The sun had barely risen over the city, casting golden rays over the enormous black iron gates that guarded the grand mansion of the most feared mafia empire. It was a place of power, of secrets, and of silence—so much silence that even laughter echoed like a memory.

Inside that mansion, in a room tucked away in the corner of the second floor, a small alarm clock buzzed weakly at 6:30 a.m. A pale hand reached out from under the blanket and hit the snooze button with practiced precision. Y/N groaned softly, her voice still hoarse from yesterday's tears.

She sat up slowly. Thirteen years old. Too young to feel this heavy.

Her room, though beautifully decorated with pastel walls, plush toys, and a soft white rug, felt colder than a hospital ward. Not because of the temperature—but because of the silence. The kind of silence that settles in your chest like dust and refuses to be shaken off.

Y/N dragged herself out of bed, wincing slightly at the dull ache in her limbs. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it like she always did. Food had stopped feeling like comfort a long time ago.

She walked past the long hallway lined with portraits—her brothers, all seven of them, standing tall and proud. Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook. Each one older, stronger, and more distant than the last. Once, they used to smile in these hallways. Once, they used to fight over who would tie her shoelaces. Once, they were a family.

But now?

Now, Y/N was just a shadow in the mansion.

She descended the grand staircase quietly, careful not to make a sound. The last time she had overslept and missed her test, Jungkook had dragged her to the study room and slapped her notebook on the desk with fire in his eyes.

“You think life is a joke?” he’d said, voice cold. “You don’t deserve the name you carry if you can’t even pass basic tests.”

She’d wanted to scream, to tell him she tried. That she studied until her eyes burned. That she barely slept. That the kids at school tore her notebooks, laughed at her answers, locked her in bathrooms.

But her mouth never opened. Because what was the point?

At breakfast, the dining table was already set by the maids. A silent row of luxury—toast, eggs, fresh juice, fruit salad, even her favorite blueberry pancakes. But no one was seated. Just the clinking of cutlery as staff moved about.

She sat quietly at her end of the table, watching as Jin walked in, dressed in his usual designer suit, checking his phone. He glanced at her once and gave a quick nod. Not a “good morning.” Not even a smile.

Namjoon followed, muttering something about a meeting with the Russians. Suga strolled in next, yawning, barely looking up. J-Hope walked in behind him, giving the maids instructions about surveillance updates.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook came last—laughing at something they saw on Taehyung’s phone. For a moment, she thought maybe they'd notice her. Maybe they'd ruffle her hair like they used to. Maybe they'd ask her about her science project.

But nothing. Just silence.

She pushed her plate away after two bites. Her stomach had curled in on itself. The blueberry pancake tasted like ash in her mouth.

“Y/N,” Jin said sharply, not even looking up. “You have a math test today. Don’t come back with trash like last time.”

Jungkook didn’t even wait for her response. “If your score is below 80, you know what’s coming.”

Y/N’s heart sank. Last time, she had gotten a 67. She was trying, honestly. But how was she supposed to study when the kids at school ripped her books and called her "mafia garbage"?

“Yes, hyung,” she whispered.

“Speak louder,” Suga snapped, sipping his coffee.

“Yes, hyung,” she said, louder this time, voice trembling just slightly.

No one noticed.

After breakfast, the black car pulled up to take her to school. The driver, Mr. Han, gave her a small smile in the rearview mirror. “Good morning, Miss Y/N.”

She nodded. He was the only one who greeted her anymore.

On the way to school, she looked out the window, watching the world blur past. Couples walking, mothers holding their children’s hands, boys riding bikes and laughing.

She clutched her backpack tighter.

She used to be happy once. She used to wear pigtails and dance around the kitchen. Her brothers used to chase her through the hallways, J-Hope pretending to be a zombie, Jin bribing her with candy to eat broccoli. Namjoon reading bedtime stories in his deep voice. Taehyung braiding her hair. Jimin singing her lullabies. Jungkook teaching her how to draw bunnies.

But now?

They were busy being legends. Mafia kings. CEOs. Protectors of an empire.

And Y/N?

Just a quiet ghost, trailing behind them.

As the car stopped outside her school, she took a deep breath. The huge gate loomed in front of her. A place no less cruel than her home.

She stepped out, plastering a fake smile on her face. The mask she had learned to wear far too early.

“I’ll try my best today,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe they’ll notice.”

But deep down, a part of her already knew—today would be just like the others. And maybe worse.

The school bell rang with a shrill cry as Y/N stepped inside the campus. The sun had just risen, and already the corridors were buzzing with energy—students laughing, teachers hurrying to their classes, the faint smell of chalk and ink drifting through the air.

But for Y/N, it wasn’t excitement she felt. It was dread.

She walked through the halls, head low, gripping the straps of her backpack tightly. Her shoes tapped against the polished floor with hesitant steps, almost as if she was walking into a battlefield.

Whispers followed her like shadows.

“Hey, mafia brat’s here.”

“She probably paid to pass her last test.”

“Do you think she has a gun in her bag?”

“I bet her brothers kill people for fun.”

The words were knives. And though Y/N had grown used to the stabs, they still cut deep. She didn’t know how the rumors started—maybe someone had overheard her driver mention “boss,” maybe someone’s parent had seen one of her brothers on TV. But ever since that day in fifth grade, her classmates treated her like she was a criminal in training.

She wasn’t. She didn’t even like violence. Loud noises made her flinch. But none of that mattered to them.

She entered her classroom and quietly took the last seat by the window. The desk was scratched with graffiti, old chewing gum stuck underneath, as if even the furniture knew she was an outcast.

“Move,” a voice snapped beside her.

Y/N looked up. It was Minsol—the class queen bee. Rich, pretty, mean. She was followed by her two sidekicks, Rina and Jaehee, who giggled behind her like trained parrots.

“I said move,” Minsol repeated, now louder.

“But this is my seat—” Y/N began.

Minsol rolled her eyes. “Do I look like I care, trash?”

Before she could react, Minsol dumped her books on the floor. The entire class went quiet for a moment, then burst into soft laughter.

Y/N knelt quickly to pick them up. Her math book had torn slightly. Her notes were smudged.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. Crying never helped. It only made things worse.

During the first period, Mr. Choi handed out last week’s math tests. Y/N’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper.

63/100.

Her heart dropped.

“Y/N,” Mr. Choi called, voice sharp, “what is this? Didn’t your brothers get you a tutor? Or are you too busy being a mafia princess to care about school?”

The class laughed again. Even the teacher didn’t like her.

She forced a smile and mumbled, “I’ll do better next time.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, waving her off.

During break, she tried to find a quiet spot to eat, but her lunch had already disappeared from her locker—again. All that was left was a sticky note:

“Go eat your dirty money.”

She sighed and walked out to the courtyard with her empty lunchbox. On the way, she bumped into someone—Minjun, one of the boys from her class. Her books fell again.

“Oh no, did I hurt the mafia baby?” he mocked. “Gonna call your killer brothers on me?”

He stepped on her notebook before walking away, crushing it under his heel.

Y/N picked it up slowly. The pages were smudged with dirt, the spine broken. She hugged it close to her chest and walked on.

No one ever stood up for her.

And the worst part?

She never told anyone. Not her brothers. Not the maids. Not even herself, sometimes. She just bottled it all up. Every push, every insult, every stolen lunch. She carried it like armor, because deep down, she believed—

Maybe it really was her fault.

Maybe she really was a disappointment.

After school, she sat in the car quietly, staring out of the window.

“Rough day, Miss Y/N?” Mr. Han asked gently.

She nodded once.

“Did you eat?”

“No.”

He reached over and handed her a small chocolate bar. “Don’t tell your brothers. Just eat something, okay?”

Her eyes softened. She took it wordlessly and nibbled on the edge.

At home, she went straight to her room. The math test burned in her bag like a bomb waiting to go off.

She considered hiding it. But Jungkook always found out. And when he did…

Last time, he’d thrown her books across the floor. Jimin had yelled. Taehyung had grabbed her wrist so hard she had a bruise.

She knew what was coming.

Still, she opened her bag and took it out. Quiet steps walked down the hallway toward the study room where they were all discussing mafia business.

She hesitated at the door, then knocked lightly.

“Come in,” Namjoon called.

She opened the door slowly. Seven pairs of eyes looked up.

She stepped in and held out the test with trembling fingers. “I got my math paper…”

Jungkook snatched it and scanned the score.

“63? Are you kidding me?”

“I tried, I—”

“Shut up!” Jimin barked. “You always have excuses!”

Taehyung stood up, angry. “Do you think we work this hard so you can fail basic tests?”

“Go kneel in the hallway,” Jin said coldly.

“Hyung—”

“I said go.”

So she did.

She knelt on the cold marble floor, her knees screaming in pain. Her hands trembled in her lap.

None of them looked back.

That night, Y/N stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open.

Her stomach was empty. Her heart even more so.

And somewhere, in the darkness of her room, she whispered a quiet wish:

“I wish I had someone… someone who would listen.”

Little did she know, the universe had heard her.

And soon, everything would begin to change.

It started with a pain in her lower stomach.

A dull, twisting ache that bloomed just beneath her belly like a knot tightening with every step. Y/N had woken up feeling colder than usual, with her limbs heavy and her head spinning lightly. She thought maybe it was the usual exhaustion. Or hunger. Maybe both.

She tried to stand up, but dizziness washed over her like a wave. Her fingers gripped the edge of the nightstand for support. Her knees wobbled.

She hadn't eaten anything real in almost two days. Yesterday’s chocolate bar from Mr. Han was the only thing keeping her upright. Still, she got ready for school in silence. Brushed her hair, tied her laces, wore her uniform.

The pain in her stomach had worsened. A sharp cramp shot through her abdomen as she walked toward the door.

She winced but said nothing.

No one noticed, anyway.

At breakfast, her brothers were gathered again, chatting about international shipments and security breaches. She sat at her usual place, sipping plain water, trying to hide her trembling hands.

She had no appetite. The pancakes, toast, eggs—none of it mattered.

Suddenly, she felt it.

A warmth.

Strange, uncomfortable.

Like something had spilled.

Her eyes widened slightly. She stood up quickly, and her chair scraped against the marble floor. Every head turned.

“What now?” Yoongi asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” she muttered, grabbing her bag. “Just… I have to go early.”

Without waiting for a response, she rushed out of the room, heart pounding.

She felt it trickling again—warmth sliding down the inside of her thighs.

Confusion.

Fear.

She locked herself inside the nearest bathroom, dropping her bag on the floor with shaking hands. She pulled up her skirt—and gasped.

Blood.

Bright. Red. Blood.

Her legs went weak.

“No… no no no…” she whispered.

She thought she was dying.

Was it an injury? Did someone hurt her? Was this what dying felt like?

She had never talked about these things with anyone. No mom. No sister. And none of her brothers ever explained anything about growing up, about womanhood, about this.

She stumbled backward, heart racing. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

She was too afraid to cry. Her mind was blank. Her body was hurting. Her heart was screaming.

Twenty minutes later, Y/N found herself walking the streets with trembling feet. She had changed into dark pants and covered herself with her long coat, still shaking from what she saw. She had searched for answers online with what little Wi-Fi she could steal from the school.

“First period,” the results said. “Menstruation. Normal for girls around 12–14.”

She stared at the words for a long time.

So she wasn’t dying?

This was normal?

Then why did it feel like everything inside her was breaking?

She walked into a nearby medical store, her fingers clutching a crumpled note she wrote:

"Sanitary pads."

The pharmacist looked at her and raised a brow. “Who’s it for?”

“M-Me,” she said softly, cheeks burning.

He handed her a small pack in a paper bag. “That’ll be 250 won.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a few coins. Her allowance had been cut weeks ago, but she managed to scrape enough.

As she took the bag, her hands shook harder. Her head was spinning. Her stomach still ached. Her face had lost all color.

The world tilted.

And then everything went black.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on a narrow bench inside the pharmacy. A woman stood nearby with a glass of water, her eyes filled with concern.

“She fainted,” the woman said. “She hasn’t eaten. Poor thing. Pale as a ghost.”

The pharmacist looked awkward. “She came in alone. No guardian, no phone.”

Y/N sat up slowly, blinking at the bright lights.

“I… I’m okay,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” the woman said firmly. “Where’s your family?”

Y/N stayed silent.

Because what could she say? That she lived in a mansion but had no one to hold her? That her brothers were rich and powerful but couldn’t see past her grades? That she just got her period and didn't know what to do?

Instead, she stood up weakly, clutching the bag tightly in her hand.

“I should go,” she whispered.

The woman handed her a chocolate bar. “At least eat something.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “Why?”

“Because you look like you need someone,” she said gently.

That was all it took.

Tears fell.

Soft. Silent. Like raindrops in the dark.

She didn’t go back to school that day.

Instead, she sat at the edge of the park behind the pharmacy, hugging her knees, watching children play while her body curled with cramps.

She unwrapped the chocolate bar slowly, took a small bite.

For the first time in weeks, something warm filled her chest.

Not food.

Not the chocolate.

But kindness.

From a stranger.

A complete stranger had noticed what her own family didn’t.

When she returned home later that evening, the house was quiet. None of the brothers were in sight.

She climbed the stairs quietly, went to her bathroom, and carefully followed the online guide on how to wear a pad. It was awkward. Embarrassing. She moved slowly, wincing with pain.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror—pale, tired, eyes red.

And whispered to herself:

“You’re strong. You’re strong. Just one more day.”

Little did she know…

Tomorrow would not be just another day.

Tomorrow, they would find out.

And everything would begin to change.