Morning light spilled across the classroom of class 4 at Cheon-Sang High, where low-toned conversations had grown into full-blown excited chatter. It had been two months since their senior year began in March—Go-sam, the year that decided everything. By autumn, their days would revolve around the CSAT. Ha-Joon took her usual spot by the window—the last desk in her row and pulled her headset over her ears, drowning out the noise. At Cheon-Sang High, where everyone knew where they stood whether they wanted to or not, Ha-Joon had learned to make herself invisible. Her parents had the money, but not the affluence—and at Cheon-Sang, affluence mattered more. She stayed a shadow—never engaging. No friends. Head down. No unnecessary attention. But rumors followed her anyway. Some said she could see ghosts. Others claimed she understood animals. Others said she was cursed. She wasn't normal, not like everyone else. An ace student, yes—but a weirdo all the same.
But Ha-Joon had always been normal when she was a kid. She was the girl everyone wanted to be around—bold, funny, loud—the way only a confident child could be. Until the accidents started. It began with a small fire during a summer picnic—a dry patch of grass simply ignited because she had been laughing too hard. Then came the voices. She would cover her ears and scream at nothing, though it was really the frantic swearing of a stray dog across the street. She could understand whatever animals were saying.
The breaking point was the fire that scarred her mother's hand.
While everyone in class was staring at their phones, she stared at her science textbook until the words blurred. The class Kakao group was flooding with notifications. Ha-Joon never bothered to look at the group chat. The classroom door slid open.
The teacher walked in, followed by a boy who didn't quite look like he belonged in a uniform. He was tall and fit, with the kind of build that suggested he spent his time on basketball courts and outdoors. His skin was a deep golden tan, and his hair—dyed midnight black—fell in loose curls over his left eye. He was clearly mixed, with striking features that made him seem like a visitor from another world.
"Everyone, listen up," the teacher said, gesturing to the newcomer. "This is Han Zhar. He's transferring in for the final year. Please help him settle in."
Zhar didn't bow. He waved at the class and offered a smile which made the girls squirm in their seats. "You could sit—" the teacher started, but he was already moving. He pulled out the seat beside her and settled in. Ha-Joon turned to him and her chest constricted painfully. She couldn't help but stare at him. Her eyes scanned every inch of his face—the curve of his jaw, the succulent pink of his lips, the way his dark curls moved. She wasn't crushing on him like the other girls. She was searching. Something deep inside her soul was thrashing, recognizing a pattern she couldn't name. She was trying to find the source of the sudden, violent unease he brought with him. The weight of her gaze made Zhar turn. His face was a mask of composure, with a brow raised in a silent question. Slowly, he leaned closer, eyes locked on hers as though they were in a silent staring contest. Ha-Joon's chest tightened, her heart hammering against her ribs. The heat beneath her skin—the dangerous fire she had spent years hiding—began to surge.
Then she snapped back to reality.
She moved before she could think. Her hands shoved against his chest with a force that startled even her, and her leg kicked the base of his chair. Zhar went sprawling to the floor, the chair clattering against the tiles. His phone skidded across the floor, shattering with a sharp crack that echoed through the suddenly silent room.
Ha-Joon froze. She was more shocked at her strength than anyone else. Zhar rose with effortless grace, brushing off his uniform as if nothing had happened. His eyes flicked to the broken phone, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Calm, unbothered, he picked it up.
"You're stronger than you remember," he said smoothly, voice low and even. "But I'll need my phone fixed."
With that, he settled back into his seat as if the chaos hadn't even occurred, leaving Ha-Joon staring, her chest still pounding, her mind reeling. She realized a little too late that she was still standing, and the whole class was staring. Ha-Joon shivered, offering a weak, "Mianhae," before sliding back into her seat.
The school session felt longer than usual, and Ha-Joon sighed in relief when it was finally time to go home. She packed quickly, trying to seem unhurried. The moment she slung her bag across her back, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
"What will you do about my phone?" Zhar asked the moment she looked up. She stiffened. "I'll pay for it," she said quickly, eyes dropping to the cracked screen in his hand. "I didn't mean to—"
Zhar tilted the phone, studying the spiderweb of glass as if it amused him more than annoyed him.
"How much do you have to pay for it?", he mocked. She looked up sharply, taking a step towards him before she could stop herself.
"I said I'll pay for it," Ha-Joon repeated, firmer this time. "Just tell me how much."
Zhar watched her with that amusement that was beginning to work on her nerves. He didn't answer immediately. "That's it?" he asked. "You knock me over, break my phone, and you're offering to pay for what you can't afford?" He slipped the phone into his pocket.
Her jaw tightened. "What else do you want me to do?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "You buy me a new phone. Same model. I'll be expecting it tomorrow."
Ha-Joon smirked beside herself. What did he think of her? Her dad could definitely afford his type of phone even if he would feel the loss of such much money leaving his account.
The air between them felt tight, charged. Ha-Joon shifted her weight, every instinct warning her to leave before she did something terrible. "Move," she said. "I'm going home."
Zhar stepped aside—but only just enough to block her path. "You're not as invisible as you think," he said quietly. "And you're definitely not normal."
Her pulse spiked. "You don't know anything about me."
"I'm curious to find out," he replied.
Her nails dug into her palm. "Get out of my way."
For a long moment, he studied her. Then he stepped back, allowing her to pass.
"This isn't over," Zhar said calmly. "We'll talk again. About the phone. About what you are."
Ha-Joon didn't answer. She walked away without looking back. She'd had enough for one day.