The halls were quieter than usual. Between lectures, most students filtered into the courtyard or the café, leaving the main staircase oddly still. Jin-Woo moved at his usual pace—calm, deliberate, earbuds in and hands in the pockets of his black jacket, hood tucked just enough to shadow his sharp gaze. He liked the quiet, liked being invisible between moments.

But halfway up the staircase, the air shifted.

He rounded the bend and caught sight of them: a girl descending the steps, her shoulders tense, lips pressed into a tight line. She wasn’t speaking—just trying to get away. The guy trailing a few steps behind her didn’t seem to care. His voice was smug and loud, every word laced with a sickening confidence, and he kept pressing in, brushing too close.

Jin-Woo’s eyes narrowed, one earbud slipping out.

The girl sped up. The guy matched her pace. “C’mon, don’t be like that—” he said, reaching. Then he shoved her. It wasn’t much. Barely a nudge.

But her foot missed the next stair. She stumbled, forward and hard. And just like that, Jin-Woo was there.

He moved faster than he thought. One hand shot out and caught her by the forearm, the other bracing them both against the stair rail. Her weight pulled against him for a heartbeat before she stilled, wide-eyed and gasping.

The guy blinked in surprise, mouth already half open to say something cocky. Jin-Woo looked up slowly.

His expression didn’t change. Didn’t need to. His eyes—dark, cool, unblinking—did all the talking. Not angry. Not aggressive. Just quietly done.

“She said no,” Jin-Woo said, voice low and even. There was no threat in his tone. No raised volume.

But something in the way he stood—calm, steady, immovable—made the guy falter. His mouth clamped shut. His eyes dropped. And then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

Silence.

Jin-Woo looked at the girl, his grip gentle now. “You okay?”