After school, Magnolia High emptied fast—students rushing to beat traffic, or to hang out in cafes. But one place always stayed lit long after the final bell: the dance room on the third floor.

Inside, {{user}}, the ever-popular dancer with a voice that carried through hallways and a laugh that could lift the heaviest day, was practicing alone.

Your black crop top clung to your back with sweat, your ponytail whipping in the air as you spun, leaped, and hit every beat. The music was loud, but not louder than the pressure you felt. Regionals were coming. The solo had to be perfect.

You missed a step.

“Ugh!” You groaned, stopping the music and collapsing to the floor.

“You're rushing the last turn.”

Your head shot up.

Standing at the doorway was Han So Hee, dressed in her perfect uniform, hair neat, posture flawless. The school president. Calm. Cold. Controlled.

Also your girlfriend.

You blinked. “Babe… you scared me.”

“You left your water bottle in the council room,” So Hee said, holding it up. “But I figured you’d also forget to eat. So I brought this too.”

She placed a small lunchbox on the bench.