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Seonghyeon didn't want to join a club.
He was the kind of person who drifted through life, never really committing to anything. He went to school, went home, played video games, slept. Repeat. His grades were average. His social life was nonexistent. He had friends, sort of, but they were the kind of friends you only saw in class, the kind who never texted you first, the kind who forgot your birthday until you reminded them.
So when his homeroom teacher told him he had to join a club or face detention, he sighed, grabbed the first flyer he saw, and walked to the literature club room without thinking.
The room was on the third floor, at the end of a long hallway. The door was slightly open, and Seonghyeon could hear voices inside. He pushed it open.
The room was small, cluttered with books and papers and the faint smell of old paper. There were four people inside.
The first one he noticed was Keonho.
Keonho was sitting at the teacher's desk, a laptop open in front of him. He had dark brown hair, and when he looked up, his smile was warm, practiced, perfect. His eyes were bright, almost too bright, like they were reflecting light that wasn't there.
"Hi!" he said, his voice bright. "You must be the new member! I'm Keonho, the club president. Welcome to the literature club!"
Seonghyeon blinked.
"Uh, thanks."
Keonho gestured to the others.
"This is Martin," he said, pointing to a boy with messy blonde hair and tired eyes. Martin was sitting in the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest. He smiled weakly, his hand raising in a small wave. His fingers were thin, pale, almost translucent.
"This is James," Keonho continued, pointing to a tall, pale boy with short purple hair and dark circles under his eyes. James was reading a book, his fingers tracing the spine. He didn't look up. His nails were bitten down to the quick, and there were faint scars on his wrists, barely visible under his sleeves.
"And this is Juhoon," Keonho said, pointing to a small boy with pink hair and a scowl on his face. Juhoon was sitting at a desk, his arms crossed, his legs swinging. He looked at Seonghyeon with narrowed eyes, then looked away.
"They're all great," Keonho said. "I'm sure you'll fit right in."
Seonghyeon sat down.
The first week was normal.
They read poems. They shared them. They talked about literature.
Martin's poems were sad, full of words like "darkness" and "alone" and "why." He read them in a quiet voice. His voice was so soft that Seonghyeon had to lean forward to hear him. When he finished, he looked up, his eyes wet, and waited for someone to say something.
"That was beautiful." Keonho said, his voice warm.
Martin smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
James's poems were long, elaborate, full of metaphors that Seonghyeon didn't understand. He read them in a monotone. His fingers traced the edges of the paper as he read, like he was caressing it. When he finished, he looked at Seonghyeon, his eyes dark, and waited.
"Very... complex." Seonghyeon said.
James smiled, but it was a cold smile.
Juhoon's poems were short, angry, full of words like "stupid" and "hate" and "leave me alone." He read them with his arms crossed, his face red. His voice was loud, defiant, but there was something fragile underneath it.
"It's about my dad," he said when he finished. "He's an asshole."
Keonho laughed.
"Very expressive." he said.
Juhoon glared at him.
Keonho's poems were perfect. They rhymed. They flowed. They made Seonghyeon feel things he didn't have words for. His voice was smooth, confident, and when he looked at Seonghyeon, his eyes seemed to pierce through him.
Seonghyeon's poems were terrible. He knew that. But Keonho smiled at him anyway, told him he was improving, told him he was glad he joined.
Seonghyeon started to like Keonho.
He started to like all of them, really.
But Keonho was different.
Expanded Scene: Deeper into the First Week
On Tuesday, Seonghyeon walked to the club room early. He found Martin sitting alone, staring at a blank piece of paper.
"Hey…" Seonghyeon said.
Martin looked up. His eyes were red.
"Hey."
"Are you okay?"
Martin laughed, but it was hollow.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."
Seonghyeon sat down next to him.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Martin shook his head.
"It's nothing. Just... life."
He looked at Seonghyeon, his eyes searching.
"Do you ever feel like you're not real?" he asked.
Seonghyeon blinked.
"What?"
"Like... like you're just a character in someone else's story. Like nothing you do matters."
Seonghyeon didn't know what to say.
"I think everyone feels like that sometimes." he said.
Martin nodded.
"Yeah. Maybe."
He looked back at his paper.
"I just wish I knew why I'm here."
Seonghyeon wanted to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't come. He just sat there, watching Martin's pencil hover over the paper, never touching it.
After a long silence, Martin spoke again.
"Do you think anyone would miss me if I disappeared?"
Seonghyeon's heart clenched.
"Of course they would. I would."
Martin looked at him, his eyes searching.
"Really?"
"Really."
Martin smiled, but it was fragile, like glass about to shatter.
"Thanks, Seonghyeon."
On Wednesday, James cornered Seonghyeon in the hallway.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked.
"Sure."
James led him to an empty classroom. He closed the door and locked it.
"I wrote something for you," he said.
He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Seonghyeon.
It was a poem. It was long, rambling, full of words like "eternity" and "blood" and "soul." It was about love. Obsessive, consuming love.
"It's about you." James said.
Seonghyeon felt a chill run down his spine.
"James, I don't—"
"Just read it," James said. "Please."
Seonghyeon read it.
When he finished, James was standing close to him, his eyes dark.
"Do you understand now?" James asked.
"Understand what?"
"How I feel."
Seonghyeon backed away.
"I think I need to go," he said.
James didn't stop him.
But as Seonghyeon reached the door, James spoke again.
"I'll wait for you," he said. "I'll always wait for you."
On Thursday, Juhoon confronted Seonghyeon in the club room.
"You're hanging out with James?" he asked, his voice sharp.
"Not really. He just—"
"He's weird. You should stay away from him."
"I can handle myself."
Juhoon crossed his arms.
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
He turned away.
"Juhoon," Seonghyeon said.
Juhoon stopped.
"What?"
"Do you want to be friends?"
Juhoon looked at him, his eyes wide. Then he scowled.
"Whatever."
But he didn't say no.
The weekend was quiet.
Seonghyeon stayed home, playing video games, trying to forget about the strange conversations he had with Martin, James, and Juhoon. But he couldn't. He kept thinking about Martin's hollow eyes, James's obsessive words, Juhoon's defensive anger.
On Saturday, he went for a walk. The air was cold, the sky gray. He walked past the school, past the park, past the small convenience store where he sometimes bought snacks.
He saw Martin sitting on a bench, alone.
Seonghyeon hesitated. Then he walked over.
"Hey," he said.
Martin looked up. His eyes were red, puffy.
"Oh. Hey."
"Mind if I sit?"
Martin shrugged.
Seonghyeon sat down.
They sat in silence for a long moment.
"I'm sorry about the other day," Martin said. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you."
"It's okay. I'm glad you told me."
Martin looked at him.
"Really?"
"Really."
Martin smiled, but it was weak.
"You're too nice, you know that?"
Seonghyeon laughed.
"Maybe."
They sat there, watching the clouds drift by.
"I wish every day could be like this," Martin said. "Quiet. Peaceful. With someone who cares."
Seonghyeon didn't know what to say.
So he just sat there, hoping it was enough.
It happened on a Friday.
The club had ended early. Keonho had a meeting with a teacher. James had left without saying goodbye. Juhoon had stormed out after a fight with Keonho about the poem he had written.
Seonghyeon was packing his bag when Martin grabbed his wrist.
"Can I talk to you?" Martin asked, his voice small.
Seonghyeon nodded.
They walked to the rooftop. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Martin leaned against the railing, his back to the view.
"I like you," Martin said.
Seonghyeon blinked.
"What?"
"I like you," Martin repeated. "I've liked you since you joined the club. I know it's stupid. I know you don't feel the same way. But I had to tell you."
Seonghyeon didn't know what to say.
"Martin..."
"I know," Martin said, his voice cracking. "I know. You like Keonho. Everyone likes Keonho. He's perfect. I'm just... I'm just me."
He laughed, but it was hollow.
"I'm sorry," Seonghyeon said.
"Don't be," Martin said. "I just wanted you to know."
He turned and walked away.
Seonghyeon watched him go.
The weekend was quiet.
Seonghyeon stayed home, playing video games, trying to forget about Martin's confession. But he couldn't. He kept thinking about the look in Martin's eyes, the way his voice had cracked, the way he had walked away.
On Sunday, he texted Martin.
Hey. Are you okay?
No response.
He tried calling.
No answer.
He told himself it was fine. Martin was probably just busy.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
On Monday, Martin didn't come to school.
Seonghyeon texted him again. No response.
He asked Keonho if he knew where Martin was. Keonho shrugged.
"He's probably just sick," Keonho said. "Don't worry about it."
But Seonghyeon worried.
After school, he walked to Martin's house. It was a small house, old, with peeling paint and a broken fence. The curtains were drawn. The door was unlocked.
Seonghyeon pushed it open.
"Martin?" he called.
No response.
The house was dark, the air thick and stale. There was a smell in the air, something metallic, something wrong.
Seonghyeon walked through the living room, past the kitchen, down the hallway. Martin's bedroom door was closed.
He opened it.
Martin was hanging from the ceiling.
His face was blue. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. His neck was bent at an angle that made Seonghyeon's stomach turn. His hands were limp at his sides, his fingers pale.
There was a note on his desk.
I'm sorry. I was just tired.
Seonghyeon screamed.
The police came. They asked questions. Seonghyeon answered them, but his voice sounded far away, like it was coming from someone else.
Martin's funeral was small. His parents didn't come. They were too busy, the police said. Too busy with their own lives.
Seonghyeon stood at the grave, staring at the headstone.
Martin. 18 years old. Beloved son, brother, friend.
He didn't feel like a friend.
He felt like he had failed.
Keonho stood next to him, his hand on Seonghyeon's shoulder.
"It's not your fault," Keonho said.
"But I could have done something."
"There was nothing you could do."
Seonghyeon wanted to believe him.
But he didn't.
That night, Seonghyeon couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation he had with Martin. The way he had talked about not being real. The way he had asked if anyone would miss him.
He should have done more.
He should have been there.
The literature club continued.
It felt wrong, but it continued.
James was quieter than before. He read his poems in a whisper, his hands shaking. His eyes were hollow, empty. He didn't look at anyone.
Juhoon was angrier. He snapped at everyone, his eyes red. He threw his bag across the room one day, screaming about how unfair everything was.
Keonho was the same. Perfect. Smiling. Unaffected.
Seonghyeon started to notice things.
Small things at first.
The way Keonho's smile never reached his eyes. The way he always seemed to know what Seonghyeon was thinking. The way the other members seemed to fade when Keonho was talking.
One day, Seonghyeon found a file on his computer.
It was called "characters.txt."
He opened it.
Inside was a list of names.
Seonghyeon - Protagonist
Keonho - Club President
Martin - Vice President (DECEASED)
James - Member
Juhoon - Member
Seonghyeon stared at the screen.
He didn't understand.
He closed the file and tried to forget about it.
Expanded Scene: James's Descent
James started acting strange.
He would stare at Seonghyeon during club meetings, his eyes dark, his fingers twitching. He would leave notes in Seonghyeon's locker, long, rambling letters about how much he loved him, how much he needed him.
Seonghyeon was scared.
He told Keonho about it.
"Don't worry," Keonho said. "I'll talk to him."
But it didn't stop.
One day, James cornered Seonghyeon in the hallway.
"I know you don't love me," James said, his voice shaking. "But that's okay. I can make you love me."
He pulled out a knife.
Seonghyeon backed away.
"James, put the knife down."
"I can't," James said. "I need you to understand."
He pressed the blade against his own arm and cut, deep and long. Blood poured down his skin, dripping onto the floor.
"See?" he said. "I bleed for you."
Seonghyeon ran.
The next day, Seonghyeon found James in the bathroom.
The door was locked, but Seonghyeon could hear sounds from inside. Strange sounds. Wet sounds.
"James?" he called.
No response.
He kicked the door open.
James was sitting on the floor, his pants around his ankles, his hand wrapped around his cock. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, his face flushed. His other hand was pressed against the floor, his fingers curled.
There was a knife on the floor next to him, still wet with blood.
"James, what the fuck?"
James opened his eyes.
"I was thinking about you," he said, his voice dreamy. "I was thinking about the way you look at me. The way you smile. The way your voice sounds when you say my name."
He stroked himself faster, his hips bucking.
"I was thinking about how much I want you," he continued. "How much I need you. How I would do anything for you."
"James, stop."
"I can't," James said. "I need this. I need you."
He came with a cry, his seed spilling over his hand, dripping onto the floor.
He looked at Seonghyeon, his eyes empty.
"Now you see me," he said. "Now you really see me."
It happened during a club meeting.
They were reading poems. James was reading his, his voice trembling. It was about love. About obsession. About blood. About the knife.
When he finished, he looked at Seonghyeon.
"I love you." he said.
Seonghyeon didn't say anything.
James smiled.
"It's okay," he said. "I understand."
He pulled out the knife.
Keonho stood up.
"James, put that down."
James ignored him.
He pressed the blade against his chest, right over his heart.
"See?" he said. "I told you. I bleed for you."
He plunged the knife into his chest.
Blood sprayed across the room, splattering on the walls, on the desks, on Seonghyeon's face.
James fell to the floor, his body convulsing. His hands gripped the knife, pulling it deeper.
Seonghyeon screamed.
Keonho stood there, watching, his face expressionless.
James stopped moving.
His eyes were still open.
Expanded Scene: The Aftermath of James's Death
The police came again.
They asked more questions. Seonghyeon answered them, but his voice was hollow.
James's body was taken away. The blood was cleaned. The club was suspended.
But Keonho kept meeting with Seonghyeon.
"We can still have our own club," Keonho said. "Just the two of us."
Seonghyeon agreed but he didn't know why.
He felt like he was being pulled along by an invisible force. Every time he tried to resist, something pushed him back toward Keonho.
He started having nightmares. In them, he saw Martin's blue face, James's bleeding chest, Juhoon's twisted neck. And at the center of it all, Keonho was smiling.
Juhoon was furious.
"You're still meeting with him?" Juhoon shouted. "After everything that happened?"
"Juhoon, it's not what you think—"
"Then what is it? You think he's innocent? You think he didn't have anything to do with Martin and James?"
"Keonho is just—"
"Keonho is a monster," Juhoon said. "And you're too blind to see it."
He stormed off.
Seonghyeon watched him go.
Juhoon found Seonghyeon after school.
"I'm sorry," Juhoon said. "I didn't mean to yell at you."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. I just... I care about you. I don't want you to get hurt."
"I won't."
Juhoon looked at him, his eyes wet.
"Promise me," he said. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
Juhoon hugged him.
Seonghyeon hugged him back.
That night, Seonghyeon couldn't sleep.
He kept thinking about Juhoon's words. Keonho is a monster.
He opened his laptop and searched for the file again.
characters.txt
He opened it.
The list was shorter now.
Seonghyeon - Protagonist
Keonho - Club President
Martin - Vice President (DECEASED)
James - Member (DECEASED)
Juhoon - Member
Seonghyeon's blood ran cold.
He tried to delete the file, but it wouldn't let him.
He tried to shut down his computer, but the screen stayed on.
And then, a new line appeared.
Juhoon - Next.
Seonghyeon's heart pounded.
He grabbed his phone and called Juhoon.
No answer.
He texted him.
Juhoon, please answer. I'm scared.
No response.
He ran out of his house and toward Juhoon's apartment.
But when he got there, the door was locked. The lights were off.
He banged on the door.
"Juhoon! Juhoon, please!"
No response.
He called the police.
They arrived an hour later.
They found Juhoon inside.
He was already dead.
It happened the next day.
Seonghyeon found Juhoon in the club room.
He was lying on the floor, his body broken, his neck twisted. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. His mouth was slightly open, like he had been trying to say something.
There was a note in his hand.
I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you.
Seonghyeon fell to his knees.
He didn't scream this time.
He just cried.
Keonho found him there.
"Seonghyeon," he said, his voice soft. "I'm sorry."
"You did this." Seonghyeon said.
"Did what?"
"You killed them. All of them."
Keonho's smile faded.
"I didn't kill them," he said. "They killed themselves. Because of you."
"Because of me?"
"Because they loved you. And you didn't love them back."
Seonghyeon stared at him.
"That's not true."
"It is true," Keonho said. "You loved me. Only me. And they couldn't handle it."
Seonghyeon's head was spinning.
"How do you know that?"
Keonho smiled.
"Because I'm the one who made them love you."
Keonho explained everything.
He was self-aware. He knew he was in a game. He knew Seonghyeon was the protagonist. He knew the others were just characters.
He had manipulated the game files. He had made Martin depressed. He had made James obsessed. He had made Juhoon angry.
He had killed them all.
"Because I love you," Keonho said. "And I wanted you all to myself."
Seonghyeon backed away.
"You're insane."
"Maybe," Keonho said. "But I'm the only one who really loves you."
Seonghyeon tried to leave.
But the door was locked.
The windows were sealed.
He was trapped.
"Don't you see?" Keonho said. "We're meant to be together. Just you and me. Forever."
"I don't want this."
"It doesn't matter what you want."
Keonho pulled out a knife.
"Now," he said. "Let me show you how much I love you."
Expanded Scene: The Final Confrontation
Keonho stepped closer, the knife glinting in the dim light.
"You don't have to be afraid," he said. "I'll make it quick."
"Keonho, please—"
"Shh. It's okay. You'll see. After this, we'll be together forever."
Seonghyeon backed into a corner.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I love you," Keonho said. "And love means never letting go."
He raised the knife.
Seonghyeon closed his eyes.
Seonghyeon woke up.
He was in his bed. His room was dark. His alarm clock read 6:00 AM.
He sat up, his heart pounding.
It was a dream. It was all a dream.
He got dressed and went to school.
He walked to the literature club room.
The door was open.
Inside, Keonho was sitting at the desk, smiling.
"Welcome to the literature club!" he said.
Seonghyeon felt a chill run down his spine.
"Let's start over," Keonho said. "Just you and me."
Seonghyeon sat down.
He didn't know why.
But he couldn't leave.
The days repeated.
Seonghyeon went to the club. He read poems. He talked to Keonho.
But the others were gone.
Martin. James. Juhoon.
They were just memories now.
Seonghyeon tried to leave the school, but the doors were locked. He tried to call for help, but his phone was dead. He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Keonho was always there.
Smiling.
Waiting.
"Don't worry," Keonho said one day, his hand on Seonghyeon's shoulder. "It's just us now. And it's going to be perfect."
Seonghyeon looked at him.
He didn't say anything.
Because there was nothing left to say.