Chapter 55 : Monster (5)

I had been living in a dream, blinded by the warmth, clinging to a childish hope.

I had believed, foolishly, that the world would bend to my will, that others would understand, would accept me.

When my father died, when I returned to school after the funeral, my classmates offered their condolences, their words meant to comfort, but they only deepened my despair, their pity a confirmation of my tragic fate.

As my days darkened, Han Dojun, slapping me on the back of my head, said, ‘Let’s go see a play this weekend.’

He had been a silent presence at the funeral, but back at school, he acted as if nothing had happened.

And I had been… grateful. His indifference, his refusal to acknowledge the tragedy, had been a lifeline, a silent reassurance that things would be okay.

So I had hoped, foolishly, that he would continue to ignore the cracks in my facade, that his apathy would be my shield.

But unlike in my past life, he had noticed, he had cared. And he had acted, even resorting to the very deception he despised.

He had written “Monster,” projecting my struggles onto the smiling girl, revealing her as the true monster, exposing the mask I wore as a lie.

I couldn’t bear it. His actions, however well-intentioned, felt like a betrayal, a dismissal of everything I had been trying to protect.

If I had been my old self, I would have smiled, swallowed my anger, and pretended I hadn’t noticed.

But I had changed. The warmth, the kindness I had received, had thawed the ice around my heart, making me… vulnerable.

A single tear in spring.

A steady stream in summer.

And now…

A torrent of grief, an uncontrollable flood, washing away my carefully constructed defenses. I found myself relying on others, seeking comfort in their presence.

Tears were screams, silent pleas for help.

So, I had always held them back, hiding my pain, seeking refuge in solitude. I had no one to rely on in my past life, and now, I had too much to protect, too many people who depended on me.

But perhaps it was the hormones, the changes in this body, that made my tears flow so easily. This… loss of control was new, unfamiliar.

I had been startled by my own outburst, by the tears that streamed down my face as I yelled at Dojun. I was disgusted by my own weakness, by this unfamiliar vulnerability.

So I ran. I fled, hiding my true feelings behind a mask of anger, escaping the suffocating warmth of his apartment.

I was afraid. Afraid of losing them, afraid of breaking down again, of becoming a burden.

I had grown accustomed to the warmth, to the kindness. It had thawed the ice around my heart, turning me into a…crybaby.

A crybaby who relied on others, seeking comfort in their embrace. A crybaby who would be hurt, would hurt others, would get angry, would cry… and in the process, would form connections, would grow closer.

And that…scared me.

I wandered aimlessly, my mind a blank. A cold drop on my forehead made me look up. More drops followed.

I remembered the news report about the early autumn rains.

‘I didn’t bring an umbrella.’

As if to punish my carelessness, the rain intensified, soaking me to the bone. I pushed my wet hair out of my face.

People hurried past, their heads covered with bags and jackets. I stood still, letting the rain wash over me, a solitary figure in a sea of rushing bodies.

I didn’t move. The autumn rain, a melancholic farewell to summer, felt… heavier than usual.

When the others ran, I walked, the cold rain a physical manifestation of my own sorrow.

My clothes were soaked, my body heavy, the wind cool against my skin. I shivered, thinking I might catch a cold. I pushed away the thought, my only concern the fading colors of autumn.

The rain continued as I walked home. Autumn, it seemed, was a lonely season.

Dojun and Hyelin were alone now. Hyelin’s eyes were blazing.

“H… Han Dojun, what… happened?”
“…”
“What did you do?”

Dojun sighed.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?”
“Haram would… never…”
“…That’s true.”
“And… she’s so… kind… Why would she get so… angry… unless you did… something… terrible?”

Dojun bit his lip. He knew he had messed up, but he was surprised by Hyelin’s anger, her fierce protectiveness of Haram.

“That script… for the play…”
“Yes?”
“I… I wrote it.”

Hyelin’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“Wh… Why…?”
“The… protagonist is… based on Lee Haram.”

Hyelin’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in realization.

“You… you wrote about her… without her permission…?”
“I did.”
“That’s… creepy… That’s awful!”

Dojun groaned. Hyelin continued, her voice filled with a mix of disgust and disbelief.

“He… He wrote about her… without her knowing… Just imagine…”
“…”
“S… So…”
“So?”
“Haram is… incredibly kind and forgiving… for getting this upset… You must have done something… much worse…”

Her conviction was unwavering. Dojun saw the depth of her trust in Haram, her unwavering belief in her friend’s goodness. He sighed, trying to decide how much he should reveal.

Haram had shown Hyelin glimpses of her true self during the retreat. And Hyelin seemed to have sensed the mask she wore.

He started from the beginning, explaining his reasons for writing the play, his interpretation of “Monster,” and the events that had led to Haram’s outburst.

Hyelin listened, her expression unreadable. Then, she spoke,

“You… idiot.”

She quickly covered her mouth with her hands, seemingly surprised by her own outburst. Dojun sighed.

“Yeah… I know.”

He agreed with her assessment. He had messed up, royally. She nodded, removing her hands from her mouth.

“You… idiot…”

He winced. It was true, but hearing it from her, in that tone… it stung. He suspected she was intentionally emphasizing the “i” in “idiot,” making it sound… worse.

“You… sh… should have… apologized… immediately…”
“I… I don’t know… if I can…”

He had hesitated, afraid that apologizing would make things…irrevocable. He had written “Monster” hoping to convey a message to Haram:

The girl who didn’t fit in, who was different, was seen as a monster. And the monster, despite his frightening appearance, could be accepted as a member of society if he acted… monstrous.

So, be true to yourself, even if your true self is…ugly. We will accept you, flaws and all. You don’t have to keep smiling.

But Lee Haram valued her mask, her carefully constructed persona of the smiling girl. And his attempt to expose it, to reveal the truth beneath, had backfired spectacularly.

His youthful arrogance, his assumption that he understood her completely… that was his mistake.

“You… idiot…” Hyelin muttered again, the word echoing in his mind.

Kang Haerin frowned, sipping her coffee. She had been dealing with a lot of… difficult personalities lately.

After Haram’s comment, she had confronted Saeron, who had finally admitted he hadn’t written the play. When she asked him who the real writer was, he had feigned ignorance. It was unlike him to lend his name so easily. Something was… off.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Instructor, can I come in?”
“Songi? Come in.”

Hansongi entered the office, a smile on her face. Haerin gestured towards the sofa. She sat down.

“What are you doing?”
“Just thinking. You should be the lead in the next play.”
“Ahahaha, you think so?”

Hansongi’s laughter sounded forced. Haerin crumpled her paper cup and tossed it in the trash can. She sat down across from Hansongi.

“What’s up?”
“Nothing much…” Hansongi’s tone was casual, but her expression was… serious.

“I’m quitting the drama club.”