Episode 38
19 May 2025, Monday. Late evening. SNU, women's dormitory.When Mi-yeon finally returned to the dorm, Han-bin noticed the redness around her eyes at once.
At first, she tried to ask what had happened. One gentle question. Then another.
But every attempt only triggered a fresh wave of tears.
So Han-bin stopped asking.
Instead, she made Mi-yeon a cup of warm floral tea, placed it carefully on the nightstand beside the bed, then quietly sat down next to her.
That was how the rest of the evening passed.
Mi-yeon curled toward the wall, crying softly into her pillow—sometimes quietly, sometimes with small, broken sounds she struggled to swallow.
Han-bin sat beside her, one hand resting on Mi-yeon's back. She rubbed slow, steady circles, the way one does for someone they love when words only make things worse.
From time to time, absently scrolling through webtoons with her free hand.
A couple of hours passed.
Eventually, Mi-yeon's sobs weakened. Her breathing evened out. Exhaustion pulled her under.
Han-bin carefully turned off the main light, leaving only the soft amber glow of the night lamp. She lay down in her own bed, finally letting her eyes close.
She was almost asleep when she heard Mi-yeon's voice.
Dry. Cracked. Barely holding together.
"Den said he wants to date me.
…I rejected him."
Han-bin stiffened.
She turned onto her side, staring into the dim light, choosing her words carefully.
"That's… an unorthodox choice," she said softly.
"Considering how much you like him."
The dam broke again.
Mi-yeon started crying—harder this time. Her breath caught in painful, uneven gasps.
"Like him?" she choked.
"I'm losing my mind over him, Han-bin. I told him he was just a friend—a friend! But I lied. I lied!"
Her words tangled together.
"He is so much more than a friend! He's so good… so handsome… so—"
The sentence dissolved into sobbing.
Han-bin got up, moved to the bed, and pulled Mi-yeon upright into her arms—firm, grounding, unapologetic.
"Then why the heck," she asked bluntly, "did you reject him?"
Mi-yeon answered between spasms of breath, her body shaking.
"Because they won't let us be together."
Her voice cracked.
"They'll tear him apart for choosing a country girl like me. They'll say Russians have terrible taste. That he's only with me out of pity. That I'm just an easy girl for foreigners—for his distraction."
She swallowed.
"And me? They'll destroy me for everything—for 'stealing' him from Yu-ra, for being careless, for dating a foreigner, for daring to be with someone too good for me.
You know how it goes."
She went quiet for a moment, then whispered:
"I could endure all of that… for him."
Her voice dropped to almost nothing.
"But I can't drag him into it.
He doesn't understand what it truly means… to be with someone like me.
Han-bin held her tighter.
"I love you," she said quietly.
"No matter what you decide. No matter what you do."
She paused, then added gently but firmly:
"But I don't think you get to decide his pain for him.
You don't get to choose what hurts him more—being with you… or being without you."
Mi-yeon didn't answer.
She only buried her face deeper into Han-bin's shoulder and cried again—quietly.
It was the kind of crying that came from a heart that was trying desperately to survive the very thing it wanted most.
20 May 2025, Tuesday. Evening. So-mi's family residence.
So-mi stood in front of her father's desk.
The office was large, cold, perfectly ordered—glass, dark wood, muted colors. Everything smelled faintly of money and discipline. Her father sat behind the desk, glasses low on his nose, eyes fixed on the report in his hands.
Academic rankings.
So-mi was still second in General Chemistry.
Two points.
One single mistake on the very first test—and that had been enough to keep her below Jeong Mi-yeon.
Her father's brow furrowed.
"I don't see the situation with Chemistry improving," he said flatly.
Something inside So-mi snapped.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
It broke the way overstretched metal broke—sudden, sharp, irreversible.
"And I don't see a problem, Father."
The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
Her father slowly raised his head.
"What did you say, Baek So-mi?"
But she was already moving, carried forward by months—years—of swallowed frustration.
"I said I don't see a problem," she said, her voice shaking but strong.
"I got perfect scores on the second test and the midterm exam. Yes, Jeong Mi-yeon is two points ahead—but overall she's only third in the department. I'm first."
She took a breath, then pushed further.
"And what right do you even have to demand that I be first?
Is your corporation the biggest in the world?
Actually, scratch that.
Is it even the biggest in South Korea?"
Her father stood abruptly, slamming his fist onto the desk.
"What did you just say?!"
So-mi flinched. Tears spilled down her cheeks despite her efforts to stop them.
"What is the point of me being first?" she cried.
"So I can be hired anywhere? We both know that's a lie. I don't get to choose. You will put me in your company anyway. So what's the difference if I'm first—or last?"
"Enough!" her father snapped. "Stop this immediately, Baek So-mi!"
Her voice lowered.
It didn't weaken.
"I'm not asking for much," she said quietly.
"I do everything you ask. I know who you are. I know you're not Mom. I don't expect miracles."
She swallowed, tears still falling.
"But would it kill you—just once—to say I did well? To say 'good job'?
What do I have to do for you to spend five minutes asking how I am?
Not my rank. Not my performance. Just… how do I feel?"
She turned and walked out.
The door closed softly behind her.
Her father remained standing.
He stared at the door.
Then at the window.
Then, with sharp irritation, he threw his pen onto the desk.
The report still lay open in front of him.
22 May 2025, Thursday. Early morning. Seoul, Yangjae Flower Market.
A couple of days later, Den decided he was done waiting for things to fix themselves.
Mi-yeon had been actively avoiding him. And he had decided he would drag forgiveness out of this girl. Even if it meant that they would only be friends.
Flowers are safe.
No girl hates flowers.
Should be a low-risk way to fix things.
At dawn, while the city was still half-asleep, he drove to the flower market. The air smelled of wet pavement, leaves, and fresh stems cut too early. He stopped at one of the stalls and calmly ordered one hundred and one red roses.
The florist blinked as she started assembling the bouquet.
"That's a lot of flowers," she said, genuinely impressed.
"They must be for a very special girl."
"They are," Den nodded.
She smiled, curiosity lighting up her face.
"Are you celebrating a thousand days together?" she asked warmly.
Den shook his head.
"No. We're not in a relationship."
Then, after a brief pause, he added quietly:
"But I want her to be happy today. I'll give them to her when she comes to the university."
The florist's smile softened into something almost wistful.
"How romantic," she said.
She didn't say anything else.
When Den paid and walked away with the massive bouquet, another woman—who had been silently helping nearby—stepped closer. They lit thin cigarettes and watched his back disappear into the morning.
"What a fool," the second woman muttered. "Poor girl."
The first exhaled smoke.
"Foreigners," she scoffed. "Money they have. Sense? Not a trace."
22 May 2025, Thursday. Morning. SNU campus. Parking lot near Building 500
Den parked his UAZ near campus and opened the back door, carefully pulling out the enormous bouquet.
At that exact moment, a sleek black car pulled up beside him.
Baek So-mi's driver stepped out and opened the door. So-mi got out—and froze when she saw Den standing there with the roses.
She understood instantly what he was planning to do.
"Such an idiot," she whispered to herself.
She turned toward the university…then stopped.
Her own words to her father echoed in her head.
Would it kill you to find five minutes and ask how I'm doing?
So-mi exhaled sharply, pivoted on her heel, and walked straight toward Den.
"What's the occasion, Den-ssi?" she asked coolly.
He fumbled with his keys, bouquet held in both arms, clearly annoyed.
"What do you care? I'm bringing flowers to a girl I like. And that wouldn't be you."
So-mi crossed her arms and leaned back against the UAZ.
"Oh, I think this bouquet better be for me," she said flatly.
"Because if you are planning to walk onto campus and give those to Mi-yeon, you are a complete idiot."
Den paused.
"You'll ruin her life," So-mi continued.
"And you still won't get what you want."
For the first time, doubt flickered across his face.
"What am I doing wrong?" he asked.
So-mi rolled her eyes like she was explaining gravity to a child.
"You're doing EVERYTHING wrong.
You're like a bull in a pottery shop."
She stepped closer and tapped her temple with a clenched fist.
"Have you thought about the position you'd put her in?
If she accepts—rumors start. Why? They're not dating. Is he apologizing? Did he embarrass her? Is she using him to get popular?
If she refuses—same results. She's rude. Arrogant. Ungrateful. Manipulative."
She let the silence sink in.
"Are you trying to kill her socially?
Because I'd be the first to exploit that situation for my own benefit. And you think I'd be the only one?"
Den went still.
"Diplomacy isn't really a Russian thing. I… didn't think about that."
So-mi mimicked him mercilessly:
"I didn't think about that. What? Is thinking not a Russian thing either?"
His patience snapped.
"Why should I even trust you?" he fired back.
"You and Soo-yeong are always giving her a hard time. Why would you suddenly care about Mi-yeon?"
So-mi looked away.
For a moment, her composure cracked—just slightly.
She remembered seeing Mi-yeon once, crying over a stained dress near the laundry room.
Then she met his eyes again.
"There's a difference between putting someone in their place," she said quietly, "and turning their life into a living hell.
She's my rival. Not my enemy."
She straightened.
"If you are trying to throw her into a rumor storm with those flowers—go ahead. I'm not wasting my morning on you.
But if what matters to you is her well-being, not your wounded ego, you should consider a more graceful, subtle solution."
Den shifted the heavy bouquet from one arm to the other.
"…A what solution?"
She smirked slightly, as if she had just received confirmation of her own suspicions.
"Precisely. You're not even familiar with the term."
So-mi continued:
"A subtle solution. The kind you're clearly incapable of without me. The dress she spilled coffee on. Remember? It matters to her. It's not something she can just throw away. Get it."
"Get it how exactly?" He made a helpless gesture.
She shrugged.
"Figure it out. Find it. Buy it. Steal it. I don't care how.
Get it and bring it to me.
I know a couturier. He'll recreate it perfectly.
You give it back to her. In private."
She looked at him sharply.
"Korean love isn't about loud gestures.
It's about knowing how to heal someone's pain."
Den thought—really thought—for the first time that morning.
"…Alright," he said.
"I'll get it."
He glanced around for a trash bin and started walking toward it.
So-mi immediately snapped:
"Are you completely insane?
Where do you think you're taking MY bouquet?"
Den stopped.
"You weren't planning to throw that away, were you?" she scoffed.
"You're not paying attention. I already told you earlier, those flowers are for me. Give them to my driver."
She turned back toward her car.
"Consider it my compensation—for babysitting your love story."