Episode 37
19 May 2025, Monday. Early evening. Bus stop near SNU's upper campus.
It was raining hard.
Not the kind of rain that drizzles politely, but a dense, relentless downpour that flattened puddles into shallow lakes and turned the road into a dark, reflective ribbon. Water streamed off the edge of the bus stop roof in steady sheets.
Do-hwa arrived early again, thinking about what he had just witnessed.
Why was Mi-yeon running across the park so fast? And why was Den chasing her?
Those two are such a strange duo.
There is always something going on around them.
Interesting: are they dating secretly? Or am I overthinking it?
He stood under the shelter instead of sitting down, watching the road with focused attention. Each passing vehicle sent waves through the puddles gathered along the curb.
When a bus rushed by without slowing down, its wheels tore through the water—spray exploded outward, slapping loudly against the side of the stop.
Droplets even reached his shoes.
He blinked.
Wow…
If they don't slow down, the splash travels surprisingly far.
Another bus passed. Same result. A violent splash, water scattering in a wide arc.
His shoulders tensed.
A bus. Speed. A puddle.
If she's standing here…
If I move fast enough…
The plan formed slowly, carefully, as if it needed permission to exist.
If she comes today.
If she stands closer to the edge.
If another bus comes too fast…
Then I could just—
He imagined it clearly: one step forward, his back toward the road. No words. No explanation. Just his body between Yuna and the splash.
Then I'd have a reason to talk to her.
A normal reason.
Not a stupid one.
He glanced at the path leading from campus.
Rain blurred everything beyond a few meters. Students hurried past with umbrellas, heads down, shoulders hunched.
Time passed.
Another bus roared by, spraying water again. He flinched instinctively, even though no one was there yet.
Please… just once.
Let the timing work.
Footsteps.
Yuna appeared through the rain, holding her bag close, jacket already darkened in places where the fabric had soaked through. She stepped under the shelter, shook a few drops from her sleeve, and sat down not far from him.
He felt his pulse jump.
She came.
Yuna didn't look at him right away. Just stood there, listening to the rain hammering the roof.
The road rumbled.
Do-hwa heard it before he saw it—the deep, rushing sound of a bus coming in too fast.
Now.
The bus burst through the puddle.
Water surged upward in a wide, violent spray.
He moved without thinking.
One sharp step forward. His body turned toward the road, shoulders squared, back exposed.
The splash hit him full-on.
Cold water slammed against his jacket and jeans, soaking through instantly. Drops stung his neck, his ears.
Behind him—nothing.
The bus was already gone.
Silence rushed back in, filled only by rain.
He stood there for a second too long.
His hero moment somehow felt awkward.
Slowly, he stepped back to his place.
Lost in her own thoughts, Yuna didn't register the splash at all—only the sudden movement beside her.
She was looking at him.
Surprised. Not grateful.
Just… confused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, brows knitting together.
What's with him bolting like he'd been stung?
Was he trying to startle me? What a lame prank.
My poor heart nearly jumped out of my chest!
Why would he do that?
Do-hwa opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
His ears burned hotter than the rainwater cooling his back.
After a moment, she looked away, clearly deciding not to ask.
The next bus approached—his.
He hesitated for half a heartbeat, then boarded quickly, head lowered.
That was stupid.
She didn't even understand.
Of course she didn't.
The doors closed. The bus pulled away.
Yuna remained under the shelter.
Only then did another vehicle rush past.
Its wheels cut through the same puddle.
Water exploded outward again—high, wide, unmistakable.
Drops splattered across the empty space where he had stood. Reaching her white shoes and leaving dirty marks on them.
She froze.
Understanding came slowly—painfully clearly.
Ah…
So that's why.
Yuna swallowed.
The rain seemed louder all of a sudden.
She opened her umbrella and held it over herself—unnecessarily, awkwardly, even though the roof already protected her.
She stayed seated, fingers tightening around the handle.
He did that… for me.
The bus stop felt very empty.
Next time…
Next time I'll say thank you.
Rain continued to fall, washing the road clean, as if nothing had happened at all.
19 May 2025, Monday. Evening. SNU, parking lot near Building 500.
Soo-yeong returned to So-mi's car, satisfied with herself.
She slid into the seat, snapped the umbrella shut, and slammed the door with irritation.
"I hate rain," she complained, flicking water from her heels. "I ruined my shoes just walking here."
So-mi did not even glance at her. The comment did not deserve attention.
Soo-yeong adjusted her hair, chin lifted, pride obvious in her voice.
"We caught them at the perfect moment. Mi-yeon, silly, ran away from me like she'd seen a ghost. I'm pretty sure it's over between them now."
She smiled, sharp and pleased.
"We should celebrate."
So-mi's expression did not change.
"Celebrate what, Kim Soo-yeong?" she asked calmly.
"That we barely managed to crush a quiet country girl using the crudest, most undignified method possible?"
A pause.
"A rather insignificant achievement."
Soo-yeong scoffed.
"As if I wanted to spend time with you anyway. Just drive me home. I live in Sinchon."
So-mi turned her head toward the window.
"Drive, Kim-gisa-nim."
The driver nodded obediently.
"Yes, agassi."
The car moved off smoothly, almost silently. The windshield wipers swept the rain away in steady rhythms, breaking the streetlights into long yellow streaks across the glass.
Silence filled the car—thick, uncomfortable.
Soo-yeong crossed her legs, checked her phone, then clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"You're acting weird today, So-mi. I literally solved your problem for you. He's not with her anymore. Isn't that what you wanted?"
So-mi did not answer right away.
She watched the rain-soaked trees slide past the window—dark, clumped together, as if even they were tired of everything.
"What we wanted didn't matter," she said at last, her voice even.
"We did what we had to do."
Soo-yeong smirked, but there was less confidence in it now.
"He brought it on himself. He should've responded when I was nice to him."
So-mi slowly turned her head.
She looked at Soo-yeong—not angrily, but with a cold assessment. The kind of gaze that dissected.
"Do you really believe that?
That he was so blind he couldn't see how fake your attention was?"
Soo-yeong opened her mouth—then closed it.
A memory flashed:
Den turned away from her without a glance, already moving after Mi-yeon.
Something tightened in her chest.
She recovered quickly, scoffing.
"Whatever. I don't care. He got what he deserved."
So-mi turned back to the window.
"We'll see," she said quietly.
"Don't forget—he might decide that we deserve something too."
The car merged into traffic, tires whispering over wet asphalt.
Soo-yeong felt the satisfaction she had when she first got in slowly drained away.
What remained was something sticky. Uneasy.
"Why are you being so gloomy?" she muttered. "We won. In this hive, we're the queens. He'll have to accept that."
So-mi closed her eyes for a brief moment.
A deep breath in.
A slow breath out.
"The beekeeper, Soo-yeong," she said, opening her eyes, "doesn't care who the queens are."
She paused.
"We made a move. Pray it wasn't a mistake."
The driver, Kim Jun-ho, said nothing—but in the rearview mirror, his jaw tightened slightly.
He had worked in corporate circles long enough to know: that tone was not used at the end of a story—it was used at the beginning of trouble.
The car continued forward, carrying two girls in opposite emotional directions, bound by the same action.
And somewhere behind them, under the rain, two other lives had just split apart.
Too quietly and too painfully, for it to end without consequences.
19 May 2025, Monday. Late evening. SNU, men's dormitory.Den returned to the dorm.
Soaked. Disoriented. With the clear, absurd feeling that the rain existed solely so the universe could laugh at him louder.
He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his wet shirt, and walked straight toward the bathroom without a word—ignoring Min-jae, who had stepped out of their room to greet him.
Den said nothing, but his face said enough.
Something had gone wrong.
Min-jae watched the bathroom door close. He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he took out his phone and texted Han-bin.
Den came back looking like a storm cloud. Do you know anything about that?
The reply came almost immediately.
Not yet. I'm busy. Mi-yeon is crying. We'll talk tomorrow.
Min-jae exhaled slowly.
"Of course she is…"
He grabbed his jacket and headed out to the convenience store, already preparing himself to drink enough soju to drown alongside his best friend.
When Min-jae returned, Den was sitting on his bed.
Dry now. Changed into simple jeans and a white T-shirt.
A guitar rested against his knee.
He was playing Yiruma's "Kiss the Rain"—softly, precisely, without showmanship. The melody filled the room with a quiet ache.
Min-jae paused at the doorway.
He remembered Den playing the same piece at the orientation party. He remembered Mi-yeon standing frozen, eyes wide, as if the music had reached somewhere inside her she did not know how to protect.
Without saying a word, Min-jae set up the small folding table in the middle of the room.
He took out a bottle of soju, two shot glasses, and a couple of cheap snack packs.
A silent ritual.
He was ready to drink himself half to death if that was what it took to share his friend's pain.
But Den stopped playing.
He set the guitar aside and said tiredly, "Min-jae. I don't drink."
Min-jae blinked.
"Right now you should."
"I shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because nothing good comes out of it."
Min-jae stared at the bottle. Then at Den.
"How am I supposed to share your misery if you won't drink soju?"
Den exhaled slowly.
"The last time I got drunk, I got into a fight, spent fifteen days in custody, and was expelled from Moscow State University."
Min-jae froze.
"…What?"
"When I drink," Den continued calmly, "things escalate. Trust me. Alcohol is not my method."
Min-jae hesitated, then asked carefully, "Do you want to talk about it?"
For a split second, the past flashed through Den's mind.
Moscow. Sparrow Hills.
A night after a party.
Lisa—bright, beautiful, laughing beside him.
Two guys passed by. One whistled, letting out disrespectful comments.
They could have just walked away.
But Den's pride had flared. He had wanted to look strong. Impressive.
They had thought they outnumbered him.
One had ended up flying over the embankment into the Moscow River. The other had left with a broken nose.
Police sirens. Handcuffs.
Expulsion from the university had followed.
Lisa had distanced herself—unwilling to remain at the center of a university scandal.
If not for his father's lawyer friend…
If not for the security cameras proving that he didn't throw a first punch…
It could have been a prison.
Den exhaled.
"There's nothing to tell. I drank. I acted stupid. I paid for it. Dearly."
A pause.
"Let's make tea instead."
Min-jae looked mournfully at the untouched bottle.
"I appreciate your heroic desire to drown in soju," Den added, "but the math professor won't care tomorrow about your sacrifices. Save it for another night."
Min-jae sighed, poured himself a shot anyway, downed it, and followed Den to the kitchen.
The kettle boiled.
They sat in silence while Den poured the tea and handed a mug to Min-jae.
Min-jae took a sip.
"So," he asked carefully, "what happened?"
Den took a drink.
"Mi-yeon rejected me."
Min-jae stared at him.
"…Rejected? What? Why?!"
"No idea."
Den shrugged.
"She said we should be just friends. I guess she didn't have feelings for me."
Min-jae narrowed his eyes, then scoffed.
"That's impossible."
"Apparently not."
"No. Den. It IS impossible. Han-bin told me just a minute ago that Mi-yeon is crying so hard she flooded half the dorm. Something doesn't add up."
Den's expression shifted—concern breaking through the numbness.
"Then I need to go to her. I might have hurt her without realizing it. I should apologize."
Min-jae nearly dropped his mug.
"Are you nuts?!
You're going to a girl's dorm at night after she rejected you? With what purpose?
To see her with swollen eyes and a tear-streaked face?"
He gestured dramatically, painting the image in the air.
"So she can die of embarrassment? So the entire faculty can gossip tomorrow?
Tragic lovers.
Romeo and Juliet: Korean edition. Absolutely not."
Den looked at him.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Min-jae looked away.
"I… don't know yet. I'm too sober to offer solutions."
He glanced at the empty tea cups on the table.
"And since you refuse to drink, I'm officially useless."
The kettle clicked off.
The tea cooled.
And the night stretched on—quiet, unresolved, waiting for consequences neither of them could yet see.