The next morning arrived with its usual precision, yet the air felt just slightly different—warmer somehow, less sterile.
It wasn't something I could explain logically. I had always woken with purpose, with clarity. But today, there was a pulse to the day. Like something was beginning.
I dressed as I always did—jacket pressed, gold trim gleaming. My uniform, like my presence, immaculate. But when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, brushing a final strand of hair into place, I noticed it.
The smile.
Subtle. Barely there.
I hadn't worn that in a while.
The school was already alive when I arrived, students pouring through the gates, some with eyes locked on tablets, others murmuring over exam rumors or today's student court hearings.
I ignored all of them. My path was always clear.
But this time—this time I found my gaze unconsciously searching the courtyard.
She wasn't there yet.
Not until I heard her name.
"Hyerin? Is that her?"
"She looks different today."
I turned my head slightly.
And there she was.
She walked alone, not hurriedly, not timidly. Just—comfortably. Her hair was pulled back neatly, her expression calm. She looked more like she belonged. Still unfamiliar to the others, yes, but the stiffness in her shoulders had loosened.
I watched her from a distance.
She didn't scan the crowd.
She looked straight ahead.
And yet—
When she passed the old statue near the central fountain, her head tilted just slightly. Barely noticeable. But enough.
She knew where I was.
She always did.
I didn't walk to her. I didn't need to. Not yet.
She would come to me when she was ready.
And she did.
After first period, while most students filtered out of the hallway toward their lockers, she approached me by the tall window near the east stairwell, where the sun cut long shadows through the corridor.
"Morning," she said, quiet but not shy.
I looked at her—really looked.
Her eyes were clearer today. Grounded. Awake.
"You look like you slept well," I said.
"Maybe I did."
"Because of me?"
Her lips tugged, almost smiling. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
I stepped closer, dropping my voice. "You held onto me like you never wanted to let go. Should I remind you?"
Her face flushed. I didn't need a full smile to feel victorious.
Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small plastic packet.
"Here."
I looked down at it.
Vitamin candies. Peach flavor.
"For what?" I asked.
"You don't eat breakfast. And you always drink black tea. I thought it might help your blood sugar."
I stared at her for a long moment.
Then I took it, slipping it into my pocket without breaking her gaze.
"Are you trying to take care of me, Hyerin?"
"You brought me to an arcade and fed me hotteok. I think this evens it out," she said, brushing a loose strand behind her ear.
"No," I murmured. "You're doing more than evening it out."
Her eyes searched mine, cautious but unafraid.
I stepped even closer, close enough that only an inch of breath separated us.
And then—
"I need your help," she said abruptly.
I paused.
"With?"
Her lips thinned. "The next exam in Miss Kyung's class. I want to outrank Nari."
A grin spread slowly across my lips.
There it is.
The fire. The desire. The beginnings of ambition.
"That's a dangerous goal."
"Isn't that what you like?"
I tilted my head. "You're learning too quickly."
"You're the one teaching me."
My hand grazed hers—not fully holding it, just letting the backs of our fingers brush.
She didn't pull away.
"What's your price?" she asked.
"For helping?"
"For tutoring me. For letting me into your world."
I leaned in close enough that only she could hear it, our voices tucked between the sunlight and stone.
"You're already in it, Hyerin," I said. "You just haven't figured out what that means yet."
Before she could respond, the warning bell rang above us.
Students began to hurry past, murmuring about upcoming debates and trial prep.
She hesitated—then turned away.
But I caught her wrist, just for a second.
She stopped.
I let go just as quickly.
"After school," I said. "Library. Section D. I'll show you what it takes to win."
She nodded once before walking away, hair swaying lightly behind her.
I watched her retreat, every step of it, until she vanished around the corner.
A moment later, I heard someone scoff behind me.
"Is this how it's going to be now?" Nari's voice. Cool, sharp.
I turned to her slowly, offering a smile that wasn't quite friendly.
"You're worried," I said, simply.
Nari crossed her arms. "You're making a mistake with her."
I walked past her, shoulder grazing hers ever so slightly as I whispered,
"I don't make mistakes, Nari. I make decisions."
And then I kept walking.
Because today, I had something to look forward to.
Because today, Hyerin had asked for my help—not out of desperation, but out of something stronger.
Out of hunger.
And I knew, without needing to ask—
She was finally starting to understand what it meant to stand beside me.
What it meant to walk with me.
What it meant to belong to me.
Seonghwa's main library was always cold. Not in the way that made you shiver, but in the way that made every movement feel louder than it should be. The polished wood floors amplified the click of a shoe, the turning of a page, the slow exhale of someone realizing they'd misunderstood a sentence twice in a row.
I liked the quiet here.
I liked the weight of it.
Section D was tucked in the back corner—reserved for law reference, past trial archives, and court case breakdowns too advanced for most of the underclassmen to bother with. It was where I went when I wanted to be left alone.
Today, I didn't want to be alone.
I was already seated when Hyerin arrived.
She wore her uniform jacket unbuttoned, her blouse slightly wrinkled from the day. Her hair was pulled back lazily, a pencil tucked behind her ear like she'd forgotten it was there. She looked tired—but determined.
I watched her walk down the row without calling out.
She noticed me instantly, though. Of course she did.
Her gaze flicked to mine, steady and cautious, before she slid into the seat across from me.
"You're early," she said.
"I'm always early."
She unpacked her books slowly, deliberately, not looking at me as she spoke. "I thought you'd give me some notes."
"I will," I replied, tapping the closed folder in front of me. "But only after you show me how far you've gotten on your own."
She froze slightly at that.
A quiet test.
I wanted to see how she handled pressure when it was served without warning. I wanted to see if she still doubted herself when no one else was watching.
She opened her notebook and pushed it toward me.
I flipped through her outline with careful fingers. Her handwriting was neat, organized. Most of it was correct—some sections were even bold in their interpretations—but she'd missed one core piece of logic in the hypothetical argument Miss Kyung had mentioned earlier in the week.
"You're close," I said, setting the book down. "But not close enough."
She looked up at me, waiting.
I slid the file across the table to her. "This is what the exam will be modeled after. It's a precedent-heavy trial based on constitutional conflict—academic freedom versus institutional authority. The school will frame it as a moral gray zone."
She opened the folder slowly, eyes scanning the dense language.
"I need you to stop thinking like a student," I said. "And start thinking like someone who wants to win."
She glanced up. "What do you mean?"
I leaned forward, voice soft but unflinching.
"I mean you don't answer the question they ask. You answer the question behind the one they ask. You give them the logic they didn't know they were waiting for. You show them that you're smarter than the person grading you."
Hyerin stared at me, something tight flickering in her throat. "And what if I'm not?"
"You are," I said simply. "You just don't know how to play yet."
She exhaled slowly, sitting back in her chair. "This is what it takes to stay on top?"
I smiled faintly. "No, Hyerin. This is what it takes to own the top."
We worked in silence after that.
I walked her through how to structure the argument, how to pull precedents that aligned without sounding obvious, how to control tone in written form. She was sharp—far sharper than even I expected. She only had to be told once, and she understood the strategy immediately.
I liked watching her learn.
I liked the way her eyes darkened with focus, the way her lower lip tucked under her teeth when she was trying to connect two concepts that didn't seem to match at first.
I liked—
No.
I loved that she wasn't afraid to look directly at me when she asked a question.
That she wasn't scared of the answers.
The clock hit 6:38 p.m. before either of us noticed how late it had gotten. The library had begun to thin out, and the light spilling through the high windows was dyed gold and deep pink.
I leaned back, stretching slightly. "That's enough for tonight."
Hyerin closed the folder slowly, blinking. "Already?"
I raised a brow. "Are you saying you want to keep going?"
She hesitated. "No. I just… I thought you'd cut it off sooner."
I smirked. "You passed my test."
"You were testing me?"
"I'm always testing you."
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue. But instead, she laughed—quiet, breathy.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head.
I didn't respond.
I reached out and gently took the pencil from behind her ear, holding it between my fingers.
She stilled.
My thumb brushed against her temple, light as breath.
"You're getting too used to me," I murmured.
"Is that bad?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
I stared at her, gaze unwavering.
"On whether or not you plan to stay beside me."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't look away either.
And that, for now, was enough.