The morning light in Class 1-A seemed harsher than the day before, cutting through the windows in precise geometric patterns across the polished desks. Soo-jin had arrived early, deliberately choosing a moment when the classroom would be nearly empty. She needed time to observe the space without the distraction of other students—to look for security cameras, to note potential blind spots, to understand the architecture of the room that had been part of Min-ah's daily life.
Her solitude was short-lived. The classroom door slid open with unnecessary force, followed immediately by Hee-chul's distinctive voice.
"Soo-jin! There you are!" He bounded toward her desk with the energy of someone who had consumed several espressos before dawn. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
She doubted this, given that she had arrived at school barely ten minutes earlier but chose not to comment. Instead, she continued organizing her materials with methodical precision, arranging textbooks and notebooks in perfect alignment on her desk.
Hee-chul hovered beside her, his usual confident posture replaced by something more hesitant. When she finally looked up, she was surprised to find his expression uncharacteristically serious.
"About yesterday," he began, fidgeting with the colorful bracelet on his wrist. "I wanted to apologize for disappearing during lunch. That wasn't cool of me."
Soo-jin raised an eyebrow. His distress seemed disproportionate to the minor social infraction. "It's fine," she responded flatly. "I don't need a babysitter in the cafeteria."
"Still," he persisted, "today I promise I'll really join you for lunch. No vanishing acts, scout's honor." He raised his hand in what was probably supposed to be a scout salute but resembled something closer to a theatrical gesture.
Soo-jin returned to arranging her materials. "As I said, it's fine. You don't need to make promises about lunch schedules."
"But I want to!" Hee-chul insisted, his voice taking on a plaintive quality that reminded Soo-jin of a dejected puppy. "It's important to me that you know I'm reliable."
She looked at him again, trying to understand the intensity behind his apology. There was something in his demeanor—a tension that hadn't been present before yesterday's cafeteria incident—that suggested more was happening than a simple case of abandoned lunch plans.
Before she could respond, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. Two students approached their desks with purposeful strides Jun-ho and Seo-yeon, the newly elected class representatives. Their contrasting demeanors were immediately apparent: Seo-yeon moved with a bouncing step that mirrored Hee-chul's usual energy, while Jun-ho's posture remained rigid and formal, his expression carefully neutral.
"Good morning, fellow academic prisoners!" Seo-yeon announced with exaggerated cheer, clapping her hands together as she reached their desks. "We come bearing the chains of bureaucratic responsibility!" She added cheerfully.
Soo-jin couldn't suppress a sigh. The prospect of dealing with a female version of Hee-chul was enough to make her reconsider her entire infiltration strategy. Perhaps dropping out and becoming a private investigator would be less painful.
Seo-yeon's bright laughter cut through Soo-jin's thoughts. "Your face!" she exclaimed, her formal speech pattern suddenly dropping away leaving her laughing at Soo-jins's reaction. "Don't worry, I'm not actually like this. Just thought I'd mess with you a bit."
Her demeanor shifted subtly—the exaggerated enthusiasm replaced by something more measured. Though still friendly, her posture straightened, her gestures became more controlled, and her smile transformed from theatrical to politely warm. The transition was so smooth it was almost imperceptible, yet the difference was stark. One moment she had been mirroring Hee-chul's boundless energy; the next, she projected the poised confidence of someone raised in the highest echelons of society.
Meanwhile, Jun-ho remained a step behind, his expression unchanged as he observed the interaction. His stillness created a striking contrast to Seo-yeon's controlled animation—like a shadow to her light, steady and unwavering.
"What business do I owe you guys a pleasure?" Soo-jin asked, not bothering to mask her desire for the interaction to reach a swift conclusion.
Jun-ho spoke for the first time, his voice measured and precise. "As class representatives, we're attempting to acquaint ourselves with every student in 1-A. Professor Kang has requested that we compile contact information for both students and their immediate guardians for the school's records."
"Basically, we're doing the administrative grunt work," Seo-yeon added, her tone light but her eyes sharp and observant. "Fancy title, tedious responsibilities."
The contrast between them was fascinating from an analytical perspective. Seo-yeon carried herself with the effortless grace of someone born to privilege but tempered it with an approachable warmth. Jun-ho, meanwhile, embodied precision and restraint, every movement economical, every word carefully chosen. Together, they created a balanced unit—complementary rather than identical.
"Allow me to make proper introductions," Hee-chul cut in, his earlier distress apparently forgotten in the excitement of social connections. "Soo-jin, these two have been inseparable since they were practically in diapers. Their parents are longtime friends and business partners—the kind of old-money alliance that gets mentioned in economics textbooks."
Seo-yeon laughed, the sound genuine despite its practiced elegance. "Hee-chul always makes everything sound like the plot of a drama series." She turned to Soo-jin with a more direct gaze. "But yes, Jun-ho and I have known each other our entire lives. It makes the representative duties easier—we've had years of practice working together."
"Sixteen years, three months, and approximately twelve days," Jun-ho added with unexpected precision, the faintest hint of humor glinting in his otherwise serious eyes.
Seo-yeon rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "And he keeps count, as you can see."
As the conversation continued, Soo-jin found herself studying the dynamics between the three classmates. There was clearly history there Hee-chul seemed familiar with both representatives, though perhaps not as closely as they were with each other. The interaction flowed with the ease of those who understood the social scripts of their world, all operating within unspoken rules that Soo-jin was still learning to decode.
"I must admit, I'm surprised," Seo-yeon said suddenly, her gaze moving between Soo-jin and Hee-chul. "When I heard Hee-chul had befriended the new scholarship student, I couldn't quite picture it. You two are like—" she gestured vaguely, "—complete opposites."
"The quiet, mysterious transfer student and the human equivalent of a sugar rush," Jun-ho elaborated, his deadpan delivery making Hee-chul clutch his chest in mock offense.
"Wounded! I am wounded by your cruel words, Jun-ho!" Hee-chul declared dramatically. "And after all we've been through together."
Seo-yeon's laughter faded into something more subdued, a momentary shadow crossing her features. "It's good though," she said, her voice carrying a weight that hadn't been there before. "Having a friend here... it makes everything more bearable."
The sudden shift in her tone caught Soo-jin's attention. The melancholy that briefly clouded Seo-yeon's expression seemed at odds with her apparent status and security. What could make someone like her—wealthy, popular, academically accomplished—speak of school as something to be "endured" rather than enjoyed?
Before Soo-jin could analyze this further, Seo-yeon's mood shifted again, the momentary vulnerability locked away behind her practiced social grace.
"I have a brilliant idea," she announced, clasping her hands together. "Why don't we all hang out after class today? Nothing formal—just a chance to get to know each other better outside the classroom setting."
The invitation seemed spontaneous, but Soo-jin recognized the calculated social maneuvering behind it. This was how the elite maintained their networks—casual gatherings that appeared frivolous but served to strengthen alliances and hierarchies.
"I actually planned to visit the gym—" Soo-jin began, already formulating her excuse.
"We'd love to!" Hee-chul interjected enthusiastically, completely steamrolling over Soo-jin's attempted refusal. "Wouldn't we, Soo-jin?"
He turned to her with an expression of such naked pleading that Soo-jin found herself momentarily at a loss. His eyes were wide, practically begging her not to refuse, communicating something urgent that went beyond simple social eagerness.
Soo-jin weighed her options quickly. On one hand, her planned gym visit wasn't merely for fitness—she intended to investigate whether Min-ah had actually started using the facility as the flyer in her apartment suggested. On the other hand, spending time with class representatives might provide valuable insights into the school's power structures, potentially yielding information more immediately relevant to her investigation.
And there was something in Hee-chul's expression—a desperation that suggested this wasn't just about making friends—that tipped the balance of her decision.
"Fine," she conceded with as much grace as she could muster, which admittedly wasn't much. "We'll be there."
Hee-chul's relief was palpable, his body visibly relaxing as though a great weight had been lifted. The reaction seemed extreme for such a minor social arrangement, reinforcing Soo-jin's suspicion that more was happening beneath the surface of these seemingly casual interactions.
"Excellent!" Seo-yeon beamed, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents. "We can meet at the east courtyard after the final bell. The cherry trees there are just starting to bloom—it's quite beautiful."
As the two representatives turned to leave, Jun-ho paused, his serious gaze meeting Soo-jin's directly. "Don't forget to send your contact information and guardian details by the end of the day," he reminded her, his tone neutral but his eyes searching, as though trying to read something in her expression.
The moment passed quickly as Seo-yeon linked her arm with his, guiding him toward the next student on their list. "Come on, Jun-ho, we have fifteen more classmates to interrogate before first period."
As they walked away, Soo-jin caught the subtle shift in their demeanor—the almost imperceptible straightening of Jun-ho's already perfect posture, the delicate adjustment in Seo-yeon's step that made her movements more graceful. They were recalibrating their presentation for the next social encounter, fine-tuning their performances with the practiced ease of those raised in the spotlight.
Beside her, Hee-chul let out a dramatic sigh. "Thank you," he said quietly, his usual theatrical delivery absent. "I know you probably wanted to stick to your schedule, but this is... important."
Soo-jin fixed him with a direct stare. "You're going to explain why you're so desperate for this social gathering," she stated rather than asked.
His smile returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "All in due time, my mysterious friend. All in due time."
Other students began filtering into the classroom, the space gradually filling with the controlled chaos of pre-class preparations. Conversations hummed at a carefully modulated volume—loud enough for social bonding but quiet enough to maintain the appearance of academic discipline that Hankuk demanded.
Soo-jin returned to organizing her materials, but her mind was already mapping out the new variables in her investigation. The representatives, the social gathering, Hee-chul's unusual behavior—all potentially valuable threads in the complex web she was attempting to untangle.
Somewhere in this school, hidden beneath layers of privilege and performance, lay the truth about Min-ah. And Soo-jin was beginning to suspect that the seemingly superficial social connections of Hankuk's elite students might be crucial to uncovering it.
Class was about to begin, and as their homeroom teacher entered, the students rose in unison, a perfectly choreographed demonstration of respect. Soo-jin matched their movements precisely, blending in while remaining apart, playing her role while watching for the moments when masks might slip.
The day stretched before her—classes to attend, social obligations to navigate, and now an after-school gathering that had somehow become unavoidable. Every moment was an opportunity for observation, every interaction a potential clue.
And as Professor Kang began the day's announcements, Soo-jin caught Hee-chul watching her from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable beneath his usual cheerful facade.