Episode 23
9 March 2025, Sunday. Early afternoon.Starfield COEX Mall.
Min-jae walked past the massive aquarium, colorful fish drifting lazily behind the thick glass, as if demonstrating that they had nowhere important to be.
Unlike most people wandering the mall as if it were a museum—let's walk everywhere, try everything, see everything—Min-jae had come with clear objectives.
First: buy dress shoes.
He smirked to himself.
This is ridiculous.
He had never worn dress shoes in his life. What was wrong with sneakers? Everyone wore sneakers. Everyone. They were comfortable. Logical.
Everyone except Den, that is.
In Den's worldview, wearing sneakers with classic trousers was apparently a crime against the universe. Den seemed convinced ancient gods would eventually rise from their slumber and punish anyone who dared pair sneakers with trousers.
The memory of their conversation drifted back to Min-jae:
"Hyung, when are you finally going to start wearing sneakers?" Min-jae had complained.
"Why do you walk around in dress shoes like you're going to a job interview instead of university? They're uncomfortable!"
Den had closed his book. Looked at him lazily from his bed.
"And why does that concern you, Min-jae?"
Min-jae had even stood up from his own bed, suddenly passionate.
"Because when you walk around like that—so polished, so stylish—and I don't, all the girls keep looking at you. That's not fair."
Den had looked at him with mild confusion, then faint amusement.
"Min-jae," he had said calmly, "if you're sure it's about the shoes… then buy dress shoes."
Now Min-jae looked down at his feet.
The new shoes fit perfectly. Clean lines. Subtle shine. He had put them on immediately after buying them. His sneakers were now resting inside the shoebox, tucked neatly into a shopping bag.
He gently patted the box with his free hand.
"Don't worry, my dear ones," he whispered solemnly. "I won't abandon you. I'll wear you every time there are no evil Russians around."
His second goal at the mall was far more exciting.
Gacha.
Capsule toy machines. Collectibles. Tiny figures sealed in plastic spheres—random, addictive, and deeply irrational for a university student with limited money.
I'm already an adult, Min-jae reassured himself for the thousandth time.
I'm just… building a collection for my future children.
That was the logic. Questionable, but comforting.
He rode the escalator up to the second floor and headed into a small specialty shop. Inside were shelves of manhwa, stacks of books, plush toys—and, most importantly, rows of brightly colored gacha machines lined up like a corridor of temptation.
Min-jae's eyes lit up.
Some habits, after all, didn't disappear just because life moved forward.
Just a couple of dozen meters away, Lee Han-bin climbed the stairs to the second floor of the same mall, barely restraining herself from breaking into a run.
Her heart fluttered in anticipation.
I studied properly all week, she justified herself firmly.
I deserve a little personal happiness.
What was so wrong about a young woman collecting cute little figurines? Nothing at all. Girls were allowed to enjoy adorable things. And besides—no one would ever know.
With that comforting logic, she slipped into the same shop Min-jae had entered just a minute earlier and headed straight for the gacha section.
Min-jae saw her first.
He noticed her as she passed the counter, politely greeting the shop clerk in a soft voice.
His soul left his body.
Oh no! This is not happening!
What is Lee Han-bin doing here?!
This is it. This is the end.
She's going to find out that I collect gacha.
She'll laugh. She'll tell everyone at the university.
My life is over.
Why her? Out of all the girls in Seoul—why does it have to be Han-bin?!
Panicking, Min-jae took several hurried steps backward and found himself wedged into the comic section.
And at that exact moment, Han-bin noticed him.
Shock, surprise, and embarrassment collided on her face all at once.
"Kang Min-jae?!" she blurted out. "What are you doing here?"
Min-jae's brain shut down.
Without looking, he grabbed the nearest book off the shelf and held it up between them like a shield, forcing a nervous smile.
"M-me? Oh, uh… this!" he said quickly.
"See? I came to buy manhwa. I read on the subway—when I visit my parents, or—"
Han-bin's eyes widened.
She leaned closer, stared at the cover, then recoiled.
"That's an erotic comic," she said flatly.
"You read this on the subway? What are you, a total pervert?"
Min-jae froze.
He stared at the book in his hands as if it had suddenly turned venomous. Panicking, he flailed his arms and shoved it back onto the shelf.
"W-what?! No! No, no, no!" he stammered.
"I—I grabbed the wrong one! I just panicked when you showed up and picked the first thing I touched! I'm not like that!"
Han-bin looked at him with mild, friendly suspicion.
"Is that so?" she said. "Well… just in case, I'm definitely not riding the subway with you."
Min-jae, red all the way to the tips of his ears, swallowed hard and desperately tried to change the subject.
"And you?" he asked quickly. "Why did you come here, Han-bin?"
Now it was her turn to panic.
I'm dead.
If I tell him I collect gacha, he'll laugh.
I'll die of embarrassment right here.
"M-me?" she said, bowing slightly for no reason at all.
"I, um… I came to buy gacha for my… little niece. You know—how kids like that stuff…"
She bowed again. Completely unnecessarily.
"She really likes them."
Min-jae nodded instantly, completely abandoning the topic of comics.
"Oh! Really?" he said brightly.
"Then let's go buy them quickly… for your niece! What if you get something rare? That would be amazing!"
He finds that amazing?
Han-bin blinked and returned his smile.
And just like that, the tension shifted—awkwardness dissolving into something lighter, almost fun—as they headed together toward the gacha machines.
Han-bin fed the machine with the money she had carefully set aside, capsule after capsule dropping into the tray with dull, indifferent clicks.
One after another—duplicates.
Figures she already had.
Nothing rare. Nothing special.
She tried to keep her expression light, even cute—but her mood was sinking fast. The kind of disappointment that tried to smile and failed.
Min-jae noticed.
At some quiet, instinctive level, he started to understand that these gacha mattered to Han-bin more than she was willing to admit.
Before he could overthink it, before common sense caught up with him, he reached into his pocket.
"Hey," he said almost casually. "Let me try."
Han-bin turned to him immediately, shaking her head.
"No, I can't," she said. "I can't let you spend your money. You don't even know my niece. That wouldn't be right."
Min-jae shrugged, forcing a small, easy smile.
"Then it's a good thing I'm not doing it for your niece," he replied. "I'm doing it for you. I can tell you're disappointed."
Han-bin hesitated.
"If I get something interesting," he continued, "I'll give it to you. And you'll buy me lunch at the food court. Deal?"
Han-bin's face lit up instantly.
"Deal!" she said brightly. "Hurry—put the coins in!"
The first try—nothing special.
The second—still nothing.
On the third capsule, the machine rattled, clicked… and dropped a figure that made both of them freeze.
Something worthy. Really rare. The kind neither of them had.
They reacted at the same time—sharp gasps, hands flying to mouths, voices overlapping.
"No way—!"
"Are you serious?!"
Min-jae laughed, stunned by their luck, then picked it up and handed it to her.
"A promise is a promise," he said. "It's yours. But now you're obligated. Fried chicken. And a fish pastry. No excuses."
Han-bin accepted the figure with both hands, eyes shining.
"For this," she said earnestly, "I'll buy you anything you want. Let's go—this needs celebrating!"
They bought food, found seats, and ate together—talking over each other, laughing too loudly, replaying the moment again and again.
After a while, Han-bin grew quieter.
She looked down, then admitted softly, "actually… There is no niece. I've been collecting these since school."
She shrugged, embarrassed.
"Please don't laugh. I just… I like them."
Min-jae stopped chewing.
"Oh," he said, then cleared his throat.
"In that case… I wasn't here for comics either. I collect gacha too. I just got embarrassed and panicked earlier."
Han-bin looked up sharply.
"What? Then no—I can't take this figure! It's yours!"
Min-jae waved it off with a gentle smile.
"No, really. I already have this one. And besides," he added, glancing at the half-empty plate, "I've eaten half the chicken already. How am I supposed to give that back?"
He met her eyes.
"I want you to have it."
Han-bin looked away, cheeks warm.
She didn't say anything more—but she held the figure a little closer.
After lunch, they wandered together into the arcade zone.
They weren't a couple.
They didn't feel like one.
They didn't hold hands or lean into each other.
They were just spending time together—lightly, easily—the way only children really knew how to do.
And yet, from the outside, anyone would have assumed they were together. They smiled. They looked comfortable. It was obvious that being near each other felt natural.
As they walked toward the game machines, Min-jae bragged, half-serious, half-showing off:
"I'm actually really good at games."
Han-bin laughed softly, giving him a sideways look.
"Oh? We'll see about that."
First, she beat him at motorcycle racing—smooth turns, fearless acceleration.
Then she destroyed him in the basketball shooting game, landing throw after throw with ridiculous ease.
Min-jae stared at the score, wounded in spirit.
"It's just because we're not playing the games I'm actually good at," he muttered.
"Come on. Shooting games. There I'll definitely win."
They moved to a two-player VR shooter, fighting waves of monsters.
Min-jae played like it was a tactical exercise. His movements were controlled, almost professional—trigger discipline, clean room entries, smart use of cover, deliberate positioning. Watching his avatar, one could almost mistake him for a military professional.
Han-bin, on the other hand, burst into rooms like a storm.
She fired wildly, screamed, laughed, barely aimed at all.
And somehow—somehow—she still ended up with more points.
When the results flashed on the screen, Min-jae let out a hollow laugh.
"What a disgrace," he said, shaking his head, without a trace of bitterness.
"Losing my favorite game to a girl. The world will never be the same."
Han-bin laughed brightly—not at him, just enjoying the moment.
"Oh, Min-jae, don't be so dramatic. Maybe you'll win at the dance game?"
"I won't even try," he replied immediately.
She studied him for a few seconds. A spark of mischief flickered in her eyes.
"Then I'll dance one last time for myself."
She started the dance simulator.
She wasn't dancing for herself or for the score.
She was dancing for him—though she didn't admit it, not even in her own head.
Min-jae waited nearby, leaning against a machine, smiling like an idiot. He watched her awkward, enthusiastic, adorable movements. Sometimes he chuckled, rolled his eyes, or looked away in mock embarrassment—down at the floor.
But no matter how much he tried not to, his eyes kept finding her.
9 March 2025, Sunday. Evening. SNU, women's dormitory.
Han-bin returned to the dorm.
Mi-yeon was still in the village with her family, which meant the room was entirely hers for the night.
She kicked off her shoes, set her bag on the table, then wandered into the small kitchen. She made herself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and only then reached into the pocket of her jacket. Her fingers closed around the small, precious figurine.
She hung the jacket on the back of a chair, then, clutching the figurine tightly, hurried to her bed and flopped down onto it.
At first, her face lit up with pure joy—the simple happiness of adding a rare piece to her collection.
Then the expression softened. A trace of sadness crept in, followed by doubt… and almost immediately, a warm, quiet smile replaced it.
Han-bin lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to herself.
Min-jae… he's such a sweetheart.
I always thought I liked cool, distant guys…
Untouchable. Cold. Isn't that my type?
Min-jae is definitely too cute for that.
He is just… soft. A little clumsy. Almost plush-like.
And yet—he feels familiar. Comfortable.
He feels… mine.
She smiled to herself.
"I'll put the figurine next to my bed for now," she murmured quietly.
"I can add it to the collection later."
She placed the small figure carefully on the bedside table.
For now, she wanted it there—a tiny reminder of Min-jae.