He texted me daily.

“Good morning, Do-yun-ssi. Did you eat?”

“It’s raining where I am. How’s the weather in Seoul?” 

And every evening, right on cue, we talked. I found myself rushing back to the safehouse, shedding my coat, and picking up the phone just to hear his voice. I tried to lie to myself, telling my handler in my head that I was still investigating. But our conversations added zero tactical value to my inquiry. All I had learned was that Lee Hyun-woo was an incredibly good person. He was kind, remarkably soft, and almost entirely submissive to the dominant, assertive persona I projected over the phone. He wanted to be pampered. He wanted to be carried along, led, and told what to do.

To further confirm this, I sent him a gifts. Small things. He was always so surprised, so appreciative. The latest one was highly curated: a premium, artisanal citron tea set from a famous farm in Handong, paired with a thick, charcoal-grey cashmere throw blanket for his late-night grading sessions. Autum was drawing close and the weather had a chilly bote to it some nights. I had it delivered via direct courier to his apartment, along side a small note.

Something to keep you warm while I’m away.

❤️Do-yun

Through the hidden camera feed, I watched him open the box. He touched the soft cashmere with reverent fingers, throwing it around his shoulders, before unscrewing the jar of tea, and inhaling the sweet, tart scent. He smiled so hard his eyes crinkled into crescents, murmuring,

“He’s so thoughtful.” He'd murmured to himself.

 He seemed lighter and happier at school the next day.

 But with me—his student—he was a different story.

 Determined to keep me in check, he became stricter. 

Anytime I stood too close to his desk, he physically moved. When I leaned in too far during a tutorial, he would hold up a hand, his voice trembling slightly. “Step back, Ji-ho. Please. Personal space.”

He did it nicely, respectfully, trying to maintain the authoritative posture of “teacher”. But I could see the flush creeping up his neck. I could see the slight shake in his hands. He was terrified—not of me, but of his own racing heart and the inappropriate, heavy tension I was deliberately pumping into the room. Knowing how submissive he got on the phone, seeing him try so hard to be the stern teacher in person just made me want him more. I wanted to know exactly how far I could push him before he shattered.

 “I’ll be in the mountains this weekend,” he told me that Wednesday evening, his voice warm through the phone speaker. “An excursion for our final-year students.

 “Hmmm,” I hummed, leaning back in my chair. “I’m worried. I say. You, all alone out there in the cold with my rival...”

 “Stop!” he cautioned, trying to sound serious but failing to hide his fond exasperation. “I’m telling you because I may not be able to talk at 6:00 PM or around that time. We have so many activities planned. The teachers have to monitor the students.” 

“I totally understand. I have a few events to attend to this weekend too, so I’m busy as well. We can catch up on Monday?”

 “Yes, I’d like that,” he supplied quickly. There was a pause, the sound of him nervously clicking his pen. “Do you have an idea of when you’d be back here? In town?” he asked, his voice dropping a register, sounding incredibly vulnerable.

 “Not yet,” I lied smoothly. “Maybe a few months. The project I’m managing had a setback.” 

“Oh!” He sounded so profoundly disappointed my chest actually ached. “I see.” 

“Horny?”

“What? No…”. I imagine him, pushing his round spectacles up on the bridge of his nose or dabbing his forehead with the back of one hand.

I chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’ll make something happen soon,” I promised, softening my tone. “I want to see you too. I can’t get you out of my head.” And it wasn’t even a lie. 

“Me too,” he responded quickly, a shy, breathy chuckle escaping him. 

***

On Friday afternoon, the school courtyard was absolute chaos. 

The air smelled of diesel exhaust from the idling charter bus and the crisp, biting chill of the approaching winter. Thirty something third-year students bustle about, dragging their roller suitcases, or lugging hand-held ones, screaming over each other, and taking selfies. They could barely contain their excitement, already buzzing about the late-night games and the freedom of the retreat.

 I, on the other hand, was calmly executing my seduction plan. Leaning against the side of the bus watching out for my target. This was my final test for Mr. Lee.

 He hadn’t been in class at all today, too busy with the logistical nightmare of loading the buses. When I finally spotted him exiting the school building, it was like a breath of fresh air. He was struggling, trying to balance a heavy cardboard box of first-aid supplies and his own overstuffed duffel bag. 

I rushed over, my long strides eating up the distance. “Hi,” I muttered, before correcting myself, dropping my voice into that respectful, yet deliberately heavy register. “I mean, good morning, seonsaengnim. Let me help.”

“It’s fine, Ji-ho,” he said, stepping back.

But I didn’t listen. I reached out, my large hand easily covering his on the duffel bag. I pulled it from his grip, slinging it over my shoulder as if it weighed nothing, and fell into step right beside him. I deliberately stepped close, my shoulder brushing his. 

He looked up at me, his eyes wide behind his round glasses as he shifted away subtly, putting some space between us. Up close, with my height and the sheer physical imposition of my frame, he looked almost terrified. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Are you excited?” I asked, looking down at him.

“What?” he squeaked, adjusting his glasses with a trembling finger, like I’d caught him red-handed.

“About the trip.”

“Oh.” He appeared deeply flustered by my question and proximity, his gaze darting to the ground. “I think that question is for you,” he replied cautiously, trying to regain his teacherly composure. “Are you happy to spend time with your friends?” 

“I don’t have any friends,” I said flatly. I stopped walking, forcing him to stop too. I turned my body fully toward him, blocking his path to the bus. “But you’ll be there. So that’s a plus.”

 I smiled at him, slow and deliberate, letting my eyes drop to his mouth, then slowly dragging them back up to his eyes. I let the silence stretch, thick and suffocating.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ji-ho,” he said, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “You must try to make friends, bond with your peers over this weekend. After the Suneung, you won’t get a chance like this again, and—friends—are very important in life.”

 I looked at him like I had absolutely no interest in his speech. I took a half-step closer. He instinctively took a half-step back, his back hitting the side of the bus. 

“But you don’t have any friends either, seonsaengnim,” I murmured, leaning down so my face was inches from his. “Or a girlfriend.”

 His face erupted in a furious stain of rose. His eyes widened in sheer panic, realizing how deeply I had invaded his personal space, how completely he had lost control of the interaction.

 “Okay, that’s enough, Ji-ho. Get in line,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He reached out, his hands blindly finding the strap of the duffel bag, and practically snatched it back from my shoulder. He didn't even look at me as he turned, speed-walking away to stand beside the PE teacher Mr Choi , who was already addressing the students and ticking names on a clipboard.

 I didn't get in line right away. I stood at the end of the bus, watching him.

 When the students finally began to board, I drifted toward the end of the line. As I approached the bus door, Hyun-woo caught sight of me and immediately moved away, feigning an urgent need to help a girl lift her heavy suitcase into the cargo bay. I let out a quiet smirk but let it go—too many eyes were watching.

I claimed a window seat near the back of the bus, never once letting him out of my sight. He stood post by the door, checking off names, his posture stiff. I let him feel the full weight of my gaze—steady, heavy, and completely fixed on him. It was a predatory stare, the kind that naturally strips away a target's composure and forces them to look back, whether they want to or not..

He avoided my eyes for the first ten minutes, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. But the pull was too strong. He glanced toward the back of the bus, our eyes locked, and I saw a flash of panic and undeniable attraction in those dark eyes before he quickly looked away.

I leaned my head back, a dark, satisfied smirk touching my lips.

This weekend was going to be fun!