The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air as Mrs. Hu set the table, her movements fluid with the rhythm of a quiet morning. Ha-Yoon shuffled into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, her hair a wild mess from restless sleep. She glanced out the window, where a blanket of grey mist shrouded the world beyond. The same eerie feeling that had clung to her yesterday lingered, an unshakable sense of foreboding.

  Mrs. Hu handed her a steaming mug of coffee, her brow creased with concern. "You okay, sweetie? You look a bit pale."

  Ha-Yoon nodded, wrapping her hands around the mug as if drawing strength from its warmth. "Just a weird feeling," she murmured. "Like something’s off."

  Mrs. Hu’s gaze lingered on her daughter, the weight of maternal intuition heavy in her expression. She could tell something wasn’t right, but she didn’t press.

  "Are you sure you don’t want to stay home today?" Mrs. Hu asked, her voice soft but insistent.

  Ha-Yoon shook her head, forcing a small smile. "No, I’ll be fine. Just a bit shaken from the tremors, I guess."

  Mrs. Hu nodded reluctantly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Ha-Yoon’s face before turning back to the breakfast preparations.

  The front door creaked open, and Mr. Hu entered the kitchen, his doctor’s coat already in place. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, a silent testament to another long night at the hospital.

  "I’m off," he said, leaning down to kiss Mrs. Hu on the cheek.

  Mrs. Hu nodded, her eyes following him as he grabbed his umbrella and stepped out into the misty morning. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a hollow silence in his absence.

  Mrs. Hu sighed, her hands momentarily still as her gaze lingered on the spot where her husband had stood. Ha-Yoon noticed the faint worry lines etched into her mother’s face, a reflection of the unspoken tension that had been building in their home.

  "I’ll be okay, Mom," Ha-Yoon said, her voice more confident than she felt. "Promise."

  Mrs. Hu turned to her, offering a strained smile. She poured a bowl of porridge and placed it in front of Ha-Yoon. "Eat up," she said, her voice tinged with quiet resolve.

  Ha-Yoon ate quickly, the warmth of the food a fleeting comfort against the unease gnawing at her. She finished with a grateful nod and bolted upstairs, her bare feet slapping against the cold wooden floor.

  Her room was its usual chaotic mess: discarded clothes littered the floor, and textbooks were scattered haphazardly across her desk. She scanned the clutter, searching for something to wear that wouldn’t add to her already frazzled state. Her eyes landed on her uniform, neatly folded at the back of her closet, its crisp lines whispering a promise of normalcy.

  Her hands trembled as she dressed, the fabric stiff against her skin. The rain pattered softly against the window, a constant reminder of the tempestuous day awaiting her.

  The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, each second a silent admonition that she was running out of time. Her heart raced as she buttoned her shirt, her thoughts a whirlwind of fears and unanswered questions.

  "I have to go," Ha-Yoon whispered to herself, tying her hair into a hasty ponytail. The elastic snapped against her scalp, a sharp reminder to focus.

  She grabbed her backpack, its weight a familiar burden on her shoulders, and hurried downstairs. Her school shoes squeaked against the floor as she paused at the door, her hand hovering over the handle.

  "Remember, Ha-Yoon," her mother called from the kitchen. "Be careful."

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  Ha-Yoon glanced back, offering a brave smile. "I will, Mom."

  The door opened, and Ha-Yoon stepped into the grey morning. A fine mist of rain kissed her skin as she pulled her hoodie over her head, the damp fabric clinging to her forehead.

  Across town, the Park household stirred to a different rhythm. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across Si-Woo’s room. Mrs. Park sat on the edge of his bed, her hand resting lightly on his forehead. Her expression was a mixture of concern and quiet determination.

  "You’re not going to school today, Si-Woo," she said softly. "You’re not well."

  Si-Woo shifted beneath the blankets, his voice weak but insistent. "But... brother..."

  Mrs. Park’s gaze was steady, though her tone carried a mother’s gentle resolve. "Ye-Jun can handle himself. You need to rest and heal."

  Si-Woo’s protests died in his throat as exhaustion pulled at him. He nodded faintly, watching as his mother tucked the blankets snugly around him. Her touch carried a silent promise: she would protect him, no matter what.

  The house stirred with the sounds of Ye-Jun getting ready for school. The shower ran in the background, a faint melody of rushing water and occasional footsteps. Si-Woo closed his eyes, the sounds fading into a comforting lull.

  The sound of the shower ceased, and moments later, Ye-Jun emerged from the bathroom with a towel slung low around his waist, water droplets clinging to his skin. He ran a hand through his damp hair as he made his way down the hall. Pausing at Si-Woo’s door, which was slightly ajar, he peeked in. Concern etched across his face as he saw his younger brother lying in bed.

  "You okay, Si-Woo?" Ye-Jun whispered, his voice soft but firm.

  Si-Woo shifted under the blankets, his voice barely audible. "Yeah... just tired."

  Ye-Jun stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the bruises and exhaustion etched into Si-Woo’s frame. He hesitated, his lips parting as though to say something, but Si-Woo cut him off.

  "I’m sorry, Ye-Jun," Si-Woo murmured, his throat tight with emotion. "It’s all my fault."

  "Don’t say that," Ye-Jun said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for this."

  Crossing the room, Ye-Jun sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, the small motion grounding the conversation in an unspoken intimacy. His expression softened as he looked at Si-Woo, his gaze filled with fierce protectiveness.

  "You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore," Ye-Jun said, his voice steady. "I’ll talk to the teachers, the principal—anyone who’ll listen."

  Si-Woo’s eyes widened, a flicker of hope breaking through his cloud of despair. He nodded faintly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But don’t fight them. Please."

  Ye-Jun’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides. But he exhaled slowly, nodding in understanding. Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to Si-Woo’s forehead.

  "I’ll be careful," Ye-Jun promised. "But I won’t let them get away with this."

  The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. Ye-Jun’s hand rested on Si-Woo’s shoulder, a silent assurance that he wasn’t alone.

  After a moment, Ye-Jun stood, his hand lingering on his brother’s shoulder before he turned and walked to the door. The quiet click of it shutting behind him left Si-Woo alone once more.

  Lying back against the pillows, Si-Woo stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. The rain outside became a soothing lullaby, but it couldn’t drown out the memories of the day before. The tremors, the fight, and the look on Jung-Ho’s face when he realized the tremors were real and not just some clever ruse to escape.

  The soft creak of footsteps on the stairs brought Si-Woo back to the present. The scent of homemade soup drifted through the crack in the door, making his stomach growl—a traitorous reminder of his hunger.

  "Lunch is ready, Si-Woo," Mrs. Park said gently as she entered the room, balancing a tray laden with steaming soup and a glass of water.

  Si-Woo pushed himself up with great effort, every movement a fresh protest from his battered body. He accepted the tray with a quiet "Thank you, Mom."

  Mrs. Park placed the tray on the bedside table and sat beside him briefly. Her gaze lingered on him, her eyes filled with a mix of love and sorrow.

  "Rest, my love," she said softly, brushing a hand against his cheek. "I’ll be downstairs if you need anything."

  Si-Woo nodded, and with a gentle pat on his back, Mrs. Park stood and left, closing the door behind her. The soft click echoed in the room, leaving Si-Woo alone once more, save for the rain’s steady serenade.

  He picked up the spoon and took a tentative sip of the soup, the warmth spreading through his body like a soothing balm. The blend of familiar flavors was both comforting and bittersweet, a small reminder of normalcy amidst the chaos.

  The TV in the corner flickered to life, its muted broadcast flashing images of the city. Si-Woo’s stomach turned as scenes of chaos filled the screen—streets flooded, people scrambling for safety, and reporters speaking of the strange tremors that had shaken the area. He set the tray aside, the comforting meal now forgotten.

  The rain outside continued, its steady rhythm a grim reminder of the storm raging in his world, both inside and out.