Tenth grade.
No longer boys.
Not quite adults.
That strange space where your voice settles, your shoulders broaden, and people begin expecting you to understand things you're still learning how to feel.
Ji Hyun sat outside the classroom, shoulder pressed against the hallway wall, still catching his breath.
"Late. Again," he muttered, glancing sideways.
Hyun Soo puffed beside him. "You're the one who made us stop for tteokbokki. Who eats spicy rice cakes before homeroom?"
"You didn't stop me," Ji Hyun said flatly.
"I was emotionally manipulated."
The warning bell rang.
They stood, brushed off their uniforms, and opened the door to a classroom already half-settled. Blazers hung neatly over chairs. Sunlight streaked through the windows, golden and indifferent. The fan rattled lazily on the ceiling, doing absolutely nothing for the humidity.
Then—
Click.
Heels against tile.
The classroom snapped upright as their homeroom teacher entered. Her presence cut through the chatter like wind through glass chimes—sharp, cold, demanding quiet. She adjusted her glasses slowly and surveyed the room.
"Good morning," she said. "Let me remind you—this is not middle school anymore. This is tenth grade. Uniforms crisp. Phones off. Mouths shut. Brains on. I have no patience for latecomers or slackers. Is that clear?"
"Yes, seonsaengnim," the class murmured in a low chorus.
As if on cue, the door creaked open again.
Two silhouettes stood in the doorway, breathing hard.
"May we... come in?" Ji Hyun asked sheepishly.
The teacher turned slowly. "Mr. Park and Mr. Kim," she said with the weight of someone saying 'Here we go again.' "Take a walk. Three laps around the courtyard. Now."
Ji Hyun sighed. "It's the first day—"
"Four laps."
Hyun Soo elbowed him. "Yah. Stop. You're going to kill us."
But before they could retreat, another shadow appeared behind them.
Tall. Composed. Silent.
A boy with perfect posture and pressed white cuffs stepped lightly into view. His school ID hung neatly from his collar. He wasn't sweating. Not even breathing hard. Hair unbothered by wind or life. Like he walked through a perfume ad to get here.
Ji Hyun blinked.
Who the hell...?
He stepped back slightly as the boy approached the door, bowing respectfully.
"Good morning, seonsaengnim. I'm Choi Ji Yong. Transferring from Seoul."
The teacher's expression flickered. "Ah, the Seoul student! Yes, of course. Welcome, Ji Yong. You're just in time."
Ji Hyun's jaw nearly hit the floor.
No lap? No warning? Just like that?
The universe wasn't just unfair. It was mocking him.
He muttered under his breath, "He looks like he eats rules for breakfast."
Hyun Soo stifled a laugh.
As Ji Yong stepped forward, Ji Hyun's eyes dropped to his perfectly tied shoelaces. A petty thought crossed his mind before he could stop it.
Just a little nudge...
He shifted ever so slightly, the tip of his shoe brushing against Ji Yong's polished loafer—barely noticeable, but enough to disturb balance.
Thud.
Ji Yong went down like a tree in a silent forest.
For half a second, no one breathed.
Then came the stifled snorts.
The quiet coughs.
The rising tide of laughter.
"Are you alright?" the teacher asked in concern, rushing over.
Ji Yong stood up calmly, brushing his sleeves. "All good. I didn't notice the floor's tilt. Sorry for the disruption."
Ji Hyun almost choked. Who apologizes for the floor?!
The teacher smiled approvingly. "Very graceful, Mr. Choi. Please, take the empty seat there—next to Park Ji Hyun."
Ji Hyun blinked. What?
Ji Yong turned. Just before walking past, he gave Ji Hyun a look—neutral lips, unreadable eyes. Then, a raised brow. And a subtle, knowing smirk.
Ji Hyun's heartbeat stuttered.
That look said everything:
"You tried. Try harder."
The chair scraped gently against the floor as Ji Yong sat down beside him. He didn't speak. He didn't even look again. He simply opened his notebook, clicked his pen once, and waited for class to begin.
Meanwhile, Ji Hyun sat frozen, staring straight ahead like he'd just been dropped into a psychological thriller.
Hyun Soo, now seated behind them, leaned forward and whispered:
"Who is he?"
Ji Hyun wrote back without looking:
"I don't know. But I already hate him."
_________________________________________
There are two kinds of silence in a classroom.
One is the quiet of focus—pens gliding across paper, pages turning, the ceiling fan humming faintly above.
The other is heavy. Dense. Like the stillness before a storm breaks.
That was the silence sitting between Park Ji Hyun and Choi Jiyong.
Now tenth graders, no longer soft-faced boys but not quite men, they shared a desk. Two students. One bench. And far too little space for the kind of tension that had taken root between them.
Ji Hyun sat stiffly, arms folded, a black ink pen in hand—but his notebook was blank. His mind, despite the teacher's voice at the front of the room, was miles away.
Next to him, Jiyong looked like he belonged on the front of an elite academy brochure. Spine straight, cuff buttoned, neat rows of notes highlighted with discipline. His handwriting could pass for typeset—elegant, measured, maddeningly clean.
Ji Hyun muttered, not quite under his breath,
"Do you breathe or just function on code?"
Jiyong didn't even blink. He simply turned the page, cool as ever.
Not a reaction. Not even a twitch.
Was he ignoring him? Or was he that good at pretending?
Ji Hyun's fingers twitched around his pen. This wasn't just arrogance. It was strategy.
When the teacher turned to write on the board, Ji Hyun gave Jiyong a light nudge with his elbow. Not aggressive—just a reminder.
I'm still here.
Still, Jiyong didn't look at him. But after a moment, he leaned forward and murmured, his voice low and razor-edged:
"You looking for detention again, or is this your usual personality?"
Ji Hyun blinked.
He talks?
He scoffed. "Look at you, acting like nothing happened after tripping on your own shoelace."
Finally, Jiyong turned his head slightly, eyes sharp with amusement. A slow smirk crept across his lips.
"That was cute," he said. "You really thought you did something."
Ji Hyun's mouth dropped open. "You—!"
"Park Ji Hyun-ssi," the teacher snapped. "Are you contributing something valuable, or simply sharing your thoughts with the air again?"
Soft snickers filled the room. Ji Hyun flushed and slouched down.
"No, seonsaengnim," he mumbled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jiyong resting his chin on his palm, a smile barely hidden behind his hand.
He's enjoying this.
No doubt about it—this guy wasn't just smart.
He was dangerous.
By the end of class, the whispers had begun.
Girls near the front row giggled whenever Jiyong answered a question. Even the notoriously uptight class monitor offered to show him where the library was.
Ji Hyun clenched his jaw.
Perfect. He's charming, too.
When the final bell rang, Ji Hyun shoved his books into his bag a little harder than necessary. Jiyong, as expected, moved like he had all the time in the world—folding papers with practiced elegance.
Ji Hyun muttered under his breath. "Let me guess. You shine your shoes between classes?"
Jiyong stood slowly, adjusting his tie. He met Ji Hyun's gaze head-on—unbothered, unreadable.
"Relax," he said. "I'm not here to take anything from you."
He stepped away, then paused. His eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"Unless you keep pushing. Then I might take everything."
Ji Hyun's breath caught.
Before he could respond, Jiyong walked off—calm, tall, and completely in control.
At the door, Kim Hyun Soo waited, wide-eyed.
"What just happened?" he whispered.
Ji Hyun slung his bag over his shoulder, gaze still locked on the doorway where Jiyong had vanished.
"A declaration of war."
They walked out together in silence. No jokes. No teasing.
And for the first time in a long while, Ji Hyun didn't smile.
There was a new storm brewing in tenth grade.
And its name was Choi Jiyong.