The first term was over.

What now?

Results.

And, of course, the number-one spot in the whole school went to—

Kang Taejun!

“This is practically unfair,” muttered a boy slouched in the school corridor with his friends.

“Why, though? He studies more than us,” another replied.

“What? He’s handsome, every girl falls for him, and—as if that wasn’t enough—he tops the class too?!” the first boy exploded. “He even steals other people’s girlfriends!”

The group exchanged a glance.

He’s got his girlfriend stolen.

“Dayum.”

“What do girls even see in him? His personality’s trash. Bet he cheats on exams. And you know what? I heard he hooks up with girls in mot—”

SMACK!

The boy’s head whipped sideways with the hardest slap of his life. His nostrils stung, and he swore he could hear a crack somewhere between his cheek and his dignity. His vision blurred, and when it cleared—

It was his ex-girlfriend.

“…!”

“You punk,” she snapped.

Tears—an Olympic pool’s worth—welled up instantly. His heart was already in shards.

“Look at yourself in the mirror,” she continued. “Then look at him. You hide in corners and dare to insult Taejun oppa?”

The boys shuddered collectively. Oppa? Eww.

“I—” the boy began.

But she shoved him aside and ran forward.

“Oppa!”

The girl didn’t stop at “Oppa!”

No. She ran faster.

And then—she jumped.

Like, full-on, two-feet-off-the-ground, anime-heroine leap.

For a split second, time froze. Her skirt fluttered, her hair caught the sunlight, and everyone could practically hear the romantic OST swelling in the background.

Kang Taejun didn’t flinch.

Didn’t panic.

Didn’t even spill his strawberry milk.

Under the blinding hallway lights, his skin looked like it had been airbrushed by the gods. His jawline was so sharp it could slice through math homework. His lashes were criminally long, his smile the kind that could cause traffic accidents, and his hair—perfectly messy—looked like it had its own personal wind machine following him.

He tilted his body slightly, slid his free arm out, and caught her in a perfect bridal hold—like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times for the drama he was clearly starring in inside his own life.

Gasps filled the hallway.

Girls clasped their hands together.

Boys looked like they’d just been force-fed ten lemons.

“Bro,” one whispered to another, “this is literally the drama I watched yesterday.”

“Yeah… except in that one, the guy’s personality didn’t suck.”

Meanwhile, Taejun just smirked down at the girl in his arms, his eyes sparkling like they’d been Photoshopped in real life.

“You could’ve just said hi,” he murmured.

The girl giggled. The background music in everyone’s head hit its emotional peak.

And somewhere in the corner, the slapped boy silently vowed to transfer schools.

Meanwhile, Taejun’s gaze softened as he looked at the girl in his arms.

But it wasn’t just soft.

It was the kind of intense, slow-blink stare you only see when the male lead has decided the female lead is his property.

He set her gently on her feet but didn’t let go—his arm stayed firmly wrapped around her waist like a territorial cat guarding its food.

“Where were you?” he asked, his voice low, serious, like she’d been missing for a year instead of five minutes. “Do you know how worried I was?”

The girl blinked, flustered. “I—I was just—”

Taejun placed his hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer until their foreheads almost touched. “Don’t disappear like that again. If you do, I’ll search every corner of this school… and drag you back myself.”

Gasps.

Shivers.

Girls in the hallway started fanning themselves.

The boys… instantly regretted still being there.

“Bro, he’s so dramatic,” one muttered, turning away.

“Yeah. I’m getting secondhand embarrassment,” another said, already walking off.

By the time Taejun brushed a stray hair from the girl’s face and whispered, “You belong right here, next to me,” half the boys had fled the corridor entirely.

The slapped boy was the last to leave, muttering under his breath, “This isn’t even a school anymore… it’s a live soap opera.”

As the last of the boys disappeared down the corridor, Taejun’s warm, protective smile… shifted.

The arm around the girl’s waist loosened lazily.

His eyes lost that I’d-cross-oceans-for-you sparkle and replaced it with something closer to I’m-bored-now.

Inside, he was thinking, Finally. Those idiots took forever to leave.

But on the outside—he pulled the girl a little closer, thumb brushing her cheek like a scene from a romance movie. “Are you okay? You ran so fast to me.”

She laughed softly, clearly touched. “Of course. I just… missed you.”

Missed me? he thought, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He’d seen her five minutes ago.

Still, he chuckled warmly—completely fake—and rested his chin on her head. “I missed you too.”

The truth was, her perfume was a bit too strong, her hair clip kept poking his neck, and he was already bored.

But Taejun was nothing if not committed to his image.

He tilted her face up and gave her that signature Kang Taejun smile—the one that made girls blush and boys gag. “Actually…” he said, soft and regretful, “I just remembered I promised the teacher I’d help carry some books to the library.”

Her expression fell a little, but he brushed her cheek gently. “I hate leaving you right now… but I’ll make it up to you after class, okay?”

She nodded, almost shy. “Okay, oppa.”

Taejun gave her one last dazzling grin, then turned and strolled away, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

By the time he rounded the corner, the smile vanished

His eyes hardened, his jaw set.

Finally… now where’s that junior who thinks he can take my place?

It didn’t take long to find out—Class 2-B.

Taejun stopped right outside the door, leaning casually against the wall. To anyone walking by, he looked like he was just killing time, maybe waiting for a friend.

But his fingers tapped against his arm in a slow, sharp rhythm—like each beat was him counting down to someone’s execution.

The classroom chatter spilled into the hallway. He could hear the junior’s laugh—too confident, too easy.

It made Taejun’s teeth clench.

A pair of girls walked past, glancing his way. Instantly, his face softened, lips curving into that practiced, heart-melting smile.

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly, voice warm enough to melt ice.

They giggled and hurried on, whispering to each other.

The second they were gone, his smile dropped like a mask falling.

His eyes narrowed on the classroom door.

”Laugh while you can, kid… it won’t last.”

The classroom door slid open.

For a second, the hallway noise seemed to fade.

There he was.

Jazze.

From Canada.

Tall, with that kind of pretty face that looked like it belonged in glossy magazine spreads rather than a school hallway. His skin was pale and smooth, his blown hair falling just slightly over his eyes in a way that wasn’t messy—just… effortlessly perfect.

But what really made him stand out wasn’t his looks—it was the *softness*.

His gaze was gentle, his steps unhurried, his presence strangely calm. He didn’t look like someone trying to win attention—he *was* the attention.

As he stepped into the hallway, his eyes lifted—right to Taejun.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then… Jazze’s cheeks turned pink.

Not a dramatic blush, but the kind of subtle warmth that made him seem even prettier, like the cold hallway air had kissed his skin.

Girls walking by gasped quietly.

“He’s blushing…”

“Oh my god, that’s adorable.”

Taejun kept his face unreadable, but his thoughts burned.

"What’s with that? Is he shy… or is he mocking me?'

Jazze looked away quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he moved past, his soft scent lingering in the air.

Taejun’s jaw tightened.

This wasn’t just another kid.

This was a problem.

Kang Taejun stormed back into his class,anger simmering under his skin. He hated it—hated how he couldn’t get a single word out to Jazze. That soft, flower-like face kept flashing in his mind, knocking every warning off his tongue. And honestly, making that fragile kid cry? Not only would it ruin Jazze, it would ruin Taejun’s carefully crafted image—his *own* golden rule, by the way.

Inside the classroom, the scene was predictable. His best friend, Park Haesoo, was leaning against a desk, chatting away with a group of girls like he owned the place. Their laughter rang out too sweet, too practiced, while the boys at the back glared with a mix of jealousy and irritation. The kind of irritation that came when Haesoo’s charm made everything feel cringey but impossible to look away from.

Not that either of them cared. Taejun and Haesoo had long stopped paying attention to what the guys thought—girls were their arena. Still, if anyone thought Haesoo was any less of a pervert than his best friend, they were dead wrong. Underneath his easy smile, he was just as twisted, just as restless, maybe even a little deeper in those feelings than Taejun himself.

The moment Taejun hit his seat, Haesoo leaned forward, eyebrow arched like he already smelled the drama.

“You look like you just saw your ex get married to your landlord,” Haesoo said casually, twirling a pen between his fingers. The girls around them giggled, but Taejun didn’t even flinch. His brain was still hijacked by Jazze’s face.

“That kid,” Taejun muttered darkly.

“Which kid? Bro, you say that every week. Be specific.”

“The transfer one.”

“Ohhh, flower boy,” Haesoo smirked. “Don’t tell me you—”

“Shut up.” Taejun’s glare could have burned holes in the desk, but his ears betrayed him, turning pink.

Haesoo leaned back, grinning like the devil himself. “So let me get this straight. You dragged me away from my adoring fans”—he gestured at the disappointed girls still hovering nearby—“because some pretty Canadian boy made you forget how to speak words?”

Taejun shot him the face of a man whose pride was currently in the ICU. “He’s not *just* pretty. He’s… dangerous.”

Haesoo blinked. Then burst out laughing so loud the boys at the back threw pencils at him. “Dangerous?! What’s he gonna do, kill you with dimples?!”

Taejun slumped back, one hand in his hair, completely serious. “You won’t get it. I see the potential. That kid… he’s trouble.”

Haesoo tilted his head, studying him. “Wow. You’ve officially lost it. Should I call the nurse? Or just your therapist?”

But Taejun didn’t answer. His eyes had already drifted to the door—half expecting Jazze to walk past, half dreading it, half desperate for it. (Yeah, that’s three halves, but who cares. Taejun was broken math right now.)

Taejun was still sulking in his seat when another voice cut into the moment.

“Oi, Kang Taejun! Why you look like a kicked puppy again?”

It was Minwoo, the class clown, rolling a basketball under his desk. He always smelled like gym socks and bad decisions. The girls hated him, the boys tolerated him, and somehow he thought he was Taejun’s rival. Spoiler: he wasn’t. ( His freind)

Before Taejun could roast him, Sooyeon ( another friend) —the know-it-all class rep—snapped her textbook shut. “Maybe if he studied for once, he wouldn’t look so miserable. Honestly, boys like you two are the reason teachers age ten years in one semester.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Haesoo said lazily, earning a glare from her.

And then there was Eunji ( still his friend ), the gossip queen, who leaned over her desk with a grin sharper than scissors. “Nahhh, I know that look. That’s not study stress. Our Taejun’s got a crush.”

The class *erupted*. Whistles, teasing, exaggerated gasps. Even Minwoo dropped his basketball just to clap dramatically.

Taejun’s pride cracked like cheap glass. “Shut. Up. All of you!” he barked, slamming his desk loud enough for chalk dust to rain down from the board.

But Eunji only smirked wider, phone already out. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll find out who it is.”

Haesoo leaned back in his chair, watching the chaos unfold like a man eating popcorn at the movies. “This is better than cable,” he muttered.

Taejun buried his face in his hands. God. The walls were closing in. And all because of that one kid—Jazze—who hadn’t even stepped into the class yet.

The classroom was still buzzing with teasing when the door slid open.

And in walked Jazze.

Not drifting past like a breeze this time, but actually stepping *inside*. His arms were full of neatly stacked notebooks, the kind teachers loved to dump on juniors as errands. His expression was calm, soft around the edges, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks from the effort.

The whole room went silent for a beat. Girls lit up instantly, whispering like sparrows. Boys groaned, rolling their eyes. Eunji gasped like she’d just spotted a celebrity.

And Taejun? Taejun froze so hard he might as well have been carved from stone.

“Excuse me,” Jazze said softly, bowing a little. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried—smooth, careful, polite in a way that made him feel untouchable. “Teacher asked me to deliver these notebooks.”

Sooyeon, ever the class rep, jumped up to collect them. But the second Jazze stepped closer, the sunlight from the window caught his profile—those lashes, that gentle curve of his mouth—and Taejun felt his entire existence collapse.

Haesoo elbowed him with zero sympathy. “Bro. BRO. Stop staring before you drool. You look like a dog at a barbecue.”

Eunji leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Ooooh, THIS is the kid? No wonder Taejun’s been acting possessed!”

The class broke into laughter, and Taejun wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

But Jazze—Jazze only blinked, tilting his head slightly as if he noticed the attention but chose not to comment. Instead, he gave the faintest smile, soft and shy, before turning to leave once the notebooks were delivered.

Taejun slammed his palm on the desk, heart racing. “He’s dangerous,” he muttered under his breath, though it sounded more like a confession than a warning.

And Haesoo? He just cackled. “Dangerous? Please. The only thing he’s killing is your reputation "

The second Taejun stormed out of the classroom, three shadows followed him.

“Wait up, drama king!” Minwoo yelled, jogging after him with his basketball still tucked under one arm.

Sooyeon sighed but trailed along anyway, muttering, “If he gets into trouble, we’re all getting dragged into it, so might as well…”

And Eunji? Eunji was already filming on her phone. “This is *prime content*, you think I’m missing it?”

Haesoo strolled in last, hands in pockets, grinning like a cat watching its favorite soap opera unfold.

They caught up just in time to see Taejun freeze mid-step—because there, standing in the hallway with a neat stack of notebooks in his arms, was Jazze.

The junior looked up, surprised at the sudden crowd, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Ah… sorry, seniors. I didn’t mean to block the way.” His voice was soft, polite, carrying that fragile-but-anchored aura that made the entire group go still.

Eunji’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. It’s him. The flower boy junior.”

Sooyeon adjusted her glasses, whispering, “He’s… actually prettier up close. Ugh, that’s unfair.”

Minwoo elbowed Taejun with the subtlety of a car crash. “Bro. BRO. Say something before you combust.”

But Taejun? He just stood there, eyes locked on Jazze, every part of his storming-off plan crumbling into dust. His heart was a mess, his pride in shambles, and worst of all—his friends were watching.

Haesoo smirked, leaning in to whisper loud enough for everyone to hear: “Yup. He’s done for.”