5:30 AM.
The world was a blueprint, drawn in shades of grey, and Han Ji-won was its most precise instrument.
His eyes opened exactly one minute before his alarm was set to blare. A single, deliberate movement of his hand—a pale, slender thing against the dark bedsheet—silenced the phone before it could make a sound. Sound was chaos. Chaos was inefficiency.
He was a machine built for a single purpose: survival. Not the feral, desperate kind his mother practiced, but a cold, calculated one. His life was a series of nested equations, and he had solved for X long ago. X was escape. X was a future built not on feeling, but on fact.
The first part of the equation was the morning routine.
Twenty push-ups. Fifty sit-ups. A three-minute shower, water tepid. He dressed in the uniform his school required, but his version was always sharper, neater, as if he'd starched the very threads. He ran a comb through his black hair, each strand falling into a predetermined place. There were no mirrors in his room; he had no interest in the reflection. He knew what was there: a face that was all angles and sharp lines, eyes the color of a winter sea, and a mouth that had long forgotten how to curve upwards.
He was the top student at Sejong High School, ranked first in the entire year. This wasn't a point of pride; it was a strategic necessity. Scholarships were the only variables that led to a solution where he didn't end up like her.
He moved into the main living area, a space that felt more like a transit lounge than a home. The air was stale, carrying the faint, sweet-sour ghost of soju. And there, on the couch, was the proof.
His mother, Han Mira, was curled in a fitful sleep. An empty green bottle lay tipped over on the floor like a fallen soldier. She was still in the clothes from yesterday, a silky blouse that might have been elegant once, now wrinkled and stained. Her face, even in sleep, was a landscape of fading beauty and fresh regret.
Ji-won's expression didn't change. He felt no anger, no hot surge of resentment. Those were illogical, wasteful emotions. What he felt was a familiar, cold weight in his stomach, the heavy certainty of his theorem: Emotion leads to this. To chaos. To decay.
He sighed, a quiet exhalation of air that was more a physical reaction than an emotional one. Rubbing the spot on his temple where a tension headache was already beginning to brew, he walked over to her.
He first picked up the bottle, placing it neatly in the recycling bin. Then, he retrieved the soft throw blanket she had kicked onto the floor. He unfolded it and draped it over her, his movements efficient, almost clinical. As he tucked the edges around her shoulders, his eyes caught on her feet. She was still wearing her high heels, the thin straps digging into her skin.
Another small, almost imperceptible sigh.
He knelt, his school trousers stretching taut. With careful, unhurried fingers, he unbuckled the first scandal, then the second, sliding them off her feet. Her toenails were painted a chipped, garish red. He placed the shoes side-by-side next to the couch, stood, and looked down at her.
For a single, treacherous second, a memory flickered—a woman with a bright laugh, holding his hand too tight, promising him a world that never materialized. He extinguished it.
He turned away from the scene, the equation reasserting itself.
The next step was breakfast. A single boiled egg, a bowl of rice, a glass of water. He ate alone at the small kitchen table, the silence broken only by the methodical click of his chopsticks. In thirty minutes, he would be at his part-time job at the convenience store, stocking shelves before school. Then school, then study, then home.
It was a perfect, closed loop. A system with no room for error.
Han Ji-won was certain of this. He had accounted for every variable.
Of course. Here is the introduction of Lee Haneul and Yoon Min-seo, capturing the vibrant, sun-drenched atmosphere of his world.
---
The morning sun poured over Sejong High School's entrance, turning the pavement to gold. It was the kind of late-summer day that felt like a held breath, warm and full of promise. And standing in the center of it all, as if he had personally commissioned the weather, was Lee Haneul.
He was a walking spotlight. The cold morning breeze, a final whisper of the retreating season, ruffled his chestnut hair and painted a faint pink blush across his cheeks, giving him an almost unreal, storybook quality. Students streamed past him in a river of navy-blue uniforms, and the air was filled with the chaotic, happy noise of the first day back after a long summer.
"LEE HANEUL!"
The shout cut through the chatter. Haneul turned, and his face, already bright, transformed. A smile broke over his features—not a small, polite one, but a wide, genuine beam that seemed to amplify the sunlight.
Yoon Min-seo was barreling towards him, her own uniform already slightly askew, her backpack threatening to spill its contents with every bouncing step. She was a whirlwind of excited energy.
Before she could even skid to a halt, the words began tumbling out. "You! You will not believe the summer I had. It was a cultural desert, a wasteland of family trips and forced socialization, except for my one true salvation—my screen!" She grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with dramatic intensity. "Haneul, I have ascended. I have watched bl dramas that have fundamentally altered my brain chemistry. The tropes! The pining! The accidental almost-kisses! I have a list. A ranked list. You are legally required to watch the top three with me, your soul depends on it."
Haneul laughed, a sound so warm and open that a few passing girls instinctively turned their heads, their own conversations pausing for a moment. They looked at him with soft, admiring eyes, whispering behind their hands. It was a common sight. Why wouldn't they? He was the school's sunshine, not because he tried to be, but because he simply was.
He listened to Min-seo's rapid-fire synopses, his head tilted, nodding with genuine interest as she detailed complex plotlines about star-crossed male lovers.
"—and then, in episode eight, he carries him home in the rain because of a sprained ankle, and the tension! Haneul, the tension!"
"It sounds life-changing," Haneul said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll clear my schedule."
A Senior from the basketball team clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Hey, Haneul! Good to see you, man!"
"You too,Doyun! Practice later?"
"You know it!"
Another wave, a smile for a teacher, a cheerful nod for a group of first-years who stared at him with a mixture of awe and admiration. Lee Haneul existed in a constellation of easy friendships and warm regard, a bright, burning star in the high school galaxy. He was the boy who remembered everyone's name, who always had a kind word, whose very presence seemed to make the hallways feel a little warmer, the days a little lighter.
He was, in every way, the polar opposite of the silent, grey world Han Ji-won inhabited. And in just a few moments, their orbits were destined to collide.
The excitement of the first day was a tangible thing, buzzing in the air between Haneul and Min-seo as they pushed through the school's main doors. The polished floors gleamed, and the hallways echoed with the sounds of reuniting friends.
"Okay, but our final year," Min-seo was saying, her voice full of fervent hope. "This is it, Haneul. This is our year. We will dominate the art club, I will finally finish that webtoon I've been planning, and we will spend every single lunch period together on the rooftop. It's going to be perfect. Our last year together in this concrete jungle!"
Haneul grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "It's a promise. We'll make so many memories, you'll have material for a hundred new bl storylines."
Their bubble of shared anticipation carried them towards the main notice board, a giant cork rectangle that was already swarming with students. This was the moment of truth—the posting of the third-year class sections. It was a mundane administrative detail, but for them, it was the foundation of their entire senior year plan.
They squeezed through the crowd, their eyes scanning the three neatly typed lists for their names.
"There!" Min-seo pointed, her finger landing on 'Section B'. "Yoon Min-seo. And you're right next to... me..."
Her voice trailed off. Her finger, which had been tracing the list for 'Lee Haneul', moved to the column beside it. Section A.
A beat of silence.
"No," Min-seo whispered, her face falling. She scanned the list again, her movements becoming frantic. "No, no, no. This is a typo. This has to be a typo. Haneul, your name is supposed to be here! In Section B! With me!"
Haneul's own bright smile had vanished, replaced by a stunned frown. He looked from the 'Section A' list, where his name sat among the other top academic performers, back to Min-seo's devastated face. A cold knot tightened in his stomach. They had been together since first year. This wasn't part of the plan.
"But... because of my grades..." he murmured, the achievement suddenly feeling like a punishment.
That was all it took for Min-seo to break. A loud, theatrical wail erupted from her, turning several heads in their direction.
"WE'RE BEING TORN APART!" she cried, throwing her arms around Haneul's neck and burying her face in his shoulder. "It's a tragedy! A classic trope! The forces of the universe are conspiring to keep the best friends separated! What will I do without you? Who will I talk to about my shows? Who will stop me from throwing my art into the trash when I'm frustrated?"
Her voice was rising with each question, genuine distress morphing into a full-blown, dramatic scene in the middle of the main hall.
"Haneul-ah, you can't go!" she sobbed, shaking him slightly. "You have to tell them it's a mistake! Tell them your grades were a fluke! Tell them you cheated!"
"H-Hey, Min-seo, people are staring," Haneul said, his cheeks flushing pink with a mixture of genuine sadness and acute embarrassment. He patted her back awkwardly, trying to calm her down, but his own heart wasn't in it. He didn't want to be separated from her either. The vibrant, colorful world of Section B, with his best friend by his side, suddenly felt miles away, replaced by the sterile, high-pressure environment of Section A.
"H-Hey, Min-seo-ya, it's okay! It's not the end of the world!" Haneul whispered urgently, trying to pry her off as her dramatic sobs drew even more amused and concerned stares from the surrounding students. He could feel his ears burning. "Listen to me! We'll still be together in art class every day! And of course we'll still have lunch together on the rooftop, just like we promised! We'll meet before school and after school... we might even pass notes between classes if you're feeling retro."
He managed to gently extract himself, holding her by the shoulders. Her face was a masterpiece of tragic woe, her bottom lip trembling.
"But it won't be the same," she whined, her voice thick with impending tears. "I'll be stuck listening to boring lectures all day with no one to doodle with! It's an injustice! I should file a complaint. I should march right into the principal's office and—"
Her righteous tirade was cut short mid-sentence. Her eyes, locked over Haneul's shoulder, went wide. The despair vanished from her face in an instant, replaced by a mask of serene, almost unnerving neutrality. She straightened her posture, smoothed down her uniform blazer, and patted her hair as if she hadn't just been moments away from staging a one-student protest.
Haneul blinked in confusion until he heard the crisp, familiar footsteps approaching.
"Students, the bell will ring shortly. Let's not crowd the hallways," a teacher's voice said calmly as he walked past, giving the gathered crowd a mild, supervisory glance.
The moment the teacher turned the corner, Min-seo's shoulders slumped again, but the full-blown melodrama was gone, replaced by a resigned pout.
"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms. "But you're buying my lunch for the first week to compensate for my emotional distress. And you have to watch the first episode of 'Love in the Autumn Rain' with me tonight. My heart needs the healing."
A wave of relief washed over Haneul. The crisis, for now, was averted. He offered her his sunniest, most reassuring smile, the one that usually made everything feel better.
"It's a deal," he promised, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Now, come on. Let's go find our new classrooms before we're late on the first day. Wouldn't want to give the management another reason to keep us apart."
He nudged her playfully, and she finally relented, a small, genuine smile touching her lips as they walked away from the notice board, their senior year taking an unexpected, but not entirely hopeless, turn.
The air in Section A was different. It was quieter, charged with a focused intensity that felt a world away from the boisterous chaos of the main hall. Haneul stepped inside, his heart still carrying a faint ache from the separation. He scanned the room, his eyes automatically seeking a friendly face, but found only rows of students already buried in textbooks or reviewing notes. It was the first period of the first day, and they were already ahead.
And then, he saw him.
At a desk by the window, sitting with a posture so perfect it seemed to defy gravity, was Han Ji-won.
A jolt, equal parts excitement and nerves, shot through Haneul. Ji-won was something of a legend in the school—a figure spoken of in hushed, respectful tones. The untouchable genius. The student with a perfect score record. Haneul had always admired him from afar, not just for his grades, but for the sheer, unshakeable discipline he seemed to radiate. He was like a masterpiece of still-life art: composed, flawless, and utterly enigmatic.
Gathering his courage, Haneul walked over and slid into the empty seat directly beside him.
"Hi," Haneul said, his voice bright and friendly, a stark contrast to the room's silence. "I'm Lee Haneul. I just got transferred to Section A. It's nice to finally sit next to you."
Ji-won's head turned. Slowly. His eyes, the color of a frozen lake, lifted from his book and settled on Haneul. There was no curiosity in them, no welcome, no annoyance. It was a flat, impersonal gaze, as if he were looking at a piece of furniture. He held the look for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Haneul to feel a sudden, inexplicable chill. Then, without a word, he turned back to his textbook, offering only the barest, most dismissive nod.
The rejection was so quiet, so absolute, it was louder than a shout. Haneul's cheerful smile faltered. He felt a sting of disappointment, his usual easy confidence wavering. He opened his mouth, determined to try again, to find a crack in that perfect, icy composure.
But before he could speak, a voice chirped from the desk to his left.
"Lee Haneul? The artist, right? Wow, welcome to the lion's den!"
It was another boy, grinning widely. "I'm Kim Tae-shik. I saw your painting in the festival last year—the one with the sunset over the Han River. It was amazing! How do you even get the light to look like that?"
Grateful for the lifeline, Haneul turned to him, his natural warmth resurfacing. "Oh! Thank you! It's all about layering the warm tones. I spent a whole week just watching the sky at that hour..."
Their conversation flowed easily, Tae-shik's enthusiasm pulling Haneul in. But from the corner of his eye, Haneul saw it.
A sharp, almost imperceptible movement. Ji-won, still facing his book, let out a soft, weary sigh. It was a sound of profound annoyance, the kind reserved for a persistent fly or a dripping tap. His shoulders tightened slightly, a clear signal of his irritation at the disruption of his precious silence.
Haneul's words stumbled for a second. He felt a new, confusing mix of emotions: hurt by the cold shoulder, and a strange, prickling sense of guilt for being too loud, too bright, too much in this quiet, ordered world.
He gave Tae-shik a smaller, more subdued smile and turned back to face the front, the vibrant colors of his first day suddenly feeling a little muted. Han Ji-won remained beside him, a silent, grey monolith in a room full of sound.
The morning classes in Section A dragged on, each minute feeling like an hour. For Haneul, who was used to the lively, interactive atmosphere of his old class, the experience was stifling. The teachers spoke in low, monotonous drones, the students scribbled notes with robotic efficiency, and the only sound was the relentless ticking of the clock.
But the worst part was the silent, immovable presence beside him.
Han Ji-won was a statue. He never slouched, never fidgeted, never whispered a comment to a neighbor. He simply absorbed information and, when called upon, delivered answers with a cold, unnerving precision. Haneul had tried, once more, to pass him a note with a small, friendly doodle of a sun on it when the teacher's back was turned. Ji-won had glanced at it, his expression utterly blank, and then let it sit on the corner of his desk, untouched, until it fluttered to the floor.
The rejection was a constant, low ache. Haneul was used to being liked, to his friendliness being met with warmth. This cold indifference was a new and unpleasant feeling.
When the lunch bell finally rang, it was a liberation. He practically fled the classroom, the weight of the silence lifting from his shoulders as he merged into the noisy river of students in the hallway. He found Min-seo waiting for him by the stairwell, her face glowing with excitement.
"There you are! I've been dying to tell you," she grabbed his arm, her words tumbling out in a rushed, ecstatic whisper. "You will not believe who my seatmate is. Park Doyun. The Park Doyun. Captain of the basketball team. Haneul, he's even more… sculpted up close. And he smells like fresh laundry and, I don't know, victory? He's so cool and quiet, but in a mysterious way, not in a creepy robot way. I think this might be the start of a bl subplot I didn't even know I was in!"
She finally paused for breath, her dramatic narrative complete, and that's when she noticed. Haneul was walking beside her, but he was quiet. His usual bright energy was absent, replaced by a subdued silence. He was offering none of his usual enthusiastic commentary or playful teasing.
"Hey," she said, her tone shifting from giddy to concerned. She stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. "What's wrong? You look like someone kicked your puppy. Was Section A that terrible?"
Haneul sighed, the sound heavy with a disappointment he'd been holding in all morning. He leaned against the cool wall of the hallway.
"The class is… fine. It's just my seatmate," he confessed, his shoulders slumping. "It's Han Ji-won."
Min-seo's eyes widened in recognition. "The number one? The Ice Prince?"
Haneul nodded miserably. "I tried to say hi, to introduce myself. He just looked at me and then looked away. Didn't say a single word. It was like I was invisible. Or worse, like I was a nuisance." He kicked lightly at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "I don't get it. I was just trying to be nice."
Min-seo's face softened. She looped her arm through his and started pulling him towards the stairs leading to the rooftop. "Oh, Haneul. Don't waste your sunshine on a brick wall. Everyone knows he's like that. He doesn't talk to anyone. He's basically a sentient calculator. It's not you, it's just… him."
But her words, though meant to comfort, did little to lift Haneul's spirits. He'd seen the calculation in Ji-won's eyes, and the answer had been clear: Lee Haneul was a variable with no value.
"...and then he said the free-throw line was his 'zen zone'! Can you believe the cliché?" Min-seo gushed, waving her kimbap around for emphasis. "It's like he's a character from one of my dramas!"
Haneul, finally starting to shake off his gloomy mood, laughed. The rooftop sun was warm on his face, and Min-seo's relentless energy was infectious. "Your 'zen zone'? Maybe you should accidentally spill your lunch on him tomorrow. That's a classic trope, right? The clumsy meet-cute?"
"Don't tempt me!" she cackled. "I might just 'trip' and need him to catch me."
"See? The playful Haneul is back!" she grinned, nudging him. "I told you not to let the human ice cube get to you. Your job is to paint sunsets, not to defrost glaciers."
He smiled back, genuinely this time. "You're right. It's just one guy. What's the worst that can—"
His sentence dissolved into a sudden, sharp cough. A faint, acrid plume of smoke drifted over the high wall that separated their sunny spot from the secluded, unused part of the rooftop.
Min-seo's nose wrinkled. "Ugh, who's smoking over there? This is our spot!"
Haneul coughed again, his eyes watering slightly. He was notoriously sensitive to smoke. "It's okay, Min-seo, let's just move."
But Min-seo was already on her feet, her previous playfulness replaced by protective indignation. "No way. They're ruining our lunch and making you cough." She marched towards the wall, Haneul scrambling to follow her.
"Hey, maybe we shouldn't—"
She peered around the corner, and her eyes narrowed. "You," she spat.
Leaning against the far wall, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, was Han Ji-won. He didn't even flinch at her arrival. His gaze was fixed on the distant city skyline, his expression as impassive as it had been in class.
"I should have known," Min-seo scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. "Do you have to pollute everything? First the classroom with your depressing aura, and now our lunch spot? Some of us are trying to breathe, you know."
Ji-won took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke away from them, but the wind carried it right back. He didn't look at her. It was as if her words were nothing more than the hum of distant traffic.
Haneul tugged at her sleeve. "Min-seo, let's just go. It's fine."
But seeing Haneul's watery eyes and the way he was trying to suppress another cough only fueled her anger. "It's not fine! Can't you see you're bothering people? Put it out!"
Finally, Ji-won's eyes slid towards them. They weren't angry or defensive. They were just... empty. He looked at Min-seo's furious face, then at Haneul's distressed one, his gaze lingering for a second on Haneul's discomfort. Then, without a word, he simply turned his head back to the skyline, dismissing them completely.
Min-seo stared, speechless for a moment at his sheer audacity. She knew Haneul. He was bright and strong in so many ways, but his heart was soft. Confrontation like this genuinely upset him. And this robot was just ignoring it, making Haneul feel small and invisible all over again.
"Fine!" she snapped, her voice tight with fury. "Stay in your toxic cloud. Come on, Haneul.Let's leave this mother fucker here" She grabbed Haneul's arm and pulled him away, shooting one last venomous glare at Ji-won's unresponsive back.
As they retreated, Haneul glanced back one more time. Ji-won stood alone, wreathed in grey smoke, a solitary, bleak figure against the bright blue sky. And despite the rejection and the coughing fit, Haneul felt a strange, unexpected pang of something that felt a lot like pity.