The next morning, I stood in front of the school gate feeling… like crying.
Not because I was afraid of going to school.
But because I didn't know how to survive when every time I saw my young husband, my heart skipped a beat in a dangerous sense, not a romantic sense.
In the future, he hugged me to sleep.
In the present, he looked at me as if he wanted to hit me.
The bell rang.
I walked into the new classroom, holding my bag like a life preserver.
The whole class turned to look at me.
Of course, because… I was "the brave new transfer student who dared to argue with yesterday's bully".
I bowed my head and said:
"Hello everyone…"
Then, not knowing what kind of bad luck, the class monitor giggled:
"Let's sit at the same table as him."
Him…?
I looked up.
At the back of the classroom, next to the window, was him.
Yesterday's bully.
White shirt with two buttons open at the neck, black jacket draped over the back of the chair, long legs propped up on the table as if taking a magazine cover photo.
He looked up at me.
No words.
No smiles.
Just a glance — a glance that was enough to make me want to run back to 2025 immediately.
I sat down next to him in silence.
Five minutes later, I realized the air beside me was colder than the air conditioner.
I glanced over.
He was leaning his head on his hand, eyes facing the window, sunlight shining on his long, curved eyelashes like those of an anime male lead but his personality was… abstract.
I took a deep breath, deciding to try Method 002: Gentle communication to break the ice.
"My name is… Anh," I said softly.
No response.
I tried again, softer:
"What's your name?"
He turned slowly, propped his chin on his hand, his deep black eyes looking at me like he was looking at a confusing test.
"What do you want to do if you know my name?"
"W-well… to address me conveniently?"
He smiled slightly, a smile that was truly "deserved a punch but handsome so I'll let him go":
"Don't get to know me.
I don't like getting to know girls."
Uh… next year I'll really like you, brother.
I gritted my teeth, but before I could object, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.
"…Why is your face so red?"
Because you're so handsome, oh my god, are you so confident?
I tried to stay calm:
"Because… it's hot."
"Yeah." He said, then bent down, pulled the window next to me open, and the wind rushed in.
An unconscious action, but it made me freeze.
What kind of gangster… knows how to care?
He frowned when he saw me staring:
"Don't misunderstand. I hate the sound of hot breaths close to my ear."
Me: "…"
What do you mean by every night in the future, you hug me and breathe on my neck?
Break time.
I was concentrating on writing, when a tall shadow fell on my desk.
Him.
I was startled.
He stared at me, silent for a few seconds, then said:
"…Don't get close to the guys from the next class. They're nosy."
I was bewildered: "Um… thanks?"
He tapped my desk lightly — clack.
"Don't thank me. I just don't want to bother you."
After saying that, he turned away.
I looked at that broad back, a terrible doubt suddenly arose in my heart:
Why do I feel like you're… noticing me?
No. It can't be.
This is you at 17 years old.
Cool, arrogant, and misogynistic.
But… your ears are really red.
Very red.