Yu Enhyeok.
Handsome as hell. Like… unreal pretty. "Did God use FaceTune?" pretty.
The school's walking fever dream.
Everyone's imaginary boyfriend.
Everyone's lockscreen.
Everyone's problem.
And worst of ALL—
my seatmate for over one year.
One. Whole. Year.
Next to THAT face.
That jawline.
That stupid mole under his lip that looks illegal.
He's still standing in the middle of the field, staring straight at me like he's analyzing a new species of bug. Not Bora. Not Haerin.
ME.
My brain starts overheating like an old laptop.
Why is he staring at me like that??
Why isn't he looking away??
Why does he look like he's trying to read my thoughts and judge every single one of them???
WHY IS HE NOT EVEN BLINKING—
"HEY—YU ENHYEOK!!"
Bora's voice EXPLODES next to my ear.
I snap so hard back to reality I almost dislocate my neck.
But he still doesn't look at her.
Not even a courtesy glance.
No flinch.
No reaction.
Just eyes locked on me.
Like I'm the one who threw the ball at his skull.
Then one of his friends jogs toward us, scratching his head. Minseok, . "Uh—my bad! Sorry! It slipped!"
And he's smiling at me like he wants forgiveness but honestly bro I am one second away from committing homicide.
I don't even answer him because suddenly—
HISS.
Sharp pain on the back of my head.
I touch the spot with my fingers and—
OH.
OH NO.
Reality slaps me across the face.
THAT MOTHERFUCKER.
YU ENHYEOK.
THREW THAT BALL AT ME.
AT. ME.
And he's standing there like he didn't just try to assassinate me during my emotional breakdown???
I glare at him.
Full power.
Maximum bitch stare activated.
And he just… stares back.
Expressionless.
Like a statue.
Like he's immune to human emotion.
Like I'm a mildly interesting YouTube video he's deciding whether to skip.
The audacity this man has.
The confidence.
The DICKHEAD ENERGY.
My eye twitches so violently I might ascend.
I flip him off.
Just. Right there.
Middle of the field.
Full finger.
Bora gasps like I just declared war.
Then immediately starts cursing at him like a seasoned soldier.
Haerin is whispering prayers behind me.
And Enhyeok??
Does NOTHING.
Does. Not. Blink.
Does. Not. Move.
Does. Not. Care.
I'm fuming.
"That's it. I'm done. Let's go," I mutter, grabbing my bag like I'm marching into divorce court.
Bora storms after me.
Haerin scurries behind us with her little anxious steps.
I walk fast, pissed, humiliated, dizzy, and one centimeter away from exploding.
And then—
I make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder.
He's STILL staring.
Same expression.
Same unreadable eyes.
Same "I could ruin your life without speaking" vibe.
And for some stupid reason…
it makes something in me spark.
Not in a romantic way.
In a "why does his stare feel like he sees more than he's supposed to" way.
Ugh.
Gross.
Annoying.
Infuriating.
I whip my head forward and stomp away faster.
God.
WHO THE FUCK HE THINK HE IS??"
_________________________
ENHYEOK POV
Stupid.
Yeah.
That's the only word that fits her.
Maybe even more than stupid.
Idiot without a brain.
Walking circus act.
A clown holding her own brain in her hands like, "Here, take it, crush me again, Baek Jiho."
Seo Jiah.
I don't understand her.
At all.
Ten minutes ago, I'm practicing with the guys, minding my business, not thinking about anything except breathing and the ball in my hands—and then Minseok yells across the entire damn field:
"BRO—JIAH GOT REJECTED AGAIN—"
And I swear, I freeze mid-dribble.
Like a glitch.
Like someone unplugged me.
Like I'm suddenly buffering.
Over her.
Which pisses me off instantly.
She doesn't control me.
Not even close.
But for some reason, my body reacts like she does.
Then the others join in—loud, stupid, laughing like hyenas.
"Again??"
"Is she insane??"
"Who even chases someone AFTER the fifth rejection??"
"Bro, BAEK JIHO? Out of all people??"
And they laugh harder.
And I'm standing there thinking:
Yeah. Out of everyone… she chose him.
Baek. Jiho.
The human cardigan.
The soft-spoken doodle.
The guy who smiles like he irons his socks.
He's also stupid.
Perfect match, I guess.
But somehow she's worse.
Then she shows up at the ground, walking with her two friends like she's attending her own funeral. Sits on the bench. Head down. Drinking that pink shit she's always drinking.
Strawberry milk.
If she keeps consuming that amount of sugar every time her heart breaks, she's gonna die of diabetes before Jiho even realizes she has the guts of a grown man.
And she does have guts.
Insane ones.
Pathetic ones.
The type that makes you watch out of disbelief.
Who confesses six times?
Who humiliates themselves six times?
Who keeps chasing a guy who clearly doesn't even see her?
She does.
That's why she's stupid.
And she's sitting there now—shoulders small, fingers tight around that drink, pretending like she isn't about to cry.
Looking down like she deserves the rejection.
When the hell is she going to realize Jiho doesn't even deserve the same oxygen she breathes?
When is she going to realize she's worth way more than the cardboard boy she's obsessed with?
Stupid girl.
Then she stands up and SCREAMS into the sky like she's auditioning for mental hospital membership.
I watch her.
Too long.
Too closely.
Enough that it annoys me.
Then—
fuck it.
My hand moves before my brain does.
The ball leaves my fingers.
Perfect aim.
Fast.
Direct.
And the sound when it hits her head—
THWAK—
is honestly satisfying.
She whips around like she's about to murder someone.
Good.
She won't hurt her brain because she clearly keeps it outside her skull anyway.
And then she sees me.
And I swear—
that glare?
Jiho deserves that glare once in his lifetime.
He'd fold.
He'd kneel.
He'd apologize for breathing wrong.
She gives it to me instead.
Lucky me.
And then—
She flips me off.
Middle finger.
Full send.
No hesitation.
First time she's shown me anything other than the back of her head in a damn year.
Huh.
I don't react.
Why would I?
Her stupidity doesn't deserve my expression.
So I just stare at her.
Let her feel it.
Let her know she's an idiot.
She stomps away with her little angry steps, still holding that cursed strawberry milk like a weapon.
Her friends drag after her, yelling, panicking, useless.
And I just stand there.
Watching her get smaller.
Walking away.
Like she always does.
We've been sitting next to each other for over a year.
Same row.
Same two desks.
Same silence.
Never spoke.
Never looked.
Never acknowledged each other's existence.
Not once.
She sits beside me like a ghost.
Quiet only when she's near me—
annoying everywhere else.
And now—
This?
A glare.
A scream.
A middle finger.
The first reaction she's ever given me.
And it…
was worth the year of nothing.
Seo Jiah.
You're stupid.
Stupid as hell.
__________________________
JIAH POV
---
We reach the hallway.
Well—they reach it.
I'm just being dragged like a wet towel with trauma.
I'm still holding the damn strawberry milk like I'm in a commercial for heartbreak when—
BAM.
My shoulder SLAMS into someone.
My soul leaves my body.
"My bad—fuck—sorry—" I mumble automatically, rubbing my forehead.
Then I look up.
Oh.
Oh NO.
Oh FUCKING fantastic.
Shin Ara.
Miss Perfect Face Card Never Declines.
The school's princess.
Enhyeok's rumored almost-something.
The girl who looks like she wakes up with ring lights around her.
She stands there, arms crossed, eyes traveling from my messy hair to my puffy eyes to the milk in my hand like she's scanning a trash bag.
Then she laughs.
Like a mocking, small, bitchy laugh.
The "aw, you exist?" kind.
And she walks away.
Just walks away.
Like she's too pretty to occupy the same oxygen as me.
I clench my fist.
I swear to GOD—I wanna throw her out the window like a paper airplane.
But no.
No.
I choose peace.
For legal reasons.
I stomp to my classroom instead.
Haerin and Bora follow quietly because they know if they say one more word I might combust.
I slump into my seat.
My seat.
The last row by the aisle.
The cursed spot next to the human glacier.
I drop my bag, flop onto the desk, and sigh like a Victorian man dying in a corset.
Jiho's voice echoes in my brain again—
"I don't have any feelings for you."
Ow.
Yeah.
Still hurts.
Like lemon juice on a papercut on my soul.
But then I sit up.
No.
NO.
Fuck it.
I straighten my spine like God just gave me WiFi.
"I KNOW I'm gonna make him fall for me," I mutter under my breath, aggressively opening my math book. "I WILL. He doesn't like anyone. He's single. I have a chance. I just need to—be—like—normal. Maybe."
Then the bell rings.
Kids scramble inside.
The air shifts.
Ms. Park Hyerin, our math teacher, walks in looking dead inside like she had three coffees and none worked.
"Okay, settle down. Open your books to page 184. We're continuing quadratic functions—don't groan, I heard that—yes, you, Jaewoo. Sit properly."
I'm flipping through my book like it personally wronged me when—
That voice.
"May I get in?"
Deep.
Low.
Velvet dipped in sin.
My entire spine snaps straight.
I look up.
Yu Enhyeok.
Standing in the doorway like the main character he absolutely is not allowed to be.
His uniform is damp.
His hair dripping like he literally took a shower two seconds ago in the gym sink.
Water rolling down his jawline like a shampoo commercial.
What the hell.
Why is he WET.
Why is he HOT.
Why is God testing me today.
Ms. Park doesn't even look up. "You're late. Sit."
And then—
He walks in.
Long steps.
Zero emotion.
Zero noise.
Pulls out his chair beside me—
KRRRRRRRKKK—
That awful metal scrape that makes my teeth itch.
I whip my head at him. "Bro—why—"
He doesn't apologize.
Obviously.
He sits.
Calm.
Silent.
Dripping water like a sexy broken faucet.
And then—
I smell him.
Oh my fucking god.
Cologne?? Shampoo??
I don't know what it is but it smells expensive.
Like something that would cost my entire bank account and maybe my kidney.
I inhale by accident.
Like a DOG.
And he hears it.
I know he does because—
I look at him.
And he's already looking at me.
RIGHT at me.
Eyes sharp.
Focused.
Judgy.
Like he's studying my entire life.
I whip my head away so fast my neck cracks.
WHAT THE FUCK.
WHY WAS HE LOOKING.
WHY DOES HE GET TO LOOK AT ME.
WHO TOLD HIM HE COULD LOOK AT ME.
I wish it was Jiho beside me instead—
…no.
If it was Jiho, he wouldn't look at me.
He never does.
Whatever.
Ms. Park taps the board. "Everyone. Page 184. NOW. We're solving example three. If I see anyone sleeping, I'm throwing chalk."
I open my book.
Numbers blur.
Because I can't think.
I can't focus.
I can't breathe properly.
He's still next to me.
Still warm.
Still smelling like wealth and ego.
Still existing loudly even though he hasn't made a single sound.
And I swear—I feel his gaze again.
I grip my pencil harder.
God.
Why him?
Why now?
Why is this seat cursed?
Why does he walk in soaked and gorgeous and looking at me like I'm the distraction—
WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS???
Ms. Park is scribbling some demon math on the board when she suddenly pauses mid-equation like someone unplugged her brain.
Then she turns around.
And looks.
At.
Me.
Oh no.
Nonono—
"Seo Jiah," she says, soft. Too soft.
The class turns.
My soul leaves.
"Yes…?" I croak.
She smiles at me.
A pity smile.
A "you tried, sweetie" smile.
"Dear, don't lose hope, okay?"
The whole class:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—
Bro.
BRO.
I literally die.
I die on the spot.
My ghost is taking notes.
I sit there like the world's dumbest goldfish while everyone wheezes around me.
Class rep Seohwan is banging his desk.
Minseok is choking.
Yerim literally says, "Aww baby…"
I want to launch myself out the window like a stressed pigeon.
And Ms. Park just continues like she didn't destroy my reputation in 0.2 seconds.
"Anyway. I'm giving you all a test this Wednesday."
The class groans.
I stop breathing.
TEST???
THIS WEDNESDAY??
ALREADY????
She continues, "If you fail… you'll receive punishment."
Punishment??
MA'AM???
WHAT IS THIS WORDING???
I stare at my book like it killed my parents.
Why god.
Why me.
Why one by one.
I already got rejected today.
Got hit by a basketball.
Ran into Shin Fucking Ara.
Now math wants to finish me off??
I hate math.
I don't want the test.
Should I fake sick?
Pretend to faint?
Jump out the window lightly, not enough to die, just enough to skip class?
No.
This school is built like a prison. They'll drag me back.
Then—
"Jiah?"
I blink.
"Y-yeah?"
She steps closer.
Closer.
CLOSER.
I shrink into my seat like a worm.
She sighs.
"You're last in math."
Okay wow just say it in front of everyone why don't you.
"LAST," she repeats.
Everyone tries not to laugh again.
Fails.
She continues, "If you fail this time, I swear I'm going to give you a personal tutor."
I look up at her with an awkward, dying goldfish grin.
"A… personal tutor?? Like… one-on-one?? Me?? Someone teaching ME?? Personally??"
"Yes."
My stomach drops.
"Who??"
She points.
With her CHIN.
Her whole ass chin direction.
Right.
At.
HIM.
Yu Enhyeok.
He's leaning back in his chair, one hand on his desk, the other tapping his pencil, looking at me like I'm a problem he's already solved but hates the answer to.
His hair is still damp.
A drop slides down his jaw.
Another down his neck.
He doesn't wipe it.
He just stares.
My brain short-circuits.
"Him??" I squeak, voice cracking like I'm going through puberty part 2.
"HIM him?? Like—HIM???"
Ms. Park nods casually, as if she didn't just threaten me with death.
"Yes. Him."
He raises one eyebrow.
Barely.
But enough to make my heart do a somersault and break its neck.
I stare at him.
He stares back.
No blinking.
No breathing.
Just that sharp, stupid, cold face.
YU.
FUCKING.
ENHYEOK.
MY PERSONAL TUTOR????