That Girl From Random Chatting

The final bell rang with a hollow clang, echoing through the empty corridors of the old campus. Joo Yu‑rim paused halfway down the stone steps, her heart thudding in her chest. The willow tree waited below, its drooping branches swaying in the late‑afternoon breeze. Beneath its shade, Seo‑joon would be waiting, just as he had in middle school, the very place where everything had begun.

She wasn't a student here anymore. She transferred out after graduation, but the pull of that memory, the pull of him, had been too strong. Middle school had ended, but the bond they shared under that tree had never truly faded. And now, she needed answers.

They met in silence.

Seo‑joon was already there, sitting on the rough bench, sketchbook closed in his lap. The fading light painted his profile in gold. When she approached, he looked up, offering her the same gentle nod she remembered.

"Yu‑rim," he said softly.

"Hi, Seo‑joon," she replied, voice catching.

He patted the bench. "Sit with me."

She perched at the edge, tucking her hair behind her ear. They sat for a long moment, two silhouettes beneath the willow. Then Yu‑rim exhaled a shaky breath.

"I… I needed to see you," she began.

He laid a hand on the notebook beside him. "You knew I'd be here."

She nodded, pulling the note from her pocket. "I wanted to ask you something… but I'm not sure how."

Seo‑joon regarded her with quiet patience. "Ask me anything."

"Why did you disappear?"

Yu‑rim's throat tightened. "After graduation… You just stopped coming here. I tried to find you. I sent messages through mutual friends. But nothing came back."

Seo‑joon's face was calm, but in his eyes, she saw a flicker of regret. "I had things to sort out."

She studied his profile. "Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No. Life just… got complicated."

Her heart sank. "I thought maybe you didn't want to see me again."

He closed his eyes. "I never wanted that."

"I messaged Argent."

Yu‑rim forced herself to look at his face. "Last night, I sent a message in Random Chat, on the Argent channel." She swallowed. "I asked how to trust him… and he replied using the same words you used here, under this tree, when I was crying. You said, 'You don't have to be strong today.' Argent said that to me."

Seo‑joon's expression tightened. He sat up straighter. "He… uses words based on what he hears."

Her heart pounded. "But it was exactly what you said. The same inflection. The same reassurance."

Seo‑joon's gaze flicked away. "I try to help people online, yes. But I'm not Argent."

"Then who is he?"

Yu‑rim's voice trembled. "If it's not you… who?"

Seo‑joon drew in a slow breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said quietly: "I can't tell you more about that."

She felt tears prick her eyes. "So you're hiding him, and me."

He looked at her, eyes soft but serious. "I'm not hiding you. I'm trying to protect everyone involved."

She pressed her fingers to her lips. "Protect me from what?"

Seo‑joon's gaze fell. "From the things that can come out of the shadows online. It's not safe."

Yu‑rim's instincts flared. Truth vs. comfort. She swallowed another sob. "I'd rather face the truth."

The confession she never spoke.

Yu‑rim swallowed hard, her heart pounding like a drum. She reached out, laying a hand on his arm. "I… I care about you, Seo‑joon. I have since middle school. You saved me, no matter what you do online."

His eyes widened. He knew, but what would he do with that knowledge?

"I'm not asking for more," she whispered. "Just honesty."

He met her gaze, torn. She saw the conflict in his eyes: the pull of confession, the fear of exposure. Finally, he nodded, barely perceptible. "I promise to tell you everything… one day."

She let her hand fall, warmth lingering where his arm met her palm. "That's all I need."

They remained beneath the willow as the sun dipped lower, golden light giving way to violet dusk. Around them, laughter and chatter faded. Above, the willow's leaves rustled softly, as if affirming their fragile truce.

Yu‑rim stood first, folding the note and tucking it into her pocket. "Thank you," she said, voice hushed.

Seo‑joon rose as well, brushing lint from his jeans. "Thank you for trusting me."

She offered him a small, weary smile. "I trust you enough."

He held her gaze, the unspoken words heavy between them. Then he stepped aside, gesturing toward the path home.

"Shall we go?" he asked.

She nodded once. "Together."

As they walked away from the willow's shade, side by side, Yu‑rim felt that familiar ache ease, if only a little. She didn't know all the secrets he carried, but she knew one truth: she trusted him, and he trusted her.

And for now, that was enough.

...

The neon haze of the alley made everything look distorted, as if reality were being run through a funhouse filter. Trash cans teetered, their lids ajar. A single flickering lamp cast stuttering shadows across the damp pavement. It was the kind of place Seo‑joon never wanted to return to, but tonight, he trailed behind Hamin Park without a second thought.

They had spent the last forty‑eight hours chasing rumors of a new "Thanatos" account on Random Chat. At first, it had seemed harmless, just another user claiming to be the anonymous guardian. But then reports emerged: someone promising help, extracting private information, then leaking it to feed vicious rumors. Victims had lost scholarships, friendships had splintered, trust was shattered. This rip‑off Thanatos wasn't healing pain, he was inflicting it.

Hamin moved with the confidence of someone born to shadows. She held her phone in one hand, eyes scanning a real‑time map of IP traces she'd diverted to this location. "He's here," she murmured. "Last ping was two minutes ago."

Seo‑joon slowed at the alley entrance, heart pounding. Every nerve felt taut. He'd played this role for months, watching, listening, intervening when necessary. Now someone had stolen his name and twisted it into harm. The very idea stung like betrayal.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked without looking at her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Quiet. I'll call out when I see movement. You keep your voice low, no sudden moves. We need him to know he's cornered before he knows who we are."

He nodded. He didn't know this ally as well as the middle school friends he'd protected, but Hamin's composure gave him courage.

They edged deeper into the alley. The flickering lamp overhead sputtered. Ahead, beyond a rusted dumpster, two figures stood in muted conversation: a tall boy draped in an oversized hoodie and a smaller girl scrolling through her phone. The hooded figure tilted his head, a profile that made Seo‑joon's blood run cold. The same downward‑pointed chin he'd seen in the campus photo.

"That's him," Hamin whispered. She motioned, and they crouched behind the dumpster.

Seo‑joon drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. "I'll go first."

Hamin shook her head. "No. I need you here." She tapped her earpiece. "Remember, he thinks he's untouchable."

Seo‑joon nodded, swallowing. He stepped out, voice echoing in the alley. "You're Thanatos, right?"

The boy turned, flipping back his hood to reveal a sharp, unfamiliar face. The girl gasped and took a half‑step back.

"I am," the boy said, voice smooth. "You got a problem with that?"

Seo‑joon kept his tone calm. "Yeah. You're ruining something good. You're not the real Thanatos. You're hurting people."

A sneer curled the boy's lip. "Real Thanatos? That's a myth. I'm the one doing the work now." He held up his phone. "I'm the one they listen to."

Hamin emerged then, stepping into the light. She locked eyes with him. "You've stolen his name, his identity, and you've turned it into manipulation. You're exploiting people's trust."

The boy laughed. "You think no one would notice? It's the perfect con: help a few, then leverage their data to blackmail the rest. I'm making bank." He winked at the girl, who nodded nervously.

Seo‑joon took a cautious step forward. "This isn't justice. It's greed. You're twisting his ideals into something ugly."

The boy's eyes flickered with recognition. "Seo‑joon Park. Or should I say… Thanatos himself." His tone sharpened. "You could have made a real difference. But you hid behind an avatar. I'm the one with guts."

Seo‑joon's heart thundered. Even here, the copycat knew his name. His secret was bleeding out.

Hamin's hand brushed his arm. "Don't engage him emotionally. Focus on stopping him."

He exhaled and squared his shoulders. "People trust the name Thanatos because it stands for mercy. You've hijacked that. It ends tonight."

The boy's grin widened. "Ends? You think you can shut me down? Go ahead, unmask me. Tell the world who I am." He pointed to the girl. "She's my handler. She'll dump everything into the open. And when you're exposed… no one will believe you're merciful."

A cold realization struck Seo‑joon: this wasn't just about the copycat's guilt; it was about preserving his own anonymity. If this copycat threatened to reveal his identity in retaliation, every person he'd helped would turn on him.

He swallowed hard. "We don't want to expose you. We want to stop you."

The boy chuckled. "You should've thought of that before you set the precedent. Your silence was your shield. Now it's your cage."

The girl whispered urgently into the boy's ear. He turned back to Seo‑joon. "You have twenty seconds to get out. Or I'll make sure Thanatos's real face is plastered everywhere."

Tension coiled in the air like a live wire. Seo‑joon's mind raced. This confrontation had spiraled into something deeper, something that threatened not just victims, but his own fragile secret.

Hamin stepped beside him. "He won't stop," she said quietly, meeting Seo‑joon's eyes. "We need proof. And we need to record this."

Seo‑joon nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket with deliberate casualness. He pointed the camera at the copycat. "You're on record. Everything you've done, this is evidence."

The boy lunged at him, furious. "Turn that off!"

But Seo‑joon tapped the record button, voice steady. "Everyone deserves the truth." He backed toward Hamin, who raised her phone to stream live a coded feed to a private channel she controlled.

Fists flew. The copycat's girl-handler tried to intervene, but Hamin pushed her aside gently. Seo‑joon blocked a punch, then swept the boy's leg. He didn't want to maim, just to subdue. The boy hit the ground with a grunt.

Breathing heavily, Seo‑joon crouched and pressed his phone closer. "Look at the screen. This is how you manipulate. But we're ending it."

The boy struggled to rise, face twisted in rage. "You don't get it. Name or no name, power is what matters."

Hamin step forward, voice echoing in the alley. "Not like this. Not at the cost of other people's lives."

The camera captured every word, every moment. Nearby commuters on other channels watched the live stream, stunned.

The boy froze, realizing the trap he'd fallen into. He scrambled to get up, but Seo‑joon's calm voice followed him: "You chose a path of corruption. Now we have your confession."

Silence fell. Then wailing sirens, a patrol car rounding the corner, alerted by Hamin's emergency ping.

Police streamed into the alley, guns low but ready. The copycat's bravado collapsed. As officers took him into custody, the girl-handler sobbed into her hands.

Seo‑joon stepped back into the shadows, heart pounding. Hamin rejoined him, phone still recording.

"That was close," Seo‑joon said, voice hoarse.

Hamin exhaled heavily. "Too close. We stopped him, but he knows our names, knows you."

Seo‑joon looked at the streaming feed on her screen: the boy's face frozen in defeat, the words scrolling live. Then he met Hamin's gaze. "Thanatos is no longer just a name," he said softly. "It's… ours to protect and define."

She nodded. "And we will."

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Thanks for reading. You can also give me ideas for the future or pinpoint plot holes that I may have forgotten, if you want.