Hana POV
Morning used to feel predictable.
Even on bad days, the walk from the bus stop to the school gate usually gave her a moment to settle her thoughts—to remind herself she wasn't here to make trouble or to attract attention. She was here to study, to survive the semester, to keep her father from worrying.
But today, the air itself felt wrong.
Too many eyes followed her before she even reached the building. Some looked away when she glanced back; others didn't bother pretending. Conversations dipped into silence only to rise behind her again.
Like they'd been waiting for her.
Hana pulled her bag strap tighter against her shoulder. The ClassNet post from yesterday burned in her memory, the tagged notification still sitting on her home screen like a bruise she couldn't cover.
Someone saw who he really is.And we know who.
Her name underneath.
She shouldn't have worn her hair down today. It drew more attention. She tucked it behind her ear, wishing she could shrink into the ground.
As she crossed the courtyard, Seohui practically materialized beside her.
"Hana."Her friend's voice was clipped, brisk, like she'd been holding it in since dawn.
"Oh—good morning."
Seohui didn't return the greeting. She simply linked their arms and steered Hana toward the building with more force than necessary.
"Don't look at anyone," Seohui muttered.
"I wasn't—"
"You're doing it now. Stop."
Hana swallowed. "It's worse today, isn't it?"
"Someone reposted the thread before it got deleted," Seohui whispered. "Screenshots everywhere. People are debating what 'real identity' means."
Hana stopped walking for half a second.
"What?" she breathed.
"Come on," Seohui urged, pulling her again. "If we stand still, they'll stare more."
They moved through the hallway, but the whispers felt like static crawling along Hana's skin.
That's her.I heard she was with him after school.The regular girl? Why her?
She felt Seohui stiffen beside her. "Ignore them. They're idiots."
But one voice stood out—a little too loud, a little too gleeful.
"Does she really think someone like Kang Jiho would talk to her if she didn't know something?"
Hana's shoulders locked.
Before she could turn, Seohui spun first.
"Say it louder," Seohui snapped, "since you're clearly desperate for attention."
The girl jumped, blinking behind her perfectly curled lashes. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did," Seohui said. "Next time use your real account instead of hiding behind anonymous garbage."
People stilled.The hallway froze.Too much attention.
"Seohui," Hana whispered, tugging gently. "Let's go."
Her friend glared at the girl one more time before letting Hana pull her away.
They reached their classroom door. Hana's pulse was still racing.
Inside, most students were already seated. The air felt strange—heavier, expectant. Some looked at her with curiosity. Others with suspicion. A few with something she couldn't name.
But the first eyes she met were Jiho's.
He sat in his usual seat in the back, hood down this time, back straight, gaze sharp in a way that made her chest tighten. He didn't look tired today. He looked alert. Dangerous. Like someone waiting for a signal.
The moment their eyes met, something flickered in his expression—quick, tight, unreadable.
Then he looked away.
Not dismissing her.Not ignoring her.
Hiding.
She hadn't realized how much that hurt until the moment actually happened.
She made her way to her desk quietly. Seohui leaned close as she sat.
"He didn't walk you this morning?" Seohui whispered.
"What? No. Why would he?"
"Because your name was tagged under a threat post about him," Seohui deadpanned. "And because he shows up whenever someone breathes too near you lately."
Hana's face heated painfully. "It's not like that. And anyway… he's avoiding me."
Seohui raised a brow. "Good. That means he's planning something."
"That's not… comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Before Hana could respond, Mr. Han walked in, and class began. Or tried to.
Hana couldn't focus. Her pen hovered above her notebook without moving. Every few minutes she glanced back—just for a moment—to check if Jiho looked different, or angry, or worried.
He didn't.
He just looked… unreachable.
More unreachable than usual.
Like yesterday had cracked something in him she couldn't see but could feel.
The ClassNet threat.The confrontation with the Elite boys.Jiwon.
Especially Jiwon.
Hana still didn't understand what that meeting meant. Why he'd approached her. Why he'd known her name. Why he'd warned her so softly it felt like he was handing her a secret she shouldn't be trusted with.
And the way Jiho had watched it—
That look had followed her all night.
When the lunch bell finally rang, Hana was gathering her books when a shadow fell across her desk.
She looked up.
Not Jiho.Not Seohui.
Mr. Han.
"Yoon Hana," he said quietly, "please step into the hallway."
Her heart thudded painfully.The entire class went silent.
She stood slowly, Seohui's hand gripping her sleeve for a second before letting go. Jiho didn't move. But she felt his gaze like heat on the side of her face.
She followed Mr. Han out.The door closed behind them.
He folded his arms, expression stern—but beneath that, something else. Something like worry.
"I received a message from the administration this morning," he said. "Your name was mentioned."
Hana's stomach dropped. "Sir, I didn't do anything—"
"I know," he said firmly. "Which is why we need to be careful."
Careful.She was tired of that word.
"What is this about?" she asked.
He hesitated—rare for him. "There was a report filed about possible misconduct involving you and a male student."
Her breath caught. "Misconduct?"
"Not from me," he said quickly. "And not from anyone who actually knows you."
Hana pressed her back against the wall to steady herself.
A report.Already.
Her father would panic.She could lose her scholarship.She could lose everything.
"Sir, none of this is true," she said, voice cracking. "I don't even know why they're doing this."
Mr. Han's expression softened. "I believe you."
Tears stung behind her eyes—unwanted, burning. She blinked them away.
"But," he continued, "you need to be prepared. Someone is trying to push you into the spotlight."
Her pulse raced. "Why?"
"You tell me," he said gently. "Has anything unusual happened lately?"
Yes.Too many things.
But none she could say without dragging Jiho into something far worse.
Her mouth stayed closed.
Mr. Han exhaled slowly. "If something is happening, Hana, you must not shoulder it alone. I can't help if I don't know what the threat is."
Her throat tightened. "I… I don't want to get anyone else involved."
His eyes narrowed a fraction—like he'd caught something she didn't mean to reveal.
"'Anyone else,'" he repeated. "Meaning someone already is?"
Hana's breath stilled.
Before she could answer—or lie—a voice echoed from the classroom doorway.
"Hana."
Jiho.
He stood there, one hand on the doorframe, eyes unreadable but locked on her. Not on Mr. Han. Not on the floor.
On her.
Mr. Han frowned. "Kang Jiho, this is a private—"
Jiho ignored him completely.
"Hana," he said again, quieter, "come here for a second."
Her heartbeat thundered.
Mr. Han looked between them, suspicion sharpening his features. "If you two are involved in—"
"We're not," Hana said quickly. Too quickly.
Jiho's jaw tightened.
Mr. Han gave them both a long, assessing look before stepping back with a sigh. "Be careful. Both of you. And Hana—my door is open."
She nodded.
Then she walked toward Jiho.
When she reached him, he didn't speak immediately. He just looked at her, his eyes too full of things he didn't know how to say.
Finally, in a voice low enough only she could hear, he asked:
"What did they tell you?"
She stepped back. "What do you mean?"
"What did that teacher say?" he pressed. "What did they accuse you of?"
She swallowed. "Nothing yet. But there was… a report."
His entire body went still.
"By who?"
"I don't know."
He shut his eyes for a second, breathing hard through his nose.
When he opened them, something dark had settled beneath the surface.
"They're coming after you now," he said. "Not just rumors. Not just gossip. The administration."
Hana's fingers trembled.
"Jiho," she whispered, "why would they—"
He leaned closer, his voice barely more than breath.
"Because they think hurting you hurts me."
Her heart stuttered.
"Why?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.
He shook his head. "You shouldn't be near me anymore."
Somewhere deep inside her chest, something twisted painfully.Not because the words were harsh.But because his voice wasn't.
It sounded like he was breaking his own skin to say them.
"Jiho—"
He stepped back before she could finish.
"Hana," he said quietly, "you have to trust me. Stay away. For now."
She stared at him.
A second.Another.Long enough for her pulse to climb her throat.
Then she whispered what she wasn't supposed to say:
"I don't want to."
Jiho's breath caught.
All the walls he'd been building cracked in his expression, just enough to see the fear beneath.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for her.
"Hana," he murmured, "please."
Before she could answer, a voice echoed from behind them—cold, composed, cutting through the hallway like glass.
"Kang Jiho."
They both turned.
Jiwon stood at the end of the corridor.
Watching them.