The late afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting warm streaks of amber across desks strewn with open notebooks and half-finished worksheets. A faint hum from the overhead fan mingled with the soft rustling of pages as students settled into their usual rhythm — that quiet lull between lessons where time seemed to stretch.
Seung-joon sat near the back, absorbed in his textbook, the edges of his pencil smudging slightly beneath his steady hand. His world was calm, contained — the chatter of his classmates no more than background noise.
Until it wasn't.
"Jun-hyung...!!!"
"Minjun-sunbae..."
The sudden chorus of voices made Seung-joon glance up, his brow furrowing slightly. A ripple of excitement rolled through the classroom like a breeze stirring still water. Chairs scraped, whispers bloomed like firecrackers, and heads turned toward the doorway.
Girls leaned across desks, eyes wide and gleaming, their hands fluttering as they exchanged breathless remarks. Giggles echoed along the walls, and even the most indifferent students peeked over their books with raised eyebrows.
There, just beyond the threshold of the classroom, stood Han Min-jun — tall, striking in his blue-silver uniform, and looking mildly overwhelmed as a group of admirers gathered around him.
Despite the chaos, he wore a polite, if slightly strained, smile. His friend was doing his best to manage the crowd, gently redirecting overly enthusiastic students. The class monitor appeared near the front, bowing slightly as she apologized on behalf of the class and ordered his classmates to get back in the classroom.
Min-ho and Jae-won from the basketball team had already intercepted Min-jun, drawing him into animated conversation with wide grins, happy that their captain paid them a visit.
From his seat, Seung-joon watched it all unfold — the noise, the movement, the way Min-jun's presence shifted the entire atmosphere. He felt, for a moment, like the still center of a storm he hadn't meant to summon.
"Joon-ah, pass me the eraser."
Seung-joon tore his gaze away from Min-jun and turned to Tae-min, who sat beside him with a pained, bitter expression etched across his face. Tae-min's eyes remained fixed on the commotion near the classroom entrance, watching Min-jun and his admirers with a look that blended envy and quiet resentment.
"Let it go, hyung," Seung-joon said gently. "You know Jae-won can play better than you. Han Min-jun sunbae had to do what was best for the team."
As Seung-joon handed him the eraser, Tae-min snatched it without a word, his irritation flashing like a spark. He hunched over his notebook, aggressively scrubbing at his mistakes, the paper beneath his hand crinkling under the force.
Seung-joon watched him for a few moments, the angry muttering and sharp motions painting a picture of frustration that ran deeper than just a missed position on the court.
Shifting his gaze, Seung-joon's eyes returned to Min-jun — to the way his rich, chocolate-brown eyes lit up when he laughed, to the natural ease in his posture as he exchanged jokes with his teammates.
There was a quiet brightness about him, something that made even the ordinary feel alive — and Seung-joon, despite himself, couldn't look away.
So... did you really come just to see them, or me? Seung-joon mused silently, his fingers absently tapping the edge of his desk.
His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Min-jun's eyes sweeping across the classroom, scanning each row with a quiet urgency.
Seung-joon quickly turned his gaze toward the window, pretending to be absorbed in the pale, late-afternoon sky beyond the glass.
But he discreetly observed Min-jun in the faint reflection in the pane — Min-jun's eyes were fixed on him.
At first, Seung-joon had assumed that Min-jun's popularity stemmed solely from his privileged background and striking looks.
It was easy to believe — in a school like A*, where wealth often dictated status and charisma was frequently a polished performance.
But the more Seung-joon watched him, the more his assumptions began to unravel.
He noticed how Min-jun spoke kindly to the underclassmen, how he laughed with his friends without a trace of superiority, and how his eyes softened when he looked at someone with care.
It wasn't just his appearance or family name that drew people in — it was something far rarer: his easy warmth, his sincerity.
This realization unsettled Seung-joon at first. In a world where arrogance was the norm, Min-jun's unguarded authenticity felt almost foreign — and all the more captivating because of it.
Ever since their second encounter in the infirmary, Seung-joon had found himself quietly observing Min-jun with increasing curiosity. What had started as passing interest had deepened into genuine fascination.
He was astonished by the depth of Min-jun's emotional sensitivity — a quality rarely seen in someone born into privilege. Beneath the polished exterior and prestigious name was a heart that was remarkably unguarded, almost childlike in its honesty.
What surprised Seung-joon most was how often Min-jun misread social cues, unintentionally rebuffing girls with a sincerity that bordered on comic. It was both amusing and oddly endearing to witness.
He soon realized he wasn't the only one entertained by this — Chang-min, ever watchful and dry-witted, clearly shared in the quiet amusement, often shaking his head at Min-jun's obliviousness.
But there was something else, something that unsettled Seung-joon.
Min-jun's innocence, though genuine, made him vulnerable — too trusting, too unaware of the manipulations lurking beneath friendly smiles. And Seung-joon had noticed how Chang-min always seemed to be there at the right time, subtly stepping in to shield Min-jun from trouble before it reached him.
Seung-joon found himself increasingly fascinated by the quiet depth of affection Chang-min showed toward Min-jun. It wasn't loud or theatrical, but it was always there — in the way Chang-min anticipated Min-jun's needs before anyone else noticed, in the way he pushed past his own comfort to care for Min-jun.
That kind of care wasn't ordinary. It stood out, plain and undeniable.
Seung-joon couldn't help but admire the strength of their bond. It was something rare—something unspoken yet profoundly evident.
"Tae-min hyung, do you know anything about Cho Chang-min?" Seung-joon asked, keeping his tone light, though his curiosity had already taken root.
Tae-min, the ever-reliable purveyor of school gossip, barely glanced up from his textbook.
"He's Han Min-jun's stepbrother."
Seung-joon blinked, his surprise flickering across his face for just a second before he quickly masked it.
"Really? Hmm... that makes a lot of sense," he murmured, almost to himself.
From his other side, Tae-jon's voice cut in, low and unreadable. "Why the interest in Cho Chang-min?"
Seung-joon glanced to his left and found Tae-jon watching Min-jun across the classroom, his gaze sharp, cold — almost surgical.
Damn. He already knows.
Still, Seung-joon kept his posture relaxed, lowering his eyes to his paper with practiced ease.
"Well, he seems quite devoted to Han Min-jun. I was just curious," he replied casually, pen moving as he scribbled down answers
Over the past few weeks, Seung-joon had quietly taken note of Min-jun's increasingly frequent appearances near his classroom.
Min-jun would often linger just beyond the doorway or in the corridor, as if waiting for the perfect moment to steal a glimpse — never stepping too close, yet never straying far.
Min-ho and Jae-won usually flanked him, chatting animatedly, offering cover for what was clearly more than casual loitering.
Fortunately — or perhaps not so coincidentally — the troublesome twins were often absent during these impromptu visits (Seung-joon had a strong suspicion that it was by design).
On the rare occasions when they were present, Chang-min would promptly step in, guiding Min-jun away before any trouble could erupt.
Seung-joon was under no illusions about the emotions fueling Min-jun's frequent visits. He saw it in the way Min-jun's gaze lingered a little too long, in the awkward glances quickly averted.
And though he would never admit it aloud, there was a quiet, undeniable satisfaction in being the center of Min-jun's attention.
From his seat, Seung-joon watched Min-jun's reflection shimmer faintly in the classroom window — a fleeting ghost of someone trying too hard to seem casual.
I bet you never imagined falling for a guy, Seung-joon thought, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. What would happen if I liked you back, Han Min-jun? Would you be able to handle it?
But Seung-joon knew that reality wasn't kind to fantasies like his. A romantic relationship between them was impossible — not just impractical, but dangerous.
Min-jun's family, with their political prestige and rigid expectations, would never accept it. The fallout would crush Min-jun far more than it would him.
And then, of course, there were the twins — ever watchful, ever unpredictable. Their protectiveness of Seung-joon bordered on possessiveness, and he had no illusions about how far they might go if they sensed someone threatening their carefully guarded world.
An unexpected longing stirred within Seung-joon — an ache to meet Min-jun's gaze, to lose himself for just a moment in the depth and quiet warmth of those chocolate-brown eyes.
Han Min-jun, will you ever take responsibility for disturbing the peace of my mind?
The recess bell rang, sharp and final.
Seung-joon watched as Chang-min appeared, calm and unfailing, gently guiding Min-jun away from the classroom door. Something in Seung-joon twisted at the sight of Min-jun's retreating figure disappearing around the corner, leaving behind only the echo of laughter and the faint rustle of his footsteps.
He leaned back in his chair and let the back of his head knock gently against the wood, over and over — a quiet, rhythmic frustration.
"Eomma," he whispered under his breath, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Why couldn't you pass me more of Abeoji's genes? I'm way too short for a guy."
He turned toward the window, squinting up at the sky now softened by streaks of cloud.
That's the least of your worries, fool, he told himself, lips curving in a bitter half-smile.
Somewhere deep inside him, a scream built — a desperate, silent thing that clawed against the walls of his chest.
Han Min-jun... why are you a fox in wolf's skin?