The next day, Choi Irene walked into the classroom, carrying a juice drink in her hand. As she approached Yoon Jung's table, she placed the drink down in front of him.
Yoon Jung looked up at her with sleepy eyes and asked in a monotone voice, "What is this?"
Irene smiled, "It's a drink. I thought you might like it," she replied.
Yoon Jung took a sip of the drink without saying a word, his expression unreadable. Irene watched as he returned his attention to the desk and closed his eyes, once again lost in his own world.
The other students in the class were stunned - they had never heard Yoon Jung speak before, let alone engage in conversation with another person. They exchanged surprised glances.
In the obscure and somber classroom, Irene's unwavering gaze remained fixed on Yoon Jung, gradually succumbing to his captivating features, surpassing her initial expectations. His lower lip was adorned with a piercing, complemented by a profusion of earrings, further augmenting his already stunning appeal.
As he chanced a glance in her direction for a moment, Irene was entranced by the striking beauty of his iridescent light-brown eyes.
At that moment, She harbored a future in which she would wield him as a tool for her own pleasure and whims.
The news of Yoon Jung's unexpected response to Choi Irene quickly spread throughout the entire school, becoming the topic of conversation among both students and faculty alike.
"Have you heard about what happened between Yoon Jung and Choi Irene?" whispered one girl to another as they passed each other in the hallway. "I can't believe he actually talked to her. It's like a dream come true."
"Ugh, she's not even that pretty," sneered a girl walking by, rolling his eyes. "I don't get what all the fuss is about. It's not like she's the only girl in school."
"But she's the one who caught Yoon Jung's attention," interjected another girl, her voice filled with awe. "That's gotta mean something."
As the news continued to circulate, students began to divide into two distinct groups: those who were envious and bitter, and those who were enamored and hopeful.
"I bet she thinks she's so special now," muttered a group of girls, casting venomous glares at Irene as she walked by.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to start dressing nicer and doing my hair better, just in case Yoon Jung notices me too," declared a girl, eliciting a round of laughs from her friends.
Despite the varying opinions and reactions, it was clear that Yoon Jung and Choi Irene's brief interaction had ignited a spark of interest and intrigue that would continue to smolder and captivate the attention of the entire school for days to come.
Choi Irene sat alone in the school late into the night, poring over her books and taking notes with a fierce intensity. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired, evidence of the countless hours she had spent studying.
But as she wrote, she suddenly felt a wetness on her upper lip and realized with a hint of annoyance that her nose was bleeding again.
With a practiced calm, Irene stopped writing, pinched her nose with her fingers, and tilted her head back to prevent the blood from dripping onto her notes.
She sat there for a moment, breathing slowly through her mouth as the bleeding subsided, and then reached for a tissue to wipe away the blood.
After thirty long minutes of struggling to regain her composure, Choi Irene slowly made her way to the school toilet, the sounds of her footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty hallway.
Her head felt heavy, her eyes stinging with exhaustion and frustration. She just couldn't seem to focus tonight, no matter how hard she tried.
She pushed open the door to the toilet, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she saw that it was empty. No one to see her moment of weakness, her failure to keep it together. As she approached the sinks, she fumbled with the faucet, letting the cool water run over her hands and splash onto her face.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that the water would somehow cleanse away the fatigue and doubts that seemed to cling to her like a second skin.
But when she opened her eyes and looked up into the mirror, she saw only her own tired reflection staring back at her.
Her face pale and gaunt, her eyes red-rimmed from hours of studying. As she splashed cold water on her face, she saw her family's faces superimposed over hers in the glass, their mocking words ringing in her ears.
Her father's voice was the first to cut through her thoughts, cold and cutting as always. She could almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he uttered the words, "What a waste of money."
Her mother's words were even harsher, dripping with contempt for her daughter's perceived inadequacy. "Why are you still in 2nd place, you little shit?" she snarled, her tone venomous and cruel.
But it was her sister's words that hurt the most, her sneering smile etched into Irene's mind like a cruel caricature. "Why are you still alive?" she taunted, her voice dripping with malice. "Go and kill yourself."
The memory of her sister's cruel words was a constant weight on Irene's shoulders, a reminder of the relentless pressure she faced at home to be perfect, to never falter in her pursuit of academic success.
Choi Irene's frustration and despair boiled over, and she felt a desperate urge to punish herself for her perceived failures. She bit down hard on her lip, feeling the sting of pain as it began to bleed, but it wasn't enough to assuage her feelings of worthlessness.
She glanced down at her wrist, where a collection of red, raw cuts marked the surface, and felt a sudden urge to press down on them until they opened up and bled once more.
She pressed her fingers hard into her skin, digging her nails into the tender flesh until the wounds began to seep blood, and watched as the red droplets trickled down her fingers, a physical manifestation of her emotional pain.
In that moment, the heavy creak of the toilet door pierced through the deafening silence of the bathroom, and Choi Irene's head snapped up in surprise.
Through the door strode Yoon Jung, his features betraying no emotion as he gazed coolly at her.
A sharp pang of self-consciousness hit her as she registered the blood streaking down her arm, a telltale sign of her self-harm.
But his next words, spoken in a dispassionate monotone, cut through her like a knife: "You're taking a long time in here." The casualness of his tone only made her feel all the more exposed and vulnerable, as if her deepest secrets were on full display for him to see.