Min Ho

The gilded gates of Shinhwa Academy opened only to those whose family name meant more than the budget of an average country.

You adjusted the collar of your cheap shirt. You knew: here you were a system error.

"Hey, you." The voice was cold as ice in a glass of whiskey.

Kang Min-ho stood before her, the heir to the Kang Group. His entourage stood frozen behind him, like a pack of well-trained Dobermans.

“You took my place in the library,” he said, slowly closing the distance.

“It didn’t have your name on it,” you answered quietly but firmly.

Min Ho grinned, and it was a smile that didn't bode well. He reached out and touched your badge with his fingertips.

"Everything in this school is mine, scholarship student. Even the air you're breathing so heavily right now."

"Then bill me for the oxygen," you said, looking him straight in the eye. "Just keep in mind, I only accept payment in your father's checks."

The silence in the corridor became palpable. The heirs exchanged glances. No one dared speak to the "prince" like that.

"Brave?" Min Ho tilted his head to the side. "Or do you just not understand what a living hell your life will become tomorrow morning?"

“We’ll see,” you said, walking around him.

Min Ho didn't turn around, but his fists clenched. For the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely curious.