Jiho POV
The words didn't leave his screen.
If she won't talk willingly… there are other ways.
Jiho stared at it until the hallway blurred around the edges. ClassNet wasn't always serious — half the posts were jokes, bragging, stupid rumors.
This wasn't that. This had weight. Intent. Precision.
Someone wanted Hana to talk.
Someone wanted to push her to get to him.
A familiar pressure tightened behind his ribs — the same cold, creeping fury he spent years learning how to hold in place before it burned everything he touched.
He forced his phone into his pocket and moved.
His feet carried him through the hallway automatically, ignoring the lingering stares, ignoring the whispers, ignoring everything except the memory of Hana's face when she'd asked, Then what do I do?
He'd told her to find him.
But right now, he was the one looking.
The Classroom
The moment he stepped inside, homeroom noise dimmed. Chairs scraped. Bags rustled. A ripple went through the room the way it always did when he walked in — unease, interest, fear, curiosity. He didn't care.
Hana wasn't there yet.
His jaw clenched.
He took the back seat like nothing was wrong, but every sense in him was coiled tight. His hands tapped the underside of the desk because he needed them to do something before they shook.
ClassNet notifications kept buzzing against his thigh.
He didn't check.
He didn't want to see what came next.
Mr. Han walked in. Students straightened up. The bell rang.
Then the door slid open again.
Hana slipped in quietly, head down, hair falling forward as if she could hide behind it. She wasn't late — she was on time — but she moved differently.
Smaller. Guarded. Like the hallway had already said too much.
Her eyes lifted, scanning for an empty seat.
For the briefest moment, they landed on him.
It wasn't long — a half-second at most — but it hit him harder than he liked.
She looked… steady. Determined. And tired in a way she wasn't letting anyone see.
He dropped his gaze before their classmates noticed.
But when she passed his row, subtle shivers of tension followed her. Whispers. Eyes tracking her.
Someone knew she was connected to him.
Someone was pushing it.
Someone wanted a reaction.
He almost gave them one.
The Assignment
Mr. Han handed papers down each row — the weekly critical thinking worksheet. Complicated. Multi-layered. Most of the class would struggle.
Jiho didn't normally bother. He'd perfected the art of looking stupid enough to avoid attention while scoring just low enough to remain forgettable.
But today?
He couldn't sit still.
His mind wouldn't stop. The equations blurred into patterns he wasn't even trying to solve. Before he realized it, his pencil was scratching across the paper, numbers falling into place, logic snapping together like muscle memory.
Five minutes. Maybe less.
He finished the entire packet.
His hand stilled.
Idiot.
Mr. Han wasn't looking yet — but the class was. People near him kept glancing back subtly, like seeing him upright and awake was already suspicious.
He flipped the packet over, face down, and forced his body into a slump again. Head low. Eyes bored. Pen tapping nonsense.
Don't draw attention. Not today.
The threat post scraped through his thoughts again.
Hana
He heard her pen falter.Just a tiny pause.Most wouldn't notice.
He did.
Her shoulders were tense. Her breathing uneven — faint, but he caught it. She kept looking at the door like someone might walk in.
Someone might.
He hated that he'd been right.
He hated it more that she had to carry this alone because of him.
His fingers curled under the desk.
The Knock
A sudden knock echoed through the classroom.
Sharp enough to cut through every conversation.
Hana stiffened.
Jiho sat up a fraction before remembering he wasn't supposed to. He caught himself, dropped back into a lazy sprawl, but every nerve in him was alert.
Mr. Han opened the door.
Two students from Elite Track stood in the doorway.
Arin and Minjae.
Arin's smile was sweet — fake sweet — the kind that meant trouble disguised as politeness. Minjae leaned against the frame with his usual careless elegance, eyes narrowing at the class… then settling on Hana.
Jiho's blood iced.
"What do you need?" Mr. Han asked coolly.
Minjae shoved his hands into his pockets. "We're here to ask Yoon Hana a few questions."
Hana froze.
The class perked up instantly — whispers, curiosity, tension rising like smoke.
Jiho didn't move. He couldn't. He'd give himself away.
But his vision sharpened, tunneling into the sight of Hana's knuckles tightening around her pencil.
Mr. Han frowned. "Elite Track business doesn't concern my student. If it's not school-related—"
"Oh, it is," Arin chimed lightly. "A lot of people are confused about something she said yesterday."
Hana turned pale.
Jiho felt something inside him snap.
Arin added, "We just want to talk. Outside."
No. No, they didn't.
They wanted an audience.They wanted pressure.They wanted her rattled enough to spill something she didn't even have.
Mr. Han hesitated — he couldn't deny a simple "talk." Not when they framed it as a misunderstanding.
Hana slowly stood.
For the first time since yesterday, she looked scared — not of them, but of what they represented.
His pulse spiked.
He stayed seated, jaw locked, muscles trembling with restraint.
If he stood, everyone would know.If he intervened, Hana would be dragged into rumors deeper than these two idiots could ever imagine.
But if he didn't—
Minjae's smirk sharpened when Hana stepped toward the door.
Jiho inhaled, long and shaky.
He made a choice before he even realized he'd made it.
Hana passed his row.
Her sleeve brushed the edge of his desk.
Small. Accidental. But real.
Jiho stood.
The entire class gasped.
Even Hana whipped around.
Jiho didn't look at her.He kept his eyes on Minjae instead — cold, flat, dangerous.
"If she's going," Jiho said quietly, "I'm going too."
Minjae's smile faltered.
Arin blinked.
Hana's breath hitched.
Mr. Han looked like he wanted to drop his clipboard.
Jiho didn't care about any of them.
Because the moment that post went up, the rules changed.
And he refused to let Hana walk into a trap alone.