WHO IS THAT GIRL

The hoodie was the first thing they noticed. Oversized. Washed-out. Pulled up over her head like armor, with sleeves long enough to swallow her hands. She didn’t walk like the other girls at Cheongdam International Academy — no glossy hair tosses, no jangling designer bags, no purposeful click of heels. She kept her head down, her steps light, like she didn’t want to be heard at all. Yoo Mirae. That was the name on the transfer form. No picture. No social media trail. No legacy. No family name worth whispering about. And yet, that morning — something shifted. The girls whispered first. “Who is she?” “She’s not wearing the uniform properly.” “That hoodie is so ugly. Is she... fat?” “She looks poor.” The boys didn’t say anything. But they looked. Even from the second floor of the west building, Baek Taewoo spotted her. He was leaning over the railing, skipping class, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, when she crossed the courtyard. Alone. She didn't glance up, didn't pause to stare at the architecture like most transfers did. Just kept walking, her arms wrapped around her books like she was trying to hold herself in place. Taewoo tilted his head. There was something... off. Not in a bad way. He couldn’t see her face. But he felt something. Like static. He smirked. Interesting. --- From the student council office overlooking the eastern gardens, Seo Rihan sipped his espresso slowly as the security feed played silently behind him. The council’s database had flagged the arrival of a new student — not that he cared. His mornings were curated to the minute: study, inspect, decide. People were predictable. Names were tools. Data never lied. But when his assistant paused the feed and asked, “Should we do a background sweep on Yoo Mirae?” He turned. Yoo Mirae. No ties. No status. No donations. No visible reason to be here. Rihan narrowed his eyes. He watched her enter the school building like she was trying not to breathe. There was nothing polished about her. No makeup. No posture. Not even fear. Just... quiet. And quiet people were the most dangerous. “Don’t bother,” he said softly, eyes still on the screen. “I’ll handle it.” --- On the other side of campus, Jin Harim was unlocking the greenhouse when he saw her. He paused, half-turning, unsure if he should call out. She looked lost, standing near the edge of the art building, half-hidden behind a row of shrubs. Her hoodie sleeves were bunched in her fists, and her head was ducked like she didn’t want anyone to see her face. She didn’t belong here. Which made her, somehow, beautiful. He smiled — gently. Not the kind of smile he gave fans, or teachers, or people who expected things from him. Just a soft, instinctive curve of the lips. But before he could call out, she turned and disappeared around the corner. His hand stayed on the greenhouse door. What was her name again? --- And in the upstairs gym, where the echo of tennis balls bounced rhythmically off polished walls, Kang Joonseo didn’t look up. Didn’t pause. Didn’t notice the tremor that had quietly shaken the balance of the day. Not yet. It wasn’t until hours later — when she walked into the mansion and took off her shoes — that he looked. Really looked. She was standing in the entryway, frozen, clutching her bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes were wide. Not in fear — in disbelief. Like she couldn’t believe this was her life now. Joonseo didn’t say anything. He stood at the top of the stairs in silence, his hand on the railing, his eyes fixed on her. She didn’t see him. Or maybe she did, and pretended not to. He couldn’t tell. He watched her toes curl slightly on the marble floor. She bowed her head when the maid greeted her. She mumbled something too soft to catch. And for a single moment — no longer than a breath — her hoodie slipped. He saw her face. Full lips. Pale cheeks. Downturned eyes. Not stunning. Not striking. But... He didn’t know why he was still staring. Footsteps behind him. His father's voice: "She's your new stepsister. Be polite." Joonseo turned and walked away without a word. --- At school, no one welcomed her. No one sat with her. No one asked questions. But they noticed. Every single one of them noticed her. In different ways. For different reasons. Long before even she realized it. The girl in the hoodie. The one who never spoke unless spoken to. The one who blushed when someone looked too long. The one who wasn’t trying to be seen — and that’s what made her unforgettable. Who was that girl? Not just a question. A warning. A spark. A beginning. ---