BSS 01

chapter 01

“Study, study, study! Every single day—I’m so sick of it I could die!”

I screamed. And as always, Mom’s voice rose right up to meet mine.

Arguing with her was one of those things I just couldn’t seem to stop doing.

“Ha! If you’re that embarrassed, then why don’t you go get yourself another smart daughter! Oh, wait—yeah! Maybe it’d be better if I just disappeared.
Then you’d finally be happy, right? Who told you to bother worrying about someone like me? Who asked you to give birth to me? Who asked for private tutors, huh?!”

Click.

I shut my phone off in frustration.

That same tired lecture was about to start—the one she always had on her tongue.

So-and-so’s daughter next door, so-and-so’s daughter from work—
I was sick to death of hearing about everyone else’s perfect kids.

In her eyes, I was never enough.
To her, I must have been the most unreliable, disappointing person alive.

Otherwise, how could she distrust me this much?

Just today, for example—

Normally, after school I’d go straight to my private institute, then to a group tutoring session, and only finish around 11 p.m.
But today, my tutor canceled due to a personal matter.
For once, I could get home before sunset.

I called her from the bus to say I was coming home early—and she immediately got angry.

“Don’t lie to me. You’re skipping class again, aren’t you? What if you’re the only one in your study group whose grades drop? Aren’t you ashamed?”

I always thought the person who made me into a “bad kid” was my mom.

If you’re that ashamed, maybe I should just die then. Why even live?

Studying had started to feel meaningless and empty.
Maybe, as Mom liked to put it, it was because I was “a clueless kid who didn’t know what she wanted.”

Anyway, I was tired of everything.

When I first entered high school, I was a decent student.
But one day, I lost my way, and my grades began to fall.

When my homeroom teacher asked, “Why do you study?”
I’d been so numb and stupidly honest that I answered like a delinquent.

“Because everyone else does. Wouldn’t it be weird if I didn’t? What do I want to do? Not study.”

That answer had been the start of everything.
Being too honest always costs you.

Of course, Mom found out.
And starting that very day, she piled on even more private lessons and tutors.

I’d said I didn’t want to study—but somehow, that just made my life harder.
Did she think if she left me alone, I’d stop completely?

I really was a terrible kid.

Out of pure rebellion, I filled in every answer on my midterms at random.
The result? An average score of 23.
From that day, Mom decided I was a “problem child.”

I’d thought I’d lived a pretty normal life, but apparently, that was my reward—
a single act of rebellion that could never be forgiven.

I’d always kept decent grades, had average friends,
never hung out with bad kids, never caused much trouble.

I was moderately obedient and moderately defiant.
But even so, Mom cornered me and blamed me for everything.

Why couldn’t she acknowledge that I had reached my limit?
Why did she see that as a flaw?

My rebellion had reached its peak, and so had her distrust of me.
Our relationship had hit rock bottom.

Mom really must hate me.

If she can’t stand me, why not just leave me alone?
It’s not like I chose my parents—
and I doubt she ever wanted a stubborn, defiant daughter like me.

I was furious.

Why did she have to control me all the time?
She said she was tired of my attitude, yet she kept interfering.

I ignored my phone as it buzzed on the seat.
Even the sound of it vibrating grated on my nerves,
so I eventually pulled the battery out and shoved it into my bag.

“Fine then. Maybe I’ll just run away.”

I stared out the bus window, swallowing down my anger.
The exhaustion hit me all at once.

Studying until midnight every day had worn me down,
and this was my first real break in ages.

My eyes began to close.

There was nothing to do on the bus.
Normally I’d kill time scrolling through my phone, but not now.
And I sure didn’t want to memorize English vocab.
So I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window.

I hugged my bag tight, finding a comfortable position.
It was still a long way home—
so maybe, just maybe, it was okay to fall asleep for a bit.

Maybe I just wanted to run away from reality for a while.
After all, even after fighting with Mom,
home was still the only place I could go.
The thought made me feel sick.

*******

I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep.

Screeeeech—!

BANG!

“Ah!”

The violent jolt snapped me awake.

My forehead slammed into the seat in front of me,
and a sharp pain shot through the back of my neck.

Blinking through the haze, I looked around in confusion.
Outside, everything was pitch-black.
A dim orange glow filtered in—it looked like we were inside a tunnel.

“Everyone, get off! Quickly! Hurry!”

I still couldn’t grasp what was happening.

The hiss of the bus doors opening felt ominous somehow.
I stumbled to my feet awkwardly.

Everyone on the bus was in a panic.
At the driver’s urgent shouting, people began rushing out.

Was there an accident?
Clutching my bag, I followed the crowd off the bus.

The moment I stepped out, a harsh, acrid smell hit me—
so strong I had to hold my breath.

The tunnel was filled with choking smoke and dust.
It was hard to breathe.

There was another smell too—
sweet, bitter, nauseating—like burning oil.
And something else I couldn’t name.

I wrinkled my nose. Something was very, very wrong.

Smoke filled the tunnel from end to end.
Every car had stopped.
People from the bus were covering their mouths, looking around in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“I think there’s an accident up ahead.”

This tunnel was long—
even driving through it usually took several minutes.
No natural light reached inside.
Only the headlights of stopped cars
and the tunnel’s dim orange lamps gave any illumination—
and even that was blurred by the smoke.

My eyesight was pretty good,
but right now I couldn’t see even a meter ahead.

The smoke burned my eyes and throat.
I pulled my sleeve up over my mouth, but it didn’t help.

Then, through the haze, I saw people running toward us.

One man tripped over his own feet and fell face-first—
but strangely, no one laughed.

His face was twisted in sheer terror,
his hands trembling violently as he crawled along the ground—
like someone who had just escaped from hell itself.

From somewhere deeper in the tunnel came a BOOM!

“Fire! There’s fire!”

Someone shoved past me, nearly knocking me over,
and the murmuring crowd fell silent.
Then, all at once, people started to run.

Even before I could process it,
some instinct told me: We’re in danger.

One by one, everyone vanished into the smoke—
and I was left alone.

Just moments ago, I’d been napping on the bus.
Now… what was this?

BOOM!

Another explosion shook the tunnel.

And I realized—this was real.
Through the smoke, I could see red light flickering, spreading—
a wall of fire, rolling toward us.

It was too close. Too bright. Too terrifying.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.
My whole body trembled with nameless fear.

The flames were coming closer—
devouring abandoned cars, reaching for the people still frozen in place.