Chapter 3 : Recurring nightmare
1401 Words
He was a shy boy. Quiet in class. Gentle when spoken to. He startled easily at loud sounds and flinched when people shouted too close. But behind his soft voice was a curiosity that never seemed to rest.
He loved to read.
History books. Science magazines. Thick fantasy novels. Thin comic books with glossy covers. Anything with a story. Anything that let him escape. He could spend hours buried in pages, the outside world forgotten.
And when he wasn’t reading, he played games. Old consoles, dusty hand-me-downs, cheap mobile games. It didn’t matter. What he loved was the immersion, the choices, the sense of control.
But above all else, Rheon loved to eat.
His appetite was legendary in the household. He would wake up asking what was for lunch, and go to sleep asking what was for breakfast. He wasn’t picky, but he had one favorite that never changed.
“Bibim guksu,” he would say with a grin, every time his mother asked what he wanted.
Cold spicy noodles, topped with a boiled egg, cucumber, and sesame seeds. Tangy, sweet, and just spicy enough to make his nose run. No matter how upset or tired he was, one bowl could fix everything.
To anyone who saw him, Rheon was just a normal thirteen-year-old boy.
But at night, when the lights were off and the world went quiet, he sometimes heard things.
Soft things. Whispers that didn’t belong to the wind.
Sometimes he dreamed.And the dream never changed.Sometimes he dreamed.And the dream never changed.
He stood alone on a cracked, red plain. The wind was dry. The sky was empty. Ash floated in slow circles above his head.
Far away, something whispered . Soft, distant, like a name he couldn’t remember.
His hands glowed faintly. His chest felt heavy, as if something inside was waiting to wake.
And just before he opened his eyes, the ashes always fell. Every time he woke from it, his skin was damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he had run from something in his sleep.
He always reached up to his ear. There was never anything there, but it felt like someone had breathed against it. A tickle, light and warm.
Then he would lie back down and return to sleep, too tired to make sense of it.
Fifteen years had passed.
He wasn’t a little boy anymore. His frame had grown, though still slender. His face held the softness of childhood, but his eyes were quieter now. Tired more often than not.
His father had resigned from his job two years ago, finally giving in to a body worn from years of deskwork. Now he helped his wife manage the small bookstore full-time. The shop was quiet, old, and never busy but it paid enough to keep the house warm and the fridge filled.
The morning was ordinary.
Rheon opened the front door with a yawn, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“I’m heading to school first.”
His mother called something faintly from the kitchen, but he was already outside.
The school wasn’t far. A ten-minute walk through quiet streets lined with cracked sidewalks and bicycles chained to fences. His glasses slid down his nose every few steps. He pushed them up absentmindedly. His eyes had started to blur last year, after too many late nights reading under dim lights.
His backpack hung low. One strap. Worn fabric. Science notes crammed beside comic books.
Everything about him screamed it. The quiet steps, the long sleeves even in mild weather, the way he avoided eye contact.
He was the nerd. And he didn’t mind.
As he approached the school gate, a familiar voice shouted.
“Seo Rheon! You trying to sneak past again?”
It was the school security guard.Tall , loud, and always a little too enthusiastic before eight a.m.
Rheon winced. “No, sir,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses again.
“You’re always too quiet. Say good morning like a real student!”
Rheon paused, then gave a small bow.
“…Good morning.”
The guard grinned and waved him through.
Rheon climbed the stairs quietly, blending into the flow of students in the corridor. No one really noticed him. He liked it that way.
He reached his classroom and slid the door open.The hum of voices, the screech of chairs, the tapping of fingers on desks. The usual morning noise filled the room. He stepped in without a word, eyes scanning the rows before making his way to the front.
His seat was second from the window.
He placed his bag down and sat, adjusting his glasses. His eyes flicked briefly to the whiteboard, still blank, then to the teacher’s desk. Empty.
The chatter behind him carried on, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he pulled a thick book from his bag. The cover was worn, the corners curled. A fantasy novel this time — something about a forgotten kingdom and a cursed prince.
He opened it, thumbed to the bookmark, and lowered his head.
Nothing changed.
Every morning was like this. He came early. He sat in front. He read while waiting. He tried to focus.
It helped him feel normal.
The door slid open again, this time with less care.
A group of boys stepped in…louder than necessary, dressed in sports jackets and rolled-up sleeves like they were auditioning for a school drama. Their shoes clapped hard against the floor as they spread into the room, some laughing too loudly, others leaning back like they owned the place.
At the center of them was the tallest one. Lean, sharp-eyed, and clearly the leader. He didn’t smile. He scanned the classroom slowly, as if weighing everyone with suspicion.
“Which one of you touched my girl?”
The room fell quiet.
Even the students who had been mid-conversation lowered their voices. Eyes darted around nervously, avoiding contact with him.
Rheon looked up briefly, then lowered his gaze again, pretending to read. He had no interest in whatever this was. It wasn’t the first time boys like that walked in looking for trouble. It wouldn’t be the last.
But the silence stretched.And then the boy moved.He walked slowly between the desks, his footsteps tapping deliberately. Searching. Listening.
And then he stopped beside a boy in the back corner.
The student had just opened his breakfast . A soft white bun in a plastic wrapper, and a small carton of strawberry milk. He looked up, startled, cheeks full of bread.
The tall boy leaned down and tapped the edge of the desk with his knuckle.
“Strawberry milk?” His voice lowered, almost playful. “Your taste is cute. Real lovely.”
A few students chuckled awkwardly.
The boy with the bread swallowed hard, unsure whether to laugh or run.The tension in the room sharpened.
The tall boy twisted the cap off the strawberry milk carton and took a casual sip, eyes never leaving the boy with the bread.
“Do you know Eunji?” he asked.
The boy blinked, bread still in his mouth, and gave a hesitant nod. His cheeks puffed slightly as he tried to chew faster.
The tall boy leaned in closer, voice quieter but sharper.
“So… did you know who’s been trying to talk to her? Or maybe even touch her?”
The bread boy paused, then shook his head quickly, crumbs falling onto his desk.
He was clearly just an unlucky target. Wrong place, wrong snack.
The tall boy stared at him for a long second.Then, without warning, he tilted the carton.Not to drink it but to pour the rest of the strawberry milk across the desk.
The pale pink liquid spread across the table, dripping down the sides, soaking the boy’s notes and sleeve.
A few students gasped. One laughed quietly.The tall boy straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“The taste’s terrible anyway.” He turned to walk off, then paused, tossing one final warning over his shoulder.
“Next time, if you hear anything — report it. Unless you want milk dripping through your hair.”
The classroom remained silent.The boy with the bread sat frozen, his hand still holding the now-empty carton, his soaked sleeve clinging to his arm.
And at the front of the class, Rheon didn’t move.
But his fingers tightened slightly around the corner of his book.
- Writer
