Beep, beep, beep—this door lock sounded more tense than usual.
As the front door opened, I saw Siyeon’s pale face.
Siyeon, who usually went straight to her room as soon as she entered from outside.
It wasn’t until I saw her at the playground that I properly faced her.
It was then that I noticed the dried tears on her cheeks.
My chest tightened; I thought she needed some alone time, but that time was turning into neglect.
As soon as I came in, I stood with my arms crossed in front of the door.
Siyeon hesitated for a moment, looking a bit flustered before stepping into her room.
But that hesitation didn’t last long, and she quickly retreated into her room as if to flee, making it seem like nothing happened.
“Lee Siyeon, don’t go to your room—sit in the living room.”
Before approaching her, I called out her full name.
I had hardly ever called her that way, much less so forcefully.
Even back in kindergarten, or elementary school.
Siyeon always listened well, after all, and when I said something once, she would correct her behavior without needing to repeat myself.
I just needed a different atmosphere from the usual.
Siyeon came trudging in, unable to even drop her school bag off in her room, and sat down on the couch.
She slowly approached me and looked down from above, our faces almost meeting.
For a moment, our eyes connected before she looked away into a corner.
“Roll up your sleeves.”
“…Why?”
“Hurry.”
With my still coercive attitude, Siyeon rolled her right sleeve up to her elbow.
Of course, the place I envisioned wouldn’t be found on her bare arm.
I took a moment to recall.
Surely, the area being rubbed was much higher than her elbow, around her shoulder.
“W-what are you doing!”
Ignoring the emotional distance that previously felt so far between me and Siyeon, I rushed over and yanked her right arm up.
Surprised, Siyeon gripped her sleeve to prevent me from seeing but, naturally, my strength from keeping fit made it easy for me to overcome her struggles.
Her futile attempts to escape finally ceased, revealing skin that hovered between a purplish hue and black.
A brief silence.
Now that I’d let go of her sleeve, she offered no intention of pulling it down.
Seething with anger, I uncrossed my arms and rubbed my forehead, looking at Siyeon.
“…Who did it?”
“Ah, um, I just bumped into a wall….”
Siyeon was trying to lie even after we’d gotten to this point.
She probably didn’t want to worry me with unnecessary concerns.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand her feelings, which made it all the more disheartening.
I uncrossed my arms, placed my hands on my hips, and hung my head low.
I stood on my toes, trembling slightly, trying to quell my anger with a meaningless action, muttering the words.
“Siyeon, I’m not that dumb.”
“…….”
Again, a silence fell between us.
Of course, it wasn’t Siyeon’s fault, but I felt I needed to say something to help her realize the seriousness of the situation.
She must think she can just endure, but that’s not it.
Just enduring would make her a silent toy.
If she resisted, she would become a plaything to be beaten down.
It’s always the same miserable girls who enjoy making others suffer.
They don’t have much of a reason; they just find it entertaining to have their fun with the quiet ones.
The quieter children are, the easier they become targets.
The thought alone ignited my rage, but in this moment, finding proof was easier than hearing her state it outright.
With my head still hung low, I extended a hand from my waist.
“Hand over your smartphone.”
“I, I don’t want to….”
In a moment of frustration, I charged at Siyeon sitting on the couch and snatched the smartphone she weakly clung to.
The transparent film was cracked, and it was a phone she hadn’t changed in years.
Every time I suggested she get a new one, she insisted this one was just fine.
Inside the messenger app, profile pictures of girls who looked like they were dipped in cigarettes popped up with messages laced with various special characters, all pretending to be adorable.
For some reason, she was grouped in a chatroom with those girls.
Messages flowed constantly, asking things like “How much longer before you bring me cash?,” from kids just barely starting middle school, playing money games.
I found myself dumbfounded by the sight of that chatroom.
I pressed the side button to black out the screen and sat next to Siyeon with a feigned calmness.
I hadn’t had the opportunity to talk this closely with her for a while.
“Why didn’t you just transform and smash them? Why didn’t you do that?”
Words tumbled out without a filter, as I scratched my head, pointedly directed at Siyeon.
That was definitely a thought only I could have.
Good-hearted Siyeon wouldn’t think that way.
“Because… it’s not allowed.”
“Tsk….”
I clicked my tongue loudly, biting my lip as I glanced at the message that held no good meaning saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Why didn’t Siyeon inform me that she was being bullied?
If I searched on the internet for any writing related to “school violence,” it was all too clear.
Simply nonexistent.
The assumption that her problems could just resolve themselves.
Bullies could torment others and still thrive, while victims had to go to school no matter how many complaints they filed, with follow-up harassment lurking behind.
“What a fucked-up reality….”
I grimaced at the thought as I stared at the smartphone.
Fists are often closer to justice than law.
The students who torment her are just fists, while the adults are slow, outdated legislation.
Victims usually hide their struggles from their parents too….
Even though I had always looked out for her, it must have been even harder for her to confide in someone like me.
It’s okay; Siyeon has me.
If laws and procedures can’t be trusted, then come rain or shine, I’ll be the fist that brings those bitches down.
I had several ideas growing in my mind already, but the more brutal ways to handle those bad girls, the better. I’d ask for Gomteng’s opinions since he was steeped in the internet.
“Hey, Gomteng.”
“Yeah?”
“I need some fresh methods for dealing with school violence bullies.”
“Hmm, how about this method?”
As Gomteng whispered his idea into my ear, I thought to myself.
This is it; this is the only way.
It was an exceptionally good plan for initiating school violence for another reason, so I immediately adopted that idea.
We had almost everything ready for this ingenious method at home, except for one tiny thing.
That was, short hair.
Fueled by Gomteng’s enthusiasm, I tore off a big piece of sanitary roll and dashed to the bathroom with large scissors.
Carefully, yet not so carefully, I directed those scissors at my black strands.
After hacking away my long hair with just a few snips, I turned towards the bathroom mirror, checking my back, and called out to Gomteng for an objective opinion.
“Does this look similar from the back?”
“Yeah, just as long as you leave your chest out… Hmm!”
“Hold on, damn you with that big mouth!”
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