Jiho POV
Jiwon hadn't raised his voice.
He didn't need to.
Just hearing his name spoken in that controlled, perfectly even tone was enough to make the hallway stiffen—the same way it always had, ever since they were kids.
Jiho felt Hana freeze beside him.Not out of fear of Jiwon specifically—she didn't know enough yet—but from the shift in the air. Even the building seemed to stand straighter when Kang Jiwon appeared.
Jiho turned slowly.
His brother stood at the end of the corridor, hands in his pockets, uniform immaculate, expression unreadable. Students nearby quieted instantly, peeling away from the walls, as if giving space was a rule built into the architecture.
Hana took a small step back.
Jiho stepped forward to cover the space she gave up.
Jiwon's gaze flicked down—barely a second—but it landed exactly on that movement. When his eyes lifted again, they sharpened in a way Jiho understood too well: not anger, not judgment… calculation.
Jiwon walked toward them.
Each step measured.Silent authority wrapped in polished shoes and perfect posture.
The closer he got, the smaller the hallway felt.
When he finally stopped in front of them, he didn't bother looking at Hana first.
His eyes stayed on Jiho.
"You left school grounds yesterday without checking in," Jiwon said quietly.
Jiho almost laughed. That's what he opened with?
"Didn't realize you were tracking me," Jiho replied.
"I track situations," Jiwon corrected. "And yesterday became a situation."
Jiho clenched his jaw.He hated when Jiwon talked like that—like their entire lives were a set of documents, entries, and potential liabilities.
Hana shifted slightly behind him, and Jiwon's eyes flicked toward her again. Not lingering. Not inappropriate. Just… noticing.
He bowed his head once in her direction.
"Good afternoon, Yoon Hana-ssi."
She startled. "G-good afternoon."
Jiho caught the tiny flicker in Jiwon's eyes—something that might've been amusement. Or interest. Or simply recognition of how uncomfortable Jiho had become.
Jiwon turned back to him.
"I spoke with administration this morning," he said. "There are concerns about a rumor circulating."
Jiho's pulse tightened. "I know."
"Hana's name was mentioned," Jiwon added softly.
Jiho's fists curled.
He didn't know which part made him angrier:
That administration was already targeting her.
Or that Jiwon said her name so calmly, like it was something he had the right to say.
"What did you tell them?" Jiho asked, voice low.
Jiwon inhaled once, the smallest shift of breath. "That you weren't involved in anything requiring disciplinary review."
Jiho stilled.
Jiwon had covered him.
But that wasn't the same as protecting him.
"Don't confuse what I said," Jiwon continued, voice even. "I didn't defend you. I clarified facts to avoid unnecessary noise."
Jiho smirked bitterly. "Right. Wouldn't want noise."
Jiwon didn't react. He turned to Hana again.
"You need to be cautious," he said.
Hana blinked. "Me?"
"Rumors this volatile don't stay within a classroom," Jiwon explained. "People escalate. They exaggerate. And sometimes they target whoever seems easiest to pressure."
Hana lowered her gaze, swallowing hard.
Jiho stepped forward. "She didn't ask for your advice."
Jiwon's eyes slid back to him. "Advice or not, she's at risk."
"And whose fault is that?" Jiho snapped.
Jiwon's expression didn't change. "Do you think this started because of me?"
Jiho opened his mouth—then closed it.
Because the answer was obvious.And dangerous.And sitting inside his chest like a weight.
Hana had become a target because of him.
Jiwon exhaled, a barely audible sound. "Jiho. You know this is bigger than schoolyard rumors."
"Don't," Jiho muttered.
But Jiwon didn't stop.
"I warned you last year," he said quietly. "Lay low. Don't draw attention. Stay out of situations that could expose you."
Jiho felt something hot and sharp rise in his throat. "I am laying low."
A tiny pause.
Jiwon's eyes dropped—just a fraction—to where Hana stood behind him.
"Clearly not enough," he said.
Hana tensed.
Jiho stepped between them fully now, blocking Jiwon's line of sight. "Don't involve her."
"I didn't," Jiwon replied. "You did."
Jiho's breath caught.
The words struck deeper than they should've.
Because they were true.
Hana wasn't the one stepping into his world.He was the one dragging her into its shadows.
Hana shifted behind him, voice soft and trembling just once. "I'm not… involved in anything. I don't even know what people are talking about."
Jiwon looked at her with an expression she couldn't read—but Jiho could.
Pity.
Worse than anger.Worse than suspicion.
"She shouldn't be part of this, Jiho," Jiwon said. "Whatever you think you're protecting, don't pull someone else into it."
Jiho's hands shook.
For years, Jiwon's calmness had been suffocating—always controlled, always composed, always above the chaos that swallowed Jiho whole.
But today… it felt like a blade.
"You're right," Jiho said quietly. "She shouldn't be part of it."
Jiwon nodded—
But Jiho wasn't done.
"And I'm not letting you touch this either."
Jiwon lifted his chin slightly. "Touch what?"
"Whatever you think you're fixing," Jiho snapped. "Stay out of it."
The air between them tightened.
Two brothers.Same blood.Same father.Two different worlds.
Jiwon's voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I can't do that."
Jiho's breath shuddered. "And you know I don't want your help."
They stared at each other—so close in face, so distant in everything else.
Hana watched silently, heart pounding, caught between them without understanding the language they were speaking.
Finally, Jiwon broke the stalemate.
He nodded once. Small. Controlled. Final.
"Very well," he said. "If you won't let me help you—"
His gaze shifted—ever so slightly—to Hana.
"—then stay away from her."
The hallway felt striped with cold.
Jiho felt something tear inside his chest.
Hana took a step back, breath catching.
Jiwon turned without waiting for a response, walking down the hallway as effortlessly as he had appeared.
Students parted again.
Silence swallowed the air.
Jiho didn't move.
Not until Jiwon turned the corner and disappeared.
Then—only then—did Jiho exhale, a low, painful sound he'd been holding in his ribs for years.
Hana approached him quietly.
"Jiho…" she whispered.
He didn't look at her.
He couldn't.
Not when his brother's last words kept echoing in his skull—the same warning Jiho had given her only yesterday.
Stay away.
But now it wasn't protection.
It was punishment.
And Jiho didn't know how to protect her from both.