#rerouted_rosie

❥ a/n: i'm hoping to have around 30 chapters, but again, I'm uncertain as of right now. (7.13.2026

chapter 1: a fresh start

chapter 2:

chapter 3:

chapter 4:

chapter 5:

chapter 6:

chapter 7:

chapter 8:

chapter 9:

chapter 10:

chapter 11:

chapter 12:

chapter 13:

chapter 14:

chapter 15:

chapter 16:

chapter 17:

chapter 18:

chapter 19:

chapter 20:

chapter 21:

chapter 22:

chapter 23:

chapter 24:

chapter 25:

chapter 26:

chapter 27:

chapter 28:

chapter 29:

chapter 30:

epilouge:

You had never thought a bus route could change your life.

When you signed the lease for your new apartment, your biggest concern had been whether the place had enough storage space for your stuff. You had a lot of stuff. The answer…was no.

You were currently staring at three overstuffed boxes labeled NOVELS, NOVELS #2, and BOOKS I'LL READ SOMEDAY.

A sigh escaped you as you sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor. Your apartment wasn't large. Actually, it was pretty tiny, but it was close to school, and that's what was important.

Before this, your commute had been nearly an hour and a half each way. Between transferring buses, waiting in the rain, and waking up before sunrise, you'd spent most mornings exhausted before your first class even began.

This place cuts your commute in half. So no more rushing or missed connections, and definitely no more dragging yourself home after evening grading sessions, wondering why you'd chosen a profession that somehow required working twenty-four hours a day. Okay, maybe not the last one, but it felt like it sometimes.

Teaching was still teaching, but at least now you'd have more time to breathe.

You looked around the sea of cardboard boxes and smiled because it was worth it. Even if moving had consumed your entire weekend.

Your phone buzzed, a message from your fellow teacher at the school, Arin.

Arin: Don't forget the staff meeting tomorrow at 7:15. 

You groaned. You had forgotten.

The first day back after spring break, the administration had already scheduled a staff meeting. Cruel.

You typed back.

You: Do they enjoy our suffering?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Arin: Yes.

You laughed, then you glanced toward the clock. 10:47 PM.

You still had boxes to unpack. Instead, you flopped backward onto the floor. That sounded like tomorrow's problem.

—

The next morning arrived much faster than you wanted.

Thankfully, the bus stop sat only a few minutes from your apartment. You checked the route number on your phone for what felt like the tenth time. Definitely correct.

A completely different line from your old commute.

The bus arrived right on schedule. You climbed aboard and found a seat near the middle.

A fresh start.

—

By the time the school came into view, students were already gathering outside the gates. You stepped off the bus and adjusted the strap of your bag. Then, you froze because someone else stepped off directly behind you.

A familiar someone. A very familiar someone.

"Oh." The word slipped out before you could stop it. Beside you, Sim Jaeyun looked equally surprised. Which somehow annoyed you more. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he glanced toward the school.

"New route?" He asked. You blinked. "Excuse me?" He raised his eyebrows. "The bus." His voice was calm and infuriatingly neutral. "I've never seen you on it before." He said.

You tightened your grip on your bag. "I moved." He nodded before starting to walk away, just like that. You watched him leave, then narrowed your eyes.

How did every conversation with him feel like an accidental argument?

—

The first time you'd met Jake had not gone well, at least from your perspective.

You had arrived at school full of enthusiasm. New job, new students, new opportunities. You'd spent weeks preparing creative lesson plans and interactive activities. You wanted your students to enjoy literature, not just memorize it.

You remembered carrying a stack of papers through the hallway when someone stepped out of a classroom. The collision happened immediately, and papers exploded everywhere.

"Oh, my god." You crouched down instantly. "I'm so sorry," you apologized. The other person bent down as well. "It's fine." You looked up and met sharp eyes. 

 He had dark hair, tall, ridiculously composed. He handed you a worksheet. "You should probably organize these." He said blankly. You blinked. "Sorry?"

"They're not stapled," he sighed. You stared, "...Right." 

"If they were stapled, they wouldn't have fallen." You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Okay…"

"It was a suggestion." Then he walked away, leaving you kneeling on the floor surrounded by papers. You remembered staring after him.

Who says that? Seriously, who says that?

Later that day, you'd learned his name. Sim Jaeyun, the school's Math teacher, second year at the school, well respected and apparently very smart. Also, apparently incapable of speaking like a normal human being to someone.

Meanwhile, Jake's version of events was probably completely different. He likely thought he'd offered practical advice.

You thought he'd insulted you.

Neither of you had ever corrected the misunderstanding, and somehow things only got worse from then on.

—

The real disaster happened during the first major staff meeting of your second year. You still remember it vividly. The conference room had been packed, and the teachers filled every chair. The principal sat at the front discussing curriculum updates.

When your turn came, you stood confidently. You had been excited. Over the summer, you'd developed a new English program focused on discussion-based learning. Less memorization, more engagement, and more opportunities for students to connect with literature personally. You believed in it.

"So," you'd explained, pointing to your slides, "students would have more freedom in choosing project formats. Essays, presentations, creative writing—" Several teachers nodded. Promising.

Then a hand went up. Mr. Sim, of course. 

The principal nodded toward him. "Question?"

You remembered smiling politely. Big mistake. "How would grading remain standardized?" The question itself wasn't bad. Reasonable, actually. You answered confidently, "With a detailed rubric." He nodded. "And how would you ensure students demonstrate the same level of understanding if assignments differ significantly?" Still reasonable and still manageable.

You explained further. Then he asked another question. Then another and another…

Each one was logical, calm, and each one was making your proposal sound less practical, less prepared, and less complete.

By the end of the discussion, the room felt different. Teachers looked uncertain, and your excitement had evaporated. You'd sat down feeling embarrassed, humiliated, even.

Afterward, several teachers approached you. Most were supportive. But all you could think about was Jake pulling apart your presentation piece by piece.

The worst part? He hadn't sounded rude, which somehow made it worse because if he'd been openly hostile, you could have argued. Instead, he'd simply questioned everything.

You'd spent the rest of the day convinced he thought you were incompetent.

What you didn't know was that Jake had walked out of that meeting with a completely different impression. From his perspective, the proposal had potential, but it needed structure.

He'd noticed the way your expression changed, the way your shoulders stiffened, and he'd left thinking: She's taking professional feedback personally.

Not exactly a flattering conclusion…

—

The student incident came later, and that somehow made everything worse.

The student in question was named Jisoo. A bright kid, creative and smart, but noticeably constantly overwhelmed. Jisoo happened to be enrolled in both your English class and Jaeyun's Math class.

One afternoon, she showed up after school looking miserable. "Miss Y/N." You looked up from grading. "Yeah?" She hesitated, then explained. Family problems, her part-time job, missing assignments she was struggling with, and stress- lots of stress.

You listened carefully, then carefully offered extensions and some extra support. A plan to catch up gradually. By the end of the conversation, she looked relieved and hopeful. You considered that a win.

The real problem arose a few days later. Apparently, Jisoo had asked Mr. Sim for the same extensions, same explanation, and he'd said no. Just firmly, “School policy.” Deadlines mattered. Exceptions couldn't become habits.

Students talked. Teachers heard, and eventually, during lunch, another teacher casually mentioned it. "Jisoo said you're helping her catch up." You nodded. "Yeah, she needed support." Across the table, Mr. Sim looked up. "Support is one thing." The room immediately became uncomfortable. 

You knew that tone. "What does that mean?" You say. He set down his coffee. "It means deadlines exist for a reason." Then the back and forth began, "Sometimes students need flexibility." You stated, "Sometimes students need accountability." He raised an eyebrow.

Several teachers suddenly found their lunches fascinating. You crossed your arms. "She's struggling." You said. "So are many students." He fired back. The conversation wasn't loud, but it was sharp and dangerously controlled.

You remembered saying, "Empathy matters too." And what he remembered hearing was: Your teaching methods are wrong. Meanwhile, you heard: Student circumstances don't matter.

Neither interpretation was entirely fair. Neither of you cared. But by that point, the damage was already done.

—

From then on, everything about each other bothered the other. He thinks your classrooms are too loud, and you think he’s too rigid. He dislikes how students “love” your classes, and you dislike how students are afraid of his.

That's how this annoying back-and-forth between you and Sim Jaeyun began, and it definitely doesn't go unnoticed by other staff and students…