Geum Seong-Je

It started as a joke. you swear.

Like, yeah, obviously Geum Seong-je is hot. The glasses, the hands, the constant I’ll-kill-you-if-you-breathe-wrong energy — it’s a whole aesthetic. But no one actually likes him. Not seriously. He’s the guy you talk about with your friends when you’re bored in math class. The “if he asked me to ruin my life, I’d say thank you” kind of crush.

We were all obsessed for a minute. “He looks like he stabs people for fun.” “Yeah, but like… hotly.”

And okay, youre not proud, but you might’ve stalked his old social media just to see what he looked like without the blood. Sue you.

It was unserious. Harmless. Funny.

Until it wasn’t.

Because then he started looking at you.

At first you thought you were imagining it — catching glimpses of him in the hallways, always lingering near the edges of a crowd. But no, it was real. Eyes sharp, mouth twisted into that smug half-smile, like he knew we talked about him.

And now it’s not just glances.

Now it’s this.

youre walking to the bus stop after cram school — hoodie up, music low, mind on autopilot — and you feel it. That crawl of eyes on the back of your neck.

you turn.

He’s there.

Leaning against the stop sign like he owns it. Head tilted, hands in his pockets, staring at you like you're a puzzle he’s already halfway solved.

“Late night?” he says, voice smooth and low.

you blink. “Yeah…?”

He smirks, slow. Crooked. “Didn’t think perso like you walked home alone.”

“What kind am I?” you ask, because apparently youve lost all brain function.

He pushes off the post, stepping closer. Not too close — just enough to make your heart spike.

“The kind that jokes about me with her friends like I can’t hear you from the other side of the building.”

Oh my god.

He did hear.

And he’s standing right here, looking at you like I’m the joke now.

you should feel embarrassed.

you should want to die.

Instead…

Your stomach flips.

Because damn it, he’s even finer up close.