Chapter 1 – The Perfect Boy

The alarm went off at 6:00 a.m.

A short, decisive sound, programmed with obsessive precision. Not a minute early, not a minute late.

Jungkook opened his eyes without hesitation, as if he had never really been asleep.

His bed was perfectly made. The sheets were pulled tight, the blanket neatly folded at the foot of the mattress. The floor was spotless. No books out of place. Only order. Only silence.

Every day began the same way: a cold shower, a protein-rich breakfast, and an English-language podcast about artificial intelligence. Then, at 7:15, he left the dormitory carrying his black backpack and a hard-covered notebook marked only with a set of initials:

JJK.

On campus, everyone greeted him. Some with genuine enthusiasm, others with a kind of respectful awe.

“Hey, Jungkook!”

“Hi! Did you do Professor Park’s assignment?”

“Can I ask you a quick question about yesterday’s lecture?”

He always answered. Politely. Precisely. Never a word more than necessary.

His days were filled with classes, studying, note-taking, bitter coffee, and brief but meaningful moments with his small group of friends: Taehyung, the creative dreamer who wanted to quit everything and pursue theater; Jimin, empathetic and curious, always ready with a question; Namjoon, who lived among books and quotations; and Yoongi, quiet but sharp, always the first to understand and the last to speak.

They were the only people who could say they truly knew Jungkook.

Or at least, that’s what they thought.

That day, during a Neuropsychology lecture, Professor Park asked the students to present a research hypothesis.

Jungkook stood up confidently, without looking at his notes.

“I would like to study the social behavior of highly intelligent individuals who display signs of emotional masking. In particular, whether their desire for perfection is a response to unresolved trauma.”

Silence.

Someone whispered, “Wow.”

Professor Park nodded slowly.

“Interesting, Jeon. Very interesting.”

Jungkook sat down.

And for a brief moment—just one—his gaze drifted into the distance.

As if that answer had not been an academic idea at all, but a confession disguised as a theory.

10:47 p.m.

In the dormitory, the lights went out one by one.

Taehyung had sent him a meme. Jimin had called to ask how he was doing. Yoongi had barely replied to a message in the group chat.

Jungkook closed his laptop.

Then he pulled a second notebook from his backpack—an older one, with worn edges and a torn cover.