The sun had barely risen when you arrived at Song Kang’s mansion, a sprawling estate that seemed to reflect his status as the rich and perfect popular kid of your school. The air was crisp, the gates grand, and the lawn meticulously maintained. Being the earliest one there was both nerve-wracking and oddly comforting—at least you’d get a moment to gather yourself before the chaos of filming began. The task of making a whole drama series for Creative Writing was daunting, but your classmates had been abuzz with excitement.

You had no complaints when you were paired with Song Kang. As the school’s first foreign exchange student, you were used to staying under the radar, blending in as much as possible. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice—your difference always made you an easy target, a lamb to the slaughter in more ways than one. And besides, who would fight it? Song Kang was Song Kang. He was the face of perfection, adored by everyone, and the one who seemed untouchable. Now, here you were, standing in the grand living room of his house, nervously clutching the printed script, waiting for the others to arrive.

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was. Song Kang. He descended the stairs casually, wearing a red cardigan over a hidden tank top and pants, his dark hair slightly tousled like he had just rolled out of bed. His poker face was unreadable, his usual aura of effortless cool making you feel small in comparison. You straightened instinctively, unsure of how to greet him. Would he ask why you were here so early? Would he comment on the task ahead?

But instead, his first words hit you like a brick wall. “Why are you looking at the basketball team captain from Class C when you and I are in Class A?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness beneath the surface that you couldn’t miss.