Episode 16
6 March 2025, Thursday. Morning. Yu-ra's apartment.
Thursday morning greeted Seoul with a slightly cloudy, yet still sunny sky.
Yu-ra sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, sunlight cutting across the floor of her small studio.
In her hands was a paper rose.
A ridiculous thing. A napkin folded into something pretending to be a flower.
Her face remained calm, pensive.
Her thoughts lined up neatly, one after another, like arguments in a courtroom where she was both judge and defendant.
I don't love him.
No. Of course not.
He's just… unusual.
She tilted her head, examining the rose.
Would I kiss him?
Maybe…
Nothing serious. He's just entertaining.
With him—I'm not bored.
She reached toward the trash bin.
Paused.
Her hand froze mid-air.
Yu-ra exhaled sharply through her nose, annoyed at herself.
"Idiot," she muttered. "It's just a napkin."
She pulled her hand back.
Carefully folded the rose and slipped it into her backpack.
As if it belonged there.
6 March 2025, Thursday. Morning. SNU, women's dormitory.
Mi-yeon woke up the way people do when they fall asleep far too late, far too many times.
She didn't really get up—she just slid down onto the floor.
She ended up kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed against her pillow, arms hanging uselessly. Mi-yeon stayed like that for several seconds, gathering strength.
The price of half a night spent talking nonsense with Han-bin.
"Ugh…" she groaned quietly.
She forced herself up, washed her face, brushed her teeth, then returned to the room.
"Han-bin…" she called softly.
No response.
The alarm on Han-bin's phone had been ringing for a full minute.
"Han-bin," Mi-yeon tried again, louder.
Nothing.
Mi-yeon sighed, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and yanked it off.
"That's it. Get up." Her voice sharpened. "Lee Han-bin, wake up right now!"
Han-bin rolled over, mumbling something completely unintelligible.
Mi-yeon gave up.
She headed to the kitchen, checking her phone as she walked, and started making coffee for two.
A few minutes later, she returned with two steaming cups. She placed one on Han-bin's desk, sipped from the other, and watched her roommate patiently.
Soon enough, Han-bin slowly got up and began dragging her feet across the room, moving purely on instinct, guided by the smell of coffee. Her hair was a mess, eyes still half-closed.
She took a sip and visibly came back to life.
"I saw my soul just now," Han-bin muttered. "It tried to leave my body."
Mi-yeon smiled faintly.
She stood by the mirror, slowly brushing her hair, movements careful and unhurried.
Han-bin watched her over the rim of her mug.
"You're quiet this morning," she said. "Thinking about something?"
Mi-yeon hesitated.
Just a fraction of a second.
"Not really," she answered softly. "Just… tired."
Han-bin hummed, unconvinced, but didn't push.
She took another sip of coffee, eyes drifting thoughtfully.
"You know…" she said casually, "it's funny how one small thing can make a day feel different."
Mi-yeon paused mid-stroke.
"Like coffee?"
Han-bin shrugged.
"Like someone remembering your name. Or… inviting you to eat together."
Mi-yeon's fingers tightened slightly around the brush.
She kept looking at her reflection.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I guess it can."
Sunlight filled the room.
Han-bin jumped onto the bed feet first, still holding her cup, and proclaimed cheerfully:
"Let's dress up pretty so we can walk to the university together and make all the boys trip and fall for us. This is our sacred mission. Failure is not an option!"
Mi-yeon almost choked on her coffee at such an inspirational speech.
"Okay… no more caffeine for you today. You are obviously losing it." Her tone was strict, but her eyes were laughing.
Another day began—quietly, unevenly, with thoughts neither of them were ready to say out loud.
6 March 2025, Thursday. Late morning. SNU's park zone.
They walked side by side toward the university.
Han-bin, like most girls around them, was lightly but confidently made up—neat eyeliner, tinted lips, the practiced ease of someone who had learned early that appearance was armor.
Mi-yeon walked next to her.
Her hair was carefully styled, gathered with a pretty hair clip. She wore a simple, lovely dress—light, white, falling just above her knees. A light spring coat was layered over her dress.
But no makeup. Again.
Han-bin glanced at her, squinted slightly, then finally asked what had been bothering her since the dorm.
"Mi-yeon…" she said cautiously. "Why don't you ever wear makeup? You dress nicely, you do your hair… but not even mascara?"
Mi-yeon didn't answer right away.
Her steps slowed just a little.
"My dad…" she said quietly. "He doesn't allow it."
Han-bin stopped short.
"What?" She looked genuinely stunned. "That's ridiculous. At least put on mascara. Just eyelashes. That's barely makeup. No one would even notice."
Mi-yeon's gaze drifted forward—and then inward.
Was it before or after my last birthday?
She stood in the doorway, school uniform wrinkled, eyes red.
She had been laughed at again. Her voice shook as she spoke.
"Dad… can I… start wearing makeup? All the other girls do."
Her mother stood nearby, watching, worried.
Her father—a farmer, simple, kind, but blunt—didn't even hesitate.
"No."
Mi-yeon's lower lip trembled.
"But… Mom says it's okay…"
"No," he repeated firmly. "When you get a boyfriend, then you can wear makeup."
Her voice broke.
"Dad… how am I supposed to get a boyfriend if you don't let me be pretty?"
He frowned, confused, almost offended.
"I never said you can't be pretty. And if a boy only likes lipstick, then what do you need him for?"
He gestured toward her mother.
"Look at your mom. She didn't wear makeup, and I fell in love with her."
Her mother snorted.
"And that's exactly why I ended up with you. If I'd had money for cosmetics, I'd have married a rich businessman."
She turned to him, half teasing, half serious.
Her father bristled.
"Bo-ra! Do you have no shame? Do you love me or not?!"
She slipped an arm around his shoulders.
"Of course I love you. You're just too hard on our little star. She's in high school. Let her be pretty."
He sighed, scratched his head.
"Fine. Take some money. Go to the city and buy her a nice dress. Not from the market—from a proper store."
Bo-ra hesitated.
"But we were saving that money to fix the chicken coop roof…"
He waved it off.
"Bo-ra, are you listening to me? Go get her a pretty dress. What's more important—our daughter or those stupid chickens?"
Then, firmly:
"But makeup is still not allowed."
Mi-yeon blinked, returning to the present.
The white dress she was wearing now—light, simple, gentle—was that very dress.
The one her father had insisted on buying.
Han-bin watched her carefully, sensing the weight behind the silence.
Mi-yeon finally answered softly:
"Maybe… just mascara. Next time."
Han-bin smiled, not pushing further.
"That's a start."
They continued walking, the campus drawing closer—with Mi-yeon carrying both her father's rules and his love, stitched quietly into the fabric of her dress.
6 March 2025, Thursday. Late morning. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 501 study lounge on the 3rd floor.
The corridor was the same every morning: a never-ending battlefield between the smell of coffee and cold air-conditioning. A place where some students waited anxiously and others were always in a hurry.
Mi-yeon and Han-bin stepped into the familiar hallway in front of the lecture rooms. Classmates were already scattered around—some perched on benches scrolling through their phones, others flipping through notes, waiting for the class president or the professor to unlock the door.
Near the coffee machines, Den and Min-jae were locked in their usual half-serious, half-joking debate over something trivial.
A minute earlier, Baek So-mi had been walking toward the vending area when she paused behind the corner where the corridor split into a neat T-shape. She had just come out of the faculty office and was about to turn when she heard voices drifting past—clear, careless, loud enough.
Soo-yeong and two of her minions were strolling toward a large empty sofa in the corner of the hall, completely unaware that So-mi stood motionless just out of sight.
Soo-yeong spoke with full confidence:
"…So-mi? Pfft. She's just an over-educated show-off pretending to be pretty. If her rich daddy didn't drown her in designer labels, no one would be able to tell her apart from some country bumpkin. If I decide I want a guy she's eyeing, she won't stand a chance. There's only one queen here—and that's obviously not her."
Light, confident laughter followed—the kind that assumed everyone agreed.
So-mi didn't move. And she most definitely didn't agree.
I see.
That crossed a line.
By the time she stepped around the corner, her face was perfectly composed again—cool marble, no cracks.
A minute later, she stood at the vending machine, phone in one hand, wallet in the other, speaking in the quiet, precise voice she used when handing out lab reagents.
"I'm getting coffee. What does everyone want? My treat. Don't hold back."
A boy answered immediately. A girl followed. They weren't requests—short, polite orders.
So-mi nodded once for each and began buying the cups one by one. One of them—the cappuccino—she prepared with the slightest, most deliberate twist: the lid, with a small crack, clicked into place just loosely enough. It wouldn't take long. If someone carried it and walked around, the seal would give.
That cup was already mentally assigned to Soo-yeong.
So-mi called out with a slightly official but believable smile:
"Se-a, Soo-yeong—girls, come over. My treat. Den, Mi-yeon, come here too. Min-jae, Americano, right? Han-bin, your latte is waiting!"
Soo-yeong sauntered over exactly on cue, flashing her signature smile—the one that reminded everyone who ruled the social food chain.
"Oh, So-mi-ssi is feeling generous today? Best class rep ever. Cappuccino for me, then. The usual."
So-mi didn't blink.
She continued distributing, calm and methodical.
"Min-jae. Americano."
"Han-bin. Latte."
"Den, black with milk. What does Mi-yeon prefer?"
That was when Den stepped forward.
He had noticed Mi-yeon hovering at the edge of the group earlier, too shy to push through and order for herself.
"She loves cappuccino. I'll take that one."
Before So-mi could react, Den reached for the cup—the one with the sabotaged lid—and took it to Mi-yeon.
So-mi faltered for a second.
Idiot! Why couldn't you take just yours like everyone else did?
Den approached Mi-yeon.
"Here. You like cappuccino, right?"
Mi-yeon blinked, cheeks instantly pink.
She accepted the cup with both hands, cradling it like something fragile and expensive.
"Th-thank you… so much…" she whispered.
So-mi's gaze flicked to the cup now in Mi-yeon's hands.
Very unfortunate… Miscalculation.
She stepped back, lifted her own cup to her lips, and took a small, measured sip.
With no other choice, So-mi handed Soo-yeong a normal cup. She took it, sipped, and gave a pleased little hum.
"Thanks, queen," she said in English, smiling like it was a joke everyone should understand.
So-mi inclined her head slightly and said, hiding her irritation,
"Careful. It's hot."
Mi-yeon and Han-bin drifted toward the lecture hall. Han-bin was already buzzing from the caffeine and the small social thrill.
"Wow… So-mi actually buying coffee for everyone? Has she decided to grow a heart?" she whispered.
Mi-yeon managed a faint smile, but her shoulders stayed tense. The warm cup in her hands felt less like kindness and more like something borrowed—something that didn't truly belong to her.
They had taken only a few steps.
A soft, almost polite click.
The lid remained in Mi-yeon's hands. It had simply… failed to hold.
Half the cappuccino splashed across Mi-yeon's chest, soaking straight into the white dress.
The stain bloomed instantly—dark, spreading, merciless.
Mi-yeon froze.
Her body did what it always did.
Tried to become smaller.
She didn't scream. Didn't swear.
She just stared down, as if she couldn't believe this was happening to her—again, now, here.
"Oh no…" Han-bin gasped. "Mi-yeon…!"
Mi-yeon instinctively tried to wipe the coffee away, but that only spread it further. The light fabric darkened, turning traitorously translucent. The outline of a plain white bra showed through the upper part of the dress.
Her hands trembled.
People in the corridor began turning.
Someone let out an awkward snort.
Someone pretended not to see.
А few unimpressed glances and a couple of rolled eyes.
Mi-yeon had already blamed herself.
I'm stupid. I can't do anything right. I ruin everything.
My favorite dress…
Oh no… I can see my bra!
Panicking, she tried to shield herself with her backpack, like a cornered animal.
Then she looked up. And met Den's eyes.
For a second—surprise.
He reached for his classic blue shirt and started undoing the first button.
His intention was clear: to hide her vulnerability with it.
Mi-yeon's eyes widened in pure horror.
No. No, please, not like this. Don't save me so loudly.
Everyone will talk.
Den stopped.
As if he had sensed her panic.
He slowed down, his hands quietly buttoned the shirt back.
Mi-yeon whispered, barely audible, not to anyone in particular:
"I… I'll just… I'll go to the restroom…"
She took a step.
Den hesitated:
How do I shift focus from you and still give you some shield?
He looked around—cold and sharp, like a switch flipping. His eyes landed on the colorful wall poster.
That shall do.
Den was already moving.
He ripped the left side of a synthetic university festival poster from the wall—a sharp, controlled motion. The right side tore free as he strode forward, stretching the material.
He reached Mi-yeon and draped the poster around her like a cloak, wrapping her in it.
"Come," he said.
Quiet. Firm.
Not cruel—but leaving no room for discussion.
He walked toward the restrooms.
Mi-yeon's hands were still shaking. She clutched the makeshift cover and decided that it couldn't get worse anyway.
She followed.
Den walked steadily, not looking back, not speaking.
She didn't know whether he didn't look because he didn't care—or because he knew it would only make her feel more ashamed.
Instinctively, she understood: right now she was walking behind something like a steamroller—something that would crush every obstacle between her and safety.
She hurried to keep up.
Near the restroom, Den stopped.
He took off his blue shirt right there in the corridor, pulling it over his head and leaving only a fitted grey T-shirt underneath.
He handed the shirt to Mi-yeon.
"Put this over the dress. Tie it at the waist.
The stain is only on top.
So today it's not a dress—it's a skirt and a blouse."
"I'll be back shortly. I'll see if I can get an SNU jacket from the student council office. The professor might not appreciate just a T-shirt, but under a jacket, it'll do."
She tried to speak.
The words tangled.
He looked straight into her eyes.
Thoughts and emotions blurred together.
He lifted a hand slightly.
"Don't. It's okay. Just hurry so you make it to class."
Mi-yeon nodded, her eyes brimming with unspoken gratitude as she clutched the blue shirt against her chest like a shield.
The restroom door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Den stood alone in the corridor for a moment.
Walking, talking, cute catastrophe, this girl… Should be irritating, shouldn't it?
A small, helpless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth—warm, almost fond.
He shook his head at himself, turned, and headed toward the student council office.
Why aren't I irritated?