Morning sunlight glinted off the polished wooden surfaces of Class 1-A as Professor Kang's voice carried through the room with practiced authority. Standing before the meticulously arranged rows of desks, he surveyed his students with an expression that betrayed nothing of his thoughts.
"Before we begin our academic journey together," Professor Kang announced, his hands clasped behind his back, "I should address the seating arrangements. At Hankuk, we believe that environmental factors significantly impact academic performance."
A ripple of tension moved through the class. Soo-jin remained perfectly still, her face impassive, while beside her, Hee-chul shifted nervously in his seat.
"However," Professor Kang continued with the hint of a smile, "the permanent seating chart will be implemented after our first major examination. This allows me to arrange partnerships based on complementary academic strengths and areas for improvement."
The collective exhale was almost audible. Several students visibly relaxed, shoulders dropping as the immediate threat of separation from their chosen social circles dissipated.
Hee-chul, unable to contain his relief, pumped his fist beneath his desk in a silent cheer. Unfortunately for him, the gesture wasn't quite as subtle as he'd intended.
"Mr. Kim," Professor Kang's voice cut through the room like a blade. "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I expect a certain level of decorum in my classroom. Please save your celebrations for more appropriate settings."
"Yes, Professor," Hee-chul responded, straightening immediately. His normally confident demeanor faltered under the teacher's piercing gaze. Some of the classes snickered and some just shook their heads. This allowed Soo-jin to note the interaction with interest Hee-chul's reaction seemed disproportionate to the mild rebuke, suggesting there might be more to his relationship with authority figures than his carefree persona would have shown. As he just looked at soojin with sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head.
The morning proceeded with the expected first-day formalities: curriculum outlines, textbook requirements, and introductions to the rigorous academic expectations that had earned Hankuk its prestigious reputation. Throughout it all, Soo-jin maintained her role as the attentive new student, taking meticulous notes while continuously scanning the room from her peripheral vision, cataloging behaviors and relationships.
"Before we conclude our morning session," Professor Kang announced as the first set of classes neared their end, "we need to select two class representatives. These students will serve as liaisons between faculty and students, assuming responsibilities that include coordinating class activities and communicating important announcements."
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. Several students straightened in their seats, eyes brightening with ambition. Others seemed to shrink, clearly hoping to avoid the spotlight.
"These representatives will need to report to the faculty office tomorrow morning before first period to receive their initial instructions," Professor Kang continued. "Nominations are now open."
What followed was a fascinating display of Hankuk's social dynamics. Names were proposed, usually by strategic alliances rather than friends, creating political debts rather than doing favors. The process revealed clear factions within the classroom—the ultra-wealthy students who spoke with practiced confidence, the academically gifted who positioned themselves as logical choices, and those caught in the middle who carefully aligned themselves with whichever side seemed ascendant.
Soo-jin deliberately remained silent throughout the process, observing rather than participating. This was not her battle—drawing attention as a class representative would complicate her mission rather than advance it.
By the time two representatives had been selected—a boy named Jun-ho, the second son of a prominent technology executive, and a girl named Seo-yeon, whose academic record apparently included perfect scores on every standardized test she'd ever taken but she was also the daughter of a known assemblyman. Heechul informed Soo-jin allowing her to map out at least three distinct social hierarchies that may soon be operating simultaneously within the classroom.
The remainder of the morning introduced them to their subject teachers, each projecting the particular brand of stern excellence that Hankuk clearly cultivated in its faculty. Mathematics, literature, sciences, and humanities each subject presented with unyielding expectations of perfection. The pressure was palpable, even for students who had presumably been groomed for this environment their entire lives. But some was also giving off the looks that they don't care cause as soon as they graduate they'll just inherit their parents money.
When the bell finally signaled their mid-day break, the release of tension was almost physical. Most students rose from their desks with the carefully controlled eagerness of those who had been maintaining perfect posture for hours. But heechul on the other hand shot right up and approached soojin.
"Cafeteria time!" Hee-chul announced, his earlier embarrassment apparently forgotten as he practically bounced beside Soo-jin's desk. "You have to experience the Hankuk dining experience it's like a five-star restaurant disguised as a school cafeteria. They even have a sushi chef on Thursdays."
Soo-jin gathered her materials with deliberate movements, weighing her options. The cafeteria would provide an excellent opportunity to observe student interactions in a less structured environment, but Hee-chul's constant presence was becoming an increasingly complicated factor in her investigation.
Before she could formulate an excuse, Hee-chul had already maneuvered her into the hallway, continuing his enthusiastic monologue about the culinary wonders awaiting them.
"The food is just one of those perks they don't advertise in the brochures," he explained as they navigated the corridor. "Along with the indoor pool, recording studio, and rumored underground tunnels though I haven't found those yet."
Despite herself, Soo-jin found her attention caught by this last detail. "Underground tunnels?"
"Just a rumor," Hee-chul shrugged. "Probably started by some student trying to sound mysterious. But in a place this old and with this much money? Wouldn't surprise me."
As they walked, Hee-chul's conversation shifted to a more personal note. "You know, most people think kids like us well, kids like the others here just coast through life waiting to inherit the family fortune." His voice had lost some of its performative cheerfulness, taking on a more genuine tone. "But I actually have plans that have nothing to do with my father's business."
Soo-jin raised an eyebrow, her interest genuinely piqued. "Plans?"
"Secret for now," Hee-chul said, his playful demeanor returning as he tapped the side of his nose. "Let's just say it involves creativity, not corporate boardrooms, and my father is less than thrilled about it."
The unexpected depth behind his statement caught Soo-jin off guard. She had categorized Hee-chul as the typical wealthy student privileged, carefree, lacking any real ambition beyond maintaining his social status. This glimpse of something more substantial beneath the surface warranted a reconsideration of her assessment.
The cafeteria itself lived up to Hee-chul's description a vast space with polished wood tables, artistic lighting fixtures, and serving stations that wouldn't have looked out of place in an upscale restaurant. Students moved through the space with the casual entitlement of those accustomed to luxury, selecting from an array of gourmet options that made typical school lunches seem like prison food in comparison.
As they entered the bustling space, a voice called out from across the room. "Hee-chul! Over here!"
Soo-jin felt Hee-chul tense beside her, a reaction so subtle that most wouldn't have noticed it. His perpetual smile remained fixed in place, but something in his eyes shifted.
"I should go say hello," he said, his tone suddenly formal, all traces of his earlier candor vanished. "Why don't you grab us a table? I'll be right back."
Without waiting for her response, he moved away, weaving through the tables toward the source of the voice. Soo-jin, recognizing an opportunity for unobserved reconnaissance, made no attempt to stop him. Instead, she proceeded to the serving line, maintaining an awareness of her surroundings while appearing focused solely on the food options.
As Soo-jin selected her meal—making practical choices based on nutritional value rather than the extravagant options that tempted other students—she remained oblivious to the drama unfolding across the cafeteria.
Hee-chul approached the table with measured steps, his normally expressive face carefully arranged into a neutral smile. The group waiting for him consisted of five students from Class 1-B, all wearing the same uniform but with subtle personalizations that marked them as part of the school's elite.
At the center sat Suho, his languid posture a deliberate contrast to the rigid formality expected of Hankuk students. His tie was loosened just enough to signal disregard for rules without triggering faculty intervention, and his blazer hung open despite the school's expectations of proper attire.
"Kim Hee-chul," Suho drawled, gesturing to the empty space beside him without actually moving to make room. "What a pleasant surprise seeing you here."
"We attend the same school, Suho," Hee-chul replied, remaining standing. "Not exactly surprising."
Suho's smile didn't reach his eyes. "True enough. I'm just surprised to see you've returned to Seoul." He leaned forward slightly. "I heard your father finally got tired of the embarrassment and shipped you back."
Hee-chul's fingers twitched at his sides, but his expression remained carefully controlled. "Something like that."
"You'll be attending the social gathering this weekend, I assume?" Suho asked, his tone shifting to a mock-sympathetic register. "I hope to see you there with your father. It's been too long since we've had a proper... conversation."
"I can't wait," Hee-chul responded, the forced enthusiasm in his voice painfully evident.
Suho's friends exchanged glances, small smirks playing at their lips as they watched the interaction unfold with the detached interest of spectators at a blood sport.
"Speaking of surprises," Suho continued, his gaze shifting to where Soo-jin stood in the serving line, "who's the hot girl you were with? Another of your... toys?"
The question was accompanied by an exaggerated licking of lips as Suho's eyes traveled over Soo-jin's figure with deliberate, predatory intent.
Something dark flashed across Hee-chul's face a momentary break in his usually cheery and happy-go-lucky personality. "Don't," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"What was that?" Suho cupped his ear theatrically. "I didn't quite catch it."
Hee-chul's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I said, don't you dare mess with her." His voice was firmer now, the words clear despite their quiet delivery.
The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly. Suho's friends rose one by one, their movements unhurried but unmistakably threatening as they formed a loose semicircle around Hee-chul.
Suho himself remained seated, his posture relaxed even as his eyes hardened. "Come now, Hee-chul," he said, standing smoothly and throwing an arm around Hee-chul's shoulders in a gesture that appeared friendly but functioned as restraint. "Don't be so serious."
The sudden pressure of Suho's other hand jabbing discreetly into Hee-chul's stomach caused him to wince, the pain hidden from any observers by their seemingly friendly embrace.
"I was just asking a simple question," Suho continued, his voice low enough that only Hee-chul could hear. "No need to get defensive. I won't mess with your little friend..." He paused, his grip tightening slightly. "Not yet anyways. I'll give you two some time together first."
The threat hung in the air between them, clear despite its oblique delivery. Hee-chul's jaw tightened, but he remained silent, recognizing the futility of resistance in his current position.
"Now," Suho said, his voice returning to normal volume as he guided Hee-chul toward the serving line, his arm still firmly around his shoulders. "Since we're such old friends, why don't you treat us to lunch? I'm thinking the premium bento set looks particularly appetizing today."
Hee-chul nodded stiffly, reaching for his wallet as Suho and his friends formed an escort around him, their friendly demeanor masking the coercion taking place in plain sight.
Across the cafeteria, Soo-jin had secured a table and was methodically arranging her meal, completely unaware of the power play unfolding around her supposed friend. Her focus remained on the broader patterns of the cafeteria who sat with whom, which tables commanded the prime locations, which students were ostracized to the margins. In which those are either loners or scholarships students from her observation.
But she noted Hee-chul's absence with mild curiosity but no concern, assuming he had been detained by social obligations. Unbeknownst to her that something was quickly brewing up in the midst of her first day at school.