Thirteen Ways to Love: Seventeen Saga

Mustering all your strength to stand, you drag one foot after the other to get somewhere—anywhere—safe. You stick to the shadows, flinching at every step.

Oh, god! Don't let anyone see me like this.

Thankfully, your dorm is at the far end of the maintenance building, the forgotten corner of the academy. No one is around when you arrive.

Safe. For now.

With cramping hands, you shut the door behind you with a quiet click. You collapse against it, sliding down until the cold floor meets your aching body and everything feels numb. A sob climbs your throat, releasing all the pain, fear, and worry. 

After some time, you glance at the clock. 6:00 a.m.There's still time.

You force your shaking hands to strip off your sand-stained clothes, and in the mirror, bruises bloom like ink across your skin—thighs, ribs, arms. 

Was it Jeonghan? One of The Thirteen? Someone else?Charmaine's smug glares. Camille's venom-laced words. Yraiza's eyes that never quite meet yours.

You step into the shower and the warm water hits you like a shock, rinsing away the dried blood, the grit, the shame. But not the questions. 

Whoever did this doesn't want me to die—they wanted me afraid.

A fresh wave of dread rises. You exhale slowly. A different fire now burns through your limbs—rage. Not the kind that consumes. The kind that builds.

Dress with precision—long sleeves for the bruises, loose cardigan for the pain, you look at your reflection. You look normal. That's the goal.

You step outside. Sunlight filters through the trees and buildings, casting shadows onto the cobblestone paths of the academy. Ivy clings to the brick walls, glistening with dew. A soft breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and roses. If it were another day, this would have been perfect.

To your surprise, students move like nothing's wrong. No whispers. No questions. Not even a glance. It seems the night never happened.

Then—

"Hey!" Nikki's voice cuts through the busy hallway. Bright. Concern laced in every syllable.

You look at her. Really look. Her expression is open, eyes flicking across your face. She's radiant as ever—but something in her voice sounds… genuinely worried.

"Thank god you're alright," she says, a little breathless. "When the lights went out, everyone panicked."

"Uhm—," you blink, searching her face for anything—guilt, discomfort, truth. 

"When the lights came back on, you were gone. Yraiza tried to call you, but… we didn't have your number yet. We didn't know what to think."

You can't tell if it's a performance. Or if she really was worried. Both possibilities twist your stomach.

You force a tight smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Well," you inhale, steadying your shaky voice. "I'm really sorry for not letting anyone know. I went home after—I couldn't find you when the lights went out."

Nikki offers a sheepish smile. "Someone pulled me into the kitchen, and I think Yraiza and Jeimyka got dragged off somewhere too. Total chaos. But hey, what matters is you're safe."

"Right. You too," you say, managing a small smile.

She perks up, eyes hopeful. "So… lunch? Jun and Minghao are cooking some Chinese dishes."

You hesitate, then shake your head with an apologetic grin. "I'd love to, really. But I've got homework to finish."

Her smile falters just a little, but she nods. "Rain check, then. Don't forget to eat, okay?"

You nod, already turning away—grateful for the excuse, even if it stings.

It's just past lunch when you find yourself in the music wing, avoiding the crowded main halls. You've never wandered this far before, but something draws you in—a magnetic pull, like your instincts remember what your mind still cannot.

And then you see it.

A white linen napkin—faintly stained with what looks like blood—tucked beneath the leg of a bench just outside one of the practice rooms.

You kneel and pull it free. It smells like salt and sand and something else—faint cologne, expensive and hauntingly familiar. You pocket it without thinking.

Then, you hear the soft sound of a door creaking open. Your breath hitches. Your heart beats like a ticking bomb.

"Should've figured it'd be you," a voice drawls.

You freeze.

Seungcheol.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He smells like trouble, and yet, your heart flutters at the sight of him. You hate that.

Shit! What is this feeling?! Am I getting mad?

"Didn't think you'd show up for class," he says casually, but his gaze is razor-sharp, sweeping over you. Noticing too much. "After what happened at the party."

You swallow. "What happened?"

There's a shift in his expression—brief, but it's there. Surprise. Guilt? Calculation?

"You don't remember," he says quietly, more an observation than a question.

"I remember the lights going out. Then… nothing," you sigh, chin tilted. "Unless you'd like to fill me in."

He steps closer, slow and deliberate, but you don't dodge. He's too close now—his presence, warm and suffocating all at once.

"If I did," he murmurs, "you wouldn't know whether to thank me or hate me."

Your skin prickles. "That's cryptic even for you."

He leans in just a little, enough that you can see the sparks of fire in his eyes. "Be careful. Not everyone plays fair here."

"Was that a threat?"

"No," he says, softer now. "It's a warning."

Then he smiles—slow and dangerous.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he whispers. "I'm trying to warn you. Because the next time you disappear, no one might come looking."

You swallow hard. "So, which one are you? The one I should fear… or the one who came looking?"

Another pause.

Then, with maddening calm, he replies. "Maybe I'm both."

And just like that, he's gone—leaving behind a clue. A warning. 

Should I trust you? I know I shouldn't, but why do I feel I should?

Days pass. A week, maybe two. You lose count.

Your bruises fade, but the ache doesn't. It's tucked deep beneath your skin like a secret you're not ready to name. Your life, however, doesn't wait for healing. Ready or not, it carries on with a polished uniform and warm and confident smiles.

The Thirteen still haunt your days, hovering at every corner of the academy. Charmaine, in particular, has decided you're her personal hobby. Every hallway you pass, she's there. Breathing down your neck, blocking your path, smiling with teeth too white and intentions too ugly.

And then Monday morning arrives like a punch in the face—disguised in polite applause and an unexpected assembly in the grand atrium.

Chancellor Hawthorn, ever so regal in his steel-blue suit and diamond-cut glare, steps up to the podium. His voice, smooth and commanding, vibrates through the hall.

"As part of our integration program and to foster collaboration among our new and returning students, we are launching the Study Buddy Program."

You feel your stomach twitch. Nothing good ever follows those words in a place like this.

"One veteran student, one new student. Paired for the rest of the semester to ensure academic success and social acclimation. It's mandatory. Final pairings by Friday."

A ripple of excitement—or dread—rolls through the crowd. You can already hear the whispers: power plays, strategic alliances, social climbing at its finest.

You scoff under your breath. "Of course, it's a popularity game dressed up as a school policy. Hah!"

Wednesday, 12: 30 P.M.

You're hunched over your math notebook, squinting at the equation that has been racking your head, when a shadow falls across your page.

"Mind if I sit?" Hoshi's voice floats down, far too cheerful, testing your patience.

You glance at him, then at the entire empty garden bench beside you. "As if I have a choice."

He plops down beside you, stretching his legs like he owns the lawn. "So," he says casually, like he didn't just disrupt your train of thought, "have you heard about the new pairing initiative?"

You grunt. "Uh-huh."

"Who are you hoping to be matched with?" His tone is laced with mischief.

You finally lift your head, locking eyes with him. "Anyone but you," you reply flatly.

He bursts into laughter—loud, obnoxious, contagious. A few students nearby turn to look, some with amused smiles, others clearly annoyed.

"Wow. That was cold, Aurora." 

You flinch at the sound of your name as you flip a page with unnecessary aggression. "Good. Then, maybe it's time for you to move over there and bask."

"Ouch!" He clutches his chest like you've just stabbed him. "How cruel. And you'll just let me bleed?"

You shake your head, lips twitching. "Then bleed somewhere else."

"Too late," he grins. "I like it here already."

You let out a chuckle before catching yourself. Too late. He saw it. His smirk widens. Then, you hear rapid footsteps.

"Rory!" Nikki's voice pierces the calm of the garden.

You glance up, and she's practically sprinting, hair flying, eyes wide with giddy urgency. Hoshi lifts an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

She skids to a stop in front of you, catching her breath like she just finished a marathon. "You. Won't. Believe. This."

Your stomach dips. "What now?"

"You and Jeonghan," she starts, clearly worried. "You're paired. Officially. Study buddies till the end of the semester."

No fucking way!

You instinctively turn to Hoshi, your eyes full of contempt. He lets out a dramatic gasp beside you. "Whoa! I didn't do anything."

You sit frozen for a second, brain glitching. "Is this… a joke?"

"Unfortunately not," Nikki sighs. 

Hoshi whistles. "My condolences."

Jeonghan, of all people—it's Jeonghan. You don't know whether to laugh or run.