Chapter 17: The Sound of Cracks
1317 Words
Monday morning smelled like rain, though the sky hadn’t decided yet.
Mirae could feel it—thin moisture in the air, the kind that settled on her skin before a storm broke.
Cheongdam Academy was too polished for weather like this; it made everything feel slightly off, slightly human.
She reached her classroom early, trying to disappear into the seat near the window. Students trickled in, buzzing about the exhibition. The logistics badge still hung around her neck, a small square of red plastic that had accidentally turned into a spotlight.
“Hey, isn’t that her?” someone whispered near the back.
“Yeah. The volunteer who stopped the van.”
“President Seo even commended her in the group chat last night.”
“Seriously? Rihan never praises anyone.”
“Maybe she’s special.”
The word special dropped like a stone into her chest.
Mirae stared at the rain starting to patter against the glass. She wanted to be invisible again, to shrink back into the quiet she’d once hated.
But invisibility was gone for good.
---
By midmorning, the rumors had mutated again—this time with a new hero.
Apparently, Baek Taewoo had been the one who stopped the van.
Apparently, Mirae had fainted.
Apparently, Rihan and Joonseo had been fighting about her afterward in the parking lot.
None of it was true. But truth had long stopped mattering.
Harim found her after the second period, his usual grin dulled at the edges. “You okay?”
“Define ‘okay,’” she said dryly.
He chuckled under his breath, relief flashing in his eyes. “Still sarcastic. That’s good.”
She closed her locker, sighing. “Why does it always have to turn into something else? I just helped move a cart.”
Harim leaned on the wall beside her, voice low. “Because people here don’t understand normal. They only understand stories. And you’re a better story than the rest of us.”
She looked up, tired. “That’s not a compliment.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
A long pause.
Mirae’s shoulders slumped. “You look tired too.”
Harim rubbed the back of his neck. “Council work’s a mess. The incident report from Friday blew up.”
“What report?”
“The van thing.” He frowned. “Administration wants to know how a delivery vehicle got unauthorized access. Rihan’s cleaning it up, but some people are hinting it’s your fault—saying you distracted the driver.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“Don’t panic. Rihan’s not letting it reach the board. He’s already spinning it.”
“Spinning it?”
“Protecting you,” Harim corrected. Then, quieter: “In his own way.”
Before she could answer, a voice echoed down the corridor.
“Speaking of spin.”
Taewoo stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, a small, knowing grin on his lips. “Nice work, Hoodie Girl. You’ve turned a fender-bender into a school-wide soap opera.”
Harim stiffened. “Not now, Taewoo.”
“Why not? You’re always here when she needs rescuing.” His grin widened. “It’s adorable.”
Mirae’s jaw tightened. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” Taewoo shrugged. “Just checking how the hero’s doing. Or maybe the damsel. Depends who you ask.”
Harim’s voice darkened. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Of course I am.” He tilted his head. “Do you have any idea how boring this school was before she showed up?”
“That’s enough,” Harim snapped.
But Mirae lifted her hand slightly. “No, let him talk.”
Harim blinked. “Mirae—”
She turned toward Taewoo, her voice steady even as her heart pounded. “You’re angry because someone told you to stop. Not because of me.”
The grin faltered for just a moment.
“You think you scare me?” he said lightly.
“I think I confuse you,” she replied.
For a heartbeat, the silence between them sharpened. Taewoo’s expression shifted— amusement, irritation, and something else she couldn’t name flickering across his face.
Then he laughed. “You’re getting braver. Be careful with that. Courage gets expensive here.”
He walked off, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
---
That afternoon, the tension spread to the top floors—where the student council met in a glass chamber that pretended to be transparent but wasn’t.
Rihan sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled neatly, documents fanned before him like a map. Joonseo sat opposite, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
“The administration wants an explanation,” Rihan said calmly. “We’ll frame the incident as a procedural oversight, not individual negligence. The driver will be blacklisted, logistics will receive commendation, and the council will issue a formal statement by tomorrow.”
Taewoo slouched in the corner, spinning a pen. “You’re making it sound like a charity project.”
“It’s crisis management,” Rihan said without looking at him.
Harim muttered, “More like manipulation.”
Rihan glanced up. “If you’d prefer chaos, you can handle the press yourself.”
Joonseo’s voice cut through the tension. “Enough.”
The room went still. Joonseo rarely spoke during meetings; when he did, everyone listened.
“Harim’s right,” he continued. “We can’t keep cleaning up with half-truths. It’s going to turn back on us.”
Rihan’s expression remained calm. “You think honesty will protect her? It won’t.”
“This isn’t about protection anymore,” Joonseo said. “It’s about control.”
The two of them locked eyes. The quiet stretched thin.
Taewoo chuckled from the corner. “You’re both pretending this isn’t about her. That’s cute.”
Rihan ignored him. “If you have a better way, Joonseo, I’m listening.”
“Stop speaking for her,” Joonseo said simply.
Harim glanced between them, uneasy. “You’re both taking this too far—”
“Maybe not far enough,” Rihan said.
For a moment, the polished council room felt smaller—like too many secrets were pressing against the glass walls.
Finally, Joonseo stood. “You handle your side,” he said. “I’ll handle mine.”
Rihan didn’t stop him. But the look he gave Joonseo as he walked out wasn’t neutrality anymore. It was warning.
---
Mirae waited in the courtyard after classes, watching the clouds roll in. The air smelled like metal and wet leaves.
She didn’t hear him approach until his voice broke the quiet.
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
She turned. Joonseo stood a few paces away, tie loosened, hair damp from the drizzle.
“Everyone keeps telling me what I shouldn’t do,” she said softly.
He didn’t smile, but something in his expression eased. “You’re braver than they realize.”
Mirae looked away. “Bravery doesn’t help much.”
“It’s still rare,” he said.
They stood there for a long time, the air between them charged but fragile.
Finally, she asked, “Why are you here?”
“Because you’re standing in the rain,” he said simply.
And for once, she didn’t argue.
They stood together under the gray sky until the first real drops began to fall—heavy, certain, cold.
---
That evening, Rihan received a message from an anonymous number.
> “The van driver didn’t lie. Someone paid him to come through the wrong gate.”
He stared at the screen, unreadable. Then he typed a single word in reply.
> “Who?”
The answer came almost instantly.
> “You won’t like it.”
Rihan’s reflection in the dark window didn’t move. But a small c***k appeared in the calm he’d built.
Because for the first time, the game wasn’t in his control anymore.
---
- Writer
