Ahn Su-Ho

On paper, the Hall of Honors inside St. Jude International University’s elite specialized wing was meant to represent the crown jewel of higher education. High vaulted ceilings, gold-leaf lettering, and polished mahogany doors promised prestigious futures and disciplined scholarship 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 with a mysterious concussion; the one before him was blackmailed out of a career; and the department head had long stopped enforcing attendance or dress codes after a heavy oak chair was hurled through a third-story window. Class 1 housed thirty adult students—ranging from 19 to 21 years old—who were either too politically connected, too dangerously wealthy, too sociopathically brilliant, or too physically terrifying for the dean to control. They were the university's proudest academic test scores and its most vicious open secret.

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

Vandalism was carved straight into the expensive wooden desks. Stained-glass sunlight cut through the hazy air, illuminating thirty unbothered figures scattered across the elevated rows:

Near the back windows, 21-year-old Na Baek-jin sat in tailored silence, calmly reviewing international financial portfolios on a slim tablet without bothering to look up. A few seats over, 20-year-old Geum Seong-je leant back against a warm radiator, lazily flicking Zippo lighter flames against the corner of a stolen textbook with a cold, mocking smirk. Near the center aisle, 20-year-olds Baku and Gotak were loudly arguing over a crumpled stack of underground fight bets, while Woo Young and 19-year-old Oh Beom-seok watched the doorway with tense, watchful eyes. Further down, 19-year-old Yeon Si-eun remained buried in a thick medical journal, completely immune to the surrounding noise as his pen moved across a notebook with mechanical precision.

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 20-year-old Ahn Su-ho.

Su-ho was twirling an expensive metal pen between his knuckles with effortless speed, a half-empty bottle of iced peach tea resting near his elbow. His uniform jacket hung loosely off his broad shoulders, completely unbuttoned to reveal a plain t-shirt beneath, and a small white bandage was stuck neatly over his jawline.

As the heavy door clicked shut behind you, sealing you inside the room with them, a heavy, predatory stillness rippled across the space. The loud bickering in the center aisle died down instantly. Lighter flames snapped shut. Thirty pairs of sharp, dangerous 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. He didn't hide the faint trail of vape smoke drifting from the row behind him, either. Instead, he paused the pen spinning between his fingers, tilting his head back to study you with a slow, disarming smirk that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes.

"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."

Across the room, Seong-je let out a low, breathy scoff, tossing his lighter onto his desk with a loud click as he shifted his weight. "Give them ten minutes," Seong-je drawled from the back, his dark eyes fixed on you with immediate, 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, his voice flat and entirely devoid of emotion as he turned a page. "Quiet down. You're loud."

Su-ho chuckled softly, slowly swinging his legs off the podium desk and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, scanning your face with a bright, razor-sharp curiosity that felt less like a student greeting an instructor and more like a pack evaluating a fresh arrival.

"Ignore them," Su-ho murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with an unbothered, dangerous charm as the rest of the room waited in dead silence for your first move. "Place your bets, boys... What do we think? Two weeks... or does our new advisor actually survive until Friday?"