Chapter: When Silence Becomes a Lie
Win was already standing in front of his class teacher.
He didn't know how long he had been there. Seconds felt stretched, distorted—like time itself was waiting for something terrible to happen. The classroom behind him was noisy, filled with careless laughter and the scrape of chairs, but none of it reached him properly.
The teacher stood near the desk, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him.
Not angry.
Not calm either.
Just tense.
"What's the matter?" Win asked at last, unable to endure the silence any longer.
The teacher inhaled slowly before answering. "Ter's parents are here."
The words landed heavily.
Win swallowed. "Yes," he said. "Then?"
She studied his face, as if searching for something hidden behind his eyes. "You're Ter's closest friend, right?"
"Yes."
"I need you to be honest with me," she said quietly. "Do you know if Ter has any kind of relationship? Or if there's anything else going on in his life that we should know about?"
Win stiffened.
"What?" His brows drew together. "No. I'm with him most of the time. I don't think he's dating anyone. He never talks about that."
The teacher didn't answer immediately. She only nodded, slowly, as if filing his words away.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
"Go to the classroom," she said, placing it in his hand. "Take pictures of the table Ter usually sits at. From every angle. I need to go to the office."
Win looked down at the phone, confused but obedient. "Pictures… of the table?"
"Yes," she replied, already turning away. "I'll explain later."
As she walked off, Win noticed something that made his chest tighten.
Her shoulders were tense.
Her jaw clenched.
Even she was worried.
Win didn't waste time.
He walked straight into the classroom, his footsteps echoing sharply against the floor. The room was empty now, sunlight pouring in through the windows, dust floating lazily in the air.
It looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
His eyes locked onto Ter's seat immediately.
That desk.
The place where Ter usually sat with his new friends. Where he leaned back carelessly, joked too loudly, tapped his pen nonstop, complained about teachers.
Win approached slowly.
He crouched down and examined the table carefully.
The surface was scratched but smooth.
No cracks.
No broken edges.
He checked underneath.
The metal frame was intact.
No sharp pieces.
Nothing.
Win straightened slowly, his stomach tightening.
"This can't be right," he murmured.
He checked again.
Still nothing.
The desk was old—but harmless.
And that injury…
Win had seen it clearly.
That wasn't caused by this.
His mind raced.
If there was nothing wrong with the table, then what were they expecting to find?
He didn't know.
But he didn't stay there long.
He lifted the phone and took pictures anyway—top, sides, underneath. Everything.
Then he left the classroom.
The school office felt heavy the moment Win stepped inside.
The air was thick with tension, like something unspoken was hanging between the walls.
The principal sat behind his desk, hands folded, expression serious.
In front of him sat Ter's father.
The man looked calm.
Unnaturally calm.
His posture was relaxed, his face neutral—almost gentle. He didn't look angry. He didn't look worried.
Win swallowed hard.
Then his eyes shifted.
Ter stood near the wall.
And Win's chest tightened painfully.
This wasn't the Ter he knew.
Ter's shoulders were stiff, his head slightly lowered. His face was pale, empty of expression, eyes dull—like someone had turned off the light inside him.
The cheerful, energetic boy was gone.
This Ter looked… broken.
Win had never seen him like this.
Not once.
A voice suddenly called from behind.
"Win."
He flinched.
It was the class teacher.
"Give me my phone," she said.
Win handed it over silently.
She turned to the principal. "Sir, I asked Win to take pictures of the desk Ter usually sits at."
The principal nodded. "Yes."
Then another person stepped forward.
The school nurse.
She held a file in her hands, her expression professional but uneasy.
"When Ter came to me," she said, "I examined his arm carefully. And honestly… the injury didn't look like something caused by a table."
Ter's fingers curled slowly into fists.
Win noticed the change immediately.
Ter's breathing grew shallow. His body tensed like he was bracing for impact.
"That's why I contacted his parents," the school nurse continued.
Ter's heart pounded violently.
Inside his head, fear exploded.
Now he knows.
Now it's over.
The class teacher turned back toward Win.
"Win," she said softly. "Give the phone to the principal."
Win stepped forward.
Each step felt heavy.
Ter didn't look up.
He was shaking.
The principal took the phone and began scrolling through the pictures.
Silence swallowed the room.
No one spoke.
Ter's thoughts spiraled out of control.
He'll say it's impossible.
He'll say I lied.
Today… something bad will happen.
His chest felt tight, breath stuck halfway.
His father stood behind him.
Silent.
Still.
That silence was terrifying.
And then—
Flashback — 15 Minutes Earlier
Win stood alone in the empty classroom, staring at Ter's desk.
He already knew the truth.
This table hadn't hurt Ter.
And if the truth came out—
Ter would suffer.
Win clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered. "I won't let that happen."
He grabbed the desk and slammed it against the floor.
The sound echoed sharply.
Again.
Metal screeched.
On the third hit, something snapped.
A steel piece broke loose from underneath—thin, jagged, sharp.
Win froze.
His heart pounded violently.
Slowly, he pulled the broken metal free.
The edge was sharp enough to cut skin easily.
Sharp enough to explain everything.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
He positioned it carefully, making it look like it had always been there.
Then he took the pictures.
His hands shook the entire time.
Back to the Present
The principal stopped scrolling.
He turned the phone toward the school nurse and Ter's father.
"Please look carefully," he said.
They leaned in.
The school nurse's eyes narrowed. "This metal is sharp."
"Yes," the principal agreed. "This could absolutely cause the type of injury Ter has."
Ter's knees nearly buckled.
The principal sighed deeply. "I apologize for not noticing this earlier. I will order a full inspection of all desks in the school."
Ter's father nodded calmly. "It's fine," he said. "Just make sure such small things are taken care of."
Then he turned to Ter.
"Let's go."
Ter moved mechanically, numb.
As they walked toward the door, his father's eyes flicked briefly—
To Win.
Win froze.
But the man said nothing.
They left.
The door closed.
Only then did Win realize he had been holding his breath.
The principal looked at him. "You may return to your class now."
Win nodded.
As he turned away, his hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
But from the realization that—
Today, he had lied to protect someone.
And once you start doing that—
There's no turning back.