The gold tag weighed heavier with every step.
KANG HA-RIN — DROP OF J.S.W.
It gleamed against her blazer like a curse. A brand. A warning.
And today, it felt especially sharp.
Because Na-Gyeom was watching.
No—hunting.
—
The morning air was unusually quiet when Ha-Rin stepped onto the academy courtyard. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled in the breeze. But something about the silence felt... orchestrated.
She made it halfway across the marble tiles when a voice rang out like a whip.
"Drop."
Ha-Rin paused.
The courtyard filled with murmurs. Heads turned.
And there she stood—Lee Na-Gyeom, her heels clicking like gunfire, flanked by two girls in perfect curls and Prada lipstick. Her posture was regal. Her eyes were poison.
"I called you," Na-Gyeom repeated, louder now.
Ha-Rin slowly turned. "Is there something you need?"
Na-Gyeom smirked. "I thought since you're a servant now, you should start acting like one."
Muffled gasps followed.
Ha-Rin took a breath. "If you're bored, go chase a crown. I'm not your jester."
"Oh, sweetheart," Na-Gyeom purred, stepping closer, "you think this is a fairy tale? That you're the brave little scholarship girl who'll win the prince's heart?"
"I don't want the prince."
"Then why are you wearing his tag?"
Ha-Rin's jaw clenched.
Na-Gyeom's gaze flicked to it with theatrical pity. "It's adorable, really. You think he chose you because you're special? He does this every year. He picks a girl, plays with her, then tosses her aside like an old uniform."
"I'm not afraid of him," Ha-Rin said.
Na-Gyeom leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss. "You should be afraid of me."
Suddenly, a hand slammed against the wall beside Ha-Rin's head.
Everyone flinched.
Jin Seo-Won stood there, calm as ice—but his eyes were locked on Na-Gyeom like lasers.
"I didn't authorize this conversation," he said quietly.
Na-Gyeom blinked. "Oppa—"
"I don't recall putting you in charge of my Drop."
Na-Gyeom straightened. "She's disrespecting the school's image. Being with her reflects badly on you."
Seo-Won's smirk was venomous. "And insulting her reflects badly on you."
Ha-Rin's heart thundered.
Was he... defending her?
"I was merely reminding her of her place," Na-Gyeom said smoothly.
"She knows it," Seo-Won snapped. "And you should know yours."
The crowd around them shifted awkwardly. Students whispered, exchanged looks. This wasn't how these things went. Na-Gyeom was untouchable.
Until now.
Seo-Won turned to Ha-Rin. "Walk."
She hesitated.
"Now."
With a last glance at Na-Gyeom's twisted expression, Ha-Rin stepped forward, falling into step beside him.
—
They walked in silence until they reached the rooftop garden—a private place only the Student Council had keys to. A sanctuary above the chaos.
He shut the door behind them.
"You're late," he said.
She crossed her arms. "I wasn't planning on a morning duel."
His gaze raked over her. "You handled her better than most."
"She threatened me."
"She always threatens. She's all bark. No teeth."
Ha-Rin looked away. "Why did you help me?"
Seo-Won stepped closer. "Because no one else can insult my Drop but me."
She rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."
He moved even closer. "You're shaking."
"I'm cold."
"You're lying."
"I'm always lying around you."
Their faces were inches apart now. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You looked beautiful when you stood your ground."
Her breath caught. "Don't say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't mean them."
He smirked. "Don't I?"
She stepped back—heart racing, skin hot.
But the air between them had already shifted. Thick. Charged.
She didn't understand it—this pull between them. Like attraction wrapped in poison. Like drowning in honey.
And worse?
She didn't want to escape it.
—
That afternoon, she found a pink envelope taped to her desk.
Invitation: Founders' Gala Rehearsal Ball
Date: Friday, 6 PM
Venue: Haneul Grand Hall
Dress code: Formal
Her stomach dropped.
Rehearsal ball? Already?
She barely knew which fork to use.
At Haneul Academy, even a rehearsal was a battlefield in heels.
The real ball would come later — but this was no practice round.
She opened her locker. Another note fluttered out.
"Bring your best dress, Drop.
—J.S.W."
She groaned.
Was there a dress code for humiliation?
—
The next day felt like a montage from a nightmare.
A mysterious delivery arrived at her dorm: a black garment bag with a golden tag.
Inside?
A dress.
Midnight blue. Velvet. Off-shoulder. Floor-length with a slit that screamed dangerous. It fit like it had been sewn onto her body by a cursed fairy godmother.
Her phone buzzed with a message:
"Don't be late. I hate waiting." —J.S.W.
—
The Grand Hall looked like it had been carved from a K-Drama budget.
Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. Students in suits and gowns spun in rehearsed patterns across the ballroom.
When Ha-Rin entered, silence fell like a spell.
All eyes turned.
Even Na-Gyeom choked on her mocktail.
But one pair of eyes—cold, sharp, burning—watched her like a predator claiming prey.
Seo-Won stepped forward in a black suit so sharp it could kill.
He held out his hand.
She stared at it.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
She took it.
And the moment their hands touched, the music shifted.
He pulled her into a waltz with effortless control, guiding her across the floor like she belonged there—like she was born to be at his side.
"Everyone's watching," he murmured.
"Let them."
"Finally learning to play the part?"
"I'm adapting."
He twirled her, then caught her close again.
"I could get used to this," he whispered near her ear.
She tried to ignore the way his breath made her stomach flip.
"This is a game to you," she said.
"Life is a game. I just play it better."
She frowned. "What happens when I stop playing?"
He smiled—dark and wicked. "Then I change the rules."
—
When the dance ended, applause echoed.
And then—
"Excuse me," came a new voice.
Ha-Rin turned.
Yoon Tae-Hwan stood at the edge of the dance floor in a navy suit, quiet and composed.
He bowed slightly. "May I cut in?"
Seo-Won stiffened.
"She's taken," he said coolly.
Ha-Rin's voice came out before she could stop it.
"I'm not a thing, Seo-Won."
She placed her hand in Tae-Hwan's.
The room gasped again.
They danced.
And for once... she felt safe.
His grip was respectful. His eyes kind.
"I saw what happened this morning," Tae-Hwan said softly.
"So did the entire school."
"You didn't deserve that."
She shrugged. "I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be."
Their movements were slower than the last dance. Softer. But the warmth in his gaze sent another kind of shiver through her.
"You're stronger than you look," he said.
"So I've been told."
"You're not like them."
"Is that a compliment?"
He smiled. "It's a warning."
When the dance ended, he didn't let go immediately.
And across the ballroom—Seo-Won's eyes were locked on them like fire behind glass.
—
Later, in the corridor outside the ballroom, Ha-Rin leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to breathe.
Everything was spinning.
Two boys.
One game.
One war.
And she?
She was the prize.
"I told you not to dance with him."
Seo-Won's voice was low, dangerous, right behind her.
She turned slowly. "You don't own me."
"I do. At least, for now."
"You're jealous."
He laughed once. "I'm territorial. There's a difference."
"Then stop acting like almighty and admit you're losing."
He stepped forward. Too close again. His body boxed her in against the wall.
"You think I'm losing?" he whispered.
She nodded, breath shaky. "Because for the first time... you don't look sure of yourself."
His eyes darkened.
And then—
His lips brushed her jaw. Barely there. A touch made of fire.
She gasped.
He didn't kiss her.
He didn't have to.
"Don't make me prove you're mine," he whispered.
Then walked away.
And she stayed frozen.
Because her body wasn't trembling from fear.
It was trembling from want.
—
End of Chapter 4.
#TeamHaRin or #TeamSeoWon?