Chapter 2 - A Rank that wasn't Perfect

The next morning, I sat at my desk before the rest of the class arrived, staring at my notebook like it held the answers to a life I was quickly losing control over. My hands were still trembling slightly from yesterday, and the memory of Han Jiwon leaning against the classroom door replayed in my mind like a cruel movie trailer.

I hated him. I reminded myself of that. But why did I feel… unsettled every time he was near?

“Min-ji, are you here already?” My best friend, So-young, whispered as she plopped down beside me. Her notebook was filled with neat, perfect handwriting—another reminder of how far behind I was in just a few days.

I ignored her comment and stared at the math section. Equations jumped and twisted before my eyes. Numbers that I usually could solve with ease now seemed alien.

“I heard your test score,” So-young said softly, leaning closer. “Are you okay?”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though my voice lacked conviction. “It’s just one test. No big deal.”

So-young’s eyes narrowed. “Min-ji, you never panic over a test. This is serious. And I think…” she hesitated, glancing toward the back of the classroom, “…I think Han Jiwon might be the only one who can actually help you.”

I froze.

Did she just say his name?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I hissed. “I don’t need his help.”

But the truth was, the thought lingered. The one who had solved that impossible equation yesterday… he could probably explain anything. And yet, my pride flared. I would never, ever let him think I needed him.

Classes passed in a blur of numbers and scribbled formulas. I avoided looking at Jiwon, pretending to focus on the teacher’s lectures, but I could feel his eyes on me. Sometimes, when I glanced up, he would smirk just slightly, like he knew exactly what I was thinking—and found it amusing.

I hated that.

By lunch, my stomach was twisting in knots. The cafeteria was crowded, the smell of fried rice and kimchi filling the air. I sat alone at the corner table, my tray barely touched, flipping through my notebook and trying to solve problems that made no sense.

“Mind if I sit?”

I looked up sharply. Of course. Han Jiwon.

He sat across from me, calm and casual, his tray already with him. He didn’t wait for permission; he just sat.

“I don’t need your help,” I said automatically.

He smiled faintly, undeterred. “Good. Because I didn’t come to help. Just thought you looked miserable, and misery is boring to watch.”

I glared at him. “I can handle misery on my own, thank you very much.”

He leaned back in his chair, observing me. “Right. Of course. That’s why your test scores are… well, dramatically lower than usual.”

I felt my cheeks burn. “Shut up!”

He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made my stomach twist—not because it was charming, but because it worked on me every time.

That afternoon, after the last class, I found myself wandering into the empty classroom again. The desks were still covered in faint chalk dust, the sun streaming through the windows, warming the floor in golden streaks. I tried to focus on the equations in front of me, but the quiet was oppressive.

“Struggling again?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Jiwon stood in the doorway, leaning casually, hands in his pockets. His usual smirk was there, softening slightly as he watched me.

“I—don’t need your help,” I said, my voice trembling, though I tried to sound firm.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over and grabbed a piece of chalk. Quietly, he started writing on the board, correcting my mistakes with smooth, precise strokes.

“See? This part is wrong,” he said gently. “Change the negative to positive here, and the solution will work.”

I stared at the board, shocked. It looked… simple. Obvious. How had I missed this?

He glanced at me, eyebrow slightly raised. “You were overthinking.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t overthinking, that I didn’t need anyone’s help. But the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I crossed my arms, pretending not to care, and watched him finish. Then, without another word, he walked out.

I sat there, heart thundering in my chest, staring at the corrected equation. I hated him for being right. I hated him for looking calm. I hated him for making my cheeks heat up without even trying.

That evening, at home, my mother glanced at my notes and frowned.

“You’ve been trying too hard by yourself,” she said quietly. “Maybe you should… consider studying with someone. A peer, perhaps.”

I stiffened immediately. I knew exactly what she meant.

“No,” I said sharply, pushing my notes aside. “I can handle this myself.”

She gave me a look that I couldn’t argue with. “Just… think about it. You don’t have to struggle alone.”

Alone. The word echoed in my mind.

Alone. Or… with him?

No. Never.

I buried my thoughts, pushed the feelings down, and opened my notebook again. Chalk dust, numbers, failure, and pride.

Little did I know… the first step toward hatred turning into something else had already begun.

And that step was sitting right behind me in class every day, watching, smirking, waiting for me to falter.

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