---
Chapter 31: How Did You Get My Number?
Back in class, the air felt different. The desks had been rearranged into four rows, like a dining hall setting. Groups of students leaned in toward one another, notebooks and pens ready.
"Did you do your research on the poets from last class?" Mr. Han asked, his voice sharp but calm.
"Yes," the students replied in unison, their voices echoing slightly.
"Good. Work on your presentation with your team."
"Yes!" the chorus rang again, more lively this time.
At the front, Kangsu leaned toward Han Seo-jin, her voice playful.
"Hey, Han Seo-jin… do you know about PPT?"
Seo-jin blinked, confused. "What fitting?" His brows furrowed until he suddenly smirked, tugging at his suit jacket with mock arrogance.
"Yes, of course. I was a fitting model once."
The girls nearby giggled, blushing as they exchanged shy glances. Kangsu sighed and muttered, "Sure…"
Meanwhile, Ju-kyoung sat four seats away, her heart dropping when she realized Soo-hoo was right in front of her. Out of everyone in the class—it had to be him.
She tried desperately to avoid his eyes, those cold, piercing eyes that felt like knives. She even whispered prayers in her head, wishing she could trade seats, but Mr. Han had placed her there deliberately.
"I'm doomed," she mumbled under her breath, eyes fixed on the floor.
Su-ah, who sat beside Kangsu, struggled to focus as her boyfriend and the boy next to him made ridiculous faces—one eye rolled up, the other down.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, frustrated.
"I've got it!" the boy beside Su-ah's boyfriend suddenly declared, catching everyone's attention.
"Let's do our presentation on resistance poets."
Another student groaned. "That's too obvious. Every group will think of that. Plus, do you really think we can pull it off?"
Soo-hoo sat in silence, his expression unreadable, as if the conversation didn't concern him at all.
"You're forgetting," Su-ah's boyfriend said with confidence, "we have the top student on our team." His eyes flicked to Soo-hoo, who ignored him completely.
"What do you think, Ju-kyoung?" the girl beside her asked.
But Ju-kyoung didn't move. Her head was still bowed, her hands clenched tightly under the desk.
Mr. Han finally reached her side of the table. His tone shifted into a poetic murmur,
"Thou art full of sorrow, with thy long neck… always a polite creature, who seldom speaks."
His eyes rested on her slumped figure.
"Are you sleeping, Ju-kyoung?"
She shot upright, her tired face betraying her.
"No," she whispered, so faint it almost disappeared in the air.
Mr. Han gave a small nod. "I'm glad." Then he walked on.
Ju-kyoung exhaled, though her nerves remained tangled. She could still feel Soo-hoo's gaze—sharp, cold, suffocating.
---
That evening, the atmosphere at home was lighter. Hee-Kyung had settled in her room after a long day of work, comfortably spinning in her wheeled chair as she played a computer game.
"Come on, ponk! Yes! That's it!" she laughed, completely immersed.
Ju-kyoung, fresh from her shower, had removed her makeup, tied her hair into a ponytail, and slipped on her glasses. She passed by, intending to retreat to her own room, when her eyes fell on the glowing computer screen.
"She's at it again," she muttered.
She turned to leave, but Hee-Kyung pushed her chair back, beaming at her.
"You're home! Hey, is there a teacher at your school who looks like a mix of Jung Woo-sung and Brad Pitt?"
Ju-kyoung blinked flatly. "No."
Her sister's smile faltered. "Come on, think harder. He went into your school."
"I'm thinking… but no."
Hee-Kyung sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Maybe he's not a teacher, then."
But her amusement faded when she noticed Ju-kyoung's face. Normally mischievous, tonight her eyes looked dim, her energy drained.
"What's wrong? You look so out of it."
Ju-kyoung's lips trembled as she tried to smile. But the truth slipped out.
"Just because… life is so hard."
Her eyes shimmered, and she quickly brushed away the tears threatening to fall.
Hee-Kyung froze, surprised. "What do you mean? You don't know what life is—you're only eighteen."
Ju-kyoung's head snapped up, her voice rising.
"So what? Eighteen-year-olds have lives too! Weren't you eighteen once? You're twenty-eight now, and you think you know everything about life—but I'm living mine too!"
Her chest heaved with emotion. Hee-Kyung was taken aback.
"Come here, you little brat!" she shouted, reaching for her.
Ju-kyoung yelped and bolted, sprinting down the hall.
"I said come here!" Hee-Kyung chased after her, but Ju-kyoung dove into her room, slammed the door, and locked it.
She collapsed against it, breathing hard, before throwing herself onto her bed.
---
"Ding!"
Her phone vibrated on the table. Groaning, she picked it up lazily and pressed it to her ear.
"Hello?"
"It's me."
The voice was deep, calm, almost too calm.
Ju-kyoung froze. "…Who?"
Then it hit her, and her stomach dropped. She sat upright instantly.
"How did you get my number?" Her voice cracked.
"I have my ways." His tone was flat, emotionless, but heavy enough to make her shiver.
"What do you want?"
"You have something of mine. Bring it over."
Her eyes darted to the box in the corner—Soo-hoo's novel and his suit. Her palms dampened with sweat.
"And what should that be?" she whispered, though she already knew.
"Are you kidding me?" His voice sharpened, rising like thunder. It felt as if it could swallow her whole. "I'll text you the location."
Ju-kyoung's pulse raced. "Right now?"
She faked a cough, trying to sound weak.
"I'm not feeling well. Can it… be tomorrow?"
"I'll come to you. What's your address?"
"No!" she blurted, too quickly. She swallowed, forcing herself to sound calmer. "I'll meet you instead."
A pause. Then his cold reply:
"Be there by 9 p.m."
The line went dead.
Her phone buzzed again.
Soo-hoo: The café before Seabom Park. 9 p.m.
Ju-kyoung's hands trembled as she read it. She felt trapped, cornered, yet unable to run.
---