The Warmth of Pale Hands

If her name tag had fallen in the car, he could have returned it to her privately instead of making a public spectacle of it. The reason for his behavior was clear.

“…Can I leave now?”

To humiliate her.

Contrary to her desperate wish to escape the situation, Jeha said nothing. Worse, his cold gaze was fixed unflinchingly on her left chest. Ye-Kang’s heart raced wildly. What on earth is he looking at?

“I’ve pinned the tag. I’m going now. Dock points if you want—I don’t care.”

Unable to hide the irritation in her tone, she turned to leave in a rush, but Jeha stepped in her way.

“Wait.”

“…What are you doing?”

He was tall. Standing before her, he completely blocked her view of the other discipline committee members. If he intended to intimidate her with his size, he had succeeded. Ye-Kang bit her lip hard and tried to hide her unease.

“What now? What else doesn’t meet your standards? Does this school have a hair length policy too?”

She muttered through gritted teeth, glaring up at him. Jeha shook his head.

“No. Your hair looks fine.”

“…Then what are you staring at?”

She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. Jeha sighed deeply, lowering his head slightly. Startled, she almost stepped back.

“Kang Ye-Kang.”

The faint scent of fabric softener from his clothes hit her suddenly, and her ears burned.

“Your name tag is upside down.”

His voice was low, meant only for her ears, and Ye-Kang felt her face flush bright red. She wished the ground would crack open and swallow her whole. Flustered, she yanked the name tag off her blouse without thinking.

She was too embarrassed to appreciate the fact that Jeha, who usually spoke without concern for his surroundings, had at least lowered his voice. Instead, all she could focus on was the shame of having misjudged his gaze.

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

Jeha’s calm tone made her feel like his voice was wrapping around her ears.

“If you prick your finger with the pin, you might get tetanus.”

His words made her pause. She hesitated for a moment, genuinely concerned about the possibility, before slowing her fumbling movements. Finally pinning the tag correctly, she looked at him with a face on the verge of tears. Jeha tilted his head slightly and offered her a faint smile.

The weather forecast had predicted rain, but it was a blatant lie. Sunlight filtered through the large sycamore leaves, creating dappled patterns that glinted brilliantly. His gaze traced her face, then moved down her slender neck, and finally settled on the name tag pinned over her chest.

The shadows of the leaves danced across his handsome face. When she saw his tongue subtly wetting his lips in a way that felt far too deliberate, Ye-Kang bit the inside of her cheek hard.

Jerk.

She hadn’t misread him after all. She wanted to shove his shoulder roughly, but Jeha was quicker. He stepped back smoothly, turning his head to the side. The prominent movement of his Adam’s apple made her grit her teeth.

“Let’s head inside now.”

Her face flaming, Ye-Kang stormed off. The path around the field to the classroom felt excruciatingly long. The faint smell of his scent seemed to linger on the name tag pinned to her chest, an unpleasant illusion she couldn’t shake.

Inside the plastic box she used as a locker was a clean, cream-colored envelope. Inside it was a neatly folded girls’ uniform that carried a faintly familiar scent. She didn’t need to guess who had left it.

[This is what kindness looks like.]

The firm, bold handwriting on the small card infuriated her. Ye-Kang crumpled it in her hand with a sharp crackle. Her heart pounded unpleasantly in her chest, right where the name tag was pinned.

The days dragged on, blurring together. Her first week at the new school felt agonizingly slow. Ye-Kang couldn’t remember ever longing for the weekend so desperately.

Finally, Saturday morning came. Who had the bright idea to schedule gym class during the last period of the day?

“Miss your free throw, and your exam score is zero!”

The whistle-blowing PE teacher, an eccentric older man, was certainly a character. He insisted that even seniors needed physical activity to avoid burnout and reckless behavior. “Sitting idle all day builds stress,” he declared with an air of conviction.

Some students cheered when he announced that practical exams would replace the usual written tests for PE. Others groaned. Ye-Kang fell into the latter category.

“Good job! Next! Transfer student!”

Her basketball barely made it halfway to the hoop, bouncing and rolling with an echoing thud, thud. Snickers seemed to come from every direction, even if it was just her imagination.

“Less force, more technique! One more try!”

She thought bitterly about how this was one of the downsides of attending a private school. With her face burning red, Ye-Kang hurled the ball with all her might. This time, it sailed over the backboard, completely missing the hoop.

“Haa… haa…”

No matter how popular basketball was due to the NBA, college leagues, and recent dramas, she was hopeless at it. Team sports weren’t her thing. She was much better at running, jumping rope, or vaulting. But handling a ball never felt natural to her.

The more she became aware of the eyes watching her, the stiffer her movements became.

“Think of lightly tapping the square on the backboard,” the coach said.

The boys hit their shots with ease, and many of the girls had figured out the technique as well, landing their throws consistently. But Ye-Kang missed every single one.

“I heard you’re good at studying! Do you have zero athletic ability? Are you kidding me? Do you think you can just slack off in PE because it’s not a written test?”

The white-haired PE teacher’s booming voice rang out like a roar. It wasn’t that Ye-Kang didn’t want to succeed—she wanted to, more than anything. The frustration and shame made her eyes sting with unshed tears, but she held them back.

“This won’t do. You need one-on-one instruction. Class president!”

It was the worst possible outcome. Panicking, Ye-Kang quickly called out to the teacher.

“Teacher!”

“What now?”

“Just ten more minutes! If I practice a little more, I’m sure I can get it!”

Despite her desperate tone, the teacher shook his head firmly, looking at her with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

“Practice is important, but it has to be efficient. Do kids who fail their tests improve by writing the same thing hundreds of times? No! Everything starts with a strong foundation. Jeha! Take this underachiever and practice with her!”

Underachiever.

The word struck Ye-Kang like a blow. Still reeling, she barely registered Jeha approaching her. He picked up a basketball, tossed it to her, and gestured with his head.

“Let’s go.”

With no choice, Ye-Kang followed him, clutching the basketball as he led her to the opposite end of the court. Behind them, the rest of the class continued making their shots with confidence. Even when they missed, the ball at least hit the backboard. She couldn’t help but imagine how pathetic she must look to everyone else.

But worse than the humiliation of failing in front of her classmates was the indignity of being forced to practice under Jeha’s supervision. Her pride stung unbearably. She found herself wishing for some kind of distraction—a sudden fire alarm or a collapsing ceiling—anything to end this moment.

“Are you going to practice, or are you planning to disappear with the ball?”

Jeha’s sharp voice broke into her thoughts. She glanced at him, standing a few feet away, smirking as though he found the situation amusing.

“I’ll do it,” she muttered, glaring at him. “No need to rush me.”

“Good. Start by throwing the ball to me.”

“…What?”

Jeha made a lazy gesture with his hand.

“You can’t even focus on your target. If you can’t pass, there’s no way you can shoot. Start by passing it to me.”

His tone was condescending, as if he were explaining something painfully simple to a child. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. Gritting her teeth, Ye-Kang threw the ball at him with all the strength she could muster.

“Zero points,” he said dryly, catching the ball effortlessly as it veered off course. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed it back to her. The ball landed perfectly in her arms, like it had been guided by some invisible force.

“Dribble three times and try again. And this time, don’t close your eyes when you throw.”

Ye-Kang’s face flushed as she sucked in a deep breath. She bounced the ball against the gym floor, the steady thud matching the frantic rhythm of her racing heart.

“Aim for my face this time.”

Whoosh!

The ball sailed through the air, more controlled than before, though still far from perfect. Jeha caught it easily above his head and threw it back with a grin.

“Better. Just ease up a bit. Try again.”

Was he praising her, or mocking her? How could a compliment sound so irritating? Was she overthinking it, or was he deliberately messing with her?

“Think about lightly tapping my nose this time,” Jeha said, his smirk unwavering.

Ye-Kang stared intently at the bridge of his tall nose, clenching her molars tightly. Thud. Thud. She dribbled the ball, trying to suppress the heat rising in her chest.

“Break it if you can,” Jeha said, his tone dripping with certainty, as if daring her to attempt the impossible. Even if someone accused her of being paranoid, she wouldn’t care. Fixing her gaze on his face, Ye-Kang threw her arms forward with all the strength she could muster.

Smack.

The ball flew straight toward his face, but Jeha didn’t budge an inch. He calmly raised his hand and caught the ball just before it reached him.

“Oh…!”

For a moment, Ye-Kang thought she had actually hit him, her breath catching in her throat. It was only when Jeha bounced the ball to the ground and walked toward her that she exhaled in relief.

“That’s it. Well done.”

His perfectly intact nose remained exactly where it belonged.

“Just imagine my face in the square on the backboard and throw. Easy, right?”

Holding the basketball he handed back to her, Ye-Kang glared at the backboard. When she visualized his face there, the smirk he had given her moments ago flashed in her mind. Instead of helping her focus, it only made her more distracted.

Whether it was when he handed her the name tag at the school gate or now, his actions were completely baffling. In the car, he had coldly threatened her, making it clear that he wouldn’t leave her alone if she crossed him. But that smirk earlier? It didn’t match his words at all.