Episode 8
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Early morning. SNU's park zone.
The walk to campus was quiet.
Morning Seoul felt fresh and oddly clean. The park around the university was still half-asleep—early joggers passed by, a few students moved slowly with coffee in hand, and someone sat on a bench scrolling with blank eyes.
Den walked at an even pace.
The path to the main building led to the stairs. And there—two meters off to the side, near the entrance—he saw her.
Mi-yeon.
She stood as if she had been placed there and told not to move. A modest skirt, a cardigan over a white blouse, her hair tied neatly into a ponytail again. Her hands were held in front of her, fingers worrying the strap of her bag.
When she noticed him, her eyes widened slowly.
Her expression was a mixture of surprise and hesitation she couldn't hide.
He always looks like that? Am I even allowed to speak first to such a cute guy?
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Then she just waved shyly.
"Uh… um… good morning, Den-ssi… Den!"
She dropped her eyes immediately, realizing she had used the prefix again.
No '-ssi', never '-ssi', Mi-yeon!
"You… look different today," she managed, stumbling on the first word like it was a stone in her throat.
Den didn't rush to fill the silence. His gaze rested on her ponytail for a second—the same small detail he had praised last night—then returned to her face. He smiled.
He wanted to say in return that she looked just as cute as yesterday, but before either of them could say more, footsteps approached—light, confident, synchronized.
Soo-yeong arrived about same time.
She spotted the scene instantly. Her gaze hooked onto Den, then Mi-yeon, then back to Den.
Something sharp flashed across her expression: interest layered over irritation.
She smiled—bright, polished, harmless on the surface.
"Good morning," Soo-yeong said as she came closer, her tone sweet enough to be public-friendly. "Den-ssi, right? You're really… putting effort into your look."
Her eyes glided down his outfit, then lifted again, assessing.
"And Mi-yeon," she added, as if remembering a minor detail, her voice still smooth. "You're early."
It wasn't an insult. It was a reminder of hierarchy.
Mi-yeon's fingers squeezed the bag strap. She kept her gaze lowered, trying to make herself smaller without moving.
Den's posture didn't change. He didn't step away from Mi-yeon, and he didn't step toward Soo-yeong. He simply stood—calm, contained—as if the space between them was a line he had no intention of crossing.
Soo-yeong's smile remained perfect.
But her eyes sharpened, curious and annoyed at the same time, like she was watching an experiment.
Mi-yeon dared one more glance at Den's face—just a flicker—and her thoughts burned with panic.
Say something normal. Anything not pathetic or weird.
Don't make him regret standing here with you.
Finally, she squeaked out quietly, "I always try to come early."
Den said simply, without emphasis, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Let's go, girls. If we get to the classroom early, we'll get good seats."
He gave Mi-yeon a light nod. Just a quiet:
Come with me. I'd like that.
She answered with a tiny bow—almost invisible. Not a formal one. More like gratitude disguised as politeness. As if she wasn't just agreeing with his logic, but thanking him for noticing her at all.
Den walked past them without hesitation.
Mi-yeon watched him for half a second, caught in her familiar dilemma.
Should I follow?
Following him felt too bold, too scary.
But staying behind with Soo-yeong felt worse.
Fear decided faster than thought.
She took a few quick steps, caught up, and followed him—almost beside him, just half a step behind.
Behind them, Soo-yeong froze. She realized her miscalculation.
If she followed them, she lowered herself to the level of the "village girl."
If she didn't, she was the one left behind.
Panic flashed—brief, sharp.
Then salvation arrived.
Hwang Se-a spotted her from afar, waved exaggeratedly, and called her name. Soo-yeong exhaled, her smile snapping back into place. She waved in return and turned away, walking toward Se-a as if this had been her plan all along.
Den entered the classroom first.
For a moment, he considered opening the door for Mi-yeon and letting her through gallantly. But then he recalled how she panicked at any of his previous polite gestures or jokes and decided against it.
It was still early—half-empty.
Dust floated lazily in the sunlight streaming through the windows, as if it had no intention of settling. The smell of chalk, paper, and air conditioning blended into that universal university scent.
He chose a seat by the window. Tilted the chair back onto two legs, one foot propped on the windowsill.
His eyes closed on their own.
The corridor noise existed somewhere far away—muffled, distant, irrelevant. For most students, it was the chaos of the first day—schedules, anxiety, comparisons. For him, it was ten minutes of rest before the lecture.
Then Mi-yeon entered.
Quietly. So quietly that, if not for the shadow sliding across the floor, she might have gone unnoticed.
Her eyes found him immediately.
And when she saw him like that—relaxed, calm, unbothered—she stopped for a heartbeat.
Faint admiration mixed into her gaze. She hid her smile and resumed her steps.
She didn't go to him. Instead, she chose a seat in the middle rows—close enough to see him, but far enough to avoid whispers.
As she sat down, she heard the girls nearby murmuring:
"Is he from Russia for real?"
"Yeah…"
"He's… so strange. Do you think he is cute?"
"I don't know… foreigners are so troublesome."
The girls lowered their voices, but Mi-yeon could still barely hear them.
"I heard they're good kissers."
"Doubt that."
"You just say so because you can't have him."
The other girl frowned.
"Pfff… like you can!"
Mi-yeon bit her lower lip, feeling oddly offended by the way they talked about Den.
Hussies.
She put music on her phone, refusing to witness the conversation any longer.
More students trickled in.
A couple of guys entered first, casting assessing glances across the auditorium.
Then Baek So-mi arrived, lowering the temperature of the room by half a degree with her mere presence.
Soo-yeong arrived next with her two shadows. She noticed Den by the window, and her face tightened for just a second.
Mi-yeon noticed that she spoke a bit louder to Se-a as they walked past Den—obviously on purpose.
But he didn't even look at her.
That, more than anything, irritated Soo-yeong. She sat far away, pointedly ignoring him.
The room slowly filled.
Mi-yeon felt the air thicken with other people's emotions—nerves, excitement, judgment, curiosity.
Until a light cough sounded at the door and the professor entered.
"All rise. Let's begin," he said, his voice strict.
Chairs scraped. Students stood.
But just before the lesson truly started, Mi-yeon sneaked another glance toward the window.
Right after that, the classroom door swung open a second before the professor was about to start the roll call.
Han-bin slipped inside—not loudly, but too fast, like someone who had run the whole way while praying no one would notice.
On the surface, she looked presentable, but her face told the truth anyway.
Even from a distance, the hangover was obvious.
Slight swelling under the eyes. Careful steps, as if every movement sent a warning pulse straight to her skull. Her shoulders were tight, braced.
She avoided everyone's gaze—especially the ones she feared.
Soo-yeong noticed her first. Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. Not cruel. Knowing.
Her friends whispered behind their hands:
"What's wrong with her?"
"She didn't drink that much yesterday… or did she…?"
Soo-yeong didn't answer. She only flicked her eyes toward Han-bin.
Quick. Sharp. Testing.
Mi-yeon caught that look. She watched her roommate nervously as Han-bin moved through the auditorium.
Han-bin's fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the strap of her bag. She tried to move quietly toward her seat—and then her eyes met Den's.
Den was still in the same relaxed posture: chair balanced on two legs, one foot resting on the windowsill, as if no one here had the authority to tell him otherwise.
Mi-yeon tried to see something special in his gaze as he looked at Han-bin.
But his gaze was calm. Level. Empty of demand.
He was the only person who had seen Han-bin last night in a state she would never forgive herself for showing anyone.
But he gave nothing away. He more or less ignored her entrance.
Han-bin gave the smallest nod—so slight that no one else could have caught it. A thank-you meant only for him.
Then she quickly took her seat near Mi-yeon, eyes down, disappearing back into anonymity.
The professor began speaking.
Notebooks opened. Pens moved.
The first lecture of the semester resumed its steady, ordinary rhythm.