Soojin Park pushed his glasses up his nose, gripping the worn strap of his backpack as he walked through the main gates of Seongnam High School. It was Monday morning, and the chilly air of Gyeonggi Province in South Korea was thick with noise—chatter, laughter, the slamming of lockers. Groups of students formed islands in the hallways, clustered around loud voices and familiar faces. Seoul might be the heart of the country, but here in Gyeonggi, Seongnam High was its own ecosystem.

For Soojin, this high school was like a city within a city, each corner mapped out with an unspoken social order. Students came from all over the province to study here, though most had only come for one thing: status. And that status was dictated by a hierarchy as rigid as any unwritten rule in Korean society.

Soojin moved along the wall, keeping his head down, just another shadow slipping through the corridors. He hoped that blending in would make him invisible, though experience had taught him that invisibility could only protect him so much.

Ahead, he saw the school’s unofficial "social ladder." Not a real ladder, of course, but anyone who spent even a day at Seongnam knew who was on top and who was at the bottom. The school had its athletes, the wealthy kids, the handsome and the beautiful, and, unfortunately, the bullies who ruled over everyone else. They sat at the best tables in the cafeteria, walked down the hall with chins up and shoulders back, while people like Soojin got out of their way without a second thought.

As he walked, Soojin glanced at his reflection in the glass of the classroom door. His plain white shirt was tucked neatly into his pants, but it was faded, and his hair lay flat against his forehead. He pushed his glasses up again, sighing. No amount of fixing could change what was there.

He headed toward his homeroom, feeling the familiar mix of dread and resignation. Seongnam High was his prison, a daily sentence he had to serve here in the city of Seongnam, trapped at the bottom rung of a ladder no one would ever let him climb.

“Soo-jin!” a voice called, dripping with mock friendliness.

He winced, but it was too late to avoid it. A familiar figure leaned against the doorframe: Minjae, one of the seniors notorious for his sharp tongue and sharper fists. Beside him stood his friend, Jiho, who cracked his knuckles with an amused grin.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Hey, Soojin,” Minjae sneered, his gaze raking over Soojin with barely concealed disgust. “You look so... lively today.”

Soojin forced himself to meet Minjae’s eyes, knowing that looking down or away would only make things worse. “Morning, Minjae.”

“Aw, he speaks!” Jiho laughed, nudging Minjae with a smirk. “Must be a special day.”

Before Soojin could react, Minjae snatched his backpack, yanking it off his shoulder. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here, huh?” He unzipped it, holding it up just high enough that Soojin couldn’t reach it, and began rifling through the contents.

“Hey, give it back!” Soojin protested, heat rising to his cheeks as he tried to reach for his bag. His voice, quiet as it was, felt pitiful in the loud hallway.

But Minjae didn’t stop. He pulled out Soojin’s notebook, flipping through the pages with a mocking expression. “What’s this? Poetry?” He smirked. “Didn’t know you were the sensitive type, Park.”

Soojin clenched his fists, but he didn’t say anything. Experience had taught him that it was better not to fight back. Better to just let it happen and hope it ended quickly.

The bell rang, signaling the start of first period, and Minjae sighed, tossing the notebook and bag back at Soojin’s feet. “You’re lucky, Park. Saved by the bell.”

As the hall emptied, Soojin picked up his things in silence, biting back the frustration and anger building up inside him. He knew he was at the bottom of the ladder here, knew that he had no allies, no friends, and no power. At Seongnam High, you were either someone who mattered or someone who was easily ignored—or worse.

He made his way to his desk, dropping into his seat and slumping over his notebook. The teacher’s voice became a distant hum as he stared out the window, wondering how he had ended up here, at the bottom, without even a chance to rise above.

Somewhere out there, he thought bitterly, life was different. Somewhere beyond Seongnam’s walls, maybe someone like him could be more than just another shadow. But here, in this slice of Gyeonggi Province, his world was shaped by people like Minjae, by power, by looks, by strength—things he didn’t have.

Soojin glanced at his hands, gripping the edge of his notebook. Power, he thought. Was there even a way for someone like him to have it? He sighed, pushing the thought away. That was just a fantasy, something reserved for people with real strength, real presence.

For now, he’d have to survive, just like always.

And so, as the day stretched on, Soojin Park remained where he was—at the bottom of the ladder, hoping that somehow, someday, he’d find a way to climb up.