The letter arrived folded in half, wedged between the pages of my history textbook. No name. No seal. Just thin cream-colored paper with elegant handwriting that looked like it belonged to someone who never rushed anything. "Tonight. 8:00 p.m. Rooftop garden. No one else needs to know." That was it. No threat. No explanation. No signature. But the fact that someone had gotten to my desk during fourth period without anyone noticing said more than any threat could. I read it twice, then tucked it into my pocket like I wasn't already memorizing the shape of every curve in the ink. Yuri leaned over my shoulder as the bell rang.
– You look like someone just handed you an eviction notice.
– Depends. Does the rooftop count as off-campus?
– Not unless you fall off.
– I got invited. Tonight.
– Invited by who?
– That's the thing. No one said.
She gave me a look.
– You're still going, aren't you?
– Of course I am.
– Try not to die alone.
The rest of the afternoon moved like my body wasn't in it. I went to class. I took notes. I answered a question in economics and got a small nod from the teacher. But the real tension lived under my skin. The kind that made your hands twitch when they touched the edge of your desk. When the final bell rang, I didn't pack up right away. I waited. Watched who left. Who lingered. Bora glanced at me before exiting—half a second too long to be casual. Rayan passed by in silence, but the way his shoulders shifted told me he noticed I was staying behind. When the hallway cleared, I took the long way around campus. Past the old science building. Past the unused elevator no one ever fixed. I reached the rooftop door at 7:56. Unlocked. I stepped through.
The rooftop garden wasn't really a garden. Just a few benches, two potted trees, and a metal railing that buzzed slightly when the wind hit it. She was already there. Short black hair, white coat, coffee in hand. Not a student. Too old. Too confident.
– You came.
– I'm starting to make a habit of accepting mysterious invitations.
– Dangerous habit.
– I'm flexible.
She smiled.
– I'm not here to recruit you.
– That's reassuring.
– I'm here to warn you.
– That's less reassuring.
She turned and looked out at the city, her posture clean and still.
– You've touched the wrong threads. People are nervous. Nervous people panic. Panicked people destroy.
– Destroy who?
– You. Each other. Themselves. The school. The difference is just timing.
I said nothing. She sipped her coffee like it wasn't the middle of a threat.
– You're being watched. Not just by students. You've made it into the files.
– Which ones?
– The ones they don't admit exist.
A beat of silence.
– And who are you?
– Someone who made too many enemies to walk the halls.
– But not enough to leave.
– Exactly.
She turned and looked at me directly.
– You have two paths now. Stay visible. Or vanish and build from the shadows. Either way, you need support.
– And you're offering that?
– I'm offering options.
She handed me a card. Not a business card. Just black, with a single symbol pressed in silver: an eye with no pupil.
– When the time comes, show this to the right person. That's all.
She left without another word. I stayed until the wind felt sharp enough to cut skin.
I walked home alone. Every step echoing louder than it should have. The streetlights blurred against the cold. The city didn't care who I was. That was comforting. No eyes. No hierarchy. Just tired shopkeepers and traffic. I passed three students in uniform near a coffee shop. None of them looked up. I wasn't in their world right now. I wasn't in any world at all. When I got home, I dropped my bag, took off my shoes, and sat on the floor. I didn't move for a full minute. Then I pulled the card from my pocket and stared at the symbol. An eye. Sight without context. I should have been afraid. But what I felt was closer to calm. The panic had passed. What replaced it was worse—focus.
I took out my notebook. Updated the names. Crossed one out. Added three new ones. A girl from the math club. A boy who never joined any extracurriculars but always got perfect attendance. And a teacher who used to work at another elite school that mysteriously shut down. Yuri called at 9:42.
– Are you alive?
– Technically.
– Was it a trap?
– Not yet.
– Want ramen?
– Always.
She didn't ask for details. She never did. But when she arrived fifteen minutes later with steaming cups and a look that said I know you're hiding things, I let her sit in silence. Sometimes loyalty sounded like nothing at all. We talked about club elections, exam schedules, and whether or not their new history teacher wore fake glasses. But I was somewhere else, sorting threads in my mind, watching everything from a step behind my own eyes.
The next morning, school felt different. Not louder. Not colder. Just sharpened. Like every surface had been polished too clean. I walked to my locker and found a post-it note on the door. A drawing. Same eye symbol. Nothing else. Yuri arrived seconds later.
– You're being tagged.
– Like graffiti?
– Like game pieces.
– How do you know?
– I used to be interesting.
We walked to class together. Heads turned. Conversations dipped. But no one spoke to me. No one blocked my way either. It was like I had become the question no one wanted to answer. In literature class, the teacher assigned us a passage on identity and roleplay. I didn't laugh. I just wrote the entire essay without stopping. Words spilled like they'd been waiting. About names. Faces. The cost of performance. The fragility of masks. When I looked up, Jisoo was watching me. Not with malice. With recognition. Like she'd seen the same lines written somewhere before. After class, she brushed past me in the hallway and murmured something I barely caught.
– You've changed the air.
I turned, but she was already gone.
I didn't go to lunch. I didn't go to the music room. I left. Walked past the faculty office, past the gym, out the south gate. The guard barely looked up. I didn't need a plan. I needed space. Real space. I kept walking until the city swallowed the silence. Until the rules didn't follow me. I ended up in front of a café I didn't know, where the tables looked too clean and the staff didn't ask questions. I ordered something hot I couldn't pronounce and sat near the window. My notebook stayed closed in my bag. I didn't open it. Not today. I just watched the street. The people. The ones who weren't part of the system. The ones who didn't play. And for the first time in weeks, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to live outside the game entirely.
But then my phone buzzed. No number. No name. Just one sentence.
– "You've made your move. It's their turn now."
I didn't answer. I didn't even look around. I just put the phone down, held my cup tighter, and waited for the next rule to break.