(Now with 80% more brain errors.)
The first period was "Math with Mrs. Kim," though I'm convinced it was originally titled "Mental Torture with No Exit" in some ancient scroll, only to be renamed for modern-day schooling.
She entered the classroom like a war general returning from exile. Her heels clacked against the floor, each step echoing like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
We all sat straighter by instinct alone. Even Minho—who once ate three glue sticks just to get out of a test—snapped to attention like a rookie soldier caught napping.
I hadn't even recovered from the trauma of spilling hot ramen on my white uniform shirt this morning when she marched to the board like it had personally offended her. She slammed the marker down with the kind of force usually reserved for courtroom gavels or Thor's hammer.
"Page 42. Trigonometry," she barked.
No 'Good morning,' no 'How are you lovely bundles of emotional chaos doing today?' Just raw, unfiltered academic violence.
"I didn't sign up for war," I muttered under my breath, flipping open my textbook like it might explode. Which, honestly, wouldn't have surprised me.
Mrs. Kim's head turned at the speed of light.
"Did you say something, Nam Joon?" she asked, narrowing her eyes into weapon-grade slits. That tone—sharp, cold, suspicious—was the vocal equivalent of a sniper rifle zeroing in on a sarcastic target.
I froze. "Just… excited to learn about sines and cosines, ma'am."
She nodded slowly. "Good."
Liar. She knew. I knew. God knew.
And that's when it happened.
I was halfway through pretending I knew what adjacent and hypotenuse meant—drawing the world's saddest right-angled triangle—when the classroom door creaked open. Like, actual horror movie creak. Goosebumps-level creak.
Everyone turned.
And in she walked.
I swear the universe shifted dimensions in that moment. Like, reality pixelated for a second and rebooted in ultra HD.
She had long, messy black hair that looked like she'd tried to tame it but then gave up and said, "Let the chaos reign." An oversized cardigan hung off her shoulders like it had witnessed centuries of emotional damage. Big round glasses framed her eyes, which somehow made them more dramatic—like anime-level sparkle dramatic. And that soft, uncertain smile? It said, "I'm lost," but also "I might be the chosen one sent to save or destroy the world."
The new transfer student.
Of course she walked in while I was mid-slouch, pencil in my mouth like a straw, textbook upside down, and brain entirely on airplane mode.
"She's real," I whispered. "She's not part of the mountain bear dream…"
I wasn't even trying to be funny. I genuinely thought she might be a hallucination. She had main character energy. That untouchable aura. Like the kind of girl who would time-travel, fall into a parallel world, or secretly be a sword-wielding moon princess.
She introduced herself in a voice so soft I thought maybe the air itself was trying not to disturb her.
"Hello. My name is Do Hana. I just transferred here from Busan…"
Oh no.
Even her voice had plot twist potential.
There was a pause. The entire class was silent for exactly three seconds. Then, like trained seals, they started clapping. Enthusiastically. Why? Nobody knew. Peer pressure is the oldest form of black magic.
I tried not to join in, but my hands betrayed me. They started clapping like I was under mind control. I hated myself. I hated peer pressure. I hated clapping.
Mrs. Kim pointed to the only empty seat in the room.
Right. Next. To. Me.
"Nam Joon," she called. "Raise your hand."
My brain forgot how arms worked. I half-lifted my hand, then waved like I was trying to signal a UFO for extraction.
"Excellent," she said. "Hana, please sit beside him."
As she walked toward me, I swear my brain did like twenty emergency reboots in five seconds. I got system alerts like:
[Alert: Heartbeat.exe is not responding.
Warning: Nervous system overheating.
Critical Error: 'Cool and Normal Mode' failed to launch.
Mouth is now offline.]
She sat beside me. Looked at me. And smiled.
"Hi," she whispered.
I should've said "Hi" back.
I should've said literally anything else.
Instead, I blurted:
"Marriage."
WHAT?!
I wanted to evaporate. Just dematerialize into dust and float away.
I smiled like everything was totally normal. Like I hadn't just proposed marriage in the first 0.2 seconds of human interaction.
"I mean… hi. Sorry. Just… really into trigonometry," I added quickly.
Really into trigonometry?! What was I, a math cultist?
But then she giggled.
She giggled.
It was like the sound fairies make when they agree to grant you a single wish, and your wish is: "Please let me not be a complete loser right now."
I could feel my soul trying to fly out of my body. I grabbed my desk for emotional stability.
Math class passed in a blur after that. I don't remember triangles. I don't remember sines or cosines. I don't remember breathing. What I do remember is how hard I tried to look not at her. Which, naturally, meant I looked at her every three seconds.
It was like sitting next to a black hole that sucked in all my attention, confidence, and common sense.
Every time she adjusted her glasses or tucked her hair behind her ear, my brain exploded in slow motion.
The bell finally rang.
Salvation. Freedom. A chance to reboot my entire personality and maybe start over in another country.
I started packing my bag like I was escaping a crime scene. I just needed air, solitude, and maybe divine guidance.
Then she turned to me.
"Hey, Nam Joon… can you help me find the library?"
Every neuron in my brain did a backflip.
I stood up like I was accepting a royal quest.
"Yes," I said solemnly. "I will take you. Even if it's across the ocean."
She blinked.
"…It's just down the hallway."
I nodded, face redder than the school fire extinguisher.
"…Of course it is."
---
To Be Continued...?
(Probably in the nurse's office because I might pass out.)