Hae‑won arrived at Jungwon High just as the morning bell rang—her heart pounding like a startled bird. She clutched her books to her chest, cheeks still warm from last night's absurd comedy of pretend breakups. She'd stepped into school expecting curiosity, but what she found was a full‑blown carnival of chaos.
Lockers flew open as she passed. Phones whipped out mid‑stride. Giggles and gasps rippled through the corridors. She nearly tripped over a stray backpack, eyes darting behind her for Ji‑hoon's reassuring presence. He strolled in five paces behind, expression unreadable beneath his trademark disdainful smirk. The universe, it seemed, was determined to make her life a sitcom.
Before she even reached her desk, two boys from her homeroom flanked her like knightly escorts. On her right, Kim Tae‑woo, the class's self‑appointed Barista-in-Chief, thrust a steaming cup of "hand-brewed special latte" into her hands.
"Careful," he whispered, voice trembling with excitement. "I added extra cinnamon just for you."
Hae‑won stared at the latte warily, spotted the heart‑shaped foam art toppling from one side, and blinked.
On her left, Lee Joon‑seok, the brooding poetry club president, held a folded slip of paper like it was a priceless relic. With a dramatic flourish, he presented it.
"For you," he said softly. "A sonnet I composed in the school garden at dawn."
She managed a small smile, cradling both gifts as if they might explode.
Ji‑hoon rolled his eyes but didn't intervene. Instead, he looped an arm casually around her shoulder, effectively fencing off other suitors before they even realized they had a chance.
In homeroom, the desk next to Hae‑won's was already claimed by Choi Eun‑sae, her only true friend at this madhouse of a school. Eun‑sae winked and passed her a spare tissue.
"Got latte on your sleeve," she mouthed, pointing at the pale stain creeping across Hae‑won's cuff. Eun‑sae's own desk was a riot of pastel stickers and motivational post‑its—"You're stronger than you think!" one declared in bouncy handwriting.
Hae‑won dabbed at the stain, then exchanged a quick look with Ji‑hoon. He smirked and leaned in low.
"Tae‑woo's latte tastes like sadness," he muttered. "Drink mine."
He slipped a thermos onto her desk—insulated, matte black. She opened it to find her favorite: strawberry milk, chilled. She drank it gratefully, then caught his eye. For once, no mocking spark—only a protective gleam that made her heart skip.
By the time lunch bell rang, the school courtyard looked like a gladiator arena. Girls in designer uniforms clustered in gossip pods; boys with smartphones filmed every moment. Ji‑hoon guided Hae‑won through the crowd like a general leading his prized banner.
"Get used to the stares," he hissed as they neared the central picnic table. "They're not going away."
As they settled in, another contender emerged: Park Min‑joon, the rugby team's captain, swaggering with a bento box in hand. He sidled up, offering her extra kimchi.
"I hear you're single again," he said, voice low and flirtatious. "Need someone to taste-test?"
Before Hae‑won could decline, Seo‑bin, the drama club's rising star, swooped in with theatrical flair.
"A toast!" she called, brandishing a sparkling water bottle. "To the girl who survived the breakup of the century!"
She poured the water into a hastily produced rusty tin cup. The fizz splattered over Hae‑won's skirt, and laughter rippled around them. Hae‑won froze, cheeks aflame, until Ji‑hoon stepped forward, striking the table with enough force to silence the courtyard.
"Back off," he said in a low, controlled rumble that sent shivers down everyone's spine. "She's with me."
The lunch pods scattered, whispers trailing in their wake.
As they started to eat, Hae‑won spotted familiar faces at the back gate: three ultra‑popular girls—Baek Min‑ji, Yoon Seo‑yeon, and Kang Hye‑rin—striding in with icy precision. Min‑ji's glossy hair caught the sun, and she smiled thinly.
"Look, Qi‑gee," she cooed, using the group's secret nickname for Hae‑won. "Is this the same girl from the tear‑stained yearbook?"
Hae‑won's hands shook on her rice bowl. She hated confrontations—hated that her trauma was suddenly public property. But before Min‑ji could continue, Ji‑hoon stood up, grabbed Hae‑won's hand, and pulled her to her feet.
"Why don't you girls take your gossip show somewhere else?" he asked, voice velvet‑soft but edged like a blade.
Min‑ji's smile flickered. She opened her mouth, but Ji‑hoon's fist slammed the picnic table so hard the benches rattled.
"You want to talk about tear‑stained yearbooks?" he said. "Let's share some real drama, shall we?"
Students backed away. Even Min‑ji's sidekicks hesitated. The power in his stance was unmistakable. Min‑ji flushed, turned on her heel, and stalked off, her entourage trailing miserably behind.
The afternoon chemistry lab should have been a refuge—a place to lose herself in measurements and reactions. Instead, it became another stage of absurdity.
As Hae‑won measured titrant, Seo‑hyun, the over‑eager class monitor, dropped a tray of beakers with a crash that echoed off the tiles. Water splashed everywhere, sending test tubes skittering. A pungent chemical odor filled the room.
"Safety goggles on, everyone!" Mr. Kim barked.
Hae‑won's vinegary flashback of home: laughing at her father's drunken 911 calls. She shuddered. As she bent to mop the spill, she bumped into Kang Min‑soo, Ji‑hoon's younger brother, who had snuck in to check on her.
Min‑soo grinned, knelt to help, and accidentally flicked liquid onto her notes. She yelped as the ink ran.
"Sorry!" he stuttered, handing her a paper towel soaked in pink solution. "I—really didn't mean to—"
She looked up at him with a forced smile. His sheepish look made her crack a genuine one. For a brief second, the lab's chaos felt like a goofy sitcom—two broken people united in clumsy mishaps.
The Rainy Walk Home
By the time school ended, clouds had gathered ominously overhead. Hae‑won and Ji‑hoon walked home side by side, the air thick with unspoken tension—and anticipation.
"How many guys do you think asked for your number today?" he asked casually, as if they were discussing the weather.
She rolled her eyes. "Too many to count. I'm halfway to celebrity status."
He snorted. "Please tell me none of them spelled your name right."
"I got called Shin 'Hey‑wow' once."
He laughed—a full, rich sound that bounced off the alley walls.
They turned a corner just as rain began to patter down. Hae‑won pulled up her hood; he offered his jacket without a word. Under its shelter, they walked in near‑silence until the rain intensified into a cautious drizzle.
She looked up at his pale profile. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "You'd do the same for me."
And in that moment, she knew: no matter how ridiculous the circus around them became, here—in the rain, under his arm—she was home.
Back at her apartment, drenched but laughing, Hae‑won fumbled with her keys. Just as the lock clicked, her phone buzzed violently. It was a notification from the gossip app.
> NEW: Ji‑Hoon's ex spills tea!
"Did you see Mr. Perfect's big save today? Looks like his 'girlfriend' can't even walk down the hall without her knight. #Cringe"
She scowled. Ji‑hoon leaned over.
"My turn to rescue you?" he teased.
She punched his arm lightly. "Shut up."
But as they stepped inside, they found a surprise on her doorstep: a potted cherry‑blossom sapling, tied with a silk ribbon. A note dangled:
"For the girl who blooms under pressure. —Eun‑sae"
Hae‑won smiled through her exhaustion. The day had been insane—crowds, chaos, chemistry spills, rain, and relentless gossip. Yet here was proof that someone cared. Someone saw her courage.
Ji‑hoon wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. "You're doing great, you know."
She tilted her head up, catching his gaze. "I couldn't do it without you."
He pressed his forehead to hers. "We're a team. Now, come on—let's get warm and figure out tomorrow's disaster."
She laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the empty hallway. And for the first time since she'd stepped behind Jungwon High's gates three months ago, Hae‑won felt ready for whatever the world threw at her next.