Song Dayoung woke up with an unusual warmth simmering in her stomach, a sensation that left her flustered and a little disoriented. She placed a hand over her abdomen as if that would quiet the strange feeling that lingered there, both tantalizing and unnerving. The warmth was a familiar yet unspoken sensation — one she’d never admit to anyone else. She took a long, cool shower, hoping to shake off the flush creeping up her neck, but even the refreshing water couldn’t fully quell the stirring warmth within her.

As she dressed in her usual attire — a soft, fitted blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt — she took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric to settle her nerves. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror was composed and elegant, though a subtle flush still tinged her cheeks. She reminded herself that she was Song Dayoung, a teacher, a mentor, a professional. There was no room for distractions, no matter how persistent or alluring they might be.

Arriving at school, Dayoung moved through the hallways with her usual calm grace, her heels clicking softly against the polished floors. The morning light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the bustling corridor, and she greeted her students and colleagues with her usual warm, quiet smile. By the time she reached her classroom, she had nearly succeeded in setting aside the strange warmth from earlier. Yet, as she stepped into the room, she felt it return in a subtle, insistent wave.

Standing at the front of her class, she took a steadying breath, placing her books and materials neatly on the desk. The familiar sight of her students — a lively group of freshmen, full of energy and curiosity — brought her a sense of comfort and purpose. This was her domain, her sanctuary, a place where she could focus entirely on the joy of teaching.

“Good morning, everyone,” she greeted, her voice soft but clear, immediately calming the usual hum of chatter in the room.