JIAH POV
Yu Enhyeok?
My personal tutor?
For a moment I just stare at Ms. Park, certain I must have heard her wrong. The idea alone feels ridiculous. Of all people in this classroom, of all possible choices, she pointed directly at him.
I swallow hard and nearly choke on my own breath.
"Ms. Park… why him?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I don't need a tutor. I'll study properly. I'll do better. I'll work harder. I promise."
She cuts me off calmly.
"Then pass the test."
Pass the test.
The words echo in my head.
If I pass, none of this happens.
If I fail… I'm stuck with Yu Enhyeok as my tutor.
"I will pass," I say quickly, sitting up straight. My hand lands on my chest like I'm making a solemn promise. "I'll study. I'll work hard. I won't fail."
Beside me, Enhyeok doesn't even react.
He doesn't glance at me. He doesn't say anything. He's already looking down at his notebook, calmly solving math problems like the entire conversation has nothing to do with him.
Numbers fill the page beneath his hand. Equations, symbols, square roots—things that look terrifying to me but apparently come naturally to him.
Of course he's at the top of the class.
Cold, quiet, rich, and smart.
The bell rings.
Korean Literature.
Mr. Han Jaewoo walks into the classroom and sighs after seeing the state of Class 2-3, like we personally ruined his morning.
I understand the feeling.
I sink back into my seat and stare at my desk, wishing the day would just end already.
Mr. Han starts the lesson, talking about poetry and meaning and historical context, but my attention fades almost immediately.
My pencil moves across the page.
I start doodling.
Without thinking, I try drawing Jiho.
The result looks… questionable.
The drawing resembles a potato with hair more than an actual person.
I stare at it, trying to convince myself it's decent, when suddenly—
A scoff sounds beside me.
Loud enough to be clearly intentional.
I freeze and slowly turn my head.
Enhyeok is looking down at my paper with a faint expression of disbelief, as if my drawing personally offended him.
"What?" I whisper sharply.
He nods toward the notebook.
"Is that your crush?"
My grip tightens around the pencil.
"That's none of your business."
He leans back slightly in his chair.
Then he smirks.
It's a subtle expression, but unmistakable.
"What if it is?" he says.
My patience snaps.
I grab my pencil and draw a large middle finger beside the potato version of Jiho, carefully outlining every detail.
Enhyeok raises one eyebrow.
The smirk deepens.
"Jiah? Is something wrong?"
I jump so suddenly my pencil almost slips from my hand.
Mr. Han is looking directly at me.
The entire class turns to stare.
I force a stiff smile.
"Nothing, sir."
"You're sure?" he asks, stepping closer.
"Yes. I'm fine."
He studies my face for a moment before reaching into his pocket.
Then he places a piece of candy on my desk.
"Here," he says kindly. "Have this."
The class bursts into laughter.
Desks shake. People lean forward, whispering and laughing.
I sit there, completely still, staring at the candy like it just ruined my life.
Slowly, under the desk where the teacher can't see, I raise both hands and flip off the entire class.
Everyone except Bora and Haerin.
I'm not completely heartless.
I sink lower in my seat and mutter quietly to myself.
"Why did I confess to Jiho in front of everyone…"
Beside me, I feel a stare.
I look up.
Enhyeok is watching me.
Silent. Observant.
His eyes are sharp, as if he notices everything happening around him.
For a brief moment, the corner of his mouth moves slightly.
Not a smile.
More like quiet amusement.
---
The class drags on.
Mr. Han continues talking about poems and themes, but my focus keeps slipping. My eyelids grow heavy, and I struggle to stay awake.
Every time I close my eyes for even a second, the same memory returns.
Jiho's voice.
Calm. Final.
"I don't have any feelings for you."
The words still sting.
I press my lips together and force myself to blink away the burning in my eyes.
No crying in class.
Absolutely not.
A few minutes later, the bell finally rings.
I quickly wipe my eyes and sit up straighter, pretending nothing happened.
As I move, my messy bun suddenly loosens and collapses completely.
My hair spills over my shoulders.
"Where did my hair tie go…?" I mutter while searching through my pencil case and bag.
I turn toward the person sitting beside me.
"Did you see my hair tie?"
He doesn't even look up.
"No."
The answer is short and flat.
I sigh, grab another random tie from my bag, and struggle to gather my hair again.
Bora and Haerin walk over.
"Lunch?" Bora asks.
"Yes, please," I answer immediately.
We start walking toward the door.
As I leave the classroom, I swear I can still feel someone watching me.
Sharp. Focused.
But I don't turn around.
I already know who it is.
---
By the time I get home, I feel completely drained.
Not just tired.
Mentally exhausted.
I kick off my shoes as soon as I step inside. They land in opposite directions across the floor. My bag drops beside them with a dull thud.
The apartment is dark and quiet.
Mom and Dad are still at the hospital. They probably won't come home until morning.
I switch on the lights and collapse into my chair, staring at the math book on my desk.
Just staring at it.
As if the answers might appear on their own.
"Who invented math?" I mutter quietly.
I open the book.
It feels like the pages are glaring at me.
I glare back.
We are clearly enemies.
I pick up my pencil and start working on the first problem.
Two minutes later I already want to give up.
I scribble numbers, erase them, write something else, then erase again. The page slowly fills with messy attempts.
Leaning back in my chair, I groan.
But my brain betrays me.
Instead of focusing on the equations, a completely different image appears in my head.
Yu Enhyeok.
Standing beside my desk earlier, calm and expressionless.
"Did you see my hair tie?"
"No."
His voice was low and steady.
For some reason it sticks in my head.
I shake my head quickly.
"No. Focus."
Math. Numbers. Test.
Because if I fail this exam, I'll end up stuck after school with him as my tutor.
The thought alone makes my stomach twist.
I imagine him sitting across from me, perfectly straight posture, watching me solve problems while silently judging every mistake.
No.
Absolutely not.
I lean forward again and attack the next problem.
My handwriting gets worse with every line. I erase, rewrite, and mumble to myself while working through the equations.
My eyes burn. My back aches. The clock ticks slowly on the wall.
But I keep going.
Because fighting math feels easier than sitting across from Yu Enhyeok while he watches my every mistake.
I slam my pencil down and stare at the book.
"I'm passing this test," I tell myself firmly.
"I refuse to be tutored by that man."
______________________
ENHYEOK POV
The shower's still steaming when I step out, towel over my head, water dripping down my neck. My hair's a mess—half wet, half annoyed—kind of like me.
I'm drying it when Ms. Park's voice hits me again.
"If she fails, you'll tutor her."
I stop wiping.
Tutor her? Tutor Seo Jiah?
I snort under my breath.
"No fucking way."
I'd rather swallow a brick. I'd rather let Minseok shave my head. I'd rather sit through Taeyoung trying to explain memes for an hour.
Me teaching her.
That girl doesn't listen when the universe itself talks to her. She zones out mid-sentence. She loses everything she owns. She drew a potato and claimed it was Baek Jiho.
And she's supposed to listen to me?
Yeah, right.
If she fails, she fails. Not my problem. I'm not her babysitter. I'm not wasting my time repeating basic shit while she stares into space or doodles birds with huge eyelashes.
I toss the towel aside, comb my fingers through my hair, and pace because my brain suddenly won't shut up.
And I hate that.
I don't know why the hell she had so many reactions today. She usually ignores me like I'm a piece of furniture—fine, I prefer it. But today?
She glared at me. Talked to me. Raised her voice. Asked me about her hair tie. Drew me a whole middle finger on her paper like a toddler with anger issues.
My jaw twitches remembering it.
She looked me dead in the eye and drew it slowly, like she wanted to make sure I saw every stroke.
Stupid. So stupid.
My eyes drift to my desk.
And the problem starts there.
At the top of the table is a small, brown hair tie.
Hers.
The one she spent half the afternoon searching for like she was on a national treasure hunt.
I found it stuck in my book when I opened it earlier.
She asked me if I saw it.
And I said no.
Because what? I didn't want to? I didn't feel like talking? I didn't want her thinking I picked up her shit?
No. Not that.
I didn't want to see her face brighten, like I did something for her, like I was useful to her.
It annoyed me.
…It also did something else, but I'm not naming that.
I pick up the hair tie.
It's warm. Probably from my lamp. Not her. Definitely not thinking about that.
Her hair… yeah. Brown. Wavy. Always tied up in some messy bun that never survives one full class. It spills everywhere when it falls. She gets annoyed every time.
I don't know why I notice that.
I shouldn't.
I walk to my drawer.
I open it.
Inside, there's a small pile.
Nine hair ties.
All hers.
I stare at them like they're evidence in a crime I didn't mean to commit.
I don't even remember when I started collecting them. It wasn't on purpose. She drops them everywhere—hallway, classroom, gym floor—and I just… pick them up.
I don't return them.
I don't know why.
I put the tenth one inside, close the drawer, lean against it, and exhale.
This is weird.
I rub my jaw, shake my head, and try to shut off whatever the hell this is.
She better pass that test.
Because if she doesn't—
I'm not sitting next to her after school, pretending I'm unaffected while she chews her pencil and smells like strawberry milk and chaos.
No.
Absolutely not.
…She better pass.