"Oh—there's one more thing I need to announce."
The whole class freezes like someone pressed pause.
Heads whip toward Mr. Han so fast I swear I hear a neck crack somewhere behind me. Even Bora stops bickering with Minsol mid-insult.
Everyone is waiting. Expecting. Hungry for gossip or chaos or—honestly anything that saves them from learning.
Mr. Han scans the class with that dramatic teacher smile like he's about to drop a K-pop comeback teaser.
Then—
"Seo Jiah got first place in the English Poem competition for our school."
I swear time stops.
Like FULL freeze-frame moment. Me, in my stupid chair, blinking at him like he just announced I won the lottery and a free iPhone and ten boyfriends.
My brain glitches. English… poem?? ME??
I feel my soul take off like someone launched it from a cannon.
Everyone erupts.
Bora slams the desk, "THAT'S MY GIRL!" Haerin literally claps with her whole chest, eyes sparkling like she's my mom at graduation. Taeyoung shouts something like "DAMN OKAY POET QUEEN."
The noise jumps to earthquake level 5. People cheering, desks banging, someone throws a pencil in excitement.
I'm just sitting here frozen like a busted doll.
English poem… first place… Oh my god.
OH MY GOD.
That's the poem.
The love poem.
The one I wrote at like 1AM while staring at my ceiling and crying like a dumbass over Jiho's fifth rejection.
THE ONE ABOUT HIM.
I actually won with THAT? AHAHAHAHA what is life.
I straighten my spine and shrug like, yeah whatever, light work babes, no big deal, I'm just talented like that.
Inside?
I'm screaming. Externally?
Fake calm. Icon behavior.
Then I hear it.
A quiet clap.
Slow. Soft. Like someone politely applauding at a funeral.
I turn my head—
Yu Enhyeok.
Clapping. For me. LOOKING at me while clapping for me.
I blink so aggressively I almost dislocate an eyelid.
What the—
HE clapped??
But he didn't react AT ALL to his own first place??
Is he emotionally inverted???
Like does he only clap for OTHER PEOPLE'S achievements???
Is this dude okay???
Does he have settings I don't understand??
He stops clapping and goes back to his book like I hallucinated the whole thing.
WHAT.
Mr. Han clears his throat, still smiling like a proud dad with two favorite children.
"Congratulations to both of you. Now, open your literature book to page—"
The class groans, chaos settles, and the lesson starts.
I try to focus but my brain is still running around like a rat in a frying pan.
I actually won.
With a poem about Jiho.
Who doesn't even know he accidentally gave me that win.
Honestly kind of iconic of him.
The second the bell rings, I grab Bora's hand with my left, Haerin's hand with my right, and drag them out like we're escaping prison.
"GIRL YOU DID THAT," Bora screams. "Jiah, you're so cool, oh my god," Haerin squeaks. "Move, peasants," I mutter as we walk like Victoria's Secret angels who just robbed a store.
We enter the bathroom like a trio entering Coachella.
I toss my hair.
Check myself in the mirror.
Smile like I own the building.
Yes. Let them watch. Let them stare. Let me enjoy one win in my pathetic emotional life.
Then—
Click.
The door opens.
Shin Ara walks in.
Of course. Because the universe hates peace.
We all roll our eyes instantly. Not because we fear her. Because she's just… irrelevant with lip gloss. Dust with good lighting. Pretty but empty USB drive energy.
I genuinely don't get why boys go feral over her. Whatever.
She walks straight toward me.
"You got first, right?" she says, voice sickly sweet. "What trick did you use?"
Before I even open my mouth, Bora snaps, "What trick did YOU use to be this annoying—"
I tap her arm. Bora shuts up with pure rage vibrating off her.
I look at Ara, deadpan.
"What trick did I use? I dunno. Brain maybe."
Haerin steps up, calm angel voice but words SHARP: "The one you don't have, actually."
Ara's lip gloss smile twitches into something uglier.
She tilts her head, all innocent-evil-barbie energy.
"If you had a brain," she says sweetly, "you wouldn't have confessed to Jiho six times."
The world goes dead silent.
My smile drops so fast it basically commits suicide off my face.
Bora inhales like she's about to launch a missile.
Haerin freezes beside me, eyes wide like a horrified rabbit.
Even the sink faucet feels like it stopped dripping.
Ara watches my expression like she just won an award for being the world's most annoying mosquito.
Then she flips her hair—aggressively, like she's trying to behead me with it—and struts out, heels clicking even though she's literally wearing school shoes.
The door slams.
I stare at the empty doorway.
My face is blank but my soul is screaming.
In my head, I am already running after her, grabbing her ponytail, spinning her like a Beyblade and drop-kicking her into the trash can where she belongs.
In reality?
Yeah. No.
Because she is rich-rich.
Like my parents are two doctors but she could still buy the entire hospital kind of rich.
She probably has lawyers in her pencil case.
She could kill me, frame the cleaning lady, and walk away with perfect hair.
And me?
I'm just Jiah.
Regular.
Not main-character-in-a-K-drama level powerful.
More like the girl who gets hit by a soccer ball in episode one and never appears again.
I gulp the anger down like hot soup.
"Nope," I mutter under my breath. "Not today. I enjoy being alive. I like breathing. I like not being buried behind the gym."
Bora is fuming. Actually vibrating.
"Say the word," she growls. "I'll drag her."
"NO," I grab her arm like she's a grenade. "Bora, she'll end our entire bloodline."
Haerin nods quickly. "She probably has CCTV in her earrings."
"That's what I'm saying!" I whisper-shout. "We're not fighting a girl, we're fighting tax money."
I take a deep breath, shake my hands out, blow the frustration off my face.
Then I sigh.
"Okay. Whatever. Let her talk. I don't care."
I do care.
I care so much my organs feel rearranged.
But I pretend.
I flip my hair back, straighten my uniform, stare at myself in the mirror.
"Average girl era," I tell my reflection. "We survive. We don't get murdered by chaebol wannabes today."
Bora and Haerin burst into laughter.
And just like that—
The sting fades.
The anger settles.
The humiliation melts into my usual background chaos.
I breathe out, lift my chin, and push the bathroom door open.
Fine.
Whatever.
_________________
Maths.
Fucking. Maths.
The bell rings like a death announcement and my soul just straight-up evaporates.
Ms. Park Hyerin walks in with her usual "I hate teenagers" energy and slams a stack of worksheets on the desk like she's about to sacrifice us to the quadratic gods.
"Today," she says, smiling like a villain, "we're doing a group task. With your seatmates."
I swear Haerin's spirit leaves her body.
Bora whispers "rest in peace dude" at me like she's doing my funeral.
My brain goes static.
Seatmates.
As in—
Yu Enhyeok.
Cold-wall-silent-precision-moves-like-a-panther-but-acts-like-a-fridge Enhyeok.
Fuck my life.
Ms. Park continues, "Work together. No excuses. Math builds cooperation."
No it doesn't, ma'am.
Math builds violence.
I slump into my seat as she drops the worksheet in front of me.
Hard problems.
The evil kind.
Numbers that look like they need therapy.
I force myself to breathe like a normal, calm human being (fake).
Then I turn to him.
Or technically his left shoulder because he's not even looking at me.
"Just telling you," I mutter, flipping the paper, "I'm doing it individually. I don't need your help."
He doesn't respond.
Just a quiet, uninterested, "Okay."
WITHOUT even turning his head.
Bro didn't even blink in my direction.
It's like talking to a wall that moisturizes.
I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out and roll under the lockers.
Fine. Whatever. I start solving.
I stare at question one.
Question one stares back at me.
The numbers start dancing like they're mocking me.
This shit is in another language.
Math-ese.
No way this is real.
Who invented maths when we literally have calculators?
Why are we still doing this?
Why hasn't society evolved past suffering?
I scribble something that looks like a solution but is probably a crime.
I glance at his notebook.
This man—
THIS MAN—
covers his work with his arm like a kindergarten kid protecting his crayons.
Side-eyes me.
Not even subtle.
Like "don't even breathe near my equations."
I scowl.
"Dude. Chill. I'm not trying to steal your bank password."
He ignores me.
Again.
Then Ms. Park starts checking desk by desk.
And WE.
ARE.
THE LAST.
ROW.
My ancestors are laughing at me.
Panic starts chewing my bones.
I lean toward him.
"Is this correct??" I whisper-shout.
He finally looks at me.
Not fully—just a fraction.
Cold. Bored. Mildly irritated like I asked him if water is wet.
"You don't need my help, right?"
I clench my jaw.
HARD.
UGHHH THIS MAN.
"I'm not asking for help," I snap. "I'm asking if it's right."
He turns fully this time.
His eyes meet mine.
"What if it's not right?"
Oh.
You little—
"Then I'll try again," I hiss.
He scoffs.
Actually SCOFFS.
"How rude," I mutter.
"It's wrong," he says calmly.
"You didn't even look at my book!"
"I don't have to look. I know."
I swear to god I almost give his beautiful face a slap.
But I control myself because I enjoy being alive and not in jail.
"I'll tell the teacher you didn't cooperate," I threaten like a 5-year-old.
"Okay."
OKAY??
THAT'S IT???
NO FEAR???
WHY IS HE LIKE THIS??
Before I combust, he says quietly, "Admit it."
I blink. "What??"
"That you need my help."
I bite my teeth so hard they might break.
My soul cries.
My pride punches the floor.
"…Yes, I need your help, Your Highness."
He smirks.
SMIRKS.
Like this is his villain origin story.
He writes the real answer—fast, neat, annoyingly perfect—and slides it my way without explaining a single step.
I copy like my life depends on it.
He doesn't explain how he got it.
He probably won't.
I was the dumbass who said I didn't need him to teach me.
Fine.
Whatever.
And he goes right back to his work like he didn't just ruin my entire dignity in under five minutes.
Worst group partner ever.
Maths should be illegal.
__________________________
ENHYEOK POV
---
Break time.
The hallway floods with noise the moment the bell rings, but all I hear is Minseok's voice right next to my ear.
"Bro. Get up. We're dragging you."
I don't move.
I'm still finishing a line in my notebook, rechecking steps that didn't even need to be rechecked.
Precision habit.
Taeyoung kicks the leg of my chair lightly. "dude. Treat. Now. You promised."
"I didn't promise," I say, closing the book. "You three decided."
"Same thing," Yijun shrugs, already slinging his bag over one shoulder like some model in a streetwear shoot. "You won the competition. You treat."
I sigh.
Let them think they won.
We walk out, the four of us, and the hallway does the usual thing it does around us.
Eyes.
Stares.
Whispers.
Girls slowing down to fix their hair.
Guys nodding at us like we're some type of campus royalty.
I ignore all of it.
Habit.
Minseok talks the most.
Taeyoung teases him the most.
Yijun pretends he's above all of us but laughs anyway.
Normal.
But today…
yeah.
There's this tiny thread of ego humming under my ribs.
Not because of the competition.
Not because of the score.
Because of her.
Because Seo Jiah—loud, chaotic, stubborn-as-hell Jiah—finally said it.
I need your help.
She said it like she was swallowing knives.
Like it physically hurt her.
And yeah…
it was satisfying.
More than it should be.
Maybe because she spent one year and two months pretending I'm air.
Maybe because she refuses to need anyone.
Maybe because she said it to me.
Whatever.
We end up at the store inside the school.
The cashier already knows us; doesn't even blink when we grab too many drinks.
I pay.
They complain it's not enough.
Minseok says he wants ramen next time.
Taeyoung says he wants chicken.
Yijun says he wants a raise in this imaginary friendship company.
We walk back, the four of us cutting through the main hallway, the place packed with students.
Girls stare again.
Someone giggles behind us.
Someone whispers Enhyeok-oppa like I'm supposed to react.
I don't.
I'm only half-listening to the conversation.
My brain keeps replaying her voice from earlier.
Yes, I need your help, Your Highness.
The way she said it.
Teeth clenched.
Pissed off.
Humiliated.
Alive.
And the way her eyes burned at me like she wanted to throw the entire desk.
…Yeah.
It was funny.
Not out loud funny.
Just… internally satisfying.
Minseok suddenly slows down.
"Hey, wait—" he points ahead. "There's a poster on the notice board. With your picture."
"It's the competition results," Taeyoung says. "They finally printed it."
We move closer.
The crowd thins for us even without meaning to.
The board comes into focus.
And then I see it.
Jiho.
Standing there.
Right in front of the poster.
He's not looking at my photo.
He's looking at hers.
Seo Jiah's.
Her picture right next to mine—both of us listed as winners for different categories.
And Jiho…
He looks at her photo like he's remembering something.
His mouth curls, barely there.
A smile.
My eyes shift to the poster again.
Her bright expression.
Her hair.
Her stupid adorable grin.
Next to mine.
Side by side.
Jiho staring at it.
Staring at her.
My chest goes still for a second.
Somewhere between annoyance, confusion, and something I don't name.
And before I can think—
before I can sort the feeling—
the word drops in my head like a stone:
OH.