Episode 10
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Afternoon. SNU's chemistry faculty, auditorium 501-309
The upstairs corridor was almost empty.
Den walked toward the classroom, feeling the contrast—the noisy hive of the cafeteria he'd left behind, the cool silence of the hallway ahead. Somewhere far away, lockers clinked. Footsteps echoed in pockets. It felt cleaner up here. Less sticky with people. He opened the classroom door.
Empty.
He chose the seat by the window, like always.
Sat down. Leaned back. Closed his eyes. His usual routine.
Quiet.
He sat as if the room belonged to him—back against the chair, arms folded behind his head, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. Relaxed. Slightly lazy. Slightly defiant.
Then, from the corridor, he heard it—the signature sound of a confident girl: the unmistakable rhythm of thin heels against the floor.
The steps were light, springy—the kind of walk girls had when they knew they were attractive. But in these steps, now drawing closer, there was something else. Aim. Intention.
Yu-ra had noticed him a few minutes earlier, at the end of the hallway, entering the empty classroom. Her eyes skimmed over his tall frame, the way he carried himself, the careless confidence of his posture.
She finished her conversation with her friend and chose to come over.
Yu-ra reached the doorway, paused, and glanced around—checking if anyone was watching. She made a small adjustment with her hand—as if fixing her skirt.
But it wasn't just fixing. She tucked it higher at the waistband, making it noticeably shorter than university rules allowed.
The gesture was subtle enough to pretend innocence. Obvious enough to an adult.
And she didn't do it for the hallway.
She did it for the man behind the classroom door.
Then she stepped inside.
The door closed with a soft click. Not the careless click of an accidental push.
A deliberate click.
A door closed on purpose—so the corridor wouldn't hear what came next.
She took a few steps in. Stopped at a distance of one or two meters from him.
Den's posture—arms behind his head, gaze up—didn't embarrass her.
It attracted her.
She read it as an invitation into the game she liked best: the game played at the edge of the line, without direct words.
"You're early," she said, her voice low and smooth—too intimate for a normal campus greeting.
Yu-ra clasped her hands behind her back and arched slightly, her posture like a dancer's, displaying her line without needing to "accidentally" brush against him.
"Way too early for your next lecture," she added, tilting her head as she studied his face from the side. "You like silence, don't you?"
She took another step, confident, without hesitation.
Now her knees were close to his desk.
Her gaze traveled over him—not romantic, not dreamy. It was the gaze of someone who tested boundaries for sport.
She placed a palm on the edge of his desk and leaned in—not enough to invade his space, but enough that he could feel the warmth of her body in the air.
Den didn't open his eyes, but he responded.
"Hi. Lovely aroma, Yu-ra. This perfume suits you."
"Thank you," she murmured. "You remembered my perfume? I'm flattered and offended at the same time."
"Why? Because I remembered your perfume?"
She answered with a playful yet predatory purr.
"No, because you don't call me sunbae."
"Do you really want me to? I thought you stopped by to close the distance?"
She looked down at him in that lazy, almost insolent pose.
"Maybe… So why did you come here almost half an hour before the lecture?"
Den opened his eyes fully.
He leaned forward slightly, meeting her gaze without rushing, without retreating.
"It's not that I like coming early," he replied. "But it's a good way to meet people."
He paused. His eyes slid—briefly, openly—over her figure, then returned to her eyes.
Her skirt really was too short. She knew it. And she knew that he knew.
"If I came when the room was already full," he added calmly, "would you have walked in just to say hello, Yu-ra?"
For a brief moment, she lost control.
Her eyes narrowed—not in hostility, but in alert admiration.
Yu-ra wasn't used to being read this quickly.
Not used to someone saying out loud what she preferred to keep sealed behind charm and confidence.
She stepped closer.
The safe distance was gone now. If Den rested his elbow on the desk, it would brush her thigh.
Her voice dropped.
"You…" She tilted her head slightly. "You called out my intentions too fast."
Her fingers rested on the edge of his desk. There was a subtle tension in her shoulders, a clean curve in her back—this wasn't coquetry. It was body control. She wasn't just standing there. She was constructing a scene.
"Usually," she added, a faint, almost predatory smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "boys pretend they don't understand. Or…"
She leaned a fraction closer.
"They really don't."
Den didn't move. His gaze stayed on her face.
And that—more than anything—provoked her.
She bit her lip for half a second, then asked,
"And you, Den…"
She said his name for the first time like she was tasting it.
"Would you have preferred I came in when everyone was already here?"
There was a hint of unease in her voice. Almost imperceptible.
Yu-ra was used to two kinds of male reactions: eager admiration or nervous hesitation.
He gave her calm certainty.
"Yu-ra," he said, almost gently,
"When a beautiful girl in a fitting short skirt stops by to give a smile and say 'hi,' any guy would be flattered. To say I'm not would be an obvious lie."
Yu-ra blinked. Briefly. Inhaled—deeper than necessary—forcing herself to maintain eye contact.
She sat down on the edge of his desk.
Den continued, softer. "But you're playing with fire."
The words fell between them like a warm warning, not a threat.
She tilted her head—not in fear, but because for the first time someone had called her out so directly as someone who deliberately staged a moment.
She opened her mouth to respond—
—but he didn't give her the chance.
He leaned forward just enough to feel her breath, without crossing the line.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
He finished quietly, almost in a whisper, but firm:
"…don't get burned. I wouldn't want that."
She froze. Shame and fear had nothing to do with it; the shock came from being met as an equal
Her lips parted—not seductively, but because she lost the rhythm.
Her eyes shone. She tried to pull her mask of confidence back into place—but didn't quite manage it. For one second, she looked real.
"So…" she said more softly than before, "you're… worried about me?"
She took a small step back. Careful. Controlled. Restoring the balance he had disrupted.
She didn't wait for an answer. She straightened and adjusted her skirt—not to show it off now, but to reclaim herself.
She wrapped her hand around the door handle and held his gaze a second longer than intended.
"I hope to see you later."
She left.
The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
The classroom was silent again.
And Den was left alone with the faint echo of a game that hadn't ended the way either of them expected.
He exhaled deeply.
Unsettlingly attractive.
Later, the classroom began to fill.
Students came in small groups, the low hum of voices slowly replacing the earlier emptiness. Chairs scraped against the floor, bags landed on desks, someone laughed too loudly and was immediately shushed.
Mi-yeon entered with Han-bin.
They sat in the middle rows, side by side—roommates by circumstance, allies by necessity. Mi-yeon placed her bag neatly under the desk. Han-bin exhaled, as if she'd been holding her breath since morning.
Min-jae dropped into the seat next to Den with the casual ease of someone who already considered the place his territory.
"Morning," he muttered, pulling out his notebook.
Den answered with a short nod.
In the back rows, the popular girls took their seats together. Their voices were low, almost lazy—but their looks were sharp.
At first, it was harmless—whispers about boys, about who looked decent in uniform and who didn't, about who already felt like a disappointment.
Then someone mentioned Han-bin.
"She was late, right?"
"I told you she can't handle her alcohol."
"She pretends she's naive… but I have my doubts."
The words didn't travel far enough to be heard clearly.
But the looks did.
Mi-yeon felt it before she understood it—the subtle pressure between her shoulder blades, the instinctive tightening of her posture. Han-bin noticed too; her hand stiffened around her pen.
They didn't hear the sentences.
They just knew who the sentences were about.
Then the focus shifted.
Someone glanced toward the window.
Toward Den.
"Isn't he weird?"
"No, he's cool. Didn't you see him yesterday?"
"He's not cool, he's unsettling."
"He talked back to Kim Soo-yeong in the cafeteria."
"I think even Baek So-mi is interested in him."
Baek So-mi, sitting in the row above, heard enough.
Her pen stopped.
She turned halfway around and hissed, barely containing her irritation:
"Stop it. He's not someone you can handle."
For half a second, the girls fell quiet.
Then Soo-yeong smiled.
Slow. Confident. Sharp.
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and said softly—just loud enough for her circle to hear,
"Relax. The Russian will be looking at me with puppy eyes in a few days. They always do."
A few girls snickered. Someone nodded.
But as the words left her mouth, something uncomfortable flickered inside Soo-yeong.
Because even she knew—it sounded easier than it would be.
She remembered the way Den hadn't looked at her when she wanted him to. The way he chose silence over reaction. The way he didn't play along.
She hid the thought behind a smile.
In the middle rows, Mi-yeon lowered her gaze to her notebook, pretending to read. Han-bin leaned a little closer, as if that could shield them from eyes.
By the window, Den sat the same way he always did—calm, detached, unreadable.
The lecture began.
Beneath the professor's voice, the lines had already been drawn.
The lecture ended without incident.
Chairs scraped back, notebooks snapped shut, the room exhaled as one body. The professor gathered his things and left, and immediately the class surged toward the schedule board outside the auditorium.
A loose crowd formed—shoulders bumping, people craning their necks, phones out, fingers tracing lines on the printed timetable.
Chang-woo, tall, broad-shouldered, painfully sincere in the way only first-years could be, leaned forward and read aloud with unfiltered enthusiasm:
"P.E. Swimming pool."
His face lit up instantly, a grin spreading from ear to ear.
"Awesome! All the girls will be in swimsuits!"
For half a second, the corridor froze.
Then the temperature dropped.
Several girls turned toward him at once—slowly, in sync. Their expressions ranged from flat disbelief to open irritation. Someone clicked their tongue. Someone else exhaled sharply through their nose.
Chang-woo blinked, suddenly aware that he might have said something wrong—but not quite sure what.
Den watched with brief, detached sympathy.
He stepped closer and clapped a hand on Chang-woo's shoulder—friendly, solid. His voice carried just enough to be heard, his tone almost theatrical, mock-solemn.
"Chang-woo, 'awesome' is when you're in a Finnish sauna with girls who came there specifically for you. Without swimsuits. Under very different conditions."
A few nearby students snorted before they could stop themselves.
Den continued calmly, almost kindly,
"In the university pool, there will be nothing to see. There isn't even a jacuzzi to enjoy the view from. So don't build any fantasies. We're just going to swim our asses back and forth for an entire hour. That's all there is to it, my friend."
The tension broke.
Someone laughed openly now. A couple of girls rolled their eyes—but with less venom. Even a few of them smiled despite themselves.
Chang-woo's ears turned red.
"Oh… " he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah. Right. Swimming. Of course."
The crowd loosened. Conversations resumed. People began moving toward the exit.
Behind them, Mi-yeon lowered her gaze to hide a small, helpless smile.
Han-bin exhaled in relief.
Soo-yeong glanced over, annoyed.
And Den, already turning away from the board, looked as unconcerned as ever—as if this had never been a "moment" at all.