The following morning, the university was buzzing with the energy of the upcoming festival. The air in the costume department was thick with the scent of steamed fabric and cedarwood hangers.
Seo-yoon stood in front of a long mirror, feeling out of place. The festival committee had chosen a classic, elegant theme for the opening dance. Her dress was a deep midnight blue, with a soft, flowing skirt that mimicked the movement of water. It was modest yet striking, a stark contrast to the oversized hoodies she usually wore to hide from the world.
"You look like you stepped right out of a period drama!" Mei Lin chirped, spinning around in her own costume—a vibrant, tiered emerald gown that matched her chaotic energy.
"I feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin," Seo-yoon muttered, adjusting the delicate neckline.
"That's the point of a festival, isn't it?" Wei said, popping his head into the dressing area. He was already in his suit—a sharp, dark charcoal ensemble that made him look surprisingly mature. "We're all playing roles for one night."
Behind him, Yan-chen stepped into the room. He wasn't wearing his full suit yet, just the white formal shirt and dark trousers. The simplicity of the look emphasized his height and the lean, disciplined frame he possessed. He stopped when he saw Seo-yoon. His gaze didn't linger in a way that felt intrusive; instead, he looked at her with that same clinical, observant intensity he gave his blueprints.
He walked over, the height difference immediately casting her in his shadow. He tilted his head down, his face coming close to hers as he inspected the way the fabric sat on her shoulders.
"The lines are good," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "But you're holding your breath. The dress won't break, Scriptwriter."
Seo-yoon looked up at him, her eyes flashing. "I'm not holding my breath. I'm just waiting for this to be over."
Yan-chen leaned in a fraction closer, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Liars make for bad writers. You're nervous."
While the tension simmered in Suzhou, the atmosphere at Seoul National University was crisp and focused. The campus was a sprawling landscape of modern glass and ancient trees, where the pace was fast and the expectations were sky-high.
Min-ho was crossing the central plaza, his arms full of heavy reference books for his architecture seminar. He moved with a quiet, somber efficiency that had become his trademark since arriving in Seoul.
"Wait! Excuse me!"
A girl tripped slightly on the uneven pavement ahead of him, her portfolio bag spilling open. Min-ho instinctively moved to help, kneeling down to gather the stray charcoal sketches.
"Are you okay?" he asked, handing the papers back to her.
"Yes, thank you so much," she said, catching her breath. Her name tag read Ji-soo, a first-year design student. She looked up at him with a grateful smile. "I'm still not used to these hills."
Min-ho offered a polite, distant nod. He helped her stand and ensured her bag was secure. Ji-soo lingered for a second, clearly struck by the quiet, handsome senior who had stopped to help, but Min-ho's eyes were already looking past her toward the horizon.
He was helpful, he was kind, but he was hollow. Helping someone was just a habit; his heart was still a thousand miles away, wondering if a certain girl in China was finally finding her rhythm.
Back in the HUAD costume wing, Mei Lin and Wei were busy arguing over the color of Wei's tie, their bickering filling the room with a much-needed lightness.
"Emerald! It has to be emerald to match my dress, Wei! Do you want us to look like strangers?" Mei Lin protested.
"I look like a forest ranger in emerald, Lin!" Wei joked, holding the tie up to his face.
Seo-yoon watched them, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was a brief moment of normalcy in a week that felt like a whirlwind. However, the feeling vanished the moment she felt Yan-chen move behind her.
He didn't touch her, but he stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. He reached out and adjusted a small pin on the back of her dress that the tailor had missed.
"The festival starts in three days," he said softly, his head tilted down so his voice was a private murmur near her ear. "The city will be watching. Make sure your story has a good ending."
Seo-yoon looked at his reflection in the mirror—the tall, distant architect and the girl from Busan who was trying to find her place in his world. "I don't write endings until the very last frame, Yan-chen."
He held her gaze in the mirror for a heartbeat longer than necessary before stepping away. The silence he left behind was louder than the laughter of their friends.