The camera flashed nonstop against a clean, white backdrop. Today's concept was simple—black and white. Fire shifted effortlessly through each pose. First in a long, flowing white dress that trailed like mist, then transformed into a bold, androgynous figure in a sharp black suit. A short wig framed her face, soft features balanced with an edge of elegance. She looked beautiful—and strikingly handsome.
"And that's a wrap!" the head photographer called out.
A wave of applause echoed through the studio. As the tension melted, Fire's fierce gaze softened into her usual bright and bubbly demeanor. She bowed gratefully. "Thank you so much, everyone!"
Her manager stepped forward, tapping his phone. "Great work. Blaze is here—can we get a quick photo for the media?"
"What time is it?" Fire asked, already gathering her things.
"10:26," he replied, glancing at his watch.
"I'll do the picture, but I need to rush. My flight's in less than an hour."
I can't afford another warning from Ice, she thought, already bracing herself.
At the University…
The classroom buzzed with chatter. Morning lectures hadn't started, but gossip already filled the air.
"Wait, Fire has a boyfriend?" Dhylan asked, eyebrows raised.
Oriel barely looked up from her phone, scrolling. "Yeah. Totally forgot, but they posted a photo recently." She held the screen toward him. "Look—Blaze. He's a top action star in Asia. They actually look amazing together."
"They haven't confirmed anything officially, but come on," she added, now flipping to Blaze's profile. "It's obvious."
Blaze, also known by his stage name Ace, wasn't a global name yet—but in Asia, he was a rising icon.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway. Then came a loud thud at the front entrance. Oriel turned to check what happened—
It was Fire, panting, cheeks flushed, looking visibly relieved.
She had bumped into the glass door—headfirst.?
Oriel flinched, ready to rush to her in concern, but before she could move, the bell rang and the real professor strode in.
The room fell silent at once.
The lecture dragged on, long and dull, as always—but Fire was acting... off. The subject she usually complained about now had her full attention. Her eyes locked on the professor, posture straight, absorbing every word.
"Fire's acting weird," Oriel whispered.
"She looks fine to me," Dhylan mumbled, face down on his desk, hidden from view as usual.
I need to catch up. If I fall behind again, Ice will be furious. Fire clenched her pen tighter, willing herself to stay alert despite the creeping jet lag.
"Another technique is folding—this means gently combining ingredients, usually by scooping from the bottom and lifting to the top," Miss Murasaki explained, mimicking the motion with her hands as if holding a rubber scraper. "This should be done gently—keyword: gentle. We don't want to ruin the texture by knocking out the air we've worked so hard to incorporate through overmixing or careless stirring," she added with emphasis.
Fire recalled the moments with Ice—how stressed he looked, all because of the mistakes she'd made. She wanted to defend herself now, to say she hadn't known any of this before. Her hand had already started to reach toward Ice, ready to speak up—but just then, Miss Murasaki's voice cut in.
"Anyway, I'm sure most of you already know this. Just a quick recap," the teacher said with a smile.
At that, Fire pulled her hand back before it reached him.
The bell rang. Students stirred in their seats.
"Alright," the professor said, "let's talk about your next lab project."
Excitement rippled through the room.
"This time, you'll prepare a full-course meal inspired by another country. You'll work in teams, and we're mixing groups—you'll be paired based on the country you draw."
"I hope we get Korea!" someone said from the back.
"I'm going with the Philippines," another chimed in.
The professor held up a glass jar filled with folded slips of paper. "Each country will be assigned to two groups—so if you draw the same, you're partners."
Oriel grinned. "I hope I get teamed with Fire."
Dhylan raised an eyebrow. "You sure? That means Ice will be in your group too." Oriel's smile froze; the thought clearly hadn't occurred to her.
The professor asked for a class representative to draw first. Fire stayed still, assuming Ice would go—but he didn't move. Instead, he gave her a look and gestured for her to step up.
Reluctantly, she walked to the front and reached into the jar. As she unfolded the slip, a smile spread across her face.
"Japan!" she beamed, holding it up for Ice to see.
"Find your teammates and bring me a proposal by tomorrow," the professor added. "You'll present on Monday next week. This will count as your midterm. Good luck." With that, she left the room.
Later, in the library…
The library was quiet, wrapped in the warm amber light of the setting sun. I sat at a corner table, laptop humming softly beside a mess of Japanese cookbooks. Lia flipped nervously through one, barely focused, while Rika tapped her pen against the table. Her lips were glossed, her hair curled just right—clearly waiting more for someone than for the actual project.
"He said he'll come after his meeting," I told them, trying to keep my voice casual. "Let's just review the plan in the meantime."
"Are you sure it's okay?" Lia asked, lowering her voice like Ice might suddenly appear behind us. "President Ice looks so… intense. Like, really intense."
"Shut up, he looks like a drama lead," Rika shot back immediately, her voice sparkling with admiration. "Even when he's mad, he's insanely handsome. Like a villain you want to fall in love with."
I gave a small, awkward laugh. This might get worse before it gets better.
And then—footsteps.
Slow, steady, deliberate.
We all turned toward the aisle.
There he was. Like someone just hit "play" on a movie scene.
Ice stepped into view, wearing his usual black uniform—perfectly fitted, of course. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His hair was a little messy from the long day, but somehow it made him look even more put-together. He looked… tired, maybe. But under the library lights, he also looked like he walked straight off the cover of a romance manga.
And his eyes—those sharp, storm-gray eyes—swept the room once, landing right on me.
For a moment, everything else paused.
"Holy…" Rika whispered beside me, slapping a hand over her mouth. Her face turned pink instantly.
Lia dropped her pen. She wasn't even blinking.
I have a very bad feeling about this.
Ice walked toward us, a faint crease between his brows. There was a shadow of fatigue in his expression—but it didn't dull him. If anything, it softened him. And that was more dangerous.
Then came the loudest betrayal of all.
He pulled out the chair next to me. Not the one Rika had obviously dragged closer to herself. Nope. He sat beside me.
The scrape of that chair was way louder than it had any right to be.
I heard Rika die a little inside.
I sighed, not meaning to, and glanced at her. She looked like she'd just seen an angel land on Earth—with glitter.
Ice leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, cheek against his palm. His face was half-shadowed, eyes slightly droopy from exhaustion. But instead of looking grumpy like usual, he just looked... adorable.
Not just handsome. Not just cool.
But effortlessly, devastatingly magnetic.
Hearing my sigh, he asked, 'What's wrong?'—his voice quiet and meant only for me.
And that voice.
From across the table, Lia and Rika visibly short-circuited. Faces red, backs stiff, eyes wide—they looked like they'd just been hit by a spell.
I watched it all happen in real time.
Ice wasn't even trying. He never did. He just existed—breathed, sat—and somehow, two girls fell for him right then and there.
And the worst part?
He had no idea.
Oriel once told me about a girl who fell for him. I even saw one confession happen with my own eyes. Back then, I had one question in mind: Really? Ice? This walking iceberg?
But now…
Now I'd just witnessed it myself. A live-action reenactment of the mystery.
And this front-row seat?
Yeah, definitely not something I ever want to pay for again.
I let out another tired sigh and flipped open my notebook.
This is going to be a very, very long project.