Chapter 3 - An empty classroom after school

The final bell of the day rang like a victory I didn’t feel. Everyone rushed out of the classroom, chatting, laughing, backpacks slung over shoulders. The sound of heels clicking against the polished floor faded until I was finally alone.

I sank into my chair, staring at the board, the numbers and formulas blurring into meaningless lines. I had tried over and over, and each attempt ended the same way—failure. My pride ached more than my brain.

A soft scrape behind me made me jump.

“You’re still here?”

I didn’t need to look. I knew that voice. Han Jiwon.

I froze, gripping my pencil like a lifeline. “I… I’m just finishing up.” My voice sounded smaller than I wanted.

He leaned against the doorway casually, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression. “Finishing up, huh? Or… giving up quietly?”

I flinched at the mockery, but there was something in his tone—almost… neutral? Not cruel. Almost.

“I’m not giving up,” I snapped. “I just… need some quiet.”

He smirked, sliding into the classroom like he owned it. “Quiet, huh? Funny, because I’m not here to help you.”

I blinked. “Not here… to help me?”

“Exactly.” He took a step closer to the board, picking up a piece of chalk. “I just… noticed you were struggling. And, well…” He paused, as if weighing his words. “…I think you’ll figure it out faster if I show you one thing.”

I wanted to protest, to shout, to remind him that I didn’t need him. But the tension in my chest, the exhaustion from hours of failing, made me stay silent. Pride warred with necessity, and necessity was winning.

He turned to the board and wrote a clean, simple equation, his handwriting precise, almost artistic. “See this step here? Most people overcomplicate it. You just need to…” He explained patiently, each word deliberate, measured, and clear.

I found myself leaning in, unintentionally captivated. My fingers twitched, wanting to write it down, but also wanting to just… watch.

Minutes passed. I was so focused that I barely noticed him glancing at me occasionally. And then, finally, he turned.

“Try it now,” he said softly.

I hesitated, my pride screaming to refuse. But I picked up the chalk, copied what he had done, and… it worked. The solution made sense. For the first time in days, I felt that rush of clarity, the joy of solving something I thought was impossible.

I looked at him, a mixture of surprise and disbelief on my face.

He smirked, that familiar, infuriating smirk. “Not bad for someone who swore she didn’t need help.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I… I didn’t—”

“Don’t say it,” he interrupted lightly, almost teasingly. “Pride intact. Got it.”

I glared at him, but my glare lacked its usual sting. Maybe because part of me… didn’t hate him as much as I claimed.

For the next hour, we worked together. He never mocked me, never sighed, never made me feel small. Every time I got stuck, he would calmly guide me through it, and every time I solved something, he would give a small nod of approval, just enough to make me feel… recognized.

It was maddening.

I hated that I secretly wanted his approval. I hated that I noticed the way his sleeve brushed against my arm when he leaned closer to the board. I hated that my heart raced a little faster every time our fingers brushed as we reached for the same piece of chalk.

And most of all… I hated that the wall I had built around my feelings, the one made of pride and anger, was beginning to crumble.

Finally, the sunlight outside began to fade, casting long golden streaks across the floor. The room grew quiet except for the soft scratching of chalk and the faint sound of our breathing.

“You’re improving,” he said quietly, almost like a comment to himself.

I froze. “Improving?” My voice sounded uncertain.

He glanced at me, dark eyes softening slightly. “Yeah. Faster than I expected.”

I didn’t know what to say. My pride wanted me to argue, to deny it, to insist that I was fine on my own. But a small, unfamiliar feeling bubbled in my chest. Satisfaction? Relief? Something dangerously close to… happiness?

He packed up his things without another word and walked to the door. I expected him to leave. I expected nothing.

But then, he paused and glanced back. “Don’t get used to me being here,” he said lightly. “I’m not your tutor.”

I wanted to tell him that I didn’t need him. That I hated him. That none of this mattered. But my throat went dry. I could only nod, my pride and confusion warring inside me.

As he disappeared down the hallway, I sat in the empty classroom, staring at the board. Chalk dust floated in the fading sunlight, shimmering like tiny stars. And for the first time in days, I smiled.

Not because he had helped me.

Not because I had solved the equation.

But because I realized… I wanted him here again.

I hated myself for it.

And yet… I knew this was just the beginning.

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