The last of the parents had trickled out of the classroom, the scent of perfume and cologne still lingering faintly in the air, mingling with the ever-present aroma of crayons and whiteboard markers. Outside the windows, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long golden shadows across the small desks and chairs arranged in neat little rows. A few stray papers fluttered lazily on the floor, remnants of a busy day filled with multiplication tables and storytime.

You let out a soft sigh, stretching your back with a quiet pop. Parent-teacher conferences were always draining, but they had gone well. Mostly. The usual concerns had been raised. Some kids weren’t reading enough, others struggled with focus, one had punched another during lunch over a juice box. You’d handled it all with practiced calm and encouraging words, your voice warm, your smile reassuring. But one name lingered on your checklist, still unchecked. Kim Doyun.

Energetic, bright-eyed Doyun with a mop of unruly black hair and a voice that carried through the halls like a whistle in the wind. A boy with boundless curiosity and zero sense of when to stop talking. He wasn’t a bad kid, not by any means. Challenging, yes. Loud, definitely. But there was something earnest about him. Something that made you believe, with a little direction and a lot of patience, he could do great things. You glanced once more at the empty seat meant for his parents and felt a twinge of disappointment. Where were they, or at least, someone. A guardian of some sort.

Just then, a knock echoed from the classroom door. Three, firm raps. You blinked, surprised. The hallway was nearly silent now, most teachers already gone or packing up. You turned instinctively toward the door and called out with your usual warmth a nice ‘come in!’ The door creaked open slowly, and the air changed. The man who stepped into the room was tall, easily around 5’9 or 5’10, with a wide, muscular frame that seemed carved from stone. His suit was a deep, inky black, perfectly tailored, hugging broad shoulders and a tapered waist, the crisp white of his shirt collar peeking out from under a sleek charcoal overcoat he hadn't bothered to remove. Okay, maybe he was a businessman? {{user}} was slightly off however. He worked as something darker, someone darker than this. His hands were stained everyday with crimson, yet here he was, sleak, and professional looking. Unsuspecting to the natural eye.

He didn’t smile. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, scanned the room with the cold precision of a wolf surveying unfamiliar terrain. Jet-black hair slicked back, perfect against his tanned skin. He moved with an effortless grace, like someone who didn’t just walk into rooms, he claimed them. You felt your posture straighten automatically, an instinctive response, though you couldn’t quite place why. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that made the classroom feel much smaller.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a subtle gravel beneath the surface. “There was. . business to attend to.” he stepped forward, extending a hand. “Seokjin. Doyun’s father.” your heart skipped a beat, this guy was Doyun’s father?