Episode 20
7 March 2025, Friday. Morning. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 502, 2nd floor, lab section.
The corridor outside the lab was packed with first-years—too many bodies, too much perfume and fabric softener. Too much nervous energy for such a narrow space.
It was their first lab, which meant everyone was pretending to be calm while quietly checking whether someone else looked more prepared.
Some reread the handout. Some laughed too loudly. Most hovered near the lab, fluttering around the door like moths around a streetlamp.
Soo-yeong sat in a chair against the wall with the posture of someone born into applause. Her legs were crossed neatly, her expression composed—almost bored—as she allowed a small circle of girls to orbit her.
Se-a was the loudest planet in that little system.
She talked with bright energy, hands moving as if she were telling a story on stage.
"And I'm telling you, that guy Jun-gi—today he walked past me in the hall and looked so angry that my heart dropped into my shoes. He's been so tense lately. Where did the fun Ha Jun-gi from the initiation go?"
Another girl nodded quickly, eager to agree.
"Right? He's always gloomy. So weird."
Se-a lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, scanning their faces as if she were about to reveal a scandal.
"Girls… I'm serious. He's scary. Good thing we have brave guys in our class. They won't let anything happen to us."
Soo-yeong finally turned her eyes toward her. Slow. Heavy. The kind of look that reminded everyone who decided what was "allowed" to be said.
"Who are you talking about?"
Se-a's gaze flicked away immediately, followed by a quick glance at Ma Chang-woo
She didn't want to say a name—especially not the name of the guy Soo-yeong had already, very publicly, marked as a silly provincial bumpkin.
"Well… you know, Soo-yeong. Why are you asking? I'm not naming anyone. I don't want any of you thinking I'm in love with any of them."
She puffed her cheeks and folded her arms like a sulky little actress.
Soo-yeong smiled—small and satisfied. The tribute had been paid. She nodded once.
"I agree. We got lucky with the boys in our year."
A little farther down the hall, Den stood with Min-jae, half-listening to an animated recap of something that had apparently happened at karaoke the night before. Min-jae talked fast when he was excited, as if he were afraid the memory would escape.
Too fast a flow of information for Den's Korean.
He nodded at the right moments, but his attention kept slipping away.
Because Mi-yeon was there.
Not far—close enough that he could catch her in the corner of his eye without staring too obviously.
It was subtle. Not a transformation that screamed for attention, but the kind that made a person feel newly awake.
Is it a hairstyle? Or maybe her eyes look more defined today, deeper, darker?
Maybe it's the way she holds her shoulders—just a fraction higher
He couldn't pinpoint the change; it was too gentle a shift for a man's eyes to lock on.
She was trying—quietly—to take up a little more space in his world.
But the only thing he managed to feel was a vague, flickering intuition that there was something different about her today.
Den caught himself staring and forced his gaze away.
Why am I thinking about her again?
I should think about Yu-ra.
It is Yu-ra I want to date, don't I?
He cleared his expression, reset his face, and tried to focus on Min-jae again.
Soon the atmosphere shifted.
Yu-ra appeared, and her presence settled over the corridor much like perfume in a small room.
A black business suit. Clean lines. A lab coat worn over it, unbuttoned, as if she had put it on in a hurry but still made it look intentional. Heels—high enough to sharpen her posture, low enough to stay within the invisible rules for a senior and a lab assistant.
She moved like she had a schedule in her bones.
Her gaze found Den for half a second. Warm—but restrained. Professional. If she wanted to greet him like yesterday, she didn't allow herself.
Today she was the ideal assistant. The role model senior.
She unlocked the door, stepped inside, and held it open.
"Please put on lab coats and safety goggles, and gather with your assigned groups."
The first-years filed in, grabbing coats, fumbling with goggles, voices dropping automatically in the presence of glassware and authority.
Not everyone had checked the group list ahead of time, so Yu-ra began reading the assignments aloud in a clear, official tone.
So-mi was calculatedly calm.
She knew she was meant to be with Den and Mi-yeon, and—logically—it suited her. An observant foreigner who effortlessly commanded attention. A "country girl" with strong academics who would be useful in a lab. And her—perfect leader.
An efficient, balanced team. Ideal.
So-mi waited behind them in line, already composed in her coat, as if she had been in labs her whole life.
Mi-yeon, naturally, ended up beside Den. Not because she pushed into his space, but because it felt safer to attach herself to the edge of something stable when the room was full of eyes.
Den stood there, hands in his pockets, the picture of casual indifference.
Then Yu-ra read:
"Group five: Denis Sokolov, Jeong Mi-yeon… and Kim Soo-yeong."
So-mi's eyes changed. Not dramatically—she was too disciplined for that—but her jaw tightened, and her lips pressed together in a thin, controlled line.
First surprise. Then anger, clean and cold.
She didn't even wonder how it happened.
She knew.
Kim Soo-yeong.
Of course.
You little snake.
And now So-mi was pushed into group seven—paired with Ma Chang-woo and Lee Han-bin, two students who were not exactly known for brilliance.
This will affect my lab grade unfavorably.
Her expression remained polite.
But inside, the thought was sharp as a blade:
Fine. You want to cross my path, fox?
Go on. Cross it.
Just don't complain when I step on your tail.
Soo-yeong, meanwhile, didn't even glance at So-mi.
She had already moved.
She slid in between Den and Mi-yeon as if the space belonged to her by birthright, and her voice turned velvety—soft, sweet, and completely artificial.
"How wonderful! The three of us are in the same group!"
She beamed like she was hosting a talk show.
"Den will do the actual experiment because he's brave and not afraid of reagents. Mi-yeon, you'll tell us what to do, since you're the top student. We'll rely on you. And I—since I'm the prettiest and my handwriting is perfect—I'll record the results and make our presentation."
She tilted her head, smiling as if this were teamwork, not a takeover.
"We're going to be the best group. Agreed?"
Den's stomach turned at the falseness in her tone—and at how she placed herself, physically, like a barrier between him and Mi-yeon.
So he didn't play along. He didn't argue. He simply said the first honest thing that came to him, flat and uninterested.
"Whatever works."
Mi-yeon flinched internally at the casual knife Soo-yeong had just slid into the conversation—a designed, measured reminder: prettiest.
She forced herself to nod obediently. "Yes… okay."
But inside, her thoughts were already collapsing into the familiar spiral.
Who am I kidding?
I put mascara on like I'm someone pretty.
Den probably didn't even notice.
Next to Soo-yeong I'm still… nothing.
And of course she had to be in our group.
Is this some cruel joke of the universe?
Yu-ra waited until the room settled into groups. Her expression stayed neutral, professional—no trace of the small personal currents moving between people.
Then she began explaining the purpose of today's experiment, her voice clean and steady, as if the lab were a world where emotions didn't exist.
But the first-years were not listening equally.
Some focused on the chemicals.
Some focused on who was standing too close to whom.
Mi-yeon—standing with Den's presence on one side and Soo-yeong's performance on the other—felt, once again, like she was trapped in the middle of a story she hadn't chosen.
The burner ignited with a soft whoomph.
Den adjusted the flame automatically, the movement practiced and steady. He began pouring the reagents into the test tubes exactly as instructed—hands calm, posture relaxed—while Mi-yeon stood beside him, holding the instruction sheet with both hands.
Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"Now add the acid… slowly. Yes. Stop there. Next is the indicator."
She didn't sound uncertain. In moments like this, chemistry was her refuge. Here, rules existed. Reactions obeyed logic. If you did everything right, the world answered correctly.
From the side, So-mi stepped closer.
Her expression was neutral, polite—perfectly harmless.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said evenly. "Our copy of the instructions printed badly. In step fifteen the symbols are unclear. Could I borrow yours for a moment? Just to be sure we're doing it right."
Mi-yeon didn't hesitate.
"O-of course."
She handed over the sheet immediately, relieved to be useful.
So-mi took it, nodding in thanks. She pulled out a black pen and leaned slightly over her own paper, copying symbols with deliberate slowness. She looked focused, diligent.
And then—smoothly, precisely—she added a tiny dot.
A single mark.
Barely noticeable.
On Mi-yeon's sheet, 12 ml became 1.2 ml.
Nothing more.
She handed the paper back.
"Thank you. That helped."
Mi-yeon smiled faintly, unaware of what had just changed.
The group continued.
When it came to step fifteen, they heated, mixed, and waited.
Nothing happened.
The solution stayed stubbornly clear.
Around them, other groups' test tubes began to change color—soft yellows, pale reds, the satisfying signs of success.
Soo-yeong noticed immediately.
She crossed her arms, irritation flashing across her perfect face.
"Why did everyone else's solution change and ours didn't?" she snapped. "You're doing something wrong."
Her gaze was fixed on Mi-yeon.
"I trusted you. I thought you were good at chemistry. This is really disappointing."
Den frowned, staring into the test tube. He could tell the reaction had failed—but not why.
Mi-yeon felt heat crawl up her neck.
Her fingers trembled as she checked the instructions again. And again. And again.
I followed everything.
I did.
I don't understand…
Yu-ra approached, having noticed the stalled group.
She studied the setup calmly.
"Hmm. Looks like a proportion issue."
She pointed lightly.
"How many milliliters of acid did you add? And to what temperature did you heat it? How much methyl orange?"
She glanced at Soo-yeong's notes, then paused.
"…Why only 1.2 ml?"
Mi-yeon's stomach dropped. She swallowed.
"That's… that's what it says, Sunbae…"
She held out the instruction sheet with both hands.
Yu-ra looked at it.
And understood everything.
Four years at the university had trained her eye. She remembered So-mi coming over. Asking for the paper. Lingering just a little too long.
But Yu-ra didn't react outwardly.
No scene. No accusations.
She knew better.
Instead, she spoke evenly.
"The printer in this building really needs cleaning. That's not a decimal point, Mi-yeon. Just ink dirt."
She tapped the page once.
"Add the missing volume to correct the ratio. You added too little of the indicator."
Then, casually:
"If you need to compare results, you can check with Group Seven. I'm sure So-mi would be happy to share her observations."
Her eyes flicked briefly to So-mi.
Just long enough. To confirm that she was not pleased.
"Focus on making a solid report. I won't deduct points for this experiment. The mistake wasn't yours."
Den, Mi-yeon, and Soo-yeong bowed in unison.
"Yes, thank you, sunbae."
They returned to work.
Den said nothing—but something settled quietly into place in his mind.
Mi-yeon took a deep breath, forced her hands steady, and began recalculating the missing volume.
Soo-yeong exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes, as if only Mi-yeon could have made such an obvious mistake.
The lab was different now.
Some reactions—not chemical ones—had changed it.
7 March 2025, Friday. Noon. Duremidam, Building 75, across the road from SNU's chemistry faculty.
Min-jae talked Den into it with the persistence of a man who believed deeply in two things: spicy noodles and shared suffering.
Den didn't hide his lack of enthusiasm.
A small, cramped noodle place. Student discounts plastered on the window. The unmistakable smell of chili oil and something vaguely medicinal.
He sighed, already imagining the consequences.
"Fine," Den said at last. "Let's go. But I've got a feeling I'll earn a stomach ulcer here faster than a diploma."
Min-jae burst out laughing.
"Then I'll visit you in the hospital and tell you all about the girls who switched their attention to me after you took academic leave."
"Yeah," Den smirked. "That's exactly the part that scares me the most."
They grinned at each other and pushed the door open.
A bell rang overhead.
Inside, it was warm, loud, and unmistakably student territory. They took an empty table by the wall and started flipping through laminated menus filled with ominously red photos.
Min-jae leaned back.
"So? How do you like studying in Korea so far?"
Den studied the menu carefully, as if it might attack him.
"Hard. So far."
Min-jae nodded knowingly.
"Language barrier?"
Den shook his head slightly.
"Cultural."
Min-jae chuckled under his breath.
A waitress approached, smiling brightly, bowing just enough to be polite without effort. She waited patiently while Min-jae launched into recommendations, gesturing enthusiastically at the spiciest options.
Den listened with visible suspicion.
While they ordered, the conversation drifted—first-week impressions, professors, dorm life, the unspoken exhaustion that came with being new.
Den didn't say it out loud, but somewhere in the back of his mind there was a faint regret.
Guess I won't see Mi-yeon at lunch today.
7 March 2025, Friday. Noon. SNU's chemistry faculty, connecting passage between Buildings 500 and 502.
Ha Jun-gi was done waiting.
After being shut down by Ko Su-ho, humiliated in the pool, and ignored by everyone who mattered, the frustration had fermented into something bitter and reckless.
If the student council wouldn't back him—he would handle it himself.
He found Baek So-mi, the group representative, and cornered her with practiced authority.
"Tell every freshman who was with you in Tuesday's swimming class to gather at the end of the labs corridor on the second floor. The one near the unused classrooms."
His tone left little room for discussion.
"That group behavior has been unacceptable. As a senior, I'm going to have a talk with them, before things get completely out of hand."
Formally, he had no such right.
However, first-years usually didn't argue with upperclassmen. He expected fear and obedience to do the work for him.
So-mi had little of either. But she didn't see the point of fighting battles that weren't hers.
Jun-gi wants to puff his cheeks?
Great. I love free entertainment.
She answered calmly:
"Okay. I will send the request."
And added to make it perfectly clear.
"On your behalf."
Messages started spreading.
One by one, students headed toward the quieter end of the building, uneasy but compliant, whispering questions to each other.
Something was wrong.
Something felt off.
And no one questioned it.
But Den and Min-jae were still in the noodle shop, debating whether "medium spicy" was a lie told to foreigners.
Their phones buzzed—once, twice, more.
They hadn't seen it yet. Deep diving into heated discussion about video games preferences.
And so, while the broth began to boil for their order, tension gathered elsewhere—waiting for the one person who had caused it, but wasn't there to stop it.