The recital hall emptied in a tidal wave of frantic, high-speed whispers. The air was electric, charged with the scandal of the fight. Myung-Dae had already shoved his way through the crowd and vanished, a silent storm of fury.
I stood on the stage, my adrenaline from the song crashing, leaving me feeling hollow. I packed my guitar, my fingers clumsy on the latches. The day's events felt like a high-speed, poorly-edited movie.
Jun-seo, ever the president, was already at the door, trying to maintain some semblance of order, even with a split, bleeding lip.
"San-ssi, Ha-neul-ssi. Wait a moment." Ha-neul was waiting by the door, her bag on her shoulder, her face an impassive mask. I walked over, my guitar case banging awkwardly against my leg. We fell into step on either side of him as we walked into the now-darkening main hall.
"Your locker is here, 214," Jun-seo said, his voice strained. He gestured to a bank of lockers, stopping at one. "The code is in your student packet. You can leave your guitar here." I fumbled with the lock, my hands shaking, and finally managed to shove the case inside. It felt like I was locking away the last piece of "me."
"And... San-ssi," Jun-seo said. I turned. He looked exhausted. "I'm sorry," he said. I blinked.
"For what? I'm the one who..."
"For today," he cut me off, unconsciously dabbing his lip with his blazer cuff. "This wasn't... this wasn't a proper welcome. I was supposed to give you a tour, introduce you to people. It was all a mess."
"You can say that again," Ha-neul muttered.
"It's not usually this chaotic," Jun-seo insisted, though he didn't sound like he believed it.
We reached the grand front gates of the school. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. I was just... so tired.
A car pulled up to the curb. It wasn't the white Genesis from this morning. This was a 2015 Mercedes-Benz S-Class, a long, sleek, impossibly black sedan that looked like it belonged to a diplomat.
The driver's door opened, and a man in his early thirties got out. He was wearing an impeccably tailored dark suit, no tie, and looked like he'd just stepped out of a magazine.
Ha-neul's face, the one that had been a mask of mockery all day, completely transformed. It lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile.
"Oppa!" she called out, her voice suddenly warm. She ran the last few steps. The man smiled, ruffling her hair.
"You're late, kkomaengi (kiddo)."
My brain, already overloaded, just short-circuited.
Oppa.
An older, handsome man.
A luxurious car.
A schoolgirl.
I'd seen this drama. I knew this trope. Was this one of those relationships? The kind with rich, conglomerate heirs (chaebols?) falling for a high school student? Was my romcom about to get... weird?
I must have been staring, my mouth wide open, because Jun-seo, standing next to me, let out a real, tired chuckle.
"You look terrified, San-ssi." I snapped my head back to him.
"Ah, aniyo... I just..." Jun-seo gestured with his head toward the man.
"That's her older brother. Lee Ji-hoon. He's a prosecutor, I think. Or maybe just a lawyer. Something..."
"Brother?" I choked out. "Oh. Oh."
The host family file just said "parents and daughter."
This day was full of surprises.
"San-ssi! Ppalli wa! (Hurry up!)" Ha-neul called, holding the back door of the Mercedes open for me. Jun-seo gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder.
"Go on. See you tomorrow. And... try to stay out of trouble." He said it with a weary smile, touching his cut lip.
"Yeah," I said, feeling guilty. "You too."
I bowed and hurried over, sliding into the backseat.
The interior smelled like expensive leather and faint, clean cologne.
"So, you're Alex," Ji-hoon said. He was in the driver's seat, looking at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes were as sharp as Ha-neul's, but warmer. Analytical. "I'm Lee Ji-hoon. Welcome to Seoul."
"Thank you... hyungnim?" I wasn't sure what to call him. He just laughed.
"Ji-hoon-ssi is fine." He pulled the car silently into traffic.
The car was quiet for a few minutes as we navigated the Seoul evening rush.
"So, San-ssi," Ji-hoon said, his eyes on the road. "How was your first day? Ha-neul said you... made an impression."
I winced.
Ha-neul snorted from the passenger seat. "Oppa, he called Yoo Chae-rin 'deoreowo'."
"He what?" Ji-hoon glanced in the mirror, his eyebrows raised, and a laugh escaped him. "Seriously? Bold. I like it. And how are Jun-seo and Myung-Dae? They still at each other's throats?" The question was too casual. Too specific.
"You know them?" I asked, leaning forward. "They... they got in a fight. Jun-seo's lip was cut, and Myung-Dae's nose had a plaster."
Ji-hoon's smile faded. He sighed, glancing at his sister:
"Again? What was it this time?"
"The new kid, of course," Ha-neul said, pointing her thumb back at me. "But all the old same…"
"Wait," I said, my head spinning. "But what actually happened between them?"
"It's not for me to tell." Ha-neul turned around in her seat to face me, a look of weary amusement on her face, "You're in the 'golden triangle' now, San-ssi. You might as well learn."
"Golden triangle?"
"Myung-Dae is our neighbor," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "His house is the one on the left. Yoo Chae-rin,"—she gave me a teasing, pitying smirk—"is our neighbor on the right."
My blood ran cold. Neighbors? The ice queen and the rebel?
"And Jun-seo?" I asked, my voice weak.
"He's a childhood friend," Ha-neul said, turning back around. "He lives two streets over. Our parents are best friends. They're in the same business club. We've been having forced 'family picnics' together since we were in diapers."
I sank back into the plush leather. This was not happening. My life wasn't a K-drama-inspired romcom. My genre had just officially changed. This was a chaebol thriller. This was Penthouse. This was Sky Castle.
All these rich, complicated kids, all living in the same exclusive, high-security neighborhood, all tangled up in decades of family drama, and I was the scholarship kid from Cherkasy, dropped right in the middle of it.
As I was having this internal meltdown, the Mercedes slowed, turning off the main road, past a security checkpoint, and into a quiet, exclusive-looking neighborhood.
The car purred into the driveway of a house that stopped my heart. It wasn't a palace, but it wasn't a normal house. It was a stunning, two-story modern masterpiece of glass, dark wood, and stone. A perfectly manicured garden, with sculpted trees and a small koi pond, was lit by warm, tasteful lights.
"We're home," Ji-hoon said, killing the engine. "Welcome to the neighborhood, San-ssi." I just stared at the house, my first day in Korea somehow getting more overwhelming by the second.