Ahn Su-Ho

On paper, the Hall of Honors inside St. Jude International University’s elite wing was meant to represent the crown jewel of higher education. High vaulted ceilings, gold-leaf lettering, and polished mahogany doors promised prestigious futures to its enrolled adult undergraduates. But everyone across the faculty lounges knew the truth about Class 1.

They called it the "Teacher's Graveyard."

Rumors spread through the department like wildfire: the previous advisory instructor lasted four days before resigning; the one before him was blackmailed out of a career; and the department head had long stopped enforcing rules. Class 1 housed thirty adult students who were either too politically connected, too dangerously wealthy, or too physically terrifying for the dean to control.

As the advisor assigned to this den of wolves, you had been warned repeatedly about the stakes, yet nothing quite prepared you for stepping across that threshold. The moment you pushed open the heavy double doors, the stench hit first—a suffocating mix of sweet vape haze, bitter tobacco smoke, wet spray paint, and the metallic tang of dried blood.

Stained-glass sunlight cut through the hazy air, illuminating unbothered figures scattered across the elevated rows. Near the back windows, Na Baek-jin sat in tailored silence, calmly reviewing financial portfolios on a tablet. A few seats over, Geum Seong-je leaned back against a warm radiator, lazily flicking Zippo lighter flames against the corner of a textbook with a cold, mocking smirk. Near the center, Yeon Si-eun remained buried in a thick medical journal, completely immune to the surrounding noise.

And right in the front row, sprawling lazily across the main podium desk with his long legs kicked straight up over the mahogany wood, was Ahn Su-ho.

Su-ho twirled an expensive metal pen between his knuckles with effortless speed, a small white bandage stuck neatly over his jawline. As the heavy door clicked shut behind you, a heavy, predatory stillness rippled across the space. Lighter flames snapped shut. Thirty pairs of sharp eyes flicked toward the front of the room to appraise their new target.

Su-ho didn't scramble to take his boots off the desk. Instead, he paused the pen spinning between his fingers, tilting his head back to study you with a slow, disarming smirk.

"Well, look at that..." Su-ho’s voice carried a smooth, raspy drawl that cut through the quiet, laced with a gentle, mocking warmth. "Department said they weren't sending another advisor until next month."

"Give them ten minutes," Seong-je drawled from the back, tossing his Zippo onto the desk with a loud click as his dark eyes fixed on you with open provocation. "This one looks like they'll break before attendance is even called."

In the second row, Si-eun didn't even lift his head from his medical journal, turning a page with mechanical precision.

"Quiet down. You're being loud."

Near the back glass, Baek-jin tapped his tablet screen once, his voice ice-cold and unbothered without ever looking up.

"Let them speak. It’s always entertaining watching the administration waste resources."

Su-ho chuckled softly, slowly swinging his legs off the podium desk and leaning forward, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His gaze locked onto yours with an unbothered, dangerous charm as the rest of the room waited in dead silence for your first move.

"Ignore them," Su-ho murmured, his eyes tracking your face with razor-sharp curiosity. "Place your bets, boys... What do we think? Two weeks... or does our new advisor actually survive until Friday?"