The Class President's Secret
Lee Geon-woo, the class president of Class 1-1 where Kang Sung-hoon attended. He was popular among the students. Not just rationally, but quite a bit even from the perspective of his peers. Average height. Above-average looks. A bright, kind personality. He was perfectly well-rounded, without a single rough edge. It felt like a novel character had jumped straight into reality. His actions were kind and considerate too.
"Geon-woo, can you help me with this?"
"You're the only one I can count on, right?"
"Sorry, you didn't have to go this far."
He stepped up to help students in need. He rolled up his sleeves for any task without discrimination and never uttered a single word of complaint. Hearing about that, some might have thought: Isn't he just a pushover who does whatever people ask?
But—
"Hmm, I don't think so."
"A bit much, don't you think? Why not try it yourself?"
"I'll pass. I don't want to fight with my classmates."
Lee Geon-woo was no pushover. He didn't accept excessive demands and firmly rejected anything that felt outright wrong. He turned down shameless students asking for help late into the night or those trying to use him for their own gain. That very quality drew students to him. From childhood, he had been hailed as the epitome of kindness. Everyone thought so.
Without knowing a thing about what went on in Lee Geon-woo's head.
A few years ago.
"Sorry, I don't think we can keep dating."
Those words reached Geon-woo's ears. They came from his girlfriend—at least, she had been until that moment. How many times was this now? Geon-woo thought about it slowly, then gave up. He'd had a lot of relationships. An above-average guy with no rough edges was prime bait for the opposite sex he liked. Kindergarten. Elementary school. All the way through middle school. Lee Geon-woo was an overwhelming powerhouse in love.
He earned everyone's affection and never exploited it for personal gain. That's why he was always the one receiving confessions. He'd never confessed to anyone himself, even treating it as a point of pride. Everything came easy. Just live your daily life, and once or twice a month, girls would come confessing. Some even did it knowing he had a girlfriend. But Lee Geon-woo turned them all down gently. The devoted boyfriend who only had eyes for his girl. Naturally, his reputation soared.
-'Go out with me...!'
-'I think this is the end for us...'
Rejected, rejecting. Loving, loved. A true blue springtime of youth. For someone living a comic-book life, worries seemed nonexistent.
But—
"Dumped again. What's the problem...?"
Lee Geon-woo was human too. He had worries, ones he couldn't share with others. It wasn't anything too serious. His current dilemma? His breakup lines were always the same.
-'Being with you is... kinda boring?'
-'It feels too predictable...? Yeah, that's it.'
A common thread emerged from several mouths. Dating him was fun, sure, but something was missing.
"What could it be...?"
He swallowed the question inwardly. No point telling anyone—this was the kind of worry that wouldn't help. They'd just laugh. It was a truth Lee Geon-woo had learned tangling with many students: eternal secrets don't exist. Once even one person knows, it eventually leaks out as gossip. So, think it through alone and reach a conclusion.
"...I'll just change it up."
Geon-woo slowly came to a decision. If the old way was the problem, tweak the approach a bit. He'd always accommodated, always been considerate, always moved in the direction his partner wanted. If the result was "boring," that meant he was too predictable.
"...Just a little."
Geon-woo's gaze dropped lightly.
"Just a little, different."
He drew a line for himself. This was just an experiment. No crossing boundaries. No hurting the other person. Just... checking something out.
A familiar message. The usual flow. The old him would have cleared his schedule, promise or not. But this time—
He hit send without adding a reason. His finger paused after pressing the button.
...Is this right?
The thought flickered briefly. Then, the reply came.
Short sentence. A subtle waver hidden inside. Geon-woo read it. Read it and—didn't reply right away.
...3 seconds.
...5 seconds.
Not on purpose, just naturally. He felt that time. And—
Short. Matter-of-fact. Sent.
A brief pause. Then the follow-up.
That's it. No more follows. Geon-woo stared at the screen.
...Weird. Definitely a different reaction from before—but not quite certain yet.
Is this right? Did I overdo it...?
Not quite what he'd expected. He set the phone down. And that was the end of it that day.
The next day. Another similar situation arose. This time—try it a bit differently. Check the message. And—don't reply right away.
...Read receipt pops up. She's definitely seeing this right now. Geon-woo didn't turn off the screen. He held it in his hand, letting time pass.
...10 seconds.
...20 seconds.
Do nothing. Just—wait.
In the meantime.
Geon-woo's eyes shifted ever so slightly.
Ah.
This time—different. A clear reaction. Only then did Geon-woo slowly move his fingers.
Not too late. Not too fast. Perfect timing.
...A few seconds later.
The moment he read that line—Geon-woo's gaze froze.
...This is it.
A faint touch somewhere deep. Her emotions—visible clearly through the text. Anxiety that hadn't been there before. Then relief. The shift, laid bare in one line.
Geon-woo stared at the screen, silent for a moment. His heart wasn't racing, breath wasn't quickening. Still—
"...So this is it."
A low mutter escaped. This was definitely a new sensation.
After that—Geon-woo fine-tuned his approach bit by bit. Deliberately create distance, delay responses sometimes, make unexpected choices now and then. Always—in moderation. Never crossing the line. And observe. Her reactions. How her tone shifted, sentence lengths changed, emojis decreased or increased. Every detail—without missing a beat. He didn't let any change slip.
And—the decisive moment.
A slightly lowered tone. Invisible distance, but felt. Geon-woo read the message.
...And paused.
No reply. This time—let time drag intentionally. 10 seconds. 20. 30. Her name hovers on the screen. Soon—another message.
That instant. Geon-woo's gaze sank slowly.
"...Nailed it."
Perfectly. She'd stepped right into the flow he'd created. He recognized it clearly. His fingers flew across the keys.
Short. But—not cutting it off completely. The right distance. The right opening. Tossed out. And—wait.
Moments later, the reply.
Reading that—Geon-woo's lips curved faintly upward.
This is it.
Certainty. Her emotions swayed with his every choice. Anxious, seeking confirmation, relieved. The entire flow—in his hands. That fact felt strangely vivid. Deep in his chest, something filled quietly.
This wasn't simple accomplishment. Not the thrill of praise or confessions. Something entirely different.
"...Fun."
Low, small. But clear. Geon-woo murmured it. He didn't know the name of this feeling yet. But one thing was sure.
This—wasn't something he could stop on his own.
Time passed—and Lee Geon-woo naturally became a high schooler.
"Single again."
He'd naturally parted from his middle school girlfriend. Physical distance pulled hearts apart too. He entered high school with high spirits. Just keep doing what he'd been doing. Be kind, considerate, bright. People's essence doesn't change, after all. Just a slight tweak. Only toward girlfriends, a tiny change.
But that didn't matter now. Single Geon-woo was, as always, the friend everyone relied on. He'd live that way forever. Natural daily life. Then, before he knew it, they started appearing.
She's pretty.
The girl who caught his eye: Park Ha-yoon.
"...You and Ha-yoon seem close lately."
Geon-woo tossed it out casually. Light chit-chat. The class president checking in on a classmate. On the surface—that's all it was. But inside, it was entirely different.
In front of him: Kang Sung-hoon. And in his head, the recent flow was crystal clear.
Park Ha-yoon. Early semester, he'd done just one thing to her. The slightest "distance." Delay replies a tad, postpone a promise once, dial back attention microscopically. Plus, spread a faint rumor of growing apart. That was it.
Yet—
She drifted that far away?
Geon-woo's gaze sank ever so slightly. A mere breeze, and she flew off like paper. Unexpected. No—honestly, closer to disappointment. He'd expected her to hold out more. Shake a bit, agonize, cling. Instead, she just naturally drifted away.
The old Geon-woo would have shrugged it off as inevitable, matched the distance, then worked to close it again. But—
Ha-yoon's looks forbade that. In Geon-woo's eyes, her face outshone any girlfriend he'd had. So, a bit of lingering attachment remained. That's surely why he brought it up to Sung-hoon.
"......"
Hearing it, Sung-hoon chose silence. What would he say? As Geon-woo's curiosity peaked, his mouth opened.
"Was it you who started the rumor that Park Ha-yoon dumped you?"
An unforeseen response. Sung-hoon's words pierced deep. Lethal and smooth, like striking a vital point.