Hana's POV
By the next morning, the school felt different.
The air always carried noise at Seonghwa—heels clicking from Elite Track, laughter echoing off old Regular Track walls, drones whirring overhead delivering supplies to the rich side. But today the noise had an edge. A curiosity sharpened into something more invasive.
Students didn't whisper after she passed.
They whispered as she approached.
Hana walked through the courtyard with her backpack clutched tighter than usual, trying not to react to the glances flicking her way like sparks from a loose wire.
"That's her.""Transfer girl.""She's the one in the rumor.""Why would someone like her talk to him?"
Someone like her.She wasn't sure if that meant regular,poor, or just breathing too close to a problem.
Maybe all three.
She kept walking.
The hallway to homeroom was worse—clusters of students pretending to check their phones but very obviously scanning her face for some expression that explained everything. She gave them none.
Mr. Han gave her a look that wasn't pity but concern. "Rough start?"
"I'm fine," she said.
He didn't believe it, but he didn't push.
She slid into her seat. The chair felt colder than usual.
For a moment, everything seemed normal—papers rustling, pens uncapping.
Then the door opened.
Hana didn't mean to look. Her eyes just did.
Jiho walked in.
Same uniform. Same hair falling into his eyes. But something about him looked… sharpened. Like he'd sanded down whatever softness remained after yesterday and replaced it with something harder.
He didn't look at her.He didn't look at anyone.
He walked straight to his seat at the back and dropped into it without a word.
But the room responded to him like gravity shifting. Heads turned. Conversations cut off. Even the air seemed to hesitate, waiting to see if he'd react to the whispers crawling across the room.
He didn't.He acted like nothing could reach him.
Except she knew better now. She'd seen the way his shoulders tightened when he was overwhelmed. The way his eyes flicked toward exits, not people. The way he looked at her yesterday, like she'd stepped into something fragile.
She focused on her notebook until the tightness in her chest eased.
Class began.
When the lunch bell rang, Hana waited for most students to file out. She didn't want another repeat of yesterday—Arin's smirk, the whispers, the half-hidden looks.
She packed slowly.
Almost made it out of the room—
Then someone blocked her path.
A tall boy. Regular Track. She recognized him vaguely—one of those who sat in the back row pretending to sleep through math.
He gave her a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "So… you and Kang Jiho?"
Her stomach dropped.
"There is no 'me and Kang Jiho,'" she said, stepping to the side.
He moved with her. "Come on. People saw you two talking. You got something going on?"
"No."
"That's not what I heard," he said, grin widening. "Maybe you like bad boys."
Her hands tightened on her bag straps.
He reached out, tugging one strap lightly. "Hey, don't look so serious—"
"Let go."
"Relax. Just asking questions."
Her pulse thudded. Not fear—anger. A hot, steady anger that made her spine straighten.
"I don't owe you answers." She pulled her bag away. "And if you're that curious, maybe try focusing on your grades instead of spreading rumors."
A few students nearby gasped.The boy's expression twisted.
"What did you just—"
"She said," a voice cut in from behind, "to mind your own business."
The hallway stilled.
Jiho stood there—hands in pockets, expression unreadable, eyes cold enough to crush the air between them.
The boy stiffened. "We were just talking."
"Didn't sound like talking."Jiho's voice was low, even, but something underneath it made people step back on instinct.
The boy lifted his chin. "You think you can threaten me just because people are gossiping about you?"
Jiho didn't move. Didn't blink.Just looked at him.
Silence dropped like a curtain.
The boy swallowed. "Whatever. Not worth it." He backed away, disappearing into the chatter of the hallway.
Only once he was gone did Jiho finally look at her.
"You shouldn't let idiots get close to you," he said.
She exhaled, trying to steady her heartbeat. "I didn't—he just—"
"I saw," he said.
She wasn't sure if he meant the boy's behavior or her reaction.
Their eyes met—brief, sharp, charged with something neither of them had the vocabulary for yet.
"You okay?" he asked.
The question threw her more than anything else had today.
He said it quietly, almost reluctantly, like the words were dragged out by instinct rather than choice.
"I'm fine," she said, a little too fast.
His gaze flicked to her bag strap, still pulled tight in her fist.
"You're not fine," he murmured.
She hated how easily he noticed things. Hated that he noticed her at all—because the attention was both dangerous and disarmingly warm.
She forced her fingers to relax. "It doesn't matter. It's just school gossip."
"No," he said. "It's because of me."
She paused. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
A muscle in his jaw tightened. He looked away as students passed, pretending not to stare.
"You should stay away from me," he muttered. "For real this time."
She swallowed. "Is that what you want?"
He didn't answer.
Because the truth was there in the silence between them.
He wasn't trying to push her away for himself.He was pushing her away for her.
And somehow, that made it harder to walk.
The hallway buzzed louder as more students flooded through, cutting between them, pushing the world back into motion.
For a brief moment, Jiho leaned closer—not enough for anyone to notice, but enough for her to feel the shift of air.
"Don't let them corner you again," he said. "If someone tries, walk away."
"And if I can't?" she asked softly.
His gaze darkened. "Then find me."
Her breath caught.
But before she could respond, he stepped back, hands in pockets again, expression already shuttered.
He turned down the hallway without another word.
She watched him go, the crowd parting around him like they always did—fear or respect or both—and wondered how someone so isolated could still feel so difficult to look away from.
As she headed toward the cafeteria, she couldn't stop replaying his last line.
Then find me.
It sounded less like a warning and more like something he shouldn't have said.Something true slipping out before he could stop it.
And it stayed with her long after he disappeared around the corner.