Ch-5

Ji Ho's eyes stayed on Ha Eun as she continued to study, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was so absorbed in her work, so dedicated to whatever was in front of her. He couldn't help but think about the way people like her—people who put everything into their studies, into their lives—seemed to live their lives with a single focus, as if the validation they received was the only thing worth striving for.

He didn't get it. It wasn't as if he didn't see the effort—he did. He just couldn't understand the need behind it. To him, recognition seemed like a fleeting thing, something that people clung to, desperately seeking it from everyone around them. But it never lasted. The applause always faded. It felt like a never-ending chase for something that would disappear as soon as it was obtained.

For a moment, he remembered someone he knew—someone who had been just as driven, just as focused on gaining approval. A person who had pushed himself relentlessly, almost as if life would only have meaning if he could prove something to the world.

Ji Ho shook his head slightly. The thought left him feeling oddly uneasy, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

Maybe it was the way his eyes always seemed to lock onto people like Ha Eun—the ones who worked without rest, the ones who carried their goals like burdens. It reminded him of that other person, always moving, always chasing something that was just out of reach. But, in the end, it was all the same. Hard work, sacrifice, and for what? To be recognized, to be noticed? To prove that they were worthy?

He didn't know why people bothered. He had seen it all before, but he never understood. Maybe he never would.

The thought lingered in his mind like a shadow, but he dismissed it, letting the quiet of the schoolyard fill the space between his thoughts.

*I never understood him.*

Ji Ho's mind churned as he watched Ha Eun, her focus unshaken as she buried herself in her work, a work ethic that almost felt suffocating in its intensity. The question had risen in his mind, almost without warning, and before he could stop it, he spoke aloud. "Is it really worth it?"

Ha Eun looked up, clearly startled by the question. Her eyes searched his face, confused by the sudden intrusion into her focused world. But before she could respond, Ji Ho pushed on, his tone quieter but still tinged with a strange bitterness.

"Is it really worth losing everything—working so hard just to get the recognition as a top student? Does all that effort make you feel like you're better than the others?" He couldn't stop the words now. It felt like a question that had been locked in his chest for too long.

Ha Eun's reaction was swift, her surprise morphing into something else, something firm. The slight furrow of her brow was almost imperceptible, but Ji Ho saw it. Her response was sharp, almost defensive. "What would you even understand? You probably didn't have to work so hard in your life."

The words stung, sharper than he'd expected, and something inside him snapped. He leaned forward, his voice louder than intended, his anger suddenly rushing to the surface. "Is it my fault that you can't do better than me?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Ji Ho's own anger caught him off guard. His chest tightened, his mind reeling. He stood there for a moment, stunned by his own outburst. *What did I just say?* The realization hit him almost immediately, and he could feel the heat of regret creeping up his neck.

Ha Eun was equally frozen, her expression caught between confusion and disbelief. The tension in the air was thick, both of them trapped in a silence neither knew how to escape from. It wasn't until the school bell rang that Ji Ho broke free from the suffocating stillness. Without a second thought, he turned and left in a rush, trying to escape the feeling that was slowly creeping over him—the feeling that he had said too much.

Ha Eun sat there for a moment, her eyes still wide, her grip tight on her books, as if she could somehow anchor herself against the force of Ji Ho's words. But after a beat, she straightened up, picking up her things, her movements sharp, controlled. With one last glance at the empty spot where he had been, she walked away, a faint frown tugging at her lips.

Ha Eun's steps were quick, her mind still caught in the words Ji Ho had thrown at her, the bitterness that had laced his voice. *"Is it really worth it?"* His question repeated in her head, echoing in the emptiness of her chest. She had never imagined he'd think that way, but then again, how could he understand?

She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been judged for something beyond her control. People like Ji Ho, who could afford to chase accolades and validation without second thought, had no clue what it was like for someone like her—someone who had to fight just to be seen as capable, to be given the same chances. She thought back to a time when she had been younger, still naive enough to believe that her potential alone could speak for itself.

It had been a writing assignment, one of her first. She had poured her heart into it, thinking it might be the breakthrough, the moment when someone would see her for who she truly was. She had been so proud when she handed it over to her teacher, her hands shaking with anticipation. The praise had come—at first. Her teacher had been impressed, commenting on her natural talent, her ability to articulate complex ideas so effortlessly. Ha Eun had felt on top of the world.

But then, the teacher had learned about her background. The flicker of surprise in her eyes had been too brief to be a mistake. And then, almost imperceptibly, the teacher's gaze shifted to something else—pity. The words that followed still burned in Ha Eun's memory, words that had stolen her confidence: *"If only you could afford a better education. You could really go far."* It hadn't been a compliment. It had been a veiled acknowledgment that her potential was limited—not because of who she was or what she could do, but because of where she had come from.

It was then that Ha Eun had learned the ugly truth. People like her, people with limited means, were always going to be seen through a lens of pity. They were never seen as equal. No matter how hard they worked, no matter how much they proved themselves, they were always viewed as someone in need of help, not someone capable of greatness. She had seen it in that teacher's eyes, and she had seen it in countless others since then.

And now, Ji Ho. His perception of people working hard only for recognition stung because it felt so off, so far from her reality. What did he know about fighting for survival? About having no other choice but to excel, to be the best, to somehow escape a future where mediocrity was the only thing promised? To him, recognition might have been an empty pursuit, something fleeting and superficial. But to her, recognition was the only thing that could keep her from being invisible, the only thing that could lift her above the poverty that sought to suffocate her.

Ha Eun clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she thought of all those times she had worked relentlessly, not for the applause or for the validation from others, but for a chance—just a chance—to be seen as worthy. Every grade, every achievement, was a brick she placed in the path toward a future that didn't revolve around survival, but about living without shame.

She hadn't worked so hard just to prove something to the world. She had worked hard because there had been no other option.

She didn't know if Ji Ho would ever understand. Maybe not. But his question had left an imprint. It wasn't just about recognition—it was about survival, about fighting against the assumptions people made when they looked at her. When people like Ji Ho judged the world so superficially, they couldn't see the depths of what others like her had to endure. He had no idea how exhausting it was to carry the weight of those judgments every day.

Ha Eun straightened her back as she walked, her eyes hardening with determination. Lost in her thought Ha Eun failed to notice the person standing in the hallway, quietly observing her as she walked by.

Park Chaewon stood in the hallway, watching Ji Ho rush off in a hurry, his face twisted with some kind of unease. Her curiosity pricked, but before she could make a move to follow him, something else caught her attention.

Ha Eun appeared from the same direction, her eyes distant, her face etched with a troubled expression. Chaewon's gaze sharpened instantly. Ha Eun's usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something darker—something that looked like frustration, confusion, or maybe even anger. She didn't seem to notice Chaewon, her focus seemingly elsewhere, lost in whatever had been running through her mind.

Chaewon's stomach tightened as she studied the other girl. It wasn't just the fact that Ha Eun looked off—it was the fact that she and Ji Ho had both come from the same direction. That realization made something click in Chaewon's mind. Had they been talking? Had something happened between them?

Her expression hardened instinctively. She wasn't sure why, but the thought unsettled her. There was something about the way Ha Eun had been acting, something Chaewon couldn't quite place. It wasn't like the quiet determination Ha Eun usually carried with her; today, there was a rawness in her face, a tension that didn't belong.

Chaewon felt a small pang of discomfort in her chest. She didn't like it—didn't like that something had shifted between the two of them. She couldn't understand it, nor could she ignore it.

She stood there for a moment, watching Ha Eun walk away, her thoughts swirling. Something had definitely changed. Whatever had passed between Ha Eun and Ji Ho had left a mark, and Chaewon could sense it, even if she couldn't fully grasp what had happened.

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head slightly, trying to shake off the nagging feeling. Still, as Ha Eun's figure disappeared down the hall, Chaewon couldn't quite quell the curiosity that had settled deep within her. Whatever had happened, it was clear that things were different now—and Chaewon had a feeling it wouldn't stay buried for long.