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You were Choi {{user}} — the girl everyone whispered about but never to. Flawless skin. A closet that looked like it had its own PR manager. First-name basis with every teacher, and second-name basis with every boy’s mother.

You had a perfect laugh, a perfect pout, and a talent for making people feel like they were lucky just to breathe the same air as you.

Your dress would always be shortened above your knees, your blazer perfectly ironed, your makeup clean and flawless, your smug smirk catching everyone's eyes.

You didn’t ask for attention. It just followed. Like perfume and power.

And when Kang Seojun—the student body president, the charming debate captain with the messy hair and annoying habit of holding eye contact—got himself a girlfriend?

You smiled. Because of course he did. Of course he went for someone like Han Yena.

The sweet girl. The one with the timid smile, the pleated skirts, and a soft personality that didn’t wrinkle even when stepped on.

She baked for club meetings. Helped clean up after events. She didn’t make waves—she floated through.

She was everything you weren’t.

And that was her mistake.

Because you weren’t interested in him. Not at first.

Seojun was cute. A little too proper. A little too perfect.

But then Yena made it a thing.

She stared a little too long when you passed by. Held him a little tighter when you walked near. Sent her little friends to “warn” you.

As if you cared or felt threatened.

But that’s the thing about warning you, you play the game back with your designer bags and mini dresses.

So you started small.

A comment here. A compliment there.

“Seojun, you smell really good today.” “That color looks so expensive on you.” “Yena’s lucky. Not all guys are this thoughtful.”

He laughed every time. Nervous, maybe. But flattered.

Then you stepped it up.

Study partners in economics. Paired for a mock trial presentation. A shared umbrella in the rain.

Nothing technically wrong. But undeniably wrong.

Yena stopped making eye contact, instead gave you glares of hatred in the hallway. Seojun started showing up earlier to your shared classes. While you leaned a little closer when you spoke. And you would look at him like he was a game you were bored of already winning.

The breaking point?

You pulled him into the photography room during festival prep.

Said you needed help adjusting the lights. He followed. Of course he did.

Ten minutes later, someone opened the door—Yena.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t step away.

Seojun was holding the lighting filter. You were holding the remote. The distance between you? Inappropriate. Telling. Perfectly calculated.