The morning was gray and angry.
Rain slammed against the windows of Seoul Arts High School as students rushed inside, laughing, shoving, shaking water from their hair. The halls smelled like wet uniforms and cheap coffee.
Jeon Jungkook stood at the front of Classroom 3-B, arms crossed, watching the door.
He wore a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a silver watch glinting under the fluorescent lights. His tie was loose. His eyes were sharp.
First day as a teacher, he thought. What a joke.
Twenty students sat in neat rows, whispering about the new English teacher. Too young. Too handsome. Too… dangerous.
Jungkook didn't smile. He just waited.
The bell rang.
One empty seat. Back row, by the window.
"Who's missing?" His voice was calm, low, with an edge that made the students straighten up.
A girl with glasses raised her hand. "Sir... that's Jeon Y/n. She's always late when it rains."
Jeon Y/n.
Jungkook's lips twitched.
The girl from the alley.
He had her file on his phone. Seventeen. Parents dead. Lives with wealthy grandmother. Three school suspensions — all for fighting. No criminal record because the bullies never dared to press charges.
"She fights like she's already dead," his assistant had said.
Jungkook understood that.
The classroom door slid open with a bang.
Y/n stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone. Her uniform clung to her thin frame. Her hair dripped onto the floor. In one hand, she held a broken umbrella. In her eyes — nothing but exhaustion and defiance.
She didn't apologize.
She didn't explain.
She just walked to her seat, dropped her wet bag on the floor, and sat down.
The whole class held its breath.
Jungkook watched her for a long moment. Then he picked up the attendance sheet and marked her present.
"Open your books to page 47," he said, as if nothing had happened. "We're starting with poetry."
Y/n finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
His were dark, unreadable, ancient.
Hers were cold, empty, older than seventeen.
Neither looked away first.
Jungkook turned to the whiteboard and began to write.
"The rain to the wind said..."
Behind him, Y/n unclenched her bloody knuckles under the desk.
She didn't know it yet.
But he had already decided.
This one is mine.
Alright, co-author. 💀 Let's keep this train rolling. No brakes. No romance. Just shadows and sparrows.
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The Shadow and the Sparrow
Scene 2: Blood Under Desks
The poetry lesson ended thirty minutes ago, but Y/n hadn't heard a single word.
She sat in the back row, staring out the rain-streaked window, her right hand hidden under the desk. Blood from her knuckles had dried into brown flakes. The cuts were shallow — nothing new.
But they stung.
And she never showed pain.
Never.
The bell rang. Students shuffled, packed their bags, whispered about the weird new teacher. Y/n stayed in her seat, waiting for the crowd to thin.
That's when she noticed him.
Jungkook hadn't moved from his desk at the front of the classroom. He was grading something — or pretending to. His pen hovered over a paper, but his eyes were on her.
Not staring. Watching.
Like a hunter observing a wounded animal. Not with pity. With curiosity.
"You're bleeding on my floor," he said quietly.
Y/n looked down. A single drop of blood had fallen from her knuckle onto the gray tile.
She didn't apologize. "I'll clean it."
"You'll clean yourself first." He stood up, walked to a cabinet, and pulled out a small first-aid kit. Then he placed it on the desk next to her — not too close, not too kind.
"Bandages are inside. Use them."
Y/n didn't move. "I don't need help."
"I didn't offer help." His voice was flat. "I offered bandages. There's a difference."
For the first time, something flickered in her cold eyes. Confusion? Respect? Annoyance?
She took the kit.
Jungkook turned away and walked to the window, his back to her. A deliberate act of trust or dismissal. Either way, it gave Y/n space.
She wrapped her knuckles quickly, expertly. She'd done this a hundred times.
"You fight like someone who's been hit too many times," he said without looking.
"I don't get hit."
"No. You hit first. Hard. Fast. No hesitation." He turned slightly. "That's not fighting. That's surviving."
Y/n stood up, shoving the kit back onto his desk. "What do you know about surviving?"
Jungkook met her eyes.
Everything.
But he didn't say that. Instead, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard:
"Violence is a question. Control is the answer."
"Tomorrow," he said, "we're not reading poetry. Bring gym clothes."
"I don't take PE."
"You do now." He sat back down, opened a book, and dismissed her with silence.
Y/n stood there for three seconds. Then she grabbed her bag and walked out.
In the hallway, she stopped and looked at her wrapped knuckles.
What the hell is wrong with that teacher?
Meanwhile, inside the classroom, Jungkook pulled out his phone and texted his second-in-command:
"The girl from the alley. She's in my class. No one touches her. No one follows her. She's mine to watch."
A reply came instantly:
"Understood, boss. But... why?"
Jungkook looked at the empty seat by the window. The rain had stopped. A single drop of blood still marked the tile.
"Because she reminds me of myself at seventeen."
To be continued......