Chapter Text
Namgyun had never trusted Subong.
Not because she suspected him in particular —though she knew he was an idiot— but because she didn’t trust anyone, ever. People always wanted something: attention, favors, recognition, and of course, Subong was no different. He was just a big child, immature, who thought he was special because he dyed his hair purple and spoke loudly at meetings. An imbecile with painted nails and a shitty personality that had embarrassed her more times than she could count.
And yet, there she was, living with him in that apartment near his campus, putting up with his mess, the stench of weed, and the blaring music, because, according to his words, he was “destined to be an international rap star.” Sometimes she had to remind herself why she hadn’t killed him —besides the obvious—: because it was easier to be with someone than to be alone, easier to pretend she wanted him, to sleep with him now and then and fake the kind of mind-blowing orgasms he would never give her, than to face what really haunted her thoughts.
It was easier to use Subong as a cover than to accept the truth: that she had never been interested in anyone in her life.
Everything had been relatively fine, of course, until it all fell apart the night she checked his phone.
He was sleeping on his stomach, mouth wide open, snoring like a pig. Namgyun sat bored at the edge of the bed, biting the nail of her thumb as she watched him drool onto the pillow. The phone buzzed on the nightstand. She didn’t even think; she picked it up naturally, as if it already belonged to her. The password was stupid, obvious, and in seconds she was scrolling through the gallery, the messages, the social media apps. She wasn’t even interested, she was just bored.
It didn’t surprise her that he was talking to other girls, Subong was definitely that kind of guy. What froze her blood was the name that kept popping up: Minsun.
Conversations full of romantic nonsense, emojis, and pictures that she had sent him. Minsun at the campus café, Minsun laughing with her hair tied up, Minsun in a blouse that showed just how enormous her tits were. And Subong, of course, drooling like a dog in heat, telling her how pretty she was and how much he wanted to see her again.
Namgyun felt her blood boil.
Not because of Subong. He was trash, she already knew that.
Because of the humiliation.
How dare that idiot cheat on her with someone like her? How dare he even compare Namgyun —tall, slim, stylish, with presence— to that pathetic short fatty who studied art? As if the world needed another loser sketching flowers in a notebook.
Namgyun and Subong didn’t even go to the same damn university. How could he be dumb enough to cheat on her with Minsun, who did go to the same one as her?
Namgyun hated her before she even met her.
Within hours she knew her full name, her class schedule, and who she hung out with. Minsun was shy, but strangely sociable, probably because of her weak, harmless appearance that made everyone want to protect her —even Namgyun could understand that.
She was feminine to the point of parody: long skirts, tight blouses, simple natural makeup, everything Namgyun despised.
She was short, with a round face and cheeks flushed red as if she’d just run a marathon. She was fat, ugly, pathetic. And yet, there was something about her that twisted Namgyun’s stomach: those massive breasts, the way she always seemed to have someone at her side in every photo, the way Subong melted over a single message, praising Minsun in ways he had never praised her.
Namgyun was better.
A thousand times better.
So why the fuck was Subong cheating on her with that bitch?
She gripped the phone so hard she nearly cracked it. She set it back down on the nightstand and looked at him sleeping, face buried in the pillow, with that stupid satisfied expression. She wanted to strangle him right then and there, dig her nails into his neck and make him pay for humiliating her.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she stood up, lit a cigarette, and opened the window.
She dragged in the smoke with narrowed eyes, hating herself for what she felt. Because it wasn’t rage at him, it was at her.
At that girl who didn’t even know she existed, who would probably smile with fake politeness if they ever crossed paths on campus.
Park Minsun.
She hated her, and at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She would wake up in the middle of the night and the first thing she saw was Subong’s face, half-covered in dried drool, and instead of wanting to kill him —as usual— she thought of her. Of that cursed smile, the photos saved in his phone, the voice she imagined shrill and annoying.
—
The first time she saw her in person, she didn’t know whether to insult her or kill her.
She was at the campus café, hidden behind oversized sunglasses and holding an unlit cigarette between her fingers, as if she needed to shield herself from the mere sight of that girl.
Minsun: surrounded by people, long straight hair clumsily falling over her shoulders, laughing at some stupid joke someone in her group had told. She moved too much, gestured with her hands, and smiled with those thick lips painted a soft color.
Namgyun clenched her jaw.
She couldn’t understand what the hell Subong saw in her. She couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to orbit around that idiot, like she was some small, clumsy sun pulling everyone into her gravity.
She spent weeks watching her from afar.
She observed without approaching, without anyone noticing. She learned Minsun had classes in the afternoon, that she always ordered the same thing at the café, that she sometimes bit her lower lip when sketching in her notebooks. She also learned she was incredibly clumsy: tripping over tables, dropping her phone, spilling coffee on her clothes. And still, there was always someone ready to help her, to smile at her, to adore her.
Namgyun hated it.
She hated it so much that one night in the apartment bathroom, she punched the mirror with a closed fist.
She decided she had to get close to her.
Not as Namgyun, Subong’s girlfriend, no. It would be too easy to just crush her for stealing her boyfriend. To break her from the inside out, that would be the perfect revenge: win her trust, slip into her life, and destroy her.
Make her feel what it was to lose everything—her dignity, her worth, the person she liked.
Namgyun planned it out.
The humiliation she had suffered couldn’t be solved with apologies or shouting—it had to be sharper, something that would leave Minsun without friends, without support, without the lie of Subong to hold on to.
The next afternoon, she sat on the apartment balcony with a notebook on her lap and a black pen she’d stolen from the nightstand. Namgyun bit the tip of the pen until plastic filled her mouth. She wrote with structure, as if ordering ideas into neat columns could restore her calm:
1. Become her friend.
2. Earn her trust.
3. Learn her secrets.
4. Use them to destroy her.
When she reread the list, she smiled with tight lips.