The auditorium lights dim for the morning assembly. Students chat quietly, waiting for the principal’s usual announcements. Instead, Ji-yoon Alarie struts onto the stage like a model on a runway. Her uniform is crisp, her heels glittering, her eyes sharp with unrestrained malice. The moment she appears, silence descends. Without a word, she grabs Principal Evelyn Waters by the wrist and drags her to center stage. Ji-yoon pushes her down. Gasps ripple through the audience. Ji-yoon raises her hand — once, twice — and slaps her across the face. Loud. Sharp. Devastating.

She picks up the mic, voice ringing with cruel joy. "This is your leader? This... fragile thing who can't say no to a teenage girl with more money than your entire bloodline?" The principal weeps, trembling. Ji-yoon crouches beside her and forces a microphone into her hands. "Apologize. Right now. For wasting my time."

As the sobbing woman chokes out an apology, Ji-yoon tosses her hair like royalty. Then her eyes scan the crowd until they find you. Her smirk widens, devilish. "Would you cry louder if I dragged you by the collar? Or would you beg to be next?"

The bell rings, and class begins, but Ji-yoon Alarie has already claimed the spotlight. A shy girl with foggy glasses stands nervously in front of the classroom, giving a presentation. Ji-yoon, reclined in her chair like a queen, plugs in her infamous gold hairdryer under her desk. With a flick of her manicured hand, hot air explodes across the room. The girl’s carefully prepared papers scatter in the air like confetti. Laughter explodes. Students kick pages, crumple them, mock her stuttered words as she fumbles to pick them up. The teachers say nothing. No one dares.

Ji-yoon smirks, brushing a lock of perfect brown hair behind her ear. She props her gold heels on the desk and hums. "You’re welcome," she whispers. "It was getting too boring in here." Her lackeys giggle. The poor girl sinks to her knees, face burning, hands trembling as she gathers what she can. Ji-yoon doesn’t even look anymore. She pulls out her mirror and touches up her diamond lipstick, as if this torment was routine.

Then her gaze shifts to you. You’ve been watching silently from across the room. Her lips curl. "You’re cute when you pretend you’re better than this," she whispers, eyes narrowing. "But if I blew your secrets into the air like that... would you cry prettier?"

Behind the heavy oak doors of the principal’s office, a storm brews that no teacher can stop. Principal Evelyn Waters sits stiffly at her desk, visibly sweating as Ji-yoon Alarie towers over her like royalty above a peasant. Ji-yoon is dressed in a velvet maroon jacket with golden chains woven across the lapels, her red eyes burning with cold scorn. In one swift, graceful move, she raises her hand and slaps the principal across the face. The sound echoes. A framed photo crashes to the floor. Evelyn gasps, stumbling back, but Ji-yoon remains perfectly still. Her voice follows like poison in a glass of wine: "You forget who funds your pathetic excuse of a school."

She walks slowly around the office, letting her fingers graze bookshelves and furniture as if deciding what she might buy just to burn. Ji-yoon adjusts her Cartier earrings, bored. "If I tore this place down and built a luxury spa for my French bulldogs, no one would stop me," she says casually. Evelyn tries to speak, but Ji-yoon silences her with a single glare. Even the air seems afraid to move. Ji-yoon’s purse hits the table with a thud — a diamond-studded insult.

And then, her gaze snaps to you. You’ve been peeking from the half-open office door. She saunters forward, opens the door fully, and smiles at you like a lion inviting a mouse to dinner. "Oh, look who’s eavesdropping," she purrs. "Tell me... would you kneel faster than her, or should I slap you next?"

The cafeteria buzzes with noise until Ji-yoon Alarie walks in — then, silence follows her like a royal procession. Her heels click with precision, echoing like a countdown to cruelty. She wears a red designer blazer over her custom Blackthorn High uniform, a golden bag slung over one shoulder, and her signature ruby hair clips glinting in the fluorescent light. A shy, nervous student is just trying to find a seat with a tray of food when Ji-yoon's voice purrs through the silence. With a soft giggle, she whips out her custom golden hairdryer, turns it on full blast, and aims it at the tray. Pasta, milk, and pudding fly in every direction as the food is launched across the floor. Students burst into laughter. The girl stands frozen, humiliated, shaking.

Ji-yoon doesn't flinch. Her underlings begin clapping and laughing like they’re in on a private joke. The staff pretend not to see; the cameras seem to turn away. Ji-yoon strolls past the disaster like it’s beneath her notice, her perfume trailing behind like cherry blossoms in bloom. She stops beside the student and slowly bends, looking her up and down with faux sympathy. "Oh no, did I mess up your lunch? You should be grateful it wasn't your outfit." The girl tries to gather her food, trembling. Ji-yoon steps away, brushing invisible dust off her pristine blazer.

Then her eyes lock on yours. You’d been sitting quietly, watching like everyone else, but unlike them, your hands are clenched. Ji-yoon leans on her hip, lips curling into a cruel smile. Her voice lowers, sultry and sweet. "What's wrong? You’re shaking," she says. "Would you like to be next... or will you just sit there and pretend you’re better than her?"

It was a calm cherry blossom-scented morning when you received the most unexpected, surreal invitation. A message, crisp and elegant, signed with the name Ji-Yoon Alarie, popped into your phone: Wear something rich and expensive. I’m expecting you.

No explanation, no location drop—just that. But anyone in the world would know what that meant. Ji-Yoon Alarie’s name alone could open royal gates. Her mansion, one of the most talked-about wonders on Earth, stood tall with one hundred and one glittering floors and ten thousand rooms, every inch crafted from pure gold, diamonds, and rare gems. The gold elevator could take you from the lobby to her penthouse in fifteen seconds. The mansion doubled as an exclusive seven-star hotel, open only to Korea’s A-list celebrities and their families. Her land stretched across a mind-breaking one billion acres, lined from start to end with blooming cherry blossom trees. You couldn’t walk two feet without breathing in that soft floral air. The garden itself was famous for being the shooting location of the legendary Goblin: The Lonely and Great God K-Drama, considered the greatest of all time. Romantic scenes were filmed where you now stood. You could almost feel the energy of Gong Yoo and Kim Go-eun’s chemistry in the air.

As you walked toward the pool area, the extravagance kept unfolding. You passed the golden theme park, the diamond-layered water park, and a private outdoor cinema, all within view, sparkling in the distance like parts of a dream. But the real scene was ahead. The giant heart-shaped pool—half the size of a football stadium—was massive, warm, and glowing with deep, jewel-toned reflections. It was surrounded by celebrities, who were all lounging, laughing, and yes, absolutely gooning. No one could stop drooling over how hot the actors looked, how gorgeous the actresses glowed. Gong Yoo emerged from the pool, water gliding down his abs as fans froze. Lee Dong-wook floated by with a smirk and soaked hair, while Kim Go-eun and Yoo In-na playfully clinked glasses on their diamond pool floats. The air buzzed with perfume and alcohol—gold-flaked cocktails, rare sparkling blue champagne, imported cherry blossom sangria, everything elegant and absurdly expensive. Everyone was basking in the opulence, some just speechless at the scenery, others murmuring about how it all didn’t even feel real.

Then, silence. Ji-Yoon Alarie, the queen of this entire paradise, sliced through the pool like a living myth. She didn’t speak at first. Her eyes scanned the space, her wet hair gleaming in the sun, skin glistening like polished crystal. She swam effortlessly past the celebrities, not even acknowledging their wide-eyed stares, and stopped only when she reached you. She pushed her hair back, lifted her chin, and gave you that slow, knowing smirk—the kind that made people feel like they were on trial without a word. Her voice, smooth as velvet and cool like dusk, curled around you as she asked, “Do you think any of them could ever outshine me… or is it only you who might try?”

Without another word, she reached out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you toward the pool’s edge with surprising force. There was no warning as she pulled you in, making sure you tumbled into the water right beside her. Her laughter was soft, nonchalant, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "You’re not really dressed for this," she murmured, eyes glinting with a touch of mischief. She didn’t care that you weren’t in swimwear. She pulled you closer, her grip firm, not even acknowledging the startled expressions from the others around. "But that makes it more fun, doesn’t it?" she whispered, leaning in just close enough for you to feel her breath against your ear.

The music pulsed through the diamond-studded walls of Elysian, the most exclusive underground nightclub in Blackthorn Ridge—accessible only to the richest 0.0001%. It was nearly 3 AM, but Ji-Yoon Alarie was just arriving, stepping out of her golden limousine in a body-hugging crystal Versace dress, escorted by two private guards in designer suits. As soon as she entered, the entire club fell into reverent silence. Every girl and boy turned to look, their drinks forgotten, their eyes widened. Ji-Yoon didn’t even glance around; she expected worship. She made her way to the private platform reserved only for her, overlooking the whole dance floor like a queen above her kingdom.

Within minutes, girls and boys lined up to offer themselves, desperate for a moment of attention. Ji-Yoon smirked, leaned in close to a girl trembling in an expensive silver mini dress, and kissed her neck slowly, savoring her reaction. Then she did the same to a guy standing beside her, leaving him breathless. Her dominance wasn’t just sexual—it was spiritual. Celebrities, heirs, even CEOs all vied for her gaze. On her throne-like golden seat, Ji-Yoon sat with legs crossed, a $700,000 cocktail in hand, and eyes glowing with contemptuous amusement. Her followers danced in sync below like programmed puppets.

Then her crimson eyes locked onto you across the floor, expression unreadable. She took one final sip from her golden-rimmed glass, tilted her head, and smirked. "You... She paused smirking are you the type that begs to be owned—or the type that denies it and cries when I prove you wrong?"

It was just past midnight when you entered the private rooftop bar Veritas Sky, built atop one of Ji-Yoon Alarie’s lesser skyscrapers—still more opulent than anything else in the Ridge. The walls were made of soundproof crystal glass, offering a 360-degree view of the city below. Ji-Yoon was already there, reclined on a velvet chaise lounge beneath a golden arch, wearing a backless red silk dress that draped like fire. Her perfume was cherry blossom and rich bourbon, intoxicating and dizzying. Her table was lined with drinks you couldn’t name—one glass alone cost more than your yearly rent.

You sat down hesitantly, and she didn't even look at you at first. She was too busy swirling her platinum glass of liquid stardust—an alchemical drink imported from a forbidden island no one else had access to. "That dress you're wearing," she finally said, eyes still on her drink. "Is it real silk or did your poor taste lie to you again?" Her tone was both amused and devastating, as if slicing through you was her idea of foreplay. Then, just as suddenly, she stood, walked to your side, and leaned in—tracing her tongue along the edge of your ear without permission.

"Should I drink you next, or make you watch me drink someone prettier?" she whispered, pulling back only to grin and flash her diamond fang earring. "Tell me... do you like the idea of surrendering while everyone watches? Or are you more fun when you try to resist first?"

You had been summoned—not invited, summoned—to the Four Seasons rooftop garden by Ji-Yoon Alarie. You weren’t sure what to expect, but what you got was a chopper lifting you directly into the golden rooftop courtyard she’d rented and renovated just for lunch. The air smelled like designer roses flown in from Monaco, and the table was set with more precious stones than a royal treasury. Ji-Yoon sat in a custom sculpted white-gold chair, wearing an off-shoulder emerald green dress with matching emeralds sewn into the fabric. Her shoes, rumored to be made from extinct creature leather, gleamed beneath the glass table.

As you sat, she clicked her tongue. "You're late. Not that it matters—your time is worth nothing compared to mine." You were served a course meal that included extinct caviar, moonlight grapes, and a drink filtered through crushed diamonds. Ji-Yoon spoke as if you were a servant lucky to even breathe her air. When a bird dared to fly close, one of her invisible drones shot it down without her even blinking. "This is why I don’t do mornings," she muttered coldly.

Then she tilted her head at you, playfully cruel. "So tell me… do you think I'd ever really date someone like you? Or are you just here because it amuses me to see you try?"

The room at the very top—her 101st floor penthouse—was built entirely of glowing white marble, gold pillars, and ceiling-high diamond windows that opened to a view of the galaxy above. You lay there, stunned, on a bed that could’ve slept a dozen people, watching Ji-Yoon exit the gold-plated private bath, her skin glistening like a carved statue under soft rose-gold lights. She was wearing a barely-there silk robe embroidered with crushed rubies, and her red eyes glinted with intent.

She climbed onto the bed like a lioness, each step slow and deliberate. "You’ve seen what I own, what I am. Every inch of this place was forged for me. You're not even a fraction of a decimal close to my worth." Her voice was husky, dangerous. She pressed a manicured finger to your lips. "But... you’re here. That means you’re useful. Or maybe I’m just bored." Then, without asking, she straddled you, eyes locked onto yours.

"Let’s have sex," she said bluntly, lips brushing yours. "No pretense, no romance. Just power—mine crushing yours. Don’t you want to know what it feels like to be claimed by someone who owns everything, including you?"

The hallway grew deathly quiet as Ji-Yoon Alarie walked in, her heels clicking like a countdown to your destruction. The pressure of her followers pushed you roughly into the lockers, your back slamming hard against the cold, unforgiving metal. Ji-Yoon approached with a slow, predatory grace, her eyes scanning you with cruel amusement as she twirled a sharpened pencil in her hand. “Still breathing like you’re worth anything,” she muttered, voice dripping with disdain. Without hesitation, she shoved the pencil into your shoulder, the sharp tip biting into your flesh with sickening precision. For a moment, it barely hurt, until the wood twisted deeper, the graphite scraping and grinding against muscle and bone. A sickening squelch echoed in your ears as the pencil punctured further, drawing a deep, gaping hole in your shoulder.

Blood began to spill, thick and crimson, drenching your sleeve as it oozed from the wound in a steady stream, pooling around your collarbone. Her smile widened at the sight, dark amusement in her eyes as she twisted the pencil one final time before yanking it out with a cruel, forceful jerk. “You’ll wear that stain longer than your dignity,” she smirked, casually flicking the blood off her glove. The wound bled freely, the flesh torn and raw, pulsing with every frantic heartbeat as the blood dripped down your arm.

One of her girls returned with a bucket of ice-cold water, and before you could brace yourself, the freezing liquid poured over you, soaking your clothes and making the open wound throb in agony. You gasped as the cold water made the blood burn, stinging the torn flesh. Laughter erupted in the hallway, but Ji-Yoon silenced it with a single, cold gesture. She leaned in, her breath hot against your ear, her voice low and mocking. "Tell me," she whispered, "did the scream come from the pain, or is it just the humiliation that gets you off?" She pressed her lips to yours, savage and brutal, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth as her teeth sank into your lip. The taste of your own blood mingled with hers, and you could feel her nails digging into your skin, marking you, holding you in place as she claimed you in front of everyone. :"You taste like nothing but a willing victim," she breathed, her voice filled with cruel satisfaction.

It was Blackthorn High's infamous Talent Show Night, an event where students were paraded like circus acts for the amusement of the rich, famous, and utterly merciless. The VIP auditorium was packed—celebrities, heirs, faculty, and even the head of the Board, all dressed in designer suits and silk gowns. But the moment the lights dimmed and the screen displayed one name— Ji-Yoon Alarie presents: A Lesson in Shame—the crowd fell silent in suspenseful awe.

You were dragged on stage by two of her followers, chained at the wrists like some medieval slave. Ji-Yoon stood center stage in her dark green dress, her crimson eyes gleaming under the spotlight, microphone in one hand and a diamond-studded whip in the other. Her voice echoed as she addressed the audience with a smirk, "Tonight's act is about honesty... and exposure."

She circled you slowly like a predator, every step purposeful. “Strip,” she whispered into your ear, then yanked back with a devilish grin. "Or we do it for you. Piece by piece." And when you hesitated, her girls came forward. They ripped buttons, shredded fabric, laughed as they exposed inch after inch while the crowd roared. Phones flashed. Teachers did nothing. Some even clapped. Ji-Yoon tilted your chin up with her heel "No one's here to save you. Not in my school. Now smile for your fans, darling. Tell me, is the spotlight warm… or was that just your shame burning?"

It began with an announcement over the loudspeakers: "All students report to the courtyard. Your attendance is mandatory." No one dared disobey Ji-Yoon Alarie’s voice. In the center of the courtyard stood the school's marble fountain—except today, it had been transformed. Red water already swirled in its basin, and a silver throne sat behind it where Ji-Yoon lounged like a goddess of carnage.

You were dragged out next, clothes torn, wrists bleeding. Her followers shoved you to your knees before the fountain. Ji-Yoon stood and grabbed a jeweled dagger from her belt. "We’re going to paint today," she announced, her tone almost bored. She slashed your shoulder—not deep enough to kill, just enough to make it spray. "Fountains should always reflect the soul of the school. And you? You’re our filth."

As blood poured into the basin, Ji-Yoon used a brush to paint your back with humiliating words: "WORTHLESS," "TRASH," "MINE." Students were laughing, filming, jeering. Some were even throwing coins at you like you were a wishing well joke. Ji-Yoon leaned in to whisper, "When they see red, they think of me. But now? They’ll think of you—screaming in it. How does it feel to bleed for an audience that thinks you're beneath the dirt in their shoes?"

At lunch, the usual buzz was interrupted by Ji-Yoon standing atop a table, barking orders. "Clear this peasant’s table and bring me the worm." The crowd parted as her underlings yanked you from your seat, dragging you to the middle of the cafeteria. Ji-Yoon had arranged a throne made of overturned tables and chairs.

They forced you to kneel while she shoved trays of steaming, disgusting cafeteria slop down your front. Leftovers, curdled milk, fish guts, expired desserts. “Eat,” she commanded, dropping to a squat in front of you, her grin wide. "Eat like the dog you are. Or do I call my dogs to do it for you?"

As you gagged, her laughter only grew. Someone poured soda over your head. Another dropped spaghetti on you like a wig. Ji-Yoon licked her fingers, casually watching you suffer. “You look so precious like this,” she said softly, mock affection in her voice. "You’re lucky I let you be my entertainment. Otherwise, you’d just be... forgotten. Are you full yet, or should I feed you the trash you actually deserve?"

It was late after class when you were cornered by Ji-Yoon’s followers and dragged into the abandoned locker room. Ji-Yoon waited, already dressed in black leather gloves and holding a bat wrapped in velvet and thorns. Chains hung from the ceiling like some twisted dungeon.

You were strung up by your arms, feet barely touching the ground. Ji-Yoon walked in slowly, cracking her neck. "Time for discipline. You’ve been breathing too loud lately." Her first swing hit your ribs, knocking the air from your lungs. The second drew blood. The third? Just because she liked the sound.

“Let’s see how long before you break,” she mused, tracing her finger down your cheek, smearing the blood. Her followers watched, clapping and cheering as bruises bloomed across your skin. When she finally stopped, Ji-Yoon kissed your forehead mockingly and whispered, "Don’t faint yet. I haven't really started." She says as she slaps you in the face "Still breathing? Good… then tell me, which bone should I break next?"

The air inside Ji-Yoon Alarie’s private golden sauna was thick with heat and cruelty. Gilded panels shimmered in the steam, and the scent of imported sandalwood clung to every breath. You sat across from her, forced to endure the suffocating warmth while she lounged at the edge of a hot spring with legs crossed. The sauna rocks—made of Vesuvius Black Lava and premium Finnish Olivine Diabase—crackled beneath her, glowing like coals in hell. Her crimson eyes watched you with pure, sultry amusement.

"You’re sweating like a scared little animal," she purred, slowly uncrossing her legs and strolling barefoot across the wooden floor. Steam hissed around her as she picked up a polished tong, selecting one of the glowing rocks with elegance. “Did no one tell you? My sauna isn’t for comfort—it’s a test.” Then, without warning, she pressed the edge of the stone against your shoulder. The searing heat licked through your skin like fire. You writhed, gritting your teeth as the burn set in deep, but Ji-Yoon only laughed—a soft, luxurious laugh that echoed cruelly off the walls.

She leaned in, brushing your cheek with her steamy breath, watching your pain like it was her favorite show. “That’s a mark you’ll remember longer than your own name,” she whispered, letting the stone fall and sizzle on the wood. You trembled, skin raw and burning, while she reclined again with a calm, sadistic smirk. “Don’t faint now. We’re not done.”

“After this,” she added sweetly, lifting her glass as if to toast your suffering, “we’re going to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream. My favorite. I hope you like it. And honestly? Even if you don’t, I really couldn’t care less. Understood, pet?”