The rooftop of Gangnam High was the kind of place where legends were born—or, in Lee Jun-ho’s case, where a three-year-old crushing weight was supposed to finally turn into wings.

It was 5:40 PM. The sun was dipping behind the Lotte World Tower, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and electric orange. It was the "Golden Hour," the precise moment when every K-Drama protagonist confesses their love. Jun-ho had checked the weather app four times. “No rain, light breeze 22°C. Perfect”.

Beside him, Jung Min-ah was leaning against the rusted green railing. She was looking out at the city, her outline stood softly against the radiant horizon.. She was the Class Representative, the top of the mock exams, and the girl who had once lent Jun-ho a pen in tenth grade and inadvertently ruined his ability to look at any other woman for the rest of his life.

"Jun-ho?" she asked, her voice soft, carrying that melodic quality that made even her reading the lunch menu sound like poetry. "Why did you ask me to come up here? The teacher said we needed to finish the graduation committee posters."

Jun-ho’s heart was currently performing a drum solo against his ribs. His palms were sweaty. In his pocket, a small, navy-blue velvet box—containing a simple, silver bracelet he’d saved three months of allowance for—felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

"The posters can wait," Jun-ho said, his voice cracking just a fraction. He cleared his throat, trying to channel the cool, stoic vibe of a lead actor. "Min-ah, we’ve been in the same class for three years. You’ve always been... the person I look for first when I walk into a room."

Min-ah turned fully toward him. Her eyes were wide, blinking in the fading light. "Jun-ho..."

He took a breath and continued, "I don't want to go to university and look back with regrets." he stepped closer. The scent of her shampoo—something like peaches and rain—hit him. "What I’m trying to say is, I’ve liked you since—"

CRASH.

The heavy metal door to the rooftop didn’t just open; it shrieked on its hinges as if it were being exorcised.

Jun-ho jumped nearly a foot into the air. Min-ah gasped, clutching her chest. Both spun around to see a figure stumbling out onto the concrete, clutching a stack of gloss-covered brochures and a very expensive-looking leather messenger bag.

The intruder stopped, blinking as if the sun were a personal insult. He was tall—annoyingly so—with hair that was styled in that effortless, messy way that actually takes forty minutes and a high-end salon to achieve. He wore the school uniform, but he’d styled it in a certain way that made Jun-ho feel like a potato in a polyester sack.

It was Han Si-woo. The "Returnee." The guy who had moved back from Paris two weeks ago and turned the school’s social hierarchy into a pile of rubble.

"Ah," Si-woo said. His voice was deep, smooth, and carried that strange, formal lilt of someone who had learned Korean from a 1990s textbook and a mother who missed the "Old Country." "I am... once again, in the wrong geographic location."

Jun-ho’s eyes twitched. "Si-woo. The exit is that way. The stairs are that way. Everything that isn't this conversation is that way." Jun-ho really wanted to grab Si-woo by his neck, but he contained himself in front of Min-ah.

Si-woo didn't move. Instead, he stepped forward, squinting at the horizon. "The light here," he mused, ignoring Jun-ho entirely. "It is almost like the sunset over the Seine, though the air is much more... humid. Min-ah, I am glad I found you. I have been wandering the fourth floor for an eternity. The labels on the doors—they are really confusing."

"Si-woo, you've lived here for two weeks," Jun-ho snapped. "The signs are in Korean. You are Korean."

Si-woo turned his gaze to Jun-ho, his expression one of polite, aristocratic confusion. "Language is a soul, Jun-ho. Mine is currently... jet-lagged. Min-ah, the homeroom teacher said you were the only one who could explain the 'National University Application' portal to me. It is like a labyrinth designed by a demon."

Min-ah, ever the helpful Class Rep, was already softening. The tension Jun-ho had spent thirty minutes building was evaporating faster than dry ice. "Oh, the portal? It is a bit tricky. I can show you the basics, Si-woo."

"Wait, Min-ah, we were in the middle of something!" Jun-ho pleaded, reaching out a hand.

Si-woo stepped neatly into the gap between them. He didn't push; he just... occupied the space, like a wall that had decided to grow in the middle of a highway. He leaned in slightly toward Min-ah, his face just inches from hers.

"I feel so helpless here," Si-woo whispered, loud enough for Jun-ho to hear every syllable. "In Paris, I knew every cobblestone. Here, I feel like a child lost in a forest. Only you have been patient with my... mistakes Min-ah…"

Min-ah’s cheeks turned a faint red. "It’s really no trouble, Si-woo. We’re classmates."

Si-woo turned his head just enough to look at Jun-ho. His eyes weren't helpless at all. They were sharp, focused, and—was that a smirk? Maybe? No, it definitely was. A tiny, three-millimeter upward curve of the lip that screamed 'I win.'

"Jun-ho," Si-woo said loudly. "You were saying? You 'liked' something? The view? It is very beautiful, no? You are a man of great taste."

Jun-ho’s fist clenched in his pocket, his thumb pressing against the velvet box. He wanted to scream. He wanted to explain that he wasn't talking about the view; he was talking about the girl currently being led toward the door by the "clumsy" returnee.

"Yeah," Jun-ho muttered, his heart sinking into his shoes. "Great view." 

The walk down the stairs was a masterclass in psychological warfare. Si-woo kept "stumbling" over his own feet, forcing Min-ah to grab his arm to steady him. Each time she did, he would offer a "Merci—I mean, thank you" in a voice that sounded like melted chocolate.

Jun-ho trailed behind them like a disgruntled ghost.

As they reached the second-floor landing, the sound of rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack echoed through the hall. In the corner of the hallway, near the entrance to the gym, a girl was jumping rope.

She wasn't like the other girls in their grade. Her hair was pulled back into a brutal, efficient ponytail. Her school tracksuit was worn at the knees, and her knuckles were wrapped in white athletic tape. This was Shin Ye-na—known to most as "Elena," the daughter of a former Olympic boxer and the most terrifying person in the Sports Department.

The skipping rope was moving so fast it was a blur, a hum of air that sounded like a warning. As the trio approached, the rope suddenly stopped. Ye-na didn't even look winded. She wiped a bead of sweat from her jaw and stared directly at Si-woo.

Si-woo, usually the king of composure, hesitated.

"You," Ye-na said. Her voice was flat, like a judge passing a sentence.

"Me?" Si-woo asked, tilting his head. "Do we have a... connection?"

"Your balance is trash," Ye-na said. She walked over, her footsteps heavy and deliberate. She stood a full head shorter than him, but she seemed to take up the entire hallway. She pointed a taped finger at his feet. "You’re leaning on your heels. You’re trying to look 'graceful' but your center of gravity is all over the place. If I brushed your shoulder right now, you’d collapse like a house of cards."

Si-woo laughed, a light, nervous sound. "I am just... tired, perhaps?"

"You're faking it," Ye-na countered, her eyes narrowing. She glanced at Jun-ho, then back to Si-woo. "You’re faking the stumble to get closer to the girl. It’s pathetic. If you want to lean on someone, get some leg strength."

Jun-ho froze. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to salute this girl.

Min-ah looked confused. "Ye-na? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, Rep," Ye-na said, her gaze lingering on Si-woo for an extra second—a look that said 'I see you.' "Just telling the New Guy that if he keeps 'stumbling' in my hallway, I'm going to give him an actual reason to see a doctor."

She turned on her heel and walked back to her rope. Thwack-thwack-thwack. The rhythm resumed, steady and intimidating.

Si-woo stood frozen for a moment, his "Parisian charm" flickering like a dying lightbulb. For the first time since he’d arrived, he looked genuinely rattled.

"Man She is... very intense," Si-woo murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She’s a boxer," Jun-ho said, stepping past him with a newfound spring in his step. He couldn't help it; he leaned in and whispered as he passed. "And she's right, Si-woo. Your footwork is terrible."

Jun-ho walked toward the exit, leaving the "Returnee" standing in the hallway. He hadn't gotten his confession, and his silver bracelet was still in his pocket. But as he looked back and saw Si-woo glancing nervously at the girl with the taped knuckles, Jun-ho realised the war for Min-ah’s heart had only just begun—and for once, the guy from Paris didn't have the home-field advantage.