Episode 14
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Morning. SNU, men's dormitory.
The alarm on Den's phone screamed with unnecessary cruelty.
He winced, opened one eye, groaned low in his throat, and shut it again. For a few seconds, he lay there bargaining silently with reality. Then he exhaled, pushed himself upright, turned the alarm off, and sat on the edge of the bed—hair slightly disheveled, expression unreadable.
Another day.
He washed his face, letting cold water drag him back into the world, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and walked into the small shared kitchen.
Min-jae was already there, fully awake, eating breakfast like a man who had never known the concept of morning suffering. Unlike Den, he was completely dressed, his backpack ready by the table. He looked good to go at any moment.
He looked up, cheerful.
"Well, look at that," he grinned. "Sleeping Beauty finally woke up. You're really not a morning person, aren't you, hyung? How can you sleep that long? Do you just enjoy waking up late?"
Den poured himself tea, eyes half-lidded, voice flat.
"No. I don't enjoy waking up in general."
A beat.
"Except maybe with a beautiful girl."
Min-jae burst out laughing.
"Wow, lower your expectations, Hyung. This is a men's dorm. That fantasy is not happening."
Den smirked into his cup.
"You really know how to ruin the mood first thing in the morning, don't you?"
Min-jae snorted, unfazed.
"And what do you need a good mood for? We've got two general physics lectures in a row, first thing today."
He narrowed his eyes playfully.
"Save your good mood for Yu-ra sunbae."
Then Min-jae leaned in slightly, teasing but curious.
"Come on. Spill it out. Something interesting happened yesterday, didn't it?"
Den shrugged, completely casual.
"Not really. We had lunch, talked a bit. Nothing I couldn't tell you."
Min-jae studied his face for a second, then nodded, accepting it.
"But you like her," he said simply.
Den smiled easily, answering as if it were obvious.
"Yu-ra is hard not to like. She's like ice cream."
Min-jae didn't expect that analogy.
"…In what sense? You mean like Icy?"
Den stared at him for a second, genuinely confused—then replied.
"What? No. Why icy?"
Then it clicked, and he explained.
"I mean everyone likes her!"
Min-jae slapped his forehead.
"Ohhh!"
Den immediately mimicked him.
"Ohhh!"
They both chuckled, the tension of the morning easing a little.
Den sat on the edge of his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. He looked exactly like someone who had slept three hours too little and thought six times too much.
Min-jae glanced at him over his mug.
"…You look terrible."
"Thank you," Den replied with a smirk. "I worked hard for this."
"I've got Innisfree with green tea and vitamins," Min-jae said. "You want some?"
"Sure. Thanks."
Min-jae sighed, bent down, and pulled something from his backpack.
"Here."
He handed Den a small tube.
Den turned it over in his hands, reading the English words slowly, suspiciously.
"…Doesn't look edible to me, Min-jae."
Min-jae's eyes went wide, and immediately snatched it back.
"What?! Of course not! Give it back!"
"Well… you said green tea and vitamins," Den said, genuinely confused. "I thought it was some kind of energy drink or a sports snack."
Min-jae stared at him for a second.
Then blinked.
"…Are you insane? You don't eat it. You don't drink it!" he snapped. "You put it under your eyes!"
"…You do what?!"
"Innisfree is an eye serum. Watch."
Min-jae demonstrated, gently tapping the skin beneath his eyes.
Den watched in silence. Skeptical. Disapproving.
Min-jae finished and looked back at him.
"Min-jae," Den said seriously, "you're a good man. Like a brother to me. But I am NOT doing that."
Min-jae groaned theatrically, completely unoffended.
"You are a hopeless barbarian, Hyung. Fine. Be that way. But stay away from my shampoo—it also has green tea and vitamins."
Den smirked.
"Very funny, Min-jae."
Min-jae shook his head smiling, grabbed his bag, and tried one last argument.
"In twenty years, I'll look twenty-five. And you'll look like my grandpa."
Den stood up, holding a smile.
"I'll take my chances."
Min-jae sighed, added in a patronizing tone.
"All right, come on then. Get dressed. If we're late, the physics professor will punish us."
Den took one last sip of tea, set the cup down, and headed out of the kitchen.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he said dryly. "You're worse than a nagging wife."
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Morning. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 501, study lounge on the 3rd floor.
Two lectures in a row. A long day ahead.
Mi-yeon almost ran.
Not sprinting dramatically—just fast enough to betray quiet panic. The digital clock near the classroom door flashed mercilessly: only a few minutes remained before the general physics lecture began.
Her eyes locked onto the vending machine like it was a lifeboat.
I need my coffee.
Without it, surviving two hours of physics felt physically impossible.
She dug into her purse, fingers fumbling, and pulled out a few coins. Her movements were hurried, slightly clumsy—stress always did this to her.
One coin.
Second.
She fed them into the slot.
Then—
The third coin slipped.
A soft, traitorous clink against the floor… and it rolled.
Straight under the vending machine.
Mi-yeon froze.
Her shoulders sagged.
"Oh no…" she whispered, defeated. "Great… now I'm definitely going to die in physics."
She crouched slightly, instinctively wanting to reach for it—then stopped.
She was wearing a skirt.
Her mind instantly filled with anxious calculations: angle, length, who was walking past, whether the skirt would ride up, whether someone might look, whether it would draw attention.
She glanced around the corridor.
Students were passing by, laughing and talking.
Not openly paying attention—but they could have.
She straightened up again, flustered, cheeks warm, hands curling into small fists at her sides.
No. She couldn't do it.
From farther down the corridor, Den saw the whole scene while walking with Min-jae.
The dropped coin. The vending machine.
Mi-yeon standing there, clearly torn between maintaining dignity and her caffeine level.
And then, without effort, memory supplied the detail:
Yesterday morning. The same machine. Mi-yeon standing near it, purchasing a drink.
Cappuccino. Two sugars.
He kept walking toward her.
As he passed the vending machine, he casually reached into his pocket, dropped in a coin, pressed the buttons—and continued toward the lecture hall without stopping, without looking back.
Mi-yeon lifted her head just fast enough to register movement.
At first, she turned around in pure bewilderment. Her coins—two of them—were already in the machine.
Did someone just… order?!
A reflexive spark of indignation rose. She was just about to open her mouth, to protest—those were her coins—and then she saw him.
Den's back, already walking away, unhurried and unconcerned.
The machine hummed.
A paper cup slid out.
Understanding hit her all at once. Her protest died before it was born.
The coffee wasn't his, it was hers.
Mi-yeon stood there for a second, stunned, staring at the warm cup as if it might disappear if she looked away.
Then she carefully picked it up with both hands.
Cappuccino with two sugars.
Her grip tightened slightly around the cup; the heat seeped into her hands, into her body.
She looked toward the lecture hall, where Den had already disappeared inside.
Why does he always see me?
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Morning. SNU's chemistry faculty, lecture hall 501-301
Mi-yeon quietly slipped into the lecture hall just a couple of minutes before the start.
She took her seat next to Han-bin, set her bag down, and exhaled. Only then did she allow herself to look around.
Her eyes flicked—briefly, carefully—toward Den.
He was already there.
A few rows ahead, calm and settled. Nothing ever seemed to rush him. Balancing on his chair like it was part of his morning routine.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
She unlocked it, opened the group chat, scrolled until she found his contact. Hesitated. Then typed:
Thank you. How did you know I like cappuccino?
She stared at the screen.
Her lips pressed together.
Too much. Too personal.
She shook her head lightly, almost amused at herself, deleted the message—and replaced it with a simpler one:
Thank you.
Send.
She put the phone down, pretending to focus on her notebook, heart beating faster than the situation objectively deserved. She couldn't help it; her eyes darted toward his direction every few seconds.
Across the room, Den's phone vibrated softly on the desk.
He glanced at the screen. Didn't pick it up. Didn't type anything back. Didn't even put his chair back on all four legs.
But a moment later, he turned his head slightly.
Just enough.
He looked at Mi-yeon.
And gave a small nod.
Barely noticeable.
A hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
That was all.
But it was enough to make her day.
Mi-yeon lowered her gaze quickly, hiding a smile that threatened to appear on its own.
The door opened, and Professor Lee Min-Hee entered.
She was a woman in her forties—posture straight, movements precise, eyes sharp. Someone who had spent years proving—to colleagues, to students, to the system—that she was not "a pretty woman teaching physics," but a physicist. A scientist. A professional educator.
She didn't waste time.
The lecture began.
Attendance sheet, then formulas, laws, definitions. Thermodynamics.
Mi-yeon tried to follow. She really did.
But physics had never loved her the way chemistry and biology did. Her thoughts drifted—quietly, gently—toward creams, compounds, textures, the dream of someday working in cosmetic science.
Her gaze slid to the window.
Sunlight. Trees. Movement.
She didn't notice the pause.
"Jeong Mi-yeon."
Her name landed like a dropped book. She flinched.
The professor had stopped speaking.
"Did you come here to daydream, or to listen?" the woman asked coolly.
"Or perhaps you believe physics is a subject of imagination rather than attention?"
Mi-yeon felt heat rush to her face.
The professor turned to the class, clearly planning to make a public example of her lack of focus.
"Let's clarify. Is physics a precise science, or a field for fantasies?"
She pointed to the front row.
"Chang-woo?"
Chang-woo straightened, startled.
"A… a precise science professor-nim."
"As expected."
The professor turned slightly.
"Baek So-mi?"
So-mi answered smoothly, without hesitation, as if reading from a polished script.
"Physics is a precise science based on laws and measurable principles."
Mi-yeon wanted to disappear.
Den watched her from his seat. Without meaning to, his expression hardened.
The professor noticed. Her gaze snapped to him.
"Denis… Sokolov, is it?"
"You look unconvinced. Do you perhaps disagree?"
The room stilled.
Den stood. He cleared his throat once—briefly.
Before speaking, he glanced—just for a fraction of a second—at Mi-yeon.
Then he looked back at the professor.
"Excuse me, professor-nim. My opinion may be flawed," he said calmly, "but I don't believe physics is as precise as we like to think."
A murmur rippled through the room.
He continued, voice steady.
"Sure, it's built on laws and formulas. But quantum physics creates paradoxes that conflict with the laws applied in relativity. String theory, theories of the universe's origin—many of these are still models. Versions."
He paused briefly, choosing his words.
"We design experiments based on these theories and hope our interpretations are correct. But modern particle physics is full of unexplained phenomena and conflicting results."
Silence.
"In that sense," Den finished, "modern physics is closer to philosophy. Without imagination—without the ability to dream and visualize—we can't move forward. First, we imagine how the world might work. Only then do we attempt to prove or disprove those ideas."
He stopped.
The professor studied him for a long moment. She didn't smile. But she didn't scold him either.
"Well said," she responded at last, "you should have chosen law school rather than chemistry, Denis."
A few quiet chuckles followed.
"Very well. Mi-yeon, let's assume you were contemplating string theory."
"Now, please return your attention to thermodynamics—unless you wish to fail my class."
She resumed the lecture as if nothing had happened.
Mi-yeon lowered her head, fingers playing nervously with her notebook.
But inside, she was blooming like an open field of spring flowers.
Den sat back down just as the professor's voice returned to formulas and thermodynamic laws.
Beside him, Min-jae didn't whisper. Instead, he smirked, pulled out his phone, and typed right there, shoulders shaking slightly with silent laughter.
Den's phone vibrated. He glanced down.
What was that just now? Are you immortal or something?
She definitely noticed you. And she will remember you… on exams.
Den's lips curved into a lazy, unbothered smile.
He typed back without hurry.
I'll survive a physics exam somehow.
Just don't let me open my mouth in Korean Literature.
Min-jae bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud, shoving the phone back into his pocket like a guilty student.
The lecture continued.
Rows ahead, Mi-yeon sat quietly, pen moving neatly across the page. Her notes were careful, structured—the kind written by someone who desperately wanted to do well.
For a moment, though, her hand slowed.
She paused.
At the very top of the page, almost shyly, she wrote:
even physicists need to dream
She circled the sentence in a soft cloud, like a thought bubble.
Then, as if afraid of being caught doing something too personal, she straightened her notebook and continued taking notes—serious again, focused.
But the small cloud remained at the top of the page.