Episode 49
18 December 2025, Thursday. First day of winter break. Late morning. Parking lot near SNU's women dormitory.
Mi-yeon stood near the women's dormitory with a small suitcase by her side—the kind people usually carried onto planes when they didn't want to check a bag.
Den was late.
In her hand, she held a thermos—hot black tea, with milk and honey. Exactly the way he liked it.
Her phone buzzed.
Mi-yeon, I'm really sorry. I know I'm late, but the UAZ is acting up and won't start. I think I flooded the spark plugs.
I'll clean them now—the engine should come back to life.
Ten minutes later, Mi-yeon reached the men's dormitory on foot. She approached quietly and stopped when she saw him.
To her, the scene looked almost funny.
A toolbox sat open on the asphalt in front of the car. Den was bent over the engine bay, practically diving under the hood. Metal rang sharply as a wrench hit something solid—then slipped, vanishing somewhere inside the engine. Den muttered a stream of Russian words that sounded like an ancient incantation, as if he were a sorcerer casting curses.
Which, honestly, wasn't far from the truth
"Hi, Den," she said softly, already smiling to herself.
The stream of "ancient curses" stopped instantly. There was a dull thump against the hood, followed by a muffled groan.
"Ow… mm…"
Den emerged from under the hood, rubbing the back of his head quickly, trying to calm the sudden pain. He was already smiling.
"Hi, Mi-yeon. Sorry. I'm almost done. You didn't have to walk all the way here—you could've waited somewhere warm."
He ran a hand across his forehead to push his hair back, leaving a dark streak of engine oil on his face.
Mi-yeon stepped closer, taking out a tissue, and gently wiped the smudge away.
The gesture was innocent, born purely from care—and yet Den felt embarrassed. He met her eyes, and that made her flustered too.
They looked at each other a little longer than friends usually do.
Mi-yeon cleared her throat, handed him the thermos, and said while looking down,
"I made tea for you. You should drink some so you don't freeze. I'll wait in the car so I don't get in your way."
"Thank you…"
Den took a sip and went back under the hood.
Mi-yeon sat in the front seat, her face hidden in her scarf, hands tucked into her jacket sleeves. She watched the only part of him visible beyond the hood—how he moved, how he paused now and then to take another sip of tea.
She simply watched, a faint smile on her lips, as if the broken car were a small, unexpected gift.
A little later, the engine finally started, and they drove off.
As the motor warmed up, the cabin slowly filled with heat.
The UAZ had no sound insulation to speak of—it growled and rattled, wind noise mixing with the sound of the tires. Mi-yeon didn't notice any of it.
To her, it was the most comfortable car in the world.
She turned her head toward Den.
The engine noise filled the silence that followed her first words. Mi-yeon looked down at her hands, clenched inside her sleeves, gathering her thoughts.
"Before we arrive," she said again, more seriously, "I need to prepare you. You'll be meeting my parents for the first time. And… I… I really want them to like you."
Den nodded, glancing away from the road for a second.
"Understood. Teach me, Master Yoda. I want them to like me too."
She let out a small breath, suppressing the urge to flick him for the "Master Yoda" comment, and spoke in a tone as serious as a lecturer—hiding a smile behind her nerves, or perhaps hiding her nerves behind a smile.
"Den, please. This is important. When you see them for the first time, you need to bow deeply. Not the kind we do at university—lower. And you must say that you're grateful for their hospitality. Make sure you give my mom a gift we're bringing to them right away."
"Got it," Den replied solemnly, rehearsing the phrases in his head.
"And call my father and mother abeonim and eomeonim. Even if they tell you to call them something else… it's better not to. Especially at first."
She looked at him, checking if he understood the importance.
"Father and mother?" he repeated in English to make sure and asked doubtfully. "Are you sure? Not uncle and aunt? Isn't that a bit too informal?"
Mi-yeon smiled.
"So you got a C-minus in Korean literature and now you think you're an expert? Who was born in Korea, you or me? Don't argue. Just memorize."
Den nodded.
"Alright. Abeonim and eomeonim it is."
"And food," she continued. "Mom will probably cook a lot. Even if you're not hungry, or don't really like something—you need to try everything. And praise it. Say it's delicious. And… eat a lot of rice. That's important."
Den frowned slightly.
"That might be difficult. Rice is fine, but I don't handle spicy food very well. Still… if kimchi burns a hole through my stomach, I'll try not to cry while saying how delicious it is."
Mi-yeon looked out the window at the bare winter trees, hiding her smile and her worries at the same time. Then she continued, deciding that food might not earn him many points anyway.
"And please… you should know… our house is very modest. Very. When they show you your room, there will be a low table, a mattress on the floor, simple furniture. Even if you don't like it… please don't show it. Mom really tried to make it comfortable."
Den smiled.
"I'm sure I'll be very happy with the room."
She turned to him, and a faint, almost imperceptible anxiety flickered in her eyes.
"And my father… He's a good person, but very straightforward. He might ask direct questions. About your studies. Your family in Russia. Your plans…"—after university, she added quickly, as if it didn't matter, though her cheeks flushed slightly.
"Sometimes he doesn't talk, he interrogates. My sister and I are used to it. Just… don't be offended, okay? Don't argue. He's the father, the elder of the house. He has the right to speak plainly. We're younger—we should speak respectfully. Even if he allows himself to be very informal."
Den nodded again and smiled faintly.
"I'm ready for that. Back in middle school, I was friends with a girl whose father didn't like me much either. He also spoke about me… very plainly and informally."
Mi-yeon fell silent, unsure how to react to that.
After a moment, Den asked quietly,
"Are you worried, Mi-yeon? Afraid I'll mess everything up?"
She pressed her lips together and smiled awkwardly.
"No… of course not…"
Den glanced at her briefly.
"Really? Wow. You're brave. I'll admit… I'm panicking a little."
He said it lightly, almost joking—but there was truth beneath it. His visit was a risk for her, and he understood that. It showed in what he said next.
"I'll do my best," he said without smiling, eyes back on the road.
In those words, in that serious tone, there was more than just willingness to follow rules. There was care. The very thing she feared—and the very thing she now couldn't do without.
Mi-yeon buried her nose in her scarf again, secretly looking at his profile.
Instead of fear, a strange sense of certainty settled over her.
It'll be alright, she thought. Because he's trying. For me.
18 December 2025, Thursday. Late afternoon. Village Gotan-ri near Chuncheon, little hillside street off Chunhwa-ro, Jeong's family home.
The car slowed to a stop in front of a low house with a darkened tiled roof. Warm yellow light glowed in the windows. From inside came the muted sound of a television.
Mi-yeon got out first. She paused for a second, as if gathering her courage, then turned back to Den.
"Ready?" she asked quietly.
"Not at all," he answered just as quietly.
She gave a small, weak smile and walked to the door first.
The moment Mi-yeon opened it, Su-ha burst out of the kitchen like a bullet, wearing a colorful dress.
"Unni! Unni is here, Mom! Unni and Oppa!"
Their mother appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a house apron. Bo-ra paused for a moment, studying Den—not with hostility, but with curiosity. Then she bowed.
"Please come in, Seok Do-nis-ssi. We were expecting you."
Den immediately bowed too, a little deeper than necessary, awkward but sincere.
"Hello, Eomeonim. I… um…"
He glanced at Mi-yeon for reassurance,
"Seok Do-nis? Thank you for welcoming me."
He spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word.
Her mother nodded, noticing the effort.
"Please come inside. It's cold out there."
Mi-yeon nervously took off her jacket and helped Den with his things, as if afraid to leave him alone even for a second.
They approached her father and greeted him, bowing—politely, almost ritualistically.
Jung-guk's expression, even his posture, was deliberately restrained. Not indifference—acceptance of an awkward situation. A light-haired, blue-eyed young man was a guest in his house. Standing a bit awkwardly in the living room in front of him.
Life didn't exactly prepare him for that one.
Jung-guk gave a short, noncommittal "Hm."
Mi-yeon straightened at once. Den, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, did the same.
Den stared at the table in front of Jung-guk, trying to figure out what one was supposed to do after such a dense "Hm."
Bo-ra came to the rescue.
"Go wash your hands," her mother said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Dinner is almost ready."
Su-ha grabbed Den by the sleeve and tugged at him.
"Come on, Oppa! I'll show you where we wash hands."
Mi-yeon stayed near her father, waiting nervously for his reaction.
He glanced at her, then looked straight ahead and spoke quietly, outwardly calm.
"You said he is Korean."
Mi-yeon bowed slightly. Trembling inside with fear.
"No, Dad, I said he isn't Chinese…"
He made a characterful sound by clicking his tongue.
"Go wash your hands."
Soon dinner was served.
There was a lot of food. Too much. Den noticed immediately.
Her mother served him rice. Then more. Then kimchi.
"Eat," she said simply.
Den ate the rice and meat confidently, with genuine enjoyment.
He tried the kimchi cautiously.
His face tightened almost imperceptibly from the spice; he tried not to grimace, but blood rushed to his cheeks. For a man used to eating even garlic boiled, kimchi was a test of will.
"Very delicious," he said, suffering through the heat and taking frequent sips of water.
Her mother watched closely. Then she turned back to the stove, hiding a faint smile.
Her father stayed silent, eating slowly.
A few minutes passed in silence.
Then he finally spoke.
"Where are you from?"
"Russia. Moscow."
"Far."
"Yes, Abeonim."
Her father nodded. A pause.
"Why did you come to Korea?"
Den didn't answer right away.
"To study. To get a profession."
"They don't teach natural sciences in Russia?"
"They do, but they don't teach patience. My father believes Korea is the best place for that."
Her father looked at him directly. For a long time.
"And how is it going?"
"Questionably," Den answered honestly. "But I'm trying."
Su-ha, apparently deciding the adults had waited long enough to ask their questions, spoke up:
"It's so unexpected that you're a foreigner, Oppa! Unni, why didn't you tell us?"
The words fell into the room like a dropped axe.
Mi-yeon froze, gripping her chopsticks.
Den responded quickly—faster than the child's words could thicken the air.
"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be very polite to start by listing my flaws."
Her father snorted. He didn't smile, but the tension eased slightly.
Sensing the shift, Su-ha grew bolder and pressed with another question.
"Oppa, why did you choose to be friends with my unni? Because she's pretty, or because she's smart?"
Her mother nearly choked. Mi-yeon turned red to the tips of her ears, eyebrows shooting up in outrage.
"Hey! Kijibe-ya! Why would you ask that?! Eat your rice!"
Yet Mi-yeon's heart filled not with anger, but with trembling anticipation of the answer.
Den smiled only with his eyes, his face otherwise calm.
"Hm… Su-ha, before I answer, let me ask you something. Why do you like ice cream? Because it's cold, or because it's sweet?"
Su-ha thought for a couple of seconds, then replied:
"You're weird. It's ice cream! It's special, stretchy, refreshing. It makes you happy. Even Dad smiles when he eats it!"
Den smiled and said:
"That's why I like being around your sister. Not just because she's smart or pretty, but because she's special. When I'm near her, I feel happy—and I smile."
Su-ha laughed brightly.
"You're so funny, Do-nis oppa! Comparing unni to ice cream!"
Mi-yeon grew completely flustered. She stared into her bowl.
"Su-ha, please, just eat quietly."
18 December 2025, Thursday. Late evening. Village Gotan-ri near Chuncheon, little hillside street off Chunhwa-ro, Jeong's family home.
After dinner, Bo-ra and Mi-yeon prepared the bedding in the guest room.
Her father went outside to smoke. A little later, Den followed him out.
He didn't go straight to the bench. Instead, he walked to the UAZ and tapped the tire with his boot, as if checking the pressure.
Jung-guk watched him for a minute, then clicked his tongue.
"What are you doing standing there alone? Come here."
He offered Den a cigarette. Den stood beside him but declined.
"Thank you, Abeonim, but no. I don't smoke."
Her father raised an eyebrow.
"Then why did you come outside with me?"
"Eomeonim and Mi-yeon are making the bed. I offered to help, but they said it wasn't necessary.
It felt wrong to just stand there watching, so I came out. Should I go back inside?"
"Nah. Stay."
A minute passed. They both stayed silent.
Each thinking about the other.
Jung-guk finished his cigarette slowly, sitting on the bench. Den sat on the porch steps nearby.
Jung-guk stubbed out the cigarette, looked at Den, and said.
"All right. Let's go inside. It's cold."
Late at night, Mi-yeon lay awake in her room, staring at the ceiling. Su-ha slept softly beside her.
Quiet footsteps sounded outside. The door opened slightly.
Her mother peeked in and sat on the bed beside her.
Mi-yeon propped herself up on one elbow.
"Mom?"
"He's trying," her mother said softly. "That's nice."
Mi-yeon closed her eyes, feeling something inside her finally loosen.
"Mom…"
"Sleep. Even your father has already gone to bed. This morning he threatened to guard your door all night. If he's not worried, why should you be?"
The door closed.
In the darkness, Mi-yeon smiled—just a little.