Chapter 1 - The boy I decided to Hate

The sound of chalk scraping against the blackboard was deafening in my ears. It wasn’t the chalk that annoyed me, though—it was him. Han Jiwon.

I clenched my fists under my desk, trying not to look at him, but the urge was too strong. He was sitting in the back row, leaning casually against his chair, one leg over the other, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes were sharp, unreadable, and somehow, infuriatingly, they seemed to be looking right at me.

“Miss Min-ji,” the teacher said, adjusting her glasses, “can you solve this problem on the board?”

My heart skipped a beat. I swallowed hard and pushed my chair out. My classmates’ eyes were on me now, expectant. I hated being in the spotlight. I hated it even more when he was there to watch.

I picked up the chalk, my fingers trembling slightly. Numbers and symbols blurred in front of me, as if the board itself was mocking me. I tried to focus, tried to remember the formulas, but my mind was a complete blank.

Then came the sound that would haunt me for weeks. A soft, almost casual chuckle from behind.

I froze.

I turned just enough to see him leaning back, arms crossed, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Relax,” he said, his voice low but carrying across the room. “It’s not rocket science.”

The class laughed. And I—burning red with embarrassment—wished the ground would swallow me whole.

My teeth gritted, I muttered under my breath, “I hate him.”

No, that wasn’t strong enough. I decided then and there that I would never forgive him for this. Ever.

I finished writing the equation as best as I could, my hands shaking, and returned to my seat without meeting anyone’s eyes—not even his. The whispers and giggles continued, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was keeping my composure. And failing miserably.

After class, I shoved my books into my bag and stormed out to the corridor, ignoring the looks from my classmates. The hallway smelled of polished wood and faint perfume, and the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, warming everything except my mood.

I didn’t notice him following me out until he was right beside me, hands in his pockets, that same smug expression plastered across his face.

“You know,” he said casually, as if he weren’t the reason my face was still burning, “you’re really not as hopeless as you look.”

I whirled around. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re not hopeless. Just… dramatic,” he replied, shrugging. “If you spent less time glaring at me, maybe you’d actually solve a problem once in a while.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but no words came out. My pride wouldn’t let me admit that maybe, just maybe, he had a point.

“I don’t need your advice,” I said finally, voice icy. “And I don’t need your approval.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

I stomped off, ignoring the fire in my chest. That was the moment I decided: Han Jiwon would never, ever be someone I liked. He was my enemy. End of story.

The next day, I found myself back in the same classroom, my mind filled with numbers I couldn’t solve. My physics grades were already slipping, and my confidence, which I had carefully built over the years, was crumbling. I prided myself on being a top student, but when it came to Maths and Physics… I was weak. Terribly weak.

And he—of course—was strong in every subject I struggled in.

I noticed him immediately, sitting in his usual spot, leaning casually, scribbling something in his notebook. He didn’t look up as I entered, but I could feel his eyes on me. My stomach tightened.

The teacher handed back the graded tests, and I froze when I saw mine.

48/100.

I couldn’t breathe. Forty-eight. My parents would be furious. My perfect record shattered, and it was all because I couldn’t understand what came so easily to others.

“You need help,” my mother said calmly that evening at home, looking at the paper I tried to hide. Her voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge of disappointment.

“I don’t,” I lied immediately, too quickly. My voice shook, but I forced it to sound confident. “I can handle it myself.”

But I knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t handle it. I hated admitting that. I hated feeling weak. And I hated the one person I secretly knew could actually help me—Han Jiwon.

A few days later, during another lonely study session in the empty classroom, I was staring at a particularly difficult problem on the board when a voice cut through my concentration.

“That’s not how you start.”

I spun around, my chest tightening. And there he was. Han Jiwon, standing casually at the door, leaning against the frame like he belonged there.

“I—I don’t need your help,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

He smirked. “I know. That’s why I didn’t offer earlier.”

He stepped closer, picked up a piece of chalk, and started rewriting the equation neatly. His movements were smooth, confident. “But if you change the sign here,” he explained, “it becomes easier.”

I hated how simple it suddenly looked. I hated how calm he sounded. And most of all, I hated the way my heart skipped a beat.

When he finally left, I could only sit there, staring at the board, my pride and my emotions in turmoil.

I had told myself he was my enemy. I had told myself I hated him. But sitting there, chalk dust lingering in the air and his faint smell of shampoo still in my mind, I realized that maybe… hate wasn’t the only thing I felt.

No. I could never admit that. Not yet.

So I buried it under a mask of anger and frustration, convincing myself I would never, ever need Han Jiwon’s help again.

Little did I know… fate had other plans.

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