The morning lessons were a blur of adrenaline and dread. After narrowly escaping Ms. Choi's wrath for my mid-lesson stand-up routine, I spent the rest of the periods vibrating with anxiety. I had three days to turn two enemies and a confused first-year into a band. But first, I had a more immediate problem: Condition Number One.
Stop looking like... that.
Lunch break arrived. I didn't head for food. I headed for the sanctuary of the second-floor boy's bathroom.
I stood in front of the mirror.
"Okay, Motuzenko," I whispered to my reflection. "You need a look. You need a vibe. You need to be... handsome."
I untied my messy bun, letting my hair fall. It was thick, dark, and unruly.
I turned on the tap. I splashed water on my face, then ran my wet hands through my hair, slicking it back.
"Sleek," I muttered.
But as it dried, it started to poof out at the sides. I looked less like a movie star and more like a wet dog that had been electrocuted.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. I dug into my gym bag. I didn't have hair gel. But I did have a small, travel-sized bottle of cologne my dad had shoved in my suitcase. 'For special occasions,' he'd said.
I spritzed it. Once. Twice. Three times for luck.
A cloud of musk, sandalwood, and aggressive masculinity filled the small bathroom. It smelled like a taxicab in July.
"Perfect," I choked, waving my hand to clear the air. "Confidence is key."
I buttoned my blazer, then—remembering a scene from The Heirs—I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt and loosened my tie.
"Casual. Dangerous. Foreign."
I strode out of the bathroom. I walked down the hall with what I hoped was a swagger. I pushed open the double doors to the cafeteria.
The noise of a thousand students hit me. I didn't flinch. I walked in.
I ran a hand through my damp, semi-slicked hair.
Heads turned.
"Who is that?"
"Is that the Ukrainian?"
"Why is he walking like that?"
I saw Min-ah at her usual table. She had a bottle of water raised to her lips. She saw me.
PFFFT!
Water sprayed everywhere. She started coughing, pointing a shaking finger at me.
I saw Ha-neul at the "Perfects" table. She looked up. Her eyes went wide. She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter.
They are stunned by my transformation, I told myself. Keep going.
I spotted my target. Yoo Chae-rin was at her window seat, eating with delicate precision.
I adjusted my path. I focused my gaze. I stepped forward with purpose.
And my unlaced sneaker.
I pitched forward.
My arms windmilled. I stumbled three steps, looking like a drunk pelican trying to take flight.
But I didn't fall. I caught myself on the back of a chair, swinging around it with accidental grace. I leaned against it, panting slightly, and shot a finger gun at a terrified first-year.
"Be careful," I whispered.
I straightened up and walked the last few steps to Chae-rin's table.
She didn't look up.
I pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, trying to look intense and brooding.
Chae-rin paused. Her nose twitched. She frowned, sniffing the air.
"Did you... marinate yourself in cheap cologne?" she asked, her voice flat. "It smells like a duty-free shop exploded."
"It's 'Midnight Kiev'," I lied smoothly, my voice dropping an octave to mimic the male lead from Boys Over Flowers. "Very exclusive."
She finally looked at me. Her gaze traveled from my damp, chaotic hair to my unbuttoned shirt.
"You look like you fell into a fountain," she observed. "What do you want, San-ssi? I'm eating."
This was it. I needed to know what she wanted. I needed to know the standard.
I narrowed my eyes. I channeled every K-drama bad boy I had ever watched. I leaned in closer, invading her personal space.
"Baby," I said in English, adding a husky growl. "What's your ideal type?"
Chae-rin froze. Her spoon, halfway to her mouth and loaded with spicy radish kimchi, stopped in mid-air.
Her eyes went wide.
"Mwo?" she choked.
She dropped the spoon.
SPLAT.
The kimchi hit the soup bowl. A spray of red, spicy liquid launched into the air.
It didn't hit her.
It hit me. Right in the left eye.
"ARGH!" I screamed, clutching my face. "MY EYE! THE SPICE! IT BURNS!"
"You idiot!" Chae-rin yelled, standing up. "Are you crazy?!"
I was blinking furiously, tears streaming down my face, my "cool guy" image completely destroyed.
"I just... wanted... to know..!" I gasped, trying to wipe the chili powder from my eyelid.
I spun around, looking for a napkin, blind in one eye.
And that's when I saw him.
Standing directly behind me, holding a tray of food, was Han Min-gyu.
He was staring at us. At me, leaning over the table. At Chae-rin, flushed and shouting. At my unbuttoned shirt and "seductive" pose.
His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.
"You?" he whispered. "Again?"
"It's not what it looks like!" I yelled, one eye squeezed shut, smelling like musk and kimchi. "I was just asking her about her type!"
Min-gyu dropped his tray.
CLANG.
The sound echoed through the silent cafeteria.
"I... I think I need to go," Min-gyu stammered, backing away. "I... enjoy your lunch."
He turned and ran.
I looked at Chae-rin. She looked at me.
"You," she hissed, grabbing a napkin and throwing it at my face. And ran after Min-gyu