The room was dimly lit, with the flickering light from a single bulb casting long shadows on the walls. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the faint glow. The walls were bare, save for a few crumpled posters of medical heroes and martial arts legends. In one corner sat a small wooden desk, cluttered with worn textbooks and scattered pages filled with Ji Yoo's handwritten notes on medicine and self-defense techniques.
Song Ji Yoo, a girl of sixteen, stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection. She had long, dark hair that she often tied back in a messy bun, a habit born out of practicality and a desire to focus. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually filled with determination, now glistened with a mix of fear and resentment. She was small for her age, but her slender frame belied the strength she was cultivating within.
At school, the hallways buzzed with laughter and chatter, a cacophony that felt like a foreign language to Ji Yoo. As she navigated through the crowd, whispers followed her like a shadow. "Look at her, the loser," one girl sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. The group of girls erupted into laughter, echoing off the walls. Ji Yoo's heart raced, but she kept her head down, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her upset.
"Don't you have better things to do than pick on her?" a boy from her class interjected, who was often alone like her, trying to defend her. The girls rolled their eyes, dismissing him with a wave of their hands. "You're just as pathetic, hanging out with her," they retorted, and Ji Yoo felt the weight of their words settle heavily on her shoulders.
Later, as Ji Yoo sat in the corner of the library, the familiar sting of loneliness washed over her. She flipped through the pages of a medical textbook, but the words blurred before her eyes. She couldn't shake off the memory of the laughter that followed her down the hall. In her mind, she recalled the moments when she had dared to dream—of becoming a healer, of saving lives, of being someone who made a difference. But those dreams felt distant, like a fading echo in a vast canyon.
Determined to reclaim her strength, Ji Yoo took a deep breath and closed the book. She picked up a notebook instead, flipping to a blank page. With a firm grip on her pen, she began to write: I will not be a victim. I will be strong. I will learn. I will fight. Each word felt like a promise to herself, a vow to rise above her circumstances.
As she finished writing, her thoughts drifted to her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kim, who often shared stories of her youth and the battles she had fought in life. Ji Yoo found solace in those tales, drawing inspiration from the resilience of the woman who had lived through so much.
Ji Yoo stood up from the table and walked to the window, gazing out at the horizon. The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was a beautiful sight, but it felt bittersweet. In that moment, Ji Yoo made a silent vow. She would not let her circumstances define her. She would train, study, and fight. And one day, she would rise above the shadows of sadness that threatened to engulf her.