Chapter 9
“Hey, Choi Hyunho!”
The tension in Yeoreum’s chest eased the moment she spotted him. After the nerve-racking interview, the very first person she ran into was Hyunho—and somehow, that alone felt comforting.
She called out brightly, a smile lighting up her face. Hyunho, however, approached with his usual air of nonchalance.
“Did the interview go well?”
“Mhm. I think I did okay.”
“Oh? Confident, aren’t we.”
A small smile tugged at Hyunho’s lips as he watched Yeoreum’s self-assured grin. He met her eyes, then pulled a small carton of milk from his jacket pocket and held it out to her.
“What’s this? Aw, how sweet.”
“It’s nothing.”
“…Wait. Did you seriously buy this just to give it to me?”
“No. Some of the band seniors gave it to me. I’m just passing it on.”
It was such an obvious lie—his faintly flustered look gave him away instantly.
Back when Yeoreum had been showered with snacks from her classmates, Hyunho had only managed to mutter, “Do well,” and nothing more. The memory had nagged at him, though, so he’d dashed to the cafeteria to buy her favorite milk.
The problem was when to hand it over. He’d kept it hidden the whole time in band practice, terrified someone might notice. Finally running into her now, he tried his best to pass it off casually, but the second she guessed his intention, he panicked.
Did she notice?
Still, Hyunho thought, if there was anyone naïve enough to believe such a clumsy excuse, it was Yeoreum.
“Wow. Thanks to your seniors, I’m living the good life.”
Just like that—falling for it.
“So… you stopped by the band club? Why? Thought you weren’t interviewing. Didn’t you say you were a shoo-in?”
“You think that’s what I’m like?”
With mock exasperation, Hyunho stretched out his hand and swept it gently over Yeoreum’s cheek.
“Ah, quit it!” she grumbled, though her voice carried more familiarity than annoyance.
“So what do you do there? Sing?”
“Bass.”
“Oh, the bass.”
“Why? Think it suits me?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen you play yet.”
“You’re so clueless. That’s when you’re supposed to say yes.”
“Nope, not doing it.”
“Then go get married.”
“I will.”
“You little brat.”
“For the record, I’m 162.5 centimeters tall!”
Yeoreum raised her chin defiantly and stretched up onto her tiptoes. Hyunho only chuckled, then pressed his hand gently on her head, pushing her back down until her heels hit the floor again.
“Why mention the decimal?”
“Because it’s part of my height! You don’t know the effort it takes to squeeze out every little millimeter.”
“Just call it 163. Nobody’ll notice the difference.”
“Oh, rounding up! Great idea. I’m 163, then!”
“Still tiny, though.”
Hyunho tilted his chin proudly and leaned closer, as if to flaunt his own height. The space between them shrank suddenly, and when they both realized it, awkwardness swept in.
Casting about for an escape, Hyunho flicked her forehead with a playful snap before retreating a step.
“Hey!”
Relieved, Yeoreum punched him lightly in the arm. From there, they fell back into bickering and horseplay all the way back to class.
But—
At the stairwell, Sia happened to catch sight of them. The easy smile curving Hyunho’s lips made her dark brown eyes glint with something sharp and dangerous.
“Wasn’t that Choi Hyunho just now?”
“No way. You ever seen him joking around with anyone but her?”
The harsh look in Sia’s eyes softened instantly at her friends’ words, replaced with an expression of concern.
“That’s what worries me. He’s in high school now. He should be making new friends, right?”
“Looks to me like he is. Haven’t you noticed? These days he actually talks to people, says hi and everything.”
“…Really?”
“You wouldn’t know since your class is downstairs. I’m on the same floor—I see it. He’s adjusting fine.”
Sia’s lips pressed tight. Her eyes flickered, teeth worrying at her cheek.
Just then, Gyeol walked past, his face hardening at the sight of her.
“There’s nothing strange about it. Why shouldn’t he get along with classmates? Saying hello, talking—that’s normal. Don’t you think?”
His gaze held a clear message: As long as it isn’t you.
“…You’re right. Of course classmates should get along. I was just… curious if Hyunho was adapting.”
Gyeol’s eyes stayed sharp, but his words cut with precision.
“Don’t worry. Hyunho has me by his side.”
Every syllable landed like a thorn in Sia’s ears, as though telling her to stay away.
Sia had never found anyone difficult to handle. Her sweet smile and gentle tone always won people over, every time. But Gyeol—like Hyunho before him—never budged.
Still, unlike Hyunho, who could be blunt but kind, Gyeol’s warmthless beauty made his coldness even sharper.
She glared after him, resentment simmering, even as her friends fussed around her.
“Don’t mind him.”
“I’m fine.”
Her friends, mistaking her sharp look for hurt feelings, tried to comfort her. But she only smiled sweetly and brushed it off.
Soon, she slipped her arm through a nearby boy’s, her grin radiant.
“Let’s go grab tteokbokki.”
“Let go, will you? Who told you to cling to guys like that?”
His words were sharp, but his face was bright red, his delight obvious.
See? Too easy.
Sia basked in their attention, hurrying the boy along with playful pushes.
Meanwhile, Yeoreum sat with a textbook open in front of her, but none of the words made sense.
The only thing on her mind was the senior’s promise: results would be out before evening study ended.
She opened and closed her phone, again and again. Pulled out the antenna. Pushed it back in. Repeated.
“Hey, you’re gonna break it.”
“I’m too nervous…”
Bzzz.
Her phone vibrated.
“Oh. Oh! It’s here…”
All eyes turned to her at once. Under their silent pressure, she squeezed her eyes shut, exhaled, and finally opened the message.
Her silence stretched, and tension rose across the room.
Then—
“…Uh. I—I passed.”
For three long seconds, no one moved. Then the room erupted into cheers.
“Whoa! Congrats!”
The ruckus drew a teacher to the door. He knocked lightly, and the class snapped back into silence.
As soon as he left, Yeoreum stole a glance around before slipping to the chalkboard. In small, neat letters, she wrote: Thank you!
On her way back to her desk, her eyes met Taeyoung’s. He gave her a silent, congratulatory clap. She responded with a grin.
Haein leaned close and whispered:
“So… should we ditch study hall tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I can’t wait!”
Yeoreum only wished this joy could last forever.
The next day.
As the dinner bell rang, Yeoreum and Haein exchanged a conspiratorial look. With bags slung over their shoulders, they moved casually, blending in with the line of students heading to the cafeteria. Only they knew their real plan—skipping study hall and sneaking off to eat fried chicken.
They had just slipped past the cafeteria toward the middle school grounds when—
“Han Yeoreum. Choi Haein.”
The heavy, low voice stopped them cold.
