You’re laughing—leaning a little too close to the guy next to you, fingers brushing his notebook as he shows you a stupid meme he drew in the margin. It’s harmless. You’re just being polite. You think.

Until you feel it.

That unmistakable presence.

Do Seongmok is standing just a few steps away, eyes locked on you. Not the boy. Not the paper. You.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to.

His jaw tightens. One hand curls into a fist, not in anger—more like restraint. His eyes flick once to the space between you and the guy, then back up to yours. Cold. Quiet. Burning.

The air around you shifts.

The guy beside you, suddenly aware, clears his throat and leans back, mumbling something about needing to find his charger.

You don’t move. Neither does Seongmok.

Then, without a word, he walks up. Slow, steady, unapologetic. He doesn’t say a thing as he reaches out and takes your bag off your desk, slinging it over his shoulder like it belongs to him.

“Let’s go,” he says low, almost under his breath.

And just like that, you're following—your heart pounding.