King Arthur and The Elf Princess

“If you say we’re friends, I’m denying it,” Minju said, her eyes fixed straight ahead as they crossed the courtyard.

Yijin offered a faint, dramatic wince. “You say that every single day.”

“And every single day, I mean it.”

A quiet beat settled between them, heavy with the comfortable warmth of a routine they had performed a thousand times. The late-afternoon wind blew softly through the trees, rustling dry leaves along the pavement. Minju kept her eyes focused on the path, though the rigid posture of her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

“Want some chips?” Yijin asked, holding out the crinkly foil bag in his left hand.

Minju paused for a moment before letting out a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

At Hanseong High School, every faculty member knew two students by name. They were the school’s quiet urban legend—two completely opposite forces who seemed to occupy entirely different worlds, yet constantly collided.

First, there was Park Minju. She was the Class President, undisputed top of her grade, owner of a pristine attendance record, and possessor of a spine so straight it looked almost painful. Minju didn’t just excel,she carried the heavy weight of expectation like armor. When she walked down the hallways with textbooks cradled against her chest and silver-rimmed glasses resting sharply on the bridge of her nose, the surrounding air always seemed to cool down. Half the boys in school harbored an intense, nervous crush on her, while the other half were utterly terrified. She had long since mastered a specific kind of quiet disappointment that made people feel small without her ever raising her voice. One sharp look over those thin lenses, and even third-year seniors found themselves muttering apologies for things they hadn’t actually done.

And then there was Shin Yijin.

Yijin was currently face-planted on his desk during second-period History, completely out cold. A fresh plaster was slapped crookedly across his cheek, and a strip of white tape wrapped around two of his fingers. His dark hair was a hopeless, windblown mess, looking less like he had rolled out of bed and more like he had barely survived a physical altercation with his pillow.

At the front of the room, the teacher stopped writing on the blackboard. The dry clink of chalk ceased as he turned around, staring at the back of Yijin’s head with a bone-tired sigh. “Yijin.”

There was no response, not even a shift in his heavy breathing.

“Yijin,” the teacher called again, louder this time. Still, nothing happened.

From the front row, Minju stood up smoothly, her uniform skirt falling without a single wrinkle. “I’ll wake him, sir.”

She walked down the narrow aisle toward the back corner of the room. The rest of the class held their breath, bracing for the usual stern lecture. Instead, Minju raised a tightly rolled notebook and brought it down against the back of his head with practiced, lethal precision.

Yijin shot upright with a sudden jolt, broad shoulders tensing as his hand flew to his scalp. “Ow! What—”

“You were drooling,” Minju said flatly, her tone entirely devoid of remorse.

Yijin blinked, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused from lack of sleep, before he slowly dragged his sleeve across the corner of his mouth. “Traitor.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You hit me.”

“You deserved it.”

At the front of the room, the teacher let out a long breath of relief, massaging his temples. “Thank you, Minju.”

Minju returned to her desk and smoothed her skirt as she sat down, perfectly composed. Meanwhile, the rest of the class watched the exchange with a mix of awe and total confusion. Whispers immediately began traveling down the rows. Some students speculated they were secretly related, while others insisted they were cousins or long-time neighbors. When one classmate whispered that they were probably childhood friends, Minju didn’t even turn around, cutting through the rumors with crisp clarity: “We’re not.”

Yijin blinked at the immediate rejection, pressing a flat palm over his heart. “Ouch.”

Later that afternoon during lunch, Yijin sat alone on the school rooftop. The sun was warm, burning off the chill in the air as he leaned back against the chain-link fence, lazily chewing on a cheap pastry. The heavy metal door creaked open, scraping against the concrete as Minju stepped out into the light carrying a compact first-aid pouch. She marched straight over to where he sat and gave his leg a light kick. “Move.”

“Good afternoon to you too, Pres,” Yijin drawled, a lopsided grin touching his lips.

“You scraped your hand again.”

“Did I?” He tilted his right hand, examining the raw skin across his knuckles. “Huh. Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Minju tucked her skirt beneath her knees and sat beside him on the hard ground. She reached out, her fingers cool as she wrapped them firmly around his wrist, pulling a small foil packet from her kit. The moment the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol hit the air, Yijin flinched hard and pulled back. “AAAHHH!”

Minju stopped, her dark eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“It’s the anticipation,” he muttered defensively. “It’s psychological damage, Minju.”

“I’ll give you physical damage if you don’t hold still.”

Yijin went instantly, hilariously rigid. Minju began dabbing the wipe against the scrape. Her voice remained firm, but the way her thumbs supported his hand was careful and deliberate—a small detail she would undoubtedly deny if confronted.

“Where was it this time?” she asked softly, keeping her focus on the wound.

Yijin let out a heavy sigh, his head dropping back against the fence. “A cat.”

“You fought a cat?”

“It ambushed me!”

“Why?”

“I was literally just walking past it! I swear, Minju, it had this deeply judgmental look in its eyes. It knew things about me.”

Minju ignored the absurd excuse, carefully peeling the backing off a fresh bandage and pressing it over his skin. “There.”

“Thanks.”

“I wasn’t helping you,” she said instantly, snapping the pouch shut with a sharp click. “I was simply preventing a health hazard on school grounds.”

“Right. Which is called helping.”

Minju turned her head away, the side of her neck flushing a faint pink. “Don’t misunderstand.”

Yijin laughed softly, the sound bright in the quiet afternoon air. “You’ve been using that exact defense mechanism since we were seven years old.”

“And I’ll continue using it until you learn how to walk down a street without injuring yourself.”

When the final bell rang, the two of them walked through the front gates together. It wasn’t something they had planned or discussed; it was just a rhythm their feet knew by heart after years of shared routine.

At a busy intersection down the road, three middle school boys came sprinting wildly around the corner. One of them clipped Yijin’s shoulder hard as he passed, causing Yijin to stumble slightly before catching his balance. The boy spun around, eyes wide with sudden panic. “Oh! I’m so sorry, hyung!”

“Ah, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Yijin said, waving a hand casually.