Chapter Text
Mira liked to think of herself as someone firmly grounded in reality. Her family name, society, and the rules of the world around her demanded nothing less.
She couldn’t remember when the blue lines had first begun appearing in her vision. She only knew they shouldn’t exist. So whenever they danced at the edges of her sight, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. Usually, that was enough to make them disappear.
Sometimes, in a crowd, she saw strange creatures with colorful skin, covered in patterns no one else seemed to notice. She had learned to ignore those too, chalking them up to a product of her broken mind. Obviously, a Kotadoski could not have delusions. Her father had been very clear about that. Sometimes she could still feel the sting on her skin when she remembered their conversation.
So Mira went through life exactly like that—walking firmly on solid ground, her face set in a perfectly neutral expression, knowing that the sun was yellow, blue lines did not exist, and people did not growl while baring their fangs. It was simply easier that way.
The mask slipped only when she danced. When her body surrendered to the music, when her flexible limbs spoke every hidden thought for her. Then she could simply be Mira. A girl who loved dancing, watched true‑crime shows, and devoured supernatural romances in unhealthy quantities.
Of course, she could indulge in her silly interests only as long as her grades stayed exceptional and she behaved properly, representing her family as expected.
Her irritation after meeting Rumi was therefore immense, because the purple‑haired girl had shown her that Mira’s supposedly steady footing on solid ground was, in truth, a shaky walk across shifting sand.
The clock’s hand moved at a painfully slow pace. Just five more minutes and she could leave this awful torture chamber also known as school. The older kids she danced with (all middle‑schoolers) were fine—far better company than anyone in her own class, where everyone was busy forging connections to meet their parents’ excessive expectations. Each of them convinced they were better than everyone else simply because their parents had money. All those fake smiles and syrupy words.
Mira hated it.
She glanced at the clock again. Two minutes.
Her hand tightened on the edge of the desk. She was close to sliding off her chair, but as her father always reminded her—no matter how much she despised it—she was a Kotadoski, and such behavior was unbecoming of one.
One minute left.
The teacher was mumbling something Mira paid absolutely no attention to. Probably something about homework. Or a reminder about upcoming exams. Possibly both.
Thirty seconds.
The chalk screeched across the board. Dust floated in the afternoon sun.
Ten seconds.
Mira exhaled and forced her fingers to unclench.
The bell rang.
She snapped her notebook shut, swept everything from her desk into her bag, and left the classroom at a near‑run—though still maintaining the sliver of dignity expected from someone with her family name.
She reached the dormitory in a record twelve minutes. The next five were spent shedding her uniform and changing into comfortable clothes. As she stepped out the door, she passed So‑hee. She was probably the only person in the entire school whose company wasn’t tainted by desperate attempts to curry favor with Mira’s family, though she was still terribly boring in her relentless quest to meet her father’s expectations.
“Already running off?”
“I’ve got practice.” Mira pulled a cap over her head. “Cover me?”
So‑hee sighed, but as always, nodded.
“One day you’re going to get in trouble for this, Mira.”
Mira couldn’t care less. Her parents barely paid attention to her ever since she quit ballet and piano lessons. Maybe if the Kotadoski name fell along with her, they’d finally look at her.
She pushed the fleeting thought out of her mind immediately, even though it stirred a strange flicker of hope. She shouldn’t dwell on it. She had somewhere to be.
She reached the alley behind the dance studio, gasping for breath. It was empty—no sign of the strange girl with purple hair. Mira tried not to show her disappointment; Rumi didn’t always show up and every time it left Mira with a stomachache. She had worried especially intensely during the two weeks of Rumi’s absence after their first official meeting. She’d cursed herself for not walking Rumi home, or at least waiting with her for her bus. Rumi seemed not to understand the world around them, and with every new encounter that impression only solidified. Mira considered her concern for the girl justified.
Mira had met her four times already. Five, technically, but she refused to count the day Rumi watched her group’s practice from behind a corner like some creep, then bolted like an Olympic sprinter. What kind of kid could even run that fast?
Still, it didn’t change the fact that Rumi was weird, with the energy of a stray cat. She had to be younger than Mira, with a small, skinny body always hidden under sweatpants several sizes too big, though decorated with beautiful embroidery or patches shaped like cute animals. Her purple hair was always braided loosely. (How Mira envied that hair. She’d promised herself she’d dye her own some sick color one day.) The dark circles under her eyes sometimes looked like bruises, other times a bit lighter, but never fully gone. And then there were the injuries.
Once, Rumi showed up with an almost‑healed cut on her cheek and a worse one on her lip. An old double scar crossed the edge of her right eyebrow. One time she walked clearly favoring her left leg. And she always avoided touch. Mira was still haunted by the look of terror on her face the first time she grabbed her hand.
At first, Mira feared Rumi’s family might be neglecting her (orphans often dealt with that, right?), or that she might even be homeless, but Rumi denied both theories.
“How can someone not have a home?!” Mira feared Rumi’s neck might snap from how fast she whipped her head around. “I have a home, I live with Jinu. He’s the best older brother in the world, even if he’s sometimes a total dork,” she declared, crossing her small arms. “There’s also Sussie and the tiger. And sometimes our uncles visit. They’re great too. Oh! And there’s Nari. Her house is huge and has a really big forest with lots of squirrels! But she doesn’t like it when I bring Sussie.”
“What does pathological mean?” she asked another time.
Mira thought she was joking, but the sincere confusion in her eyes forced her to explain. In an instant, Rumi’s face darkened, ears pressed almost flat against her head, and Mira could swear she heard a real, animalistic growl rumbling from deep in her throat.
“Why would anyone hurt me?” her voice grew low, her teeth flashed in the sunlight and Mira felt as if she were facing an angry dog rather than a human girl. From that moment on, Mira was 45 percent sure ‘Tiger’ was the name of a cat, 45 percent sure someone had gotten too creative naming a dog, and the last 10 percent convinced it was an actual tiger. “My brother takes care of me and uncle Hyun got rid of the last dem– person who tried to hurt me!”
On the outside, Mira remained perfectly unfazed, but inside, she was seething, cold sweat covering her skin. What did she mean her uncle got rid of someone who tried to hurt her?! She couldn’t be from the mafia… right? Right?
“So where do all these injuries come from?”
“I… umm… I am training. Yes, I’m training.” Mira’s eyebrow rose to her hairline. Rumi shifted, clearly avoiding her gaze, which—along with the uncertainty in her voice—was not reassuring. “I’m telling the truth! Ji‑hun even let me practice with his woldo.” Her face turned as red as a ripe tomato, her shoulders rising toward her unnaturally pointy ears as she mumbled, barely audible: “I just… might not have dodged a few of his strikes.”
Mira dropped the subject, though at every meeting she made sure Rumi was okay. She didn’t know what she could do about the injuries when the girl wouldn’t even let herself be touched, but at least she could make sure she wasn’t hungry. And she was always hungry, which worried Mira.
And then there was that walk in the park.
There weren’t many people that day, even though it wasn’t late. Maybe it was because of the couple sitting on a nearby bench. The only thing Mira could think when she saw them was how hot they were. They had to be doing some kind of photoshoot that required closing off part of the park.
The man’s long hair fell over his shoulders, earrings glinted in his ears, rings on his fingers. With his dark coat he looked like an evil prince of darkness. The woman—slender, tall, with blond hair and flawless makeup—could have been his partner in crime. Or rather, he hers? She looked like the kind of person people would fall to their knees before just to be blessed with the honor of having her step on them.
“Do you think they’re actors?” Mira stopped like many other passersby, staring at the pair chatting on the bench without a care in the world. The woman’s lips barely twitched, her hazel eyes flickered toward Mira for a split second. Was that a tattoo? Oh God, why did it suddenly feel so hot? “Huh, I like her jacket.”
“Jacket?” Rumi blinked like an owl.
“The outerwear she’s wearing.”
“Oh, that.” A pause. “Can we go eat now?”
Mira tore her gaze away from the sexy woman with effort and looked at Rumi. She couldn’t be serious.
“Is that really all you think about?”
Rumi shifted.
“O-of course not!” she protested a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of several passersby. She rubbed her neck and repeated more quietly, “Of course not. I think about other things too. Like… like…” Her eyes scanned the park until they landed on a corndog stand. Her brows furrowed, her nose twitched as she sniffed the air. She shook her head and glanced at the pigeons wandering along the path. The embarrassed look on her face deepened. “Umm… sticks.”
Mira blinked.
“Sticks?”
“Yes. Sticks.”
And to prove her point, Rumi hopped over a low fence, grabbed a fallen branch, stripped it of leaves, and presented it to Mira with the most serious expression Mira had ever seen on her.
“Do you like my stick?”
Mira matched her seriousness. “It’s a very nice stick.”
They stared at each other for a moment before Rumi broke first, a giggle escaping her lips. Mira didn’t need much to join in, though her laughter was far more controlled.
Wiping away tears of joy, they finally headed off for the long‑awaited bungeo‑ppang.
Apparently, Rumi had no clue what ice cream was. She stared at the vanilla scoop on top of her pastry as if she were seeing a car engine for the first time and someone had told her to take it apart and reassemble it.
“Are you sure this is, you know… edible?” she asked, poking the scoop with her spoon as if it might explode at any moment. It didn’t—it only wobbled, threatening to fall onto the gravel path.
“Of course.” Mira rolled her eyes and tasted her own scoop. “See? Perfectly edible.”
Rumi cast one last distrustful look at the dessert, opened her mouth wide, and before Mira could warn her, swallowed the entire scoop at once. In her defense, she was too absorbed in her efforts not to think about the sheer range of Rumi jaw movement.
That day, Mira reached the peak of her self‑control, keeping her face perfectly blank while Rumi experienced her first brain freeze. She even whimpered like a kicked puppy. Who even made sounds like that?
If, after returning to the dorm, Mira spent the next few hours searching the internet—and her browser history gained entries like 'touch aversion’, ‘growling in humans’, and ‘how big can human canines be’—she would never admit it. She also decided to stick, for now, to the most plausible theory: some form of autism and body modifications. (Was body modification even legal at such a young age?) In any case, those explanations were definitely more likely than Rumi having grown up in the woods or secretly being some kind of mythical creature.
Pff! As if that were even possible!
Mira’s gaze drifted to the library copy of Twilight lying innocently on her nightstand. No, Rumi definitely wasn’t any supernatural being. She didn’t sparkle in the sun.
So yes—Mira had no idea where Rumi came from, but something about this girl who didn’t fully understand human society and jumped at sudden noises made Mira really enjoy her company. She felt almost like a missing piece Mira hadn’t known she was missing until she found it.
And now she was gone. Again.
Mira sat down on the curb. On her way here she’d gotten a message that Seok had fallen ill and Ji‑yu and Yu‑mi had to stay longer at school. She hoped everything would return to normal before the competition next week. Their choreography was polished in every possible place and the movements were etched so deeply into their muscle memory that nothing could go wrong.
Mira sighed, playing with a loose thread on her shirt. She didn’t want to go back. She hoped Rumi might finally show up.
She pulled out her phone and, with nothing better to do, began mindlessly scrolling through social media. She stopped on a story from her last ballet performance. Her fingers tightened, threatening to crush the device. It wasn’t the first time her parents hadn’t bothered to show up.
Maybe it was for the best. At least she didn’t have to hear that she could’ve tried harder, that she hadn’t worked enough, that she hadn’t represented their name in a sufficiently dignified way.
Her spiral of thoughts was brutally interrupted by a strange discomfort settling deep in her bones. Her heart sped up, sweat trickled down her neck, a shiver ran along her spine, her skin went numb. She felt like a deer watched by a starving wolf. She swallowed and lifted her gaze.
A pair of large brown eyes stared at her without blinking, as if trying to see straight into her soul. The pupils widened and narrowed like a camera aperture. Rumi twitched, her mouth pulling into that awkward, lopsided smile, and those adorable, slightly too‑sharp canines peeked out from under her lips.
“Hi.”
“You came.”
Mira examined the girl carefully. Today she looked good, better than usual. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t as pronounced and there was the faintest hint of color on her cheeks.
Rumi tilted her head like a curious animal.
“Why aren’t you dancing?”
“Practice was canceled,” Mira said with a casual shrug.
“Oh…”
There it was again—that look, as if Mira were something otherworldly and breathtaking. It would have flattered her pride if Rumi didn’t watch her like a crouching tiger. Her stillness was inhuman and more than unsettling. It reminded Mira far too much of a cat stalking an unsuspecting sparrow.
“So,” she cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the shabby buildings surrounding the alley. It definitely wasn’t because Rumi’s unwavering attention made her uncomfortable. Definitely not. “Do you want to do something fun?”
Rumi blinked exactly twice, as if remembering she was supposed to.
“What kind of thing?”
“Karaoke.”
Mira held back a growing smile. She knew that expression—a mix of cautious curiosity and uncertainty.
“What is karaoke?”
“We can sing there and eat.”
Rumi immediately shrank into herself. Her fingers tugged at the edges of her sleeves.
“What is it?”
“I’m not allowed to… Umm… I’m not allowed to sing in the hum- I’m just not allowed to sing,” she muttered. “Jinu doesn’t let me.”
Mira decided she did not like this Jinu.
“Oh, yeah. No. Fuck him.”
Rumi flinched. It was a bit funny that someone with purple hair and body modifications avoided swearing so much. She looked like someone who’d grown up surrounded by punks.
She opened her mouth, but Mira cut her off before she could make a sound. “That’s a stupid rule. We’re absolutely going to karaoke and we’re going to have a great time.” Rumi still looked unsure. “What Jinu doesn’t see won’t hurt him. It’ll be just us there.”
Rumi made a strange sound from the back of her throat. Seeing her hesitation, Mira had to resist the urge to grab her hand. Instead she simply looked at her until a visible shiver ran through the smaller girl’s body, and with only a little extra encouragement, she finally moved.
Rumi looked around with curiosity as Mira led her through the city. Almost like a small child in a candy store—only occasionally flinching at loud noises. Not that Mira had ever been in a candy store; according to her parents, such places were beneath the Kotadoski name.
And honestly, she should’ve taken her to karaoke sooner. Rumi had a wonderful voice—one Mira could listen to for hours. Even if she didn’t know any modern songs, which didn’t surprise Mira at all. Rumi sometimes seemed like she’d just crawled out from under a rock or come from another era. And apparently she spoke Mandarin fluently, which did surprise Mira.
Mi‑yeong’s part ended. Mira took a breath and sang Celine’s part. She felt Rumi’s gaze on her—that look full of childlike awe, as if Mira had just done the most amazing thing in the world. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so intimidating. What had she done to deserve that?
They sang Hana’s part together. The corners of Mira’s mouth twitched upwards when Rumi bounced a few times in rhythm with the lyrics.
Her amusement faded when blue lights appeared at the edges of her vision. They pulsed furiously, more intensely than ever before. They were warm, almost pleasant, like…
Not again. Not again! She squeezed her eyes shut immediately. This isn’t real. It’s just a stupid product of your broken mind. Focus, Mira! It doesn’t exist!
Thankfully, Rumi didn’t seem to notice her brief panic, too focused on the flashing lyrics on the screen.
A skull.
A bird skull.
A perfectly white bird skull, with a tiny symbol carved into the top.
Rumi had given her a norigae with a real bird skull, decorated with red yarn and ribbons. A skull she had apparently obtained herself by catching some poor unsuspecting bird, cleaning it, and carving a small symbol into it. In what kind of world did she live that she even knew how to prepare a bird skull?!
“You made this yourself?” Mira had to be sure.
“Yes!” Rumi’s smile was as bright as the sun. “Do you like it? I thought it would match your shirts.” She pointed at Mira’s dark‑pink rock‑band T‑shirt, its logo faded through countless washes into shapes that could indeed resemble bones. That particular shirt couldn’t have been the inspiration, but Mira had plenty of similar ones she wore throughout the weeks.
Rumi shifted from foot to foot, her smile wavering as she twisted her hands and tugged at a loose thread on her hoodie sleeve.
“Sick. I love it.” And she meant it.
The pride radiating from the girl was painfully adorable; that lopsided smile with the protruding canines should be illegal.
And there it was again—that chirping sound. At first Mira thought a bird was singing nearby, but they were sitting in the quiet of a kimbap eatery. And the sound was clearly coming from Rumi. Some people made strange noises, right? She once met a boy who hissed at random moments. Maybe it was some kind of illness?
“Great! It’ll bring you luck and protect you whenever you wear it.”
“You think so?”
If smiles defined humanity, Rumi would definitely be an alien. Or a werewolf. The occasional growling, the twitching pointed ears, and her habit of sniffing the air could point to that. On the other hand, her canines looked exactly like Mira imagined vampire fangs would.
For her own sanity, she really needed to stop reading supernatural romances. But for peace of mind, she needed to check. That was rational behavior, right?
“Mmm. My brother’s and Guiying’s norigae saved their lives.”
“Really?” Mira tried not to show her unease at what that might imply. She unclipped a silver chain with a cross from her skirt and handed it to Rumi. “Can you hold this for a moment?”
The girl extended her hand. She didn’t flinch at the silver touching her skin. She examined the cross between her fingers, confusion spreading across her face.
“Why would you wear a tiny version of an execution tool on your belt?”
Mira nearly choked on air.
“It’s a symbol of the Christian religion,” she explained. Rumi hummed, but the confusion didn’t fade.
Well, at least she wasn’t a werewolf or a vampire. Not that Mira had considered that seriously. No, this was a simple experiment confirming her rationality. No supernatural nonsense.
Mira clipped the norigae to her skirt and it was absolutely the right decision. In an instant, the confusion vanished, replaced by that lopsided smile showing far too many teeth.
“So what happened?” she asked as they walked to the table with a tray full of kimbap rolls. “With your brother and that other guy?”
Curiosity killed the cat and apparently Rumi’s good mood. Her smile shrank, her step lost its earlier lightness, replaced by a predatory grace that sent a shiver down Mira’s spine.
Rumi opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if trying to bite the air. A guttural growl rumbled out, cutting through the calm of the eatery. She set the tray down with too much force. The thud drew unwanted attention and a snide comment from some slick-haired guy in a suit. With her finger Mira showed him exactly what she thought of his words.
“The job went… bad.”
And that was it. No more details, just a look promising pain and suffering. Thankfully, it wasn’t directed at Mira. But then—at whom? And what did she even mean by the job went bad?! Mira had only heard that phrase in heist movies. Her mafia theory couldn’t possibly be true.
“But they’re okay now?”
Rumi blinked, as if shaking off memories she’d been reliving.
“Oh, yes. Guiying has scars, but everyone’s fine.” She picked up an entire kimbap roll from the plate. Mira was ready to offer to ask for it to be cut, but Rumi opened her mouth and shoved it straight down her throat. “Uncle Hyun says he looks like a bean counter who won a fight against a paperclip…”
Screw what Guiying looked like. Rumi had just swallowed a whole kimbap roll. Whole. Uncut. Straight down her throat. Just like that. Without even flinching! Did she not have a gag reflex? Could someone learn to suppress it? And why would anyone want to?
Mira had so many questions, but none of them could make it past her throat. Not like the fucking kimbap roll, which apparently had no trouble making it past Rumi’s throat.
What even was she? An anaconda in disguise?
Seeing this would make her mother have a stroke.
Focus, Mira.
“…they’ll never raise a hand against anyone again,” Rumi nodded, as if she had just stated an undeniable truth. And maybe she had. She swallowed a whole kimbap roll, so she might as well declare universal truths. Why not?
“Right,” Mira agreed with whatever Rumi had said. She grabbed a piece of kimbap, put it in her mouth, and chewed it like a normal human being.