A group project? I can deal with a group project, unless of course Seong-Ho is in my group. Dammit, I can’t do a group project.

“Okay come to the front and pick a number, the groups will be random” the teacher’s voice cuts through the chatter, and my classmates start to complain. 

“Come on teacher! Let us choose our groups”

“yeah!”

But their protests are useless; this teacher never changes his mind once he’s said something. 

“Come on, Nari. I hope we’re in the same group” Ha-Yoon grabs my hand and heads to the front. There’s a small line of people grabbing numbers. 

“Me too,” I say, but I have my doubts because this is a system mission, and I don't trust the system.

Ha-Yoon dips her hand into the box and opens it. A neat number 1 is written down. I do the same, my paper reads 5. 

Ha-Yoon looks at me, “It’s okay, Nari, I’m sure I can ask someone to switch with me”

“No can do, your numbers have been written down” The teacher doesn’t even look at us when he speaks “, and get out of the way, you’re blocking the box” 

We move back to our seats. Ha-Yoon lays her head on my desk and sighs, “Life is so unfair” I pat her head, “We’re still going to sit next to each other and see each other every day”, I remind her. She just sighs again.

Do-Yun comes back, his folded paper in his hand. “What number did you get?” I ask him, I like to believe we’ve grown somewhat closer over the past week. 

“One” Ha-Yoon’s head shoots up “Me too”

Do-Yun just nods. Ha-Yoon lays her head back down and continues to sulk. I continue to pat her head.

“Hey Nami!” My hand freezes as Ju-Won approaches my desk 

“It’s Nari”

“Right, anyway, I’m going to sit over there”

I nod slowly, “Okay?”

“I’m saying you should move”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Because we’re in the same group. You got number 5 right?”

I nod, “Oh yeah, right, my bad, I’ll be there in a sec”

He stares at Ha-Yoon’s head for a second before turning around.

I drag my chair across the floor and take the seat next to Ju-Won, who’s already kicked back in his chair like this is a social club and not school. The third member of our group is already seated—tall, with dyed ash-blond hair and thick-rimmed glasses. I recognise him vaguely from the debate team. His name escapes me.

“Alright,” the teacher says, adjusting his tie as he writes the project title on the board. “Your task will be to prepare a presentation on ‘Cultural Identity in Modern Media’. You can focus on books, music, film—anything that reflects the idea of identity in a modern context. You’ll present in four weeks. You’re responsible for dividing the workload equally.”

Groans ripple through the class. I glance sideways. Ju-Won’s already scrolling through his phone like he didn’t hear a word of that. I open my notebook and write the title down anyway.

“What a drag,” the third guy mumbles under his breath. 

Stuck with an athlete and a music major… we’re so failing this.

Ju-Won chuckles. “Alright, alright. Let’s just get it over with. Nari, this is Myung. Myung, Nari.”

Myung glances at me. “Aren’t you like a songwriter?”

“Something like that.”

“Then you take music.”

“That’s fine by me”

I turn to Ju-Won, and he just nods, and his thoughts hit me a second later,

This’ll be a good chance to get closer to Ha-Yoon. I’ll just ask her what I should say. If she helps me with my part, we’ll have to meet. Easy.

I blink, for a moment, I almost scoffed—I hadn’t meant to read his thoughts. It’s become almost natural now, so natural that I don’t even realise he isn’t speaking to me.

Ju-Won claps his hands. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this done so we don’t have to think about it again. I can do something on film or whatever. I don’t really care.”

The other guy shrugs. “Sure.”

The bell rings a moment later. Chairs scrape across the floor. I stand to leave, but Ju-Won speaks up again.

“Hey, let’s make a group chat or something. I don’t wanna be stuck doing everything last-minute.”

“Fine by me,” I say. The other guy pulls out his phone, and we all exchange numbers.

I slip mine into my pocket after. Another chat. Another thing I don’t want to deal with.

When I turn back to my desk, Ha-Yoon’s already back in her seat, notebook out, flipping through it absentmindedly. I sit beside her, watching her for a moment.

“Do-Yun didn’t talk to me,” she says suddenly.

“You just met,” I reply, softer. “Maybe next time.”

She nods. I glance down at my wrist instinctively, the faint scar where the system first branded me. The window doesn’t open this time, but I feel the quiet weight of time pressing forward.

Four weeks.

That’s how long I have to make sure everything falls into place.
Even if I don’t want to.

Even if it means manipulating the people I love most.