Spring had arrived, painting the streets in delicate shades of pink as sakura blossoms drifted through the air—a gentle reminder of beauty in a world that Hoon found to be anything but. The fallen petals gathered along the roadside, as though the earth itself tried to brighten his steps. Yet, for Hoon, their charm only underscored the monotony of his daily routine.
With his shoulders slouched and hands stuffed in his pockets, he trudged along the street. Dark circles ringed his eyes from nights spent wrestling with boredom more than with sleep, and his entire posture seemed a testament to his disinterest in just about everything. He blended into the scenery like a shadow—present, but barely noticed. Only those close enough might catch the faint mumble of his voice, directed at no one in particular.
"What a bother," he muttered, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. "Late again. Baldy's going to nag me senseless." He knew what awaited him: the irritated shout, the inevitable punishment, the entire pointless routine.
This was Hoon—a self-proclaimed master of misery. Life, in his eyes, was a dreary play, and he a bored actor, rehearsing the same lines and scenes. He wished, almost desperately, for a twist in his story—a glimpse of the absurd or the extraordinary. Aliens, a meteor, some cataclysm that would knock the whole world off course. Anything but this stagnant, suffocating sameness.
As he shuffled closer to the school gates, his mind drifted to darker musings. Maybe this is all fate, he thought with an air of grim resignation. Everything's planned out, even the messes I make. If I'd killed someone...would that be fate too?
He let the thought linger, tasting its bitterness. It was twisted, but at least it was a change—a slight thrill in the otherwise dull drudgery.
When he finally entered the classroom, the teacher's voice struck him like a thunderclap. "You…! Hoon! Late again!" The teacher's expression was thunderous, his face turning a shade that Hoon often likened to a tomato. "Do ten jumping jacks, right now!"
Hoon raised a lazy eyebrow, unfazed. "Aye, aye, sir." He dropped his bag by his desk and began the exercise with such lackluster energy that it was almost a parody of obedience. The other students stifled laughter, some amused, others irritated. Hoon didn't care. The only attention he sought was that which he didn't get—and he preferred it that way.
As he glanced out the window, sakura petals danced in the air outside, catching the sunlight like fragile pink snowflakes. He let his gaze drift, watching them fall in slow motion, wishing he could simply float away with them.
A voice pulled him back. "Hoonie! How are you?"
He glanced sideways, already knowing who it was: Sakura, the class president. Her golden hair framed a face as perfectly composed as a painting, and her smile was as radiant as the spring morning. Every other student in school either admired her or, like Hoon, found her cheerfulness unbearably irritating. She had been his friend since childhood—a fact that only increased his exasperation with her.
"Stop calling me that, Prez," he muttered, trying to keep his irritation in check. "It's embarrassing." His voice was a dry, reluctant grumble.
"Oh, come on! 'Hoonie' is cute, though!" she said with a pout, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"For heaven's sake, just leave me alone." The words came out sharper than he intended, and a flicker of hurt crossed her face before she hid it behind a forced smile.
"Why do you have to be so rude?" she mumbled, her voice quieter. The brightness dimmed in her eyes as she looked away, and a part of him felt a strange pang of guilt.
Here we go again, he thought, resisting the urge to sigh. Why does she keep hanging around me like a lost puppy?
When the bell rang for lunch, Hoon drifted off to the cafeteria, hoping to find a quiet corner to escape the classroom's dull chatter. The cafeteria was bustling, as usual, but he welcomed the noise—it was almost soothing compared to the static monotony of class.
He spotted a commotion in the corner, a small crowd gathered around a silver-haired girl. She was the timid treasurer of their class, often seen clutching the class ledger with a shy, determined look on her face. Today, though, her face was a mask of steely resolve as she fended off a pushy classmate demanding to borrow money.
"Hey, just give me 100 yen from the class funds or whatever," the guy demanded, his tone laced with entitlement.
"No." Her response was calm but firm, her gaze unyielding. She looked him squarely in the eyes, refusing to back down.
"Why, you…!" The boy raised his hand as if to strike her, but she didn't flinch, her expression hard as stone. "I'll tell my dad," she added with icy finality.
The boy sneered and backed off, muttering under his breath, his bravado deflated. The crowd dispersed, leaving her alone once more.
Hoon sauntered over, hands still in his pockets, an amused smirk on his face. "Yo, I saw that. Impressive," he remarked.
She looked up, her deadpan eyes meeting his as she adjusted her glasses. "Hello, Hoon."
"Hey, mind lending me 100 yen?" he asked with a grin, extending his hand. She didn't hesitate, producing a small coin and placing it in his palm with a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Here," she said quietly. There was a warmth in her voice that caught him off guard—a soft kindness that felt out of place in their bleak school corridors.
"Thanks." He pocketed the coin, feeling a strange twinge of gratitude. Why's she so friendly with me? he wondered, the question lingering in his mind as he turned away. Maybe she's as bored as I am.
But his musings were cut short by a sudden tremor. The ground shook beneath their feet, the cafeteria's fluorescent lights flickered, and a low rumble filled the room. Students screamed, clutching their trays and bags as the floor seemed to sway like the deck of a ship. Panic erupted, voices rising in a chaotic wave.
"What's happening?" someone yelled. And then, without warning—darkness.
When Hoon opened his eyes, he felt disoriented, his senses dulled as if he were trapped in a fog. Gradually, his vision cleared, and he found himself in the school assembly hall. Everything looked familiar, yet disturbingly different.
At the front of the room, a small figure stood on the stage—a girl, flanked by two towering bodyguards. Her eyes scanned the crowd with a cold, calculating gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Everyone awake?" The girl's voice rang out through a microphone, slicing through the silence. Students stared, frozen in terror and confusion.
"Relax," she continued, her voice dripping with mock reassurance. "We're not aliens or anything. You're still in your school… just in a slightly different dimension."
The crowd erupted in murmurs, fear spreading like wildfire. "Where are we?" someone shouted, voice trembling with panic.
"Calm down," the girl commanded, and the hall fell silent under her piercing gaze. "You can call me Instructor A. And yes, you're all here for a reason."
Hoon's mind whirled, barely processing her words. Beside him, Sakura's hand found his, her grip tight with fear. "Hoon… I'm scared," she whispered, her voice quivering.
Before he could respond, a teacher pushed to the front, voice brimming with authority. "Hey! What is this? Get us out of here, you brat!"
The girl raised her finger, forming a mock gun. "Bang," she whispered. A flash of light shot from her fingertip, striking the teacher square in the chest. He crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
A horrified silence fell over the room as dozens of students stared in shock, some too stunned to look away, others frozen in terror.
"Now," Instructor A said, her smirk widening, "I hope I have your attention. I'm here to lead you all in a little competition—a survival game, if you will. Only the strongest will come out of this."
For the first time in ages, Hoon felt a flicker of excitement. Finally… something interesting. Around him, students screamed as shadowy figures appeared, their eyes gleaming with malice, weapons drawn.
This is fun, he thought, feeling the usual boredom dissipate, replaced by something new—thrilling and dangerous.