It was Wednesday, and I woke up feeling like a particularly disgruntled zombie. Not the cool kind from movies, either—the kind with tangled hair, baggy eyes, and a sudden irrational hatred for alarm clocks. Today was the roundtable filming day, and despite all my careful planning, my nerves had staged a small rebellion overnight. As I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I sighed deeply. Not the glamorous look of a media sensation, exactly.
Hyeri was already waiting downstairs when I arrived at school, clutching two coffees like they were life preservers. She offered me one without speaking, her eyes scanning my face carefully.
–You look… awake.
–I appreciate your creative lying skills, but let's be honest—I look like a living public-service announcement for sleep deprivation.
She snorted quietly into her own cup.
–At least you don't look nervous. That's something.
–I'm not nervous. I'm strategically anxious. There's a difference.
She rolled her eyes, clearly amused despite herself, and we walked into the building together. The school hallway felt louder today, somehow brighter and sharper around the edges. People moved past quickly, some offering tiny nods, others looking away abruptly, probably unsure whether smiling at me was now socially acceptable or still vaguely dangerous.
I couldn't blame them—I wasn't quite sure myself.
Inside the media lab, the crew was already setting up the equipment, and Daejin gave me a thumbs-up from behind a complicated-looking camera rig. Hyeri hovered next to me, watching the activity with a mixture of fascination and mild terror.
–Are you sure you're ready for this?
–Absolutely not. But we're going with "fake it until it becomes someone else's problem."
She laughed quietly and moved away to help adjust some of the chairs. I stood there, clutching my rapidly cooling coffee, hoping the caffeine would somehow magically inject confidence straight into my veins.
Spoiler alert: it didn't.
By noon, everything was in place. Six chairs around a small circular table, each seat labeled neatly with a small card. Mine was placed deliberately off-center, a subtle way of saying, "Look, I'm participating, not dominating," even though I was absolutely certain everyone else would still be watching my every blink.
The other students began to trickle in one by one, glancing around the room with cautious curiosity. Among them was Yejin, a quiet girl from the debate team, Taejun, known for his thoughtful posts on our school forums, and unexpectedly, Junho, who had spent most of the semester alternating between napping through class and offering suspiciously insightful comments whenever the teacher called on him.
As they took their seats, the quiet tension in the room deepened. Everyone exchanged hesitant smiles or awkward nods, as if uncertain how friendly we were all supposed to be. Hyeri took a chair next to mine, whispering quickly as she sat down.
–It feels like we're about to summon ghosts.
–Don't be dramatic. It's more like we're just politely interrogating each other in front of cameras and bright lights. Completely normal.
She bit her lip to hide a smile, but her eyes gave it away.
Daejin finally stepped behind the main camera, giving a brief nod to signal that we were ready to begin. The room fell silent, and my heartbeat kicked up about three notches. Showtime.
I forced a calm breath as the small red recording light flickered on. Junho, seated directly across from me, looked suddenly awake for the first time all year.
–So, who talks first?
All eyes drifted naturally toward me.
I cleared my throat, my voice steadier than I felt.
–We all know why we're here. Let's just talk honestly—how we feel, what we think about all this. No editing ourselves, no pretending. Just us.
There was a pause. Junho tilted his head thoughtfully.
–No editing? That's a pretty brave thing to say to a room full of high schoolers.
I managed a genuine laugh, relieved someone had broken the ice.
–Exactly. But we're all in this mess together, right?
The mood shifted slightly. Taejun leaned forward, curiosity overtaking his hesitation.
–Alright, then. Let's talk.
The conversation gained momentum more quickly than I'd expected. Taejun spoke first, calm and precise, addressing how pressure had defined nearly every aspect of school life, from grades to social interactions. Yejin, shy at first, gradually began sharing stories about the debate team—how competition sometimes overshadowed the very topics they debated, turning teammates into rivals.
Junho surprised everyone by sharing his own experiences, revealing with casual honesty how he'd learned to disguise genuine effort behind a lazy persona, fearing the judgment that came from either succeeding too visibly or failing too obviously.
–It's safer to pretend you don't care, he explained simply, –than to let people think you tried and still didn't measure up.
A hush fell briefly, punctuated only by Hyeri's quiet agreement.
–Exactly. Caring openly makes you vulnerable.
My chest tightened slightly as I listened, recognizing too well what they described. I spoke carefully when it was my turn, laying out how easily performance could blur into reality—how stepping onto the stage that day had felt more like stepping into battle.
–I was supposed to act, to pretend, but it was impossible to separate myself from the role. Suddenly, performing felt too real. And that was the point, I think. To make me feel small. To control how everyone else saw me.
No one spoke immediately afterward, but the silence didn't feel tense anymore. It felt thoughtful. Junho nodded slightly, his eyes serious.
–But you didn't let it happen. You flipped it.
–Only because I didn't want anyone else to write my ending for me.
Hyeri reached over discreetly and squeezed my hand under the table. I squeezed back, grateful for the silent support.
The filming ended after nearly two hours, and when the recording lights finally went out, the room felt like it collectively exhaled. Daejin was smiling openly, clearly satisfied. Even Junho looked impressed—an expression I'd never expected to see on his usually indifferent face.
–That was… actually kind of amazing, he said, leaning back in his chair.
Yejin nodded quietly. –I never thought talking openly would feel this good.
Taejun laughed softly. –It's almost like honesty helps. Who would've guessed?
I shook my head, smiling despite my exhaustion. It felt strangely good to be tired for a reason like this—productive exhaustion instead of emotional fatigue. Hyeri stood up first, stretching her arms over her head.
–Anyone hungry? Talking about deep personal truths makes me crave carbs.
Junho immediately perked up. –I could definitely eat.
–Same here, Taejun added, already grabbing his bag.
Daejin stepped away from the camera, looking amused. –If you all promise not to start any more scandals before tomorrow, dinner's on me.
A small cheer went up, laughter breaking the last traces of tension. As we filed out of the media room together, I felt oddly light. It wasn't that everything had magically resolved itself—things like that didn't happen in real life—but something had undeniably changed. The weight I'd been carrying felt different now, shared instead of isolating.
I caught Hyeri's eyes, and she smiled warmly, nudging my shoulder gently.
–Feeling better?
–Shockingly, yes. But I still want fries.
–Of course you do.
She looped her arm through mine, and we stepped into the hallway together, laughter echoing softly around us. For the first time in weeks, school didn't feel like enemy territory anymore.
It felt like it belonged to us again, at least for tonight.