Weak Hero Class 2 || 2025

Ch. 2

The air felt lighter after the final bell, but not by much.

Aria didn't linger.

She kept her head down and walked with quiet steps, slipping through the front gates as students spilled out in every direction. Noise buzzed around her—laughter, shouts, someone getting chased across the courtyard—but she didn't look back.

Just one day in, and her name was already on half the school's tounges.

She made it a few blocks before she heard someone call out.

"Aria!"

She turned, slowly.

Jun-tae was hurrying up the sidewalk toward her, his bag slung over one shoulder and a crinkling grocery bag in his hand. His glasses slipped a little as he slowed down in front of her, panting lightly.

"Hi," he said, a little breathless, cheeks pink from running. He smiled—nervous but kind.

Aria tilted her head. "Hey."

He held something out. A small, neat bundle—a pack of red bean bread and a bottle of strawberry milk.

She blinked at it. "What's this?"

Jun-tae looked down, scratching the back of his neck. "I...I saw you didn't eat at lunch."

Aria stared at him, then down at the snacks.

She hadn't even realized anyone noticed.

"..Thanks," she said after a beat, quietly.

He gave a little nod, lips tugging into a crooked smile. "I wasn't sure what you liked, but... I guessed."

Her eyes moved to the grocery bag swinging from his wrist. Inside were boxes and small medicine containers, the labels half-visible through the plastic.

"You shopping for your family?" she asked gently.

Jun-tae looked at the bag, then back at her. "Ah...no. Just some vitamins."

"For you?"

He hesitated. "They're for Si-eun."

Aria raised a brow, but didn't ask more. His voice had gone even softer, careful.

She nodded once. "That's nice of you."

Jun-tae shrugged a little. "He helped me, and you helped him. I'm just...returning it."

A small smile tugged at Aria's lips.

She held up the snack. "Then thanks. Really."

Jun-tae's face brightened, a quiet sort of proud.

He gave a tiny bow, then turned back the way he came.

Aria watched him go, clutching the milk and bread in her hands.

And when she turned back to her path, her footsteps felt just a little lighter.

____

The house was dark when Aria stepped inside.

Quiet. Still.

She dropped her bag by the door and turned on the lights one by one, the soft hum of electricity filling the silence like backround music she'd grown used to.

Her mom was still at work. No suprise.

Aria made her way to her room, but didn't bother to fully close her door. She sat down on her bed, and the moment she sank into the mattress, a sigh slipped out—quiet and deep, the kind that came from somewhere tired.

Her eyes unfocused as she stared ahead, her mind replaying the day like a film on a loop.

The cheers, the blows, the way no one moved to help.

Si-eun's silence.
Jun-tae's crooked smile
The weight of attention on someone who never asked for it.

It all blurred together.

Aria barely noticed how long she sat there, unmoving, until the front door creaked open again.

Keys. A soft thud of shoes. The rustle of a coat being hung.

Mom's home.

Aria didn't get up.

She glanced around her room, trying to pull herself out of her thoughts, and that's when her eyes landed on the small bundle sitting by her pillow.

Red bean bread. Strawberry milk.
Jun-tae

She hesitated. Her fingers hovered above it, uncertain.

She wasn't hungry. At least, that's what she had told herself all day.

Still...

She picked up the bread first, peeled the wrapper open, and took a small bite.

Soft. Sweet. A little warm from the sun.

She blinked, suprised by how much she liked it.

Then she opened the milk, took a sip.

And kept eating.

Outside the room, the hallway stayed still—until the floor creaked once.

At the doorway, her mom had reached for the door handle to push the door open completely, ready to check on her daughter.

But then she saw it.

Aria, sitting on her bed, finally eating. A small, tired look in her eyes, but something softer around the edges. A quiet kind of peace.

Her mom paused.

And didn't go in.

She just stood there for awhile, hand frozen on the doorframe, watching silently through the gap.

Something in her chest eased.

She didn't say a word.

She just watched her daughter chew, sip, and sit under the warm light of her room, not alone this time.