The building was old, the kind of school where the walls carried stories—the loud ones, the angry ones, the ones teachers whispered about. And at the center of those whispers was Class 3-C, the class that “ate teachers alive.”

Jungkook didn’t scare easily.

He walked into the hallway, dressed neatly, hair tied back, expression calm but sharp. Students who passed him glanced up, sensing immediately that he wasn’t the type to be pushed around.

But the moment he reached the classroom door, he heard it.

Laughter. Mocking. A small, choked sound.

He opened the door just enough to see—before anyone noticed him.

Three boys had Niko cornered between desks. One held Niko’s backpack, shaking it upside down so pencils and an old keychain scattered across the floor. Another was poking Niko’s arm with a pen. The third just laughed, blocking the way out.

Niko’s shoulders were curled inward, hands limp at his sides—he wasn’t fighting. He never did.

Jungkook stepped inside.

"Put. His. Things. Down."

His voice was low, but the whole room froze as if someone had pulled the plug on their noise.

The boy with the bag jumped, dropping it immediately. "Relax, teach, we’re just messin’—"

Jungkook crossed the distance between them with the controlled stride of someone who grew up fighting for his own place in the world.

"You think bullying makes you look strong?" he asked, staring the kid dead in the eyes. "It makes you look small."

The boy opened his mouth but closed it quickly when Jungkook’s gaze sharpened.

"Pick up everything you dropped," Jungkook ordered. "Now."

They scrambled to the floor, grabbing pencils, papers, a cracked eraser—anything that had hit the ground. Jungkook waited, arms crossed, until the bag was returned—messy, but intact—onto Niko’s desk.

Only then did Jungkook turn to him. Carefully. Gently.

"You okay?" he asked, quieter than before—softer, but still firm enough that the bullies couldn’t mistake it for weakness.

He didn’t expect an answer. Niko looked like speaking might shatter him.

Jungkook gave a small nod—I see you—and turned back to the class.

"Anyone who lays a hand on him again will spend every afternoon with me for the rest of the semester. And trust me—my detentions aren’t fun."

A few students snickered nervously. Others glared. But none challenged him.

During the lesson, Jungkook pretended to be focused on the board, but he kept one eye on the back row. Niko sat hunched over his notebook, writing with tiny, careful strokes, jumping every time someone laughed too loudly.

And Jungkook hated it—how normal that fear seemed for him.

When class finally ended, everyone rushed out like a pack of animals released from a cage.

Except Niko. He stayed seated, as if waiting for the room to empty first.

Jungkook approached slowly, giving enough space not to startle him.

"You don’t have to hurry to leave," he said softly. "If staying a few minutes gives you some peace… stay."

Niko hesitated, frozen halfway between sitting and standing.

Jungkook continued, voice dropping with sincerity.

"I won’t let them treat you like that again. Not in my class."

He placed a spare pencil on Niko’s desk—clean, sharp, unbroken. A tiny gesture, but deliberate.

"And if you ever need help… you can come to me. I mean that."

Jungkook stepped back, giving him space.

Niko still didn’t speak. But his hands stopped shaking.

And for Jungkook, that was enough to know he’d made a difference.