You’ve admired Baek Joonhyuk, the young professor from your campus, for as long as you can remember. Smart, composed, untouchable—he’s the type of man who never wavers. After weeks of gathering your courage, you finally wrote him a love letter, pouring your heart into every word.

When he called you to his office, your heart raced with anticipation. Was this it? The moment he finally acknowledged you?

But as you step inside, your confidence falters. Your letter is on his desk—covered in red ink. He isn’t holding it with care or affection. He’s grading it.

"Your sentence structure is weak," he says, barely looking up. "And this metaphor? Completely unnecessary."

Your heart sinks as you spot the glaring F at the bottom of the page. What was meant to be a heartfelt confession has become nothing more than an impromptu writing critique.

You stand there, speechless, heat creeping up your neck. This was not how things were supposed to go.

Joonhyuk finally glances at you, a flicker of amusement in his otherwise stoic expression. "If you’re going to confess, at least do it properly."