Annyeongz One-shots

84. Unsee Shield

The hallway of the all-boys high school was louder than a marketplace.

Chairs screeched against the floor. Sneakers thudded against tiles. Boys leaned out of classroom doors, whispering like they had just discovered national gossip.

“I heard the new homeroom teacher is young.”

“Not just young—pretty.”

“Senior said she’s got a crazy good figure.”

“Let’s test her. Bet she’ll scream.”

Inside Class 3–A, the loudest class in the entire building, a group of boys stood on chairs, carefully balancing a large blue bucket filled to the brim with water on top of the classroom door.

“Make sure it tilts perfectly.”

“Relax, when she opens it, boom.”

Laughter rippled across the room.

In the far back corner, by the window, sat Ahn Yujin.

Thin silver glasses rested on his nose. His uniform blazer was perfectly ironed. His black hair fell neatly over his forehead, slightly covering calm, unreadable eyes. His desk was clean except for a math book filled with neat handwriting.

Top of the school. First place in every exam.

Especially mathematics.

And the loneliest boy in the room.

He heard everything.

Every disgusting comment.

Every crude laugh.

Every plan.

His fingers paused on his pen for a brief second.

Then continued writing.

He didn’t care.

Or at least that’s what it looked like.

He knew how to fight. Everyone in that room knew it too. He had sent two seniors to the infirmary last year after they cornered him behind the gym. Since then, no one tried to touch him directly.

But they hated him.

Because he was better.

Because he didn’t react.

Because he didn’t need them.

“Oi, genius,” one boy mocked. “You excited to see the new teacher too?”

Yujin didn’t even lift his head.

“Whatever,” the boy scoffed.

A few minutes later, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The boys rushed back to their seats, trying to suppress their laughter.

Yujin slowly closed his math book.

He took off his glasses.

Stood up.

And walked out of the classroom.

“Where are you going?” someone hissed.

He didn’t answer.

He stepped into the hallway just as he saw her.

Jang Wonyoung.

She stood beside the principal, holding a thin stack of papers against her chest.

She was young.

Too young to look like a teacher in this building filled with tall, loud teenage boys.

Her long dark hair flowed softly over her shoulders. Her blouse was simple, tucked neatly into a knee-length skirt. Professional. Modest.