Episode 12
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late afternoon. SNU's Sports Center, swimming pool.
While Den and Min-jae walked along the edge of the pool toward the sauna, Min-jae couldn't help glancing back, instinctively taking in what he had just witnessed.
Yu-ra watched the scene with silent awe. She melted visibly—more than she had intended to.
Most students slowed to a stop. The water's ripples faded. Movement stalled.
For a brief moment, the entire pool area went unnaturally quiet—as if everyone was trying to understand why the air itself had shifted.
Soo-yeong's friends exchanged looks that hovered somewhere between excitement and panic.
They hadn't expected anything like this.
Soo-yeong stared at Den, her teeth sinking lightly into her lower lip.
It wasn't admiration. It was jealousy. If someone was going to be saved, it should have been her.
And Mi-yeon—
She stood paralyzed at the edge of the pool, hands pressed instinctively to her chest. Her eyes were wide, stunned, searching Den's back as he walked away.
She didn't understand exactly what he had done.
But she understood why.
Did he just… protect me?
Her gaze dropped to Jun-gi, who was still trying to recover in the pool—awkwardly splashing, struggling to stay afloat.
Physically. And… He just walked away, didn't even slow down.
Emotion flooded Mi-yeon all at once, overwhelming her—rearranging her entire understanding of how the world worked.
Jun-gi hauled himself out of the pool, soaked, furious, humiliated.
Water streamed off his hair and shoulders as he stormed after Den and Min-jae, his face twisted with rage—like a dog dragged through the rain.
He caught up just a few steps behind them.
"You—" he hissed, voice low and venomous. "Have you lost your mind? Who the hell do you think you are?"
He stepped forward.
Min-jae stiffened slightly, but Den already understood.
This wasn't about fighting. This was about saving face in front of an audience.
The space around them went silent.
Den turned to face him—calm, unhurried, eyes cool. But beneath that calm, something burned.
How do you say "go fuck yourself" in Korean?
But before he could speak, a sharp voice cut across the pool.
"HEY!"
The coach stood at the far end, arms crossed, clearly irritated.
"If you're not here for this class, then at least respect the lane order! Don't jump into the pool wherever you feel like!"
Jun-gi froze. His jaw tightened.
Then—unwillingly—he bowed.
"Sorry," he muttered.
The other seniors bowed too, their earlier bravado evaporating under authority.
The moment collapsed.
Den didn't say another word. He simply turned and walked into the sauna. Min-jae followed, still processing, still slightly stunned.
The enraged senior was left boiling outside—like a kettle taken off the stove too late. In his head, he had already rehearsed every sharp line, every threat meant to reclaim his pride.
But the moment had passed. The door had closed—and with it, his stage.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late afternoon. SNU's Sports Center.
As soon as Den walked in, the heat wrapped around his body instantly—thick, dry, grounding. The sharp edge of adrenaline faded, replaced by a heavy, calming stillness.
Min-jae stepped in right after Den and let out a breathy laugh under his nose.
"Bro… you could have at least warned me."
He dropped onto the wooden bench, groaning dramatically as the heat hit him full-on, then broke into laughter.
"That was the highlight of my day."
He wiped sweat from his forehead, still grinning.
"Trash doesn't sink, huh…?"
There was humor in his voice.
But also respect.
Den only let out a short, satisfied huff.
After a brief silence, he added, more quietly, "Min-jae… why do people keep picking on Mi-yeon?"
The question wasn't angry. It was puzzled.
"She doesn't get in anyone's way. She's quiet. Timid. What is the issue?"
Min-jae exhaled slowly, leaning back against the hot wood.
"Dirt sticks to what's clean," he said simply.
Den didn't answer, but he listened.
"Girls like Kim Soo-yeong or Baek So-mi—" Min-jae continued, "—they rule by fear. That's how they stay queens. Anyone who looks weaker, softer, easier to crush… gets eaten."
He paused, then added, almost thoughtfully:
"If a popular guy ever said out loud that Mi-yeon was the prettiest—boom. She'd be done. Not because she did anything wrong. Just because someone lifted her too high in the hierarchy."
Min-jae shrugged.
"She's guilty of being born the way she is. That's all."
Den folded his arms behind his head and lay back on the heated boards, eyes closed, absorbing the words.
After a moment, he spoke—calm, reflective.
"To me, Mi-yeon is prettier than So-mi and Soo-yeong combined."
Min-jae blinked, surprised.
"For real?"
Den exhaled slowly.
"Soo-yeong and So-mi? They're just standard Seoul's beauties to me. Polished. Perfect. Like mannequins in an expensive store."
A brief pause.
"If we're talking purely confidence and sex appeal, then fine—I'd pick Yu-ra. But the bottom line?"
He sighed dreamily.
"I could look at Mi-yeon's face all day long."
Silence settled between them—thick, contemplative.
Then the sauna door slid open.
Warm air shifted.
Several other guys stepped inside, probably eager to learn what had happened exactly.
And the conversation shifted instantly.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late afternoon. SNU's Sport Center.
After swimming class, Yu-ra offered to lead freshmen to a small café where, traditionally, many SNU students stopped for light snacks and drinks after the pool.
Cool air mixed with the warmth clinging to wet skin. Several female students stepped inside, hair still damp, movements slower now—relaxed after exertion, softened by fatigue. Among them were Han-bin and Mi-yeon.
Mi-yeon hesitated at the entrance for half a second before stepping in. Her hair was still slightly damp at the ends, her hoodie pulled on too quickly after the pool. She chose a seat near Han-bin, quietly folding her hands around the paper cup she had just bought—warm barley tea—trying to take up as little space as possible.
As soon as she sat, a loud bunch of guys—including Den and Min-jae—walked in. They stormed into the space laughing, ordering drinks and snacks, arguing about who would sit where.
Yu-ra entered a moment later.
She chose her place with care—far enough to seem casual, close enough that Den stayed within her line of sight. She didn't flirt. Didn't stare. Just one brief, sliding glance in his direction.
But the way she sat—one leg crossed, back relaxed, chin slightly lifted—turned her presence into a performance.
Mi-yeon hid her nervousness behind a sip of her drink. She glanced at Yu-ra, then at Den.
Is this performance… for him?
A few minutes passed. Cups steamed lightly on the table. Someone unwrapped a straw. Someone laughed softly.
Then the door opened again. Soo-yeong walked in with her friends.
The atmosphere didn't change—but the pressure did. Mi-yeon felt it instantly.
Soo-yeong moved straight to the table and sat deliberately next to Den—too close to be accidental. Her posture was open, confident, territorial. She let her eyes travel over him without embarrassment—slow, assessing—lingering on his face, on his posture, on his hands.
Then her eyes stopped—
On the faint scar along his right bicep, visible beneath the sleeve of his plain T-shirt.
Her lips curved into something velvety, practiced.
"How beautiful," she said softly, her voice smooth, almost lazy. "That scar… it makes you look very masculine. I like that."
She tilted her head, as if considering the thought.
"It's unfair, isn't it?" she added lightly. "Scars make men attractive… but women ugly."
A pause—just long enough.
"How lucky I am," she continued, smiling, "that I don't have a single scar on my skin."
Den's gaze flicked away from her—to Mi-yeon—just long enough to confirm his suspicion that this was an attack.
And Mi-yeon misread his glance before she understood it.
Does he think I'm ugly too? I hate my scar… I hate it!!!
Her fingers moved instinctively to her collarbone—to the place she always covered. Her shoulders curled inward. Her body shrank, even seated, even surrounded by noise and warmth. Years at school had dulled her to comments like this… but because Den had looked at her, it felt unusually painful this time—enough to make her eyes water.
Den looked back at Soo-yeong.
She sat there relaxed, assured, already receiving admiration for her flawless skin from the girls around her. She ignored their flattering chatter. She was waiting for Den—expecting at least a polite compliment from him.
She always received it.
But his response came flat. Cold, even—unembellished.
He met her eyes and said, "The window glass can be perfectly clean, but it's frost marks that make perfect glass beautiful."
Soo-yeong's friends froze, mouths slightly open. The café went quiet in that subtle, suffocating way only shared spaces could.
Mi-yeon lifted her head.
Is he talking about… me?
Her fingers loosened. They slid away from her collarbone.
With nothing to say, Soo-yeong let out a dismissive snort, turned her head away, and took a quiet sip of her bubble tea.
Hwang Se-a reacted quickly.
The moment she sensed Soo-yeong's distress, she leaned forward, elbows resting theatrically on the table, chin propped in her palms. Her expression was wide-eyed—innocent curiosity carefully arranged on a pretty face.
"Den-ssi," she asked in a sing-song voice, "do you think you could ever marry a Korean woman?"
The question dropped into the conversation like a pebble into still water.
Den blinked once—then smiled despite himself.
"What kind of question is that, Se-a…?"
She tilted her head playfully.
"But still?"
The tension loosened immediately. But now everyone expected an answer.
"Yeah, come on—tell us, Den-ssi!"
"Yeah, tell us! It's only fair!"
A few girls exchanged glances and smiled.
Min-jae let out a quiet chuckle.
Even the air felt lighter.
Mi-yeon caught herself listening too—very carefully—pretending not to, but with every muscle in her body tuned to his answer.
Den rubbed the back of his neck, buying himself a second.
"You're going to make me blush with questions like that," he said kindly, without bite—just enough humor to soften the moment.
Then he added, half-serious, half-teasing:
"Well… I guess it depends a lot on how good her dumplings are."
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then—laughter.
A couple of girls laughed out loud.
Someone groaned dramatically.
"Ah, of course! Food!"
"So typical!"
"Men worldwide are all the same!"
Hwang Se-a laughed the loudest, clapping her hands.
"Dumplings?! That's it?"
She turned to the others.
"Did you hear that? We're competing with dumplings now!"
Yu-ra smiled quietly from her seat, her eyes warm with amusement. She understood the deflection for what it was—charm without commitment.
Min-jae shook his head, grinning.
"That's dangerous logic, man. There are girls here who take cooking very seriously."
Even Soo-yeong exhaled, forced into a thin smile she hadn't planned to give.
But Mi-yeon didn't laugh loudly.
Her smile was small. Almost secret.
Because dumplings were simple, homemade—something she could compete with any girl on fair ground.
The conversation drifted on—teasing, jokes, cups emptying, fatigue blurring sharp edges.
But the café no longer felt like a battlefield to her.
Mi-yeon's back straightened a little. She felt… comfortable.
And Den, leaning back in his chair with a cup of tea cooling between his hands, felt—without naming it—that he had chosen his words exactly right.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Late afternoon. Bus stop near SNU's upper campus
The girl arrived first.
She stepped onto the bus stop platform and sat down on the bench, letting her bag drop at her feet. The day was already leaning toward evening—the light thinning in that special way that always comes after classes.
That's it. The first day of university is over.
I waited for it for so long, worried so much… and it just passed like any other day.
It's annoying how fast it ended. And sad.
I didn't even manage to have a good look at all the cute guys in the group… and the day is nearly finished.
And the cat's food is nearly finished. I need to stop by the store on the way home—if it doesn't rain. Though why would it rain? The weather seems fine.
I should download that new song about weather that Se-a showed me today.
Se-a is so cool, I should be friends with her. I should be friends with everyone.
How did that song go again?
Something like:
"Ta-ra-ta-ra… weather is like love…
ta-ra-na-na… it can be so di-iffe-rent…"
The idol group that sings it…OMG, they're so handsome.
My priorities are completely messed up…
I had time to look at idols. But not at the guys in my own group.
What is wrong with me?
Footsteps could be heard.
He appeared at the stop, slowed down, and noticed her. The freshman froze for a moment—almost imperceptibly—then carefully sat down on the very edge of the bench. His back was straight, his hands lay awkwardly on his knees, his gaze fixed on the road as if it demanded his full attention.
Oh… it's her! That cool girl from my group!
She's so beautiful.
I should say "hi." No—too familiar.
Then "good evening"? …But it's not evening yet.
"Hello again"? That sounds stupid. We didn't even greet each other before.
Damn. She's already looking at me. And I still haven't figured out what to say.
Alright. Plan B. I'll just sit. I'll look straight ahead like I didn't recognize her.
Let her think I'm cold and cool.
Maybe she'll say something to me herself?
The girl glanced sideways at the student who had sat down at a respectful distance.
Who is he anyway? I'm sure I've seen him somewhere…
He's from my group!
What's his name again? It was something… cute, like a kitten's name…
It suits him… he's kind of a cutie. I just can't remember the name…
How embarrassing. And how am I supposed to say hello now?
Well, I won't! Let him be the one to greet me!
The student crossed her legs and placed her hands on her knee, watching the guy with interest for about a minute, but he kept sitting there, still staring at the road.
She puffed her lips slightly.
Well?
Why is he sitting like that and staring straight ahead? What's so interesting about this damn road?
Would it kill you to say hello? Pff… How rude.
He's sitting as if I don't exist at all.
That actually hurts.
Look at me.
Hey—look at me!
Ugh… fine. Whatever. Your loss. Now I'm not interested in you anymore!
…What has he even been thinking about all this time?
He continued to look at the road, watching the cars pass by.
I really want to turn around and look at her one more time.
But I can't. She'll think I'm staring.
I wonder what color the bus will be today—blue or green?
Green… or blue?