Episode 28
22 March 2025, Saturday. Midnight. The Nexen Tire Speedway Festival, Yongin Speedway.
He spoke quietly.
"Yeah… let's go."
Den slid off the hood in one smooth motion, landing on the ground with the ease of someone suddenly tired of being watched. The noise, the crowd, the eyes—he left all of it behind in that single movement.
Then he looked up and held out his hand to Yu-ra.
She took it without hesitation.
The way she did said everything: trust, thrill, a deliberate choice to stay within his gravity a little longer.
She swung one leg down from the hood.
The metal was smooth.
For half a second, she was weightless.
She wouldn't fall—she knew it, and so did he.
But she wanted him to catch her.
And he already had.
One arm came around her shoulders, the other settled at her waist, instinctive and precise, as if this was exactly how it had been meant to happen.
She ended up in his arms.
Not a brush. Not an accident.
A full, undeniable closeness.
Her chest pressed against his, her stomach against his, her breath warm near his chin. The scent of her—perfume, skin, night air—hit him all at once, bright, electric, disorienting.
Her fingers clutched his jacket to steady herself.
Then… they did not let go.
She stood a little too close. For far too long.
Their eyes met.
She smiled slowly—satisfied, amused—like a predator who had fallen straight into his arms and decided to like it there.
"Oh…"
Her voice was low, soft, wrapping around him.
"You caught me… and I enjoyed it."
A beat.
"You should have warned me, Den. That I might like it too much."
He answered quietly.
"In my defense, I did warn you."
Yu-ra remained pressed against him.
She didn't step back. Unwilling to create distance.
Her gaze slid over his face, down his neck, lingered on his lips—then rose again to meet his eyes. The pause stretched.
"So?" she murmured.
"Are you going to keep holding me… or let me go?"
It was the kind of moment where he could have done anything.
And she would have let him.
The night hummed around them, engines and voices blurring into nothing. Inside that small pocket of space, there were only the two of them.
She felt his breath change. His strength. His restraint.
And she knew—he was not fighting her.
He was fighting himself.
Her voice dropped even lower, meant only for him.
"If you let me go… we'll just be friends. We'll get in the car, go home, and tonight will become a nice memory."
A pause.
"But if you don't…"
She lifted her eyes fully to his.
"I'll invite you in. I'll fall asleep with you. I'll wake up early to fix my makeup. We'll eat croissants for breakfast, and you'll be mine—not just for a night. For something real."
Her words were calm. Honest. Dangerous.
"I'll be sweet to you," she continued softly.
"And merciless to any girl who looks at you for too long. I'll make sure you see no eyes but mine."
Den inhaled sharply—not from the intimacy, but from the weight of her trust.
She finished quietly, the playful curve of her smile fading into something still and sad.
"If you tame me… please don't hurt me. That's all I ask."
They stood like that for a long moment, still held together.
Then Den spoke.
His voice was rough, unfamiliar even to himself.
"I like you. A lot. From day one, I wanted to be with you. In fact, you are so overwhelmingly attractive that restraining myself right now feels wrong."
He swallowed.
"Yu-ra… I'm sorry."
A pause.
"Another girl has taken root in my heart, against my will, completely without my consent."
He did not look away.
"I don't want to lose you in my life. But I would betray you if I said I think only of you."
Yu-ra blinked.
Slowly.
The light in her eyes changed—not dimming, but shifting. From fire to something calmer. Sharper.
He continued, barely above a whisper, as if admitting it to himself for the first time.
"What I feel makes no sense. Logically—you're better in every way."
A faint, sad smile touched his lips.
"With stars, it's not about brightness. The one you end up orbiting becomes your sun. Her light feels warmer, even if she is the smallest sun of all."
Yu-ra listened.
She did not interrupt. She did not pull away.
Her fingers still gripped his jacket—not with desire now, but because his honesty struck harder than any kiss could have.
Finally, she stepped back, just a few centimeters. Enough to see his whole face.
Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet and clear.
"I guess I knew that already. I'm not blind. I just needed to hear it from you."
Her fingers brushed his cheek—gentle, almost grateful.
"You're painfully honest. You could easily manipulate me. Promise what you can't give. Tell me sweet lies. I had no will to resist anymore."
A pause.
Yu-ra smirked ironically.
"You give very little reason to hate you. Couldn't you have been at least a little bit of a jerk?"
Then, softer still:
"Kiss me… once."
She smiled—not victorious, not bitter. A beautiful, composed smile of a woman who understood everything.
"It's my night. I want to feel like you're letting me go… not rejecting me."
She gently freed herself from his arms.
But her palm rested against his chest.
And she waited.
Den nodded slowly.
Accepting the boundary she had drawn.
He looked at her.
Yu-ra's breathing shifted, just slightly.
She closed her eyes.
He leaned in and kissed her.
The kiss was not long. Not greedy.
There was no hunger that tore everything apart.
It was his way of making her feel that she was beautiful. That she mattered.
That there were no regrets.
The kiss was soft, steady, adult.
Five seconds that became a seal of a respectful, gentle memory.
He tasted her lips—sweet with perfume, faintly salty from sunflower seeds, cool with the night air.
Her breath.
Her warmth.
And the way, for a single heartbeat, she leaned closer—not asking for more, simply accepting the moment.
The kiss stilled.
Their lips lingered a breath apart.
Then he slowly pulled back.
He looked into her eyes—calm, honest.
Yu-ra took a small breath, as if returning from a parallel world.
And finally, she spoke quietly, yet firmly.
"Just so you know… if I had the chance to go back and choose never to see you, I would do it all over again. Totally worth it."
Her eyes were warm, slightly hazy, touched with only the faintest sadness.
She smiled—the real kind, unperformed, seen by very few.
Then Yu-ra touched his chin lightly.
"Let's go," she said.
"Just… don't drive fast. I want this evening to last a little longer."
She walked around the car, opened the door, and got in.
He closed it carefully behind her.
Then he took the driver's seat.
The night around them was dark, heavy with the scent of rubber, gasoline, and something unfamiliar.
The UAZ engine started with a deep, steady, confident growl.
Den drove home with a girl who could have easily become his everything, but had never been meant to be.
And the universe, as it often did, remained indifferent to what either of them thought about that.
It had a mind of its own.
Somewhere in the east, a thin red line appeared.
Dawn was coming.
Road markings slipped obediently beneath the wheels.
When the UAZ entered the streets of Seoul again, Yu-ra was already peacefully dozing in the passenger seat.
And in that moment, everything aligned into a single, quiet understanding.
I just missed my moment with Yu-ra—the most attractive, amazing, perfect girl in every way.
Purposely.
And with that realization came another, far more frightening.
Because I am somehow hopelessly in love with Mi-yeon.
Den smirked to himself.
Go figure.
23 March 2025, Sunday. Before dawn. The Nexen Tire Speedway Festival, Yongin Speedway.
What neither Den nor Yu-ra realized yet was that the night had not passed without a trace.
Somewhere outside Seoul, a festival photographer—a cheerful man with a Canon EOS, always hunting for "atmosphere"—had been capturing cars, smoke, cheering crowds, harsh headlights.
And then his eye had caught something else.
A black UAZ.
A stunning young woman falling into a man's arms.
Neon lights framing them like a scene from a film.
He took a series of photographs.
Very good ones.
He did not know who they were.
He was not searching for scandal.
As usual, he uploaded an album to the festival website.
Seoul Midnight Runs—Night Series #47
Out of ninety-three photographs, four were theirs.
One of them captured the exact moment of the kiss—his hand at her waist, her fingers gripping his jacket, her eyes closed.
Context lost.
Meaning distorted.
The comments began to appear:
"Pretty girls always find a guy, lol."
"Is that a UAZ? I didn't expect Seoul to have one."
"Does anyone know who these two are?"