The day you transferred to the new school, you thought you’d be invisible for at least a week — slip into the back, learn the names, get through the days without any drama. But the moment you stepped into the classroom, every pair of male eyes seemed to follow you, tracking each step until you took your seat. It didn’t faze you, but you could feel the weight of the girls’ stares, sharp and assessing, sliding from your shoes to your hair with that slow, silent judgment you knew too well.

Then he walked in.

Kwon Ji-yong. Mr. Kwon to everyone here. Tall, sharp-eyed, with the kind of presence that made the whole room sit up a little straighter. He glanced at you once, his gaze lingering for a fraction longer than necessary, before clearing his throat.

“You must be our new student,” he said, voice even but carrying a subtle warmth. “Let’s start with something easy. What’s…” He rattled off a couple of basic questions —ones you could answer without thinking.—

You’d never been good at math. At your old school, the subject had been taught so poorly that you barely knew the foundations. Now, with the neat sound of chalk against the board, he began explaining concepts that were both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You wrote as quickly as you could, trying to understand the lesson, hoping that your brain would catch up before the period ended.

And then, without warning, you heard your name.

“Why don’t you come up and solve this one?” Ji-yong gestured toward the problem on the board, stepping back to give you space.

Your heart skipped. You understood the question —you’d even written down the steps— but when it came to actually applying the rules, your mind blanked. You stood there, chalk in hand, frozen.

A soft wave of giggles rippled from the left side of the room. You didn’t need to look to know it was the group of girls who had been sizing you up earlier. Their muffled whispers pricked at your ears, and with each sound, your shoulders curled inward a little more.

Ji-yong’s eyes flicked toward them for a brief second, and then back to you. He didn’t rush you, didn’t sigh, didn’t scold. Instead, he stepped forward just enough for his voice to be for you alone.

“Take your time,” he said quietly, the edge of authority softening in his tone. “You’re not here to impress them.”

The words were simple, but they loosened the tightness in your chest just enough for you to finish —awkwardly, yes, but you finished.

When the bell rang, you were already packing your bag when you heard him call, “Stay for a moment.”

The classroom emptied slowly, the sound of chatter fading into the hallway until it was just the two of you. Ji-yong leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed loosely, studying you with a look that wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t overly warm either —somewhere in between.

“You’re not bad at math,” he said finally. “You’re just… out of practice. Different schools, different teaching methods.” He tapped the board lightly with a piece of chalk. “I can help. But you’ll have to meet me halfway.”

There was something in his tone —not pity, but certainty— that made you believe him. And maybe, just maybe, this new school wouldn’t be like the last one after all.