Episode 13
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late afternoon. SNU's park zone.
The afternoon sun hung low over the campus, turning the paths golden and lazy. Lectures were over foremost of freshmen; the day carried that soft, drifting quality that followed physical exhaustion and chlorine-scented hair. Students wandered in loose clusters—some toward the dorms, some toward food—their voices overlapping in tired, contented murmurs.
The campus felt different now. Trees cast long shadows across the paths.
Den walked with the others, his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
Min-jae yawned loudly beside him, rolling his neck.
"That sauna finished me," he said. "I swear I could fall asleep standing."
Den exhaled slowly and nodded. His body felt pleasantly heavy, grounded. The sharp edges of the day—the tension, the stares, the unspoken confrontations—had dulled, smoothed out by heat and fatigue.
A few dozen steps behind them, Mi-yeon walked with Han-bin.
Han-bin was still chattering—something about how her legs felt like jelly and how she would never survive another ten laps. Mi-yeon listened, answering softly, nodding at the right moments.
She glanced ahead.
Den was there.
He wasn't looking back or slowing down for anyone. He was simply walking.
She didn't try to catch up either. But somewhere inside her—quiet and unreasonable—a small hope lingered that maybe, before their paths separated for the day, he would glance over his shoulder once.
Will he look back to see if I am there?
He didn't.
Around them, the crowd thinned naturally. Small groups peeled away—toward dormitories, cafés, subway stations—until the wide path narrowed near the pond, where the campus split into familiar directions.
By the time they reached the pond, Mi-yeon was half daydreaming, barely registering Han-bin's continued chatter.
Then movement caught her eye.
Oh Yu-ra appeared from the parallel walkway—light half-run, effortless, her hair still slightly damp at the ends. Without the slightest embarrassment, she fell into step beside Den, as though she had timed it exactly.
"Heading straight back to the dorms?" Yu-ra asked, her voice casual but deliberate.
Then, after only a brief pause, her tone softened—warm, almost playful.
"Would you keep a girl company instead?" she added. "I'm starving after all that swimming, but eating alone is so dull."
She glanced at Min-jae and smiled brightly.
"You won't mind if I steal him for an hour, right?"
Min-jae blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second. Then he laughed, recovering quickly, slipping back into his usual good-natured ease.
"Nah, go ahead," he said, raising both hands. "I was planning to hit the library anyway. Have fun, you two."
Yu-ra's smile widened. She turned back to Den, waiting.
Den looked at her.
Her expression was open. Confident—almost daring—but sincere. She was attractive. Undeniably so.
A corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a full smile.
"Can't see any reason to be cruel," he said honestly. "Besides, I'm hungry too."
Yu-ra's face lit up instantly.
She let out a soft, satisfied sound—almost a purr—and slipped her arm lightly through his. Elegant, practiced, just close enough to suggest intimacy without forcing it. She turned them toward the street as if the decision had already settled itself.
"Oh, good," she said, already talking as they walked. "There's this place I love—shrimp noodles with vegetables. They make them perfectly. I always go there when I want to feel human again."
Her voice flowed naturally, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world.
The path toward the dormitories stretched out in the opposite direction.
Mi-yeon stopped.
She hadn't realized she had stopped until Han-bin bumped gently into her shoulder, still talking, took another two steps forward, and then paused, confused, turning back to look at her roommate.
"Mi-yeon?"
Mi-yeon's mind didn't register the question.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
Something cold tightened beneath Mi-yeon's ribs—sharp and unfamiliar, despite how often she had felt similar things before. Her fingers curled around her bag strap until the fabric pressed painfully into her palm.
Her eyes remained locked on Yu-ra's hand resting on his arm.
Soo-yeong and Se-a caught up then, their steps light and unhurried.
For a moment, all four girls stood in a line, watching the pair walking away.
Soo-yeong followed Mi-yeon's gaze and allowed herself a small, satisfied exhale. When she spoke, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving as if in mild disappointment.
"Figures. We should have known better," she said lightly, an ironic smile on her face. "Boys worldwide—all the same. All that composure, all those clever words… and in the end, they always choose the girl with the longest legs and the prettiest face."
Of course.
Mi-yeon thought, her chest tightening quietly.
Why wouldn't he choose her?
She didn't feel anger. Just a dull, familiar sinking.
Han-bin raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't be like that," she said. "Maybe they're just friends."
"Oh sure, like hell they are," Soo-yeong replied sarcastically.
Then she turned her attention to Mi-yeon, her tone softening into something almost kind.
"Don't be sad, Mi-yeon," she added. "I almost fell for him myself."
She turned away, linking arms with Se-a, her steps light, her expression unmistakably pleased. Yu-ra had taken a stubborn foreigner off the game board—and that suited Soo-yeong perfectly.
After they walked a few steps, Se-a glanced at Soo-yeong in surprise and asked quietly,
"Really? You too?"
Soo-yeong just rolled her eyes dismissively.
Mi-yeon lifted a hand without thinking and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her thoughts spiraled—familiar and exhausting.
What are you upset about?
It's not like you would ever invite him to eat anyway.
You wouldn't have dared.
So stop imagining things.
And think about studying.
Han-bin's voice finally cut through.
"Mi-yeon, are you even listening to me?"
Mi-yeon startled slightly and forced a small smile.
"Yes—sorry," she said quickly. "I am."
They resumed walking.
And Mi-yeon told herself—quietly, firmly—that this was exactly how things were supposed to be. Even if, deep inside, there was an irritating ache she refused to name.
It's not jealousy.
She insisted to herself.
It's just… reality settling in.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Early evening. Noodle restaurant "Chaeudong", not far from SNU campus.
The café Yu-ra had chosen to bring Den to for dinner was warm, narrow, and familiar—the kind of place students came to when they wanted something simple and comforting rather than fashionable. Steam rose from the kitchen, carrying the smell of broth, shrimp, and garlic. The noise outside faded the moment the door closed.
They sat opposite each other.
Yu-ra ordered without hesitation, confidently, like someone who had been here many times. When the waiter turned to Den, he barely looked at the menu.
"I'll have the same."
She arched her brow, amused, but said nothing.
As she described why she loved this particular restaurant, Den leaned back slightly in his chair. His gaze drifted—not away from Yu-ra, but through her, as if he were thinking about something adjacent to the moment. Absent-mindedly, almost automatically, his fingers began folding a paper napkin. Slow. Precise.
A petal.
Then another.
A stem.
Yu-ra noticed. She did not interrupt at first. She watched with that faint smile she wore when curiosity fought politeness.
When the paper rose was nearly finished, she finally asked lightly, masking interest with teasing.
"So… is that for me?"
A pause.
"Or did you like that waitress?"
Den chuckled quietly and lifted his eyes to her.
"Of course it's for you," he confirmed easily. "The waitress works here. She's not going anywhere."
He tilted his head, his tone warm but unforced.
"You, on the other hand, need to be entertained. Otherwise you might get bored."
He slid the paper rose across the table.
Yu-ra laughed—soft and genuine—and took it, turning it between her fingers. She hid the small spark of pleasure behind a practiced smile, but it was there.
After a beat, she looked up again.
"I noticed Soo-yeong already tried to break her teeth on you," she said casually.
"When I asked you to have lunch, I was actually afraid you'd refuse me too."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Why did you agree?"
Den leaned back further, resting his fingers briefly against his chin as he studied her expression—acknowledging how confidence and vulnerability sat side by side in her features.
"I like you," he answered honestly. "And your invitation was sincere."
Two faint smiles followed, mirroring each other.
"One would have to be blind—or stupid—to say no."
Then, smoothly, he turned the question back to her.
"But why did you want to eat with me?"
Yu-ra laughed again, lighter this time and said elegantly:
"Ah, Den-ssi…"
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully.
"A wild bee doesn't know where it's flying or why. It just likes flowers."
She lifted the paper rose and, with exaggerated cuteness, showed it to him like a small trophy.
Den smiled despite himself.
Then her tone shifted—just a fraction. Still soft, but more grounded.
"I feel comfortable next to you," she said simply. "That's enough."
The waitress approached with steaming bowls.
Between them on the table were noodles, quiet smiles, and the unspoken understanding that, for now, this moment did not need a label.
Just presence.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Evening. Seoul, Streets of Gwanak-gu.
Later, they stepped out of the restaurant together.
Den reached the door first and opened it, holding it without thinking—an instinctive gesture, unpolished and natural. Yu-ra noticed. She lowered her head slightly as she passed, a small, secret smile touching her lips, acknowledging the quiet gallantry without making a show of it.
The street was calm. Evening light softened the edges of the buildings, and the noise of students thinned into a steady hum somewhere behind them.
Den walked half a step beside her and asked casually,
"Do you live in one of the dorms?"
She shook her head.
"No. I rent a small studio nearby."
He nodded once, then said just as simply,
"It's a nice evening for a little walk…I wouldn't mind walking you home."
Yu-ra stopped.
She looked up at him—really looked—meeting his eyes directly. Without realizing it, she bit her lower lip, tilting her head slightly as if weighing something fragile in her hands. A few seconds passed. Not long—but long enough to matter.
Then she smiled.
Warm. Honest.
Her answer did not sound like a rejection. It sounded like a promise postponed.
"Surprisingly smooth, but no," she said gently. "I don't want to spend half the night staring at the ceiling, inventing explanations for why you were so attentive to me."
She laughed softly, touching her chest with two fingers.
"Spare my poor heart—just this once."
Den did not argue.
He understood the tone. He understood the boundary. Some doors were better left closed for a day than forced open for a week.
He nodded, accepting it without disappointment.
"Alright, Yu-ra," he said. "Your peaceful sleep is important to me."
Then, after a brief pause, more quietly,
"Thank you for today. I liked it."
They turned to face each other fully.
"So… bye for now?" she asked, lifting her hand in a small wave.
"Yes. See you," he replied, lifting his hand too—almost awkwardly, as if surprised by the simplicity of the moment.
For a heartbeat, they stood there.
Then, at the same time, they turned and walked in opposite directions.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late evening. SNU, women's dormitory.
At the women's dorm, the day had finally folded itself into night.
In the small shared room, the overhead light was warm and slightly too bright, reflecting off textbook pages and notebook papers. Outside the window, Seoul hummed quietly—distant traffic, a passing laugh in the corridor, a door closing somewhere far down the hall.
Mi-yeon and Han-bin sat with their lecture materials spread out like a battlefield: formulas, symbols, arrows, margins crowded with tiny notes. Mi-yeon read with stubborn focus, her pencil moving steadily. Han-bin tried—she really did—but her concentration slipped every few minutes like wet soap.
At last, Han-bin leaned her head into her hand and made a face of theatrical misery.
"Mi-yeon… I can't do this anymore," she groaned.
"All these formulas—my head is turning into a square. I swear you could put a flowerpot on it like it's a side table."
She exhaled dramatically.
"Please. Let's take a break and make coffee… or just suffocate me with a pillow."
Mi-yeon looked up from her book. Her lips curved into a small smile, the kind that appeared only when someone close to her said something ridiculous.
She stretched the words on purpose, teasing gently.
"Alright…"
Then, more softly, with warmth that showed how serious she was beneath the joke,
"I can't lose you. You're my only friend."
She sighed like she was surrendering to fate.
"Let's make some coffee."
They stood up together and walked to the shared kitchen, their shoulders loosening as if the act of leaving the desk already lightened the pressure inside their heads.
In the shared kitchen, everything was plain: a counter, a sink, a kettle, mismatched mugs. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles from someone else's dinner. Mi-yeon measured the coffee carefully. Han-bin fussed with the sugar and stirred too aggressively, as if she were punishing the spoon for existing.
While the water heated, their conversation naturally drifted to the day.
Han-bin started first, her eyes narrowing with interest.
"Okay—tell me what happened at the pool."
Mi-yeon hesitated, searching for the clearest version of the truth.
"I… don't know exactly," she admitted. "But that senior—Ha Jun-gi—he was acting… not nice."
She hugged her mug for a second, even before the coffee was poured.
"It was uncomfortable standing near him. I was trying to just finish my last lap. I wanted to leave. And then…" She frowned, replaying it. "Den walked past, and Jun-gi suddenly fell into the water. Everything happened so fast."
Han-bin listened as if she had just received the most important news of the week. Her face twisted with instant, righteous anger.
"That Jun-gi is such a jerk," she said sharply. "He seriously annoys me."
Then she blurted it out faster, like it had been trapped inside her all day.
"He's the one who tried to pull me into the park yesterday."
Her cheeks colored with remembered shame.
"I still feel so embarrassed about that," she muttered.
Then, with sudden conviction, she slapped the counter lightly with her fingertips.
"Den oppa definitely pushed him into the water. That's what I think."
Mi-yeon did not argue. She did not have proof—only impressions.
"I… I don't know," she said softly. "I didn't see it clearly… maybe."
The kettle clicked.
Mi-yeon poured the hot water, the steam curling up between them like a small curtain.
Han-bin took a sip too early, winced, and then immediately brightened again—her anger turning into satisfaction.
"Well, good," she declared. "Serves him right."
Then she tilted her head, her eyes suddenly gleaming with that dangerous, nosy curiosity only close friends allowed themselves.
"Soooo…? Do you think Den oppa is handsome?"
Mi-yeon let out a small breath—half sigh, half surrender.
"What does it matter what I think?" she said, trying to sound practical. "He went to have lunch with Yu-ra sunbae. He wouldn't even notice someone like me now."
Han-bin's expression softened. For once, she did not tease. She nodded with real empathy.
"Yeah…" She said quietly. "All the guys would want her to have lunch with them."
Mi-yeon stirred her coffee slowly, her eyes lowered. Her face was calm, but the movement of the spoon was a little too careful—like she was trying to keep her thoughts from spilling over the rim.
Then Han-bin straightened, as if refusing to let the mood sink. She forced brightness back into her voice like flipping on a light.
"But whatever," she said, determined. "We'll help each other with makeup. We'll save up for pretty dresses. And then guys will chase us too—you'll see."
Mi-yeon laughed softly, politely.
But the laugh did not reach all the way into her eyes.
Not because she did not appreciate Han-bin trying.
Because believing it felt as unlikely as believing a children's fairy tale.
Still, she held the warm mug with both hands, letting the heat steady her.
And for tonight—coffee, steam, and a friend's exaggerated optimism were enough to keep the dark thoughts from winning.