Dasom stared at him, completely floored.
Was he being serious? Or was this some kind of cruel, blunt joke?
His face was, as usual, completely unreadable. The harsh blond hair and sharp blue eyes gave him a delinquent's edge, but his gaze was just... steady. He wasn't mocking her.
Her shock gave way to a bitter, desperate laugh.
"Who would want to date me?" she asked, the words laced with sarcasm. "The 'Mad Teacher' of Saehwa High? The 'crazy stalker'?"
She looked him up and down, the 'Delinquent Teacher' standing in judgment over her. The absurdity of the situation hit her all at once.
"What about you, Mr. Kwon? Would you want to date me?"
Dasom's sarcastic bravado hung in the damp air for a beat, then immediately fizzled out. She felt stupid. Of course he didn't. He was just a colleague who'd caught her at her lowest point. She was lashing out.
She broke eye contact, her cheeks burning. "Forget it. Just... give me back my cigarettes."
"Yes."
The word was so quiet, so definite, she thought she'd misheard him. She looked up. "What?"
"Yes," he said again, meeting her gaze. He wasn't joking.
"You... you want to date me?" she stammered. "Did you secretly like me or something?"
"No."
The bluntness of it was a fresh sting. But he kept talking, his voice low.
"But they're wrong," he said. "And I don't like him." He didn't need to say Choi's name. "I think you're a good teacher. You don't deserve this."
He looked away for a second, clearly a little uncomfortable, as if he'd said too much. He then returned to his pragmatic comfort zone. "Think about it. The 'Mad Teacher' and the 'Delinquent Teacher.' It'll give them something new to talk about. It stops the old rumor."
He wasn't proposing a cold, logical solution. He was offering her a shield. A strange, blond-haired, blunt-talking shield.
"So," she whispered, her heart hammering. "You don't like me... but you'll do this for me?"
He just nodded. "If you want to. It will just be like an agreement."
"An agreement?" she clarified, the word feeling a little more human now.
He just nodded again.
Dasom stared at him, her mind reeling. He was proposing to fake-date her. Out of... what? Decency? Pity? It was the most insane, convoluted, and... shockingly kind... thing anyone had done for her in months.
She was humiliated. She was heartbroken. But as she looked at his serious face, she didn't feel scared. She just felt... tired. And he was offering her a hand.
What was the alternative? Go back to the lounge and listen to them plan her ex's engagement party? Wait for Han Yoo-ra to stage another coup?
No. She was done being a victim.
Dasom took a deep, shaky breath and met his gaze. Her voice was small, but it didn't tremble.
"...Okay."
Kwon Ji-hoon gave a single, sharp nod. It was an awkward, stiff confirmation.
"Good," he said.
An incredibly awkward silence descended. They were just two colleagues standing on a dirty back stairwell, having just agreed to a fake relationship. Dasom had no idea what to do next.
Ji-hoon, naturally, was the one to break it. He checked his watch.
"Lunch isn't over," he stated. He turned and started walking up the stairs. "We should... walk to the lounge."
Dasom's blood ran cold. "What? No! I can't. I just left. They were... they're talking about... they'll stare."
Ji-hoon stopped on the step above her and looked down. His expression was, as always, direct.
"That's the point," he said. He wasn't being mean; he was just stating a fact. He held the door to the main building open, waiting.
She was his new partner in this "un-romance." And step one was walking back into the lion's den.
Dasom's heart was a trapped bird in her chest. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But Ji-hoon was right. Hiding was what they expected.
She swallowed, the taste of dry, un-smoked tobacco still on her tongue. "Okay."
She stepped out of the stairwell. The walk back to the lounge was the longest of her life. He walked with her, not ahead of her. His long strides were quiet, his presence a strange, intimidating comfort. He didn't speak.
They reached the door to the teacher's lounge. The sound of laughter and chatter from within made her stop cold. She could hear Lee So-hee's high-pitched giggle.
"I can't," she whispered, her hand flying to her stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Ji-hoon didn't say, "It'll be okay." He didn't offer a word of comfort. He simply gripped the handle and held the door open for her, waiting for her to walk in first.
The room died.
The laughter, the chatter, the clinking of spoons—it all ceased in a single, collective gasp.
Every single teacher in the room spun around. Their eyes landed on Dasom, who was standing frozen in the doorway, pale as death. Their expressions flickered from annoyance to confusion.
Then, Kwon Ji-hoon stepped into the frame behind her, his tall, imposing form filling the doorway like a silent, protective wall at her back.
The room's collective confusion metastasized into pure, unadulterated shock.
Kwon Ji-hoon never came to the lounge. He was the "Delinquent Teacher," the scary loner. And he was standing with her.
Across the room, Dasom could see Choi Min-jun. He was the school's golden teacher, all soft brown, perfectly styled hair and warm hazel eyes. He was leaning casually against a desk, smiling at a blushing Lee So-hee. With her long, light-brown wavy hair and big, doe-like brown eyes, So-hee looked up at him, positively glowing.
Then they saw Dasom. Min-jun's charming smile froze. He wasn't just looking at Dasom; he was staring, blindsided, at the man with her.
The silence was so thick, Dasom felt like she was drowning in it.
Ji-hoon, seemingly unbothered by the 30 pairs of eyes dissecting him, ignored everyone. He walked straight past Dasom, into the heart of the room.
He walked past the silent, gaping teachers. He walked past a confused-looking So-hee and a stunned Min-jun. He went directly to the staff refrigerator, opened it, and took out the simple lunch box Dasom had abandoned not ten minutes earlier.
He closed the door with a quiet click and walked back to her, his face impassive. He held out the lunch box.
"You forgot this."
Dasom's trembling hand rose and took the box.
He didn't leave. He just looked at her for a beat, then nodded toward the exit. "Let's go," he said, his voice quiet, but it carried across the dead-silent room. "We can eat on the roof."
He waited for her to turn first.
Dasom stood there for one more agonizing second, the focal point of every stunned, confused, and suddenly very interested gaze in the room. Then, clutching her lunch, she turned and walked out. Ji-hoon followed a half-step behind her, the sound of a hundred new, frantic whispers erupting behind them like an explosion.
The walk to the roof was the quietest, loudest walk of Dasom's life.
It was quiet because neither of them spoke a single word. Ji-hoon led the way up the concrete stairwell, his footsteps even and steady. Dasom followed, her own steps hesitant, her mind a roaring chaos of "What have I done?"
It was loud because Dasom was deafened by the thumping of her own heart and the imaginary, frantic whispers that she knew were still erupting in the lounge they'd left behind.
The roof door opened with a metallic groan, and Ji-hoon held it for her. They stepped out into the blindingly bright, windy afternoon. It wasn't a cozy, hidden-away spot. It was a wide-open, flat expanse of grey concrete, visible from the main school building and the courtyard below.
It was a stage.
Ji-hoon walked to a concrete bench near the ledge and sat down. He opened his own lunch—a simple, healthy-looking box of rice, chicken, and broccoli—and picked up his chopsticks. He looked at her, then at the spot next to him.
Dasom sat, perching on the very edge of the bench, as far from him as she could get while still "sharing" it. She stared at the bento box in her lap.
The silence stretched. It was an awkward silence, completely different from the comfortable quiet of their walk. He just... started eating... Like this was any other lunch break.
She, on the other hand, couldn't breathe. She had to break it.
"Mr. Kwon."
He paused, a piece of broccoli halfway to his mouth, and looked at her. His blue eyes were hard to read in the bright sun.
"Thank you," she said, the words coming out in a small, shaky rush. "For... back there. For getting my lunch."
He just nodded, as if it were nothing. "You should eat. The bell will ring in twenty minutes."
"No, I..." She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to be as brave as he was being blunt. "I mean... thank you. For... all of it. Why are you... really doing this? You don't even know me."
Ji-hoon put his chopsticks down. He seemed to genuinely consider the question, not as if he were searching for a kind lie, but as if he were trying to find the most accurate, honest answer.
"I told you," he said finally, his voice low. "I don't like Mr. Choi. And they're wrong about you."
He looked away from her, out over the schoolyard.
"I saw you last session," he said, so quietly she had to lean in to hear him. "With Class 1-C. You were teaching them poetry. You were... happy. You're a good teacher, Ms. Kang. What they're doing..." He frowned, as if the word he was looking for was distasteful. "It's not right."
He said it like it was the most obvious, simple fact in the world. He wasn't complimenting her. He wasn't being a white knight. He was just stating his observation.
Dasom stared at him. This "Delinquent Teacher" had seen her, had formed his own opinion, and had decided to act, all while her "friends" in the lounge were busy believing the worst.
A strange, painful knot in her chest, one she'd been carrying for months, suddenly felt a little looser.
She finally opened her lunch box. The food was cold, but she picked up her chopsticks, her hand a little more steady this time.
She took a bite.
"Mr. Kwon."
The voice startled her. She looked over, and Ji-hoon had a small smile on his face. He was looking down into the courtyard.
"What?" Dasom asked.
"No, that's..." He pointed with his chin. "Han Yoo-ra. From your class."
Dasom's head snapped up. She scrambled to the ledge and looked over. Down in the courtyard, Han Yoo-ra and her clique were staring up at the roof, their faces a priceless, comical mask of pure, disbelieving shock. As Dasom watched, Yoo-ra said something to her friend, who immediately pulled out her phone and aimed it at the roof.
Dasom recoiled, pulling back from the ledge. "She's... she's taking a picture!"
"I know," Ji-hoon said. He didn't seem bothered at all. He just took another bite of his broccoli.
Dasom stared at him. "You know? You're not... worried?"
"No." He looked at her, his blue eyes clear. "That's the point, isn't it? We're a 'new narrative.' Let them talk."
He was right. This was his plan. It wasn't just efficient. It was... brilliant.
Dasom looked back down at her lunch, and for the first time in a very long time, she was actually hungry.