JIAH POV
I am late.
Not cute-late.
Not fashionably late.
I'm ran-on-four-hours-of-sleep-and-regret late.
I sprint up the stairs like the building personally offended me, bag slamming against my hip, brain foggy, eyes dry, soul held together by caffeine residue and pure fear. I look like hell. I feel like hell.
Pulled an all-nighter.
Me.
Seo Jiah.
The girl who once cried over fractions.
But listen—this is not a normal day. This is Math Test Day and also If You Fail, Yu Enhyeok Will Tutor You Personally Day, which sounds fake but is unfortunately my real life.
I refuse.
I will pass.
I don't care if I've failed every test before this. I don't care if math hates me. I don't care if numbers literally rearrange themselves just to mess with me. Today? Today I fight back.
I burst into the classroom, breathless, hair a mess, uniform wrinkled, eyes screaming don't talk to me.
First hour.
Math.
Of course it is.
I drop into my seat and immediately pull out my notebook like it's a weapon. Pages filled with scribbles, crossed-out formulas, angry arrows, question marks, and at least three dramatic "WHY???"s from 3 a.m.
My hand hurts.
My brain hurts.
But I keep going.
Solve. Check. Solve again. Mess up. Fix it. Whisper insults at numbers.
"Don't play with me," I mutter under my breath, stabbing my pencil at the page. "I know you're lying."
The candy is still in my hand.
I didn't even realize I brought it until now.
I stare at it for half a second—still wrapped, still stupidly precious—and shove it into my pencil case like it's a good luck charm. Don't look at it. Don't think about him. Focus.
Bora and Haerin slide into the seats in front of me a minute later.
They turn around at the same time.
"Babe?" Bora squints. "Are you… studying?"
Haerin's eyes widen. "You came early."
I don't look up. "Shut up. I must pass this shit."
They freeze.
Then Bora grins. "Oh. It's serious."
Haerin nods solemnly. "Fighting."
"Fighting," Bora echoes, softer, like a blessing.
I nod once and go back to my notebook, jaw clenched, pencil moving like my life depends on it.
Because it kind of does.
Footsteps enter the room. Louder ones. Familiar ones.
I feel it before I see it. The air changes. The vibe shifts. My focus wobbles for half a second.
Enhyeok walks in with his friends.
I don't mean to look.
I really don't.
But my eyes betray me like always.
He looks… stupidly fine today.
Like unfairly fine.
Hair styled without trying. Uniform crisp. Shoulders broad. Face calm in that permanently uninterested way that makes people lean in more. And—fuck—the mole under his lower lip catches the light and my brain does something illegal.
Beautiful.
My pencil stops.
SEO JIAH???
WHAT THE HELL???
Did I just call Yu Enhyeok beautiful???
Yes, okay, he is. Objectively. But do NOT say that. Do not think that. Do not let that man feed his already arrogant ego.
I shake my head hard and look back down.
Numbers. Focus. Numbers don't judge you.
He doesn't even look at me.
Walks straight to his seat by the window. Drops his bag. Sits. One smooth motion. Puts his earphones in like the rest of the world doesn't exist.
He looks… annoyed?
Mad?
For what???
Not my problem. Not today.
"Jiah," I whisper to myself, flipping the page. "Math. Not men."
I redo another problem. Slower this time. Careful. Checking every step like it might explode.
If I pass this test, I avoid tutoring.
If I avoid tutoring, I avoid him.
If I avoid him,I will get my usual peace.
Probably.
My eyes flick up without permission.
He's leaning back, gaze on the window, jaw tight. Music playing. Completely closed off.
Why does he look like that?
No. Stop.
I press my pencil down harder and dive back into the problem, blocking everything else out—the noise, the presence, the stupid pull of noticing someone I should not be noticing.
I will pass.
I have to.
Because I am not surviving one-on-one math sessions with Yu Enhyeok.
Not like this.
Not today.
------
Ms. Park starts walking down the aisles with the test papers and my body immediately betrays me.
My leg starts shaking under the desk. Not a cute bounce. A full-on earthquake.
Why am I this tense?? It's just a test. Okay, no—it's not just a test. It's a life-or-death, dignity-on-the-line, avoid-Enhyeok's-personal-tutoring-or-suffer test.
Ms. Park drops a paper on Bora's desk. Then Haerin's. Then—
Mine.
The paper lands like a threat.
I stare at it for half a second without touching it, heart racing like I'm about to open a letter that decides my entire future. My fingers feel cold. My mouth is dry.
Breathe. Breathe.
I glance down at my pencil case and there it is.
The candy.
Jiho's candy.
Still wrapped. Still stupidly intact. Still sitting there like a tiny emotional support object.
My lips curve before I can stop them.
Okay. Fine. Universe. I see you.
Haerin quietly passes the extra paper back, her fingers brushing mine. "You got this," she whispers.
I nod once, dramatic and serious like I'm about to go to war.
I pick up the candy.
Peel it open.
Pop it into my mouth.
And—fuck.
It's sweet. Like actually sweet. Not fake sweet. Not cheap sweet.
The kind that melts slowly and makes your chest feel warm for reasons that have nothing to do with sugar.
Just like him.
I crack my neck left. Right. Roll my shoulders. Crack my knuckles like I know what I'm doing.
Alright. Let's go.
I finally look down at the paper.
Question one.
…What the fuck is this.
No. Actually. WHAT THE FUCK is this.
Who invented this?? Who woke up one day and decided, yeah, let's ruin teenagers' lives with letters pretending to be numbers?
I squint. Read it again. Slower.
My brain loads. Freezes. Reloads.
Okay. Okay. I've seen something like this. Maybe. At 4 a.m. When I was crying.
I start writing. Carefully. Very carefully.
Minus here. Carry that. No—wait. That's wrong. Scratch it out.
My page already looks violent.
I move to the next question.
Worse.
Why are there so many steps?? Why does it keep going?? Why does it feel like the question itself is judging me??
I grit my teeth and keep going, pencil flying, erasing, rewriting, whispering insults under my breath.
"Who asked you," I mutter at a formula. "I didn't."
Halfway through, my focus wobbles.
My eyes want to lift. They want to check the door. They want to see if Jiho is passing by. If he exists outside of my imagination. If yesterday actually happened.
No. Stop.
I force myself back down.
Time slips weirdly. Too fast. Way too fast.
The clock jumps. My answers feel messier. My confidence drains with every new problem.
By the last page, my hand hurts and my chest feels tight.
I know.
I know I'm not passing.
Not really.
I finish anyway. Because stopping feels worse.
When the bell finally rings, it's so sudden I almost flinch.
Ms. Park claps her hands. "Pens down. That's it for today."
That's it.
I sit there, staring at my paper, disbelief sinking in slow and heavy.
That was horrible. Actually horrible.
Bora twists around in her seat immediately. "So?" she whispers. "How was it?"
Haerin leans over too, hopeful but careful. "Do you think you'll pass?"
I let my head drop back against the chair dramatically.
"No way," I say, dead serious. "I'm done. I'm finished. I saw my life flash before my eyes and it was all fractions."
Bora snorts. "Stop."
"I'm serious," I whine, voice rising. "That test was illegal. I hate math. I hate numbers. I hate whoever invented letters inside equations—"
"Jiah."
My name cuts through the noise.
Clear. Familiar.
The room goes weirdly quiet.
My heart skips.
I freeze mid-complaint.
Slowly, I lift my head.
Every pair of eyes in the class turns toward the doorway.
And standing there—
No way.
Because the one standing there, looking straight at me, the one who just said my name—
Is Baek Jiho.