The moment I stepped into Classroom 3-B, I knew I was going to regret it. Not because the room was chaotic or the teacher was late — that was standard. No, it was because of the whispers. The murmurs that trailed behind me like invisible smoke, the little glances that lingered longer than polite curiosity should allow.
Han Joon… Han Joon… who is he dating now?
Typical. Every week, every month, some new rumor clung to my name like a sticky note nobody could peel off. And every week, I smiled, joked, and kept my shoulders broad, because that was easier than telling the truth. The truth? That all this charm, all this attention, felt hollow the second the laughter faded.
I dropped my bag onto the desk with casual nonchalance, trying to ignore the way Hwan snorted beside me.
"You're late, loverboy," he said, leaning back in his chair, the grin tugging at his lips like he already knew exactly what I'd reply.
"Yeah, yeah, don't act like you weren't waiting for me to rescue the day with my dazzling presence," I shot back, leaning over to flick a paper at him.
Hwan caught it with a single hand, eyebrows raised. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"
"Cannot," I admitted, smirking. "It's a gift."
He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about "disasters in disguise." But before I could retort, the silence was broken — that quiet, magnetic pause that always told me someone new had entered my mental field.
And there she was.
Eun Ji. Sitting in the corner, completely alone, engrossed in a thick notebook like the world outside her desk didn't exist. She didn't glance up at the whispers, the glances, or me. Which, honestly, made me pause. Not often did anyone ignore me, not with my… qualifications.
I watched her flip a page carefully, her pen moving in a rhythm that seemed private, sacred even. Curious, I leaned over to Hwan.
"Who's the girl?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Hwan shrugged. "That's Eun Ji. Doesn't talk much. Hardly notices anyone."
A challenge, then. My interest piqued. For once, someone wasn't impressed with the performance.
Before I could plot my approach, my phone buzzed. A text from a classmate: "Check this out. Seo Min's latest post. People are talking…"
I frowned, opening the link. My stomach sank before my eyes even registered the words. A social media post from my ex, Seo Min — short, cryptic, but unmistakably about me:
"Some boys love everyone but no one. Funny how the world applauds charm while ignoring the heart behind it."
It had already gone semi-viral among students. Whispers turned to pointed stares. A few snickers, a lot of judging eyes. My reputation, my carefully curated "loverboy" image, suddenly felt like a cage.
Hwan noticed the change instantly. "Don't tell me you didn't see that coming."
I gave him a wry smile, trying to laugh it off, but it didn't reach my eyes. "It's just words. Nothing I haven't heard before."
But I knew better. Words had power, and hers always seemed sharper than most.
The morning dragged on. Teachers lectured, pencils scratched, and I caught Eun Ji's occasional glance — curious, but cautious. She wasn't laughing at the rumors. She wasn't playing along. For some reason, that mattered more to me than it should.
Lunchtime arrived, and I found my usual spot with Hwan in the cafeteria. Trays clattered, students shouted over the noise, and rumors fluttered through the air like butterflies with sharp edges.
"Thinking of texting her?" Hwan nudged me. "The mysterious girl who actually ignores you?"
I shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll just watch and see if she's worth my time."
Hwan snorted. "Bro, the last time you said that, you ended up crying over a girl you'd only known three days."
I ignored him, though a small smirk threatened. Some part of me wanted to keep my cool, keep the act going. But another part, the quiet, real part — the one that Seo Min's post had unearthed — wanted to know if I could actually connect with someone without a mask.
After lunch, the rest of the day passed in a blur of lectures, group projects, and whispered commentary about my reputation. And all the while, I kept sneaking glances at Eun Ji. She was always there, always composed, always unreadable.
By the time school ended, I had made a decision.
I would talk to her. Not flirt, not charm, not perform — just talk. And maybe, just maybe, I'd find out what it felt like to exist outside the shadow of my own performance.
The corridors emptied. Sunlight spilled across the tiled floors in gold streaks. Eun Ji was still in the library, perched near the window, surrounded by stacks of books. I approached, heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with charm or reputation.
"Hey," I said, keeping my tone neutral.
She looked up slowly, eyes calm but alert. "Hi," she replied simply. No smile, no eye roll, no dramatic reaction. Just… hi.
It was jarring. Unexpected. Honest.
"Uh… do you mind if I… sit?" I asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.
"You can," she said, her voice soft but firm.
I sat, feeling the strange tension of being seen but not judged. A quiet settled between us — not awkward, not forced, but heavy with possibility.
"I'm Han Joon," I said after a moment, because introductions seemed necessary, even though she probably already knew my name.
"Eun Ji," she replied, returning to her notebook, but glancing at me from the corner of her eye. "You're the… loverboy, right?"
The label hit me, a mirror reflecting exactly what the world thought of me. I laughed, but it wasn't the practiced, charming laugh. It was small, almost shy.
"Guilty," I admitted. "But I'm not always… like that. Most of the time, it's just noise."
She studied me for a moment, then nodded once. "I'll keep that in mind."
And that was it. Not a spark, not fireworks, just… acknowledgment. But somehow, it felt bigger than all the whispers, all the rumors, all the carefully curated charm I had perfected over the years.
Walking home that evening, I thought about the post, about her, about the mask I'd been wearing for as long as I could remember. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe it wouldn't. But for the first time in a long time, I wanted it to be.
I didn't know what the future held. I didn't know if Eun Ji would ever like me — or if I would even like her properly. But I knew this: the performance was over. At least for now.
And for someone like me, that was terrifying.