III
POSTMORTEM
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PECULIAR THINGS HAPPEN AFTER THE DEATH OF A GIRL.
Girl dies, plastic condolences take the stage, and then come the tales.
It only took days for the floodgates to open. Min suddenly knew too much, a rock at the bottom of a sea of Somin trivia.
The rumors started off with light things, nothing out of the ordinary for NHU. Somin's old friends had their secrets exposed, and the dancer had sent a hate letter or two to an enemy. But the rumors escalated, as things tended to with Somin.
Min caught students whispering about threatening texts, physical aggression, and a nameless girl that had mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs in front of Somin.
But still, not all the stories about Somin were as evil. Even in her private dance mentoring session, poised at the barre, one look out of the grand windows to the white petals on the wind, is all it takes to remind her.
Somin could not tell her side of the story, could not offer any words to better her reputation. But her mother could and so she did.
Or well, she tried.
Somin's mother spoke on the nightly news program. Apparently, Somin's phone case had been covered in white patterned flowers before the fall, and by the time she landed, they were dyed a sickly red color from her own blood.
In the span of one night, Somin's mother saw the gift she gave her daughter for her eighteenth birthday shattered in an evidence bag and the twisted limbs of her daughter in a body bag.
Life was cruel like that. And for some odd reason, people were sparse with their sympathies.
Somin was no saint, but god, she was still human. She may have been hated, but she was loved all the same. The grieving wails of her mother, televised for all to see, had said as much.
Min was not foolish enough to think she could have done anything to save Somin, but did she have a responsibility to tell someone what she had heard? What if there really was a murderer walking free in the halls? What if she never jumped?
What if–
"Minni Lee!" Madame Dufort swatted the distracted girl on her back, beady eyes narrowed in reproach. Minni jumped out of her skin, tearing her gaze away from the trees. "Keep your spine straight. You are a ballerina, not the hunchback of Notre Dame."
"Yes, Madame." She swallowed, adjusting her position at the barre before continuing with her warm ups.
Dufort was a weathered older woman with grizzled brown hair and a razor-sharp smile. Min could scarcely tell if it was a grin or a grimace, but guessed it was the latter.
The former renowned French ballerina turned teacher was an unforgiving mentor. She scowled even when she was proud and criticized even if the time called for praise.
Most days Min would feel more thankful for it, but on this particular day it was grating on frayed nerves. Somewhere along the line life had grown to be miserable and exhausting. Positivity tended to poison her veins, but in truth, optimism was no magical spell that could alter the reality.
The reality was, people here–with their fancy bags, designer homes, and hidden scandals–treated at her like she didn't belong. Quick little stares. A whisper here and there.
Some of the dance professors picked her form apart more than they did the others, even when it was perfect. She felt like a smudge of dirt that everyone had grown to ignore or glower at without really accepting.
No one had to say it. People that look like her weren't ballerinas. Or at least they weren't visible anyway. Glass ceiling and what not, but make it bulletproof.
God, she felt homesick for the Cape of all places. She missed the beach. She missed her little sister Dasom, her dad, even her mom with all of her constant nagging.
Cape Freewell had felt suffocating but as it turns out, so did the city. Newhurst gave the illusion of freedom, but as soon as she stepped foot on campus she realized she was limited by everything. Her race, her bank account, her social circle. NHU had made her into a token and a spectacle, a very tired one.
Her entire body ached from nonstop practice. She was sweaty, gross, and her stomach wouldn't stop grumbling. Her diet had gone to hell and beyond. She was pretty sure she was developing an addiction to caffeine. She went to that stupid party when she shouldn't have.
She saw a girl die.
Minni faltered again mid-leap, breath snatched away by the glimmer of bloodstained skin and glass.
She saw a girl die and no one cared. She saw Somin die and some part of her knew someone did it on purpose.
"Bah! At this rate, you won't even have the focus to be casted as a tree on set. Let alone Giselle!" Madame Dufort screeched. The woman met her gaze in the mirror and pointed a gaunt finger at the door. "Out with you! Come back when your head is on straight."
"But–"
"There's no room for doubt on the stage, Miss Lee. You are a dedicated dancer, very skilled. But you will get nowhere if you cannot give all of your mind to dance. Get out."
Minni bowed her head in shame, cheeks burning. "Yes Madame. Sorry Madame."
Her hands shook as she undid her pointe shoes. Madame Dufort would not even look at her anymore. A concoction of shame and anger stirred beneath her ribs.
She had much to prove to herself, to the world, and to her mother. Dancing was something she loved to do. Something she had to do, but she couldn't even get past the basics lately, plagued by the death she was witness to.
Fucking Somin. Six feet under and the girl was still giving Minni hell.
She rushed to the bathroom and changed out of her leotard, thoughts running away from her. There was no way she could survive Newhurst like this.
She had to tell someone. Her chest expanded, breath failing. The thoughts built to a crescendo and circled back to the party as they always did.
She recalled Seulgi's cruel words: "I'll kill her and then myself." Then Somin fell from the roof an hour later.
Coincidence? Maybe.
But Minni had a sick feeling that she was a bystander to something awful.
She could hardly breathe. After changing into an old band tee and jeans, she splashed water into her face at the sink. Her hands had a tight grip on the counter, legs wobbly from stress. Her gaze lifted and cleared, the tired girl in the mirror begging.
Let it go. Don't make yourself a target...
She breathed in, teeth ripping into her lip.
Let it go.
It was easier to do the wrong thing than to sacrifice herself. If Seulgi, Irene, and Juyeon really were somehow involved, she would be fighting a losing battle.
Money had the power to silence. It had the power to cover up. Min had nothing, not even the slightest bit of proof.
Before she could talk herself out of her decision, she tore her eyes off of her wilted figure and fled.
···✧···
THERE WAS A VIOLIN PLAYING.
It was a haunting sound that hung in the air, muted by several layers of walls and tiles. Drierston Music Center was a labyrinth of glass.
The only things on this side of the building were a few private practice rooms, a staircase leading god knows where, and a vending machine. Drawn like a magnet, Minni couldn't resist buying an iced coffee before she settled down on a bench and listened to the violin's sad song.
After her breakdown, she had made her way across campus to the music building. The plan was to surprise Kevin once he got out of class. He would not have approved but she did not care. Today, she would rather deal with his sour scolding than the noise in her head.
So she entered and waited near the quietest exit. Kevin avoided crowds so she knew to go somewhere they did not exist.
While she sat alone, she dug around in her messy bookbag and pulled out her journal. It was personal, a handmade leatherbound beauty gifted to her by her father. She used it for almost everything, especially jailing thoughts that held her captive.
The many pages contained almost every runaway thought she had about herself, others, life, drawings of stars and planets, and photos of her friends and family. On this particular occasion, her pencil seemed to move across a blank page on its own.
Everything she had seen at Newhurst, the oddities with Juyeon, Yeosang, Seulgi, Irene, Kevin, and everyone else left her all at once. When she finished a sentence, she noticed something was off and her pencil froze in its place.
The violin stopped.
Somewhere around the corner, a door creaked open. When the door clicked shut again, silence prevailed for a moment.
Hurriedly, she tucked the book away, unreasonably fearful that a stranger would round the corner and see her dangerous suspicions. Minni stilled, tense in her seat.
"Can't even have time to myself now?" a masculine voice hissed, footsteps echoing about on the tile. A long shadow stretched on the other side of the vending machine, stiff and unmoving.
A cold scoff sounded as a second, taller shadow appeared. "That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about? Enlighten me."
"That party was important. You promised Irene you wouldn't start anything."
Min flattened her back against the wall. She got the feeling she should not be hearing this conversation.
"–And I didn't," the voice cut in, curt and grating. "Somin started that shit. I finished it."
Min paled, alarm bells replaced by sirens.
"She had nothing to do with you deciding to fight Seungmin that night. Or today either. I heard you cornered him again."
"Oh? Did you now?"
The second shadow seemed to snap for a moment, voice going thin and raspy. "If anyone fucking saw you, Kang, you're in deep shit and I won't be the one to get you out of it."
Her eyes went wide in a moment of clarity. The same boy that had beaten another black and blue, now entangled in the murder web in her mind.
Kang Yeosang.
He was at the party that night. He knew Somin. Worse, judging by the venom in his voice, he did not like her either.
"And if someone did?" Yeosang's voice chuckled sardonically. The hair on her arms stood up. "What? You gonna come for me like you did Somin?"
Minni covered her mouth in shock, stomach turning with nausea. Every fear she had over the last few days had been confirmed in one moment. Just like that.
There was a beat of dead air, then the shuffle of feet.
"Cool it. I'm not here to argue." The other shadow retreated slightly, shoulders shaken by a huff. "You're pointing fingers at the wrong person. I had nothing to do with...that."
Silence. And then an whispered accusation, "But clearly you have an idea who might have."
"It doesn't matter."
Yeosang's shadow took a step closer to the other. "It does. Throw money at the problem all you want. Somin wasn't a nobody. People are going to ask questions."
"Ah, I see what this is about!" Despite the tension, the unknown stranger had the audacity to laugh. "This is exactly why I don't tell you anything. This is too personal for you. Who'd have thought after she–"
"No." Min could hear the scowl in Yeosang's voice and it made her blood run cold. "It has nothing to do with that. Nothing to do with her. I just don't want to go down for it."
"And we won't. After all the backlash she got from the post, the logical assumption is that she couldn't take it. She jumped, okay? That's all. No one will suspect otherwise."
"And if they do?"
"They won't. If they do...we'll handle it." For a moment the silence was pulled thin between the two. The second man was rattled by a sigh. "Listen, I just came to tell you to get it together. You're drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. To us."
Yeosang scoffed again. "Oh, fuck off. It'll be fine."
"It won't be if you keep doing whatever you want. There's no room for liabilities anymore. You have to play the game. You haven't had a turn in awhile."
A tongue clicked. "Yeah, whatever. I'll play. Like always."
"Good. You know what happens if you don't. Don't make her mistakes."
While Min was lost in the spiraling galaxies of possibilities, of murder and betrayal, the two turned the corner without her having the time to react.
Two pairs of eyes fell on her ballet bag, covered in pins and stickers. They slowly creeped up to a horrified Min. Her hand was still clasped over her mouth as if she was seconds away from losing her lunch.
They could see it all, the wrinkle between her brows, the dark circles. She knew what that conversation had meant, and they knew it too.
No one will suspect otherwise. And if they do...
Yeosang seemed careless with his hands shoved in his pockets, but his eyes were overtaken by a storm. Shadows danced along the sharp planes of his face. There was just enough light to settle on his cheekbones, allowing the smallest glance at his eyes.
They were deep set and empty, the faintest stirrings of hate peeking through his long eyelashes.
"Told you," he spat.
His voice made her flinch and her heart dropped. A knot of dread formed in her throat as she slowly looked up from her lap. The boy beside Yeosang stiffened, eyes dropping to her charm bracelet.
Juyeon.
A flicker of recognition darkened his eyes, kind pretense now gone. With that one look, Min understood her uneven standing.
Juyeon was something more than human as far as he was concerned. His eyes spoke of a soul tainted by sin, slitted like a serpent slowly coiling around her throat. His smile hid fangs, his black silk button-up the funeral garb of a young god in mourning.
As soon as their eyes met, his signature smile of honey and ambrosia turned rotten. Min knew that she–foolish, meddling mortal–had just been sentenced to death.
Her heart rate spiked. Every bone in her body, every instinct, startled awake.
Run.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." she squeaked stupidly as she rose on shaky feet faster than she thought possible. Before either of them could say anything to stop her, she snatched up her bag, turned, and walked as fast as her feet could carry her.
The afternoon crowd of music students swallowed her as she stormed into a crowded hallway in a busier part of the building. Panicked and rattled to the bone, she did not dare to look over her shoulder.
Unbeknownst to her, she didn't have to. Yeosang and Juyeon did not give chase. If only she'd known that was a part of the game too. The hunt. The fear.
See, Min did not just walk into the lion's den. One misstep and she fell right into the maw of the lion itself. Now she could only wait for the moment the teeth sank into her.
Prey, meet predator.