SEO JIAH POV
I clutch the coffee cup and sandwich like fragile evidence, heart pounding, careful not to spill a single drop.
The lid feels thinner than it should be, like it's waiting for me to mess up so it can humiliate me in front of half the school.
My fingers ache from gripping too tight, knuckles pale, wrist tense, every step measured because if I trip now I might actually lie down and let the hallway take me.
By the time I slow near the corner, my lungs are burning. The stairs took more out of me than they had any right to. I swear they added extra steps overnight just to spite me.
I dodge around a group of first-years arguing loudly about something stupid and finally lift my head—
—and my eyes catch on something small and bright near the lockers.
A hairpin.
Pink.
Bow-shaped.
My steps falter so abruptly I nearly crash into someone's backpack. I stop walking altogether, body going rigid, like my brain yanked the cord.
The hallway noise keeps moving around me—laughing, shouting, lockers slamming—but it fades into static.
That hairpin.
The one from Saturday.
My pupils widen before I can stop them.
It's on someone's head. Not dropped. Worn. Tucked neatly into dark hair, catching the overhead lights just enough to stand out.
The exact same stupid shade of pink. The exact same shape burned into my memory from Saturday .
My chest tightens.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
There is a very real chance that half the girls in this school own the same damn hairpin. It's cute. It's cheap maybe . It's probably sold in packs of three. This is not proof. This is coincidence.
My brain is being dramatic again, and I do not have the emotional budget for this.
But my feet don't listen.
The girl is a few steps ahead of me, almost at the turn of the hallway. Her back is to me. There are too many students between us, bodies moving, blocking my view, bumping shoulders.
I tighten my grip on the coffee, heart drumming like it's trying to escape my ribcage.
I want to see her face.
I absolutely do not want to see her face.
Both thoughts exist at the same time, loud and conflicting, like two idiots screaming over each other in my head.
If it's not her, I'll feel stupid. If it is her, I don't even know what I'll feel. Probably worse.
I start weaving through the crowd, muttering quiet apologies, slipping past shoulders and backpacks, eyes locked ahead.
The pink bow bobs slightly as the girl walks, unbothered, unaware that she's ruining my day just by existing.
I'm getting closer. One more step, maybe two, and I'll see her profile. I can already imagine it, my brain helpfully supplying worst-case scenarios like it always does.
Then—
Someone slides into my path from the right.
I stop short with a frustrated breath, already knowing who it is before I even look.
I lift my eyes and there he is.
Kim Jeonhwa.
Of course.
Standing there like a human roadblock, perfectly timed, holding his hand out expectantly.
His gaze flicks down to the coffee and sandwich, then back up to my face, lips curling into that irritating, satisfied smirk.
"Aah," he says softly, like he's impressed. "Good girl."
I physically recoil.
My face twists into something ugly and offended before I can stop it. "Oh my god," I hiss, lowering the cup just enough to glare at him properly. "Do not say that. Ever. That was disgusting. I will call the police ."
He just chuckles under his breath, completely unfazed, and reaches for the coffee.
I yank it back an inch. "Here's your caffeine," I say flatly. "I didn't spit in it, but I did breathe on the lid. Good luck with the flu."
He pauses, eyebrow lifting. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," I say, dead serious. "Very moist breaths. Aggressive even."
He takes the coffee anyway, fingers brushing mine just barely, like he did it on purpose. I hate that my brain notices.
I shove the sandwich at him next, already done with this interaction and desperately wanting to get past him.
"Also," I add quickly, "that's four-fifty for the latte and three for the sandwich. Plus a two-dollar Blackmail Tax for my time. You owe me nine-fifty."
He blinks. Actually blinks.
"What?" he says, genuinely caught off guard for once.
I cross my arms, coffee-free hand finally able to gesture. "What did you think? That I'd buy a complete stranger food with my own money? No way, man. Pay up."
He stares at me for a second, then laughs. Quiet. Disbelieving. "Stranger?"
"Yes," I snap. "Stranger. You transferred yesterday. Yesterday."
He tilts his head slightly, eyes sharpening. "How am I a stranger to you," he asks calmly, "when I'm the one who helped you while you were stalking a boy?"
My entire soul leaves my body again.
I freeze so hard it's almost impressive. My eyes dart instinctively around us. Too many people. Way too many people.
I step forward and hover a finger against his lips without thinking. "Shut up," I whisper fiercely. "Are you insane?"
His smirk returns instantly, smug and infuriating. He leans back just enough to make my finger drop, clearly enjoying this far too much.
"So," he murmurs, lowering his voice, "do you still need the money?"
I glare at him. I want to say yes. I really do. I also want to punch him. Unfortunately, he's still holding my dignity hostage in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
My jaw tightens. I say nothing.
He takes that as victory.
"Thought so," he says lightly, already stepping back. He lifts the coffee in a mock toast. "Thanks for the service."
Before I can react, he turns and walks away, retreating into the crowd with my money, my time, and my last nerve.
I stand there for a second, fuming, hands clenched at my sides, imagining several creative ways to end him that all involve detention.
I glance back toward where the girl with the pink bow was.
She's gone.
The hallway has swallowed her whole.
I stand there, chest tight, anger and disappointment tangling together into something sharp and unpleasant.
I hate that I didn't see her face. I hate that I wanted to. I hate that this stupid hairpin has more power over my mood than it should.
Somewhere down the hall, Jeonhwa laughs again.
I flip him off instinctively, even though he's already gone.
I hate everyone today.
I'm still standing there, staring at the empty space where the pink bow disappeared, when a hand suddenly clamps down on my shoulder.
I flinch hard enough that my spine does a full system reboot. Coffee-less, already irritated, already on edge, my soul nearly leaves again out of pure reflex.
I twist halfway, ready to bite someone, and freeze when I see who it is.
Bora.
Haerin is right beside her, half-hidden behind Bora's shoulder like usual, eyes wide and curious, lips already parted like she's been holding a question in since breakfast.
Bora squints at my face, then follows my line of sight down the hallway, brows knitting together. "What are you looking at like that?" she asks, voice low but sharp, protective energy fully activated.
I shake my head immediately, a little too fast. "Nothing," I say, which is obviously a lie because Bora's expression instantly shifts into that don't bullshit me look she reserves for liars and people who chew too loud.
Haerin tilts her head, studying me gently, like she's trying to piece something together without poking the bruise. "You okay?" she asks quietly. "You look… stressed."
That is the understatement of the century.
"I'm fine," I say, already annoyed that my voice sounds tight. I shrug Bora's hand off my shoulder and roll it like I just slept on it wrong. "Just had a run-in with someone who deserves jail time."
Bora snorts. "That narrows it down to half the school."
She hooks her arm through mine anyway, like she's decided I'm not escaping this interaction whether I want to or not.
Haerin mirrors the movement on my other side, small hand gripping my sleeve lightly, grounding without meaning to.
They start steering me away from the lockers and toward the main hallway, like this was always the plan.
"Come on," Bora says casually. "Let's go."
I let myself be dragged for about three steps before my brain catches up. "Go where?" I ask, suspicious. Very suspicious.
Haerin answers before Bora can, eyes lighting up just a little. "The basketball team merchandise booth," she whispers excitedly. "They set it up this morning. Jerseys, posters, keychains. Everything."
Bora nods emphatically. "Yeah, and before everything sells out. We're supporting our team this year properly. No half-assed cheering."
I slow my steps without realizing it, their arms tightening to keep me moving. "Merchandise," I repeat, the word tasting strange in my mouth.
Haerin nods again, bouncing slightly on her feet. "The match is on Friday. Everyone's already talking about it."
Of course they are.
My brain, which has been quietly simmering all morning like a pot someone forgot on the stove, suddenly tips into full boil. Images crash together in my head with zero regard for my mental health.
The rain from yesterday. Enhyeok's voice. His stupid calm face. The way he said I'll look forward to it like he knew something I didn't.
And me. Opening my mouth. Saying something insane. Something irreversible. Something that felt powerful for exactly three seconds before the regret started dripping in.
I'll wear your jersey.
What the hell was I thinking.
I let Bora and Haerin pull me along, my feet moving on autopilot while my thoughts spiral. The idea hits me slowly, then all at once, like a delayed punch to the ribs.
Basketball merchandise.
Jerseys.
Enhyeok's jersey.
My stomach flips in a way that is not nerves, not excitement, but pure adrenaline mixed with self-destructive spite.
The kind that makes you do things you'll absolutely regret later but will defend with your life in the moment.
I glance sideways, jaw tightening.
This is it.
This is the moment.
Yesterday, I'd said it out of anger, soaked and furious and vibrating with rain and humiliation. I'd thrown the words like a grenade and walked away before the blast hit me.
Now, standing here between my friends, dry and fully conscious, the weight of it settles heavy in my chest.
Wearing his jersey to support Jiho makes zero sense. It's contradictory. It's messy. It's a social nightmare waiting to happen.
It's also exactly the kind of thing that would make Enhyeok choke on his smug little expectations.
And suddenly, the regret twists into something sharper.
Defiance.
I straighten slightly, shoulders pulling back, lips pressing into a thin line. Bora keeps talking, listing off things she wants to buy, completely unaware of the internal war happening beside her. Haerin nods along, smiling softly, already mentally budgeting.
They don't know.
They don't know about the deal I made with the universe yesterday under that shelter.
They don't know about the way Enhyeok looked at me like he didn't believe I'd follow through. Like he'd already written me off as all talk.
I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
"Fine," I say suddenly, the word slipping out before I fully plan it.
Bora looks at me. "Fine?"
"I'll come," I add, tone casual, too casual. "I need… stuff anyway."
Haerin smiles immediately, relieved, like she was worried I'd bail. Bora eyes me for a second longer, clearly sensing there's more to this than I'm letting on, but she doesn't push. She just grins, sharp and approving.
"That's the spirit," she says. "You've been weirdly passive lately. I was getting concerned."
Passive.
If only she knew.
As we turn down the hallway toward the gym entrance, my pulse starts ticking louder in my ears. Somewhere in this building, Enhyeok is existing. Breathing. Sitting in his stupid seat to my left, probably not thinking about me at all.
Good.
Let him underestimate me.
I don't know how I'm going to survive Friday. I don't know how I'm going to explain this to anyone. I don't even know if I'll actually go through with it without combusting on the spot.
But as the noise of the hallway fades behind us and the buzz of the gym grows louder ahead, one thing settles deep in my chest, heavy and immovable.
I don't back out.
Not now.
Not after that look.
Not after everything.
If Enhyeok thinks he gets to look down on me like I'm predictable, like I won't follow through, then he's about to learn exactly how bad of an assumption that is.
Yu enhyeok,
wait and see, you bastard.
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