Both Myung-dae and I towered over Principal Han, our broad shoulders casting long shadows across his pristine desk. Yet, despite our height advantage, we found ourselves instinctively shrugging and shrinking under the absolute, terrifying aura of an old man with institutional power.
Myung-dae stood with his hands shoved deep into his uniform pockets, completely unbothered, his face expressing the lazy indifference of a seasoned regular who probably had his own assigned seating in this office. I, on the other hand, was a walking disaster. I had a thick, white medical skin patch slapped across my cheek where Myung-dae's fist had connected during the courtyard ambush.
Of course, I tried to swing back, I grumbled inwardly, shifting uncomfortably in my pristine navy blazer. But the swim team and the Taekwondo jocks practically tackled me to the ground before I could land a single solid Ukrainian counter-punch.
'Bruh, they were my fellows in crime! They literally lit the firecrackers! Why am I the only one who got dragged to the principal?!'
Principal Han adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his gaze piercing through us like an administrative laser.
"An absolute circus," the old man rasped, slamming his palm onto a stack of folders. "Throwing confections in the corridors? Shouting profanities on the first floor? If this had occurred back during the days of the original Seoul Academy of Arts, you would both be expelled before the frosting could dry on your uniforms!"
Myung-dae let out a sharp, involuntary scoff at the mention of the Seoul Academy.
I snapped my head over to look at him, my eyes wide. Realizing his mistake, Myung-dae quickly cleared his throat, turning his face toward the window to pretend a stray particle of dust had caught in his windpipe.
Principal Han leaned back in his leather chair, letting out a long, heavy sigh that signaled the end of his wrath.
"I am letting it go this time. Just this once. Only because it is Myung-dae-ssi's birthday, and because you, San-gun, are technically our Foreign Student Representative. A public disciplinary scandal would look poor on the global outreach files."
He leveled a fierce, pointed finger directly at my nose.
"But you, Representative, should be focusing your energy on studying for the winter curriculum instead of organizing juvenile pastry assaults! Your ranking is still on thin ice."
"Yes, Seonsaengnim," I mumbled, bowing my head in mock defeat.
Before the Principal could wave us out, Myung-dae slowly pulled his right hand out of his pocket. He slipped a thick, elegant silver envelope across the dark wood of the desk.
"Give this to Leo," Myung-dae said, his voice dropping back to its usual cool, detached murmur. "It's an invitation to the party this weekend."
The transformation was instantaneous. Principal Han's stern, terrifying facial structure immediately collapsed into the soft, doting expression of a proud grandfather. His eyes practically twinkled behind his lenses.
"Oh! For Leo?" the old man beamed, carefully picking up the envelope as if it were made of glass. "Of course, Myung-dae-ssi! I will deliver it to him personally. No problem at all! Ah, my precious grandson has truly found such good, respectable friends at Kirin!"
Then, the old man shifted his gaze back to me, the doting grandfather mask instantly vanishing into a fierce, predatory glare at the mere mention of the word friends.
He flicked his hand toward the door, his tone reverting to ice.
"You may return to your classroom. Do not let me see you near a bakery box again."
We exited the office, the heavy door clicking shut behind us. The long hallway of the administration wing was quiet, our footsteps echoing awkwardly against the polished floorboards as we walked side-by-side. The silence between us was heavy, punctuated only by the occasional crinkle of the medical patch on my cheek whenever I moved my jaw.
"So," I started, sliding my hands into my pockets and glancing sideways at him. "You're actually having a proper party..."
Myung-dae kept his eyes locked straight ahead, completely ignoring me as if I were a ghost floating along the lockers.
I pouted my lips, letting out a dramatic, childish huff.
"Wow. That's incredibly unfair, neighbor. I literally orchestrated a multi-clique flash mob for your birth anniversary."
A sudden, low chuckle escaped Myung-dae's lips. He didn't look at me, but a smirk caught the corner of his mouth.
"To be completely honest, San... I was almost convinced to actually invite you to the estate. But after today's vanilla cream assault? No way in hell."
I blinked, my brain instantly latching onto the detail.
"Convinced? By who? Who was defending my honor?"
'Min-ah? Sora? Ha-neul?'
Before I could overthink the labyrinth of Kirin's social matchmaking, I quickly dismissed the thought with a wave of my hand.
"Whatever! But why not me? I'm your friend after all! I guess..."
Myung-dae stopped walking. He turned his head, looking down at me with an amused, patronizing expression.
"A friend? You're a classmate, Mountain. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"And bandmate," I corrected firmly, flashing him a stubborn, unyielding grin.
Myung-dae's face visibly soured at the word bandmate. The lazy amusement vanished, replaced by that old, familiar wall of defensive iron. He didn't answer the label, turning back to resume his brisk stride down the hall.
"Besides," Myung-dae muttered, his voice tight, "you wouldn't know a single soul there anyway. Ha-neul and Jun-seo obviously won't be attending. And honestly, I'm currently thinking about uninviting Kang Min-ah too. That little..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "It must have been her plan. Those absolute dogs... I am going to prepare a very special welcome for them during the weekend."
I shivered slightly on behalf of the sports wing, but my chaotic curiosity overrode my survival instincts.
"By the way... how old are you actually turning today?"
Myung-dae stopped dead in his tracks for the second time. He stared at me, a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief washing over his features. Then, a low rumble started in his chest, breaking out into an uncontrollable, wheezing laugh. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, his eyes crinkling at the corners until faint tears of genuine mirth began to well up behind his lashes.
"San," Myung-dae choked out, wiping his eye with his sleeve. "You are a profoundly strange person. So you actually agreed to execute a public assault to congratulate me... without even knowing my age?"
"Details are irrelevant to the Ukrainian soul!" I defended, my face heating up.
"You are hilarious," he chuckled, his breath finally settling as we reached the threshold of Class 2-B's tier door. "I'm turning 18 today."
The laughter died out as the reality of the classroom door loomed in front of us. The silence returned, but it felt different this time—less like an interrogation room and more like a truce.
Just as I reached for the door handle, Myung-dae spoke up, his tone surprisingly quiet.
"By the way... when is your birthday, Mountain?"
I froze, my hand hovering over the metal latch.
A sudden wave of intense suspicion crashed over my brain.
'Wait. Why is he asking? Is the Prince of Darkness actually showing interest in my personal life? Or... is he mapping out the calendar for an identical, dessert-based retaliation?'
A genuine shiver ran down my spine as I imagined the kind of psychological and physical revenge the Prince of Creamy Cakes could manufacture if left to his own devices for a few months.
The mental image of my own future humiliation made a sharp, sudden chuckle escape my lips.
I turned the handle and looked back at him, my expression deadpan but amused.
"Looks like, after all, we are friends," I said, sliding the door open. "It's the 11th of February. I'm gonna be 18 too."