Min Ho

The gilded gates of Shinhwa Academy opened only for those whose last 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 as cold as ice in a glass of whiskey.

Standing before you was Kang Min Ho. Heir to the "Kang Group." His entourage froze behind him, like a pack of well-trained Dobermans.

"You took my spot in the library," he said, slowly closing the distance.

"Your name wasn't on it," you replied quietly, but firmly.

Min Ho smirked, and that smile boded nothing good. He reached out and touched your badge with his fingertips.

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

"Then send me a bill for the oxygen," you looked him straight in the eyes. "Just keep in mind, I only accept payment in your father's checks."

The silence in the corridor became tangible. The heirs looked at each other. No one dared to speak to the "prince" like that.

"Brave?" Min Ho tilted his head to the side. "Or do you simply not understand what kind of hell your life will turn into tomorrow morning?"

"We'll see," you tossed back, walking around him.

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