"We have a new transfer student joining our class".
My heart stutters so hard it physically offends me.
Why.
Why does that sentence always sound like a threat.
Mr. Han turns toward the hallway, one hand gesturing calmly like he isn't about to ruin my life. "Come in."
The door slides open.
Someone steps inside, and my brain doesn't even process it right away. It just goes static. Tall. Broad shoulders. That posture that looks relaxed but isn't, like he's always aware of where his body is in space.
My chest tightens.
No.
No way.
The light from the hallway hits his face as he walks in fully, and everything clicks into place all at once. Dark eyes. Calm expression. That same unfair, slightly knowing look that made my pulse freak out on Saturday.
Elevator boy.
My brain short-circuits so violently I swear I hear a buzzing noise.
What the hell.
I immediately drop my head onto my desk like gravity personally betrayed me. My forehead hits the wood with a soft thunk, and I don't even care how dramatic it looks. I slide my arms up to shield my face, hair falling forward like a curtain.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
What the fuck is he doing here.
After everything. After me following Jiho like a psycho NPC. After him catching me mid-stalk. After that entire Saturday embarrassment reel my brain already replays on loop at 3 a.m.
Now he's… my classmate?
Why is the universe like this.
Why does it enjoy testing me specifically.
My stomach twists, heat crawling up my neck. What if he says something. What if he casually goes, yeah, she followed a guy down an alley, in front of everyone. What if he recognizes me immediately. What if he points.
Why is he in my class. Out of all the classes. There are literally so many rooms in this building. Why 2-3.
I want to scream. I want to melt. I want to jump out the window—but I can't even consider that properly because Enhyeok is sitting right there and I will not add public humiliation onto my existing list.
Mr. Han clears his throat. "Introduce yourself."
I peek through my hair for half a second, then immediately regret it.
He's standing at the front, hands relaxed at his sides, gaze sweeping the room like he's not affected at all. Like this is normal. Like he didn't witness my lowest moment two days ago.
He smiles. Slight. Easy.
"Hello," he says, voice smooth and confident. "My name is Kim Jeonhwa. I hope we get along."
The class explodes.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
"Ohhhhhh—"
"He's insane—"
"Why is he that tall—"
"Is this legal—"
Someone behind me whispers, "He looks like a male lead," and I choke on air.
My head stays down, face burning so badly I'm convinced my skin is glowing. I can feel eyes everywhere, energy buzzing like electricity, and my brain is screaming why me why me why me on repeat.
Why is the universe doing this.
What did I do in a past life.
I swear if he talks about Saturday, I will evaporate on the spot.
My shoulders tense when I realize something worse.
What if he already knows it's me.
What if he's looking at me right now.
I shouldn't look.
I should absolutely not look.
But my curiosity is a disease, and against my better judgment, I tilt my head just a little, peeking sideways through my hair like a criminal.
That's when I hear it.
"Seo Jiah."
Mr. Han's voice.
Clear. Direct. Deadly.
I groan internally because of course he called on me. Of course the timing is evil. I slowly lift my head, spine stiff, and sit up straight like I wasn't just hiding from reality.
"Yes, sir," I say, voice steady through pure willpower.
Mr. Han looks at me over his glasses. "Why are you laying on your desk? Is there a problem?"
"No," I answer immediately. Too fast. "No problem. Just… tired."
A few quiet laughs ripple through the room.
I force myself to look forward, and that's when my gaze collides with his.
Jeonhwa is already looking at me.
Fully. Directly. No confusion. No hesitation.
And he's smirking.
Not a big one. Not obvious. Just that tiny, infuriating curve of his mouth that says, oh, I know you.
My soul leaves my body.
Oh my god.
He recognizes me.
He absolutely recognizes me.
I break eye contact so fast I nearly get whiplash, staring straight at the board like it holds the secrets of the universe. My heart is pounding now, loud enough that I'm scared the person next to me can hear it.
Okay. Breathe.
Act normal.
Act like you've never seen him before.
If I pretend hard enough, maybe this reality won't stick.
Mr. Han clears his throat again, the sound sharp enough to snap everyone back into their seats. He gestures toward the last row like he's assigning homework and not actively destroying my peace.
"You can sit in that empty seat," he says. "Opposite Seo Jiah."
I feel my soul trip down a flight of stairs.
Opposite.
As in across the aisle.
As in half an arm's length away.
As in I can feel his presence without even looking.
I let my head drop a fraction, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. You have got to be kidding me. Of all the empty seats in this entire classroom. Of all the possible configurations of desks and fate and free will. This one.
Mr. Han adds, "Next to Im Daejun."
Daejun perks up like he just won the lottery. Of course he does. He's the type who loves attention, especially when it's tall and handsome and new. He scoots his chair back slightly, already grinning.
Jeonhwa bows politely, clean and practiced, the kind of bow that says I know how to behave in public spaces. Then he starts walking.
Toward me.
Each step feels too loud. The floor creaks under his shoes like it's snitching. I keep my eyes glued to my desk, pretending my notebook is suddenly fascinating, like I didn't just doodle a stick figure getting hit by a bus five minutes ago.
Please don't look at me. Please don't say anything. Please don't—
I feel it before I see it.
That pause.
That shift in the air when someone's attention locks onto you.
I swallow.
Slowly, against my will, I lift my eyes.
He's looking at me.
Not surprised. Not awkward. Just amused. That same stupid, knowing smirk from the alley, like he's replaying the whole thing in his head and rating my performance.
My stomach drops.
I remember my own voice from Saturday, clear as day. I hope we don't see each other again.
Wow. Universe really said no.
He holds my gaze for half a second longer than necessary, then looks away like nothing happened and slides into the seat. The chair scrapes softly. Daejun whispers something immediately, probably asking where he transferred from, already ready to be best friends.
I want to run.
Like, genuinely. Stand up. Apologize. Walk out. Transfer schools. Change my name. Become a monk.
But I stay seated, back stiff, hands clenched under the desk like that'll keep me anchored to reality. My face feels hot again, the kind of heat that starts in your ears and spreads like a disease.
This cannot be real.
Across the aisle, Jeonhwa leans back slightly in his chair, settling in like he belongs here. Like this is normal. Like he didn't pin me to a wall two days ago to save me from my own bad decisions.
I can feel Enhyeok beside me, solid and quiet, his presence weirdly grounding even though he hasn't moved or looked my way. His knee is angled toward the desk, posture perfect, attention forward. As if this whole circus doesn't exist.
Good for him.
Meanwhile, my brain is doing laps.
Okay. Think. New rules. We are strangers. Complete strangers. We do not acknowledge the alley. We do not acknowledge the stalking. We do not acknowledge the fact that he knows I followed my crush in broad daylight like I was auditioning for a true crime reenactment.
If I don't react, he can't expose me.
Probably.
Unless he's evil.
He might be evil.
Daejun laughs at something Jeonhwa says, loud and sudden. I flinch like the sound slapped me.
Great. He's charming too.
Mr. Choi starts talking again, something about verb tenses, his voice filling the room, but it all washes over me. My focus keeps drifting sideways without permission, hyper-aware of every tiny movement across the aisle.
Jeonhwa crosses his legs.
Shifts his notebook.
Taps his pen once, slow.
I hate that I notice.
I hate that my body remembers how close he was, how calm he sounded when everything inside me was panicking. I hate that my chest tightens again for no good reason.
What if he tells Daejun.
What if Daejun tells someone else.
What if by lunch, everyone knows I followed Baek Jiho like a deranged rom-com extra.
My throat feels dry.
I glance down at my notebook, pretending to write notes. My pen hovers uselessly. All I manage is my own name written too hard, the ink bleeding slightly.
I can't even look at him.
I shouldn't look at him.
So of course, I do.
Just a peek.
Jeonhwa is already turned slightly toward me, elbow resting casually on his desk, chin propped on his knuckles like he's bored. When our eyes meet, his mouth twitches.
Not a smile.
A threat.
My heart stumbles.
I immediately look away, heat flooding my face again. My brain screams incoherently, a mix of panic and disbelief and the overwhelming urge to crawl under my desk and live there forever.
I can't believe this is happening.
I told him I hoped we wouldn't see each other again.
Now he's sitting across from me.
Every day.
For two years.
Fuck my life.
I sink lower in my seat, shoulders hunched, trying to make myself smaller, quieter, invisible. If I don't exist, he can't ruin me, right?
Across the aisle, I hear the faint scratch of his pen starting to write, calm and steady.
Like nothing's wrong.
Like this isn't the worst coincidence of my entire life.
I grip my pen tighter, jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward.
Okay, Seo Jiah. New survival plan.
Ignore. Avoid. Pretend.
And pray he keeps his damn mouth shut.
______________________
ENHYEOK POV
The door opens five minutes late.
That alone is enough to pull my attention up from the margin of my notebook, where I've been writing the same verbs twice because Mr. Choi talks like a broken podcast buffering mid-sentence. The hallway noise leaks in, then cuts off. A new presence settles into the room, the kind that doesn't rush, doesn't apologize with their body.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Clean uniform. Hair styled but not try-hard. The type people clock instantly and then pretend they didn't.
Transfer student.
Mr. Han starts his speech, the one he always does, welcoming tone pasted on like muscle memory. I barely listen. I'm already reading the guy. Posture relaxed. Eyes sharp. Calm in a way that isn't shy. Probably rude. Probably rich. Not nervous enough to be normal.
Then Jiah moves.
Not loudly. Not obviously. She just… folds. Her forehead drops closer to the desk, shoulders tightening like she's trying to disappear into the wood grain.
That's new. She never does that. Jiah's usual brand of chaos involves sighing too loudly or muttering at inanimate objects, not shutting down like a system error.
I glance sideways.
She's staring at her notebook like it personally offended her.
What the hell.
The transfer student's gaze shifts.
Straight to her.
It's subtle. Barely a turn of the head. But it's deliberate, and it lingers half a beat too long. His mouth curves, not fully, just enough to be intentional.
A smirk.
Something cold settles in my chest. Not emotion. Instinct.
Why is he looking at her like that.
Jiah doesn't look up. She goes still, like prey that knows better than to bolt. Her fingers curl under the desk. She's tense in a way that isn't embarrassment. It's calculation. Avoidance.
They know each other.
Mr. Han asks him to introduce himself. His voice is smooth when he speaks, even, like he's done this before and already knows how it'll land.
"Kim Jeonhwa."
No stumble. No filler. The name rolls out clean.
Yeah. That tracks. Money name. Private tutors. Parents who don't worry about consequences.
I watch Jiah's reaction instead of his.
Nothing.
Too much nothing.
Mr. Han points. Last row. Opposite Seo Jiah.
The air shifts.
She flinches before the words fully land, like her body heard them early. Her head dips lower, hair falling forward to block her face. Not subtle at all now. It's almost desperate.
Jeonhwa walks down the aisle.
He doesn't rush. Each step measured, like he knows exactly how much space he's taking up. Daejun lights up immediately, already scooting his chair back, whispering something friendly. Jeonhwa acknowledges him with a nod but his attention drifts.
Back to Jiah.
She refuses to look up.
Good instinct.
Bad sign.
He sits. Chair scraping softly. Inches. They're too close. Across the aisle but close enough to feel. I can tell without looking that Jiah's breathing changed. She's rigid, like if she moves wrong something bad will happen.
Then she does something stranger.
She glances at me.
Just for a second. Wide eyes. Sharp. Like she's checking exits and somehow I'm one of them.
Then she looks away immediately.
Avoids me too.
The fuck?
I lean back slightly, eyes forward, pretending not to notice while tracking everything in my peripheral. Jeonhwa settles in fast, too comfortable for someone new. He turns his head just enough to watch her from his seat, chin resting in his hand like this is entertainment.
Confirmation clicks, quiet and solid.
He knows her.
And Jiah didn't look embarrassed.
She looked trapped.