Episode 11
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Afternoon. SNU's Sport Center, lobby.
The group moved across campus in a loose stream, following signs toward the university pool. The air grew cooler here, damp with the faint smell of chlorine long before the building even appeared. Laughter rose and fell in waves. The day still felt new enough that even walking together felt like an event.
At the pool entrance, the crowd split naturally. Girls to the left. Boys to the right.
A brief moment of awkward choreography followed—people slowing, bunching up, then separating, as if a curtain were being drawn down the middle of their first-year life.
By coincidence more than intention, Mi-yeon ended up walking near Den. They were not walking together, not in a way anyone could accuse. Just two people caught in the same current of bodies.
She looked up at Den, and despite herself, a shy smile appeared on her face.
Right before the dividing turn, Han-bin leaned in slightly toward Mi-yeon and spoke low, making sure her words didn't carry.
"Mi-yeon, don't forget," she said with a faint teasing smile. "Girls to the left, boys to the right. You look distracted."
Mi-yeon's cheeks began to burn immediately.
Am I that obvious?
"Right, thanks."
Mi-yeon gave a small nod, a quick smile—nothing dramatic. She took Han-bin by the arm, leaning into her roommate, and let herself be led away from Den.
They parted with the flow.
The girls disappeared into the women's side, swallowed by colorful clothing and ponytails. Den turned right with the guys.
The men's locker room was instantly louder—voices bouncing off tile and metal, the sharp clack of lockers, the damp squeak of sandals on the floor. Steam hung in the air from showers running somewhere deeper inside.
The topic changed the moment the door closed behind them.
As if it were a law of physics.
Someone laughed and pointed at Chang-woo.
"Bro," one of the guys said, grinning, "you're simple as bread. We all thought it, but you can't just say it right in front of the girls!"
A couple of guys groaned dramatically.
"Seriously," another added, wagging a finger like a survival instructor. "Unless you have a death wish, you need to be careful with what you say around girls."
Chang-woo's ears turned red.
"I didn't mean it to sound offensive," he protested, half-laughing, half-dying inside. "I just said what I thought."
"Then don't think that much," someone commented jokingly. "Obviously, it's not your strength!"
The teasing was rough, but not cruel. The kind of male bonding that hurt for thirty seconds and then turned into a story they would all repeat later.
As shirts came off and clothing was exchanged for swimwear, the conversation shifted—inevitably—to who was pretty, who was dangerous, who was untouchable.
Someone started it like they were announcing nominees.
"All right. Who's the prettiest in our year?"
Instant chaos.
"Soo-yeong," one guy said immediately, as if it were obvious. "She's like… the standard. Perfect face. Perfect vibe. The kind of girl you see on Instagram and don't even try."
Another snorted.
"Perfect vibe? She looks like she judges you for breathing."
"That's part of it," the first guy argued, laughing. "Girls like that are high maintenance."
A third guy cut in, a little more cautious.
"Baek So-mi is my dream girl. Not safely cute and soft. But… scary attractive. Like she could destroy your life in a way you'd thank her for—and still get an A+ on every exam."
"I call it praying mantis syndrome," someone joked. "Anyone who falls in love with a girl like So-mi has some serious suicidal inclination."
Laughter.
"Get lost, bro!" the first guy replied, laughing.
"She has long legs, though. I'll give you that," his opponent answered, offering a sort of peace gesture.
"And Hwang Se-a," another said, shrugging. "She's flashy. Fun to look at. Like she's always dressed as if she's going somewhere better than here."
A chorus of agreement followed, mixed with the dismissive tone men used when they knew a girl was beautiful but also knew she wasn't actually that important.
Then someone said the name that made the room momentarily louder.
"Yu-ra."
A few heads turned. A couple of guys whistled.
"Goddess, that girl," someone said, half complaining, half impressed. "My heart pounds every time I see her. She walks like she owns the place. If she ever speaks to me directly, I'll die."
"She's dangerous," another added. "That's the appeal. You don't date Yu-ra. Yu-ra dates you."
"And she's hot," someone said bluntly, earning a smack on the shoulder.
"Not just hot," another insisted. "She's idol-level. Like she belongs on a stage, not in our faculty."
They talked over each other, listing reasons—confidence, legs, the way she looked straight at you without flinching, the kind of senior who could ruin your life with a single smile.
Min-jae, who had been mostly quiet while changing, finally spoke up, adjusting his swim shorts with absent-minded calm.
"Honestly," he said, almost sheepishly, "Han-bin is the one who makes me smile."
A couple of guys turned toward him, surprised.
"Han-bin?" someone repeated, incredulous. "She's not even—"
"I know," Min-jae cut in, not defensive, just certain. "She's not the most popular. She's not the loudest. But… there's something about her."
He paused, searching for the right wording, then shrugged.
"I don't know. When she laughs, it's so radiant. I just… end up smiling too."
The room went quiet for half a beat—just long enough for that honesty to register.
Then someone groaned theatrically.
"So hopelessly romantic. Way to kill the whole sexy buzz, Min-jae."
Another laughed.
"Min-jae is doomed."
Min-jae rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched like he couldn't help it.
Den stayed mostly silent through all of it, changing without comment, as if the locker room conversation were a radio playing in the background.
Min-jae noticed.
He stepped closer with that easy grin of his, elbowing Den lightly.
"So?" Min-jae asked. "What about you, Hyung? Who do you like?"
Before Den could answer, Min-jae added with a knowing look, "Yu-ra?"
A few guys perked up, suddenly interested.
Den paused just long enough to make it clear he actually considered the question.
"Yu-ra is… very impressive," he said. "Yeah. I get why you guys are excited."
He tied off the thought neatly, then added, almost matter-of-fact:
"But first—she's not a freshman. She's from a different league."
Groans and protests rippled through the room.
"So what, you're saying she doesn't count?"
"That's nonsense!"
"She counts the most!"
Den let the noise pass, then continued, choosing his words carefully—not like a confession, more like an observation.
"And second…" He hesitated, then shrugged.
"Back home, our standards are different. Sometimes the girls you folks don't even notice—those are the ones I find really beautiful."
A couple of guys stared at him.
"What is that supposed to mean? Give us a name!" someone asked, confused.
Den didn't name anyone. He didn't look in any direction that might betray a thought.
He just answered calmly, almost lightly.
"It means I don't always see 'perfect' the way you do."
Min-jae studied him for a second, his grin fading into curiosity.
The locker room noise rose again—laughing, arguing, the slap of lockers, the hiss of showers.
But underneath it, something had shifted. Because now the guys weren't just wondering who Den liked—but what kind of girl would even fit the category he had just described.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Afternoon. SNU's Sport Center, swimming pool.
The door from the women's changing room swung open.
Laughter spilled out first—nervous, a little too loud. A couple of sharp squeals as girls reacted to cold tiles, to mirrors, to each other.
They stepped into the pool area.
Baek So-mi appeared first.
She walked as if she were late to a fashion show. Her swimsuit was athletic, fully closed, regulation-standard—yet it sat on her like couture. Straight posture. Chin slightly lifted. Her eyes glided across the pool without stopping anywhere, the practiced performance of someone who never looked but somehow noticed everything.
Next came Soo-yeong's friends—confident, loud, fully aware of their bodies and unafraid of being seen.
Then Soo-yeong herself.
Calm. Balanced. Beautiful in a way that didn't beg for attention. Her expression was charming yet analytical, already categorizing the room.
Behind them came a loose cluster of other girls—voices overlapping, towels snapping, the energy of a group that felt safer together.
And last, almost hidden behind someone taller—
Mi-yeon.
She stepped out more slowly, as if the air itself felt heavier for her. Her swimsuit was simple, modest and practical. Nothing eye-catching by design. Her shoulders were tense. She held her towel in front of herself, unconsciously trying to shield everything at once—her stomach, her chest, her presence.
She was clearly uncomfortable. And yet—there was nothing wrong with her.
Her figure was slim, natural and unforced. The kind of quiet beauty that didn't shout and therefore often went unnoticed by people looking for spectacle.
If the girls emerged carefully, each aware of her place and timing, the guys were far simpler—they just tumbled out of the locker room and into the pool in one big, laughing mass.
Den came out with the other guys. Men's voices echoed across the pool hall.
"Ten laps, guys! Ladies, lanes one to three. Men, four to six. No passing each other. The last two lanes are reserved for free swimming and rest."
The coach wasn't cruel—just efficient. Ten laps on the assigned lane during class. After that, free time. Swim more or warm up in the sauna. Their choice.
Den lined up, got into the water, and swam his laps with a steady rhythm, controlling his breathing, not rushing.
When he finished, he moved to the far side of the pool—to the last lane reserved for free swimming and rest—and held onto the edge, letting his body slow down. The water lapped quietly against the tiles.
From there, he could see the pool clearly.
Girls swam in different lanes. Some chatted at the edge. Some were visibly uncomfortable. And some were completely at ease.
He looked around.
Baek So-mi swam with sharp, precise strokes, as if she were being graded even when she wasn't.
Soo-yeong clearly enjoyed posing at the edge much more than swimming. She would swim half a lap, then get out, pretending to rest—sitting elegantly near the water, scanning the room, always aware of angles, always aware of eyes.
His gaze landed on Mi-yeon.
She stayed close to the edge at first, moving carefully. Her strokes were measured, minimal splash—not weak, just accurate.
At one point, she paused, gripping the edge, gathering courage and strength before pushing off again.
The noise of the pool continued around Den—splashes, laughter, complaints—but for a moment, his attention settled on her quiet effort.
He leaned back slightly against the wall, eyes half-lidded.
Somewhere across the pool, Mi-yeon briefly lifted her head above the water, and her gaze flicked—just once—in his direction.
Min-jae finished his ten laps, breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice. He climbed out, brushed water from his hair with one hand, and walked with the half-proud, half-exhausted swagger of someone who had survived something and expected credit for it.
He slipped into the water at the same resting lane beside Den, holding the edge with a satisfied exhale.
For a few seconds, Min-jae just stayed there, catching his breath, letting fatigue drain from his muscles. Then he turned his head, eyes narrowing with mild disbelief.
"You're fast," he said, casual but impressed. "Faster than me."
Den leaned against the wall, elbows resting on the edge, gaze drifting across the pool as if the whole building were a screen he hadn't asked for but couldn't stop watching.
Min-jae nodded toward him.
"Are you thinking about joining the chemistry faculty swim team?"
Den didn't answer immediately. He kept watching the water, the lane lines, the bodies moving through it. His face stayed calm, almost bored.
"I stay afloat better than an iron," he said at last, dry. "But no. I'm not joining."
Min-jae frowned, genuinely confused.
"Why not?"
Den shrugged slightly, still not turning his head fully.
"Bad hydrodynamics."
Min-jae blinked.
"…What?"
Den finally shifted just enough to look at him sideways. His eyes flicked down toward his own chest and forearms, as if demonstrating a scientific principle.
"Too much body hair creates drag. Terrible for speed."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Min-jae's face changed as the joke landed—confusion, realization, and then laughter that burst out before he could stop it. He covered his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking.
"Amazing," he managed. "That's some serious talent in the art of making excuses."
Den's expression barely changed. The corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest sign of satisfaction.
Across the pool, the air shifted.
A few students glanced up as the door to the women's changing room opened again.
Yu-ra entered.
She wasn't part of this class block—no required session right now—but like many upperclassmen, she used the pool between lectures. Swim a little. Sauna. Maintaining control of her body the same way she controlled everything else.
Her swimsuit was striking without being vulgar—perfectly balanced, as if she knew exactly where the line was and walked it without effort. The fabric didn't demand attention. Her confidence did.
As she stepped inside, the pool seemed to notice.
A couple of guys forgot what they were saying mid-sentence. A girl near the lockers paused, then subtly adjusted her posture. Even the noise of the room seemed to rearrange itself around Yu-ra's presence.
Her eyes swept the area—fast, sharp, practiced.
They landed on the resting lane.
On Den. And Min-jae beside him.
For the briefest moment, her expression didn't change—but something in her gaze tightened with interest, like she had spotted a familiar shape in a crowd and decided it was worth approaching.
Then she moved.
Straight line. No hesitation. A stride that made it obvious she had never learned to shrink herself for anyone.
Mi-yeon, still near the wall of the pool, lifted her head for air and saw Yu-ra walking—saw exactly where she was headed.
A cold pinch formed in her stomach before she understood why.
Of course someone like her would walk straight to him.
She tightened her grip on the edge, as if the water itself had become unpleasant.
At the resting lane, Den remained leaning back, eyes on the pool—calm, unreadable—while Yu-ra closed the distance like she already owned the next scene.
He turned his head toward her.
Yu-ra stopped right in front of them, standing close enough that it was unmistakable who controlled the situation.
Her voice was soft, feline, almost lazy—but there was steel under it, the kind that made refusal feel like a bad idea.
"Boys," she said sweetly, tilting her head, "move a little, will you? I'd like to stay right here between the two of you."
A brief pause. Then, with a faint smile that sharpened the words:
"Or do you want me sitting on the edge… so someone I don't like might end up next to me?"
Min-jae didn't hesitate. He shifted away from Den with almost comical readiness, creating space like someone who knew exactly when to disappear.
Den glanced up at Yu-ra—a short look, friendly but contained, no invitation hidden in it—and slid a little as well. Less eagerly. Without hurry.
Then his attention drifted back to the pool.
Mi-yeon was still swimming.
She was clearly tired now—her strokes less steady, breaths coming a little too late. On the last lap, she pushed herself stubbornly forward, but fatigue caught up with her.
When she lifted her head to breathe, her eyes met Den's.
And instantly everything went wrong.
Her rhythm broke. Her arms flailed awkwardly, legs losing coordination. For a second, she wasn't swimming so much as fighting not to sink. She splashed, coughed, grabbed at the water until she reached the edge.
Den's lips curved into a warm, unguarded smile—not mocking, not flirtatious. Just… fond.
Yu-ra noticed.
Of course she did.
Her gaze slid from Mi-yeon at the pool's edge back to Den, slow and deliberate. The corner of her mouth lifted.
"Well," she murmured, voice low, amused, "it looks like you're making quite an impression on some girls in your group, Den."
She didn't wait for his answer. She turned instead to Min-jae.
"What do you think, Min-jae?" Yu-ra asked lightly. "Do the girls find our northern guest handsome… or are they just afraid of him?"
Min-jae followed her gaze, scanning the pool.
Soo-yeong and her friends were splashing loudly, laughing a little too much. Every laugh was calibrated for attention. Their eyes flicked toward the guys now and then, busy mostly with showing themselves off.
Then he looked at Han-bin.
She struggled badly—lost her breath twice, coughed, and had to be corrected by the coach.
Min-jae smiled faintly.
And finally—Mi-yeon.
She had finished a lap and stood at the pool's edge, hands gripping the railing, gathering herself. Her swimsuit was the most modest of them all. Wet hair clung to her neck and shoulders.
She didn't look at Den.
But even Min-jae could tell why.
Yu-ra was right next to him.
Min-jae answered at last, his tone neutral, edged with quiet humor.
"How would I know, Sunbae? I'm not a girl," he said. "But I'll point out one thing—I'm currently sitting next to a stunning senior. And before I met Den, the girls somehow never paid me this much attention."
Yu-ra pretended to be flattered.
"Oh, stop it. You're making me blush."
Den finally turned his head, shifting his gaze from Mi-yeon to Yu-ra… then to Min-jae.
"It's your new haircut," he said dryly. "You're a magnet now. Girls just can't resist."
Min-jae snorted.
Yu-ra watched Den closely now, her smile thoughtful—less playful, more calculating.
As much as Den wanted to keep watching Mi-yeon, completely ignoring an attractive upperclassman—one who had been openly friendly—would have been foolish and unnecessarily rude.
He looked at Yu-ra, an easy smile forming, and spoke warmly, without vulgarity.
"Min-jae isn't wrong, though. You're an incredibly attractive girl, Yu-ra. Sitting here with you makes it harder for me to keep my eyes on the pool."
Yu-ra laughed softly, lowering her gaze theatrically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Den could tell.
She wasn't embarrassed. She was playing embarrassed. But her smile was genuine.
Then it changed—just slightly. Her eyes flicked toward the entrance.
Den followed her gaze.
Several upperclassmen had entered. One he recognized immediately.
Ha Jun-gi.
The same senior who, during orientation night, had tried to drag a drunk Han-bin deeper into the park.
Jun-gi had already lined up behind Mi-yeon's lane.
Too close.
Mi-yeon stood ahead of him, waiting in line for her final lap. Her gaze was lowered, shoulders tense. Jun-gi clownishly rolled his hips behind her, making crude half-gestures, playing to the laughter of his friends.
Mi-yeon felt it.
And, as always, pretended not to.
Den spoke to Min-jae.
His tone was calm, almost polite—but final. His eyes never left Jun-gi.
"Min-jae, why don't we head to the sauna? I'd hate for Yu-ra to be put in an awkward position if those seniors start spreading rumors about her sitting with two freshmen."
A pause.
"Let's not embarrass our beautiful sunbae with our presence."
Den stood.
Min-jae followed instinctively, bowing slightly to Yu-ra, still trying to understand what had forced the sudden change. Together, they walked along the pool's edge—passing directly by Mi-yeon and the seniors.
At that exact moment, Jun-gi pushed it further. With a wide grin, he lifted his hand, clearly planning to pretend to slap Mi-yeon's rear.
He never got the chance.
As Den passed, he caught Jun-gi's wrist.
A fast, precise grip. A sharp outward twist.
From the outside, it barely looked like anything had happened.
But the result was immediate.
Jun-gi stumbled and fell backward into the pool with a loud splash.
Water erupted. People gasped.
Min-jae froze.
"W-what did you do to him?" he whispered. "He's not going to drown, right?"
Den looked down at the water.
"Don't worry."
A pause.
"Trash doesn't sink."
Without another glance, he continued toward the sauna.