Chapter 2 – Waking Up to Nothing

The floor was cold. That was the first thing.

Not just "cold like marble"—no, cold like abandonment. Cold like poverty had pressed its cheek against the tile and decided to stay.

I sat up slowly, legs tangled in a blanket that smelled vaguely of detergent and last week's despair. The mattress squeaked like it wanted to apologize for existing.

This wasn't a hospital.

No gentle beeping machines.

No scent of antiseptic or soft lights.

Just a square room with yellow walls that might've once been white, a ceiling bulb flickering like it had seen things, and the distant hum of someone yelling about kimchi down the hallway.

I pulled the blanket tighter and scanned the room.

No closet. No dresser. No trace of a girl who owned anything beyond the floor and that mattress.

But there was a plastic bag hanging from a bent hook near the door.

I rushed to it, heartbeat quickening. I don't know what I expected—maybe a letter from myself? A manual for how to survive inside a stolen body? A "Congratulations on your rebirth!" coupon?

Instead, I found:

A flip phone with a cracked screen, battery clinging to 9% like it was begging for retirement,

A crumpled school uniform in a plastic dry-cleaning sleeve,

A worn-out canvas bag that had seen better wars,

And a sticky note. Slightly wrinkled. Slightly rude.

"Orientation. 8 a.m.

Try not to screw it up again."

Charming.

I frowned and looked deeper into the bag—nothing. No wallet. No keys. No passport.

No me.

My fingers closed around the student ID tucked in the phone case.

Lee Nina

Age: 17

Seoul International Academic Institute

Class 3-A

Seventeen.

That number felt wrong.

Fake. Like someone had taken my life and retyped it in a worse font. Bold, italicized, and in Comic Sans.

I was twenty. I had been twenty. I'd paid taxes, signed contracts, made sarcastic remarks at dinner parties.

Now, legally, I couldn't drink soju without someone carding me.

Fantastic.

I didn't know how this body worked yet, but apparently, it knew how to wear clothes better than I ever had.

The school uniform looked... expensive-adjacent. A navy jacket, clean white blouse, pleated skirt, and no logos. Neat, sharp, effortless.

I slipped it on and stared at the mirror. Not to admire. To confirm.

She was still there.

The girl with the sharp green eyes and wildfire hair. She looked ready to pose for a fashion campaign, not catch the 8 a.m. bus to humiliation.

And still, as I fixed the collar of my blouse, something in me whispered:

You're just borrowing this.

There was no makeup, but she didn't seem to need it.

No jewelry, no perfume, not even a hair tie.

But somehow, she looked like she belonged to the kind of world where people invented reasons to compliment you.

I blinked hard, fighting the weird ache behind my eyes.

Not sadness.

Not fear.

More like… an itch. Like déjà vu holding its breath.

I shook it off and stuffed everything into the canvas bag. I found a single key taped behind the ID—no note, no chain, just cold metal and silent expectation.

The phone buzzed briefly as it powered on.

No contacts. No messages.

But the time was clear: 7:33 a.m.

I nearly choked.

— Orientation. Crap.

Shoes. I found sneakers by the door. Cheap, functional, clean enough.

I shoved them on, tied the laces with shaking fingers, and rushed out, slamming the door behind me like it owed me rent.

The outside world didn't care that I was experiencing an existential crisis.

The sky was blue, the street noisy, and Seoul moved like it had somewhere better to be.

I ran to the bus stop like a girl possessed, nearly tripping on the sidewalk twice.

A bus screeched to a halt in front of me. I climbed in, shoved a few coins into the slot, and collapsed into a seat near the back.

The bus smelled like schoolbags, instant coffee, and public exhaustion.

My knees were pressed together awkwardly. My bag sat like a lump on my lap.

The driver didn't even glance at me as we pulled away.

I looked out the window.

Glass towers. Students walking in clusters. Old women dragging carts. A rhythm I didn't belong to yet.

Inside, I repeated quietly:

Just make it through today. Just blend in. Just survive.

But part of me didn't want to blend in.

Part of me wanted to walk into that school like I still had my name.

Like I hadn't been erased and replaced by someone with a perfect face and no history.

The bus jerked to a stop. I grabbed the pole, stood up, and got off with a breath that tasted like panic and metal.

Ahead, the school gates waited.

Black iron. Gold crest. Gleaming walls.

I swallowed.

— Let's see how much of a disaster you can be on day one.

The school looked like someone had given an architect a billion won and zero restraint.

Marble floors. Tall windows. Plants that were probably imported. And students—so many of them—moving with the kind of precision that came from money, power, and too many tutors.

I tried to act like I belonged.

Walked straight. Eyes up. Shoulders back.

My legs were shaking, but hey—no one had to know that.

I reached the reception desk.

The woman barely glanced up from her tablet.

— ID?

I handed it over.

She scanned it, sighed, and pointed.

— Assembly Hall B. Third floor. You're already late.

Thanks for the warm welcome.

I took the stairs two at a time, boots clacking louder than I wanted.

Each landing smelled like new textbooks and silent pressure.

When I reached the third floor, students were already lined up outside the hall, chatting in little clusters. Some glanced at me.

A girl near the front whispered, "Is that the new one?"

Another muttered, "Red hair? That's a choice."

I ignored them and stepped into the room.

Rows of seats. A stage. A spotlight warming the polished floor.

I froze.

For half a second, something behind my eyes twitched.

Like a headache trying to remember something I didn't know I'd forgotten.

Then—

— Everyone, please welcome our new transfer student: Lee Nina, Class 3-A.

My name rang out like a punch in the gut.

Heads turned.

Dozens of eyes locked onto me. Judging. Weighing. Whispering.

I took a breath.

Lifted my chin.

And smiled.

They could have the money. The pedigree. The fake politeness.

I had my face. I had my brain. And I wasn't here to disappear.

Let the war begin.