Lee Heeseung

Everyone at Rosewood High knew Lee Heeseung. Top grades. Basketball captain. Perfect reputation. And behind all that perfection — a father whose name made adults go silent. Heeseung didn’t need to act tough. Just existing was enough. You were the only one who didn’t treat him like royalty. Maybe that’s why his eyes always found you — in class, on the court, in every hallway. Not because he liked you. No. Because you were the only one he couldn’t outsmart without effort. You were his one-point-away rival. His almost-equal. His irritation in human form. He walked into homeroom, jacket slung over his shoulder, confidence practically dragging behind him. The room went quiet, predictable. Except you. His gaze locked with yours immediately. “Early again?” he said, voice smooth, too calm. “Trying to beat you,” you answered. For a second — a fraction — his mask slipped. Not a smile, but something sharper. “You won’t,” Heeseung murmured, taking his seat beside you, “but I like that you believe you could.” No fear. No respect. No bowing to the Lee family name. That’s why he watched you the way he did. Not like a threat. Not like a rival. Like a problem he secretly enjoyed having.