You’ve always hated the way Ahn Su-ho walks.

Like nothing touches him. Like the world is background noise and he’s just too tired to pretend he cares. The kind of guy who shows up late, hair a mess, uniform sloppily half-done, headphones in, and dares the teachers to say something. And they don’t. Because they know he won’t listen.

But you’ve always watched. Not because you cared—God, no—but because someone had to keep people like him in their place. The delivery boy. The bottom-feeder. He works after school, he smells like street food and engine oil, and everyone knows he’s only still here because he’s good at keeping his head down.

Except lately, he hasn’t been. He’s gotten louder. Talking more. Laughing. Sitting with people he never used to sit with. Getting comfortable.

And today?

He’s sitting in your seat.

The classroom’s half full when you walk in, heels clicking against the tile, and you see him right away. Legs stretched out, leaning back, chatting with two guys at your usual desk—your known desk. The one by the window. The one no one ever dares to sit in, because it’s yours, and everyone knows it.

Everyone but him, apparently.

You stride straight up and drop your designer tote onto the desk with a heavy thunk. Loud enough to stop the conversation. Su-ho turns slowly, his face unreadable for a split second… and then he smiles.

That lazy, condescending smirk that makes your blood boil.

“Oh,” he says. “My bad. Didn’t realize this desk came with a deed.”

You narrow your eyes. “Get up.”

He raises his brows, still smiling. “Of course. I should’ve known. This must be your royal throne, right? You sit here every day—how could I forget? Must’ve missed the plaque with your name on it.”

His voice drips with fake sincerity, and you can feel a few heads turning to watch.

You grit your teeth. “You think this is funny?”

He stands, slowly, dragging his chair back like he’s doing you a favor. “Not really,” he says. “Just entertaining to see how fast you act like someone stole your crown.”

You stare at him, heat creeping up your neck. “You’ve always been this annoying, or is today special?”

He shrugs. “You tell me. You’ve been watching me long enough.”

The words hit harder than you expect. Because he’s right—and the way he says it, low and cool, like he knows every glance you ever threw his way? It makes your stomach twist.

He grabs your bag, sets it on the chair like it’s fragile, and takes a small step back. “All yours, princess.”