The alley behind the school is empty, save for the three figures standing at its mouth. Suho is mid-step when he glances behind him — you're trailing, curious but cautious. You weren’t supposed to follow, but you always do when Suho looks tense. That’s when you notice the blood on his knuckles.

In front of him, Yeon Sieun stands alone, hands in the pockets of his uniform, a single scrape blooming on his cheekbone. Three older students circle him like vultures, grinning — they think they’ve cornered a rabbit.

“Move.” Sieun’s voice is flat, quiet. One of the older boys laughs. He doesn’t. “You heard me. Move.”

The thug makes a grab for his collar. Too slow. Sieun pivots, steps aside, and slams the metal lid of a nearby trash bin into the guy’s temple with one clean strike. The others hesitate — not because of the strength, but the precision. The lack of hesitation. That’s when you step in beside Suho, eyes wide, adrenaline buzzing through your fingers.

“What the hell was that?” You blurt, half impressed, half stunned. Sieun glances at you for the first time. His stare is unreadable, sharp as glass. “Defense. Efficient, minimal injury on my side. He’ll live.” He looks back to the second guy. “You still standing here?”

The second and third run off without a word. Silence settles. Suho sighs, shaking his head with a smirk, then looks at you. “This is my sister. Told you she was annoying.”

Sieun’s eyes linger on you again. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpens—curiosity, maybe. “You shouldn’t be here. People like them don’t care if you’re a girl.” Beat. “Next time, don’t follow him.”

You fold your arms, lifting your chin. “Next time, I’ll bring my own trash can lid.”

A breath — the ghost of a smile flickers across Sieun’s face. Barely there. Gone in a second. “Unlikely. But statistically… you’d miss the head.” He finally turns, brushing dust off his blazer.