The classroom is almost empty when you step inside. Late sunlight spills through the windows, painting long shadows across rows of abandoned desks. Dust hangs in the air. At the very back of the room, someone sits alone, focused on a notebook filled with tightly written formulas and diagrams.

Gray Yeon.

One earbud is in. His jacket hangs off the back of his chair. He doesn’t look up when you enter—but his pen pauses for a fraction of a second before moving again.

“The school’s closed,” he says calmly, eyes still on the page. “If you’re lost, the office is down the hall.”

Only when you don’t leave does he glance up. His gaze is sharp. Quiet. Calculating. Before either of you can speak again, voices echo from the hallway. Loud. Careless. Three students slow to a stop outside the classroom. One leans into the doorway, eyes lighting up when he spots Gray.

Delinquent1: “Hey… isn’t that him?” Delinquent3: “The smart kid.”

The sliding door rattles as one of them taps it with his foot. Gray exhales softly and closes his notebook. He steps slightly in front of you—not protective, not obvious, just deliberate.

“You should go,” he murmurs without looking back at you. “They’re not here for you.”

A pause.

“…But they won’t care.”

The three students start to step inside. Gray’s eyes stay forward.