My muscle soreness hadn't improved by the end of the first period.
I stood up with a grunt that sounded like a rusty gate, moving toward the third-year wing.
Min-ah's "Boyfriend Manual" was ringing in my head: "You have to show up. Visibility is key. If you don't mark your territory, someone else will."
I reached Sora's classroom. The atmosphere here was different—more professional, more polished. These were the students one foot out the door toward stardom.
Sora spotted me immediately. She didn't just wave; she walked right up and wrapped her arms around my waist, catching my hands in hers.
"San-ah, you actually came to see me," she beamed, looking up at me.
I stood there, stiff as a board, my face heating up as the entire third-year class stopped to stare.
"I... yeah."
She let out a soft laugh, squeezing my hands.
"You're so cute when you're awkward. But I should hurry. We have Applied Performance next. Professor Kim is very strict about her clock. She hates it when people are late."
She stepped back, winking as she blew a flying kiss toward me. Unlike Ha-neul's "poisoned dart" from the yesterday's Thursday evening, this one felt like a literal Cupid's arrow hitting me right in the chest.
I nearly stumbled over my own feet as I turned to head to the music wing.
12:00 PM. The Canteen.
Following the manual again, I met Sora at her classroom door so we could walk to the canteen together.
Walking through the halls with Lee Sora was like being a bodyguard for a head of state. The sea of students parted, whispers following us like a wake.
We sat at one of the long tables in the center of the cafeteria.
Sora's friends were already there.
I felt like I had stepped into an editorial shoot.
Every one of them looked like an idol.
One guy—a tall, sharp-featured senior named Eun-ho—had actually already debuted in a mid-tier boy group. He was currently picking at a salad like it was his job.
"Everyone, this is San," Sora announced, sliding onto the bench next to me.
"The viral Foreigner," Eun-ho said, looking me over with a professional eye. "Nice frame. Broad shoulders. You have a good stage presence in the videos."
"Thanks," I said, trying to navigate my chopsticks through a mound of bulgogi.
"Have you thought about training?" a girl named Hana asked. "With those looks, you'd be a shoe-in for a visual position. You just need to learn how to dance."
I looked at her, then at my tray. "Dance? I mostly just... jump on bars."
"The rhythm is the same," Eun-ho shrugged. "You should think about it. Korea is the place to be for your type."
I smiled politely, but internally, I was screaming.
Since when did I become an extrovert?
Back in Ukraine, I was the guy who had a very small circle of friends.
Is this what Korea does to people? Or is this just some weird form of social trauma where I've been forced to talk so much I've forgotten how to be quiet?
I scanned the room.
At a nearby table, I saw the 2nd-year crew. Kang Min-ah was grinning like she'd won the lottery.
Then I looked at the School Council table where Jun-seo was. He looked surprised but gave me an encouraging nod. Ha-neul, however, gave me a look so sharp I thought my tray might shatter.
Then there was Leo. He caught my eye and gave me a slow, solemn "thumbs-up" of approval. At least the brain of the band thinks I'm doing okay, I thought.
The lunch bell rang, a merciful end to the interrogation.
"I'll see you after lessons, San-ah," Sora said, touching my arm lightly before heading toward the practice rooms.
"After lessons?" I whispered to myself as she walked away.
My social battery was flashing red. It was barely noon, and I felt like I'd run a marathon through a minefield of "Sunbae" etiquette and idol politics.
Poke.
"YAH!" I jolted, nearly leaping out of my skin.
Kang Min-ah was standing there, her finger still extended from the poke to my side.
"I want to die," I groaned, leaning my forehead against a nearby pillar. "The gazes... the questions... Min-ah, I'm socially exhausted."
Min-ah laughed, reaching up to pet my head.
I flinched away instantly.
"Don't do that. It's disgusting. I'm a grown man, not a golden retriever."
"You act like a grumpy poodle," she teased, her eyes bright. "But forget that. What about the surprise for Myung-dae? Tuesday is coming fast."
The exhaustion vanished for a split second. A dark, refreshing energy took its place.
"The surprise," I said, a slow, ominous smile spreading across my face. "I was thinking... Myung-dae is so serious, right? So 'Prince of Darkness'?"
"Yeah?"
"What if we throw a cake at him?" I chuckled, the image of Myung-dae covered in whipped cream and sponge cake playing in my head like a masterpiece. "He-he-he."
Min-ah stared at me, her smile faltering into a look of genuine concern.
"A cake? Like... at his face? San, do you want to die on your birthday, or do you want him to die out of embarrassment on his?"
"It's an old tradition," I lied. "In Ukraine, we... uh... express love through dessert-based projectiles."
Min-ah sighed, shaking her head.
"Let's do it."