Eighteen's Bed-Chapter 17.4: The Arrogant Accuser (4)

I think of the shortest things in the world.

My father's thumbnail, Sunday evenings, and summer break.

The shortened summer vacation, courtesy of the school’s new policy, slipped by without leaving room for anything.

Before I knew it, the homeroom teacher was standing at the podium, explaining the second semester's college entrance process. The white chalk struck the blackboard with a sharp snap.

"First, the final stretch. If you can't secure an early decision spot, throw everything into the regular admissions."

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"Second, make a realistic plan. Figure out which colleges you can actually get into."

"Third, don’t get obsessed with a college’s name. Sometimes, the major is more important. And of course, my door is always open for counseling."

“You guys are the type to actually study, aren’t you? I’ve seen this entrance exam game play out a few times. You kids—the ones who study just enough—are always the biggest problem. You know that only a few at the top can break through to the best schools, right? Ever heard the one about a camel passing through the eye of a needle?"

The classroom mood sank into gloom.

This was the time of year when everyone started realizing their place.

The teacher’s words drew an invisible line, separating the top from the almost top.

A few eyes turned to me.

“......”

“If you’ve been studying on hope until now, it’s time to face reality. Korea National University? Unless your grades are in the national top tier, forget it. Sure, there might be a couple of you who make it.”

Tension swallowed the room whole.

If it were the class next door, someone would’ve cracked a joke about 'hundred-day warriors' to ease the mood.

But not our class.

The teacher’s gaze skimmed the room and landed on me.

I gave a stiff, awkward smile and dropped my head—feeling the weight of a few sharp stares.

"But listen, even if you’re not top-tier, second-tier schools aren’t bad. With the right major, you could do better than Korea National. But we’ll talk more about that during counseling. For now... So, did you all enjoy your blink-and-you-missed-it summer break? Hope you didn’t just waste it slacking off, though. But hey, I know my class. You wouldn’t do that, right?”

A tense chuckle swept the room—heavy and joyless.

Everyone here had spent their summer buried in academy desks, eyes locked on past exam papers.

Me included.

Nothing but mock exams and previous CSAT problems, day in and day out.

I turned my head.

And met his eyes—Go Yohan.

The second he caught me looking, he stretched his mouth wide in an exaggerated grin and mouthed the words:

‘I

did

nothing.’

Then, he pulled a mock crying face.

I was floored.

That damn face—so smug, so punchable.

I narrowed my eyes at him, then forced a smile back, my lips barely curling compared to his exaggerated grin.

‘Yeah.’

Without another glance, I turned away.

No one cared about us anyway.

The whole class was neck-deep in the same dilemma:

Shoot for the stars and risk burning up—or play it safe and aim low, letting pragmatism win over pride.

I glanced down at my desk.

Three sentences scribbled on the surface.

I was rereading the third one when I felt the teacher’s eyes on me again.

He smiled faintly and, almost playfully, drew a small ‘X’ in the air with his finger.

‘Don’t sweat it, Jun.’

Just then—vrrrr.

A vibration from my pocket.

I didn’t even need to check.

Kim Minho.

I’d been hearing from him a lot lately.

While the teacher flipped through the attendance sheet, I stole a peek at my phone.

"The grand grand grand grand grand grand grand grand grand grand grand finale—"

This lunatic.

I gawked at the message, lips parting in disbelief.

"Alright, listen well to the next class. See you later."

"Yes, sir."

Thwack.

The teacher slammed the attendance book shut.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone shuffled for their next textbook.

In the chaos, I shot back a reply.

"Shut up."

Does his class not confiscate phones or what?

Our class barely kept ours because of academy contacts, but his class? That phone needed urgent confiscation.

As I kept ignoring the flood of texts, someone suddenly dropped into the empty seat beside me.

I knew that scent.

Too well.

"Who are you texting?"

“Huh?”

I turned too quickly—straight into Go Yohan’s face.

His head had leaned in—too close, too sudden.

I recoiled, a shiver racing down my spine.

But my thumb was faster.

Screen off.

Phone shoved deep into my pocket.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Can’t I?"

"You’re in my seatmate’s spot."

“Oh, you mean that guy? The one who’s practically invisible?”

Yohan chuckled softly, leaning down—his face hovering near my ear.

The scent was unmistakable—deep and sharp, like the ocean during a violent storm.

A wave crashing, pulling me under—

Drowning me in a cold, dark whirlpool.

His warm breath, ghosting against my skin—prickling the edge of my ear.

“You never talk to him anyway. Not like he’s smart or pretty.”

“S-stop—!”

I jerked back violently, body snapping away before I realized.

Worse—I shoved him. Hard.

Palm against his chest, a sudden, sharp push.

More like a slap than a shove.

Yohan froze.

His eyes flicked down to where my hand had struck him.

Then back up—

A slow blink.

"Whoa. Didn’t see that coming."

I scrambled, heat burning up my ears.

“I—uh—sorry. It, uh... tickled.”

“...Man, you really startled me.”

My eyes darted around the room.

A knee-jerk scan.

Shame burning hotter than anger.

This—this is what he wants.

Yohan lives for this—the humiliation, the tension.

He’s done it for so long.

I still can’t read his reasons—

Or his endgame.

But it’s always the same.

“Who were you texting?”

“...Huh?”

“You never answered.”

A soft line of a smile—just a crack.

The voice—friendly.

But it felt nothing like friendship.

“...Academy teacher.”

“What, you’re texting your teacher now?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about my grades.”

“She’s got time to text you during class?”

“She’s probably sweating bullets. If I bomb, her career’s toast.”

Tck. Tck. Tck.

Yohan’s fingers tapped the corner of my seatmate’s desk—

The one no one seemed to miss.

Tap, tap, tap.

Index. Middle. Ring. Pinky.

Up and down—like a pianist idling between pieces.

“Is it a he?”

Yohan didn’t look at me.

Just his fingers, dancing on the desk.

And then, without warning—flatly:

“Or a she?”

“...She.”

"Hmm—"

"And she’s old. Plus, married. Kid, too."

I wasn’t looking for Go Yohan’s approval.

I just wanted to get this damn situation over with as quickly as possible.

So, I spoke without much enthusiasm, far more indifferent than I should have.

I didn’t feel the need to look at Yohan, and so, I didn’t.

My gaze was fixed on the tips of my fingers, and my hands were aimlessly playing on the desk.

“What is it?”

“What else? I’m telling you not to mind it.”

Go Yohan straightened his back.

I stole a quick glance at his movement.

Out of focus, I saw Yohan shift in my peripheral vision.

I slowly turned my body, but of course, I ended up facing him.

And the awkwardness?

Yohan was grinning at me, his mouth stretched wide, biting his thumb like a smug little brat.

“You really talk about useless stuff.”

His words didn’t match the ice-cold look in his eyes.

I hesitated, then spoke again, cautious.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t just blurt out things about other people like that.”

“......”

Everything he says is a lie.

A lie.

All of it.

Yohan is nothing but a web of lies.

The words written on his pale face became clearer.

Liar.

Now, every word out of his mouth sounds like a lie.

I glanced around the room.

The morning break was still chaotic.

My desk was empty, with half-solved workbooks fluttering across the surface.

Soon enough, the kids who’d taken a break would be back and start tackling their problems again.

“Yohan.”

“Hmm? Jun?”

“I know you went to your house.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Can I ask you something?”

That day, I wrote a message for Yohan—furiously tapping out words, fingers ready to burst.

But before I could hit send, I freaked out and deleted it.

It was just too pathetic to send.

The pathetic, defeated dog-like rage.

Lying on my bed, face red with frustration, feeling so miserable, stupid, and disgusted with myself.

Why did you lie to me?

Why did you say those lies? Was I that pathetic to you?

Damn it, was I that much of a joke?

Why did you make me into this?

Just for your amusement? For your own satisfaction?

No.

I can’t even begin to understand why you did it.

And I don’t even want to try.

But even worse, the part of me that seems to understand a little?

I hate that.

I hate the fact that we might share the same values.

Why did you do that to me?

You bastard.

Pushing all those mind-shattering questions aside, I calmed myself and asked the simple question.

“Did you tell your mom about my grades dropping?”

Yohan’s long eyelashes fluttered slowly.

For a moment, I saw his innocent eyes peek through the thin sliver of space.

And then, whatever he said after that, I couldn’t remember.

It didn’t matter anyway.

I couldn’t trust a word Yohan said.

It was all bound to be a lie.

****

I opened my eyes and found Kim Minho there.

Time had flown by that quickly.

"Did you forget about that pretty face? Actor Kang, you're really good at disappearing, huh?"

“People need to moderate sometimes. You sent me the most pointless messages, didn't you?”

“Nothing’s pointless. You selfish bastard. You’ve lost my trust. When you quietly munch on my words, I start thinking that maybe you’ve begun secretly comforting Go Yohan. What do you think?”

Kim Minho’s pig-like face pissed me off even more, especially since he was trying to use me.

And now, he was throwing threats about calling me gay and everything else.

“Shut your mouth and say something that makes sense.”

“You can’t talk like that after being so damn into me. What’s this? Do you feel sorry for Yohan? Old feelings creeping up? Or are you ready to go help him out now?”

“You’re insane.”

I shot Kim Minho a disdainful look.

“......I don’t care what happens to that perverted bastard. He can be an outcast for all I care. I just want him gone already.”

“Yeah! That’s the normal reaction!”

Kim Minho punched the air with both fists, grinning widely.

“I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Thinking... you?”

He didn’t say it, but Kim Minho reacted like he had read my mind.

“Oh, you think I’ve been doing nothing, huh?”

“...Did you at least work out or something?”

Even I found my response ridiculous.

I shook my head and muttered, “Forget it,” before glaring at Kim Minho.

I didn’t care about his stupid summer vacation.

“Today’s Thursday, # Nоvеlight # you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do it tomorrow. Friday.”

“...That’s too soon.”

“Shut up. If I’ve let vacation slip this long, I’ve been patient enough.”

Kim Minho grabbed my shoulder and shook it violently.

My scrawny body flopped with the force.

I tried to hold on, but my slippers slipped on the tiles, and I almost lost my balance.

I turned my head to steady myself, and there was Kim Minho—grinning, his face twisted with amusement.

My face burned red.

Damn it.

“Practice by tomorrow. Got it? Tomorrow, damn, I’ll make Go Yohan a fucking idiot. If you try to stall, you’ll end up with your mouth shut too, you little shit.”

I felt a strong grip on my shoulder.

They say politicians use handshakes to assert dominance, and whether it's a 4th-floor restroom or a politician's gathering, it's all the same. I've always lost in power struggles, always the weaker one.

“...Fine.”

“Good. I thought you'd start twisting your words again, didn’t I? But our Kang Jun! I knew you’d get it, right? Now that you’ve gotten the picture, good. Tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow... after school, call Go Yohan out. You find a good place. Got it? Huh?”

The grip on my shoulder loosened.

As soon as Kim Minho let go, he spat on the floor with a sharp thwack, and walked out of the restroom casually.

I fixed my messy shirt, glaring in the direction he had left.

When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror in my dressing room.

“Ah, ah.”

I worked my mouth, running the words I had to say through my head.

The words Kim Minho had told me to use. The line. The line that could bring Go Yohan down.

I moistened my dry lips and opened my mouth. Ah, ah. The words got caught in my throat like thorns, unable to come out.

“......”

Nothing was stuck, but the pain in my throat flared up.

The reason was simple.

I was on the verge of bringing Go Yohan's downfall.

And the weapon to pierce him was already in my hand.

I tried to speak again, but my throat remained closed.

It felt like I was entering a grave.

But as I thought about Go Yohan, and breathed slowly, a fury rose up within me—betrayal of the affection I had believed in.

Just like how Go Yohan must have thought of Han Junwoo as a fake friend.

Had he seen me as a plaything too? Why?

Why had I become his target?

“Yeah, I don’t have to protect Go Yohan. I don’t. Not anymore.”

I tried to ignore the overwhelming emotions that followed me.

“That bastard doesn’t deserve my pity.”

Or I’d be screwed by Kim Minho. I never wanted to go back to that hellhole.

The shame, the agony of that time had its grip around my neck.

Say it. Pull out the thorns.

Breathing grew harder, and I swallowed spit that wouldn’t go down.

With difficulty, I parted my lips and muttered the words I thought I would never say.

“I like Go Yohan.”

I really do.

I spat the words out and stared into the empty space for a while.

In the quiet darkness, a tiny curiosity popped up.

I rubbed the center of my chest with my palm.

When my hand reached just under my collarbone, right in the middle...

“Damn...”

The pounding of my heart felt like it might burst, and the pain was so unbearable that I bit my lip hard.

In haste, I grabbed at my chest.

A whimper of pain slipped out between my clenched teeth.