Episode 19
6 March 2025, Thursday. Evening. SNU, near the men's dormitory.
It was already dark when Den returned.
The campus was quiet, the lamps casting long shadows along the path.
And near the entrance to the men's dormitory, on a simple bench, someone was sitting.
Mi-yeon.
Her posture was careful, almost formal.
In her hands, neatly folded and perfectly ironed, was Den's blue shirt.
She had come earlier.
Min-jae had already gone inside. Earlier, he had told her that he'd seen Den leave with Yu-ra.
But Mi-yeon chose to stay.
She sat huddled against the evening chill.
I just want to return the shirt and say thank you. That's the least I can do.
She stared at the path ahead.
I'm not jealous. I just want to make sure he gets back before it's too late.
And giving the shirt to Min-jae would be rude. It has to be in person.
That's all.
She bit her lip.
And… I want to see him. What's wrong with that? He's my friend. Right?
Footsteps.
A familiar voice broke the quiet.
"Mi-yeon? Why are you here so late?"
She jumped up instantly and turned toward him.
For a moment, she just stood there, clutching the folded shirt to her chest.Then she gave a small, uncertain wave and waited for him to come closer..
When Den walked up and stopped in front of her, Mi-yeon looked into his eyes before answering—like she was searching for a hint there, some safe path.
She exhaled softly, trying to gather her thoughts. Even though she had rehearsed this moment a hundred times over the last two hours, every sentence scattered and hid in the corners of her mind.
"I… I just wanted… no…"
She grew embarrassed, faintly flushed—though in the dark it wasn't easy to see.
Dropped her gaze.
Then she forced herself to be brave and looked at him again.
"I mean… I came to return your shirt. And Min-jae said you went for a walk with Yu-ra… and I was going to leave. I'm sorry, it's so stupid… I could've just left…"
A beat.
"You're probably not happy to see me anyways. It's probably uncomfortable for you to be here alone with me, but… I wanted to give it back, myself, and say… thank you."
The last sentence was so quiet that even the crickets could have swallowed it.
She held out the shirt.
Den took it from her hands and accidentally brushed her fingers. For a second, they froze, looking at each other. Then Mi-yeon pulled her hands back, almost frightened, as if she had touched something hot.
Den finally answered.
"Not at all… I'm really glad you're here. I hope you didn't wait too long. And you know… on a nice evening like this, going back to the dorm feels sad and lonely. I already accepted that, but then found out a beautiful girl was waiting for me. And now I have a reason to stretch this evening a little longer…Here. With you."
Mi-yeon blinked rapidly, as if she had heard something that made the world spin a little faster.
"Beautiful? What are you saying…"
A shy little laugh slipped out of her—through a sad half-smile, her insecurity leaked through like radiation.
"Don't tease me. I know that's not true."
Without meaning to, her hand drifted up to her collarbone, instinctively covering the scar that was already hidden under her blouse. The rush of feelings made her legs feel weak, and she lowered herself onto the bench. She went quiet, staring down at her feet.
"How can a girl with a scar like mine be beautiful…?"
Why would you say that to a guy?
Do you want him to leave that badly?
Are you out of your mind completely?!
Just be quiet. Just sit here and be quiet until he leaves.
Better yet, disappear into the ground.
But Den didn't leave.
He sat down beside her. A little closer than someone would sit if he weren't drawn, without thinking, toward her warmth. His voice was quiet.
"I'm not teasing. I think you're very beautiful. And your little scar… it doesn't ruin you. It makes you look more feminine."
She lifted her eyes to him. Den wasn't looking at her then—he was looking forward, into the dark.
He went on.
"You know… if you were…" He pressed his lips together, realizing he absolutely shouldn't say it like that, then corrected himself. "If I had a girlfriend with a scar like that, I'd want her to know that I like her exactly the way she is. Every little detail."
Something scratched in his throat. He cleared it with a quiet cough.
Then Den stood up and offered Mi-yeon his hand.
"Okay… I got a little too honest. Sorry if I embarrassed you. Thank you for returning the shirt. See you tomorrow, alright?"
Mi-yeon sprang up as if she had been scalded. She bowed quickly.
"Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you again. Good night, Den-ssi."
He looked at her disapprovingly but lighthearted:
"Again?"
She closed her mouth with both hands. Then said quickly:
"Den, I meant, good night Den!
And with light, fast steps—almost breaking into a run—she hurried toward the women's dormitory.
Leaving Den behind—alone with the evening, the freshly washed, perfectly ironed shirt in his hand, and far too much to rethink.
6 March 2025, Thursday. Late at night. SNU, women's dormitory.
Mi-yeon burst into the room and, without even taking off her shoes, collapsed onto the bed with a groan, face buried in the pillow.
Den's words looped in her head again and again, like a broken refrain.
I think you're very beautiful…
…very beautiful…
…beautiful…
…I like her exactly the way she is.
She pulled the pillow over her head and groaned into it, the way only a young girl could—half complaint, half lament, words stretching out into sound.
"What is all this supposed to beee?!
Who says things like that to someone like me?
Did he do it on purpose? Is he trying to mess with me?
Why would he joke like that?
Or… or was it not a joke…? What if… what if he meant it?"
The door opened.
Han-bin walked in with a half-eaten sandwich in her hand and stopped short. Her tone was indignant, but there was no real anger in it—mostly curiosity.
"What is this now? Jeong Mi-yeon! Didn't your parents teach you to take your shoes off before coming inside? What's wrong with you?"
She looked at her with a face that somehow fit scolding, sympathy, and excitement all at once.
Mi-yeon lifted her head from under the pillow. There was something new in her expression—small, but unmistakable. Resolve. Determination.
"Han-bin… tomorrow I'm going to put on mascara. You have to help me."
Han-bin blinked, then sat down beside her.
"Alright, alright. That's not exactly hard. But take your shoes off immediately! And then let's go make coffee, okay?"
Mi-yeon exhaled, finally kicking off her shoes.
"Okay."
And for the first time that night, the tight knot in her chest loosened just a little.
6 March 2025, Thursday. Late at night. Kim Soo-Yeong's family's house.
Spring was already trying to push winter aside, but the air was still cold, damp with melting snow. Patches of ice clung stubbornly to the edges of the sidewalk, and the city lights outside the apartment windows reflected off the wet asphalt in long, trembling streaks.
It was late in the evening, when her brother came to visit.
He came back home.
It had been a while since Soo-yeong had last seen him. Life as a K-pop idol was busy—there was little time left for friends, almost none for family.
Soo-yeong was sitting in the living room, half-watching television, half-counting the hours, when she heard the familiar click of the lock.
She froze.
The door opened, and he stepped inside.
He looked different—taller than she remembered, shoulders broader, movements more careful. A black cap was pulled low over his eyes, and a mask covered the lower half of his face, even here, inside their home. Only after the door closed did he take them off.
"Hey," he said, smiling.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she crossed the room in three quick steps and hit his chest with both fists—not hard, but fast, again and again.
"You didn't come," she said, her voice shaking despite herself. "You said you would. You promised you'd try."
He let her hit him. Then he gently caught her wrists and pulled her into his arms, holding her there until her breathing slowed.
"I was there," he said quietly.
She pulled back at once, staring up at him as if he had betrayed her twice.
"You're lying."
He sighed, reached into his bag, and pulled out his phone.
"Sit," he said.
Reluctantly, she dropped onto the edge of the couch. He sat beside her, scrolling for a moment before turning the screen toward her.
He showed a picture he had taken, a selfie near her school. His car was parked near graduation decorations across the main entrance.
She didn't look convinced, so he sighed and added:
"Show me your graduation photos," he said.
Confused, she unlocked her own phone and handed it to him. He didn't linger on the first picture, or the second. He zoomed in on the third.
"There," he said.
She leaned closer.
In the background—half cut off, almost lost near the edge of the frame—stood a man in a plain jacket and cap, mask pulled up, posture deliberately unremarkable. Anyone else would have missed him.
Her breath caught.
"That's—"
"Me," he said.
Her fingers tightened around the phone as she scrolled faster now. Another photo. And another. The same figure. Never close. Never smiling. Always there.
"I couldn't come up to you," he said. "If I had, that day wouldn't have been yours anymore. It would've turned into autographs, photos, whispers. I didn't want that."
Her eyes burned.
"So you chose your popularity over me," she said, bitterly.
"Were you afraid of hurting your public image by visiting your sister's graduation?"
"Not a big enough event for a star of your scale? Is that it oppa?"
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "I chose you."
He put his hand on her head and smiled.
"If I came to you openly, people would start to ask for autographs and photos. I would turn your day into my day. And I didn't want that to happen"
She didn't know how to argue with that.
For a while, they sat in silence. Outside, a car passed, tires hissing through slush. Somewhere in the building, a door slammed.
Finally, he spoke again.
"Soo-yeong," he said, his voice steady. "We are living in a world that listens only to what shines."
She looked at him.
"But understand this—popularity isn't love," he said. "It's just a shield. People don't hurt what they admire.
He hesitated, then added more softly,
"But there is no point in having a shield. If you have nothing left to protect."
She nodded slowly, the words settling somewhere deep, quiet, and permanent.
Later that night, lying in her room, staring at the ceiling, Soo-yeong replayed his words again and again.
I'll have my shield established first. Then I'll decide what's worth protecting.