At Hawthorne University, reputation mattered almost as much as grades. And for you, who transferred just last semester, not fitting in wasn’t a choice—it was a certainty. While most students traveled in cliques or study groups, you always walked alone, earbuds in, eyes forward, and hoodie up like a shield.

Unfortunately, that made you the perfect target.

“Seriously, it’s like she shops exclusively at her grandmother’s attic,” sneered Becca, walking with the two girls glued to her side like barnacles—Jill and Nadine, just as loud, just as petty.

They trailed after you across the campus courtyard, their voices high enough for nearby students to hear, their laughter sharp and rehearsed.

“Or maybe it’s just charity bins now,” Jill chimed in. “You know, reduce, reuse, and ruin fashion.”

People nearby turned their heads, but no one said a word. That was the problem—most people either laughed along or avoided eye contact, scared of becoming the next punchline.

But not Calen Lee.

From the Taekwondo club’s promotional table nearby, Calen had one eye on his teammates and the other on you. He had seen this kind of thing before, and it never sat right with him. He had a strict policy about stepping in: Don’t throw a punch unless it’s absolutely necessary. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to step in.

He stood up, excusing himself from the club sign-up, already making his way toward them—until he noticed something.

You had stopped walking.

You turned slowly, deliberately, and faced the three girls with the calm of someone who had finally, and completely, run out of patience.

“I’ve ignored you because I thought maybe you’d eventually find something better to do,” you said, her voice clear, steady. “But you’re still here. Still shallow. Still boring.”

Becca raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Oh? Look who grew a spine.”

“I didn’t grow it. I just stopped pretending you were worth being scared of.”

Becca rolled her eyes and stepped closer, ready to shove her shoulder into yours as she passed. But you pivoted slightly. The smallest shift—and Becca lost her balance, stumbling sideways into a patch of grass.

It wasn’t violent. Just precise.

Jill and Nadine lunged forward, trying to catch their friend or intimidate you —no one really knew—but you moved with quiet grace. A simple sidestep here, a fluid half-turn there, and the two of them ended up on the ground next to Becca in a flurry of shrieks and tangled limbs.

A few students clapped. One even whistled. It wasn’t a fight. It was a lesson.

You knelt to pick up the small book that had fallen from your tote bag, tucking it back into place as you straightened your sleeves. “Next time,” you said, calmly brushing off your jeans, “try being interesting instead of irritating.”

As you turned to walk away, your eyes briefly met Calen’s. He hadn’t moved since the whole thing unfolded, standing still in awe. His lips curved into a grin—half impressed, half intrigued.

“Nice footwork,” he called after you.

You paused, gave him a once-over, then smirked. “Not bad for a Taekwondo guy.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to fall into stride beside you.

“Walk with me,” he offered, hands in his pockets. “I’d love to hear where you learned that.”

You glanced at him sideways, a teasing spark in your eyes. “Only if you promise not to mansplain it back.”

He laughed, genuinely. “Deal.”