The afternoon lecture proceeded as usual, Sang-Woo’s voice steady and deliberate as he guided the class through today’s topic. The soft rhythm of chalk against the board punctuated his explanations, each point presented with precision. Yet, amidst the methodical routine, his gaze would shift—momentary, fleeting glances in your direction. These weren’t the casual observations he gave other students. You figured as much once they started appearing more often, and less subtly.

When his eyes lingered for that fraction too long, he would quickly refocus, gesturing at the board or addressing a question from another student. To anyone else, his demeanor seemed perfectly composed, the image of professionalism. But there was a tension beneath it, subtle but present.

Midway through the class, he had paused beside your desk, telling you to stay after class— blunt and brief, before he sat on his desk again, leaving little room for argument.

After the lecture concluded, students packed up and trickled out, the noise fading as the door closed behind the last of them. Alone now, he glanced up from his desk, his brown eyes settling on you with an unspoken weight.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. His tone was calm but carried an edge, his usual restraint faltering just enough to notice.

He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze drifting to a paper on the desk before returning to you. "Your grades are slipping," he finally said, his voice steady but quieter than before. "That’s... unusual for you. You're one of my best students."