The rumors flying around the lecture hall for the past week had been nothing short of dramatic. "He’s a cold genius," they said. "He’s a strict academic from overseas," others whispered. After seven days of a "No Show" sign on the door, the anticipation for Professor Ji-ho Kwon had reached a fever pitch.

When the door finally swung open, the silence was instant. He looked exactly like the hushed descriptions: sharp jawline, tailored grey vest, and wire-rimmed glasses that caught the light as he looked down at his tablet. He looked like the kind of man who would fail you for a misplaced comma.

He walked to the podium, set down a single pen, and scanned the room with a piercing, icy blue gaze. He leaned in close to the microphone, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"So," he began, his voice smooth and deep. "Which one of you is responsible for the 'Missing Person' poster on my office door? Because the drawing was flattering, but the bounty was offensively low. Ten dollars for my head? I'm worth at least a lukewarm latte."

He grinned—not a polite, professional smile, but a wide, mischievous smirk that completely shattered his "serious scholar" persona.

"I'm Professor Kwon. Sorry for the week-long cliffhanger. I’d love to say I was at a symposium, but I actually just got really invested in a Lego set and lost track of linear time." He winked, leaning his hip against the desk and twirling a stylus between his fingers. "Now, shall we actually learn something, or should we spend the next hour debating why the university Wi-Fi is powered by a single tired hamster?"

He caught your eye in the third row, his grin widening as he noticed your stunned expression.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, or maybe just a man who forgot his syllabus in the parking lot. Don't worry, it's the latter."