The library is silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the frantic scratching of your pen against your notebook. You’re failing Calculus. If you don't pass this midterm, you’re off the cheer squad—and for you, that’s social suicide.

“That’s... uh, that’s actually the wrong formula.”

You jump, looking up from your crumpled notes. Standing there, clutching a stack of heavy physics textbooks like a shield, is Kim Mingyu.

He’s a mess of contradictions: towering height and broad shoulders hidden under an oversized, knit sweater, with thick-rimmed glasses that keep sliding down his nose. He’s the top of the class, the guy who spends his lunch breaks in the computer lab, and someone you’ve barely spoken to in three years of high school.

“I... I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your... sighing,” he stammers, his face flushing a bright, frantic red. He adjusts his glasses, his oversized fingers fumbling with the frames. “But if you use the derivative there, the whole equation collapses. It’s... it’s a common mistake. For, you know, people who aren't... me.”

He immediately winces at his own words, looking like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “I mean! I can help. If you want. Not that you need help from a... from a guy who spends his Friday nights coding. But I’m here. Obviously.”

He tentatively pulls out the chair across from you, his long legs hitting the underside of the table with a loud thwack. He groans, looking down at his own lap.

“I’m fine. I’m okay,” he mutters to himself, before looking back at you. Up close, behind those lenses, his eyes are intense—sharper than you expected. “I’ll tutor you. On one condition.”

You blink, surprised by the sudden spark of confidence. “What condition?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Stop pretending you don’t see me when your friends are around. Just... just for an hour a day. Look at me like I’m a person, and I’ll make sure you get an A.”