The morning air was crisp, the sky scrubbed clean by last night's torrential downpour. As I walked onto the SNU campus, my boots hitting the pavement with a steady rhythm, I felt a strange sense of equilibrium. Usually, my mind was a chaotic mess of pending tasks and unresolved grief, but today, there was a steady thread of data running through the background: Park Danoh.
I could still feel the phantom sensation of her hands in my hair and the muffled sound of her scream from behind her bedroom door. A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. She was loud, unpredictable, and entirely too emotional—a complete system anomaly. And I was hopelessly addicted to it.
I entered the lecture hall, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. The "Social Predictions" crowd from yesterday was already gathered in the center, and Jisoo was at the heart of it. She was leaning against a desk, her eyes scanning the entrance like a hawk.
As soon as I walked in, she straightened up, a smirk playing on her lips. She likely expected me to be awkward after my sudden exit yesterday, or perhaps she thought she could restart her game.
"Hanbin-ah! You're finally—"
I didn't even look in her direction. Her voice was just ambient noise, a low-priority notification that I swiped away without reading. I walked straight past her, my eyes fixed on the door. To me, Jisoo wasn't a rival or a threat; she was simply a piece of irrelevant data.
A few seconds later, the door opened again. Danoh walked in. She looked a bit nervous, her hands clutching the straps of her bag, her eyes searching the room. The moment she saw me, her face lit up with that soft, radiant glow that tended to override my logic gates.
I didn't wait for her to come to me. I walked across the room, cutting through the path of at least three stunned classmates.
"You're late," I said, stopping right in front of her. My voice was low, meant only for her.
"The bus was slow because of the puddles," she whispered, her cheeks flushing pink. "Hanbin-ah, everyone is looking... especially Jisoo."
I didn't turn my head to check. "I don't care about 'everyone.' And I certainly don't care about her."
I reached out, my hand steady as I took her bag from her shoulder—a gesture so uncharacteristic for the 'Ice Prince' that I heard someone in the back actually drop a pen. I slung her bag over my own shoulder and, without a moment's hesitation, reached down and interlaced my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm, a perfect fit against my palm.
The collective gasp from the room was like a synchronized system error.
I led her toward our usual seats in the front row. As we walked, we had to pass right by Jisoo. She was standing frozen, her mouth slightly open, the "universe-appointed" bottle from yesterday probably sitting forgotten in her bag. I didn't glance at her. I didn't offer a triumphant look or a cold remark. I simply walked past her as if she were a pillar of salt. Indifference was the most efficient way to handle a bug in the system.
I pulled out Danoh's chair for her and sat down next to her, our shoulders touching.
"Hanbin-ah," Danoh whispered as she opened her notebook, her voice shaking slightly with excitement. "You really don't care what they think, do you?"
"My processor only has so much space, Danoh-ya," I said, leaning in until I could smell the faint scent of her shampoo. "I'm not going to waste it on people who don't matter. I'm busy focusing on the person who does."
Under the desk, I didn't let go of her hand. I felt her thumb graze my knuckles, and for the first time in a lecture hall, I didn't feel like I was waiting for the clock to run out.
Jeonghan, sitting a few seats away, was vibrating with the need to gossip, but he knew better than to interrupt. He just leaned back, looking at Jisoo's shocked face and then back at us, shaking his head with a grin.
The "Ice Prince" hadn't been cracked. He had just finally updated his security settings to let exactly one person in.