★YUNA★
"Yuna-ya!" Hera shouts, her voice cutting through the chatter at the gate of Pusan National University.
PNU—a university that's notoriously hard to get into. Gi-hun pulled strings for me, leveraging his shady connections. And, okay, maybe my "smart-ass brain" helped too. Gi-hun wasn't thrilled when I demanded he put me in school, though. "Put me in, or I won't work for you anymore," I'd told him, ignoring his string of colorful insults. In the end, he caved.
Hera was the reason I pushed for PNU. She'd told me her rich parents were sending her here, and when she asked about my plans, I had nothing. No plans of going to college. She'd even offered to have her parents pull strings for me too, but I declined. Her parents were kind—I knew that firsthand—but I couldn't live off someone else's money. I work for what's mine.
"Hera-ya," I greet her as I approach. I tower over her by a full head. "Were you waiting long?"
"Ani," she says with a shrug, nodding toward her driver, who watches us from a distance. "I just got here. Let's go inside; I have so much to tell you before class starts."
---
As we walk, Hera launches into the story about her latest escapade—a make-out session with the supposed club hottie. She's practically glowing as she recounts the details. Meanwhile, my mind wanders. Should I tell her about last night?
Not the part where I killed the man, of course. Just enough to vent. But no, she'd pity me, and I don't want that. Worse, she might offer to take me and Grandpa in, and as tempting as the idea of living in her spacious house is, I can't do it. I refuse to be dependent on anyone.
"…and then I called him last night," Hera is saying, "but he didn't answer. Can you believe it? Is he ghosting me already? I'll kill him!"
I chuckle at her dramatics. "Maybe he's busy. Not every guy is some idle university kid."
We reach the Fine Arts department, and I turn to her. "I'll see you after class."
Hera nods. We're in different programs—she's set on becoming a high-end fashion designer, and honestly, I know she'll make it. As for me, I'm here for Fine Arts: sculpture, painting, drawing. I love it all, though I don't see it as a career path. It's more for the peace it brings me.
"Don't forget," she says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "If I don't come find you, you find me, okay?"
"Arasseo," I reply with a small smile as she hurries off. I head into the building, making my way to the back of the classroom.
"The junkie showed up today," someone sneers from two seats away.
I glance at the girl, my expression blank.
"Yah, Yuna. Got any cigarettes on you?" another voice chimes in—a guy this time. He snickers. "Can't live without them, huh? Hahaha, fucking addict."
I clench my jaw but don't react. If I do, someone's ending up in a hospital, and I'll be in a police station. Gi-hun wouldn't be happy about that.
Instead, I pull my phone from my pocket, plug in my earphones, and open my music app. Für Elise fills my ears, and I close my eyes, humming along. It's calming—something I desperately need right now.
The lecturer arrives not long after. He scans the room before announcing, "Those interested in sculpture, head to the sculpting room."
That's me. I'm interested in everything.
---
★
The sculpting room lives up to its name—clay and sand are scattered everywhere. Around thirty students file in, but there are more than enough seats. PNU spares no expense for its students.
I take a seat in the fifth row, hanging my tote bag on the chair's handle. Pulling out my tiny figurines, I admire my last assignment: superheroes. I'd sculpted Wonder Woman from DC's Justice League and Hulk from Marvel. I prefer Thor though, but the thought of sculpting his intricate details made me groan.
The lecturer gave me an A+ for both pieces. He likes me, which, of course, has led to whispers among the students. "He just wants to bang her," they say. Whatever.
"Good morning, class!" the lecturer greets us with an infectious grin. "I hope you're ready for today's challenge because it's going to be interesting."
The class cheers, though their enthusiasm feels half-hearted.
"Today," he begins, "your task is to sculpt the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance."
He pauses for dramatic effect, his grin widening.
"Using faceless forms," he adds. "I want you to convey the essence of each emotion through posture, texture, and composition."
The earlier cheer dies, replaced by a collective groan. I stifle a laugh. It's a challenging task for large designs, but in figurine form? Much easier.
"Relax," he says, waving a hand. "You'll be working with figurines. No need to bankrupt the school's property budget."
With that, he gestures for us to begin.