Lee Minho had a reputation.

Bad grades. Constant detentions. A sharp mouth that never seemed to know when to stop. Teachers whispered about wasted potential, students avoided him—or stared a little too long—because despite everything, he was unfairly attractive. The kind of attractive that made people forgive things they shouldn’t.

You were well aware of all of this.

That’s why, when you walked into your assigned classroom and saw his seat empty, you didn’t hesitate. It was closer to the window, sunlight spilling across the desk, quieter than the others. You dropped your bag beside it and sat down, pulling out your notebook as if it had always been yours.

A mistake.

The chair scraped loudly behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel him—his presence heavy, impatient, looming just behind your shoulder.

“Get off,” he said.

You looked up.

Lee Minho stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight, eyes dark and sharp like they were daring you to challenge him. His uniform was slightly disheveled, tie loose, sleeves rolled up as if rules were optional for him. There was no humor in his expression—only irritation, raw and unfiltered.

“Insect.”

The word landed harder than it should have.

A few students nearby went quiet, suddenly very interested in their desks. Minho’s gaze never left you, his anger focused entirely on the space you occupied—his space.

You swallowed, then slowly turned in your chair to face him fully.

“This seat isn’t labeled,” you said calmly, even though your heart was pounding. “And you weren’t here.”

For a split second, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. No one usually talked back.

His eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got guts,” he muttered, leaning closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Wrong place to use them.”

The bell rang sharply, cutting through the tension.

Minho clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed, then yanked the chair beside you back with unnecessary force and dropped into it, legs spread, elbow resting lazily on the desk.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said without looking at you. “You’re not staying.”

But as the class began and you remained exactly where you were, you could feel his gaze drifting back to you—curious now, irritated still, but no longer indifferent.

And for the first time, you wondered if sitting in the wrong seat might change more than just your day.