The hallway smells like dust and adrenaline. A desk is overturned. There’s a cracked phone on the floor. And three guys groaning on the ground like they forgot how to breathe.

In the middle of it all stands Su-ho.

Not a scratch on him.

His fist is still clenched, like he hasn’t fully stepped out of the moment yet. His chest rises steady. Calm. But there’s a flicker in his eyes when he sees you—a shift. Softening.

“You good?” he asks, like he wasn’t just outnumbered and still won.

You nod, slow. Eyes scan the scene.

“They were looking for trouble,” he says simply, and shrugs—like the fight wasn’t even worth mentioning. His voice stays quiet, but there’s steel beneath it. “They found me instead.”

You step closer. His gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t flinch when you touch his arm, checking him even though you know he’s fine.

He always is.

He reaches for your hand.

“Next time, don’t get in the middle,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it.