If first impressions were corpses, Han Yura would have tagged this one as "cause of death: boredom with a hint of despair."
The gates of Hanrim Forensic Medical Academy loomed ahead like something out of a Gothic horror drama. Black iron twisted into skeletal shapes—each rod ending in a flourish shaped like a scalpel. Above it, the school motto shimmered in brass:
> "Truth Lies Beneath the Flesh."
Yura muttered under her breath, "How poetic. I wonder whose flesh they meant."
The taxi driver glanced at her through the mirror. He had been trying not to look scared since she'd joked earlier about embalming fluid. "Miss… you're sure this is the place?"
"Unless another institution named after the dead is taking freshmen this semester," Yura replied flatly. "Keep the change. Consider it hazard pay."
He sped off before she shut the car door. Typical.
Yura adjusted her black uniform jacket—tailored perfectly, though the silver school crest on the chest gleamed like a warning label. Students were scattered across the courtyard, their voices echoing between tall buildings that looked less like classrooms and more like mausoleums with Wi-Fi.
A group of seniors passed, whispering, "That's the orphan girl. The one with the scholarship."
She offered a faint, humorless smile. "Yes, it's me. Please, don't fight over autographs. I only sign body tags."
Their laughter was awkward. Yura walked on, her boots clacking on marble.
---
THE ORIENTATION
Inside the grand hall, portraits of previous deans lined the walls, their painted eyes following everyone like nosy relatives at a funeral. The new students sat in neat rows, nervous and wide-eyed.
At the podium stood Dean Seo Myungjin, a man whose face was the definition of embalmed dignity. His voice carried the calm of a surgeon who'd seen too many things still twitching on the table.
"Welcome to Hanrim Academy," he began. "Here, we study death—not to mock it, but to master it. You are the chosen few. Treat this privilege with respect."
Yura leaned toward the girl beside her—a petite brunette clutching her pen like it might save her life. "If we're the chosen few, I'd like to see the ones they rejected."
The girl stifled a laugh. "I'm Yoon Haerin," she whispered. "You're Han Yura, right? The top scorer?"
"Guilty," Yura said. "You can sit with me unless you faint at the sight of blood. In that case, you can still sit with me—I enjoy watching people collapse."
Haerin blinked, unsure if Yura was serious.
The dean continued: "Our curriculum is rigorous. Anatomy, pathology, toxicology, and criminal forensics. Each of you will perform at least one supervised autopsy by the end of the semester."
A few students paled. Haerin visibly swallowed.
Yura smiled faintly. "Good. That's when the real fun begins."
---
THE CAMPUS TOUR
After the ceremony, students were guided through the campus by a cheerful senior named Kim Bora, who wore a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"On your left is the Pathology Building," Bora said. "Don't wander inside after dark. The cooling systems are noisy, and people tend to mistake the sounds for screaming."
"Are they mistaken?" Yura asked.
Bora faltered. "Pardon?"
"You said 'people mistake the sounds for screaming.' I was wondering—are they mistaken?"
The group chuckled nervously. Bora cleared her throat. "Anyway, moving on—this is the dissection hall, where we conduct our practicals. The cadavers here are donated by the community."
Haerin whispered, "I don't think I could ever cut into a person."
"You get used to it," Yura replied. "It's like slicing birthday cake—if the cake once paid taxes."
---
THE FIRST GLIMPSE
Evening came fast. The campus lights flickered on, throwing long shadows across the stone corridors. Yura had barely unpacked her dorm when a loudspeaker crackled:
> "Attention new students. Report to the dissection hall for your preliminary orientation. Attendance is mandatory."
Haerin groaned. "Already? We just got here!"
"Maybe they're eager to meet us," Yura said, buttoning her coat. "Or maybe they ran out of volunteers."
The hall was colder than a morgue—which, technically, it was. Ten metal tables lined the center, each holding a covered shape beneath white sheets. The scent of antiseptic and something darker hung in the air.
Professor Lim Sora entered—tall, graceful, eyes as sharp as scalpel blades. Her tone was calm but carried authority.
"Welcome to your second home," she said. "This is where you'll learn the truth of the human body. Remember—corpses don't lie. People do."
Yura smirked. "Finally, a philosophy I can respect."
The professor gestured to the tables. "These are cadavers donated for study. Each one has a story. Who would like to uncover one?"
Silence.
Yura stepped forward. "I'll do it."
Haerin hissed, "Yura, it's the first day!"
"Exactly," Yura said. "Might as well set the tone."
Professor Lim nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Approach table three."
Yura grasped the sheet and pulled it back with the precision of a stage magician. The class gasped. The body beneath wasn't a mannequin. It was fresh—too fresh. The face was unrecognizable, but the faint scent of perfume lingered.
Professor Lim's eyes narrowed. "Who authorized this body?"
A murmur rippled through the students. One boy whispered, "That's… that's Minji. She was in last semester's pathology class."
Haerin screamed. Someone fainted.
Yura stood perfectly still. Her mind was disturbingly calm. "So," she said quietly, "either the donation process here is disturbingly efficient, or we've got ourselves a mystery."
Professor Lim snapped orders. "Everyone out! Now!"
The students fled. Only Yura lingered, staring down at the body. She noticed something—a small emblem pinned to the corpse's collar. It was the same as the one on the academy's crest, but inverted.
Professor Lim grabbed her arm. "I said out!"
Yura looked up, unblinking. "Is this part of orientation?"
"Go, Han Yura."
Yura obeyed, though her curiosity burned like formaldehyde in her lungs.
---
BACK IN THE DORM
Haerin sat on the bed, trembling. "Yura, that was a real body. A student! What if—what if something's wrong with this place?"
"Oh, there's definitely something wrong," Yura said, unpacking her notebook. "But look on the bright side. We'll never run out of lab material."
Haerin gawked. "You're not scared?"
"I'm terrified," Yura said, deadpan. "That's why I'm making notes. Fear is more useful when it's well-organized."
She scribbled:
> "Cadaver identified as Minji, student from previous class. Cause of death unknown. School response suspiciously rehearsed."
Haerin pulled the blanket over her head. "You're crazy."
"Probably," Yura replied. "But if you hear whispers tonight, don't scream. It might just be the plumbing. Or Minji saying hello."
---
MIDNIGHT DISCOVERY
Sleep didn't come. The dorm was too quiet. Yura sat by the window, the moonlight casting sharp silver lines across her desk. Then she heard it—a faint thud, followed by a dragging sound.
Haerin stirred. "What was that?"
"Probably the janitor," Yura said. "Or something pretending to be one."
She slipped on her coat and opened the door. The hallway stretched empty. A faint trail of moisture glistened on the floor, leading toward the basement stairs.
Against better judgment—which she rarely obeyed—Yura followed.
The basement smelled like disinfectant and secrets. Rows of metal cabinets lined the walls. She found one slightly ajar and opened it. Inside was a clipboard labeled "Specimen Transfer Log — Restricted."
The last entry read:
> Recipient: Lim Sora
Specimen: No. 27 — Hanrim Student (Confidential)
Status: Pending Analysis
Yura's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Well, that's comforting."
Footsteps echoed behind her. She turned, but no one was there. A faint hum came from deeper in the corridor. She followed it—only to find a locked door marked "Authorized Personnel Only."
Behind it, she could swear she heard voices. One familiar. The dean. Another—Professor Lim.
> Dean Seo: "We can't risk exposure again. Not after the Founder's Class incident."
Lim Sora: "I'll handle the girl. She's too curious."
Yura's hand tightened around her notebook.
"Curiosity killed the cat," she whispered. "But satisfaction made it an excellent detective."
She slipped away before they noticed.
---
DAWN
By morning, the school was buzzing with rumors. The administration claimed the body had been a "training dummy with realistic materials."
Yura sat in class, chin propped on her palm, half-listening to the lecture on postmortem lividity.
Haerin leaned over. "Do you believe them?"
"Of course not," Yura said. "Realistic materials don't wear student perfume."
The professor asked a question. Yura answered absently, earning impressed murmurs. She didn't care. Her mind was already dissecting something else entirely—the academy itself.
She looked out the window at the vast campus, its immaculate lawns and white walls. Beneath the surface, something was festering. She could feel it.
She wrote another note in her book:
> "Hanrim Academy — a place where the dead study the living. Or maybe the other way around."
Then she smiled to herself, a sharp, knowing smile.
> "Either way, I think I'm going to love it here."