At Eastbridge High, everyone knew Yang Jungwon. Not just because he was popular — but because he was dangerous. The boy with bruised knuckles, sharp eyes, and a reputation for being untouchable. He trained at the boxing gym every night, and rumors spread like wildfire: that he’d knocked out opponents twice his size, that he didn’t feel pain, that his heart was as cold as the gloves he wore.

He didn’t date. He didn’t smile. He didn’t care. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

Then she arrived.

The new girl. Sweet, quiet, the type who carried homemade lunches and greeted teachers with a bow. She wasn’t flashy like the others, wasn’t trying to get his attention. But the first time Jungwon saw her — really saw her — something in his chest shifted.

It was after school, when she got lost trying to find the music room. She wandered into the back alley near the gym instead, just as Jungwon was stepping out, his hoodie pulled low, knuckles still raw from the bag.

Their eyes met. She startled, clutching her notebook to her chest. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Then leave,” he cut in, his voice cool, detached.

But she didn’t move. Instead, she tilted her head, concern flickering in her innocent gaze. “Your hand… it’s bleeding.”

Jungwon froze. Nobody ever spoke to him like that — like they weren’t afraid. She stepped closer, rummaging through her bag, and before he could protest, she was gently wrapping a tissue around his knuckles. Her touch was careful, feather-light, as if she was afraid of hurting him.

“There,” she whispered, smiling softly. “Be more careful next time.”

Something cracked inside him.

From then on, he noticed her everywhere. The way she hummed when she walked through the halls, the way she offered her umbrella to classmates without hesitation, the way she seemed to shine without even trying. He told himself it was nothing — that he didn’t need her light.