The mother gently draped an old towel over her daughter's shoulders, her lips curving into a soft smile as she caught their reflection in the mirror. Dipping the brush into the dye, she carefully parted the girl's smooth, silky hair into sections, applying the color with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Stay still, alright? It might get into your eyes," she murmured, her voice calm and full of quiet affection.
The sharp, chemical scent gradually spread through the room, yet the girl didn't find it unpleasant. Instead, a light, restless flutter stirred in her heart.
After a while, Mrs. Go finished drying her daughter's hair, the soft hum of the dryer fading as she held a mirror up in front of her. The girl hesitated, almost as if she feared what she might see. Slowly, she lifted her gaze—inch by inch—until at last, she faced her reflection fully.
Her hair gleamed in its deep, familiar black, just as it once had. A faint, pleased smile touched her lips.
A piercing scream shattered the stillness of midnight, jolting Mrs. Go awake. Startled, she quickly roused her husband, pulling him from sleep as well. The cry—raw and desperate—came from their daughter's room, unending and full of terror.
They leapt out of bed and rushed down the hallway. Bursting into the room, they found their daughter curled in on herself, clutching her head, her body writhing in agony.
"Mom… my head—it's burning! It hurts so much!" she screamed, her voice breaking with pain.
They hurried to her side in panic, trying to see what was wrong, but the girl had dug her fingers deep into her hair, her face completely hidden. With effort, they pried her hands away—
—and what they saw made them freeze.
Her fingertips were stained with blood. A thin stream seeped from her scalp, and her face was swollen beyond recognition. At the sight of it, Mrs. Go stood rooted in place, paralyzed.
Mr. Go, however, reacted immediately. He grabbed his daughter's wrists as she desperately tried to claw at her head again and shouted to his son,
"Bring me some tape—quickly!"
The boy bolted downstairs, rummaging frantically through drawers until he found what he needed. He raced back up as fast as his legs would carry him. Mr. Go wrapped his daughter's hands tightly with cloth, securing them with tape even as she struggled violently, unable to bear the pain.
Turning to his son again, he yelled, "Go get Minho's father's car keys—now!"
The boy ran out of the house barefoot, sprinting to the neighbor's door and pounding on it. When the man finally opened it, the boy stood there, breathless, tears brimming in his eyes.
"My little sister…" he managed to choke out, his voice trembling. "Please… the car keys…"
Just as the car horn blared outside, Mr. Go scooped his daughter into his arms and rushed out of the room. His wife, however, remained frozen by the bed, her face drained of all color. Only when he called her name sharply did she finally seem to snap back to her senses and hurrying after him.
The moment they arrived at the hospital, the medical staff quickly rushed the girl into the emergency unit.
It was five in the morning. A faint gray light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over the silent hospital room. Mrs. Go sat beside her daughter, who now lay still with an IV drip, watching her without blinking. The swelling on the girl's face had yet to subside.
Before long, a doctor called her into his office and began to explain her daughter's condition.
"Your daughter is experiencing a systemic shock caused by PPD—an anaphylactic reaction."
Mrs. Go spoke in a trembling voice.
"Doctor… I don't really understand. Could you explain it more simply?"
"PPD is a chemical found in hair dye," the doctor said. "It triggered a severe allergic reaction—her scalp is inflamed and blistered, and her face has swollen significantly. A child's skin is about five times thinner than an adult's, which made the reaction far more intense. In addition, the skin barrier has been compromised, so there's a risk of infection entering through the open wounds and spreading into the bloodstream. For that reason, once she regains consciousness, her hair will need to be shaved. Only then can we properly treat the wounds."
Mrs. Go lowered her head, whispering under her breath,
"This is all because of me"
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," the doctor said. "What was that?"
"Does her hair really have to be shaved? Is there no other way? It hasn't been long since her hair finally grew back…"
The doctor let out a quiet sigh.
"I'm sorry… but there is no other option."
A stark white light poured down from the ceiling, illuminating the small hospital room. The seven-year-old girl sat quietly on a low chair, a white cloth draped over her shoulders.
As the nurse carefully guided an electric clipper through her hair, a soft, steady buzzing sound filled the air. Strands of dark, silky hair fell away, drifting down in sections. With each pass, more of her scalp was revealed—and with it, the damage beneath. Her scalp was covered in long, bloody claw marks that crisscrossed her entire head, leaving the skin red and exposed.
Standing beside her, her mother kept her hands tightly clasped, watching in silence. Her gaze never wavered, as if she were trying to soothe her daughter simply by staying close.
The steady hum of the clippers continued, and with every falling strand of hair, the girl's fragile scalp became more exposed. In the quiet stillness of the room, the weight of the moment felt all the more heavy and vivid.
At the sound of her daughter's voice, Mrs. Go finally snapped out of her thoughts.
"Hm? What is it?" she asked, a little startled.
"Are you okay? I called you a few times, but you didn't answer," Nau Rin said, her voice tinged with concern.
"I'm fine," Mrs. Go replied softly.
Slipping her bag over her shoulder, Nau Rin said,
"I'm heading to school."
Mrs. Go gave a faint smile.
"Alright, my dear. Be careful on your way."
—
Nau Rin sat by the window, her gaze drifting outside. The classroom was quiet except for the rhythmic scratch of chalk on the board. Suddenly, the teacher called her name sharply, and she finally pulled her eyes away from the window.
"Is your name Go Nau Rin?"
"Yes."
"It seems my lesson doesn't interest you, is that right?"
"No, not at all…"
The teacher walked over and glanced at her notebook—completely blank.
"Really? Then why is your notebook empty?"
Before Nau Rin could respond, the teacher ordered, "To the board."
She stood up, walked to the front, and took the chalk in her hand. The teacher gave her a problem.
"Solve it."
Nau Rin studied it for a brief moment, then said,
"I'm finished," placing the chalk back down.
"You've only written the answer. Where is your working?"
"Writing out the steps takes too much time… and it's hassle," she replied plainly.
"And how can you be sure your answer is correct without showing your work?"
"It's correct," Nau Rin said with quiet certainty.
The teacher gave a slight smile.
"Well, aren't you quite smart" the teacher said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Then, working through the problem himself, he found that the answer was indeed correct.
As Nau Rin turned to walk back to her seat, the teacher called after her sharply:
"Who said you could sit down? You seem to think you're clever. If you can solve this problem, then fine—look out that window as you like! In fact, You don't have to be in class at all!"
Nau Rin glanced at the number she had written on the board and said calmly,
"This isn't a high school level problem."
The teacher shot back,
"Is that so? If you can't solve it, you'll regret speaking so boldly to your teacher!"
This time, Nau Rin worked through the problem in just three short steps, wrote down her answer, and bowed politely to the teacher.
"I won't skip lessons, and I will complete my homework properly," she said, then returned quietly to her seat.
The entire class erupted into chatter. The teacher slammed her hand on the desk, shouting, "Quiet!" before turning back to the board, checking each step carefully.. There was no doubt—the answer was correct.
After a moment of silence, the teacher said sternly,
"Stop staring—get back to work!" and continued the lesson.
Sunlight poured softly through the classroom window, gently illuminating the room. Notebooks, textbooks, and folders were neatly arranged on the desks, though a few were scattered, evidence of a recent lesson's activity. Computer screens flickered, some teachers checked student grades while moving pens and papers, and others took short breaks, quietly sipping tea and chatting.
As the math teacher entered from outside, the social studies teacher raised their head from the far corner.
"I hear quite a bit of talk about you," they said just as the biology teacher interjected eagerly:
"Did you lose a bet with a student?"
The math teacher smiled lightly.
"There's nothing to bet on," they replied, taking a seat.
The training manager, busy reviewing documents, looked up in surprise.
"What's going on?"
The biology teacher quickly explained,
"Haven't you heard? A student was given a problem, and if they solved it, they could do as they pleased in class for the rest of the school year."
Looking over at the math teacher and then turning back, the biology teacher added
"Well, He's lost authority over that student."
The training manager shook their head.
"A formidable one is emerging, indeed."
The math teacher chuckled.
"Never mind teasing me—why don't you try it yourselves?"
When the physics teacher entered, the students greeted them in unison. The teacher placed their gradebook lightly on the desk and looked over the top of their glasses.
"Go Nau Rin!" he called, his voice was calm, yet resonant with the weight of age.
Nau Rin lifted her eyes from her book and raised her hand.
"I'm here," she replied.
Without another word, the teacher said,
"To the board."
Nau Rin walked to the board. The teacher handed her a book and assigned a problem. After she solved it and set down the chalk, the teacher nodded slightly, murmuring,
"I see…"
Then, speaking aloud, he said, "You may sit."