This novel deals with mature and dark themes such as depression, psychological abuse, bullying, and loneliness. Reader discretion is advise
Sindang Metro Station
I finally arrive at the station.
Sindang Metro Station is swarming with people, like every morning—not surprising for a city as big as Seoul.
The sound of footsteps echoes, voices mix, overlap, forming a dull noise.
People pass and pass again. Practically always the same patterns.
A banal routine, a soulless dance dictated by the clock.
A boring, bland, and monotonous life, even pathetic for most.
In a society that enslaves more than it stimulates.
Everything feels too mechanical to me, too predictable, even programmed.
---
Suddenly, the station microphones crackle.
"…crrt… grrr… gri… Passengers for Jongno-gu are asked to approach the platform. Please respect safety rules. Thank you and good morning to all."
The train arrives with a heavy breath.
The doors barely open. People rush in en masse. Like puppets pressed by time.
I stay calm for a moment, standing near the edge, my hair swept by the cold morning wind.
Then I get on the train and sit on one of the rare empty seats.
My eyes stay fixed on my phone screen, my earbuds deeply stuck in my ears.
No music. There's already enough noise here.
The subway starts. The engine's roar mixes with the screeching of wheels on the rails.
The space quickly fills with mechanical sounds, breathing, movement...
The wagon is packed, like every Monday morning.
The car is filled with high school students, many of them from the same school as mine—they occupy most of the seats.
The rest of the passengers are adults, men and women, workers, faces drawn, heading to work.
The routine. The same ballet every morning.
---
I lift my eyes from my screen and observe the atmosphere around me for a moment.
Everything seems normal, alive.
In front of me, I see a group of schoolgirls laughing and smiling broadly, chatting about the latest news on today's celebrities.
To the left, an old lady talks to her neighborhood friend while a stressed employee tries to finish a call with his boss.
And at the far end of the car, two young men are loudly debating which idol deserves first place this week.
This morning, the atmosphere in the train is very warm.
It's practically always the same.
Even if often, those smiles, those laughs, that joy that animates most of them are fake.
It's just the same daily social filter we use again and again to save face.
I observe the group of schoolgirls in front of me for a moment, my gaze fixed on one person in particular.
"Often the most beautiful smiles hide the worst of hells."
But my eyes, they don't see what others see.
They pierce through this façade, this illusion. These artificial colors that everyone strives to maintain.
---
I close my eyes and reopen them.
My piercing red eyes see the world with a new vision.
And then, everything shifts.
The train suddenly loses its colors.
The world stops, time fades, the blush of cheeks, the blue of uniforms, the yellow of bags—everything vanishes.
The world becomes grey. Washed out.
"What I see now… is the true face of people. The truth they hide behind their masks."
---
The colors are gone. The masks too.
My gaze turns to them one by one, I move forward.
"That schoolgirl, there, the one smiling so brightly in front of me—Yuna Kim.
A popular girl at school. She's the embodiment of the perfect student. Always well dressed, stylish, always surrounded and very popular.
But what no one sees behind that mask is her stress.
The dark circles are hidden under makeup.
The tears she sheds in secret in the restroom. Her loneliness. Yes, she's struggling."
"She's failing her exams, and her unemployed parents can no longer afford tutoring.
Each laugh she lets out is a desperate attempt to ignore what awaits her at home—that bitter reality.
But she doesn't give up. She secretly works part-time jobs to make ends meet.
But her fear of failure is becoming almost pathological, and sometimes pushes her to self-harm."
"She lives in a system where a single mistake can ruin an entire life.
She reflects the hell of academic pressure, the cult of success, and the mental cost of the perfect image in a world that worships appearances."
I turn my gaze and approach a well-dressed man.
Black suit, tie, athletic build, frozen in time. Phone to his ear.
"This man, standing before me, phone in hand. Perfectly adjusted tie, elegant black suit, luxury watch on his wrist—Mr. Choi, successful administrative employee in a government office, soon to be promoted.
Looking at him like this, it seems he has a beautiful life, but behind that polished appearance hides a terrible depression."
<
"His wife left, citing ten years of shared silence.
She emptied him, took him to court, seized half his belongings, and left to join her lover.
Worse: she demands an astronomical child support—for a child... that isn't even his.
And the poor man doesn't even know. He never suspected, not even once.
Who really was that 'brother' of his wife, always visiting them at home, while he was too busy chasing success to open his eyes?
The man who ate at his table was actually his wife's lover—the true father of his daughter."
<
"He alone embodies the hell of overwork, male loneliness, and family failure—especially in a society that values image above all."
My gaze shifts behind him.
"And the smiling old woman with the overfilled grocery bag chatting with her neighbor—Madame Hwang:
She smiles at everyone, exchanges sweet words, gives candy to students.
But her smile hides a harsh, cruel secret: an abyssal loneliness.
Widowed for 12 years, her children have all moved abroad."
"She spent her thirties sacrificing everything for her kids' education. But… for what?
Now she lives alone in a small apartment without central heating, survives on a tiny pension, and sometimes talks to a photo.
What no one sees are the torrents of tears she sheds every night, the knot in her heart whenever she sees a happy family."
"She embodies the abandonment of the elderly, the hell of loneliness, invisible aging, and the erasure of a generation in modern Korean society."
---
"Her younger neighbor, well-made-up, laughing too loudly in their chat.
Always talkative, kind, sweet. A model and caring mother, always talking about dramas or recipes.
But behind her cheerful appearance hides an unemployed alcoholic husband who beats her and their children.
She hides her bruises under foundation.
She laughs to survive, because she's realized that crying is useless now. So she endures."
"She embodies domestic violence, the hell of fear, of social shame, and the stifling role imposed on married women."
I slowly move closer to the two loud ones and stand before them, hands in my pockets.
"The loudmouth here, Jae-hyun Lee, a student and idol fan.
Always smiling, the type to make everyone laugh.
But behind his headphones, it's not just music he hears—it's debt.
He took out loans to follow his favorite idols, to buy them gifts, hoping for attention.
He spends recklessly on merch, subscriptions, and online games.
He owes dangerous people.
You don't know it, but he's already dead inside—his future is threatened. The people he owes aren't known to forgive."
"He's a pathetic digital addict. The perfect profile of a lazy guy with no future.
A troll who spends his time scrolling, commenting, admiring other people's lives instead of building his own.
I imagine him in his room, stuffing chips, masturbating, fantasizing over girls he'll never have.
Hmm… no comment. I give him two days before he shows up in a news report."
"He embodies digital illusion, a youth corrupted by technology,
escapism through entertainment, rampant consumerism, the hell of debt, and the dark side of K-pop."
My eyes slide to the other one.
Compared to the first, they show not contempt but pity.
"Finally, the other talkative one—Jisoo, the one talking about idols.
He discusses K-pop, clips, idols, rankings as if his life depends on it.
But his laugh rings false. I see that very clearly.
His uniform is too clean, ironed obsessively, to hide something—something he doesn't want people to know.
But what?"
My eyes narrow.
"He's a victim of school bullying. For years.
They humiliate him, steal from him, threaten him.
He survives by playing the passionate fan, blending into the crowd.
He can't report his aggressors—he's too scared, too traumatized.
Most of them come from rich, respectable families.
Teachers ignore it.
He lives in constant fear. Behind that smile hides a hell—his hell.
He's not living. He's surviving."
He embodies the silent hell of ijime (bullying), omnipresent in Korean schools,
and the fear of speaking out for fear of being excluded.
Often behind every smile,
every laugh, hides a cruel truth—
a version of us we show to no one, that we try to forget, to avoid.
That's our hell.
As the Swiss psychologist Carl Jung once said:
"People will do anything, no matter how absurd it may seem, to avoid facing their own soul."
That's how the world works.
Each of us has our own hell—
a hell we hide beneath a carefully constructed illusion,
to mask what burns inside us.
And you, what's yours?
---
I close my eyes for a moment, detaching from my mental analysis.
When I reopen them, time resumes, colors return, and the rhythm of the subway feels familiar again.
The microphone crackles again:
"We inform passengers that you have arrived at Jongno-gu. Have a nice day."
The crowd rushes to exit, while I move at my own pace, indifferent to the flow.
I've never been one to follow the crowd.
I take a breath and step off the train.
---
A few minutes later, the scene changes.
I walk, passing a few students without paying them any attention, though I still feel their heavy stares.
I've learned to ignore them.
The street is already busy despite the early hour.
Modern buildings and flashy store signs pass by, but the air is heavy, almost suffocating.
Groups of students talk loudly, some tense, others drained by the looming exam pressure.
The sidewalk is littered with crumpled papers and cigarette butts—a daily routine that wears down both body and soul.
I cross a small park, nearly empty at this early hour.
A few figures fill the space: students dragging their feet, chatting about nothing, two or three couples curled up on benches, joggers focused with headphones on.
The air is cold, dry, and the wind makes the tree branches tremble.
The leaves, already brown, fall in spirals, carried by quick gusts brushing against my face.
Then, after a few minutes of walking, I finally stop.
The large school gate appears in front of me, imposing and severe—a constant reminder of excellence.
<< Seoul Science High School, the best high school in Seoul. >>
"Seoul Science High School.
A name that shines like a trophy.
Everything here breathes excellence.
The infrastructure is spotless—almost too perfect.
Glass and concrete buildings, laboratories that even universities envy,
a library as silent as a temple, and classrooms equipped with the latest tech.
They say this is where geniuses are born. And that's not wrong."
I start walking again toward the massive gate, still lost in my thoughts.
"Every year, 95% of the students here get into the country's top universities.
More than 40% make it into KAIST, SNU, or POSTECH.
The best teachers in the nation teach here, with customized programs for each talent.
The school even offers access to international competitions, research center partnerships, and government labs.
So many opportunities for success, right?"
That's why, every year, around 400 to 500 students apply to enter Seoul Science High School—
but only about 100 are accepted.
"Yes, all of that is true—the benefits, the scholarships, etc...
But the brighter the light, the deeper the shadows."
"This school doesn't uplift. It sorts.
It separates future leaders from merely good students.
The gems from the common gravel.
It flatters the most influential, the most connected.
It gives more value to the children of researchers than to the children of bus drivers."
"It turns brilliant teenagers into performance machines.
Those who fail even once are sidelined. Made invisible."
"It's so brutal that every year, during application season,
several deaths are reported in the process.
South Korea has one of the highest rates of student suicide in the world.
And it's mostly because of...
— Crippling academic pressure.
— Intense mental stress and depression.
— And deep emotional isolation."
"Don't be fooled.
Being accepted and studying here isn't simple.
It's like walking over a pile of corpses and shattered dreams.
These uniforms students wear with such pride—
they're stained with blood."
"Behind these civilized appearances hides a ruthless war,
where only the elite reign and dominate.
That's the hidden truth behind the shining mask of elite institutions.
They're nothing more than genius factories."
---
I finally enter the school grounds and walk straight into the courtyard, packed with students, my eyes fixed on my phone.
Ready to face another long, empty day.
The air is cool.
A few dead leaves fall slowly from the trees, swayed by a light breeze.
In the courtyard, conversations burst: soccer, love, last exams.
Laughter and voices blend into a familiar background noise.
But as I walk by, the noise fades.
All eyes turn toward me.
The conversations stop, then resume.
I keep walking without lifting my head.
On each side, groups of students talk loudly.
But closer to my right, I clearly hear the murmurs of two boys.
<< Do you think he's going to win the end-of-term competitions again? >>
<< I don't know… The real question is: will he even bother to participate? Tsss… >>
<< Why do you react like that? >>
<< Because I can't stand him. That guy… he's an insult to our system.
He succeeds without effort, spends his time sleeping or staring into space.
And while we're busting our asses just to keep our grades up, he… floats.
Like this is all a game. Like we're just insects to him. >>
He turns his head to the left, jaw clenched, eyes burning with deep resentment.
<< Damn henyeol… >>
<< You're just jealous. Jealous because almost every girl in the school fantasizes about him,
and you don't even get their attention. >>
<< Shut up!! >>
<< Ha ha ha, I knew it. >>
---
"What am I going to eat today?"
That was the only real question on my mind, one hand in my pocket, the other on my phone,
while the courtyard noise intensified.
But suddenly…
The voices, the rumors, the chaos of students in the courtyard fade away.
A strange silence sets in, almost heavy.
Then, a few seconds later…
I hear behind me a soft, feminine voice pierce the calm and call my name.
<< Ken. >>
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