He wasn't supposed to be on that bus.That was the first thing Yoon Hana noticed—because students like him didn't take public transportation.
The line of bodies pushed forward, the morning air thick with city exhaust, and then she saw him step down. A boy with black hair falling over sharp eyes, shoulders tense like someone had spent all night telling him who he wasn't allowed to be. He didn't look back at the sleek black sedan idling half a block away, windows tinted so dark it swallowed the light. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away as if the car had nothing to do with him.
But Hana wasn't stupid.Nobody from Regular Track got dropped off by cars like that.
She should've looked away. Should've minded her own business. Instead, curiosity snagged on her like a loose thread.
Why would someone like him be pretending to be one of them?
A horn blared. She startled and hurried across the street, clutching her worn backpack to her chest. Seonghwa Hybrid Academy rose ahead—glass towers on the left for the Elite Track, older gray building on the right for Regular. Two worlds connected by a single courtyard, but never touching. Not really.
Inside the gate, everyone moved with morning purpose: elites gliding past with silent, expensive footsteps; regular-track students hustling to beat homeroom bells; teachers arguing over schedules already collapsing.
Hana slipped into the stream and didn't look back at the boy—Until he looked at her.
A single, sharp glance.Not curiosity.A warning.
And then he disappeared into the crowd.
Hana's POV
Her first morning at a new school should've felt hopeful, but Seonghwa Hybrid Academy had a way of making even fresh air feel stratified. Everything was divided, down to the student ID lanyards: gold for Elite Track, blue for Regular. Hers felt like a weight around her neck—cheap plastic tugging her down.
She navigated the unfamiliar hall, passing a group whispering near the lockers.
"Did you hear? Kang Jiho's back today."
"Ugh, that delinquent? Didn't he punch a guy last year?"
"No, no—that's just a rumor. But still… you don't go near him."
Hana froze mid-step.Kang Jiho.The name hung like a rumor-shaped cloud over the hall.
A girl noticed her eavesdropping. "You're new, right?"Hana nodded.
"Just avoid him," the girl said, lowering her voice. "He's dangerous. Always in trouble. Teachers pretend they can't see him."
Dangerous.Hana replayed that earlier glance—the cold, shut-off expression—and something didn't match. He didn't look dangerous. He looked… cornered. Like someone who'd built a shell so thick he could suffocate inside it.
Still, she thanked the girl and kept walking.
Mr. Han, her homeroom teacher, waited inside a small classroom with flickering fluorescent lights. He waved her in. "Yoon Hana? Transfer student?"
"Yes."
"Welcome. Pick any empty seat. And—" His voice softened to something like genuine concern. "Don't get tangled in unnecessary trouble. The school has its… divisions."
She knew he didn't just mean academics.
She took an empty seat. The chair wobbled slightly, screws loose from years of use. For a moment, she let her gaze drift out the window toward the Elite Tower's mirrored facade. Morning sunlight glinted off it, bright and blinding—so different from this drab room with peeling paint and chipped desks.
Two schools, she thought, in one building.Two lives, side by side, separated by invisible rules.
The bell rang. Students shuffled in.And then the air changed.
He walked in.
Kang Jiho.
His uniform was technically correct—white shirt, navy tie—but worn like an afterthought. Tie loosened, shirt sleeves pushed up, dark hair falling into eyes that didn't bother hiding their exhaustion. A bruise dotted the edge of his jaw. Fresh.
He didn't glance at anyone. Didn't take attendance seriously. Didn't even pretend to care.
He passed Hana's desk without stopping, but something in the air brushed against her—like static, a fleeting charge she couldn't explain.
Mr. Han cleared his throat. "Kang Jiho. Late again."
Jiho dropped into the seat at the back, leaning so far into his chair it looked like he wanted to disappear into the wall.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"Is that all you have to say?"
Jiho lifted his gaze lazily. "What else do you want?"
The class went silent.
Hana forced herself not to turn around, but she could feel him there—an emotional gravity the entire room orbited. Not in admiration. In fear. Or something close.
Mr. Han sighed and continued class. Hana tried focusing on the lesson, but Jiho's earlier entrance kept replaying in her mind.
A boy dropped off by a luxury sedan.A boy pretending he wasn't.
Break Time
Hana stepped into the hallway to breathe. The noise hit instantly—shouting, laughter, slamming lockers. She could handle chaos; it was indifference that bothered her.
She pulled out her map of the school, trying to make sense of the maze of hallways. The Elite Track building gleamed through a glass partition, where gold-lanyard students lounged on leather sofas and robot-like cleaning machines glided along pristine floors.
"Hey, scholarship girl."
Hana stiffened. Three girls stood nearby, identical designer hair clips sparkling above perfect uniforms.
"New kid," one said, twirling her pen. "You're blocking our view."
"Our view?" Hana blinked.
She turned—and froze.
Jiho stood at the far end of the hallway, leaning against the lockers, earbuds hanging loosely around his neck. He wasn't looking at anyone, but even then, even at that distance, the tension around him was unmistakable. Students kept a whole three feet of space between themselves and him, like he carried a warning sign.
"So dramatic," one girl whispered. "He always acts like he owns the place."
"He doesn't," another murmured. "But people treat him like he might explode."
Hana didn't know why, but the comment irritated her.
People aren't bombs. They don't explode without reason.
As she turned to leave, the strap of her bag caught on a locker handle. It slipped off her shoulder, scattering her papers across the floor.
Perfect.On her first day, too.
She knelt to gather them.
A shadow fell over her.
She looked up.And froze again—but for a different reason.
Kang Jiho was standing there, one hand gripping the locker above her, gaze unreadable.
"You're in my way," he said quietly.
Not cold.Not cruel.Just… measured.
Like every word he spoke had been filtered through barbed wire first.
Hana swallowed. "Sorry—just a second."
She reached for another paper.
He bent down, picked it up for her, then held it out without meeting her eyes.
The hallway watched.Every single person.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He didn't move.
"You stared earlier," he said suddenly.
Her breath caught. "What?"
Jiho's gaze slid to her for the first time—sharp, assessing, something dangerous simmering underneath. Not violence. Something else. Something like don't look at me too closely.
"That look you gave me. Don't do it again."
Her pulse stuttered. "What look?"
His jaw flexed. "Like you know something."
"I don't," she said quickly. "I just—saw you getting off the bus and—"
His expression shuttered.
The noise of the hallway faded.
For a single, suspended moment, Hana felt like she'd stepped somewhere she shouldn't have—into the space between who he was and who he pretended to be.
Jiho leaned in slightly, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Forget whatever you think you saw."A beat."And do yourself a favor—don't get curious about me."
Then he walked away, leaving the air colder in his wake.
Hana stayed kneeling on the floor, fingers tight around her papers.
She should've listened.Should've nodded, avoided him, pretended nothing strange had happened.
But the bruise on his jaw.The car that didn't belong in this neighborhood.The way he flinched when she mentioned seeing him.
And the fear—Not hers.His.
Something didn't add up.
She gathered her things and stood, heart thudding unevenly.
Who exactly is Kang Jiho?
Later — End of School Day
Hana left the building with aching shoulders. The day had been long, filled with new faces, wary teachers, and the heavy weight of being watched.
But as she reached the gate, movement caught her eye.
Jiho again.
This time, he wasn't alone.
A man in a dark suit stood near the sidewalk, posture rigid, eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. He looked like no guardian she'd ever seen—too formal, too alert. Jiho spotted him and stiffened.
"Not today," Jiho muttered, shaking his head.
The man stepped forward. "Young Master—"
"Don't call me that here."
Young Master.
Hana's breath hitched.
Jiho shot a sharp look around—checking who had heard.
His gaze landed on her.
For a heartbeat, his eyes widened—fear, anger, and something like resignation flickering through.
Then the mask slammed back down.
He turned his back on the man and walked away.
But not toward the bus stop.Not toward the sedan.Just… away.
The man watched helplessly but didn't follow.
Hana stood frozen, the word echoing in her skull.
Young Master.
And suddenly everything made sense.
The luxury car.The bruise.The warning.The fear of being seen.
He wasn't hiding from students.He was hiding from a world much bigger—and much more dangerous.
Her phone buzzed. A ClassNet notification lit the screen.
[ClassNet] New Rumor Thread: "That delinquent Kang Jiho is hiding something big."
Hana's stomach twisted.
This school loved rumors.And someone was about to uncover something they shouldn't.
But the real problem?
Hana already had.
And Jiho knew it.
From half a block away, he turned—just once—and met her eyes with a look that wasn't a warning anymore.
It was a plea:Don't expose me.
Hana swallowed hard.
She didn't plan to.
But the world didn't care what she planned.
Because right then, another notification popped up—this time with a blurry photo attached.
Her heart dropped.
It was Jiho.Stepping out of a black sedan.
And someone was already posting it online.