The end of beginning
The Day the World Tagged Itself
The scent of galbi and kimchi always clung to Lee Hana, a warm, stubborn anchor to her reality. It was a familiar, comforting smell, unlike the sterile, faint floral notes of the expensive detergent used by most of her classmates at Seongjin High School, Seoul’s prestigious academy for the affluent and ambitious.
Hana was the anomaly, the tenacious barnacle clinging to the hull of the luxury liner. A straight-A student, the undisputed topper in a school where B’s were a source of shame. Her family ran “Hana’s Kitchen,” a modest but popular family restaurant specializing in homestyle Korean cuisine. With three younger siblings, every won counted, and Hana’s academic success was her only ticket out.
The morning of her strange awakening began like any other: an hour of studying before the sun rose, a quick, chaoticbreakfast with her siblings—five-year-old Minji trying to steal her textbook, twelve-year-old Jun arguing about the last piece of dried anchovy—and a hurried sprint to the subway.
She was already seated at her desk in the advanced study room, notebook open to calculus equations, when it happened.
The air shimmered.
Not a heat haze, but a faint, translucent blue luminescence that pulsed once, then settled.
Hana blinked. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she’d strained them by studying under the dim kitchen light again.
When she looked up, the light was still there. And it was around people.
Specifically, hovering above people, like virtual reality captions only she could see.
Her classmate, Choi Yena, who was usually loud and boastful, was quietly scrolling through her phone a few desks away. Above Yena’s perfectly coiffed hair floated a cluster of text:
#Fear of failure
#Secret K pop trainee
#Daddy’s limitless black card
Hana stared, jaw slack. #Fear-of-Failure? Yena acted like she owned the world.
A boy, Kim Dongho, walked past the doorway, chewing gum loudly. His tags were simple: #Sleep-Deprived, #Loves-Jimin-More-Than-Self, #Needs-A-Tutor.
It was insane. An unexplainable, instantaneous ability to see the world’s subconscious truth, condensed into bite-sized, floating hashtags.
Hana pinched her arm hard. The sharp pain confirmed she was awake. I’m losing my mind, she thought, slamming her textbook shut. Too much stress.
Then, he walked in.
The Boy with the First Love Tag
The air in the room didn’t just shimmer this time; it felt thick, charged.
It was Kwon Jihoon.
Jihoon was the subject of countless whispers, stolen glances, and sighing confessions in the school hallways. He was the definition of a transformation.
Three years ago, he was a gangly, earnest boy who hid behind thick-rimmed glasses and wore perpetually wrinkled shirts. Now, he was sculpted. His frame had broadened—a testament to dedicated hours in the gym—and the slight awkwardness had been replaced by a quiet, commanding confidence. The glasses were gone, revealing sharp, intelligent eyes that were a shade of deep chestnut. His hair was styled, his school uniform immaculate, draped over a physique that made him look like he’d walked off a drama set.
Jihoon was also the son of the Kwon Group chairman, one of the most powerful conglomerates in South Korea. Rich, influential, and now, devastatingly handsome.
He was also the boy Hana had taught algebra to, the one she’d drilled relentlessly for tests until he finally understood how to move past a struggling C grade and secure his own spot among the school’s high achievers. They had been inseparable study partners, confidantes, and best friends.
Until the beginning of high school, when Jihoon simply stopped talking to her. No fight, no explanation. Just a slow, agonizing drift into cold silence.
He walked over to his usual seat, three rows in front of hers, and as he moved, the iridescent blue text above his head caught her attention. There were the usual tags:
#Kwon Group heir
#Prefers lack coffee
#Top 3 in academics
#Secretly stressed by dad
But one tag, positioned slightly lower than the rest, was bolder, underlined by a faint red glow, a burning, lingering confession visible only to her.
#First love shit
Hana’s breath hitched. #FirstLoveShit? For her?
She looked away instantly, her cheeks burning. It was a cruel, confusing joke from the universe. If he felt that way, or had ever felt that way, why the silence? Why the icy politeness they currently maintained?
Jihoon sat down, pulling out his materials. For a split second, his eyes flickered to her, a casual, almost dismissive glance that held no warmth.
The cognitive dissonance was agonizing. The man in front of her was a polished stranger, but the tags betrayed a history he wasn’t acknowledging.
The Deal with the Devil
Just as Hana was trying to rationalize the possibility that Jihoon’s tag referred to someone else, a shadow fell over her desk.
“That’s a nasty frown, Lee Hana. Did a question on your study guide reject you?”
She looked up into a face that was equally handsome, but with a distinctly playful, almost mischievous edge. This was Yoo Taeyang, the Yoo Consortium heir, Jihoon’s childhood friend—and perpetual academic and social rival.
Taeyang was all effortless charm, his smile a well-practiced, symmetrical curve. Above his head were the tags:
#Deeply Bored
#Wants to major in art
#Troublemaker
#Jiwoon’s enemy
Taeyang pulled up the chair next to hers, leaning in conspiratorially. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or perhaps, Kwon Jihoon actually smiled at you?”
Hana snapped her notebook shut. She decided to use her new power.
“You and Jihoon,” she said, cutting straight to the point. “You guys act like you’re best friends when your parents are around, but I’ve heard the whispers. You despise each other.”
Taeyang’s grin faltered, just for a millisecond. His eyes narrowed, a flash of surprise crossing his face.
“Lee Hana,” he drawled, his voice low. “That’s a very blunt observation for the school’s resident angel-scholar.”
“I’m done with games,” Hana said, her voice firm, staring straight at the #Jihoon’s-Mortal-Frenemy tag. “I need to know why Jihoon and I fell out. I need to understand that wall he put up. And I think you’re the key.”
Taeyang stared at her, intrigued. He looked past her to Jihoon, then back to Hana. His chaotic-instigator tag was practically buzzing.
“You want to play the game of Kwon Jihoon?” Taeyang finally said, a slow, predatory smile returning. “He’s an expert player, Hana. Why should I help you?”
Hana matched his gaze, leaning in slightly. “Because you’re bored. Because I know you thrive on chaos. And because I can help you annoy him.”
She pointed a pen at Jihoon’s back. “I want to get under his skin. I want to disrupt his perfect, stoic existence. I want him to have to talk to me. We make a deal, Yoo Taeyang. I’ll be your unwitting accomplice, your agent of mild trouble. You, in return, find out what happened between him and me three years ago, and why he won’t look at the girl who taught him how to balance an equation.”
Taeyang let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t a nice sound.
“A deal with the devil. I like it,” he said, extending a hand. “Operation #Disrupt-Kwon-Jihoon is officially initiated, Lee Hana.”
Hana shook his hand, feeling a strange mix of terror and exhilarating hope.
The war for the truth—and perhaps, for a heart tagged with a painful secret—had just begun.
