The quiet darkness of the second-floor bedroom in House No. 3 was broken only by the soft, ambient glow of my phone screen. I was lying flat on my back under the heavy duvet, feeling the pleasant, heavy tiredness of a long day settle deep into my muscles.
I had just finished making two separate phone calls. The first was to my mother back in Smila, listening to her warm, familiar voice praise me about my grades, ask about my health, and if I was dressing warmly against the Korean winter. The second was a quick check-in with my host mother, Mrs. Lee, reassuring her that the campfire showcase had gone smoothly and that I was safely turned in for the night.
With both maternal duties fulfilled, I lazily opened Kirin's Secret.
The campus forum was, as expected, absolutely exploding with activity.
Pinned right at the top of the feed by the board administrators—no doubt through the iron grip of Kang Min-ah—was an official photo thread from our second-year Visual and Music Arts trip. There were crisp, high-resolution snapshots of the hide-and-seek match, the village excursion, and high-energy captures of H-Wnot performing under the campfire embers. Crucially, there was zero audio or video uploaded, keeping our new Seollal track completely top-secret.
As I scrolled further down, a real-time post popped up right below the pinned thread. It was a photo collection from the third-year Visual and Music Arts trip, taking place at a separate resort complex down south.
My thumb paused over the screen.
In the center of the top photo stood Lee Sora, wrapped in a long ivory puffer jacket alongside Hana, Eun-ho, and several other seniors. They were all holding hot cocoa cups, laughing under a string of fairy lights.
Sora looked bright, relaxed, and genuinely at peace.
A quiet, gentle smile touched my lips.
"I'm happy that you're doing fine, Sora," I murmured softly into the dark room.
"Who are you talking to?"
"YAH!"
I practically levitated two feet off the mattress in sheer terror, my fingers slipping as my phone fell and clattered face-down onto the wooden floorboards.
"BO-MIN!" I hissed loudly, clutching my throbbing heart while glaring into the shadows beside my bed. I didn't even care about dropping the honorifics.
Cheong Bo-min, one of my Class 2-B roommates, stood hovering near the edge of my bed like an eerie, dark ghost in loose pajamas.
"I'm sorry," Bo-min whispered, holding up his hands in defense. "I just can't sleep when there's light in the room... and especially not while there's a literal snoring tractor operating right next to me."
Bo-min pointed a thumb over his shoulder toward the adjacent twin bed. Kim Ram-go, a slim student from Class 2-A, was sprawled out diagonally across his mattress, fast asleep. His long legs were hanging entirely off the frame, swaying slightly with every thunderous, engine-like snore that vibrated through his nose.
He was a complete sleeping hazard.
BUZZ. BUZZ.
Before I could reply or recover from the sudden horror, every single phone resting on desks and nightstands across the room illuminated simultaneously, vibrating in unison against the wooden surfaces.
My own phone, lying face-up near the rug where it had fallen, lit up with a bright blue notification badge.
I reached down, scooped the phone back onto my lap, and swiped to unlock it.
"Aish, Bo-min-ah... don't scare me like that," I muttered, rubbing my face. "Imagine if I woke you up in the middle of the night like a ghost."
Bo-min pulled out his own glowing device, chuckling softly.
"Yeah, well... you weren't sleeping anyway."
The notification had come from the massive, 60-member KakaoTalk group chat that had been created earlier that morning: [VISUAL AND MUSIC ARTS TRIP 2015].
Message alerts began pouring in live, rapid-fire text bubbles filling the screen while the un-unlocked phones around the room continued to buzz rhythmically like a swarm of angry bees.
CREAK.
The heavy wooden door to our bedroom suddenly swung wide open, casting a long strip of hallway light across the carpet.
Standing framed in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, was Lee Myung-dae. He squinted through the dark room, his eyes locking straight onto my bed.
"Mountain," Myung-dae rasped in his gravelly voice. "So, are you going or what?"