Unwelcome Insight

By the time I reached Dad's restaurant, the late afternoon sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the street. The familiar sight of the cozy little diner, with its warm glow and the faint hum of chatter from inside, made me exhale a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

The bell above the door jingled as I walked in. I didn't even bother with my usual greeting, just plopped into one of the chairs near the counter and let out a heavy sigh.

Dad appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me. "Rough day, huh?"

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled, sinking deeper into the chair.

Without another word, he disappeared back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl of hot kalguksu and placed it in front of me.

"Here," he said with a small smile. "Eat. You'll feel better."

I didn't argue. The first bite of the hand-cut noodles in savory broth was like a warm hug. Before I knew it, the bowl was empty, and I was leaning back in my chair, feeling more human than I had all day.

"Thanks," I said, pushing the bowl away.

Dad leaned against the counter, looking at me with his usual quiet patience. "Want to talk about it?"

I shrugged, then decided there was no harm in venting a little. "It's nothing big. Just, like, midterms are coming up, and people won't stop talking about them. Ninety-nine days of stress, as if high school isn't bad enough already."

He chuckled softly. "It's not ninety-nine actual days. You'll survive. Besides, you're smart—you'll figure it out."

"Hopefully," I said, though my stomach churned at the thought of the looming exams.

After a bit more small talk, I headed upstairs to my room, my bag feeling heavier with every step. Once inside, I dropped it onto my desk and slumped onto the chair. Normally, I'd boot up my laptop and dive into a game to escape for a while, but not today.

Instead, I unzipped my bag and started pulling out books, flipping through pages to figure out where to start. Before I could get anywhere, my laptop chimed with a notification.

I glanced at the screen and froze. It was from no_name.

You looked flattering today at the field.

My chest tightened as I reread the message, my brain struggling to process it. My hands hovered over the keyboard, but I didn't know what to say. How could he—?

Shaking off the growing unease, I opened the game, hoping there was some sort of explanation waiting in the chat. When I logged in, no_name's avatar was already there, standing in the same virtual spot we always met.

Before I could type anything, another message popped up:

Don't look so nervous. It's just an observation.

I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard. This wasn't like him—or at least, it wasn't like the version of him I thought I knew.

How do you know that? I finally typed.

The reply came almost instantly:

I pay attention.

A chill ran down my spine.