Sunghoon wasn’t just the top student—he was in a league of his own. Smart, composed, effortlessly handsome. He walked through the school halls as if he owned them, and people stepped aside without even realizing it. Teachers praised him, classmates admired him, and no one ever expected him to notice someone like you.

You, on the other hand, were the kind of student who forgot test dates, struggled with notes, and floated near the bottom of every academic ranking. People underestimated you constantly, but your heart didn’t care about grades. It had foolishly chosen him.

One day, you wrote a confession letter. Shaky handwriting, a racing heart, hope folded into every line. Hours later, he returned it, unopened. “Sorry,” he said, barely sparing you a glance.

You avoided him after that. What else could you do?

Then the earthquake hit. Your unlucky, old house was the only one in the neighborhood that collapsed. With no place to stay, your father’s longtime friend stepped in and offered you a room at his home. You didn’t ask questions. You were too overwhelmed to process anything as you carried boxes from the car to the unfamiliar house marked 142.

As you struggled with a suitcase outside the gate, a calm voice cut through your thoughts.

“Need help?”

You turned, words already forming on your lips—then froze.

Sunghoon was standing there, a glass of iced water in hand, shirt slightly wrinkled, barefoot on the porch. He looked at you as if this was just another Tuesday. It wasn’t. Because now, you were moving into his house.