Ms. Choi stood at the head of the driveway with her clipboard, methodically splitting Class 2-A and Class 2-B into two mixed teams.
There was no negotiation.
"No room swaps, no special requests," she announced sharply. "Each group will visit a different designated local orphanage for today's community service initiative."
When the rosters were read, I was placed into the group led by Class 2-A's homeroom teacher, Mr. Kim. Looking around at my assigned team, I noticed Han Min-gyu standing beside the bus luggage bay, frantically trying to negotiate with Mr. Kim. Min-gyu was practically begging to be transferred to Ms. Choi's group—where Yoo Chae-rin had been assigned—alongside several of his close friends. Mr. Kim simply gave him a tired, polite smile, patted his shoulder, and ushered him onto the bus.
The drive took forty minutes, winding deeper into the rural outskirts of the county before pulling up to a modest, two-story brick facility surrounded by snow-dusted courtyards.
The volunteer work followed the classic, polished routine often romanticized in Korean media dramas. We unloaded heavy cardboard boxes filled with donated winter coats, school supplies, and toys. Then came the manual labor—scrubbing down the community dining hall, organizing the small library, and helping prepare a massive pot of warm beef-and-radish soup for lunch.
After the chores were finished, we gathered in the main playroom for interactive time with the children.
The kids were energetic, running around in mismatched sweaters, their eyes lighting up as my classmates performed quick tricks, played acoustic nursery tunes, and handed out sweet rice cakes.
I sat cross-legged on a foam play mat, letting three small children take turns trying to reach the top of my head, laughing as they gasped at how tall I was. But as I watched a small boy carefully stack wooden blocks in the corner by himself, a quiet, heavy knot tightened in my chest.
I couldn't truly comprehend the reality of not having a family—of growing up without a place that belonged entirely to you. I had a home. It was thousands of miles away in Smila, across borders and time zones, but it existed. I knew the exact smell of my mother's kitchen, the creak of the floorboards in my bedroom, and the warmth of a family waiting for me to return.
Seeing these children, who had never known that safety net, made the distance between me and Ukraine feel painfully real. A deep, quiet ache settled into my ribs, leaving me unusually quiet for the rest of the visit.
We returned to the resort complex just as the afternoon light faded into a bruised, indigo twilight.
I was happy to see Ha-neul, Jun-seo, Chae-rin, Jin-hyun, Leo; shit even Myung-dae.
After a quiet dinner at the main hall, everyone gathered once more around the central courtyard campfire. The atmosphere was subdued compared to the wild energy of the previous night—the manual labor at the orphanages and the lingering fatigue from the late party had left most students content to just sit on the wooden log benches, sipping warm barley tea and watching the rising sparks, discussing today's activities.
I sat near the edge of the pit, staring into the orange flames, still lost in my own thoughts about home.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
A sharp, blood-curdling female scream ripped through the dark pine trees, shattering the quiet evening.
Every single head in the courtyard snapped toward the northern forest path.
It was Ji-min's voice.
She and her friend from 'The Circle of Fate' club Jae-young had left the campfire five minutes earlier to walk back to House No. 19 through the unlit woods to grab a spare camera lens.
"What was that?!" someone gasped, scrambling to their feet.
Before anyone could move, the sound of frantic, heavy footsteps crunched through the snow, and Ji-min burst out of the dark tree line, stumbling into the firelight. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated terror, and her hands were trembling violently as she clutched her coat.
"J-Ji-min-ah!" Mr. Kim shouted, rushing forward alongside Ms. Choi. "What happened?! Where's Jae-young? What's wrong?!"
Ji-min pointed a shaking finger back toward the pitch-black forest path she had just fled, her breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
"I-In the trees..." she choked out, her voice trembling. "Near the old well... t-there's... there's a person... covered in blood! It took Jae-young!"