After solving the problems on the board with effortless precision, Jae-Hyun returned to his seat, rested his head on his folded arms, and closed his eyes.The classroom hummed around him—pens scratching, whispers rising and fading like static—but he barely heard any of it.
At the front, Mr. Lee Joon-Hyuk stood frozen, marker still in hand, staring at the board as if it had just solved itself.He blinked once. Then twice.
Finally, he exhaled and turned back to the class. "A-anyway… as I was saying," he stammered, attempting to pick up where he'd left off. "Let's move on to—uh—the next problem."
But Jae-Hyun wasn't listening.He had already left the lesson behind, his mind drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of the classroom.
When the bell rang, chairs screeched, voices rose, and students surged for the door like a tide escaping confinement.
He didn't move.
He stayed still, eyes half-closed, until the noise ebbed away and only a few stragglers remained. That was when he heard the tap—light, rhythmic—against the edge of his desk.
He looked up slowly.
Two boys stood there, framed by the afternoon sun slanting through the window.
The first was Oh Jae-Suk, the class president—tall, handsome, with a toned physique and slightly long hair that brushed just above his eyebrows. Beside him stood his friend, Nam Tae-Ho, a slightly shorter version of Jae-Suk, still tall and equally handsome, with a lean build and neatly cropped hair.
"Hi," the taller one said. "I'm Oh Jae-Suk, class president."He nodded to the boy beside him. "And this is Nam Tae-Ho."
Jae-Hyun blinked, taking a second too long to respond. "...Jae-Hyun."
Jae-Suk smiled. "You're really good at physics. The way you solved that problem—Mr. Lee was speechless."
Jae-Hyun tilted his head slightly. "It wasn't difficult."
Tae-Ho chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, for you maybe. The rest of us were just trying to remember what 'potential difference' even meant."
That earned a faint curl of Jae-Hyun's lip—almost a smile, but not quite.
"What academy do you go to?" Jae-Suk asked, genuinely curious. "You must be in one of those elite hagwons, right?"
"I don't attend any academy." Jae-Hyun replied, already losing interest in the conversation.
Both boys froze. Jae-Suk's eyebrows twitched upward, while Tae-Ho's hand—half-raised to his chin—stayed suspended in the air.
It was unthinkable. In Korea, everyone went to a hagwon. Students practically lived there—late-night classes, mock tests, study groups. Not going was like showing up to a race barefoot and still winning.
"So… you self-study?" Tae-Ho asked, voice tinged with disbelief—and respect.
"Yes."
"That's amazing, would you mind studying with us?" Jae-Suk said, his face hopeful.
"No."
The reply came so quickly, so certain, that it left a small silence in its wake.
Jae-Hyun lowered his head again, signaling the conversation was over. He'd done this dance before—people drawn in by curiosity, then quietly slipping away when they realized how little he cared for their approval.
But Jae-Suk didn't move.
He exchanged a glance with Tae-Ho, then leaned a little closer. "Where do you live?"
Jae-Hyun frowned, looking up once more. "Why?"
"So we can take the bus home together," Jae-Suk said simply. "It's more fun going home with friends."
That word—friends—hit him strangely.It wasn't something he heard often, not directed at him. His former classmates either ignored him or mocked his quietness. "Friends" was something that happened to other people. He found it hard to believe that someone as popular as the class president actually wanted to be friends with him.
"Friends?" Jae-Hyun let out a short, ironic chuckle. "Who says we're friends?"
"Well… we could be," Jae-Suk replied with a grin.
Tae-Ho added cheerfully, "Let's stop by that street stall near the station and grab some tteokbokki. You like tteokbokki,?"
"I don't know," Jae-Hyun admitted.
Tae-Ho's jaw dropped. "You've never had tteokbokki?"
"I've had it," he said, correcting himself calmly. "I just don't… remember liking it."
Jae-Suk laughed. "Then you're coming with us. We'll fix that."
"Then karaoke after," Tae-Ho said, already excited. "There's this new place that opened—spacious rooms, big screen, free snacks!"
Jae-Hyun blinked. The entire exchange felt surreal, like he'd been swept into a conversation he hadn't agreed to join. But something about their energy—their sincerity, maybe—made him pause.
They weren't mocking him.They weren't trying to challenge him.They just… wanted him there.
He didn't know how to react, he had never done anything like this before— never hung out after school, never shared food or laughter with friends. It was all foreign to him.
After a moment's hesitation, he gave a small nod.
"Yes!" they shouted in unison, punching the air in excitement.
They left the school together, Jae-Suk walking in the middle like he naturally owned the space between them, Tae-Ho talking animatedly about some drama he'd been watching, and Jae-Hyun quietly trailing.
The tteokbokki stall was a tiny cart with steam billowing into the cool air, the rich scent of chili and garlic instantly making Jae-Hyun's stomach grumble.The ajumma behind it wore a floral apron and greeted them with a smile.
"Three bowls?" she asked.
"Yes, please!" Tae-Ho replied eagerly, slapping some bills onto the counter.
The ajumma ladled steaming red tteokbokki into paper bowls, adding slices of fish cake and half-boiled eggs.
"Here," Tae-Ho said, handing him a toothpick. "You'll love this, trust me."
Jae-Hyun took a bite.
The sauce hit first—hot, thick, slightly sweet. It burned his tongue just enough to sting. He blinked rapidly, trying not to show it.
Jae-Suk burst into laughter. "Spicy?"
"It's fine," Jae-Hyun muttered, but his lips were already tingling.
They ate standing under the fading sky, passing bites of fish cake and eggs back and forth like they'd known each other for years. Jae-Hyun found himself smiling at Tae-Ho's overdramatic gasp when he accidentally dropped a rice cake onto his shoe.
After finishing, they headed to the karaoke bar—a neon-lit basement tucked behind a convenience store, pulsing with muffled music. The walls glowed pink and blue, the air faintly smelling of cola and cheap perfume.
They paid for a small room. Inside, the lighting was dim and warm. A giant screen dominated one wall, microphones resting on the table beside a battered remote.
Jae-Suk grabbed the mic first."Alright," he declared, "I'll set the mood."
The opening notes of a love ballad filled the room.To everyone's surprise—he could actually sing. His voice was clear and confident, the kind that made people grin even if they didn't know the lyrics.
Tae-Ho clapped along off-beat, cheering. "Our class president, ladies and gentlemen!"
When the song ended, Tae-Ho grabbed the mic eagerly. "My turn!"
The first note came out… wrong. Very wrong.
Jae-Hyun blinked. Tae-Ho's voice was a strange combination of nasal and flat, wobbling uncertainly like a baby deer on ice. But Tae-Ho sang with conviction, eyes closed, clutching the mic as if performing at a stadium.
Jae-Suk collapsed into laughter, nearly choking on his soda.
By the second verse, Jae-Hyun couldn't help it—he laughed too. A real laugh, bright and unrestrained, slipping out before he could stop it.
It startled even him.
Tae-Ho grinned mid-verse. "Oh! He laughs! Mark the date—Jung Jae-Hyun actually laughed!"
"Miracles do happen," Jae-Suk added, still wiping tears of laughter.
"Keep mocking me," Tae-Ho said, dramatically clutching his chest. "You'll regret it when I become a superstar."
That only made them laugh harder.
The rest of the evening blurred into song and laughter. They took turns picking tracks, shouting the lyrics off-key, waving the microphones like idiots.
When they finally left the karaoke bar, the city was wrapped in soft night. Streetlights flickered to life, and the air smelled faintly of rain.
They walked toward the bus stop together, talking about nothing important—school gossip, teachers, food.
Jae-Suk turned suddenly. "Hey, Jae-Hyun," he said, walking backward with a grin. "You should hang out with us more."
Tae-Ho nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. We sort of made it a mission to try every street stall within a kilometer of school. The ahjummas know us now—they give us extra fish cakes sometimes."
Jae-Hyun hesitated. His instinct was to say no—to keep his distance. But something inside him resisted that old habit.
"Maybe," he said quietly.
"Maybe's good enough," Jae-Suk said, smiling.
They boarded different buses, waving as the doors shut.
On the ride home, Jae-Hyun watched the city blur past—the neon lights smearing into streaks of color. He thought of their laughter, the taste of tteokbokki still faint on his tongue, the warmth that lingered long after the noise had faded.
For once, the world outside didn't feel slow.
He still didn't understand why they'd chosen him of all people. But maybe that didn't matter.
For the first time in a long while, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow.
- - -
Note:
Ttebokki is a popular Korean street snack of chewy rice cakes in a spicy-sweet chili sauce, often served with fish cakes and boiled eggs.
Ajumma— a term for a middle-aged or older Korean woman, often used for ladies who run shops or stalls.