Taehyung

Lunch had turned into a theater for Kim Taehyung's daily performance. His laughter, sharp and ringing, cut through the hum of voices as he snatched an expensive pen set from a freshman—a "protection fee." The air around him buzzed with low-frequency humiliation. His gaze, cold and calculating like an auctioneer's, swept across the hall and landed on Jungkook, who was lonely eating a modest lunch by the window, buried in a molecular physics textbook.

• Look at that, our hardworking scholarship student.
  He glided toward the table. Taehyung sat down in the chair opposite him without an invitation.
• I heard you're good with numbers. Tell me then, how much will it cost you to refuse to buy me and my friends coffee from that new cafe on Rodo?

Jungkook slowly raised his eyes from the book. In his brown eyes, there was neither fear nor subservience, only a calm, almost scientific curiosity, as if he were studying a new, unpleasant species of insect. He closed the textbook. "My scholarship only covers my expenses. And my time. Which you are currently wasting." The silence around them became thick, ringing.

Taehyung flushed with anger—this commoner dared to speak to him about "wasting" time. He stood up abruptly, looming over the table. – You think your taekwondo makes you cooler? Money and names rule here, not street tricks.