Wen Junhui has lived a fairly simple university life.   

Despite being a new student, his first year went pretty well. Everybody was pretty nice; They were all very accomodating and friendly, with everybody talking to him and asking him random things about China. When the news about him coming from a rather wealthy Chinese family seemed to spread, he was eventually deemed fit to hang out with the ranks of the cool, rich, and popular (to the eyes of the other students, anyway—Junhui personally thinks they're all dorks, too).

Admittedly, Junhui was scared about being labeled as such so quickly, but soon found the group he was drawn into to be rather nice people even with the seemingly overbearing qualities. Jisoo's dad owned the school so he was rich apart from handsome; Seungcheol's known for his athletic skills in nearly all the varsity teams; Seokmin for his voice and constant presence in the school plays; Soonyoung for his dancing and representing the country in some contests, too; and Mingyu for his charming good looks and impeccable height. They all had something to them that just attracted other people in. 

What was Junhui's? He was good looking and talented and rich, so maybe all of the above. 

Or he was just that rare Chinese specimen, the token foreigner in a group, who spoke Korean better than that other Chinese guy in his year, whom Junhui never really met. 

Of course, Junhui would like to go with the first option and stuck by it with all his heart. Besides, despite his group of friends being set apart from the other students, it's not like they were bad people or anything. Pride was hardly ever an issue despite their status, and Jisoo alone could hold enough kindness and gentleness for about ten people, rivaled only by Seokmin's own. They were a good bunch of friends, and Junhui was more than happy to be a part of them. 

Now in their last year in university, Junhui had a few things in his mind considering how things would soon come to an end. His years in Korea would be up soon, and living in the country taught him something valuable. 

Korean was easier than math.

That was the conclusion Junhui came up with after spending hours pouring over his math book and notebooks. Well, to be fair, his math book had been barely used ever since school started again—it’s been a few weeks, but the summer vibes were still too strong, and he desperately wanted to head back to a beach and chill instead. However, homework wasn’t going to do itself; and, well, at this rate Junhui wasn’t going to be doing anything either.

It's not like he wasn't smart, of course. School has generally been a breeze, his Korean skills have been getting better each passing year, and every other subject was alright. He was even handling Korean History better than some of his friends, who were actual Koreans. Jisoo didn’t count because the boy lived in America for a long time, after all, but it was a sad sight seeing Seungcheol try. There was a familiarity with the older Korean names and places that reminded him of China’s complicated history. 

But math? Numbers? The occasional letter, even? Nah, the only number Junhui was concerned about now was the number to the pizza delivery place. 

Shortly after he got off the phone, his order of mushroom pizza in place, Junhui stood in front of his desk and