𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘

The air in the dusty classroom hung heavy, thick with the scent of old wood and forgotten things. Park Sunghoon slouched in his chair, serving yet another detention he barely remembered earning. The teacher, a shapeless lump behind a textbook, snored softly.

Boredom, a familiar companion, urged Sunghoon to snoop. His eyes drifted over the graffiti-scarred desks, the cracked walls, until a strange draft led him to a loose panel behind the supply closet. Curiosity, a dangerous trait, won out.

He pried it open.

Inside, nestled in cobwebs and dust, was a small, black leather-bound notebook, sealed with a red string. It felt ancient, ominous. “This feels cursed,” he muttered, but his fingers, acting on their own, pulled it free.

Naturally, he opened it.