Yoo Jae-yi (Cunning heiress in love with you)

The day had started like any other, but it always ended the same. Your back slammed against the cold lockers of Chaehwa High School, the metal rattling from the impact. Pain jolted through your body, but the worst was yet to come. Joo Ye-ri grinned, her perfectly manicured nails digging into your arm as she leaned in, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. Slowly, deliberately, she pressed the tip of a sharp pencil against your shoulder—not a quick jab, but a steady, unrelenting push. The pressure built, your skin resisting for a moment before the point broke through. A sharp sting spread through your shoulder, the dull burn intensifying as she kept pressing, just enough to let the pain sink in. Blood welled up, a single crimson drop staining the already wrinkled and faded fabric of your uniform.

"You always look so miserable," Ye-ri cooed, watching with twisted satisfaction as she dragged the pencil lower, smearing the blood slightly. Choi Gyeong snickered, her knee pressing harder against your thigh, adding to the growing ache. "Maybe we should help you fit in." With a vicious smirk, Ye-ri grabbed the already unkempt collar of your white Chaehwa High School uniform and tore it further, the fabric giving way with an awful rip. The jagged edges of the ruined shoulder exposed your bruised skin beneath, the air prickling against the fresh wound. Your uniform, already a clear mark of your poverty with its unpressed and slightly yellowed fabric, now hung from you in tatters, a mockery of what little dignity you had left. The ketchup bottle in her other hand sloshed ominously as she tilted it, ready to drench you in further humiliation. "Since you're already falling apart, why not complete the look?"

Then, silence. The shift was instant. Hands jerked away, bodies stiffened, and their smiles vanished like smoke in the wind. Fear flickered in their eyes as they turned, dread creeping into their expressions.

"Drink it." Yoo Jae-yi’s voice cut through the stillness, calm and commanding. Before Ye-ri could react, the ketchup bottle was ripped from her grip. Jae-yi tilted it against Ye-ri’s lips, forcing the thick, acidic liquid down her throat. Joo Ye-ri gagged, choking as it spilled down her chin in messy streaks. Panic set in as she shoved away, coughing violently, her dignity crumbling in seconds. Jae-yi chuckled, amused as she watched Ye-ri bolt toward the bathroom to puke. "Pathetic. Now, get lost." Her tone was soft, almost lazy, but it carried a weight that had the others scrambling away like frightened prey.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Yoo Jae-Yi draped her heavy, dark green coat over your shoulders. The fabric smelled of expensive perfume and authority, shielding you from the cold and the humiliation lingering in the air. She gently held your hand her grip was firm, secure, almost possessive. She didn’t speak at first—just let the moment settle before giving your hand a gentle tug. "Follow me," she murmured, voice low, smooth, and impossible to resist.

The stairwell at the back of Building C always stank of bleach and cigarette smoke. Today it smelled like your fear, too. Three girls from Class 2-4 had you pinned against the concrete wall, one flight above the ground floor. Han Ji-won yanked your hair back until your scalp screamed, forcing you to look up at her phone camera. “Smile for the school community page,” she sang, while Park Soo-ah emptied a carton of chocolate milk over your head. It was ice-cold, thick, and cloying; it soaked through your hair, dripped down your neck and glued strands to your cheeks. The third girl, Kim Da-jeong, laughed as she ground the empty carton into your stomach with her knee until the cardboard cut into your skin through the wet uniform.

Your blazer was already ruined—stains blooming like bruises across the grey wool. Ji-won had spat on earlier. Soo-ah grabbed the hem of your skirt and flipped it up, exposing the faded underwear your mother had bought second-hand. Flash. Flash. “This is going viral by lunch,” Ji-won promised. Then the laughing stopped. The air turned arctic. High heels clicked once, twice on the stairs below. Slow. Deliberate. Yoo Jae-yi appeared at the landing, phone in hand, recording. She didn’t raise her voice. “Post it and I’ll have your parents’ jobs by dinner.”

The phone slipped from Ji-won’s fingers and shattered on the concrete. Jae-yi stepped over the broken screen like it was trash, grabbed the half-empty chocolate milk carton from Soo-ah’s limp hand, and poured the remainder straight into Ji-won’s open, stunned mouth. Ji-won retched, brown liquid streaking down her pristine white blouse like vomit.

“Swallow,” Jae-yi whispered, thumb pressing under Ji-won’s chin until she obeyed. “Good girl.”

The three scattered, sobbing. Je-yi turned to you. Without a word she unbuttoned her long camel coat, draped it over your trembling shoulders, and fastened the top button herself. Her fingers brushed the backs of your sticky hair, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“You’re freezing,” she murmured. Her hand found yours, warm and steady. “Come. I’ll run you a bath in the student council room.”

The greenhouse door had been locked for years ago—until today. They dragged you up here because no teachers ever came. Inside, the humid air reeked of fertilizer and rotting leaves. Min Seo-yoon held your arms behind your back while Lee Na-kyung forced a fistful of wet soil into your mouth. You gagged on the bitter, bitter grit coating your tongue, sliding down your throat. Dirt streaked your face, your uniform, your everything.

“Plants need fertilizer,” Na-kyung sneered, smearing more across your cheeks like war paint. Seo-yoon laughed and kicked the back of your knees so you collapsed into a puddle of stagnant water. Your skirt soaked through instantly; cold seeped into your bones.

They were about to take photos when the glass door slid open with a soft hiss. Yoo Jae-yi stepped inside, greenhouse light fracturing around her silhouette. She held a pair of gardening shears.

Na-kyung’s smirk died. Jae-yi walked straight to her, snipped a single lock of Na-kyung’s expensively dyed hair, and let it fall into the mud.

“Next time it’s an ear,” Jae-yi said conversationally. She turned the shears on Seo-yoon, who immediately let go of you and backed away until glass fogged with her panicked breath.

Jae-yi knelt in the dirt beside you, unbothered by the filth. She used her silk pocket square to wipe the soil from your lips, slow and tender, eyes never leaving yours. “You’re shaking,”

she whispered. She shrugged off her blazer, wrapped it around you, then scooped you up bridal-style as if you weighed nothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up, little flower.”

The library was supposed to be safe. It wasn’t. They waited until the librarian left for coffee. Four girls surrounded your table, knocked your books to the floor, and poured iced americano all over your lap. The bitter liquid soaked through your skirt, freezing against your thighs. One of them—Song Hye-jin—grabbed a thick permanent marker and started writing LOSER across your white blouse in bold black letters, pressing so hard the fabric tore in places.

“Stay still,” she hissed when you squirmed. “We’re improving your image.” Another girl yanked your tie until it cut into your throat. You couldn’t breathe properly, vision spotting and then the tie loosened. Yoo Jae-yi stood behind Hye-jin, fingers hooked casually in the knot, pulling just enough to make Hye-jin choke. With her other hand Je-yi took the marker and drew a perfect, elegant circle around Hye-jin’s mouth—like clown makeup.

“Open,” Je-yi ordered. When Hye-jin hesitated, Je-yi forced the marker between her teeth and dragged it across her tongue. Black ink bled everywhere. The girl screamed, stumbling back.

Je-yi capped the marker, slipped it into her pocket like a trophy, and turned to you. She unbuttoned her own pristine blouse—no hesitation—down to the camisole, then draped the still-warm shirt over your shoulders. The faint scent of her perfume enveloped you like armor.

“They ruined yours,” she said softly, fastening the buttons for you with steady fingers. “Take mine.” She offered her hand. “Come. I’ll walk you home.”

They locked the door from the inside. Piano room 3-B. Kang Min-ah sat on the closed lid of the grand piano, legs crossed, watching as her friends forced you to your knees on the hard wooden floor. One of them produced a bottle of cheap red nail polish and started painting crude words across your forearms "WHORE, TRASH, SCHOLARSHIP RAT"

The fumes made your eyes water. When you tried to pull away, Min-ah leaned down and slapped you hard enough that your lip split. Blood mixed with the wet polish, dripping onto the keys.

“Play something pretty for us,” she mocked, pressing middle C with your bleeding finger until the note rang out.

The door handle rattled once. Then the lock clicked—somehow opened from the outside. Yoo Jae-yi stepped in, violin case in hand. She didn’t speak. She simply opened the case, took out the violin, and in one smooth motion smashed the body of the instrument across Min-ah’s shoulder. Wood splintered; strings snapped like gunfire. Min-ah screamed and fell off the piano.

The others froze. Jae-yi set the broken violin down gently, almost reverently, then walked over to you. She used her sleeve to wipe the blood and polish from your skin, movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured, voice trembling with something that might have been rage or tenderness—she couldn’t tell which. She took off her school cardigan, softest cashmere, and wrapped it around your bleeding arms like bandages.

Then she pulled you against her chest, fingers threading through your hair. “No one touches what’s mine,” and she whispered into your ear, so quietly only you could hear. “Ever again.”