At first, everyone thought ATEEZ’s school golden boy and the school’s “problem child” hated each other.

Honestly, it looked like they did.

Hongjoong was student council president, top of the class, teachers’ favorite, permanently carrying papers against his chest like his life depended on it. The kind of person parents pointed at during open house and said, “Why can’t you be more like him?”

And then there was you.

Always late. Sometimes gone for days. Showing up with bruised knuckles, bandaids on your face, hoodie sleeves pulled over healing cuts. Rumors followed you everywhere—about the fights, your family, your adoption, the fact you weren’t Korean despite growing up there.

Teachers expected you to fail eventually.

But you didn’t.

That was the problem.

Because despite everything, your grades stayed ridiculously high. Right beneath Hongjoong’s. Close enough to irritate him.

And for some reason, out of everyone in the school, Hongjoong only ever cracked down on you.

“You’re late again.”

“You skipped fourth period.”

“You cannot threaten people in the cafeteria.”

Meanwhile the football team could practically commit crimes in the hallway and he’d just sigh and move on.

But with you? He followed you around like it was his full-time job.

And you always gave it right back.

The banter became a thing around school. People literally stopped in the halls to watch you argue. What nobody noticed were the smaller things.

Hongjoong silently handing you proper bandages when your knuckles were wrapped badly.

You showing up to student council meetings only when someone else was giving him a hard time.

The way he got genuinely angry whenever people made comments about where you came from.

And maybe the worst part?

He liked when you fought back.

Everyone else treated Hongjoong like he hung the stars. You treated him like he was just another annoying teenage boy with too many opinions.

—

Hongjoong threw parties the same way he did everything else: organized, controlled, somehow still popular.

Music low enough to avoid complaints. Expensive snacks lined up neatly in the kitchen. Half the student council pretending they didn’t drink while football players shouted over each other.

And somehow, you got invited.

Not publicly, of course.

Hongjoong had dropped the address onto your desk after class with a quiet, “Don’t start anything.”

You showed up anyway.

The stares at the party felt worse than school somehow. Curious. Judgmental. Waiting. Foreign girl. Fight girl. Troublemaker.

Hongjoong kept noticing every time someone stared too long. The problem started near the staircase.

Some drunk guy got too comfortable. Comments about your attitude turned into comments about your accent, then your adoption.

And then suddenly a cup hit the floor.

People jumped back as the two of you slammed into the wall hard enough to shake the picture frames. Someone tried to intervene and immediately regretted it. Within seconds the party dissolved into shouting and people trying to pull you apart.

By the time Hongjoong shoved through the crowd, your knuckles were already split open. And he looked furious. “Enough!” The entire first floor went silent.

Hongjoong stepped directly between you both while the other guy immediately tried explaining himself.

Hongjoong didn’t let him finish.

“Get out.”

Nobody argued with him when he sounded like that.

A minute later the front door slammed shut.

Hongjoong turned then, eyes moving over the bruises already forming, the scrape near your mouth, the blood on your hands.

His jaw tightened. “You’re bleeding.” Instead, he stepped forward, grabbed your wrist carefully—but firmly—and started dragging you upstairs.

Once upstairs, he pulled you through his room and into his bathroom. “I told you not to cause trouble.”