Chapter 38: Chapter 38 - The Ghost They Made
The boy shook his head fast. "Please... stop."
He tried to move, but Yoo Chan caught his collar and pulled him back hard.
"Where you going? We brought you something."
He opened the bag — a girl’s uniform, a wig, a few makeup sticks.
Kim Jae-ho laughed loud, shaking the phone like he was proud.
"Don’t— please..."
No one listened.
There was a loud bang when his back hit the locker. His shoes scraped on the floor as he tried to pull away, but they just laughed louder, like it was a game.
Hyun Woo stood still, watching. His jaw tight, eyes cold.
Then the fog started moving again, breaking apart and forming new shapes — a different place, a different time.
Another memory from Yoo Chan and Kim Jae-ho.
The same boy stood there now, in the middle of the hallway.
He was wearing a short skirt and a wig that wasn’t even put on right, hanging off to one side.
Red lipstick was smeared across his lips, uneven, like someone had done it on purpose to make him look stupid.
His eyes had black lines drawn under them — thick and shaky, turning his face into something between a joke and a clown.
His hands kept pulling at the skirt, trying to cover himself, but it didn’t help.
Yoo Chan’s laugh came from behind the phone camera.
"Come on, look up. Smile for the photo, freak."
The boy’s lip trembled, but he forced a small smile anyway.
Laughter spilled through the hallway, loud enough to pull people in faster.
A few students who were already there were laughing, some had their phones up, recording.
Others passing by slowed down, curious. More came out of their classrooms after hearing the noise, whispering to each other as they tried to see what was going on.
Someone whistled from the back, another shouted, "Nice skirt!" and the laughter got louder, turning meaner.
The boy stood in the middle of it all, head down, hands shaking as he tried to pull the skirt lower. His shoulders trembled, his breath shaky and uneven.
He didn’t say a word — just bit his lip and stood there, hoping if he stayed quiet long enough, maybe they’d get bored and walk away.
Then a few teachers came running when they heard the noise.
The laughter stopped right away — everyone scattered like nothing happened.
Yoo Chan and Kim Jae-ho slipped out fast, still grinning.
Only the boy was left standing there in that skirt, shaking, his face red from shame.
One teacher grabbed his arm, eyes wide with disgust. "What are you doing dressed like that? You think this is funny?"
He tried to speak, stuttering, saying it wasn’t him, that they forced him, but no one listened.
Another teacher pointed at him. "Stop lying! You wanted attention, right? You like when people look at you?"
Their voices kept rising, throwing words like "disgrace" and "troublemaker."
The boy just stood there, frozen, his eyes empty, whispering that he didn’t do anything — but no one believed him.
The teachers’ voices started to fade, their words still echoing somewhere far behind.
The laughter that once filled the hallway stretched thin — then everything around began to blur.
The lights dimmed, the sound faded, and when it all came back—
It was night.
The same boy sat at his desk, still wearing that skirt and makeup.
His phone screen glowed in the dark, lighting his face.
His photo was everywhere now — reposted, copied, edited with filters and stickers.
It wasn’t just his school anymore. Other schools were sharing it too.
> "New girl from Gyeongbuk, pretty huh?"
"Not a girl, it’s that weird kid! 😂😂"
"Someone tag the teacher!"
"He really dressed up for attention!"
His hands shook harder with every scroll.
Every refresh showed more likes, more comments, more laughing faces.
Someone had even changed his name on the post — calling him "Miss Crybaby."
He turned the phone face down, but the sound of the notifications kept ringing, one after another.
He pressed his hands to his ears, whispering, "Please stop... please stop..."
But the screen lit up again.
Someone had tagged his name. Another had shared the photo with his school name in the caption.
His shoulders started shaking, and he buried his face in his arms.
He couldn’t even think of school tomorrow — how his friends, his teachers, his family would see that photo.
He reached for something on the desk — a piece of paper, already half-crumpled.
It had only a few words on it.
"Please stop laughing."
The fog started to move again and took a different shape this time.
It showed a small room — messy, quiet, one light still on.
The boy was there, sitting at his desk, his head hanging low.
The skirt still on him, the makeup still smudged on his face.
The phone screen beside him glowed with the same posts, the same comments.
He sat there for a long time, not moving.
Then he stood up slowly, his hand trembling as he wrote something on a piece of paper.
And then— silence.
The next moment came fast — the door crashing open, someone screaming, footsteps running down the hall.
Then the news hit. Photos spread. Posts, comments, hashtags, all flooding in at once. For a few days, everyone was talking about it, pretending to care, pretending to be angry. But after that... everything just faded.
The posts got buried, the names forgotten, and life went on like nothing ever happened.
Hyun Woo’s voice came low, steady.
"People love pretending to care," he said. "They see a post, type a few sad words, drop a crying emoji... then move on to the next thing."
He looked down, his tone flat.
"They talk about justice from their beds, scrolling with one hand, doing nothing with the other. No one stands up. No one goes out there."
He let out a short breath, eyes cold.
"They only remember until the next trend shows up."
His gaze lifted, faint gold burning in his eyes.
"That’s why people like me exist."
People always call it a joke.
Say it’s harmless, just kids messing around.
But they don’t see what comes after — how it stays in someone’s head, how it eats them alive.
Everyone handles pain differently.
What feels like nothing to one person can be the reason another stops living.
Cruelty isn’t just in the act — it’s in pretending it’s no big deal.
And by the time anyone starts to care, it’s already too late.
[Forgiveness or Punishment?]