Lonely Lifeguard

I walk through the school hallways like a ghost, slipping past the noise, the laughter, the fights, the whispers. No one really notices me, and I prefer it that way. There’s a certain freedom in being invisible. I don’t have to worry about people calling my name, asking me questions, dragging me into their little games of dominance and submission.

The school itself is a breeding ground for all of it. The strong, the weak, the rich, the poor—everyone locked in an unspoken war. The ceilings are high but stained, like the school once had grandeur but lost it somewhere along the way. The walls are filled with posters, most of them peeling, and the floor has marks from years of shoes dragging over it.

I pass by a group of guys near the lockers, their voices low but urgent. I don’t need to listen to know they’re planning something. I can see it in the way they huddle together, glancing at a particular direction. I follow their eyes without turning my head.

Ha-eun.

The school’s rich girl. Untouchable in some ways, yet a target in so many others.

She’s not like those in dramas, the ones who throw money around or sneer at the less fortunate. She carries herself with quiet confidence, ignoring the ones who insult her behind her back. She’s beautiful, but not in an exaggerated way. Just enough for people to notice.

And that’s why they hate her.

It’s not because she did anything. It’s because she exists in a space they can never reach.

I keep walking, but my ears stay open.

“She thinks she’s better than us,” one of them mutters.

“She needs to be humiliated,” another says.

The words don’t surprise me. What disgusts me is the certainty in their voices. Like they’re convinced they’re in the right.

I’ve seen this before. The weak turning on the weaker, just to feel strong for a moment. The victims of bullying waiting for their chance to rise, not to change the system, but to become the ones at the top of it.

They aren’t different from the ones they hate.

I turn a corner and head toward the stairwell. My hands slide into my pockets. It’s not my problem.

It never is.

I keep my head down, walking past them, but my ears pick up every word.

“She won’t be so high and mighty after this,” one voice sneers.

“She deserves worse,” another mutters.

The main victim—Jiho—laughs bitterly. The guy everyone pities but no one stands up for. He’s always been the weak one, pushed around, made a fool of. Everyone sighs when they see him, shake their heads in sympathy, but none of them ever lift a finger. They only whisper, “Poor guy,” and move on.

But now that he’s got a chance, they’re suddenly eager to help. Not for justice. No, justice would mean standing up when it mattered. They didn’t do that. They’re just waiting for the moment she falls, so they can strike without consequence.

Cowards.

Ha-eun isn’t innocent. She’s done things. A spoiled girl who probably never had to struggle. But I don’t think she’s evil. I can see it—she’s the type who could change with just a little understanding, a little kindness.

But no one wants that.

Even if she apologized, no one would accept it unless she suffered first. That’s what disgusts me. Why do people need to see someone else suffer to feel satisfied? That’s not justice. That’s just selfishness wrapped in self-righteousness.

And Jiho… he’s not stopping at just exposing her.

“She won’t just get in trouble,” someone says, grinning. “This is gonna ruin her.”

The class president has a recording—a recording of Ha-eun bullying someone. Her father is a politician. A scandal like this would explode. I can already picture it—news headlines, reporters, interviews, her father’s reputation going up in flames. Ha-eun would be dragged into it, crushed under the weight of something bigger than a school fight.

I should ignore it.

I would have. If that was the end of it, I would have let it happen.

But I know these people.

They won’t stop there.

The way they talk, the way their voices crackle with excitement, it’s not about justice anymore. It’s about tearing her apart.

That’s why I act.

There was only one place they would upload it. A forum students used to share rumors, fights, and school scandals. It wasn’t government-controlled, meaning security was weak. It took me less than an hour to access the file before it went live.

Editing it was easy.

I didn’t delete it. That would’ve been pointless. They would’ve just uploaded another copy. Instead, I swapped the roles—made Jiho and his little group look like the bullies, made Ha-eun the victim.

It wasn’t wrong.

I knew what would happen. I knew that once they got their revenge, they would become the very thing they hated. All I did was show them their future selves now instead of later.

The video exploded.

The so-called Prince—Jiho’s nickname among those who pitied him—fell from grace overnight. There was no sympathy for him now. He was called a monster, a liar, a manipulator. The school turned on him so fast it was almost funny. The same people who cheered him on yesterday now looked at him with disgust.

The punishment came swiftly. Expelled. Gone. Just like that.

I don’t know why, but I went to see him before he left.

He saw me and froze. His lips curled as if he was about to scream, to tell the world it was me. But before he could, Ha-eun’s friends grabbed him.

They didn’t just hit him. They beat him until he was unrecognizable.

I stood there, watching.

She was there too. Ha-eun. She turned to me, eyes sharp, calculating. “Follow me.”

I did.

In an empty classroom, she faced me. “Was it you?”

She was doubtful. But she wasn’t stupid. Jiho had tried to blame me before passing out, and now she had her suspicions.

I met her gaze and simply said, “Yes.”

She smiled, the kind of smile that wasn’t gratitude, wasn’t suspicion—just… acceptance.

“Why did you do this?” she asked.

“I didn’t like it,” I said. Short. Simple. I didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.

Her smile deepened. “What’s your name?”

“Sihoo Park.”

“Alright, Sihoo Park,” she said, as if sealing a deal. “From now on, join my group. Do you want to be my friend?”

I thought about it for a moment, then said, “Yes.”

We walked together down the hall. It was strange—suddenly, the invisible student was walking beside the girl who everyone’s eyes followed. She didn’t seem to care about the stares, and I decided I wouldn’t either.

She began introducing me to the people who mattered.

First was Mion, another politician’s daughter. I’d heard of her before—quiet but calculating. If I’m not wrong, her father works with Ha-eun’s, though Ha-eun’s family holds the higher rank. They seemed like genuine friends, the kind who didn’t have to speak much to understand each other.

Then there was Emilia. Lighter in personality, quick to smile. She seemed to genuinely enjoy Ha-eun’s company—not for the money or status, but simply because she liked being around her.

And finally, James.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably the strongest in the school. Not in terms of grades or money, but in sheer physical dominance. He was the main reason no one dared to touch Ha-eun—not her family name, not her wealth—just him.

It was obvious he liked her. But it wasn’t just a crush. It was admiration, maybe even loyalty.

The rest of the group were friends of these three and Ha-eun herself. But I could tell—Mion, Emilia, and James were the only ones who could truly call her a friend.

And now, I was being added to that circle.