripping figure like a portrait of wrath.
And in the middle of it all, Yujin stood motionless, her chest tight, her blood roaring in her ears. She didn’t know it yet, but the war had just begun.