The First Clue

The next morning, I woke up feeling heavy. Not from sickness… but from reality. Still, I couldn’t let Dad know.

The kitchen felt quieter than usual. The smell of warm soup filled the air, but there was no conversation like there used to be. Dad stood in front of the stove, his back turned to the dining table.

I hesitated in the doorway, wanting to greet him… but the words wouldn’t come out.

The wooden chair scraped the floor as I sat down slowly, but he didn’t turn around.

Several minutes passed in silence. Then, without looking at me, Dad said, “I made chicken soup. You said you weren’t feeling well, right?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah… thanks, Dad.”

He said nothing. He placed a bowl in front of me, then sat across the table. But his eyes stared out the window, not at me.

I held the spoon in my hand, but I couldn’t eat. It was hard to swallow anything with this guilt stuck in my throat.

“I’m sorry…” My voice came out barely a whisper. But Dad turned to me.

“I’m sorry about last night. I… I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dad sighed quietly. His eyes met mine—calm, but with a flicker of pain. “You must’ve been tired. But Narin… I was just worried.”

I nodded, lowering my head deeply.

“If there’s something you’re hiding… you know you can tell me, right?”

My chest tightened. I wanted to say, “I got suspended, Dad. They said I cheated.” But all I managed was a faint, “Yeah…”

And that morning, we ate in silence. Not out of anger—but because of a distance I wasn’t ready to cross.

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Dad finally left for work around eight. He didn’t say much, just patted my shoulder lightly before going.

Usually, I would’ve walked him to the gate. But this time, I just stood at the doorway, silently watching his back disappear into the light drizzle left over from last night’s rain.

As the gate closed, silence swallowed me whole. The house felt bigger than usual. Too quiet. Too empty.

I went back to my room, but didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t sleep anymore. Food tasted like nothing. So I sat in the living room, wrapping myself in Dad’s jacket that hung behind the chair.

And that’s when—A knock sounded on the front door.

I jumped. My heart pounded. Who could it be this early?

Slowly, I walked to the door. The second knock came—softer, like it was uncertain.

I peeked through the curtain slit.

My heart nearly stopped.

There he was, standing in his damp school uniform. His shoulder bag was wrinkled. His hair a bit messy. But I knew him. Too well.

Do Hwan.

I opened the door slowly. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes dropped to my feet, then back to my face. His voice was low. “I knew you were home.”

I sighed. “You’re supposed to be at school.”

He leaned his back against the outside wall, glancing up at the sky before finally saying, “I skipped. I couldn’t focus without seeing you.”

The world fell quiet again. But this time, it was a strange quiet—not empty, but full of unspoken feelings.

“I don’t need your pity, Do Hwan.”

“I know.” He nodded gently. “That’s why I’m not here to pity you. I’m here because I believe you.”

I fell silent, unable to understand the way this guy thinks. Then I stepped slightly aside from the door. “Wanna come in?”

Do Hwan looked at me, then walked in without a word. He took off his shoes, set his bag near the rack, then stood awkwardly in the living room—still in his slightly damp uniform.

I walked to the kitchen first, grabbing two glasses and pouring warm water. My hands trembled a little—not from the cold, but nerves. It felt strange. After everything, he still came.

When I returned to the living room, Do Hwan was already sitting on the rug, staring at the small wooden table like he was trying to find the right words.

I set the glass down in front of him.

“You’re really reckless,” I finally said, sitting a bit far from him. “Skipping school just to visit someone who didn’t even ask for it.”

He took the glass and smiled faintly. “You’re not just someone. You’re Narin.”

I blinked. His words were soft—but too clear to ignore.

“I don’t get you,” I muttered, hugging my knees.

“I don’t get why you had to be yelled at by teachers, kicked out of school, accused like a criminal… when you’re the only one in that class who was honest.”

I tensed. My chest ached. “You don’t know anything.”

“If I didn’t,” he looked straight at me, “then why haven’t I stopped thinking about you since I found out everything?”

Silence. Again.

Now Do Hwan hugged his knees too, staring at the untouched glass in front of him.

“I yelled at my dad last night,” I whispered. “He’s the only one who still believes I’m innocent. But I ended up hurting him.”

I lowered my head. And for the first time, I let my exhausted voice be heard.

“I’m just… tired, Do Hwan. Everyone’s so quick to accuse me. And now I have to pretend I’m fine in front of Dad.”

Do Hwan moved closer. Just a few inches. But it was enough to make my shoulders shake.

“If you want to pretend, do it in front of them. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

I turned slowly, meeting his eyes. They were full of sincerity—and for some reason, in that moment… I felt like I could breathe a little easier.

“What’s your plan now?” Do Hwan asked gently. His voice barely rose above the silence of a house too big for one person.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. The suspension lasts a week. But even after that… my name’s already ruined at school. I don’t care what they think about me, but I can’t lose that scholarship.”

Do Hwan nodded. “I know. It’s the one thing you’ve always protected.”

I smiled faintly, saying nothing more.

“Narin, you have to fight this. Someone needs to ask the school to investigate again.”

“Who? Me? What can someone like me do?” My voice rose a little without meaning to. “I have no proof. No connections. Even the teachers already think I’m guilty!”

Do Hwan looked at me seriously. “Then we’ll find the proof. Together.”

I frowned. “We?”

He nodded. “Did you forget who I am? I’m Do Hwan. The guy you called ‘fake calm but secretly a troublemaker.’ And now I’m gonna mess with every lie the school’s hiding.”

Even in the middle of everything, I couldn’t help a small laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Seriously. Where do we start?” He sat up straighter. “Is there anyone you suspect?”

I paused, my head swirling with hazy memories. From the hidden shoes, the anonymous witness, to the strange pencil during the test…

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “Everything’s too vague. And I have no proof.”

“That’s why we need to investigate every suspicion,” Do Hwan said carefully.

I lowered my gaze, staring at my fingers pressed together. “Out of all the strange things, one has been bugging me the most since it happened… but I don’t know if it even matters.”

Do Hwan leaned in a little, his eyes attentive. “Just tell me.”

I took a slow breath. “The class president.”

His brows furrowed. “Why him?”

“During the test, I saw his pencil…” I bit my lip, unsure. “It had these weird patterns. Like—tiny lines, but symmetrical. I didn’t get a clear look. He covered it quickly.”

Do Hwan fell silent, like he was processing every word. “Like… a code?”

“Maybe. Or a cheat sheet. But I don’t want to accuse him just on a hunch.”

“But do you remember what it looked like?”

“A bit fuzzy. But there were horizontal lines. Repeating. Like tiny text.”

Do Hwan stared blankly at the wall, then muttered, “So maybe he hid the cheat sheet in the pencil, not on paper.”

I nodded slowly. “But no one’s going to believe me. They’ll just think I’m looking for someone to blame.”

Do Hwan suddenly stood up. “Then we’ll find the proof.”

I looked at him, still unsure. “How? I’m not allowed to come to school for a week.”

“Then I’ll go,” he said quickly. “I’ll find out about that pencil. Do you remember what brand it was?”

I frowned. “It was a black wooden pencil. Silver stripe at the end. I don’t think it’s the kind he usually uses. He normally uses a mechanical one.”

“Then maybe he changed it on purpose for the exam.” Do Hwan gave a lopsided smile. “First clue. Let’s hold on to that.”

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