A Misbehavior Worth Keeping. | WINRINA

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MINJEONG'S POV

Mornings were supposed to be peaceful. Birds chirping, sun shining, windows glowing with soft light and all that.

Mine? Not so much.

My alarm went off like a demon shrieking into my soul. I groaned, rolled over, slapped it way too hard, and sent my phone flying to the floor with a satisfying clack.

“Cool,” I mumbled, already regretting life.

Still, I dragged myself out of bed like a half-dead zombie, blinking away sleep as I crouched down to find my phone. I unlocked it, expecting chaos.

I was not disappointed.

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GAY FAGGOTS 👅

Giselle: GUYS. PRESIDENT YU IS ALREADY HERE.

Ryujin: no way it’s not even 7??

Yujin: i think she’s been here since 6 tbh

Giselle: HER UNIFORM IS SO CRISP IT SCARED ME

Ryujin: i love a scary woman

Yujin: me too but she looked straight at me and i almost dropped my lunchbox

Giselle: minjeong u should go say hi

Me: bet, give me money if she somehow falls for me 🤤

---

Yu Jimin. Our Student Council President. The terror of the school. The queen of sharp heels and sharper stares.

The type who probably color-coded her soul and alphabetized her trauma.

Honestly? She was gorgeous, in that “untouchable ice goddess” kind of way. Everyone was scared of her. Or obsessed with her. Or both.

Me? I was just… her personal migraine.

By accident. Mostly.

I’d been in the principal’s office more times than I could count. Dress code violations, pranks, sleeping on the rooftop, skipping gym—everything short of arson. And every time?

She was there. With her clipboard. Looking like she wanted to smite me.

So naturally, I got ready that morning with zero intention of behaving.

My tie was half-tied, blazer loose, skirt rolled up just one fold too many. Hair? Decidedly not tamed. Shoes? Untied, because why not live dangerously.

I grabbed bread on my way out like I was in a cliché anime, and jogged down the street with music blasting in one ear.

The moment I stepped through the school gates, I knew.

She saw me.

Yu Jimin was standing near the entrance, arms crossed, clipboard in hand like it was her weapon of choice. She was already inspecting the morning crowd like a hawk watching prey.

And then her eyes landed on me.

Of course.

She started walking. Slow. Deliberate.

I didn’t flinch. I smiled.

“Kim Minjeong,” she said flatly, eyes narrowing. “Five dress code violations.”

“Only five?” I tilted my head. “I’m losing my touch.”

She blinked slowly, as if mentally subtracting ten years off her life expectancy.