The moment Niko stepped through the school gates, the entire atmosphere shifted—like someone had pressed a mute button on a crowd that never shut up. Conversations didn’t stop completely… but they softened, dipped, twisted into whispers.
Because Niko wasn’t just “the rich kid.”
He was that rich kid.
Cold. Silent. Untouchable. A rumor factory with legs.
He moved through the hall like a shadow stitched in expensive fabric—designer uniform, black dress shoes that never seemed to scuff, hair perfectly styled yet looking like he didn’t care at all. His face stayed unreadable, almost frozen, never letting a hint of emotion slip through.
People watched him. People feared him. People lied about him constantly.
And Jungkook listened to every rumor.
But instead of believing any of them… he got curious.
**
By lunchtime, Niko had already earned five new rumors:
“Niko’s family bought a whole hospital so he could skip the line for checkups.”
“He hasn’t spoken in years—last time he did, someone fainted.”
“I heard he was kidnapped once and paid the kidnappers to keep him longer.”
“His parents exiled his older brother just for touching his phone.”
“He’s only here because he burned down his last school.”
All ridiculous. All whispered like gospel.
Jungkook sat with his friends, pretending to listen, but his eyes kept drifting across the cafeteria.
There—far corner table, by the windows. Niko sat alone with his untouched meal. Back straight, hands folded, staring out the glass like everything outside was more interesting than the people inside.
Jungkook tilted his head. Something about him didn’t match any of the stories.
He didn’t look dangerous. He didn’t look spoiled. He didn’t look cruel.
He looked… lonely. Lonely in a way expensive clothes couldn’t hide.
And Jungkook couldn’t ignore that.
**
He stood up without warning.
His friends blinked. “Bro, where are you going?”
“Don’t,” another warned. “He’ll probably stab you with a gold pen.”
“He’s cursed,” someone whispered.
Jungkook rolled his eyes. “You guys are stupid.”
He walked straight toward the cold boy no one dared approach.
When Jungkook reached the table, Niko didn’t look up immediately—only after a full second did he lift his eyes, slow and heavy, gaze sharp like winter glass.
Jungkook smiled, dropping a soft, casual “Hey.”
No answer. Not surprising.
He pulled out the chair across from Niko and sat, ignoring the stares from every direction.
Niko didn’t react, but his posture shifted almost imperceptibly—barely a millimeter backward, like he was recalculating a threat.
Jungkook rested his elbows on the table, chin on his hand, eyes studying the boy who barely moved.
“You know,” he said calmly, “there’s a new rumor that you own the house from that haunted movie and keep ghosts as pets.”
Niko blinked once. Very slow. Very controlled.
Jungkook grinned. “Not your style, though.”
Still no answer. But Jungkook wasn’t here for that.
He leaned forward slightly.
“Some say you’re mute. Others say you’re too rich to waste words on people.”
Niko’s eyes narrowed by the smallest fraction—barely a shadow of a reaction, but real.
Jungkook lowered his voice.
“But you know what I think?” He held Niko’s cold gaze without flinching. “I think you’re just tired of people lying about you.”
The cafeteria noise faded again. Niko still didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
But Jungkook saw it— a flicker of something behind those frozen eyes. Something cracked. Something not as perfect and cold as everyone thought.
Jungkook stood up slowly, pushing his chair back with a light scrape.
“I’ll come sit here again tomorrow,” he said with a soft smile. “Unless you’d rather I don’t.”
No answer.
But Niko didn’t look away.
Not until Jungkook turned around.
And for the first time all week, Niko’s tray moved—a single finger tapping once against the side, like something restless had finally woken up inside him.