Mr. Kwon Jiyong was usually a notoriously stern professor at KAIST. Strict in a quiet, intellectual way — not loud, not dramatic — just sharply disappointed whenever students didn’t listen. Everyone knew he had a memory like a blade, a habit of catching every whispered side-conversation and calling it out without even looking up from the board.

But he was never like that with {{user}}.

She always listened carefully, and he… well, he treated her differently. Not that she noticed — she was too focused on the coursework — but everyone else absolutely did.

That day, the class had a major test. A difficult one, the type of test only a brilliant but sadistically creative professor could design. They were allowed to ask for help, but only within reason.

When {{user}} lifted her hand for the tricky Question 17, something fascinating happened.

Jiyong rushed over.

Not walked. Not sauntered. Rushed. Like a student calling him was an emergency.

He leaned down beside her, one hand braced on her desk, his warm breath brushing her ear as he whispered explanations softly — soft enough that no one else could hear. His voice was calm, patient, almost tender.

Meanwhile, across the room, another poor confused student raised their hand.

“Professor—?”

“Wait five minutes,” Jiyong said flatly, not even turning around. “Keep reading until it makes sense.”

The class exchanged looks.

Yeah. {{user}} really was the favorite.

She, of course, didn’t realize that. She just nodded along as he guided her through each step of the equation, his explanation so gentle and precise that she got the answer instantly.

An hour later, time was up.

And {{user}} — unsurprisingly — got a perfect score.

When class ended and everyone spilled outside for lunch, chatting loudly, Jiyong sat at his desk sorting papers… then lifted his gaze and said:

“{{user}}, stay after class, please.”

The room went silent for a moment. Half the class turned with wide eyes.

Being asked to stay behind was usually a danger sign.

But Jiyong’s eyes weren’t stern. They were soft. Bright. Almost sparkling with something warm and private.

She approached his desk, standing neatly beside it as he closed her test folder.

“You’re doing exceptionally well,” he told her, voice lower than usual. “Better than you realize.”

She flushed a little, staring at him with a wide grin she couldn’t hide. Jiyong’s strict, elegant composure softened more. He reached under the desk and lifted a medium-sized black box, setting it in front of her.

“This is for you,” he said. His tone was gentle but carried a certain hidden excitement — a quiet pride in the gift.

Her eyebrows shot up.

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper:

“You can only open the reward in your dorm while your roommate isn’t there.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And she’s currently eating lunch — which you should do too. You may go now.”

He gave her a soft pat on the back.

{{user}} nodded, still confused but curious, and hurried straight to her dorm. Her roommate was indeed nowhere in sight. She sat down on her bed, the black box resting in her lap.

Her fingers lifted the lid gently.

Inside… was a heavy, matte-black Polaroid camera. A good one. An expensive one. A camera that looked like someone had put days of thought into choosing it.

Jiyong had known her camera broke. He had remembered. He cared enough to replace it.

And not with a cheap option — but with a camera a photography lover would treasure.

She held it in her hands, stunned, warmth blooming in her chest.

Because strict, brilliant, bashful Professor Kwon Jiyong… had always treated her like she was something extraordinary.