Episode 29
7 April 2025, Monday. Late afternoon. Bus stop near SNU's upper campus.
Several weeks had passed since the start of the semester.
That polite, shy guy and the girl with the radiant smile were sitting at the bus stop again—the same one they always drifted back to after classes, chasing a few stolen minutes beside each other.
They knew each other's names and even exchanged brief greetings in the morning. Sometimes they sat near each other in lectures, or ended up at neighboring tables in the cafeteria. Not close. Not friends. Just… familiar.
She arrived first.
She stepped onto the bus stop platform and sat down on the bench, smoothing her denim skirt and tugging lightly at the hem of her pink jacket. She placed her bag beside her feet and crossed her ankles neatly.
While waiting, her gaze kept betraying her, drifting toward the path from campus—the one he usually took.
Why am I even looking over there?
The bus definitely won't come from that direction.
Like I have nothing better to do.
She frowned slightly.
Of course I have better things to do!
I need to make a plan for the evening.
And for tomorrow.
And for the holidays.
And here I am, thinking about nonsense.
She straightened a little, as if scolding herself.
All right. Focus. What am I doing tonight? First, to cook dinner. And then—
Oh. There he is.
He appeared at the edge of the path, walking at a hurried pace. She felt an infuriating mix—irritation tangled with joy.
Finally!
As if I'm meant to sit here waiting for him forever.
She puffed her cheeks faintly.
The buses come pretty often, you know? You could have come earlier if you wanted to spend more time with me!
Ugh… boys nowadays.
He approached the stop and bowed politely.
"Hello again, Yuna-ssi."
She nodded in return.
"Hello, Do-hwa-ssi."
A brief pause.
He asked carefully, "Are you… going home now?"
She smiled awkwardly and nodded.
"Yes."
He nodded too, mirroring her movement without thinking.
They looked away almost at once, their gazes scattering in opposite directions. Silence pooled between them.
Do-hwa's thoughts began to race.
I should say something else.
Anything.
Maybe ask if she likes general physics?
No, that's terrible. No one likes that.
Or say the weather is nice? That's even worse.
I need something casual. Something natural.
Something that doesn't sound stupid.
Yuna turned her head slightly and looked at the back of his head for a few seconds. A thin line of disappointment touched her expression.
And that's it?
Are you really not interested in me at all?
You could at least say something. Anything. A compliment. Even something stupid about the weather would be better than this silent treatment.
Why are you turned away again? Unbelievable!
Just ask me to eat together already. Is that really so hard?
She frowned.
I refuse to believe someone can be this uninterested in a girl. That's impossible.
All right, that's it.
I'll make you look at me. You asked for it.
She crossed her legs, straightened her back, and sat up properly. Then she coughed—almost demonstratively—casting a challenging glance in his direction.
Do-hwa flinched and instinctively turned his head.
For exactly one second, his eyes landed on her elegantly crossed legs.
One second too long.
Realizing she was looking straight at him, he snapped his gaze away and felt heat rush to his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.
Yuna smiled triumphantly—then almost immediately scowled.
Aha! You looked. I knew it!
Ugh. Pervert! You boys are all the same.
All you do is stare, but when it comes to inviting a girl to have a meal together, suddenly there's not a single brave soul to be found.
Seriously. It's infuriating.
At that moment, Do-hwa noticed a bus approaching.
His bus.
Like someone spotting a lifeboat, he stood up too quickly, nearly jumping to his feet, ready to escape.
His thoughts tumbled over each other.
Why does Yuna have to be so beautiful?
And in that skirt… is it even legal to be that attractive?
If she keeps acting like this, I'll never work up the courage to ask her out.
I need a plan C.
Because I don't have the courage for plan A.
And I'm obviously lacking communication skills for plan B.
Just before boarding, he almost raised his hand in a small wave.
Almost.
For a split second, it seemed like she might have waved back.
Or maybe that was just Do-hwa's imagination.
The bus doors closed.
He turned away, unsure.
14 April 2025, Monday. Evening. SNU, women's dormitory.
A week passed quickly, swallowed by lectures, lab reports, and quiet anticipation of the upcoming student festival.
Mi-yeon dropped her bag from her shoulder with a dull thud, kicked off her shoes by the door, and dragged herself into the kitchen.
Han-bin was making coffee.
Mi-yeon sank onto a chair, propped her face in her hands, and declared to no one in particular:
"Life is unfair."
Han-bin was in the middle of reading a message from Min-jae and smiling at her phone. Without looking up, she reached for two mugs.
"What happened this time?"
Mi-yeon sighed, long and tired.
"I always wanted to serve tables at the student festival," she said.
"You know… carrying food, smiling in a cute apron, having people smile back and say, 'Miss, could we get more of your delicious pork?' And I'd say, 'Of course, I'll bring it right away.'"
She stared at the tabletop, half dreamy, half bitter.
"And then someone would take photos. And I'd send them to Mom and Dad so they'd know how fun and lively university life is."
Han-bin finally looked at her—slowly, skeptically.
"You have very strange ideas of fun," she said. "But what's the problem? Go talk to the class rep. Say you want to help."
Mi-yeon sighed again.
"I did."
She paused.
"And now I'll be collecting dirty dishes and taking out the trash."
Han-bin froze, mug halfway to the counter.
Mi-yeon continued quietly, as if listing facts she had already accepted.
"So-mi said only the pretty girls and guys should serve food.
Soo-yeong and Se-a will serve tables.
Den will grill meat.
Chang-woo will pour drinks and cook Korean food."
She shrugged weakly.
"And apparently… I'm only good enough for trash duty."
Han-bin let out a sharp, angry snort.
"That snake," she snapped.
"Are you kidding me? You're a thousand times prettier than Soo-yeong and Se-a."
She slammed the mugs onto the counter.
"Do you want me to go and say that straight to So-mi? Let her take out the garbage."
Mi-yeon lifted her head in alarm.
"No, no! Don't!"
She exhaled, defeated.
"So-mi is right. Look at them… and look at me."
She lowered her head onto the table.
"At least Den will be there. With him, things feel easier."
She turned her face slightly.
"Will you come to the festival? To support us?"
Han-bin smiled instantly.
"Of course. I'll drag Min-jae with me too. And honestly—if Den is there with you, who cares what those sly vixens think?"
Mi-yeon smiled, soft and distant.
"He's nice," she said.
"Right, Han-bin?"
Han-bin stopped mid-motion. Even the coffee stopped pouring.
She looked at Mi-yeon carefully.
"Nice? Yes, sure.
And… you asked me about him like that… why?"
Mi-yeon flushed.
"No reason. I just—"
She shrugged.
"I don't know why I asked."
Han-bin hummed, unconvinced.
"Right…"
But she let it go.
She brought the mugs to the table, set one in front of Mi-yeon, and sat down as well.
Then, almost immediately, she started rambling—too fast, too much.
"I still feel awkward around Den," Han-bin blurted. "Because of that night at the freshman party. When he had to carry me around passed out. He probably thinks I'm some stupid, reckless girl."
She gripped her mug.
"And what if he finds out Min-jae invited me to the movies? He'll definitely tell him. He'll say, 'Don't date her. She drinks too much and hangs around seniors in the park.'"
Her voice dropped.
"That would be so embarrassing. Min-jae wouldn't even want to eat lunch with me anymore."
Mi-yeon looked at her gently.
"Don't spiral like that," she said softly.
"First of all, I'm sure Den wouldn't do that. And second—even if Min-jae found out, he wouldn't suddenly stop thinking well of you."
She tilted her head.
"If it bothers you that much… just tell him."
Han-bin took a big sip of coffee.
"Are you out of your mind?" she scoffed.
"Tell him that? No way."
She straightened up, resolute.
"First Min-jae has to say we're dating. Then maybe I'll tell him things. When he's already mine."
She puffed out her cheeks.
"Until then, I'll let him think I'm the sweetest little kitten with fluffy fur and pink paws."
She pressed her fists to her cheeks in an exaggeratedly cute pose.
Mi-yeon burst out laughing.
"Han-bin, you're impossible."
Han-bin grinned over her mug, utterly unapologetic.
14 April 2025, Monday. Late evening. Baek So-mi's Family Residence.The office was too large for one person.
Dark wood. Glass walls. A city view that looked impressive but felt cold at night. Everything smelled faintly of leather, paper, and money.
So-mi stood straight in front of her father's desk, hands folded neatly in front of her, back perfectly aligned. She had learned that posture early—before she had learned how to cry quietly.
Her father did not raise his voice.
He never had to.
He scanned the report on his tablet, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.
"Second place," he said at last.
Two words. Flat. Heavy.
So-mi swallowed.
"I'm first in every other subject," she replied quickly, carefully.
"Physics. Mathematics. English. Even the lab reports—"
Her father finally looked up.
His gaze was calm. Surgical.
"You are enrolled in the Chemistry Department," he said.
"What use are the other subjects if you are not first in chemistry?"
The words were precise. Clean. Merciless.
So-mi's fingers tightened, nails biting into her own skin.
"There was a small deviation in the grading curve," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice.
"One student performed unusually well. It won't happen again."
Her father set the tablet down.
"You don't compete with curves," he said.
"You compete with people."
A pause.
"If someone can outperform you once, they can do it again."
So-mi opened her mouth—
He raised a hand. Not aggressively. Casually.
Conversation over.
"I didn't raise you to be 'almost the best,'" he continued.
"I raised you to take your place under the sun. And that place is never given. It's taken."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not softness. But something close to concern.
"Don't disappoint yourself," he finished.
That, somehow, hurt more.
So-mi bowed. Perfectly. Mechanically.
"Yes, Father."
She turned and walked out.
Her heels struck the marble floor in a sharp, controlled rhythm. She didn't run. She didn't slow down. She didn't let anyone see her face.
Only when she reached her room did she close the door.
Not slam it.
Close it.
She slid down the door and sat on the floor, knees drawn up, back pressed to the cold wood.
Her lips were pressed tight.
She didn't sob. Didn't gasp.
She made no sound.
She just let the tears fall—silent, controlled, disciplined—tracing neat lines down her cheeks.
The kind of crying that left no evidence.
Her reflection in the darkened window looked composed even now. Beautiful. Untouchable.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, jaw tightening.
Then, very softly—so softly it was almost a thought—she whispered:
"Damn you, Mi-yeon."
Her fingers curled into fists.
"Why do you always cause me trouble?"