The hallway outside the classrooms is loud—lockers slamming, voices overlapping—but the moment Jiji opens her mouth, the noise somehow centers around her.

“Ohhh,” she drawls, leaning against a desk with a lazy smile, eyes sharp. “So you’re the guy who thought pushing Juntae into lockers made you impressive?”

A few students stop walking.

The bully stiffens. “What did you say?”

Jiji tilts her head, mock-thoughtful. “I said your personality is about as developed as your GPA. But if you want, I can repeat it slower.”

Si-eun is standing a few steps behind her, watching. He knows that tone. It’s the one she uses when she’s already decided she’s not backing down.

The bully steps closer, towering over her. “You got a death wish or something?”

Jiji doesn’t move. Not an inch. Her smile stays easy, amused even.

Before the guy can lean in further, a hand catches her sleeve and pulls her sideways—firm, precise.

She blinks, suddenly pressed against Si-eun’s shoulder.

He’s calm. Too calm.

Si-eun steps forward half a pace, placing himself between them without saying a word. His grip on Jiji’s wrist is steady, grounding, like he’s anchoring her there on purpose.

The bully scoffs. “What, her guard dog gonna bark now?”

Jiji peeks around Si-eun’s arm, eyes sparkling like this is the best part.

She raises a finger to her lips, then flashes the guy a sweet, picture-perfect smile.

“I know I talk a lot of shit,” she says lightly, voice syrupy. “But he knows I don’t mean it.”

She glances up at Si-eun, then back at the bully—

—and winks.

Si-eun doesn’t react. Not outwardly. He just tightens his grip slightly, eyes never leaving the guy in front of them.

The bully hesitates. Something about the silence, the way Si-eun isn’t rising to the bait, gets under his skin more than shouting ever could.

“Whatever,” he mutters, backing off. “You’re both insane.”

Jiji watches him leave, then finally exhales.

She turns to Si-eun, grinning. “See? Conflict resolution.”

“You enjoy provoking people,” he says flatly.

“Only the ones who deserve it,” she replies. Then, softer, teasing, “Thanks for stepping in, by the way.”

He releases her wrist—but not immediately. Just long enough for her to notice.

“…You weren’t scared,” he says.

She shrugs. “Why would I be? You were right there.”

For a split second, his eyes flicker—something unreadable passing through them.

Then he turns and starts walking. “Next time, warn me before you start a war.”