"Alright, class, that will be all for today. Any questions?"
Hina's voice floated through the air, warm and inviting as her eyes scanned the room.
Unlike the usual days of curious murmurs or raised hands, a suffocating silence hung heavy in the atmosphere.
This wasn't the stillness of thought or reflection—it was oppressive, laden with an unmistakable sense of unease.
Her gaze swept over her students, their postures stiff, their eyes avoiding hers. They sat at the edges of their seats, shoulders taut, as though bracing themselves for something. A collective, silent, fear had griped the room.
'They're afraid, huh?' Hina thought, frustration and guilt twisting in her chest. Memories of yesterday flooded back—the moment her temper had flared and fractured the trust she had painstakingly built.
She had apologized, but even to her, the words had felt hollow. Now, the silence in the room echoed louder than any accusation.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hina forced a smile, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"Alright, that's all for today then," she said softly, dismissing them with a wave just as the bell rang for recess.
Yet, nobody moved. As she walked toward the door, an audible chorus of sighs followed—a sound of relief that pierced her deeply.
Her presence, once meant to encourage, now cast a shadow.
Once she left, the stillness shattered. Chairs scraped against the floor, and the students hurried out, their footsteps and voices frantic as though fleeing.
The academy hallways were alive with chaos—students darting about, their laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls.
But all noise seemed to drain from the corridors as Hina passed through.
Conversations faltered, and the sound of her footsteps seemed amplified in the growing quiet.
Her fingers tightened around her belongings, her awareness sharp to the discomfort her presence stirred.
'I can't let this continue,' she resolved, determined to mend the damage. But just as the thought surfaced, she collided with someone.
"Sorry—Ah!" Hina exclaimed, stepping back.
Her breath caught as she saw who it was—Kyorin.
Kyorin froze, his wide eyes filled with alarm. Then, without hesitation, he bowed deeply. "I-I'm sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling.
His whole body seemed to lock in place, his fists clenched as though preparing for the worst.
Hina's heart ached. Around them, a small crowd began to gather, their whispers growing louder.
"Kyorin, look at me," she urged, her voice calm yet gentle. But his neck remained stiff, his eyes glued to the floor.
"Kyorin," she called again, softer this time. "Please, look at me."
The crowd's murmurs grew, pressing on the tense silence.
Hina crouched to his level, her tone almost pleading. "I promise, I won't hurt you. Please, look at me."
Still, he wouldn't budge.
Desperate, she reached out, her trembling hands gently cupping his cheeks. Kyorin flinched at the touch, but Hina's sincerity was unwavering.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, forgive me."
Finally, his gaze lifted. His eyes, though filled with fear, met hers for a brief moment.
"I-It's alright," he stammered, his voice faint. He stepped back. "T-Then… I'll be going."
Hina nodded, letting him go. As he walked away, the crowd began to disperse, their uneasy stares softening just a little.
She exhaled, her first step toward reconciliation taken, though the watchful eyes of the uneased still lingered.
Heading toward the staff room, her thoughts were interrupted by faint voices from within. She hesitated, listening to the conversation.
"She apologized, didn't she?" one voice said.
"Yes, but did you see how scared he was? He probably accepted out of fear," another replied, their tone skeptical.
Hina froze. "Accepted out of fear?" The words sank into her mind like a stone, unraveling the fragile sense of progress she had just felt.
Was her apology enough? Or had she only deepened Kyorin's fear?
Shaking her head, she opened the door. Her colleagues flinched, their conversation abruptly silenced. She said nothing, retrieving her forgotten chopsticks before stepping out again.
But their words lingered in her thoughts.
'I have to show sincerity in my actions,' she resolved, her determination hardening as she walked back into the corridor.
The lunch period was typical—students ate, played, or rested.
Kyorin, like always, rested on a wide tree branch, seeking shade and peace, lost on the labyrinth of his thoughts.
It had been two years since he joined the academy, a decision made reluctantly at the insistence of Xia and Grandma Tang. Back then, he kept his distance from others, believing in self-reliance.
But trouble had found him early on. An older boy mocked his calm demeanor, escalating from taunts to a shove that broke Kyorin's focus.
Kyorin retaliated with a slap, sending the boy tumbling back. This act drew attention, and soon another boy stepped in, siding with the tormentor, who met the same fate.
But then, more unwanted attention came, and Kyorin quickly found himself outnumbered, as the situation shifted from a one-on-one dispute to a ten-against-one scenario.
Despite his martial arts skills, Kyorin lacked the Qi to defend himself, making the fight painfully one-sided.
What struck him even more, however, was the fact that no one stepped in to help.
For someone who had heard praises of social justice, this level of indifference was baffling.
He had often been told that society never ignored injustice, yet now, as a part of it, his experience painted a completely different picture.
The people around him—adults and children alike—had seen the entire ordeal, yet they turned away.
Perhaps they dismissed it as "kids being kids," believing the situation would resolve itself. Or perhaps they assumed someone else would intervene.
Eventually, someone did. Grandma Tang arrived, her presence scattering the bullies. She rushed to Kyorin, helping him to his feet.
His clothes were filthy, his body battered, and his disheveled appearance betrayed the pain he had endured.
His gaze darted toward the onlookers—those who had witnessed everything and yet done nothing. Their apathy wasn't rooted in malice but in a neglect disguised as normalcy.
As he stood there, he felt arms wrap gently around him. "It's okay to cry," Grandma Tang whispered.
"Cry?" Kyorin echoed, touching his cheeks. Tears had slipped down, unnoticed in his pain. To Grandma Tang, they symbolized suffering, deserving of pity and comfort.
That's when it hit him: society only acknowledged suffering when it was voiced or visibly expressed.
When he had shown no pain, no sign of vulnerability, he had been ignored. To society, silent suffering was as insignificant as a pebble on the roadside.
Yet, he felt no anger. Instead, a strange sense of clarity washed over him. He thought, 'It seems like I can fit into society after all.'
Society, which prided itself on protecting the vulnerable, often failed because of its inherent flaws.
Kyorin, indifferent by nature, now saw that society shared his detachment. And in that shared indifference, he found a strange sense of belonging.
Seeing things from a side he had never been part of didn't seem so bad. Even if he hadn't fully lived within society, he was still undeniably part of it. At its core, humanity was what forged the unity we call society.
And even if he once believed he didn't belong, he now understood: he was, and always had been, a part of this humanity of apathetic.
*Gonging of the Bell*
The sound of the bell pulled Kyorin from his thoughts, scattering them like leaves caught in a sudden gust. His feet carried him to the classroom, though his mind lingered on the unease that had quietly taken root.
Stepping inside, his eyes briefly met Hina's. She stood by the blackboard, composed but with a faint shadow in her gaze—a flicker of something unresolved.
Kyorin didn't need words to sense it; the way her eyes darted toward him and quickly away was enough.
The lesson began, but there was an unfamiliar warmth in Hina's demeanor—subtle, almost imperceptible, yet there.
Her voice carried a softness, laced with encouragement as she walked through the rows. When she paused by Kyorin's desk, her tone was deliberate.
"Good work," she said, glancing at his notebook. The words were casual, but her lingering presence was not. It shielded and smothered in equal measure.
The class noticed.
Whispers ignited like sparks behind raised hands and sidelong glances which were unnoticed by Hina. "She's favoring him." "It's obvious, isn't it?"
After class, Kyorin slipped out quietly, his steps hurried. He had barely reached the school gate when the familiar figures of his tormentors emerged, their laughter slicing through the quiet like distant thunder.
"There he is," one sneered, stepping forward. But before they could act, another figure intervened.
Hina.
Her presence loomed over the bullies, leaving them frozen on their tracks. "That's enough," she said, her voice carrying a quiet authority that made the bullies hesitate. "I'll escort Kyorin home."
Silent nodding, Kyorin followed Hina, leaving behind the bullies who let out a collective "Tch" as they watched the two figures retreat into the distance.
The taunts and jeers faded, but an unsettling atmosphere lingered between the two.
Even as Hina and Kyorin walked side by side, an impenetrable silence enveloped them. Their footsteps echoed softly against the muddy trail, filling the void where conversation might have flourished.
Hina's attempts to shield him were evident, but Kyorin sensed the unease behind her kindness. It wasn't just guilt—it was something deeper, something fragile—a desperation to fix one's self image.
When they reached his home, Hina stopped at the gate. "Let me know if you need anything," she said softly before turning to leave, her hesitation lingering like a shadow.
This routine repeated in the days that followed. Hina's presence became a barrier between Kyorin and the bullies.
Her efforts to atone for her past actions grew more visible, though her resolve wavered when Xia appeared one day. No words were exchanged, and Hina, burdened by guilt, couldn't meet Xia's gaze.
She hurriedly left, leaving Xia to glance at Kyorin and sigh. "Did you get bullied again, and the teacher had to escort you?" she asked.
Kyorin simply replied, "Yes."
"You know," Xia said, crouching down with a gentle smile, "you should make friends if you don't want to be bullied."
At her words, Kyorin's mind drifted back to the ten bullies who had ganged up on him. That bullying—it was the price of his own foolishness.
He had always kept to himself, never seeking connections. Yet, his isolation had become the root of his suffering.
The word 'camaraderie' twisted in his thoughts—a bond that had united those ten against him, a bond he lacked. It was an undeniable truth Kyorin had come to terms with.
But for someone who had never sought relationships, he wondered what kind of bond was worth pursuing.
Xia, noticing her son's silent contemplation, let out a small sigh. Deciding to leave him to his thoughts, she believed he would eventually make friends.
Meanwhile, Hina continued escorting him home daily, occasionally crossing paths with Xia.
Yet eventually, the whispers began. At first, faint—carried on the wind like scattered rumors. "She's biased," some said. "She's only doing this to save face."
The whispers grew louder. The glances turned sharper. Even as Hina tried to balance her kindness, offering support to the entire class, judgment followed her every step.
Inside the staffroom, the murmurs persisted. Outside the classroom, conversations hushed when she passed by. The weight of suspicion pressed down on her, no matter how hard she tried to escape it.
And Kyorin? He observed it all with detached curiosity. This wasn't just guilt now—it was an attempt at amends, clouded by her neglect of duty and a bid to restore her image.
As the world around him grew louder, criticizing Hina's preferential treatment, Kyorin's mind worked in quiet precision, weaving the threads of his plan toward something inevitable.
To be continued...
****
A/N: Hey everyone. First off, I owe you all an apology for the recent drop in chapter quality. Life has been hectic with finals weighing heavily on me.
I became so absorbed in dissecting and explaining every little detail that my chapters started to feel more like monologues of my mind than engaging storytelling.
After taking some time to regroup, I feel more grounded. With this chapter, "Flesh and Stone," I've aimed for a better balance.
This chapter not only avoids previous pitfalls but also introduces a pivotal development for Kyorin.
I understand that some might find his recent behavior underwhelming or overly emotional, leading to a perception of him as a "crybaby." However, this portrayal is intentional; Kyorin is acting his age.
He is learning to navigate society, understanding how others perceive him, and practicing emotions as tools in a world that demands visible expressions. This doesn't make him weaker; it makes him more adaptable.
Unlike the typical cold, detached protagonist, Kyorin embraces emotions, using them like masks to serve his needs.
Beneath these masks, he remains calculating and driven, working to gain society's trust, even if his actions are sometimes morally gray.
His emotional depth is deliberate, allowing him to earn public support despite questionable choices.
Kyorin's evolution contrasts the usual portrayal of a cold MC. It's about depth and navigating societal complexities while maintaining his core goals.
I hope this chapter and my note reflects that and offers a glimpse of what's to come.
On a side note, please feel free to share your frustrations or feedback.
Your honest thoughts will help me understand what to avoid and guide my improvement of the story. I deeply value your input, as it pushes me to refine both Kyorin's journey and my craft as a writer.