By the time I got back to the apartment, my brain had gone through approximately fifteen different emotional cycles and landed somewhere between panic and hysterical laughter.
The lights were still on, which meant at least one of my roommates was awake. I pushed open the door to find both Yoo-Na and Min-Ji in the living room—Yoo-Na on the couch with her laptop, Min-Ji sprawled on the floor surrounded by veterinary textbooks and what looked like anatomical diagrams of a cat's digestive system.
"You're home late," Yoo-Na said, glancing at her watch. "Did something happen at work?"
I closed the door, dropped my bag, and said, "I think I accidentally started something with a chaebol heir."
Min-Ji's head snapped up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Define 'started something,'" Yoo-Na said, closing her laptop with the kind of focused attention that meant I had her full interest.
I collapsed into the armchair, suddenly exhausted. "Remember the new guy from running club this morning? The tall one with glasses?"
"Hot Librarian Guy?" Min-Ji asked. "You noticed Hot Librarian Guy?"
"Everyone noticed Hot Librarian Guy," I said. "That's not the point. The point is—" I pulled out my phone and showed them the search results. "He's Choi Bok-Jin. As in, son of Choi Tae-Seong. As in, Hansung Group."
The room went silent.
Yoo-Na took my phone and scrolled through the article, her expression unreadable. Min-Ji scrambled over to look over her shoulder.
"Holy shit," Min-Ji breathed. "Hansung Group? That's like... top ten chaebol. That's 'my family owns half of Gangnam' money."
"I know."
"And you didn't know this when you were talking to him?" Yoo-Na asked, handing back my phone.
"Of course I didn't know! He just seemed like a normal guy. Quiet, polite, kind of nerdy with the glasses. He didn't act like—" I gestured vaguely. "—like someone whose family owns half of Korea."
"They don't own half of Korea," Yoo-Na said mildly. "Probably only a quarter."
"Not helping, Yoo-Na."
Min-Ji was grinning now, that chaotic energy building. "Okay, but back up. You said you 'started something.' What does that mean? Did you guys talk? Did he ask you out? Did you—"
"We just talked," I interrupted. "He came into the convenience store earlier, then I ran into him on campus, and we walked together for like five minutes. That's it."
"That's not nothing," Yoo-Na observed. "Did he seem interested?"
I thought about the way he'd looked at me. The way he'd laughed at my jokes. The way he'd been about to ask me something before his father called.
"Maybe? I don't know. It doesn't matter anyway."
"Why doesn't it matter?" Min-Ji demanded.
"Because he's a chaebol heir and I'm a scholarship student who eats triangle kimbap for every meal and works two jobs to send money home to my family!" I heard my voice rise and forced myself to calm down. "We're from completely different worlds. This isn't a drama where the poor girl and the rich guy fall in love and everything works out. This is real life."
"Real life can surprise you," Yoo-Na said quietly.
I looked at her—Kang Yoo-Na, who came from money herself, who understood that world in ways I never would. "You know I'm right. People like him don't end up with people like me. Not really. Not in a way that lasts."
"People like him," Yoo-Na repeated, and there was something sharp in her tone. "Ji-Mang, he's a person. Not a category."
"You know what I mean."
"I do. And I'm telling you that you're making assumptions." She leaned forward, her expression serious. "Yes, there are challenges when people come from different economic backgrounds. Yes, his family will probably have opinions. But you're writing off the entire possibility before you even know if he's interested."
"He was about to ask me something," I admitted. "Before his father called. And the way he talked to his father—it was so formal. So cold. Like he was talking to a superior, not a parent."
"That's the chaebol life," Yoo-Na said. "Family isn't just family. It's business, legacy, obligation. I grew up adjacent to that world. It's... complicated."
"Exactly. Complicated. Which is why I should stay away."
"Or," Min-Ji said, "you could see where it goes. Maybe he likes you because you don't treat him like a chaebol heir. Maybe he likes you because you're real."
"Or maybe he's just being nice and I'm reading way too much into a five-minute conversation."
"Was he being 'just nice' when he paced you during the run this morning?" Min-Ji asked. "Was he being 'just nice' when he came to your specific convenience store when there are literally five others closer to campus?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hadn't thought about that.
"How do you know there are closer convenience stores?" I asked instead.
"Because I'm a genius and I know everything." Min-Ji flopped back down on the floor. "The point is, he's clearly interested. The question is whether you're going to do anything about it."
"I don't have time for this," I said, but it sounded weak even to my own ears. "I have law school applications, LEET prep, two jobs, family obligations—"
"And you're still human," Yoo-Na interrupted. "You're allowed to want things that aren't practical. You're allowed to be interested in someone."
"Even if it's a terrible idea?"
"Especially if it's a terrible idea. That's what makes it interesting."
I laughed despite myself. "You're supposed to be the responsible one."
"I am being responsible. I'm responsibly telling you that you deserve to have something good in your life that isn't related to academics or money." Yoo-Na's expression softened. "You work so hard, Ji-Mang. You take care of everyone. When was the last time someone took care of you?"
The question hit harder than I expected. I felt something tighten in my chest.
"I don't need anyone to take care of me."
"That's not what I asked."
We sat in silence for a moment. Min-Ji had stopped pretending to study and was watching me with unusual seriousness.
"What if I'm not enough?" I said finally, the fear I'd been avoiding coming out in a rush. "What if I like him and he likes me, but then his family gets involved and I'm just... not enough. Not rich enough, not connected enough, not from the right background. What if I let myself care and then I get crushed?"
"Then you get crushed," Min-Ji said bluntly. "And it'll hurt like hell, and we'll eat ice cream and curse his family and you'll survive. Because you always survive."
"That's a terrible pep talk."
"I'm not good at pep talks. But I'm good at truth. And the truth is that you're already interested in him. I can see it on your face. So you can either pretend you're not and spend the next few months wondering 'what if,' or you can actually try and see what happens."
"And if his family offers me money to leave him alone?" I asked, the fear suddenly very specific, very real.
Both of them went quiet.
"Why would you even think that?" Yoo-Na asked carefully.
"Because that's what happens in every story like this. The poor girl gets bought off. The family protects their precious heir from the gold digger."
"You're not a gold digger," Min-Ji said fiercely. "You didn't even know who he was until an hour ago."
"His family won't know that. They'll just see—" I gestured at myself, at our tiny apartment, at the textbooks I'd bought used and the clothes I'd worn for three years. "—this. And they'll think I'm after his money."
"Then prove them wrong," Yoo-Na said. "If it comes to that—and it might not—prove them wrong."
"How?"
"By being exactly who you are. Smart, hardworking, stubborn as hell, and completely uninterested in anyone's money." She smiled slightly. "Trust me, that's more threatening to families like that than any amount of poverty. They understand gold diggers. They don't understand people who genuinely don't care about their wealth."
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that I could just be myself and it would be enough.
But I'd spent three years watching wealthy students glide through life on their family names while I fought for every opportunity. I'd seen how the world worked. Money mattered. Connections mattered. Background mattered.
And I had none of those things.
"Friday morning," Min-Ji said, pulling me out of my spiral. "You have running club Friday morning. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do," she pressed. "Are you going to act normal? Pretend you don't know who he is? Avoid him?"
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
I could avoid him. Keep my distance. Treat him politely but coldly. Protect myself before anything even started.
Or I could just... see what happened. Be honest. Be myself. Take the risk.
"I'm going to act normal," I said finally. "I'm not going to bring up that I know who he is. If he wants to tell me, he'll tell me. And until then, I'm just going to treat him like I would anyone else."
"That's surprisingly mature," Yoo-Na said.
"I'm a mature person."
"You literally ate ramen out of the pot yesterday because you didn't want to wash a bowl."
"That's efficiency, not immaturity."
Min-Ji laughed, and the tension in the room broke. We talked for a while longer—about nothing important, just the usual apartment gossip and complaints about our respective academic programs—before exhaustion finally won and we all headed to bed.
But lying in my tiny room, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about Choi Bok-Jin.
The way he'd looked at the leaf in his hand with such genuine confusion. The way he'd laughed when I made that dumb joke about retail transactions. The way his whole demeanor had changed when his father called.
He hadn't chosen to be born into wealth any more than I'd chosen to be born into poverty. Maybe Yoo-Na was right. Maybe he was just a person, trying to figure out his life like everyone else.
Or maybe I was being naive and this was going to end badly and I should protect myself now before I got hurt.
I didn't know.
But I knew I'd see him Friday morning.
And I knew I was looking forward to it, despite everything.
Thursday passed in a blur of classes and work.
I had two lectures—Civil Procedure in the morning, Legal Research and Writing in the afternoon. Both were important, both required my full attention, but I found my mind wandering at the worst times.
During Civil Procedure, Professor Han was explaining jurisdictional requirements and I was thinking about whether Bok-Jin would actually show up Friday or if he'd decide running club was too much trouble.
During Legal Research, when we were supposed to be analyzing case law, I was wondering if he'd noticed that I'd been about to say something when his father called, if he'd thought about our conversation at all.
"Ms. Han."
I snapped back to attention. Professor Kim was looking at me with that expression teachers got when they knew you hadn't been listening.
"Yes, Professor?"
"I asked you to explain the distinction between binding and persuasive authority. Since you seem to find the ceiling more interesting than my lecture, perhaps you can enlighten us."
A few snickers from classmates. I felt my face heat but kept my voice steady.
"Binding authority is precedent from a higher court in the same jurisdiction that must be followed. Persuasive authority is precedent from other jurisdictions or lower courts that may be considered but isn't mandatory." I paused. "The ceiling was just thinking space, Professor. Sometimes I process better when I'm not making direct eye contact."
More snickers, but Professor Kim's mouth twitched slightly. "An interesting processing method, Ms. Han. Try to keep your thinking space focused on the material at hand."
"Yes, Professor."
The rest of class passed without incident, but I made myself focus. This was my future. This was what mattered. Not some guy I barely knew, no matter how nice his smile was.
My library shift was busy enough to keep me distracted—end-of-week rush of students trying to finish assignments before the weekend. I helped a steady stream of stressed undergrads find materials, restocked shelves, and managed to squeeze in thirty minutes of LEET prep during a slow period.
I was getting better at the logic games section. Still not perfect, but better. Progress.
The convenience store shift was mercifully uneventful. No drunk customers, no register malfunctions, no surprise visits from chaebol heirs. Just normal retail work that let my mind run on autopilot.
By the time I got home at 10:30, I was too tired to think about anything except sleep.
But when my alarm went off at 5:30 Friday morning, the first thought in my head was: Running club. Today.
I was definitely going to see him.
And I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say.