Jisoo’s eyes are the first to flit up to Boyoung. They’re wide and ever so creased in the corners. As if he knows a brilliant secret that she’d never catch onto. His eyes travel between Boyoung, and the approaching Soonyoung, and then he lazily turns his head to Jeonghan infront of him.

“Why are you sitting here?” Soonyoung asks as he takes the seat in front of her.

Boyoung releases her gaze from the group—not wanting to draw suspicion. He stares back at her with skeptical eyes and a frown. He’s been guarded about her since her personality change and she can’t seem to shake off his dubiousness. Even when she tries to remember how she acted back then and portray that same attitude. There’s nothing. He seems to constantly be able to pick something off about her. To the way she styles her hair to how she moves her body. How he’s able to know her that well, blows her mind. And yet she can only remember basics about him; because, it’s been that long for her.

“I…wanted a new view?” She offers to which he narrows his eyes.

Boyoung’s gaze doesn’t stay on him for long, as her eyes twitch to look back at Jeonghan. This time, he’s starring back at her with a lifted eyebrow in question and a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips. It makes her shutter and turn away.

Soonyoung stirs his near empty mug of coffee, his handsome features confused. “You’re always so happy, energetic, and optimistic. Now, all of a sudden, you’re all serious. Robotic, almost.”

Boyoung can’t stop her heart from accelerating in emotion at the contrasting label he’s given her. Of course, she’s serious. How could she keep going on as her old self after all that happened? How could she find the time to rediscover herself, when she had everything snatched away from her so brutally? But…robotic? Has she really lost that much of herself from this time?

“It’s not like that, I’m just trying to figure some stuff out.” She whispers, avoiding his gaze. softens, the rest of her muscles remain stiff; like at any second she’ll buckle beneath the pressure of his gaze and his mindset.

Soonyoung takes a sip from his cup, “Is it your father again?”

“No.” Boyoung’s eyes flash with anger as he brings up the grim topic. The only thing she doesn’t ever talk about is her father. Even when she got older, it was still a delicate subject; despite the fact that she considerably believed that he didn’t do that much wrong. But, given this chance to go back, it was like all the memories she once had: were replayed in her mind. Including what her father did to her mother and she saw it all: all her pain and now she realizes she was in the wrong. It’s like what people say. Your life flashes before your eyes when you die; but, in this instance, it was before she got to relieve it.

Soonyoung his teeth, “Then what is it?”

“It’s just,” Boyoung clenches her jaw as her fingers wrap around the side of the table to hold it tightly. “It’s none of your business, Soonyoung! Just go over with Chunja and them—I need to be left alone for a little awhile, okay?” The girl pushes her meal plate and books to the side to place her arms on the table. “Besides, you’ll be busy for the next few days anyways (for whatever reason)!” The girl harshly turns her gaze to look elsewhere as the auburn haired boy stares at her with his mouth agape—having never seen her like this.

Despite his curiosity, and the fact that he stares at her with a dejected gaze, Soonyoung leaves. For a mere minute, she watches his back retreat to their friend’s table. He takes a seat next to Chan, and side glances Boyoung who’s attention deviates toward Jeonghan’s table once again.

It’s fascinating, to her, to see their body language. To see the dynamics in action. Chunja sits completely oblivious to their scheming. She doesn’t even notice the way that Jeonghan sends her looks, instead focusing on Jun. It’s funny; because, now Boyoung sees it. Underneath the table the two hold hands—if she was up close, sitting next to them, she’d never see it. But from a far, she notices all the things the two do. Like the way, they catch each other’s gazes. Chunja will smile, and Jun will send a wink her way. Or he’ll casually throw his arm around the back of her chair, and she’ll just lean into it. It always just seemed like a natural friendship to younger her; but, it’s clear as day now.

Now it’s time to go; besides watching Jeonghan—the girl has other plans.

The table of two boys and one girl, watch with little smiles on their lips as they give Boyoung a final once over. Hungry eyes search her for flaws. The scrutiny makes her insides squirm; but, she plasters a friendly smile over her face. As do they; but beneath the surface she can feel a sense of judgement and wonder shifting through their stares.

Boyoung’s feet carry her through the empty quad, away from the cafeteria building—away from most of the students within the school. She has twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to rummage through Jeonghan’s locker to find any clue that will link him with who he’s working for. She has an inkling about who it could be; but, she needs to find a solid link. One that gets her actual proof.

The halls of the senior building are bleak and lifeless without the bustling of students and yelling of teachers. It’s eerie and makes her shiver at the thought of what she’s about to do. Boyoung doesn’t like breaking the rules of society—such as breaking into someone’s locker and hunting through their property. She has a rough past with the law anyways, and doesn’t want to deal with the outcomes of the trouble she could get in if someone spots her.

Earlier, after her conversation with Chunja in the library, she managed to sneak into the senior building to spot Jeonghan at his locker. And that was enough for her to say goodbye and a hitch a one-way ride back to her class; because, now she had a plan. And now she’s pushing that plan into action.

Locker 81 stares back at her as her index finger traces the edges of the keyhole. Her fingers curl around the pin holding up her bangs, and lightly pulls it from her head. Bending back the top of it, the girl sticks it through the hole and maneuvers it around. With little effort, the door pops open.

Jeonghan’s locker is pristine and clean. Nothing sticks out. At least not like hers. No loosely thrown papers or books rammed to the top. Not a speck of dust can be found between the rectangular metal box. Instead, only two journals sit on a grey shelf, textbooks below it, and his pencil pouch sitting beside them. But one thing catches her eye. Stuffed in the far corner is a hulking flip phone that contrasts Jeonghan’s spotless personality.

Boyoung grabs for it and flips it open. She can’t stop her fingers from fidgeting—making it hard for her to be able to press any of the small navy buttons. Compose yourself. It’s not as much nerves that are grappling her, it’s anger. Because she can’t help but feel so close and yet so far.

The girl allows herself three deep breaths before she gets herself together. She straightens her posture, blinking a few times, before tightening her features and pressing harshly down on the open text message button. A few names are plastered with multiple texts: Jisoo, and Hansol. The boys referred to by the tall guy in the bathroom. And then, atop them with a mass number of texts, are two numbers. One unknown, and the other an actual number.

Boyoung counts her breathes as she clicks the one with no contact name. Filtered texts plaster across the screen. Hundreds of them. Her eyes sift through them, picking out the important nuisances. Small things stick out: the man they’re working for is referred to as the oyabun. The person texting Jeonghan refers to him as a saiko-komon. And Jeonghan referring to the person texting as kaikei. They even mention Jisoo as kyodai and Hansol as shatei. The person texting also frequently mentions someone under the title of shatei-gashira.

Boyoung knows what these titles mean: they’re common knowledge to most. Titles involving the Yakuza—Japanese gangs. Oyabun is the family boss. Saiko-komon is like a senior advisor while the shatei-gashira is a member who leads over lower ranking members. Kyodai is an elder brother and shatei is the younger brother who are led by the shatei-gashira. And a kaikei, is an accountant.

The girl pinches the bridge of her nose.

Whoever these people are: they’re using Japanese gang terminology. Which means, somewhere in the depths of her school, there’s a yakuza running around and trashing people. And for some reason they’ve chosen Chunja; but, Boyoung still doesn’t know why. And the text messages give away nothing of importance.

They only ask whether or not Jeonghan has made the drop, or seen any interesting activities among Chunja and the people she hangs about. It just means they’ve been watching her. She knows, now, that Jisoo and whoever this Hansol kid is, are involved with Jeonghan. Now she just needs to figure out who the other three are. The Kaikei, the shatei-gashira, and the oyabun.

Picking out the small notebook she shoved in her pocket—and the pen along with it—the girl jots down the number. Before returning the phone back to its place, Boyoung clicks onto the photo category. She braces herself as the first picture shows up on the small digital screen.

Boyoung laments.

The photo shows Chunja leaving an aisle of the library with her hair a mess, and her fingers buttoning up her white shirt. Behind her is Jun, whose hair is equally mess, and whose hands are pulling up his pants. Maybe it’s just Boyoung; but, she honestly feels things like that should be done in privacy. Call her a prude or old fashioned but doing that in the library is a bit messy and quite disturbing. And just knowing her two friends were doing that together—in itself—is disgusting.

The brown haired girl snaps the phone shut and places it back into the corner it was in before. Her heart tells her to delete the picture; but, her mind tells her that if she does, she’ll get caught. So, she leaves the picture to the hounds…for now.

After closing the locker door, Boyoung shoves the note into her pocket and sluggishly walks off.

She treads lightly down the halls, and bounds the countless amount of bends before she finds herself starring directly into the brown irises of Thuy Mai. The Vietnamese girl who was clinging onto Jeonghan earlier. At the sight of the girl, the hairs on Boyoung’s arms rise.

Thuy is glamorous, her ebony hair spilling in silky sheets over her shoulders and her smile deceptively warm. It’s a shame her uniform-code-breaking skirt is now ruined by a deep red stain on the front of it. She must be leaving for the bathroom to change. And yet no clothes to change into.

“Our mystery girl,” The girl says as her eyes scan Boyoung’s body. “Jeonghan was wondering where you went. And, if my senses aren’t off, so were your little friends.” Boyoung cringes at the broad grin on Thuy’s face as she tries to mask her discomfort with her own.

“Mystery girl?” Boyoung questions.

Thuy nods her head, “The one who’s popped up out of nowhere,” She says as if it’s obvious and Boyoung is just dunce. “It’s not often Jeonghan becomes interested in someone. Especially someone so…” Boyoung’s eyebrow perks up as the ebony haired girl’s features drop lowly. “Off the radar.” She finishes, with a definitive clatter of her fingernails against the metal lockers beside her. Boyoung scoffs.

Thuy knows nothing.

The way the girl looks at her, is as if she’s jealous. Jealous that Boyoung has piqued the interest of Thuy’s affections. If the Vietnamese girl knew what was going on with Chunja, then Boyoung would be the least of her worries. Which, in Boyoung’s mind, makes Thuy nothing more than a passerby in the scheme of things. But, that doesn’t mean Thuy doesn’t know anything.

“Thuy, is it?” Boyoung asks to which the beautiful girl nods with a creased brow. “I’ve been meaning to ask Jeonghan; but, seeing as the two of you are so close—I assume I can ask you instead.” Thuy seems to be pleased at Boyoung recognizing her “close” relationship with Jeonghan. When, in actuality, Boyoung never really knew the two knew each other until she saw them together in the cafeteria. Still, flattery will get you everywhere—or so she’s learned.

“There’s been a boy hanging around him often, someone I don’t know,” The ebony haired girl straightens up as Boyoung crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s tall, and speaks with a deep voice. Seemingly friendly, and looks to have a funny personality…he likes to joke and brag too.”

Thuy snorts, “You really know nothing about Jeonghan, hunh?”

“So, then you know who I’m talking about?” Boyoung continues—a bit annoyed.

The girl nods her head as if she wants to blurt out the words of course I do, I’m his number one stalker. “They’re on the basketball team together, duh.” Boyoung’s eyebrows lift up in question—she didn’t know the boy played sports. He seems like the type of person that stays indoors and writes poetry that makes girls cry rivers of tears. “You’re talking about Mingyu.”

Boyoung pales, “Ming…Ming…Mingyu?” The girl stutters as Thuy stares back at her with light concern. Mingyu. “I-I, I didn’t know they were friends.” She continues to which the ebony haired girl stares back at her with even more worry as Boyoung stumbles back with a hand over .

Mingyu.

“I-I didn’t even know they knew each other.”

Boyoung’s legs give out, landing her on the ground with Thuy standing over her. Mingyu. “They were friends starting back in grade school. The two of them, Wonwoo, and Jihoon. Mingyu and Jeonghan have stayed friends over the years, while the other two…well…went their separate ways.” Thuy leans down beside Boyoung and grips at her arm. “Are you okay? You don’t look good at all.”

“They were all friends?” Boyoung voices as the other girl hauls her to her feet.

Thuy nods her head, “Did I not just say that?” The ebony haired girl continues to try and help Boyoung; but, she pushes Thuy away and stumbles off. Her mind a complete and utter bind. Mingyu. Mingyu. Mingyu. The name repeats in her head. Mingyu’s involved, so then he is too. She knew it. She guessed earlier that he would be involved. And now that Mingyu is the tall guy in the bathroom with Jeonghan; then the one their taking orders from: is him.

The boy from the convenience store. The boy who constantly taunts and berates her. The boy who drives not only her; but, the rest of her friend group mad.

The boy who ruined her:

Ahn Saeran.

The mystery surrounding Boyoung’s past is addicting and yet tiring. Every time she thinks she knows what happened, she’s whipped back into the sea of scandals and crimes that seem to plague it. Her life in the past has only lasted nearly two days and she’s already exhausted. She feels like a private investigator uncovering the things she never knew.

And that’s why she finds herself heaving up in the girl’s bathroom (having ditched a confused Thuy). With tears streaming down her face to pool at the bottom of her chin. Because if she didn’t know about Chunja and Jun. And the mess circling about Jeonghan and how he’s connected to Saeran: then she doesn’t know anything. And that there, that scares her. She’s the one that’s returned to the past. She’s the one that should know everything; but, she doesn’t.

The events that she does know, don’t seem to link up. Even knowing that Saeran and Jeonghan are connected. They just don’t work together. The camping trip. Chunja’s resentment of her that suddenly pops up afterwards. The party. The car accident. And his death. How do all these things link up with Jeonghan? She never thought he was a part of the whole entire plot; but, only his idea was the reason for everything to catapult forward.

Now she has to figure out more. Figure out the connections between the events. Figure out who’s who within the yakuza. And the ultimate question: why? Why is this all happening? And why are they targeting Chunja? Why is she so important? And why go after their friendship?

Boyoung’s scared, and she wishes she knew why she has to be.

▰▰▰

Boyoung walks the cobble stone pathway leading to the bleak entrance of the school. Her brain a solidified mess after the information she gained today, and her emotions—one top of it all—are in a frenzied haze. The whole entirety of the day had been like that actually. A feverish haze.

Sometimes she felt like something (or someone) was controlling her as she watched from the background. And while she can’t exactly pinpoint why it felt like that, she has a feeling it has to do with the revelation of Jeonghan being connected to both Mingyu and Saeran. Honestly, Boyoung feels like she needs to get out of her head for a few hours. Since she landed in this time period, she’s been set on investigating and fixing the past: leading her to a chaotic and muddled mindset. I just need a break.

“Hey, are you okay?” Boyoung twists her gaze to the side. Spotting Chan bounding up the pathway to stand before her. He smiles broadly, and shifts the book bag strap that sits on his left shoulder, over a little. “You look upset, bad day?” The girl nods as a sigh leaves and her hands come up to massage at her face. Really bad day. Chan keeps his dashing smile on his face—though wavering a bit at her exhausted and distressed features—and nudges her side. “Come on then, let’s go have some fun.”

Boyoung follows Chan willingly up a grass hill where they emerge upon a dirt path about a mile away from the school. Just a few feet to the right of the dirt path they walk on, is the old railway tracks that the docking stations use to transport materials from Seoul to Incheon. In 2012 it’ll be shut down. One too many kids got hit by trains while hanging out around the tracks. The railroad was Chan’s secret spot: somewhere he relaxed when he got stressed out. Never, did he invite others to go with him. This is new.

The forests could be creepy. Half the time you didn’t know what was lurking in there. If you travel too far, you’ll reach the junkyard where some kids will collectively hang around a makeshift bonfire until the homeless come spiraling around to scream at them. The branches creak, animals chatter in the distance, and leaves always sound like they’re being crunched on. Distorted trunks wrap around the grass and mud covered grounds. Large green and brown trees loom around—the only time you spot the sky, is when you’re in the right place.

“Soonyoung said you and him fought.” Chan says as he jumps a top one end of the moss covered rail—balancing himself with a smirk. Glancing over his shoulder, the younger boy gestures for Boyoung to get on the other side and do the same.

Removing her boots (and placing them in her bag) she does as him but only wearing her thick pink socks. Outstretching hands catch each other, making it easier for both of them to balance on the rails. “Chunja also said you two fought, and Jun said he isn’t too happy with you either.” Chan continues, sparring her a fleeting look.

“They’re all too sensitive.” Boyoung snaps with a frown.

Chan snorts, “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

The girl purses her lips as her nose flares in his direction, making him chuckle. The two continue their way down the tracl, balancing their best; but, falling off with laughter a few times (Boyoung more times than Chan). Though she assumes that he’s done this a fair amount of times compared to her. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to; but, scientists believe that if you let out all your feelings—aliens won’t be able to track you in the future.”

Boyoung snickers, what future are you talking about?

Chan jumps off the rail and squats down to lie across the track. His head propped up by the rail, and his legs stretching out over the other one. Boyoung, on the other hand, travels over to a small patch of hassock grass. Her fingers catching onto the root of the only dandelion in the field—pulling it from the ground to stare at it up close.

“Are you going to make a wish?” Chan asks as his he nods his head toward the flower.

The brown haired girl shrugs her shoulders as she takes a seat on the patch of grass and drops her bag beside her. The flower stays—for the most part—together as she lies down with her head propped up on the bag. “Does it make it come true?” She questions.

“According to folklore, yes. It also says that it can carry your thoughts and dreams to love ones—or make the person you love, love you back; but, that’s only if you blow all the seeds off with a single breath.” The boy snorts at the superstitions behind the flower as he stretches his arms behind his head. “Why? Do you have something important to wish for?”

Boyoung shrugs, “Maybe…maybe not.”

“Do it anyways,” He says with a chuckle. “Who knows, it may help in the future, right?”

She rolls the flower stem between her fingers, and watches as some of the seeds fall off to flow through the air beside her—lifting it higher and higher. I wish everything will turn out alright, even if it doesn’t go the way I want. Everyone should live, even if I have to go through pain to accomplish that, please.

The nearly transparent seeds of the flower dissipate into the air, flooding past her face and into the currents of the wind looping beside her head. They stream away like the glossy waves of the ocean. No longer being able to see the seeds, Boyoung sighs and wraps her arms around her body. Please, work out—not just for me; but, for all of them too.

“I have a lot weighing on my mind; it’s affecting me,” Boyoung lets out a deep breath as she shifts her head to glance in Chan’s direction. His eyes are closed—a firm gaze snapped onto his features as the sun shines down on him. She knows he’s listening. He’s always listening. “I took it out on them. Chunja was keeping things from me, and…it hurt me.”

She twists her gaze away from Chan to focus on the cloud brewing skies—small amounts of rain drops dripping down at a slow pace. The sun is still there; but, not overtly bright. “I didn’t mean to snap at Soonyoung—he just pushes too much.” The boy down below chuckles.

“He only does that when he thinks you’re hiding things from him,” Chan moves to sit up. His bag slugging to the side as he fixates his arms to hook around his legs. His eyes spotting a crow’s nest in the willow tree hanging above them. “Are you?”

Boyoung hums, “Maybe.”

The two’s chuckles are interrupted by the sound of an incoming train in the near distance. Boyoung jumps to her feet, hauling her bag over her shoulders and jogging down to where Chan sits. “Time to go.” He wraps his bag across his body diagonally and lifts himself to stand up.

Just, as his foot drags him down.

“,” The boy mutters as he lifts his gaze toward Boyoung. The girl’s eyebrows crease. “My foot’s stuck.” Chan pulls at his leg— yanking unforgivingly to try and separate the bulk of his foot from the guard rail that keeps it trapped in place. The train sounds off again—this time louder— coercing their shared gaze down the railway. A bright orange and yellow train scaling toward them in the distance. “, , !”

Boyoung flies to kneel behind Chan; her arms envelop his upper body. She pulls as hard as she can to tug him out. “It’s not budging!” The girl frantically cries as Chan’s body drops to the ground after she lets go. He continues to jerk at his leg hysterically as she does too.

Chan slaps her hands away, “Go, find something to get me loose.”

Boyoung’s bag drops to the ground, her shoes tumbling out, as she takes off for the woods. Nat’s and bees buzz around her head. The pungent smell of rotten plants infuses themselves in her senses as she drags her body in circles around the nearing forest. The booming sound of the train wraps her senses as she grabs for the nearest sharp object. A piece of a broken beer bottle.

The light begins to fade as she makes a run for it. Jumping over a fallen moss covered log; coming to crash onto the hassock grass beside the rail. The train’s even closer—the bright orange reflecting off of Chan’s body. “Boyoung!” Chan’s voice shakes in fever as his innocent and mournful eyes look up at her. It rattles her brain. I’m not losing you like this.

She jumps to her feet.

The only sound comes from the train as she staggers to cower beside Chan. The rail shakes feverishly. Using the sharp end of the bottle she shifts it between his shoe and the guard rail—trying to give some slack for him to remove his foot. It only cuts at his shoe and slashes the metal of the railing. She pushes and she pushes; but, it does nothing but cut into them more. She throws the object to the side with a scream as her she tries to remove his foot from his shoe; but, the more she pulls, the tighter the shoe grips his foot.

“Boyoung!” His scream ricochets off the trees and sounds through the woods.

The girl’s eyes swing upwards toward the train. An echo of a cry leaves as it nears them. The front grate narrowly touching Chan’s arm as his body slacks into her arms.

Only,

Before it truly hits them, an ethereal looking owl swoops down in front of it…

And for Boyoung, time stops—albeit for a second—before a searing pain erupts in the right side of her brain causing her to gasp out, and her body to lurch forward. The things around her twist and turn. Moving freely on its own. To her, it looks like their moving back in time. The train precipitously begins to flee down the track from where it came as Chan goes from sitting with a hysterical expression, to lying on the track chuckling, to standing on the rail smiling.

The pain obliterates as time seems to transition back.

The train no longer in sight, and Chan is back to standing on the guard rail with a smile. Boyoung glances around the area. The wind rummages the clattering leaves, birds sing, insects hum, and the crackling of underfoot can be heard in the distance. The patch of hassock grass she was sitting at earlier, has the dandelion she stole, planted back in it. And yet her bag and shoes are still thrown on the ground from before.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to; but, scientists believe that if you let out all your feelings—aliens won’t be able to track you in the future.”

Chan jumps off the rail effortlessly, to stand beside her. He begins to squat down on the track again; but, her fingers grip at his arm—pulling him back up to stand directly in front of her with a bewildered expression. “If you lie down, you’ll die.” She mutters darkly as her grasp tightens on him. Her eyes shrewd with tears that slip down her cheeks in a simple path to her chin. And from her left nostril, a trail of blood cascades over her lips, down her chin, and neck.

What the hell just happened?

“Don’t lie down, Chan.”