Ji-Ho found Ji-Woo after last period.
Most of the classroom had emptied out, chairs pushed back carelessly, the late-afternoon light stretching across the floor in long, pale lines.
Ji-Woo was slipping books into her bag, movements slow and neat.
He set a book down on her desk.
"Your math book," he said.
She looked up. "Oh. Thanks."
Ji-Ho didn't leave.
He stood there a moment, eyes lowered to the desk, as if checking something invisible.
"…Earlier," he said quietly. "Near the bathroom."
Ji-Woo paused, her hand stilling on the zipper of her bag.
"How much?" she asked.
"Enough," he replied. "Not everything."
She studied his face. He wasn't accusing.
Just curious. Careful.
"You looked calm when you walked out," Ji-Ho continued. "Which was… unexpected."
Her lips curved faintly. "Is that a complaint?"
"No." He thought for a second. "An observation."
She nodded. "I was angry. I just didn't let it show."
"That was clear," he said. "You walked like nothing had happened. Which usually means something did."
She huffed softly. "You really are observant."
He adjusted his glasses. "People talk louder when they think no one is listening."
That almost made her smile.
He handed the book fully into her hands.
"For the record," he added, voice even, "if someone was trying to intimidate you… it failed."
She looked up. "Oh?"
"You didn't raise your voice," Ji-Ho said seriously. "And you left first. Statistically, that suggests confidence."
She blinked.
Then laughed — a short, surprised sound she hadn't expected from herself.
"Did you just analyze me?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Grumpy genius," she said, still smiling.
He frowned slightly. "I'm not grumpy."
"You are," she replied. "You just don't announce it."
Ji-Ho considered this. "If I announced it, it would be inefficient."
That did it.
Ji-Woo laughed properly this time, shoulders loosening, the tension finally cracking.
Ji-Ho watched her like he'd proven a hypothesis.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
She zipped her bag. "You're weird."
"I've been told, Am used to being forgotten" he said flatly.
She shook her head, still smiling. "Thanks. For the book."
He nodded once and turned toward the door.
As he left, Ji-Woo was still smiling — and Ji-Ho realized, with quiet certainty, that he preferred this version of silence.
The kind that let people breathe.
--
It was time to go home.
The hallway thinned as students poured out, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing toward the gates.
Ji-Woo lingered near the shoe lockers, backpack already on, eyes drifting instinctively to the stairs.
That's where Eun-Woo always came from.
He appeared right on time.
For half a second, she thought—Maybe.
She took a small step forward. "Eun—"
He walked past her.
Not fast. Not angry.
Just… past. Like their usual path home had never existed.
The sound of his footsteps faded down the corridor.
Ji-Woo stayed where she was.
Her shoulders dropped.
She let out a slow sigh, one hand sliding into her pocket like she could tuck the feeling away with it.
"…Right," she murmured.
Behind her—
Wheels scraped softly against the floor.
Ji-Bok had been watching from a distance, hands on his skateboard, eyes sharp despite the lazy slouch.
He followed Ji-Woo's gaze to the empty hallway, then back to her slumped posture.
An idea sparked.
Before she could sense him, Ji-Bok hopped onto his skateboard, pushed off once—
Thwap.
The edge of the board lightly bumped the back of her head.
"Hey!" Ji-Woo yelped, spinning around.
Ji-Bok was already rolling forward, grinning like a menace. "Try to catch up!"
He stuck his tongue out at her as he sped ahead.
"HEY, VILLAGE BOY!!" Ji-Woo shouted, taking off after him without thinking.
Ji-Bok swerved slightly, laughing. "Village boy? Excuse you!"
He glanced over his shoulder, skating smoothly. "I am the son of the owner of the best car company, thank you very much."
"Then why are you on a skateboard?!" she yelled back, chasing him down the steps.
"Because I like suffering!" he shot back.
She lunged, nearly grabbing his backpack, but he kicked off again, wheels rattling wildly as they burst into the open air.
"Stop running!" Ji-Woo demanded, breathless but smiling now despite herself.
"Make me!" Ji-Bok called.
They raced across the courtyard, Ji-Woo trying—and failing—to beat him, her laughter breaking through as she reached out again.
Behind them, unnoticed—
Eun-Woo paused near the gate.
Just for a moment.
He looked back.
Ji-Woo was laughing, hair flying, chasing Ji-Bok with an expression he hadn't seen on her face all day.
Then Eun-Woo turned away and walked on.
Ji-Woo didn't see him go.
She was too busy running.
--
Ji-Ho noticed it halfway home.
Not footsteps. Not a shadow.
Just… awareness.
The kind that settles between your shoulders before your mind catches up.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and kept walking, pace unchanged. The street was calm—shops closing, lights flickering on one by one, evening air cooling against his skin.
Still.
The feeling didn't leave.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
That was the strange part.
No urgency. No danger. Just the sense of being noticed.
Like someone nearby knew his rhythm.
Ji-Ho slowed at the crosswalk.
He didn't turn around right away. Instead, he watched his reflection in the darkened window beside him.
The street behind him looked ordinary. A few people passing. Nothing out of place.
The light changed.
He crossed.
Halfway down the block, the feeling returned—stronger now. Closer.
Ji-Ho frowned slightly.
This doesn't feel hostile, he thought. It feels… familiar.
He stopped beside a vending machine, pretending to check his phone. The hum of electricity filled the air. He waited.
Nothing.
No one approached. No sound changed.
Yet he knew—someone had been there. Close enough to matter.
Ji-Ho straightened and continued walking, mind working quietly, assembling possibilities.
Someone from school? Coincidence? Imagination?
None of them fit.
At the corner, he finally glanced back.
The street was empty.
Still, Ji-Ho didn't shake the feeling.
It wasn't the sensation of being followed.
It was the sensation of being observed with intent—not curiosity, not threat.
Recognition.
"…Odd," he murmured.
He turned forward again, steps steady.
Whatever it was, whoever it was—
They weren't strangers.
And that, more than anything, stayed with him all the way home.