Françoise Dupont High was already abuzz by 8 a.m.—a mixture of students dragging their feet, teachers sipping burnt coffee, and teenagers catching up on the latest rumors.
The biggest one?
The international idol Zae was transferring into their school.
Or rather, rejoining for a while.
And while most still debated whether it was real or a cruel joke, Chloé Bourgeois already knew the truth.
She stood at the front gate like a queen awaiting a foreign king, Sabrina dutifully at her side, eyes bouncing between her phone and the road.
"He's late," Chloé muttered, lips pursed.
"He's fashionably late," Sabrina corrected nervously. "That's a thing, right?"
Chloé rolled her eyes but said nothing.
A sleek black car finally pulled up in front of the school, drawing gasps from nearby students. It wasn't flashy—but it was expensive. Clean. Subtle. A soft nod to luxury.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Zae . Tall. Immaculate. Dressed in an effortlessly stylish uniform—blazer unbuttoned just enough, collar loose like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, not in a high school hallway.
Sunglasses slid down his nose as he stepped out, golden light hitting just right.
He removed them slowly, eyes scanning the crowd.
Chloé smirked. Sabrina squealed softly.
Students whispered:
> "That's really him."
"He looks taller in person."
"Wait, is he seriously going to school here?"
"Why would a celebrity come to a dump like this?"
He spotted Chloé and walked toward her with that calm, untouchable air. Controlled steps. Graceful but never dramatic. Every move measured like a practiced performance.
"Chloé," he said, nodding like they were already co-conspirators.
She flipped her hair, smug and satisfied. "Took you long enough. You almost missed my entrance."
He chuckled, voice low. "Forgive me. I needed to mentally prepare."
"For public school?"
"For the stares."
A few students giggled from a distance, unsure if they were allowed to swoon.
Chloé hooked her arm through his, dragging him toward the front doors like he belonged to her. Sabrina trotted after them, starry-eyed.
---
Inside the Classroom
Madame Bustier paused mid-sentence as the door opened.
Conversations fell silent.
Ha joon walked in with the quiet control of someone used to being watched. His gaze didn't scan nervously—he let the room take him in.
Chloé sauntered behind him, arms crossed proudly. Sabrina waved awkwardly from the door before slipping into her seat.
Everyone stared.
Even Adrien.
Marinette blinked. "No way... that's actually him."
Alya's mouth was open. "I thought he was filming a drama in Japan!"
"He was," said Nino. "He filmed a music video in Dubai last month too."
Adrien narrowed his eyes slightly.
Ha joon gave the teacher a slight nod. "Ha Joon. I believe the paperwork already went through."
Madame Bustier nodded quickly. "Yes, of course! Welcome. We're very honored to have you here—feel free to sit wherever you'd like."
There was one seat left—beside Adrien.
A tense beat passed.
Ha joon walked toward it without hesitation, nodding slightly as he sat down. "Model," he greeted quietly.
"Idol," Adrien returned, just as neutral.
The tension was soft—subtle. But present.
Chloé scowled. "That seat's beneath him."
Ha joon turned just enough to glance back. "No need to coddle me, Chloé. He's not unpleasant company."
Adrien raised an eyebrow at that.
"Backhanded compliment?" he asked under his breath.
"Observation," Ha joon replied smoothly.
Class resumed. But no one paid attention.
Everyone was still watching the boy who didn't stumble, blush, or fidget. He didn't try to be friendly, but he wasn't rude either. He simply existed in his space—unbothered, composed, distant.
---
Lunch Break
The courtyard swarmed with life. Students dragged desks together in clumps, opened homemade lunches, argued over cheese, or filmed TikToks they thought teachers wouldn't see.
Ha joon sat under a tree, legs crossed, earbuds in—except they weren't playing anything. He just didn't want company.
Kyle had packed him a proper meal, but he only poked at it.
He was listening.
Studying.
Adrien was across the courtyard, laughing lightly with Nino. Marinette tripped twice while walking past him. Alya scribbled notes in her phone, likely collecting "intel."
Then—the girl with the ribbons.
Juleka.
And next to her…
Luka.
There he was. Guitar on his back. Calm, peaceful, magnetic in that quiet, earthy way that no camera could ever capture.
The idol watched him, chest tight.
That was the character who pulled him through his worst nights. Who made him feel seen. Luka Couffaine.
Real.
Alive.
Within reach.
He looked away before he got caught staring.
"Planning to join anyone?" Adrien's voice asked beside him Ha joon looked up, surprised. "Didn't take you for someone who'd offer."
Adrien shrugged. "Didn't take you for someone who'd sit alone."
"I don't need company. I need clarity."
Adrien smirked faintly. "Well... this school doesn't offer that."
Ha joon leaned back, hands behind his head. "Then I guess I'll make my own peace."
They didn't say anything after that.
But they didn't move away either.
---
Later, by the lockers
Alya finally cornered him.
"Hi, sorry—Alya Césaire, class rep and reporter for the Ladyblog. I was wondering if you'd be open to an interview about—"
"No," he said gently but firmly. "I'm not here as a celebrity."
"Oh," she blinked. "Right. Sorry, I just thought—"
He looked her dead in the eye. "You thought I was here to be turned into a headline. I'm not."
Alya stepped back, slightly red.
Marinette frowned, watching from a few feet away. "He didn't have to be mean about it…"
"He wasn't mean," Adrien said beside her, quietly. "He was honest."