The next morning, the seat beside Gabin wasn't empty.
Tae-ung slid into it like he'd been doing it for years. No greeting. No glance. Just that same calm presence that said, *I'm here. Deal with it.*
She didn't say anything either.
But she noticed.
The sleeve of his uniform was stitched up — barely. A tear from yesterday. His knuckles looked clean, though. No bruises. No marks.
Efficient.
She tapped her pen against her notebook once. Twice. "You followed me."
Still no look. He flipped a page in his textbook. "Yeah."
"Why?"
His answer came quiet, almost bored. "Didn't like the way they looked at you."
She turned to him, finally. "I didn't ask you to help."
"You didn't have to."
There it was again. That tone. Neutral. Not flirtatious. Not apologetic. Not even smug. Just fact.
She hated how little she could read him.
And how that made her want to try harder.
---
By lunch, the school was buzzing.
They'd heard the rumors. Someone had stepped in for Gabin Seo. The Gabin Seo who didn't need *anyone*. The girl who'd once made a senior cry with just one sentence.
Now, a transfer student — the quiet, cool one with the Daehan record — was sitting beside her, walking in sync, not phased by her silence or her reputation.
It didn't make sense.
And that made it interesting.
---
"Did you really take on three guys?"
Tae-ung looked up from his lunch. A second-year student, all messy hair and nerves, stood over him, tray in hand.
"Depends," he said. "Why are you asking?"
"Just curious," the boy said, fidgeting. "You're, like, the first person who's ever—y'know. Talked to her. And didn't die."
"I didn't talk to her."
The boy blinked. "You didn't?"
"Nope."
"You're sitting with her now."
"I'm sitting *next* to her."
Tae-ung took a bite of his rice, ending the conversation without saying so.
---
Gabin sat on the rooftop.
She didn't come up here often. Too exposed.
But today, she needed air.
Needed *space* from the noise — and from him.
Because Kang Tae-ung was a problem.
Not the loud kind. Not the kind you see coming. He was the quiet kind. The one that slipped in when you weren't paying attention, rearranged the whole room, and left without leaving fingerprints.
And she hated not knowing people's motives.
She'd spent her life building walls. Not for safety — for control. And now someone had walked through them like they were suggestions, not barriers.
He hadn't even asked her name.
Hadn't needed to.
*Was he testing me?* she wondered.
Or *protecting* her?
Neither made sense.
---
That evening, she sat at her desk, scrolling through her tablet, cross-checking names and files in a private folder not meant for students.
Tae-ung wasn't just a top student at Daehan.
He'd been on the academy's radar before he ever stepped foot here.
No family listed. No club records. No disciplinary reports.
Too clean.
Too perfect.
Her finger paused on a line of text:
**Recommendation submitted by: Director Jang Seong-wu.**
Her breath caught.
The Director.
Only three people in the whole school system had that kind of pull. And none of them used it lightly.
*Who the hell pulled strings for you?*
And more importantly…
*Why are you sitting next to me?*
---
Tae-ung stood in front of the cracked mirror in his apartment.
He peeled off his blazer, revealing a thin scar along his side. Old. Faded.
His eyes, in the reflection, were unreadable.
He didn't come to Seoyeon Academy to fight bullies.
He came for Gabin Seo.
And now that he was close, he had to figure out something else:
Not *how* to get to her.
But *why* someone wanted her watched in the first place.