Nari Kang didn't like getting called to the staff office. It made her feel like she was in trouble, even when she knew she wasn't.
The hall was quiet during lunch break, and her shoes clicked a little too loud as she walked. She adjusted her blazer sleeve, clutching the end awkwardly. The corridor smelled faintly like printer ink and overbrewed green tea. Familiar.
She knocked twice on the staff room door.
"Come in," a voice called from inside.
It was Ms. Lim — the homeroom teacher, strict but reasonable. She wore square glasses that always slid down her nose, and today they were halfway there already.
"Ah, Nari," Ms. Lim said, motioning to a seat. "Sit down."
Nari bowed politely before taking the seat. "Is everything okay?"
Ms. Lim folded her hands over a thin stack of papers. "Yes. You're not in trouble. In fact, this is… more of a favor."
That made Nari blink. "A favor?"
Ms. Lim leaned forward slightly, voice lowering.
"I'm assigning you a responsibility. One that might not be easy, but I believe you're the only one who can handle it properly."
Nari waited.
"It's Choeng San."
Of course it was.
Nari didn't roll her eyes — barely — but the second she heard his name, her stomach twisted. She didn't hate him. But he acted like he hated her. Or everyone, really. Like he was doing the school a favor by showing up at all. Uniform untucked, earbuds in, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Always late. Always distant.
"What about him?" she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral.
Ms. Lim sighed.
"You've noticed, haven't you? He doesn't participate. He doesn't submit homework. He skips class when he feels like it. But the truth is… San used to be one of the best students in his year."
Nari blinked. That part surprised her.
"Then… why—?"
"You know what happened to his family," Ms. Lim said gently. "His father's been in a coma for over a year now. His mother's been in and out of the hospital. Their family flower shop closed. Financially, emotionally… It's been rough. And San, well, he's been on his own for most of it."
Nari shifted in her seat, suddenly uneasy.
"I understand," she said quietly. "But… why are you telling me this?"
"Because none of that gives him an excuse to ignore rules or disrespect people," Ms. Lim said, more firmly now. "Tragedy doesn't give you a pass to treat others like they're beneath you. You've always been someone who's fair — kind, yes, but firm when it matters. I want you to keep him accountable."
Nari frowned. "Keep him accountable… how?"
"I'm pairing you two for the next project. And I'm assigning you to take care of him.. You just have to make sure he does the basics, being a good student".
"What?!"
Ms. Lim didn't flinch. "You'll check in with him about assignments. Make sure he knows deadlines. If he misses something, tell me. If he disappears, let me know. Help him adjust again. Also make him join some clubs."
"But why me?" Nari asked, trying not to sound too frustrated. "He clearly doesn't want help from anyone. He won't even look at me when I say hello."
"Because," Ms. Lim said, standing, "you're the only one who I trust will try."
That stung a little. Because it was true.
Nari stood, slowly.
"This isn't really a favor," she muttered under her breath.
Ms. Lim smiled, not unkindly. "It's a responsibility. And I knew you'd take it seriously."
The moment she stepped back into the hallway, she regretted everything.
Why didn't she just say no? Why didn't she explain that she was already swamped with her own stuff? That Choeng San clearly didn't want to be "guided" by some cheerful paper-crane-folding classmate?
The rest of the lunch break passed in a haze. When the bell rang and everyone flooded into the classroom, she barely noticed him walking in — until she did.
Choeng San.
Same messy hair. Same loose blazer, no tie. Same face that looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.
He sat down two seats away from her. No eye contact.
Nari inhaled sharply. Time to start.
She got up from her seat and walked over to him.
He looked up slowly, one earbud still in.
"What?" he asked, already annoyed.
"I'm your partner for the next project," she said plainly.
He blinked, then looked away again. "Switch."
"No."
That caught him off guard. He looked at her again, sharper this time.
"I said switch."
"And I said no," she repeated. "It's assigned. I don't like it either, but I'm not running around begging people to trade with me because you're too moody to function."
Silence.
Their classmates were starting to notice.
San leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
"Did Lim put you up to this?"
"Yeah," Nari said, arms crossing. "She thinks I can handle you."
He smirked — not kindly. "She's wrong."
"We'll see."
She turned and walked back to her seat before he could say anything else.
That night, she folded another paper crane.
It was a habit now — a crane for every day she made it through. For every fight she avoided, for every smile she managed to give someone. Today's crane was pale yellow. Soft and stubborn.
"I don't want to take care of him," she muttered aloud, pressing the fold.
"But someone has to."