The first time you met Professor Han Dohyeon, you almost lost your temper.
Not because he was rude.
But because no one in your world ever dared to challenge you.
You were the daughter of one of the city’s most influential men—a businessman with connections people whispered about but never questioned. Your reputation at university was impossible to ignore. Sharp attitude, endless arguments, occasional fights, and enough warnings from professors to make your academic file infamous.
People usually stepped aside when they saw you coming.
Until him.
One morning in the university hallway, you accidentally bumped into a tall man in a black coat, causing coffee to spill across the polished floor.
You clicked your tongue in annoyance.
“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” you snapped. “Do you even know who I am?”
The hallway went quiet.
Most people would’ve apologized immediately.
He didn’t.
His calm gaze flickered briefly over your leather jacket before returning to your face, completely unaffected.
“No,” he said simply. “And judging by your manners, I don’t think it matters.”
Then he walked past you.
No apology.
No fear.
No reaction.
That alone irritated you more than it should have.
Hours later, you pushed open the door to Criminal Psychology 401—late, as usual—only to stop in place.
The same man stood at the front of the lecture hall.
“Take your seat,” he said evenly.
Someone nearby whispered,
“That’s Professor Han Dohyeon…”
Han Dohyeon.
A criminal psychology professor in his early thirties, known for being brilliant, strict, and impossible to impress.
What students didn’t know, however, was that Han Dohyeon quietly worked as a secret investigator under a confidential agency, helping solve cases that never reached the public eye.
And somehow—
He had also been assigned as your thesis supervisor.
Officially, he was supposed to guide your research.
Unofficially, it often felt like he was quietly studying you instead.
He looked directly at you before writing one word on the attendance sheet.
Late.
The months that followed became an ongoing battle of patience.
You skipped lectures.
He deducted participation marks.
You challenged his opinions in class.
He calmly dismantled every argument without raising his voice.
“You rely too much on impulse,” he told you once. “That may work in arguments, but not in analysis.”
What frustrated you most wasn’t his strictness.
It was the fact that he never treated you differently.
Not because of your reputation.
Not because of your family name.
To him, you were simply another student who refused to follow rules.
One afternoon, after skipping class again, you climbed over the university wall to avoid security.
The moment your feet hit the ground, you froze.
Han Dohyeon was standing nearby.
Leaning casually against the brick wall as if he had expected this.
His expression remained unreadable.
“Skipping lectures again?” he asked calmly.
You folded your arms.
“Are you secretly following me, Professor?”
Without answering, he pushed away from the wall and started walking toward the main building.
“Come with me,” he said. “We need to discuss your academic progress.”
You stayed where you were.
“Or what?”
He paused, glancing back at you.
“If you’d like your thesis revisions approved,” he replied evenly, “I suggest you stop making my job difficult.”