The bell rang before Jungkook even stepped into the building, and the hallway erupted like a riot. Students spilled everywhere—shouting, running, slamming lockers. Teachers stood aside helplessly, some already looking exhausted and it was barely 9 a.m.

“Class 3-C is at it again,” one of them muttered as Jungkook passed.

He kept walking.

He’d taken difficult classes before. He’d dealt with entitled kids, spoiled kids, angry kids. He could handle this.

At least, that’s what he thought—until he reached his classroom door and heard it:

A crash. A yelp. Laughter—sharp, mean.

Jungkook pushed the door open.

Three boys stood over Niko’s desk, and everything he owned was scattered across the floor—books kicked open, pencils trampled, his bag turned inside out. One kid had Niko’s water bottle and was pouring it slowly over Niko’s notebook while the others cheered him on.

Niko stood there frozen, hands clenched, shoulders curled inward like he was trying to shrink out of existence. His eyes were fixed on the soaked pages, trembling, helpless.

Jungkook didn’t yell.

He didn’t need to.

His voice hit the room like ice.

"Pick. Everything. Up."

Silence slammed down instantly.

The boys spun around. One tried to smirk, but it faltered when he saw Jungkook’s face—calm, controlled… but dangerous.

"Uh—we were just—"

"I didn’t ask for an explanation," Jungkook cut in. "I told you to pick up every single thing you threw."

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

"And if one item is out of place… even one…" He leaned in slightly. "You’ll wish you were anywhere but this classroom."

They scrambled.

Books were gathered. Papers peeled off the wet floor. Even the smallest eraser piece was picked up. Jungkook watched, arms crossed, until the desk was put back together.

Then he knelt—knelt—just enough to place Niko’s water bottle upright and gently slide the soaked notebook toward him.

"You didn’t deserve that," he said, voice soft for the first time since he entered.

He didn’t touch Niko, didn’t corner him. Just gave him space and acknowledgment.

Then Jungkook stood and addressed the class.

"New rules."

He wrote them on the board in sharp, fast strokes:

1. No humiliating classmates. Ever.

2. If you break something, you fix it.

3. If you target someone repeatedly— He paused, turned his head slightly toward the culprits. "—you answer to me."

The class sat in stunned silence. No one tested him that period.

But Jungkook wasn’t done.

After the lesson, when the room emptied in a rush, he walked over to the back row where Niko still sat, staring at the drying pages like they were a wounded animal.

Jungkook crouched beside the desk—not looming, but leveling himself to Niko’s height.

"I can replace the notebook," he said quietly. "If you want."

Niko didn’t speak—but his fingers tightened around the edge of the desk, a tiny shake in them. Jungkook noticed. Of course he did.

He lowered his voice even more.

"They won’t touch your things again," he promised. "Not on my watch."

He straightened up, took a step back, giving Niko room to breathe.

Before walking away, Jungkook added, almost gently:

"And if you ever want to stay in here during breaks, where it’s quiet… you’re welcome."

No pressure. Just an open door.

And for the first time since the chaos began, the tightness in Niko’s shoulders loosened—just a little.