That morning, the air in Seoul was cool and crisp.
Roby stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his golden brown hair. His eyes landed on the school uniform laid neatly on the bed — pressed by his uncle the night before.
White shirt, maroon tie, gray slacks, and a navy blue blazer with the Hanwol International School emblem stitched on the chest.
He raised an eyebrow.
"So formal..." he muttered.
He didn't bother with the tie.
Left a few buttons undone.
Didn't tuck in the shirt.
But the blazer? He wore it anyway.
With sneakers and still slightly damp hair, Roby headed down to the kitchen with a piece of toast in his mouth.
"You sure you don't want a real breakfast?" Jong-woo asked from the kitchen, still wearing his ridiculous Batman apron.
"Toast is fine. I'll eat vengeance later."
A few minutes later, Jong-woo's old car pulled out of the apartment lot.
Soft Korean hip-hop played from the speakers.
Roby glanced to the side.
His young uncle was wearing a leather jacket and… pitch-black sunglasses, like he was going to a gangster movie audition.
"Do you seriously need to wear sunglasses, Uncle?"
Jong-woo lifted his chin confidently, eyes still on the road.
"I'm popular at my university too, you know. What if there's a hot teacher at your school?"
Roby stared blankly at him.
Then rolled his eyes so hard they might've left orbit.
"You're hoping to pick up a high school teacher?"
"Why not? Happens in K-dramas all the time."
"This ain't a drama. I'm here to find a bully, not fall in love."
Jong-woo glanced over with a smirk and gave Roby a light pat on the shoulder.
"Be careful in there. Elite school kids? Sharper than razors. But you… you're a gangster's kid. Shake things up — your way."
Roby gave a half-smile and looked out the window.
"I don't want to shake things up, Uncle.
I want to fix what's broken."
Jong-woo nodded slowly.
He knew his nephew wasn't just some reckless transfer kid. Behind all that swagger, there was hurt… and purpose.
Jong-woo's old car rolled to a stop in front of the main gates of Hanwol International School.
The sleek, modern building towered over the courtyard, sunlight bouncing off glass walls and a perfectly trimmed school garden.
Students in crisp, matching uniforms filled the space—talking, laughing, moving in neat little groups.
Roby stepped out of the car, still chewing the last bite of toast.
His messy golden-brown hair, slightly rumpled shirt (top buttons open), no tie, and untucked uniform immediately stood out.
He wore a school blazer over it all and white sneakers that screamed not standard issue.
A group of students near the entrance froze mid-conversation.
"...New kid?" one girl whispered behind her glasses.
Another boy, tall and smug-looking, leaned forward from the school steps.
"Looks like some street kid from a public school."
Roby strolled past them without a care in the world.
He had that look—half bored, half amused. And maybe just a little too confident.
Then, a girl stepped directly in front of him.
She was tall, her long, wavy hair framing a flawless face with sharp features. Her designer bag hung lazily over one shoulder.
Her expression: unimpressed.
"You're wearing that?" she said flatly.
"You're seriously out of dress code."
Roby tilted his head slightly.
"Nah. I'm just starting a new trend."
He kept walking past her.
The girl turned to glance back at him, a bit surprised.
"Do you always walk away from people like that?"
Roby turned slightly, walking backward now.
"I only talk properly to people who don't talk like they own the hallway."
A few students snorted laughter. The girl scowled.
Up on the second floor, behind a window, a young teacher watching it all shook his head and smiled to himself.
"Looks like today's transfer student... is going to be a problem."
Roby's footsteps echoed down the second-floor hallway.
Walking ahead was his homeroom teacher, Mr. Choi, clutching a coffee cup and a folder that looked like it had seen better days.
"If possible, try not to start a fight on your first day," Mr. Choi said without turning around.
Roby strolled casually behind him.
"I promise, sir. But if trouble starts first, that's not on me, right?"
Mr. Choi sighed heavily.
The door to Class 2-B slid open.
Every head in the room turned at once.
A few girls started whispering instantly.
"His eyes are blue!"
"Look at his outfit…"
"Is he an idol or something?"
Meanwhile, the boys? Mostly unimpressed.
"Everyone, this is your new classmate, fresh from America," Mr. Choi said, patting Roby's back.
Roby grinned and gave a lazy two-finger wave.
"Name's Roby. Roby Moreno. I don't like trouble… unless trouble finds me first."
Some students chuckled.
Others just frowned harder.
That's when Roby's sharp eyes caught a figure in the back corner—another foreigner.
A pale-skinned boy with sleek black hair, wearing his school uniform perfectly, seated straight and reading a thick book.
His gray eyes flicked up for a second, expressionless, then dropped back down to his page.
Roby's grin widened.
After Mr. Choi pointed him to the empty seat near the back, Roby casually walked by,
and stopped right next to the quiet boy.
He bent down slightly, whispering:
"We're a team now, bro. You're the quiet one, I'm the chaos. Balance."
The boy didn't look up. He murmured flatly,
"…I don't like noise."
Roby smirked.
"Good. I'll make it for both of us."
Some students already had their heads in their hands.
The girl from earlier—the one who blocked Roby outside—glared at him from the front row.
Meanwhile, from outside the window, clouds were slowly rolling in.
Roby's first day wasn't even over.
But one thing was already crystal clear:
Roby had just taken his seat when the classroom was still buzzing with whispers and curious stares.
Suddenly—
SLAM!!
The classroom door swung open violently.
Everyone turned in unison.
A tall male student stepped in, dragging his backpack with one hand.
His hair was slightly long, messy, half-covering his face. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie was barely hanging, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.
Mr. Choi groaned.
"Nam Do-yoon. How many times do I have to tell you... don't slam the door like you own the building!"
Do-yoon said nothing.
He simply walked lazily to the far back corner of the room, taking his seat without a word.
As he passed, some students subtly moved their bags out of the way.
From the front, a girl whispered to her friend while waving the air near her face.
"Ugh, that smell... cigarettes?"
"Yeah. He probably smoked on the way here," her friend replied quietly, scrunching her nose.
Do-yoon didn't care.
He pulled a single earbud from his pocket, placed it in one ear, and stared blankly at his notebook—scribbled with what looked like chaotic sketches.
Roby glanced his way.
That kid… wasn't just rebellious. There was something deeper. Heavy.
"You're the third person today who looks like they're hiding something big," Roby muttered to himself, intrigued.
From across the room, the quiet foreign student gave a quick glance toward Do-yoon…
Then went back to his book without a word.
Roby's smirk slowly returned.
One classroom, not even fifteen minutes in, and already there were:
A dramatic queen bee,
A cigarette-scented bad boy,
A cold, silent foreigner,
And himself… a street-smart smartass from America pretending to behave.
"This might be way more fun than I thought," he murmured, grinning to himself.