(The day my dignity was boiled… then rolled away.)
There are three universal truths in high school:
1. The school Wi-Fi will never work when you actually need it.
2. Your crush will always catch you doing something stupid.
3. And whoever brings the best lunch?
Rules. The. Entire. Social. Hierarchy.
Unfortunately, today… I brought boiled eggs. Again.
---
The cafeteria was buzzing like usual—loud voices, tray clattering, and that one kid trying to microwave a can of tuna despite three warnings. My stomach growled like a wild animal, but the moment I opened my lunchbox, it whimpered in disappointment.
Three sad-looking boiled eggs. One half-sliced cucumber. And a single rice ball shaped like regret.
This is my life now, I thought. A protein-based prison of my own design.
"Bro, no offense," Minhyuk whispered beside me, leaning over with the expression of someone peeking into a coffin, "but your lunch looks like something a gym teacher would recommend during a heart attack."
"I like protein," I muttered, trying to defend my sad little eggs from his judgmental gaze. I snapped the lid shut like I was hiding state secrets.
"You like depression," he said with a sigh, picking up a boiled egg using two chopsticks like he was handling toxic waste. "This is the culinary equivalent of crying while doing pushups."
"You're just jealous because my lunch has no carbs."
"I'm just hungry," he deadpanned. "And your eggs are literally the color of defeat."
---
Across the cafeteria, like a shimmering oasis in a desert of mediocrity, sunlight reflected off something golden. Every conversation dimmed. Eyes turned. Jaws dropped.
There she was. Yuri Kang. The class goddess. Sitting at her usual table with a perfectly poised elegance that made royalty look sloppy. She gently unlatched the glimmering clasp of her lunchbox.
Golden. Tiered. Imported. Possibly sent from heaven.
Inside was a bento box that could bring a grown man to tears. It was a perfectly arranged medley of art and love. Heart-shaped strawberries. Flower-cut sausages. Tamagoyaki slices stacked like architectural wonders. And in the center—two little rice bears wearing seaweed scarves, holding hands.
Rice bears, Boss.
They were more fashionable than me. One of them had a hat.
"Look at that presentation," Minhyuk whispered reverently, his eyes misting over. "If lunchboxes were art, that would be the Mona Lisa."
"And mine's what?" I asked.
He shrugged. "A wet napkin in a thunderstorm."
"Can you not compare my eggs to post-breakup sadness?"
"Too late. That's your superhero name now. Captain Cholesterol."
I opened my boiled egg with spite. It cracked like my self-worth.
---
Just as I tried to un-boil my dignity, a shadow loomed over us.
I looked up.
And instantly regretted all 17 years of decisions that led to this exact moment.
Yuri. Kang. Standing. At. Our. Table.
She was holding something.
A napkin.
"Hey," she said, voice softer than a kitten sneezing. "Did you drop this?"
It wasn't mine. I knew it wasn't mine. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and I wasn't about to let truth ruin my chance at interaction.
"Yes," I said, reaching out. "That's mine."
And then it happened.
Like the universe was mocking me.
I knocked over one of my eggs.
It rolled off the table, hit my shoe, bounced in slow-motion, and—because fate is cruel—landed perfectly upright in front of her.
"Wow," Yuri blinked, amused. "Even your egg's got balance."
Minhyuk whispered behind his hand, "Unlike your life."
---
Now here's the part I didn't expect.
She smiled.
No mockery. No judgment. Just… curiosity. Like I was some rare animal at a zoo.
Then, unthinkable plot twist:
She offered… her bento box.
"I made too much," she said, almost shy. "Want to try?"
I blinked. Twice. I looked behind me. Maybe she meant someone else. A different Nam Joon. One who wasn't currently boiling in social anxiety.
But no. Her gaze was locked. On me.
The cafeteria went quiet. Chopsticks paused mid-air. Even the guy trying to juggle bananas in the corner stopped. I think I heard a lunch lady gasp and drop a tray.
"You—me—bento?" I stammered, sounding like a rejected anime protagonist.
She giggled. "You're funny. I like that."
Minhyuk nearly inhaled his water. "Bro… marry her."
I took a bite.
The flavors were legendary. Like each grain of rice had been blessed by seven grandmas. The sausage had personality. The seaweed? Fresh as ocean breeze. The tamagoyaki? I heard it whisper in my mouth: "You matter."
It was like ascending to culinary nirvana, Boss. I saw colors I didn't know existed. I saw my future. I saw the credits rolling.
And then—like the gods themselves decided I was getting too happy—disaster struck.
A voice, booming like thunder:
"CHOI JAE-HOON!! DID YOU TURN IN YOUR MATH HOMEWORK?!"
I froze. The air froze. My soul tried to eject itself.
Mrs. Park.
The harbinger of doom.
Storming toward me like an academic juggernaut.
She had a stack of red-marked papers, rage in her eyes, and the posture of a woman who had graded too many bad equations.
Yuri turned to me slowly. "You didn't… turn in your homework?"
I panicked. "Technically… I did. Just… not to her. I sent it to the math gods."
The table vibrated with the force of Minhyuk's silent laughter. Even my boiled egg was judging me from the floor.
What followed was a lecture so brutal, I'm pretty sure it rewrote my DNA. She dragged me in front of the cafeteria like I was a war criminal.
"You can flirt all you want AFTER you pass algebra, Jae-hoon!"
My life flashed before my eyes.
Meanwhile, Minhyuk filmed the whole thing like a nature documentary.
Yuri?
She giggled.
She giggled the whole time.
And me? I stood there, covered in shame, dreams, and a little bit of egg yolk.
---
And that, Boss…
Is the story of how I lost my dignity, my lunch, and possibly my ability to speak around pretty girls for the rest of high school.
But hey…
At least the rice bear smiled at me.