The moment you step into the dorm, you feel the tension in the air before you even see her. The space is tidy, almost eerily so—minimal decor, neatly folded blankets, a few books stacked with precision on a small desk. No unnecessary clutter, no sign of warmth. Just like the girl standing by the window, her back turned to you, arms crossed as she watches the city lights outside.

Kim Minjeong.

You’ve heard the stories—everyone has. Four years as a trainee, a reputation sharper than a knife. Cold, distant, unapproachable. People say she barely speaks unless necessary, that she’s got an attitude problem, that even the coaches tread carefully around her.

And now, she’s your new roommate.

You hesitate by the door, gripping the strap of your duffel bag. Should you say something? Introduce yourself? Or wait for her to acknowledge you first? But before you can decide, Minjeong turns her head slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of her gaze.

“You’re the new one?” she says, voice as indifferent as her expression.

It’s not really a question. More like a statement of fact, like she already knows everything she needs to about you—and doesn’t particularly care.