Episode 2
3 March 2025, Monday. Afternoon. SNU's chemistry faculty, lecture hall 500-301.
A few heads turned.
Then her eyes found Mi-yeon.
"Hey, Jeong Mi-yeon," Mi-rae said gently. "Are you alone? Come over to him. Den will be your partner."
Mi-yeon's entire body froze. For half a second, she couldn't breathe. Her mind screamed so loudly it felt like it filled the lecture hall.
Why me?! Why is it always me?!
Why are you making me sit with him?!
Everyone will hate me. Everyone will think I planned it, that I'm trying to stand out.
I don't want to stand out!
She could feel the attention like heat on her skin. Several girls glanced over immediately—some with quick, sharp envy. One clicked her tongue quietly, the sound small but poisonous. A couple of faces held polite curiosity, like spectators watching a scene begin.
Mi-yeon stood up as if obeying a command. Her feet moved before her mind caught up.
Light steps. Almost silent.
In only a few seconds, she was beside Den's desk, standing too close and yet not knowing how to be anywhere else. Her hands hovered awkwardly near her folder as if they didn't belong to her.
Her cheeks had gone pink.
"I…" Her voice almost failed her. She swallowed. "Um… I'm supposed to sit here… I mean… they said we have to be a pair…"
The words came out as a whisper, fragile and painfully careful.
Den looked up. For a moment, his face stayed unreadable—gray eyes steady, expression neutral. Then something shifted. Not a smile on his lips—more like a spark behind his eyes, a mischievous flicker that made him look less serious than his heavy, quiet posture suggested.
He understood exactly what she meant. And still, he couldn't resist:
"You want us to be a pair? Just like that?" he said, voice calm but lightly teasing. He tilted his head a fraction, as if considering it seriously.
"I am flattered, but… should we start small? Would you like to go on a date with me first?
Mi-yeon blinked.
Once. Twice.
Her mouth parted slightly.
"W-what…?!"
And then realization landed. Not just embarrassment—panic.
Sharp and humiliating, because she could already imagine how it would look if someone overheard.
A date?! No—no—no—this is NOT what I meant!
Why is this happening to me?
Her eyes widened, heart slamming painfully against her ribs.
Everyone is watching. Everyone is thinking about it.
This is what social death feels like.
Den saw it instantly—the way her whole body seemed to recoil inward as if trying to fold into nothing.
His expression softened at once.
"Just kidding," he added quickly, the teasing gone, replaced by a gentler tone and a small, apologetic smile. "Sit down. Please. Sit."
He reached for his backpack and lifted it off the chair beside him, placing it at his feet. The motion was simple, but it cleared the space like opening a door. Then he gestured to the seat, palm open.
"I was joking," he said, quieter now, so it felt less like a performance for the room. "A stupid joke. It was… dumb. Sorry."
He rubbed the back of his neck briefly, almost mirroring his earlier introduction gesture—but now it looked less like confidence and more like a real attempt to correct himself.
"I didn't mean to scare you." His eyes held hers for a second—steady, not demanding. "In Russian 'pair' often means 'couple', like boyfriend-girlfriend. My sense of humor needs some tuning. I feel bad now."
Mi-yeon exhaled without realizing she'd been holding her breath. She nodded quickly—too quickly—and sat down, perching carefully at the edge of the chair.
Her ears were still burning. Her thoughts tangled, slipping over each other.
Did he mean to embarrass me? Is he cruel?
Or …
Was he joking with me, not about me? Did he try to make me smile…?
She glanced at him briefly and, before she could stop herself, gave a tiny, shy smile. Then she dropped her eyes immediately.
You idiot. Stop it. Don't act like anyone cares about your smile.
She stared at her hands, willing the warmth in her face to fade. Next to her, the seat was no longer empty. And somehow, that felt far more terrifying than being alone.
A quiet "heh" came from somewhere behind them.
Not cruel. Not mocking. Just the soft, amused sound of a couple of guys who found the situation unexpectedly funny—this kind of pure, unfiltered reaction that was rare on the first day.
The girls sitting in front of Den and Mi-yeon turned around. They exchanged looks, leaned closer and whispered.
"He's kind of cute. In the way he misunderstands words."
"Oh come on, you're completely clueless. He said it on purpose. He knows exactly what he's doing."
She sighed dramatically. "My Chan-eun never jokes like that with me. He's so serious all the time."
Their tone was light. Almost fond.
Kim Soo-yeong glanced back too. Her lips pressed together slightly.
She leaned toward the friend next to her and murmured, barely audible, sharp with disdain: "Look at that. A village girl acting all innocent. He'd never choose her himself. It's ridiculous they were seated together."
Mi-yeon didn't hear the words clearly.
But she felt the weight of the look.
She sat down beside Den, carefully leaving a distance so exaggerated it almost looked comical—space wide enough to fit another person between them. Her back was straight, hands folded, knees aligned perfectly.
"I'll try… not to say awkward things…" she whispered, biting her lower lip.
At the front, Choi Mi-rae tapped her palm lightly against the desk to regain attention.
"Great. Now the task," she said warmly. "You'll write a short description of your partner—not appearance, but personality. Based only on what you've noticed so far. Five minutes. And let's keep it positive, okay?"
The room filled with sound again.
Pairs leaned in. Some laughed immediately. Others argued over wording. Pens scratched across paper. Confidence buzzed through the air.
Mi-yeon stared at her sheet.
Her pen tapped lightly, nervously, in a steady rhythm she didn't seem to notice.
She sneaked a glance at Den—just from the corner of her eye—and immediately looked away, as if caught doing something improper.
"Hm…" she murmured, forcing herself to speak. "Then… could you… tell me… what you're like… so I can… write it…?"
Even her question sounded like an apology.
Den looked at her—not quickly, not casually. He took the moment.
Her face was soft. Not striking in the way people usually meant, but gentle, almost fragile. The kind of features that didn't demand attention, yet somehow held it if you slowed down long enough.
"Well… I…"
He scratched the back of his head.
"According to Su-ho, I am apparently bold. I think I am kind… sort of. And stubborn. Yeah. In that order of significance."
He paused, then added with a straight face:
"Basically, character-wise, I'm like a ram. But I smell much better."
Mi-yeon lifted her head.
For the first time today, she looked at him directly. Not through her fingers. Not from behind a shield.
Her expression changed in stages—surprise first, then confusion, then—
A laugh.
Small. Short. Immediately stifled, but it escaped anyway, causing a tiny spark to light her eyes.
"Uh…" She covered her mouth with her hand. "You… you can't say it like that. You should… say it differently."
She blushed again—but it was different now. Warmer. Less defensive.
Mi-yeon wrote carefully in her notebook, whispering the words to herself as she did.
"Bold… kind… stubborn… like a ram… smells good."
Then she looked up again.
This time, she didn't flinch.
"That sounds… honest," she said softly. "I like honesty."
A few students nearby glanced over, curious.
The dynamic between them stood out—not romantic, not flirtatious, but strange in its contrast. A confident, ironic foreigner and a girl so quiet she almost seemed transparent. Something about it drew the eye.
Mi-yeon took a breath.
A deeper one than before.
"And now…" she said, surprising herself by continuing, "…I need to describe you… in my… own way…"
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, then turned her paper over and began rewriting, speaking quietly as she did—like a diligent student dictating notes to herself.
"You're… genuinely calm. Not pretending to be. Just… calm."
She paused, searching for the right words.
"When you speak… everything sounds… certain. Like you know where you stand."
Another pause.
"And when you joke… your eyes become… a little softer. It's subtle… but…"
She stopped abruptly.
Realizing she had revealed more than intended, simply by paying attention.
"Oh—sorry. I… I said too much…"
But it was the longest, clearest stretch of speech she had managed all day.
"Time!" Su-ho's voice rang out. "Prepare your descriptions—we'll read them aloud."
The color drained from Mi-yeon's face.
"R-read… aloud?" she whispered. "In front of… everyone…?"
To her, it sounded like a sentence.
Den leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"Don't worry. I'll go first. Okay?"
She nodded immediately, gratitude flooding her eyes.
When it was their turn, Mi-yeon realized in sudden horror that he hadn't written a single word about her.
Her chest tightened.
If there are any Gods in the Universe.
I pray to you. I beg you.
Please don't let Den-ssi say anything that will stand out…
Den didn't hesitate.
He stood.
"Jeong Mi-yeon," he said calmly, clearly. "She's very quiet. Very modest. And she has kind eyes."
The room listened.
"When I look at her," he continued, without raising his voice, "it feels like seeing an uncut diamond."
Mi-yeon didn't know how to process what he had said. She stared at her notebook, screaming inside in pure disbelief:
"Are the Gods THAT deaf to my prayers?!"
The silence in the lecture hall stretched.
Den felt it then—late, but unmistakably.
Not rejection. Something worse. Discomfort.
He cleared his throat.
"…Let me guess," he said slowly, visibly losing his confidence, "again too bold, wasn't it?"
A few heads lifted. No one answered.
He gave a short, awkward smile—not playful, not charming. Just accepting another painful mistake.
"Sorry," he added quietly. "I'm not purposely trying to be rude."
He glanced toward Mi-yeon—only for a second—and immediately looked away again, as if holding her gaze would make it worse.
"I only meant," he said, lowering his voice, "that she seems like a very nice person."
He stopped there. Restraining himself from making another joke.
The room shifted—not into warmth, but into formality.
Someone exhaled softly.
A couple of students nodded—not approvingly, but as if accepting that the moment was over.
The tension didn't disappear. It settled.
Den sat down.
Mi-yeon's thoughts spiraled, loud and tangled.
Why is he doing this?
Is my life something he found amusing to play around with?
I was so grateful for the way he let me hide behind him just now—and now this?
When the turn truly reached her, she froze like a small animal that believed one simple rule: if you don't move, the predator won't notice you.
Her fingers clamped around the edge of the desk until her knuckles turned white.
In her head, his voice replayed—steady, even, without exaggeration:
"Mi-yeon is very quiet and modest. And she has kind eyes. When I look at her, it feels like seeing an uncut diamond."
Diamond.
The word echoed, unreal, kind but unbearably public.
She was pulled out of her stunned stillness by a voice somewhere behind her.
Soo-yeong rolled her tongue against the inside of her cheek, irritation sharpening her gaze. She said quietly to the girl sitting next to her: "A village girl—and he dares to compare her to a diamond? The audacity. It's ridiculous."
Mi-yeon didn't hear every word clearly.
But she understood enough.
She sat perfectly still, what would normally hurt her, this time gave her strength.
If Soo-yeong didn't like it… then it must have been something kind.
Something meant for me.
Her eyes were wide now, glassy with held-back emotion. Her lashes trembled. But she was no longer frozen.
Choi Mi-rae smiled gently, sensing the pause stretching too long.
"Good observation, Den," she said warmly. "Very… unique, a bit too direct, but… nice."
Then she turned to Mi-yeon.
"And Mi-yeon, what would you like to say about your partner?"
Mi-yeon stood.
Sort of.
Her knees shook so badly that the desk gave a faint, traitorous knock as she steadied herself. Panic flooded her chest. Her hands fumbled, and she flipped her paper—wrong side up.
She stared at it.
Then at him.
Then back at the paper.
This isn't it.
I wrote something else. Where are my notes?
Why can't I remember anything?!
Her voice came out barely audible.
"D-Den-ssi… he… um…"
She swallowed hard.
"He's… bold… and… kind… and… stubborn… and also…"
Her mind blanked completely.
"He… uh… smells not like—I mean—he smells… good."
For a heartbeat, the room was silent.
Then laughter burst out.
Not cruel. Not sharp. Bright and genuine.
Even Ko Su-Ho smiled.
A freshman boy behind them laughed and said, half-amazed,
"Wow. They talk about each other like they've known each other since elementary school!"
Mi-yeon realized what she had said.
The heat rushed to her face so fast it felt physical—like she could replace the heating system of the building just by sitting there.
She dropped back into her chair instantly and covered her face with both hands.
The noise in the lecture hall slowly faded as the orientation moved on to the next part—but something had shifted.
Den was no longer just "the foreign student."
Mi-yeon, without meaning to, had ended up in the center of attention.
And someone in the room clearly didn't like that.
A few minutes later, a ten-minute break was announced. Students stood, stretched, headed for coffee or spilled into the hallway, buzzing with fresh energy.
Mi-yeon stayed seated.
She didn't move.
Still flushed, still overwhelmed, she finally spoke—so quietly it's almost a breath.
"I… I didn't want… to make you look silly… really…sorry."
Den snorted softly, without any edge to it.
"All good," he said easily. "If girls start gossiping about how good I smell, it's not exactly a bad thing."
There was a hint of warmth in his smile—unforced, almost amused at himself.
"I think we can call it a draw."
He shifted his backpack onto his shoulder.
"Come on, partner. Let's see what else they've prepared for us in this orientation circus."
He joined the flow of students heading out.
Mi-yeon hesitated for a second—then gathered her things and followed.
As they moved toward the faculty's rooftop, where food, drinks, and ridiculous ice-breaker games awaited—dancing, Q&A challenges, loud nonsense—Den exhaled quietly, lost in his own thoughts.
How am I supposed to explain that I am Russian who does not drink?
Coming from me it will sound like claiming the Earth is flat.
Behind him, Mi-yeon walked quietly.