Jin Dalle's twin pink eyes followed the graceful arcs of birds slicing through the azure sky. Their carefree flight filled her with an unspoken longing as she strolled through the vibrant streets. Each step carried a delicate balance—slow enough to savor the world around her, yet brisk enough to avoid the ire of the school bell.
The path was lined with life, bursts of colour spilling from flower beds and potted plants nestled on balconies. Jin's gaze lingered on the blossoms, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, whispering tranquillity. She wished she could lose herself in their beauty, let time slip through her fingers as effortlessly as their delicate fragrance danced in the air.
"Come on, Dalle, you'll be late for school," she chastised herself, though the thought filled her with a familiar sense of dread. School was a routine, a duty, but never a place of peace. Still, she pressed on, her resolve as fragile as the petals she admired.
The towering gates of Ganghwa Garden Girl's High School came into view, standing like silent sentinels. They were still open, inviting stragglers like her to hurry through. The guard stationed by the entrance offered her a warm smile, his voice carrying a playful warning.
"You'd better rush, young lady," he said, his tone light but knowing.
Jin bowed politely, her cheeks faintly tinged with embarrassment. She didn't miss the way the guard chuckled softly as she walked past, no doubt amused by her tendency to drift into her thoughts.
Stepping into the school's hyeon-gwan shoe locker room, Jin let out a quiet sigh. The faint smell of polish and fresh linen greeted her as she approached her locker. She carefully slid open the door, tucking away her outdoor shoes and slipping into the familiar comfort of her indoor slippers. The click of the locker shutting echoed softly in the quiet room.
Jin took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing against the strap of her bag as she prepared to head to her homeroom. The halls stretched ahead of her, alive with the faint hum of early chatter and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps. Despite the lively noise, she couldn't shake the unease nestled in her chest, like a shadow she couldn't outrun.
As she moved forward, Jin couldn't help but glance once more at the world outside through the school windows. The blossoms she had admired seemed far away now, almost unreachable—a fleeting reminder of the calm she so desperately wished to hold onto.
---
Jin Dalle hesitated as she gripped the cold metal handle of the classroom door, her heart racing. Maybe this time, they won't notice me, she thought, silently praying. But as she stepped inside, her hopes crumbled.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" a mocking voice rang out, cutting through the buzz of the room.
Kim Minji, seated backward on her chair like a self-proclaimed queen, glared at Jin with a disdainful smirk. Her cohort, clustered around her like loyal subjects, erupted into stifled giggles. Jin kept her head low, trying to reach her seat at the front without further incident, but the group wasn't about to let her off so easily.
One of Minji's lackeys ripped a piece of paper, crumpled it into a ball, and chewed it before launching it with perfect aim. The soggy projectile struck Jin squarely on the head, eliciting a roar of laughter from the group.
"Loser!" one of them jeered.
"She's such a freak," another hissed, their words like daggers.
Jin clenched her jaw, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the wet paper ball. She walked calmly to the trash can at the front of the room and disposed of it, her face frozen in a practiced, placid smile.
"Such a waste of entertainment," Minji sneered, tucking her long, jet-black hair behind her ear. Her icy gaze followed Jin for a moment before she dismissed her entirely, turning back to her friends and their endless gossip.
Jin sat down, her shoulders heavy with the weight of their ridicule.
"Hey, you okay, Jin?" a soft voice whispered beside her.
Dalmi, the only person in the room who treated her with kindness, looked at her with genuine concern.
"Yeah, don't worry about them," Jin replied, forcing a small smile. "At least you're here."
Dalmi grinned, her tone lightening. "Of course I'm here! I'm your only friend, after all. Now, hurry up and praise me!"
The two chuckled softly, a rare moment of solace in the hostile environment. Dalmi reached over and squeezed Jin's hand reassuringly.
"Cheer up," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've got a present for you after school."
"A present? What is it?" Jin asked, surprised.
Dalmi raised an exaggerated brow. "Do you even know the meaning of a present? You'll just have to wait."
Jin sighed, her curiosity piqued, and turned her attention to the clock above the marker board. The teacher was late, leaving the room in a state of barely controlled chaos. Students chatted, laughed, and even dozed off, relishing the prospect of a missed lesson.
Jin opened her book, determined to catch up on her studies, when a strange sensation rippled through her. A cold shiver crawled down her spine, her breath catching as an inexplicable sound buzzed faintly in her ears.
Dalmi noticed her sudden stillness and touched her shoulder. "Dalle, are you okay? You look pale."
Before Jin could answer, the door to the classroom creaked open, and the teacher finally arrived. Students scrambled to their seats, the atmosphere shifting in an instant.
Jin glanced at Dalmi, forcing another smile. "I'm fine," she whispered.
But deep down, she wasn't. Something felt off—dark and foreboding, like a shadow lurking just out of sight. And no matter how hard she tried, Jin couldn't shake the feeling that the day was about to take a sinister turn.
As the class settled into an uneasy quiet, the teacher took her place at the front, her presence commanding attention. The class representative rose from her seat, her voice sharp and clear, slicing through the murmur of whispers.
"Salute!" she called, her tone firm.
In unison, the students gave a polite bow.
"Good morning," the teacher replied curtly, her voice steady. She adjusted her glasses and pulled a file from her desk, flipping it open with the practiced ease of routine. "As usual, I'll begin by calling the register."
Clearing her throat, she started. "Choi Minhee."
Silence.
The teacher paused, her brow furrowing. "Huh," she muttered under her breath, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. Minhee's absences were far from unusual, but they never failed to disrupt her flow. She called the name again, her voice slightly louder, but the result was the same—emptiness answered her. Sighing, she moved to the next name.
----
"Dalmi," she called, her pen poised to mark the attendance sheet.
The classroom remained still, the absence of sound hanging heavy in the air.
"Dalmi!" the teacher repeated, her eyes still fixed on the list in front of her. Her tone sharpened with concern.
No response.
Something shifted in the room—a palpable tension that prickled at the edges of awareness. Frowning, the teacher raised her head, her gaze sweeping across the class.
"Dalmi, are you—" she began, but her words faltered as she noticed something unusual.
The students weren't looking at her. Their heads were turned toward the windows, their faces bathed in an eerie, fading light.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice edged with confusion.
Slowly, she followed their gaze, her heart sinking as she saw the source of their distraction. Outside, the once brilliant sunlight was dimming, swallowed by an encroaching shadow. The sky darkened unnaturally, a strange, foreboding twilight overtaking the day.
"It's… like a solar eclipse," one student whispered, their voice trembling with unease.
But it wasn't.
The darkness was heavier, thicker, and alive with a strange energy that pressed against the glass, casting long, warped shadows into the room. The air inside seemed to thicken, the oxygen feeling heavier with every breath.
The teacher, visibly unsettled but attempting to mask her fear, gathered her courage and stepped toward the window. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the edge of the frame, her curiosity mixed with unease. The dimmed light outside cast strange, wavering shadows that danced across her face.
Suddenly, something hovered into view, its form sleek and mechanical, resembling an advanced drone. The machine's surface gleamed with an ominous metallic sheen, and its design spoke of precision and power far beyond anything they had seen before.
The teacher froze, her breath catching in her throat as the drone's lens swiveled to focus directly on her. A sharp, thin beam of light shot out, scanning her from head to toe with unsettling precision.
"What… what is this?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The drone emitted a mechanical hum, and a cold, emotionless voice crackled through the air.
"Commencing protocol: Eliminate non-subjects."
A small red dot appeared, centered on the teacher's forehead. Her eyes widened in horror as realization dawned, her lips parting to protest.
"What do you mean by 'elimi—'"
The words never left her mouth.
BANG!
The sound erupted like thunder, deafening and final. Blood sprayed across the floor as the teacher's body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Smoke wisped from the small, precise hole where the bullet had pierced her skull, and the drone hovered motionless for a moment, as if confirming the kill.
"Target eliminated," the cold voice announced with chilling finality.
The classroom erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air as students pushed back from their desks, their chairs screeching against the floor. Some ducked under tables, others froze in place, paralyzed by terror.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The dreadful sound of gunfire echoed through the school, reverberating from classroom to classroom. Each shot carried the weight of finality, the chilling realization of death settling over the students like a suffocating fog.
Jin's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse deafening in her ears as the horror unfolded before her. Her trembling hand reached for Dalmi's desk again, her voice shaking.
"Dalmi…" she whispered, though she knew it was futile.
The drone, now finished with its initial target, turned its lens to the classroom, scanning the students as if selecting its next victim. The air was thick with despair, the hope of escape dwindling with every passing second.