Since she was a child, Ji-woo was never one to let a single harsh word from others slide. If she was treated unfairly, she would say everything she had to say, even with spite in her eyes, and even among her peers, she was someone they didn't dare mess with, intimidated by her unique aura.

It was the same between us siblings. She would often pick fights with her blunt older brother for no reason, and she'd frequently burst into my room to steal my snacks or giggle while playing useless pranks.

With our mother and father always busy, Ji-woo seemed to have learned how to protect herself early on.

On the outside, she looked cold and cool, but in reality, she was deeply affectionate and cared for her family exceptionally well. When I was in the middle of exam periods, she was the kind of kid who would throw a bottle of Bacchus on my desk and leave, saying, "Just make sure you actually study," in a provocative tone.

That's why I never once thought Ji-woo would be at a disadvantage or get picked on somewhere. I had no doubt that no matter what happened in the world, she would overcome it with her characteristic grit.

Completely unaware that my complacency and indifference were driving my sister to the edge of a cliff.

The tragedy began secretly when Ji-woo entered her second year of high school and was assigned to a new class.

It started when she got on the bad side of an influential and nasty group in the class. It began with minor misunderstandings and jealousy, but the malice of the perpetrators grew more sophisticated and persistent over time.

At first, it was verbal exclusion and social ostracization. They excluded Ji-woo from group chats or spread rumors and malicious remarks loud enough for her to hear whenever she passed by.

Solid and proud, Ji-woo initially fought back fiercely against them. she boldly confronted the parties involved and tried not to endure the injustice.

However, the collective violence of the group began to exceed the level that an individual's spirit could overcome.

The more she fought back, the harsher their methods became. In the classroom, they openly hid or damaged her gym clothes and belongings, and they called her out to the bathroom or the old building hallway where no one came, away from the teacher's eyes, to inflict physical abuse.

They chose only parts of her body that could be hidden by baggy hoodies, school uniforms, and long pants to kick, push, and spit on her.

The most decisive blow was the intelligent psychological blackmail. The perpetrators took the family Ji-woo cherished most as collateral.

If you tell the school or the police, we'll dig through your brother's school and social media and show you exactly how we'll ruin him. Should we go to the store where your parents work and make a mess?

Ji-woo, who feared harm to her family more than anything, was completely isolated from that moment on.

The perpetrators' threats grew stronger by the day, leading to extortion and the filming of shameful photos. The eyes of my once-confident sister gradually lost their light, and her words decreased sharply when she returned home.

My sister, who always walked with her shoulders back, spent more time stuck alone in her room and began to insist on wearing long-sleeved clothes that covered her skin all year round.

I just indifferently brushed it off, thinking, I guess her puberty hit late now that she's a junior.

Even when I caught a glimpse of a blue bruise under my sister's sleeve, I didn't ask deeply, just wondering if she had bumped into something while exercising.

If only I had known sooner....

It was the night exactly one week before Ji-woo took her own life. The door to my room, where I was on the computer as usual, opened with a click.

Ji-woo stood there, holding the doorknob tightly, unable to even enter the room with the door slightly open. She was snapping in her usual tone, but her voice was trembling slightly.

She must have squeezed out as much courage as possible to finally speak, but I think my answer was terribly dry.

The moment my answer ended, I saw the tips of Ji-woo's fingers gripping the doorknob convulse minutely.

Ji-woo stared at me for a very brief moment. In that gaze, there was a mixture of countless expectations and the despair of the last thread of hope snapping. But I did not read the meaning of that look.

...Uh, yeah. I guess so, right? Anyway, stop the computer and just go to sleep.

Ji-woo gave a small smirk and quietly closed the door and left. That back was the last warmth I saw from a living Ji-woo.

After that night, Ji-woo never opened my door again.

Even when she was at home, she stayed in her room as quietly as a ghost. She barely touched her food at mealtimes, and if our eyes met, she would slowly look away.

I didn't speak to her first, thinking Ji-woo was just in a bad mood.

I should have done something even then.

And a week later, the tragedy struck.

Ji-woo, who didn't come home even after school was over, was found dead in a corner of a nearby cold vacant lot.

I rushed to the hospital mortuary after being contacted by the police. The moment I faced my sister's cold body covered with a white cloth, the world collapsed.

When the cloth was removed, my sister's face was so peaceful yet miserably pale. And when the baggy hoodie was pulled back, my sister's entire body was covered with traces of assault, bruises, and wounds so horrific I could hardly look at them.

The suicide note found deep in Ji-woo's room drawer, and the devilish messages from the perpetrators left in her unlocked phone, told the whole truth.

I told you I'd go to your brother's school if you didn't bring the money by today.

If you want to die, die alone you stupid bitch. Just try reporting it to the police.

The suicide note was filled with apologies to the family and the desperate regret of trying to carry everything alone. And one sentence written on the very last line tore my heart to shreds.

I asked my brother, and he said it's right to endure it alone. I don't want my brother and parents to suffer because of my problem. I'm sorry.

The moment I read that sentence, I couldn't breathe.

It was the school violence perpetrators who killed Ji-woo, but it was none other than myself who had roughly brushed off the desperate hand of salvation my sister had extended for the last time and pushed her off the cliff.

At the funeral hall, where the smell of incense was thick, I wailed, shedding tears of blood while holding my sister's portrait. I screamed that I should have died instead, and like a madman, I slammed my head against the wall, crying out that if only I could go back to that night, I would save you even if it cost me my life.

In the pain that felt like anger toward the perpetrators and unfillable guilt toward my sister were eating my brain, I lost consciousness.

And then, my eyes snapped open with a sound like a hallucination.

I couldn't feel the terrible smell of incense or the cold chill of the mortuary. What I saw before me was not the funeral hall, but my familiar room. In the midst of the desperate pain that had been weighing down my chest, I hurriedly picked up the smartphone on the desk.

The date on the screen.

Exactly one week ago. It was the night exactly 7 days before Ji-woo died.

This time, I will never let go of that hand. I will protect you even if I have to stake everything I have, Ji-woo.