Episode 36
19 May 2025, Monday. Early evening. SNU's park zone, Jahayeon pond.
Mi-yeon and Den fed the ducks for a few minutes.
He was smiling; she was laughing—bright, ringing laughter.
Not because feeding birds was some life-changing thrill, but because Den narrated the whole thing like a sports commentator, as if the ducks were professional athletes fighting for a championship title.
When she finally caught her breath, she watched him brush crumbs off his hands and address the ducks with mock seriousness.
"Alright. I made her laugh. Thank you for your support, feathered friends. I'm in your debt."
The ducks answered with a few confident quacks that, to Mi-yeon's ears, sounded like:
Yeah, bro. We're out. You're on your own now.
They paddled away with businesslike dignity.
Mi-yeon looked at Den and bit her lip, studying him in this unfamiliar version—not the calm, guarded foreign student, but a simple, funny guy.
Someone who knew how to make a moment feel safe.
She asked softly, "Han-bin said you told Min-jae you're good at dancing. Is that true?"
Den dropped his gaze to the grass, smiling like he had been caught.
"Min-jae… that loudmouth."
A beat passed.
"But… yeah. I'm decent."
He listed it as if it were normal.
"Slow waltz. French tango. Cuban rumba. A few other dances. Back home, ballroom dance is a more popular sport than football. Even hockey."
Mi-yeon's smile turned shy. She tucked her hands into her cardigan sleeves as if hiding her nervousness.
"Slow waltz… that sounds… beautiful."
Den looked at her for a moment—long enough for the air between them to shift.
"It is," he said quietly.
Then, almost as if he were asking permission to step closer into her world, he asked, "Do you want me to… show you?"
Mi-yeon froze.
"What—?!"
Inside her head, panic screamed in a dozen directions at once.
No. No, no, no.
I can't fall deeper.
I'll lose my mind.
Don't agree, Mi-yeon. Don't you dare!
Is anything in this body still under my control?!
But out loud, nothing came. Only wide eyes. A breath she forgot to exhale.
Den misread her silence. To him, it felt like a shy 'yes'.
He pulled out his phone, turned the volume up, and tapped on a slow waltz. The music spilled into the evening air—too romantic for an ordinary campus pond, too honest for two people who had been pretending all day.
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
Then, carefully—like she might vanish if he moved too fast.—he took her hand and drew her closer.
"Come here," he said.
"Don't be scared."
Her whole body resisted.
Her feet did not.
As if the music had its own gravity, his calm voice rewired her fear into movement.
Mi-yeon stepped in.
She let him place his hand at her shoulder blade. She laid her hand on his shoulder.
She heard him through a fog.
"I'll lead. Don't think about the steps. Your legs will follow. Just stay close. Hold your hands where they are."
And he began—small, gentle motions at first, giving her time to trust the feeling of being guided. Then a little bolder. Then, without her noticing when it happened, they were turning—slowly—across the grass.
Mi-yeon shut her eyes.
For a second, she wasn't a girl in a cardigan on a campus lawn.
She was in a full dress in a bright hall.
A chandelier above.
A uniformed gentleman holding her as if it were his duty.
People watching, quiet with admiration.
The music faded.
They slowed to a stop.
Mi-yeon opened her eyes, and a thousand words and emotions surged up so hard it hurt.
I have to tell him about my feelings.
Right now.
I have to—
And then—
Cold, heavy claps cut through the air.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Soo-yeong stood a few steps away, her posture perfect, her smile sharpened into something poisonous.
"Well," she said, her voice dripping sweetness and acid at the same time. "That was… pretty."
Then she tilted her head, as if disappointed in Mi-yeon's lack of manners.
"But Mi-yeon… aren't you a little ashamed?"
She lifted her phone slightly, as if the whole campus were inside it.
"Didn't you see the photos? Why would you dance with someone so close to Yu-ra sunbae?"
A pause—carefully placed, like a knife pushed in slowly.
"I mean, he's a foreigner. What do you expect? He doesn't understand how this looks."
Her eyes flicked to Mi-yeon, satisfied and cruel.
"But you? You should understand."
Another step closer, her voice lowering into something that pretended to be a concern.
"What would Yu-ra say if she saw you like this? How can you be so careless?"
Mi-yeon could only take three sentences. One breath. Three heartbeats.
That was all it took for her fragile defense to crack.
Tears appeared instantly—not dramatic, not loud.
Like sudden rain. Quiet. Unstoppable.
She whispered, "Sorry…"
Then she turned.
And she ran.
Not like someone leaving.
Like someone escaping a fall.
Fast. Uneven.
As if the pain were physical, not emotional.
Den was left facing Soo-yeong.
Soo-yeong covered her mouth with her hand—performing shock, performing innocence.
"Did I say something wrong? I was just trying to warn her. Why did she run? She's so… strange."
Her voice was thin, like cheap plastic.
And the pleasure underneath it was obvious.
Den looked at her. Cold. Direct. Unblinking.
The kind of look that made weak men look away and strong women recognize danger.
He said, flat and clear, "Soo-yeong… you're disgusting."
She took a small step back, but her eyes flashed—almost delighted.
"Why are you so rude to me?" she said, as if she were the victim.
"I'm hurt that you keep rejecting me…"
"I'm trying to be happy for you… Oppa."
"I just don't want anything to happen between you and Yu-ra!"
Den's gaze did not stay on her.
"Call me by my name, if you don't like formalities, but I am not your oppa."
It slid past her—to the path where Mi-yeon had disappeared.
He spoke as he turned away, already moving, not giving Soo-yeong the satisfaction of another second.
"Sorry, I have to go. I'm allergic to lies."
And he left.
Fast. Almost running.
The park path creaked under his shoes.
Every step hit his chest like a drum: anger, guilt, and a hard, instinctive need to protect the girl he cared for most.
He saw the trail of disturbed grass veering away from the main walkway—Mi-yeon had not run toward people.
She had run toward less.
Toward somewhere she could hide. Cry. Disappear.
Two students near a bench turned their heads.
"Was she crying?"
"Where did she go?"
Den did not stop.
He kept moving.
Because he could hear it.
A tiny sound, swallowed by trees and distance.
A small sob—then another.
Then silence.
She was close.
And she was crying so quietly that anyone not searching for her would never notice.
But he noticed.
He followed the sound.
His steps were decisive.
Because right now, he refused to let her stay alone like that.
The rain hit like a blow.
No warning. No slow build.
First—two drops.
Then the sound, as if the sky itself had been torn open.
Within a minute, the park dissolved into rushing water and blurred shapes, visibility shrinking to a few meters at best. Dark clouds smothered what little light remained. The wind flung rain straight into faces. Leaves stuck to shoes and skin. The air turned heavy, cold, soaked through.
Den quickened his pace.
Then he ran.
And suddenly—through the gray sheets of rain—he saw her.
A small figure. Soaked to the bone. Alone in the vast park.
Mi-yeon was not walking straight; the rain had disoriented her.
Her steps swayed, her arms were folded tightly to her chest, her head bowed. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, clothes plastered to her frame. She was trembling, but she did not stop.
She did not hide her tears—because the rain hid everything for her.
"Mi-yeon, wait!"
No answer.
"Please—stop!"
Den ran harder. Mud sprayed from beneath his shoes. Rain stung his eyes. The distance closed. She heard him now—his footsteps behind her.
Her pace slowed, not because she wanted to stop, but because she was pushing forward on pure stubbornness, fighting an invisible web of emotion and exhaustion.
She cried out, her voice nearly swallowed by the rain, "Please… don't… I… I just want… to be alone…"
Inside her, the voice was raw and hoarse:
Don't come closer… don't look at me…
I can't hide any of this right now…
But he was already there.
He grabbed her wrist, turned her, and stopped directly in front of her.
His breathing was heavy from the chase. Water streamed down his hair, his face. They stood barely a meter apart, rain crashing between them like a curtain.
She turned her face away, shielding her cheeks, and took a step back—but the ground betrayed her. It was slick. She almost fell.
Only then did she realize:
His hand was still holding hers.
She flinched at the sudden touch, as if an electric current had run through her arm.
And now she could not speak at all.
Her breath came fast, broken, like someone who had been holding herself together for too long—and could not anymore.
Her lips trembled.
Through the rain, barely audible, she whispered,
"Why… why did you come?!
Why are you always… near me?"
There was no accusation in her voice.
Only confusion. Disbelief.
She did not understand anything anymore.
She stood there, shaking—not from cold, but from fear. Fear of hearing the truth. Fear that the truth might finally break her.
Den answered unevenly, still struggling for breath.
"I followed you… because I… because you—because I don't want to be without you."
Her pupils dilated.
Has he lost his mind? Or am I losing mine?!
"But Yu-ra—"
"We're just friends," he said quickly.
"I know how it looks. I get it.
But that day, we chose to stay friends. I kissed her once—only once. She needed that, to feel free. Not rejected.
We are not a couple, and we are not dating."
Mi-yeon stood frozen.
Rain and tears ran together down her face, but now there was something else mixed in—something fragile and bright.
Her lips quivered. She took a step closer.
She whispered, so softly only he could hear,
"Why are you telling me… all of this?"
Den steeled himself. The words came from a place he could not retreat from.
"Mi-yeon… would you be my girlfriend?"
The rain kept falling.
The world did not stop.
But in that moment, everything that mattered was standing right there—soaked, shaking, exposed—waiting to see if the truth would finally be allowed to stay.
Her lips trembled.
She took a step toward him and whispered—so softly he could barely hear through the rain—"I don't understand…"
Den drew a breath, steadying himself.
"I'm trying to tell you… I can't pretend anymore that we're just friends."
The rain lashed down on them both.
He stood there—soaked, unguarded, honest. No armor left.
Mi-yeon blinked. Once. Again.
Not because rain got into her eyes.
But because her mind refused to accept his words as real.
She looked into his eyes, long and steady, doing her best to show him all her emotions without words.
Inside her, thoughts collided in a frantic storm:
No… this is not happening.
You have no clue what you are getting into.
They'll laugh at you. That you chose me.
Poor. Ordinary. Invisible.
They'll talk behind your back.
Your friends will turn away.
The popular girls will say that you are stupid, blind—why choose Mi-yeon when you could have Soo-yeong or Yu-ra?
And me? I will be socially destroyed. Isolated. Living in exile.
I can't ruin my life, nor do I have the right to ruin yours.
I can't be what you want me to be.
Even if… even if I…
Her thoughts shredded themselves apart.
And she did the only thing people who had lived too long in fear and self-denial knew how to do:
She rejected her own happiness to protect him.
She lowered her head.
She did not look up.
Her shoulders shook—a fragile figure under the downpour, so small it felt like the wind itself could carry her away.
And she said,
"I-I'm sorry, Den-nim… but… no."
Her voice cracked.
Unsteady.
Broken.
It sounded like a lie someone told herself just to survive.
"We… should just be friends. You're wonderful… but you should… find someone better.
Someone who is as bright and as loud as you are. I am neither."
The last words landed like a knife—one she drove into her own heart.
And then—his shock.
The world went quiet.
The rain faded. The park dissolved.
There was only him, the words he had finally said aloud.
And her answer—wrong in every possible way, and yet still meaning "no."
A pause stretched.
Then she stepped back.
Once.
Then again.
And when she realized he was stunned—that he had not moved, that he was frozen—she used that moment.
She turned away.
And walked off quietly, her head down, never looking back.
The rain swallowed her silhouette almost immediately.
After thirty seconds, she was only a blurred shape.
After a minute—nothing but rain.
And he remained standing there.
With a heart he had finally opened to her—still lying in his own hands.
Because she did not believe him.
Could not.
She was too afraid to do so.