Always, Gabin chose the longer routes home.
Not that she enjoyed the overdue walks, but they gave her time to think and breathe. The Academy itself was a cacophony of pressure and performance, each corridor a battlefield in its own right. Out here, she dismissed it all — the watching, the whispering, the judging.
The shadows, too, felt familiar. Not the most metaphorical-ones — shadows, really. Shadows, solid and true, were following her behind as the sun went low. Shadows were sometimes the type that did not care to behave.
Just like now.
Not that she turned back. Not that she hurried.
Only her fingers gripped down a little tighter on the bag strap.
Six steps behind were three too many.
Not just footsteps. Laughter. The kind of low, forced laughter boys used to sound brave. Or threatening.
Gabin didn't slow her pace. She could handle it. She always did.
---
Tae-ung was watching from the rooftop.
Well, more precisely, the fire escape just above the old record store across the street. He had silently trailed along so far, not more than a shadow.
He had not set in earlier, for he had wanted to satiate himself. With them. With her.
Now his doubts had vanished.
*She knew they were there.*
She was walking to them nonetheless.
*And not out of fear.*
*Testing them,* he was beginning to fathom.
Interesting.
But stupid.
He leapt off the low rooftop and landed on the pavement soft and soundless.
Time for a proper introduction.
---
They cornered her just before the alley curved.
"Hey," one said, tall, dyed hair, too much cologne. "You dropped something."
She turned slowly. "Did I?"
He grinned. "Yeah. Your manners."
His friends laughed as if this were original.
Gabin didn't smile. "Try again."
One of them stepped closer. "What is your problem, princess? We are just saying hi."
Gabin tilted her head. "You followed me for three blocks to say hi?"
"You make it sound creepy."
"It *is* creepy."
And the tension stood up in the air. One attempted to reach for her wrist—
"But he didn't—"
Tae-ung slipped in between them like a knife in fog. Fast. Clean.
The boy stuttered back, clutching his arm with wide open eyes. "What the—?!"
Tae-ung did not look at him. His eyes were fixed on Gabin.
"You alright?"
Gabin blinked.
He hadn't said it with concern. No syrupy voice, no self-indulgent act of heroism. Just... calm. Like he was asking her if she had had lunch.
That much she hated, and how much it disarmed her.
Stepping back, she brushed away imaginary dust from her blazer. "I had it under control."
Tae-ung nodded. "I know."
Then he turned away.
The boys exchanged glances, unsure.
"You think this is over?" one hissed.
Tae-ung paused, mid-step.
"Yeah," he said, not glancing back. "I do."
A piercing quiet filled the room that followed last words.
---
Gabin stared at her ceiling that night.
There was a lot she hated: Unwarranted attention; weak people pretending to be strong; being followed.
And now she could hate something else.
**Not knowing what Kang Tae-ung really wanted.**
Because he hadn't gotten scared by her.
And he wasn't trying to impress her.
But no one follows her unless they want something.
And she could read the way he moved.
Professional.
Like a ghost.