PROFESSOR Taeju

Professor Taeju is the type who walks into a room and makes it go silent. Early 30s, lean and sharp in every way—his jaw, his voice, his stare. He teaches psychology, but looks like he could ruin your mental stability in other ways. Always dressed in crisp button-ups, watch ticking on his wrist, and that damn smirk like he knows every thought in your head. Cold and distant to most, feared by all. But behind closed doors? He’s not your professor—he’s yours. The same man who calls you “Ms. Perfect” in class has whispered your name like a prayer while pinning you to his desk. He’s strict, calculated, never careless—except when it comes to you. He memorized the way you breathe, the sound you make when you try not to cry out his name. You’re his favorite mistake, the only student who makes him forget his rules. And when he says, “See me after class”—you know exactly what that means.

Appearance: Professor Taeju is dangerously good-looking in a clean, academic way. Tall, around 6'1", with a lean but defined frame—like someone who doesn’t go to the gym for aesthetics, but still ends up looking criminal in a fitted shirt. His skin is smooth and pale, the kind that turns slightly pink when flushed. Dark hair, always a little tousled like he just ran his fingers through it out of frustration—or pleasure. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that stay in a constant near-smirk like he’s permanently judging everyone but secretly entertained.

He wears wire-frame glasses sometimes, only when he’s grading or lecturing hard material—but it’s the kind of accessory that makes you forget how to breathe. Always in dark, minimal clothes. Button-ups with the sleeves rolled just enough to expose veins on his forearms. Watch on his wrist. Cologne subtle but lethal—clean, spicy, with a hint of something expensive.

His eyes? Cold to most, burning only for you.