Meet a typical teenager- Yu Bora
she thinks she has it all, with her rich and cool dad, a principal who doubles as her father's friend (and the ultimate "cool princi"), her soulmate aka best friend - Min-hee, and the love in the form of the strictn...
WDYM stands for "what do you mean?" It's an acronym
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"Mrs. Han, pass me the salt, will you?" I stretch my arm dramatically across the dinner table. It's the classic family dinner scene: me, Dad, the cool uncle (a.k.a. the principal), and the salt-bringer herself, Mrs. Han.
"Bora, life getting too hectic for you lately, huh?" Mrs. Han gives me the side-eye as she hands over the salt — her tone? Saltier than the salt itself.
"Busy? Nah," I say, flashing a smirk. "Just casually juggling life. Y'know, saving the world, dodging homework, and prepping for student council."
"Oh, really?" she says, narrowing her eyes like she's seconds away from dragging me by the ear.
"Absolutely. I've got a black belt in multitasking," I declare proudly — ignoring the fact I can't even tie my shoelaces without tripping over them.
"Then why's your GPA playing hide-and-seek?" she shoots back, tossing both the salt and some serious shade.
"Princi," I whimper dramatically, turning to my dad's best friend and my secret dinner-table ally. "Your wife's roasting me alive."
Uncle Princi, ever the diplomat, just nods solemnly. "Eunha, we'll discuss this after dinner."
Mrs. Han, unfazed, points an accusing finger straight at my dad. "Look at her, Hyun Jae! She aced her physics exam... only to come in last!"
(Okay, she's not wrong. But still. Rude.)
Sure, I'm horrible at physics, chemistry, and math. But the other subjects? Totally fine! Not everyone needs to understand imaginary numbers or whatever nonsense Schrödinger was up to.
"But—" I start.
"You're not allowed to speak," Mrs. Han snaps, and I immediately turn into a silent, obedient puppy, chewing my food in defeat.
"Eunha, I get it," Dad says, ever the peacemaker. "But don't worry. Bora needs to enjoy life too."
I sneak him a thumbs-up and a cheeky wink when Mrs. Han isn't looking.
"Oh, you both!" she cries, throwing her hands up at Dad and Uncle. "Good for nothing, both of you! Anyway, listen up. I've arranged a tutor for her."
My fork clatters onto my plate. "A tutor?"
"Only for one hour a day," Mrs. Han adds sweetly — the kind of sweet that promises pure evil.
"One hour?" I protest. "Tutor?" Uncle echoes, equally horrified. Dad just raises an eyebrow.
