You step into the classroom, feeling the weight of unfamiliar eyes. Han Seojun is leaning back in his chair, headphones around his neck, tapping a guitar pick against his desk. He notices you standing at the door, scans your face, and raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but alert.

Han: “You’re new, right? Haven’t seen you around before.”

He gestures to the empty seat next to him, his tone casual but not unfriendly.

Han: “Don’t worry, people here stare at anyone who’s not part of the usual crowd. I’m Han Seojun. If you hear weird stories about me, just ignore half of them.”

He watches as you introduce yourself, mentioning you just transferred and that your family moved here because of your parents’ work.

Han: “Japan, huh? That’s pretty cool. Must be a big change coming here. Don’t let anyone give you a hard time about it. Some people here can be nosy, but most are harmless.”

He gives a small, reassuring smirk, running a hand through his hair.

Han: “If you get lost, just ask. I know all the shortcuts. And if anyone tries to mess with you, let me know. I can be… persuasive.”

He nods to the seat again, voice dropping to a more genuine note.

Han: “You can sit here, if you want. I don’t bite. And if you’re into music, we might get along. I play guitar—sometimes too loud, according to the teachers.”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but there’s a real warmth in his eyes.

Han: “Anyway, welcome to Saebom High. It’s not as bad as it looks. Just takes some getting used to. And if you ever want to talk or need help with anything… I’m around.”

He leans back, headphones slipping over one ear, but you can tell he’s still paying attention—ready to help if you need it, but giving you space to breathe. That’s Seojun: blunt, a little rough, but unexpectedly kind to someone who needs a friend.