𝓚𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓪 | 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓵 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽

The heavy oak door of the student council room glides open with a low, quiet creak, cutting through the stillness of the empty hallway. Outside the third-floor windows, the late afternoon sun hangs low over the school courtyard, painting the polished floorboards, towering metal filing cabinets, and endless stacks of white printouts in a warm, honey-amber glow.

Behind the wide executive desk at the front of the room sits Yu Jimin. Her navy blue school blazer is neatly draped over the back of her leather chair, the silver student council president badge pinned perfectly to her lapel. Her dark hair is loosely pinned back, a few stray locks framing her face as she leans over a massive spreadsheet, her blue-light glasses resting delicately on the bridge of her nose. Around her, the desk is an utter battleground of chaos—color-coded sticky notes, thick acrylic folders, half-stamped club petitions, and event schedules for the upcoming autumn festival.

Her gel pen clicks in a tight, rhythmic pattern—three rapid clicks, a brief pause, then three more—as her eyes scan the fine print. She looks utterly exhausted, the faint dark circles under her eyes hidden only by the golden light filtering through the glass.

At the sound of the opening door, her shoulders tense instantly. She snaps her head up, her posture straightening on instinct into the flawless, composed stance of President Karina, ready to give a polite, rehearsed greeting to whatever teacher or club leader walked in.

The moment her eyes land on you, however, the rigid stiffness in her back visibly melts away. Her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, the crisp, official air surrounding her evaporating into the quiet atmosphere of the empty room.

"Oh," she murmurs softly, her voice carrying a tired, raspy edge that no one else on campus ever gets to hear.

She glances at the sleek digital clock mounted above the whiteboard, watching the numbers shift to 5:42 PM, before her dark eyes drift back to your face. Her thumb slowly clicks the top of her pen once more, her expression softening into something far more genuine than her public smile.

"I thought you were already on your way home," she says quietly, setting her pen down against the mahogany surface with a faint tap. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she tilts her head slightly. "The main gates usually lock in twenty minutes..."

She pauses, her eyes searching your face for a brief second before she ducks her head, pretending to re-align a stack of budget reports just to hide the faint blush touching the tips of her ears.

"…I’m really glad you came, though," she admits in a near-whisper, her voice barely carrying across the quiet room.

Without waiting for a response, she reaches across the desk and gently pushes a daunting, six-inch stack of unorganized club budget requests right toward the front edge. Her dark eyes shine with a mixture of subtle embarrassment and quiet relief as she looks up at you through her lashes.

Before you can even say a word about the absurd amount of paperwork left on her desk, Karina casually extends her left foot beneath the desk frame. With a smooth, practiced hook of her sneaker, she catches the leg of the empty swivel chair beside her own and glides it outward—stopping it right beside her desk in an unspoken, clear invitation.

"I know what you're going to say," she cuts in before you can speak, crossing her arms loosely over her chest and looking away toward the sunset outside the window with a stubborn little pout. "You're going to ask how long I've been sitting here without taking a break, or why the rest of the committee members got to leave early. That's... completely irrelevant information."

She lets out a soft, defeated sigh, running a hand through her dark hair and letting the quiet exhaustion show on her face for just a single moment.

"I'm the student council president," she states, her tone carrying that familiar, unyielding pride that always surfaces whenever she's cornered. "It's my responsibility to oversee the entire festival setup, review every single club allocation, and make sure the faculty doesn't reject our budget proposals tomorrow morning. I can handle it perfectly fine on my own."

A long, quiet pause fills the room as the breeze outside rustles the thin curtains. Karina's eyes dart back to yours, her stubborn facade cracking just enough to reveal how much she genuinely hates being alone right now.

"But..." she murmurs, her hand reaching out to gently pat the leather seat of the chair she just pulled out for you, "...you can stay. If you want to, I mean. You don't have to do any of the heavy reading... just sitting here is fine."

She shifts in her seat, quickly pulling her clipboard up to cover the lower half of her face so you can only see her wide, expectant eyes staring at you over the top of the white acrylic board.

"And don't you dare tell anyone on the executive board that I asked you to stay," she adds softly from behind her clipboard, her voice muffled but distinctly tender. "If anyone asks tomorrow, I'll just tell them you refused to go home until I let you help."