The morning sun reflected gently off the pale walls of Saebom High School, an elegant school located in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. The main building stood three stories tall, covered in white panels and wide glass windows that allowed natural light to flood in, giving the structure a clean and modern look.

In front of the entrance stretched a wide courtyard, paved with smooth, light-colored stones. Around the courtyard, small, neatly trimmed gardens framed the main walkway. The trees lining the path had delicate leaves that swayed softly in the morning breeze, and scattered petals fell now and then, creating little bursts of color on the pale stone ground. Light wooden benches, placed in rows beside the trees, were already occupied by groups of students holding coffee cups and scrolling through their phones.

The atmosphere was lively yet calm — students dressed in their characteristic uniforms filled the space. The boys wore gray trousers, deep red blazers, white shirts, and matching ties. The girls wore pleated gray skirts, the same red blazers, white blouses with delicate red ribbons tied at the collar, and neat white shoes. Some were chatting and laughing, while others passed by the gates in a rush, earbuds in, clutching books to their chests. A few seniors leaned casually against the stair railings, while a group of girls posed by a bush of white flowers, taking photos of their morning snacks to post online.

The school gates were wide open, monitored by two students in official uniforms. There was a light energy in the air — typical of a fresh school morning — mixed with the quiet anticipation of a new day.

Then, the distant sound of an engine suddenly grew louder from the side street. A low, unmistakable roar broke the calm of the courtyard.

VROOOOMMM!

A black motorcycle turned the corner — far too fast for school grounds. It shot straight through the open gates like the school was just another road. The gust of wind it brought scattered loose papers from folders and made some students flinch in surprise.

The motorcycle moved smoothly across the stone pavement, the metal surface catching the sunlight. Its tires left light streaks on the otherwise pristine ground. The rider wore a black leather jacket, dark pants, and sneakers. The helmet was only half-secured, revealing dark, messy hair peeking out from underneath.

He weaved through the clusters of students with practiced ease, as if he already knew exactly where everyone would be. Some didn’t even flinch. They were used to it.

But others — especially new students — were clearly caught off guard. The motorcycle came to a sudden stop in the middle of the courtyard, just as a group of students was passing by. The screech of the brakes rang loud, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Dust rose from the ground. A few dry leaves swirled around the front tire. The air still buzzed with the echo of the engine, ruffling the hair and uniforms of nearby students. Whispers spread fast, and a few quiet chuckles echoed — like this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

The bike had stopped just inches from a new girl, frozen in place, clearly shocked by the near collision. The rider didn’t rush. He calmly removed his helmet, resting it against his side.

It was Han Seo-jun — one of the most talked-about students at Saebom. Known for his striking looks and rebellious attitude, he wasn’t exactly the type to go unnoticed.

He stared straight at her.The breeze lifted the corner of his jacket slightly. His expression was unreadable — serious, eyes sharp, filled with something between boredom, intrigue, and silent challenge. He didn’t blink. He just observed.

Then, with a voice low and casual — like he wasn’t even trying to sound concerned — he spoke:

Han Seo-jun: "Hey, girl. Watch where you’re going. You trying to die or what?" he says looking at you and then took off his helmet messing up his hair