Chapter 2: First Day

It’s tomorrow.

And somehow, despite everything...

I slept like a baby.

No dramatic nightmares. No floating memories.

The kind of sleep you only get after falling in the shower, questioning your existence, regaining your memories from a past life, and eating the best kimchi stew known to man.

I woke up feeling...

Alive.

Like something clicked into place. Like my body Seo Joonwoo’s body was finally mine.

I sat up in bed, stretched, and looked out the window.

A golden ray of sunlight slipped between the curtains.

First day of school.

I could hear Mom in the kitchen. The clinking of plates. The soft hum of morning news. My dad coughing dramatically like he’d never learned how to drink hot soup without choking.

“Joonwoo! Hurry up or your rice will get soggy!” my mom called.

“Coming!”

I slipped on my uniform light gray blazer, white undershirt, navy slacks. Clean, but a little loose. Fitting. I wasn’t the tight-sleeves-tucked-in type anyway.

Looked in the mirror one last time.

Jet-black hair, still a little messy. Serious eyes. Calm face.

(Let’s do this.)

Downed breakfast like I was prepping for war because I kind of was and slung my bag over my shoulder.

“Have fun, son!” Dad said, still in his boxers.

“Text us if you need anything!” Mom added, handing me a bento box she packed last night. It had a little sticky note on top.

"You’re stronger than you think. – Mom "

I smiled.

(No pressure, right?)

I stepped out the front door and into the sunlight.

A soft breeze. A quiet street. Birds chirping somewhere in the distance.

And in somewhere faraway. Taeyang Technical High.

Even from here, I could feel the atmosphere shift.

(This is it. My new.)

I took a breath.

And walked forward.

…

Third Person POV

Seo Joonwoo stood at the edge of the school gate, staring up at the building in front of him.

Taeyang Technical High.

He squinted.

It looked… normal.

Gray walls, clean windows, a decent courtyard. A few students milling about in uniform. Some were stretching. Some were half-asleep. One was eating fish cakes like it was a festival.

No gang fights.

No mohawks.

Not even a single face tattoo.

“So this is Taeyang Technical High, huh?” Joonwoo said under his breath.

He adjusted his bag and stepped inside the gates.

It was almost too quiet.

A part of him felt disappointed.

Another part… suspicious.

His eyes scanned the area as he walked.

The buildings were well-kept. The teachers patrolling the halls looked bored. He passed a bulletin board with announcements like "Math Olympiad Sign-Up" and "Spring Club Recruitment."

(Wait… this looks like an actual school.)

He slowed his steps.

(Did I… overthink it?)

(Was the internet lying? Are the webtoons delinquents school exaggerated?)

Then—

A thud.

Then a crash.

And then someone flew through a second-story window.

Literally.

Joonwoo stopped mid-step as glass shattered and rained onto the cement courtyard. A male student hit the ground with a groan, rolling twice before lying flat on his back. His uniform blazer was torn. His lip was bleeding.

From the broken window above, a voice shouted:

“NEXT TIME, DON’T DISRESPECT THE BROTHERHOOD!”

Another student’s head popped into view and added,

“AND PICK UP YOUR TRASH, LOSER!”

They disappeared back inside like nothing happened.

The courtyard remained silent… like this was normal.

Joonwoo stared.

Then smiled.

(There it is.)

(This is what I wanted.)

(This school is full of delinquents... perfect.)

He stepped forward again, eyes a little brighter.

Let the Romanticsm begin.

..

…

..

After a few minutes of walking through the halls passing students who either ignored him or gave him curious glances Seo Joonwoo finally arrived in front of the faculty office.

He took a breath and slid the door open.

The scent of coffee, paper, and exhaustion hit him all at once.

Inside, several teachers sat at their desks. Some were grading papers, others arguing over lesson plans. One was clearly asleep behind a stack of attendance folders.

A teacher wearing square glasses looked up from his monitor. Mid-30s, slightly messy hair, wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and a necktie that had definitely seen better days.

He squinted through his lenses.

“Oh… you must be Joonwoo, right? The transferee student?”

Joonwoo straightened. “Yes, teacher.”

The man stood up, brushing toast crumbs off his lap.

“I’m Mr. Kyon. Your homeroom teacher.” He stretched a little, cracked his neck, then gave a tired smile. “Welcome to Taeyang Technical. Try not to get thrown out the window in your first week, alright?”

“…Huh?”

“I’m kidding.”

(He wasn't kidding.)

Mr. Kyon grabbed a clipboard, motioned to Joonwoo with a flick of his hand, and said:

“Let’s goo, Joonwoo. I’ll walk you to your class.”

Joonwoo followed.

And as they walked through the hallway, Mr. Kyon spoke casually, like he was warning a new hire at a shady company.

“Your class is… a bit lively. Some of the kids are rough around the edges. But it’s fine. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“One of them did light the broom closet on fire last semester.”

Joonwoo blinked.

Mr. Kyon smiled like it was normal.

“Anyway, I’ll introduce you in front of the class. Just say your name and maybe a hobby or two. No need to overthink it.”

(Easy enough.)

(As long as no one flies through a wall mid-sentence, I’m good.)

But as they turned the corner, the door to Class 1-B came into view.

The classroom door was already wide open, as if daring anyone to walk in.

Mr. Kyon stepped through first, his coffee-stained clipboard in hand. Joonwoo followed behind him, hands in his pockets, trying not to look too tense.

“Good morning, class.” Mr. Kyon’s voice carried just enough authority to get the room’s attention barely.

At his words, a tall boy sitting in the front row slowly pushed back his chair and stood.

“Everyone, stand up,” he said calmly.

The class obeyed not quickly, not perfectly, but they stood. Some groaned, one yawned, another scratched his neck like he’d just woken up. It was chaos in formation.

The boy who had spoken Park Jihoon, class president stood out in a quiet, composed way.

He was 15, but had the vibe of someone older. Jet-black hair, naturally wavy, with a fringe that drooped lazily over one eye. His deep brown eyes looked half-asleep, or maybe just burdened by the weight of managing a classroom full of semi-delinquents. Slight eye bags gave away the late nights, but his uniform was spotless.

Neat tie. Polished shoes. A quiet storm.

Mr. Kyon gestured toward Joonwoo.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a new student joining us today. Transfer from Seoul.”

To be continue