JIAH POV
"Jiah."
I hum, noncommittal, because my brain is still trying to process the audacity of the sentence he just dropped like it was a weather update.
He steps closer.
Not invading. Not cornering. Just… there. Close enough that the space between us feels deliberate.
Close enough that I can see the faint scar near his eyebrow and the way his eyes don't dart or fidget.
He's steady. Annoyingly steady. Like he knows exactly where to stand to make me aware of him without touching me.
"You don't like Jiho anymore?" he asks.
There's no teasing in his voice. No bait. Just calm curiosity, like he's confirming a fact he already filed away.
"No," I say immediately.
Too immediately.
He hums, low and thoughtful, like he's tasting the word. Then he moves again, stopping right in front of me, towering just enough to remind me he's taller and very aware of it.
"Can I go out with you, then?"
My body reacts before my brain does.
I step back automatically, heel scraping against the stone floor, heart jumping straight into my throat.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I blurt.
He bursts out laughing.
Not a polite chuckle. An actual laugh, shoulders shaking slightly, head tilting back like he just watched something genuinely entertaining.
"Relax," he says, holding up a hand. "I was just kidding."
I stare at him, unimpressed and mildly offended on a spiritual level.
"Don't do that to me," I snap. "That's not funny."
He grins, eyes bright in that infuriating way that says he absolutely disagrees.
"Why the fuck would you reject me, then?" he asks, tone light but pointed.
I cross my arms. "I don't like red flags."
He scoffs immediately. "And your crush was a massive red forest."
I flip him off without thinking.
He laughs again, like that was his favorite response.
I drop my hand and squint at him. "So. You're rich rich."
He tilts his head. "Define rich rich."
"You know," I say. "Like 'your family owns buildings and people bow for no reason' rich. Like 'your grandfather is in my economics textbook' rich."
He chuckles, low and amused. "That kind of rich."
I shake my head slowly. "Disgusting."
"Glad we cleared that up."
I watch him for a second, really watch him. The way he stands like he owns the ground under his feet. The way he doesn't fidget or rush or fill silence. It's annoying. It's suspicious.
"Wait," I say, narrowing my eyes. "Why did you transfer into our school?"
He arches a brow. "Curious?"
"Your mom said there were… issues," I continue. "What issues? Did you get into a fight or something?"
He looks up at the sky like he's checking for clouds, lips quirking.
"Fight?" he says. "Me? Never, baby."
I physically recoil.
"Ew," I say. "Don't call me that."
He grins wider.
"Then what?" I press. "What happened?"
He looks back at me, eyes unreadable for half a second. Then he reaches out and pinches my nose.
Hard.
"Ow—what the hell!" I hiss, swatting at his hand.
He steps back easily, already turning toward the entrance.
"you don't need to know."he says over his shoulder.
I glare at his back, fingers itching to smack his head clean off his shoulders.
He keeps walking like he didn't just drop another mystery into my lap and steal my peace on the way out.
I stand there for a second, nose throbbing, heart still doing something stupid in my chest.
God.
I hate him.
-----------------------
The next day arrives like it has beef with me.
Third period. Math. Ms. Park is going off about X and Y like they personally betrayed her family line, chalk screeching against the board while she underlines something aggressive enough to feel threatening.
I'm not listening.
I'm busy touching my nose for the twentieth time.
It's tender. Warm. Slightly red. Which is rude, because my face already does enough without added trauma.
Every time my finger brushes it, I'm reminded of one very specific asshole and his stupid fingers and his stupid grin and—
Someone in the front snickers.
Another one.
Great. Fantastic. I've become a visual gag.
I lower my hand, then immediately bring it back up because it feels weird without pressure. Like it knows it's been violated. I try to scratch lightly, then stop because that only makes it worse.
God, Jeonhwa. I hope you trip down the stairs.
I glance to my right.
Half an arm's length away, Kim Jeonhwa is asleep on his desk like math personally offended him at birth.
Face turned slightly toward the window, hair falling into his eyes, posture lazy and unfairly attractive for someone unconscious.
Of course he's sleeping.
He always sleeps.
Which makes zero sense because this man is terrifyingly good at math. Like finishes-the-test-in-ten-minutes good. Like heir-of-Seoryeong-Group-isn't-an-idiot good. So why does he treat class like a nap pod?
Maybe numbers bore him. Maybe existence bores him. Maybe he's just evil.
"Jiah."
Ms. Park's voice snaps through the room.
I flinch so hard my pencil rolls off the desk.
"Yes?" I squeak.
She turns slowly, eyes narrowing. "Why are you looking at him?"
The room goes silent.
Oh my god.
My soul tries to exit through my ears.
"I—what?" I say, because lying has abandoned me.
She gestures sharply toward my right. "Are you distracted because of his face?"
Someone laughs.
Loudly.
I consider launching myself out the window. It's three floors, but pride has wings.
"No!" I say too fast. "I wasn't—I mean—I'm not—"
"Concentrate here," Ms. Park says, tapping the board. "Not him."
I plaster on the most awkward grin known to mankind and nod like a malfunctioning robot.
"Yes, ma'am."
The class loses it.
I want to smack every single one of them.
I feel it before I see it.
That smug little shift in the air.
I glance right again.
Jeonhwa hasn't moved. Still asleep. Still slumped. Eyes closed.
And yet—
The corner of his mouth lifts.
A smirk.
This absolute menace.
I want to kick his chair so bad it physically hurts.
I turn and catch Enhyeok looking at me.
His expression is irritated. Sharp. Like he's already over today and I personally added to the list. His eyes flick briefly to my nose, then back to my face.
I wink at him.
He looks away immediately, jaw tight, like I just committed a crime in front of him.
Worth it.
The bell rings a minute later, salvation in sound form. Chairs scrape. Bags zip. Everyone floods out like prisoners on release.
Bora and Haerin appear at my sides instantly.
"Come," Bora says. "I need food before I commit violence."
"Same," I say.
As we walk, Bora squints at me. "Why is your nose red?"
I stiffen.
"It's nothing," I say quickly. "Allergy."
"To what?" she asks.
"Men," I reply.
She accepts this without question.
Haerin hesitates, then leans in like she's about to confess a crime. "Did you guys hear the rumor?"
Both Bora and I stop.
"What rumor?" we say together.
Haerin lowers her voice. "The Daeyu Group heir is in our school."
There's a beat.
Then Bora bursts out laughing.
Like, full-body laughing.
"Are you insane?" she wheezes. "Do you actually believe a billionaire heir is studying here?"
I join in immediately. "Yeah, do you hear yourself? Daeyu? Korea's richest family? Their heir isn't even shown to the public."
Haerin frowns, clearly offended.
"You're both mean," she mutters, walking faster.
"Wait—Haerin!" Bora calls, still laughing.
We chase after her, half-running down the hallway toward the cafeteria, joking the whole way about how a secret billionaire is studying in our school.
Stupid.
------------------------
After-school study sessions should be illegal.
Not even exaggerating. Someone needs to take this up with the government.
The sun is already doing that annoying orange thing when school pretends it's romantic instead of depressing, and I'm outside with a broom again.
Again. Two hours. Two whole hours of sweeping the same stupid patch of ground like the dust has personal beef with me and keeps respawning.
Enhyeok is across from me, sweeping in neat, angry lines.
Of course he sweeps like that.
Like even the dirt needs to behave around him.
At this point, I'm officially a pro. Olympic-level. If there was a sweeping competition, I'd podium. I don't even think anymore. My arms just move on muscle memory while my brain dissociates and starts praying.
Please let this month end fast. I will never break another school rule again. I will become boring. I will become invisible. I will respect authority. Just don't make me sweep again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I don't even check it. If it's bad news, I don't want to know. If it's good news, it's probably lying.
Two hours later, freedom.
We dump the brooms back in the storage room, and my shoulders feel like I've been carrying the weight of my bad decisions since birth.
We head to the library because apparently punishment isn't enough—you also have to pretend to be productive after.
The library smells like dust and old paper and quiet judgment.
Enhyeok sits across from me, already opening his book like he's been waiting his whole life for this moment. English today. My favorite subject. The only class where my brain doesn't short-circuit.
I slump into my chair and sigh dramatically.
"I really regret every decision that led me to this sweeping punishment," I say, staring at the ceiling like it might offer emotional compensation.
"You should," he replies immediately, not even looking up.
I drop my gaze and glare at him. Hard.
He finally looks up, smirking. That stupid half-smile that makes it clear he enjoys my suffering on a personal level.
"What happened to your nose?" he asks.
I blink. Touch it automatically. Still tender. Still rude.
"Oh. This?" I say casually. "A monkey pinched me yesterday."
He pauses.
Slowly looks at me.
"A monkey?" he repeats. "In Seoul?"
I lose it.
I snort, clapping a hand over my mouth before the librarian can assassinate me with her eyes. "Not a real monkey," I whisper, laughing. "God, imagine."
He keeps staring, waiting.
I lean forward, lowering my voice like I'm about to spill classified information. "Yesterday there was a dinner with my dad's… friend?? Patient?? I don't know their relationship, Whatever. Guess who I met there."
He doesn't miss a beat. "The monkey?"
"Kim fucking Jeonhwa."
That gets him.
His posture shifts. His eyes sharpen, curiosity flickering like I just dangled gossip in front of him on purpose—which, okay, I did.
I grin, energized now. "And get this," I whisper. "He's the grandson of Seoryeong Group."
Enhyeok freezes.
Like actually freezes. For a full second, his face goes blank, processing. Then he blinks.
"Really?" he asks quietly.
"Of course," I say, nodding hard. "His family had dinner with us. I almost choked when I saw the chairman of Seoryeong Group just sitting there like a regular old man."
He doesn't say anything.
Just looks down at his book again.
Which is not the reaction I wanted.
I tilt my head. "Also," I add, "did you hear the rumor?"
"What rumor?" he asks, still flipping a page.
"The Daeyu Group heir is studying in our school."
That makes him look up.
Directly at me.
His eyes meet mine, steady and unreadable, and for half a second my brain completely blanks.
This is not the shocked disbelief I expected. This is not laughter. This is… interest.
My stomach does something weird.
Then he looks back down and says, casually, "Interesting."
And smirks.
I just sit there.
Staring.
What's with that reaction??
Does he actually think it's true? Or does he know something? Or is he just messing with me because the universe hates me?
What the hell was that?