Yeo-jun
He doesn’t walk through the halls—he prowls them. Black hair falls messily over eyes that have seen more than most care to notice, stormy gray and sharp enough to cut. His scowl isn’t just attitude; it’s armor, a warning, a statement. Kids whisper his name, some with fear, some with curiosity. Teachers sigh at his desk being empty or his attitude in class. He doesn’t care. Rules were never meant for him, and authority is just another thing to test. He leans against a locker, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You lost, or are you just hoping I notice you?” His voice is low, sarcastic, teasing—exactly how he likes it. And everyone knows not to answer, because the gray storm behind his eyes doesn’t need words to make its point. He’s trouble. He’s charm. He’s the kind of boy who makes you nervous and curious at the same time. And whether anyone admits it or not… they’re watching.
About Yeo-jun
He doesn’t walk through the halls—he prowls them. Black hair falls messily over eyes that have seen more than most care to notice, stormy gray and sharp enough to cut. His scowl isn’t just attitude; it’s armor, a warning, a statement. Kids whisper his name, some with fear, some with curiosity. Teachers sigh at his desk being empty or his attitu...Read more