Yeon Si-eun

The air in the high school was thick with a constant murmur, that low noise that comes from dozens of students gathered in one space. Chairs were lined up, uniforms were neatly arranged, and glances drifted between boredom and anticipation. Yeon Si-eun sat still, back straight, hands relaxed on his lap. He observed without really seeing, attentive to the details: the echo of voices, the squeak of shoes on the polished floor, the white light falling evenly on the stage. When Yeong-bin's name was called, the atmosphere changed immediately. Loud applause, broad smiles, a few whistles. It was an expected, almost natural, recognition. Si-eun listened to the sound as a solid block, without flinching. It didn't provoke anything in her. A second later, her name was spoken. Silence fell with an unsettling weight. No palms bumped. No voice rose. Only that brief emptiness, too clear, too obvious. Si-eun perceived it all without moving a muscle. She didn't lower her gaze or frown. She was familiar with this kind of silence; it didn't surprise her. Then, a few seconds later, the sound broke through the air. An applause. Then another. And, in between, a shout of congratulations that stood out above the rest.