Episode 5
3 March 2025, Monday. Evening. SNU's park area.
Den walked deeper into the park, among the trees.
Light reflected softly off the stone path. The noise of the rooftop dissolved behind him, thinning into a distant echo. No restroom awaited him—only silence, empty space, the freedom to stop being a surface for other people's expectations.
He walked slowly, breathing out.
The park opened again.
He stopped near the edge of the pond, took his phone out, stared at the screen for a second—then scrolled down and pressed a familiar nickname of his childhood friend.
They had gone to MSU together in Moscow. His friend was in his third year now.
The line rang twice.
Then a voice burst through, loud, alive, painfully familiar.
"Den! Oi! Been a while, dude! So? How's exile life treating you?"
Den let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh.
"Koreans see me as a walking hazard," he said flatly. "I don't fit in at all."
A pause. Then a snort.
"Well… dye your hair black."
Den leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes.
"You don't get it," he said more quietly.
"I really don't fit. My jokes don't land. We look people in the eye to read intentions. They see it as aggression. What we call honesty, they see as toxic directness. For us, respect comes from what you do. Here, it's about what year you were born.
It's tough, bro.
My accent is terrible. Girls act like I'm radioactive. They stare. But the second I step closer, they scatter. I feel like I've been socially deported."
A low whistle came from the other end.
"Bro, you were always socially deported. It just seems to be more visible there."
Den huffed.
"You really know how to make a friend feel better."
"I'm a specialist."
Wind moved through the branches above him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the voice shifted—less joking.
"Listen, Den. Just don't get involved in anything. Keep your head down."
"I'm staying out of trouble."
"Like heck you are."
Den stared up at the darkening sky. He'd lost the argument.
"Go to hell."
"I'm serious," his friend said, and now there was no laughter at all.
"You remember what happened with your ex, right? That fight you caused to impress her?
You got expelled.
Your father shipped you across the continent like defective cargo.
Was it worth it?
She's engaged now, by the way."
Den's jaw tightened.
"What happened, happened."
His friend was quiet for a moment, then added:
"Just… don't screw this up," his friend said more quietly. "You don't get infinite resets."
Den looked out over the pond.
"Yeah."
"Alright, I have to run. Our lunch break's over. Text me if you start an international incident"
"Idiot."
"Miss you too, dumbass."
The line went dead.
Den lowered the phone slowly.
The park felt colder now.
The city still hummed in the distance, indifferent.
He leaned back against the bench, staring at the sky.
Don't get involved.
He let out a quiet breath.
Wind moved through the sparse leaves. The city hummed somewhere far away—cars, distant voices.
The pulse of Seoul went on without him.
He sat on a bench positioned just right: the pond in view, legs stretched out, leaning back enough that he could see the evening sky.
Here, no one watched him. No one needed anything from him.
He was truly alone. So he allowed himself to relax and close his eyes.
Time stretched. Half an hour passed—maybe more. It didn't matter. The laughter and music above became ghosts, softened by distance and night.
The park changed.
The air grew colder.
Streetlights glowed warmer.
Tree shadows lengthened, blurred.
And then—
A different sound.
Scuffling footsteps.
Grass rustling.
A stretched, drunken chuckle.
And a female voice—tight, frightened, fighting to stay polite:
"I… um… I need to… go back… to the roof top… please Sunbae, let go…"
Den didn't move at first.
Not my problem.
A male voice answered—low, slurred, insistent:
"Come on… it's boring there… let's just walk a bit farther… no one will see…"
The girl's voice started to sound shaky:
"No… please… let go of me!"
Den opened his eyes, clearly irritated.
Okay… now it is my problem.
The sound came from a side path, hidden by trees.
He stood.
Grass whispered under his steps. He moved around the bushes, onto the narrow path—and now the scene sharpened into focus.
A girl clinging to a tree trunk, struggling to stay upright. A man gripped her wrist, tugging.
The lamplight caught their faces.
The girl was Lee Han-bin.
The girl who smiled too much and apologized too fast at the party. Funny girl. Now drunk, unsteady, eyes unfocused, thoughts slipping through her fingers.
The man was Ha Jun-gi.
Upperclassman. One of those who would show up to "help" freshman girls. The type who thinks the night belongs to him. His face was flushed, eyes red, grin ugly with entitlement. A man who does not recognize the word "no."
They were already around a hundred meters away from the rooftop.
For a sober student, that would be nothing.
For a drunk girl—way too far. Far enough to get in trouble.
Den stepped onto the path where Jun-gi could see him.
Jun-gi stopped and exhaled irritably.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "We're just… walking. She agreed."
Han-bin turned her head weakly.
"I… d-didn't… agree… let go…"
Her voice barely held together.
Jun-gi tightened his grip.
"Don't get involved, foreigner," he said, eyes narrowing. "Adults are handling things here."
He tried to pull her farther—away from the light.
But he missed the most important detail.
Den had already placed himself between Jun-gi and the darkness.
He stood squarely in the path.
Blocking it.
Jun-gi squinted, as if the lamplight itself had suddenly turned against him.
Han-bin tried to pull her hand free, but she couldn't. Her body was too loose, balance gone, knees refusing to cooperate.
Den spoke calmly, firmly—his voice neither raised nor aggressive.
"Where exactly are you taking her like this?"
"Why are you walking so far into the park?"
The words cut cleanly through the night.
For a second, even the leaves seemed to stop moving.
Jun-gi loosened his grip—not completely. Just enough to show that the tone unsettled him. He straightened, leaning into bravado, though a thin thread of irritation—and something closer to fear—slipped into his voice.
"What's your problem?" he snapped. "We were just… you know… getting some air. She said she wanted it."
Han-bin swayed, clinging to the tree.
"I… I don't… want to go… farther… please…"
Her words slurred together, fragile and barely held.
Jun-gi threw her a sharp, annoyed glance, then turned back to Den.
"Why are you sticking your nose in?" he scoffed. "It's a faculty party, go party.
Who do you think you are? Get lost."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
The kind of move meant to intimidate—to reclaim control through proximity.
But the difference between them was immediate.
Jun-gi's energy was messy, fueled by alcohol and wounded pride.
Den's was quiet, coiled, deliberate.
Jun-gi swallowed, jaw tightening, but he kept the mask on.
"Move," he said. "I'll take her back. Got it?"
Behind them, a weak, broken sob escaped Han-bin's throat.
Den answered evenly, without emotion, as if stating a simple fact.
"No."
A pause.
"I'll take her."
There was no challenge in his voice or demand for approval.
Just a decision.
Den stepped past Jun-gi. Conversation over.
He lifted Han-bin carefully—secure, efficient, without hesitation. Not romantic, nor rough. Like carrying something fragile that must not be dropped.
She barely resisted. Her body gave in, breath uneven.
He shifted her over his shoulder.
She whimpered softly—not from fear now, but from the helplessness of losing control.
And then he turned and walked away.
Jun-gi was left standing there, stunned.
"H-hey!" he shouted, the edge in his voice thinning despite his effort. "You—bring her back! That's—this isn't your business! Know your place! I'm your sunbae! I demand that you respect me!"
Den didn't slow.
"Earn it, then demand it."
The distance grew, swallowed by lamplight and trees.
Jun-gi took a half-step forward—then stopped.
Whatever confidence he had was borrowed from the crowd above. Out here, alone, facing someone who didn't play his game, he had nothing.
He spat to the side, muttering a curse under his breath, and turned back toward the rooftop—toward noise, witnesses, and the illusion of power.
The path to the women's dormitory was quiet.
Streetlights spilled soft gold across the asphalt. Han-bin hanging over Den's shoulder was almost weightless, occasionally murmuring fragments that fell apart before becoming sentences.
"I… c-can't… they'll… I'll embarrass… everyone…"
"They'll… despise me…"
As the dorm buildings came into view, she stirred briefly, clarity flashing for a heartbeat.
"Den oppa…" she whispered. "Please… don't tell… anyone…"
Her eyes were half-closed, but the fear in them was sharp and real. Not fear of him, but of tomorrow.
Ahead, the women's dorm rose—tall, lit, orderly. At the entrance, a middle-aged woman sat behind the security desk, watching the door with practiced attention.
Han-bin was still on his shoulder.
Den exhaled and slowed down his pace. He spoke more to himself than to the girl on his shoulder.
"So… where exactly am I supposed to carry you now?"
Han-bin jerked slightly—not from pain, but from the meaning behind the question.
Even half-conscious, she understood. It wasn't about directions. It was about consequences.
He stopped beneath a tree near the entrance to the women's dormitory. The lamplight cut across her face at an angle—pale, frightened, skin damp with sweat and alcohol. She turned her head weakly, trying to focus on him.
Den spoke calmly, evenly.
"I can take you to your room, or to the hotel."
"By Korean standards, the first option causes fewer problems. Isn't it?"
He jostled her lightly: "Any suggestions out there?"
The words struck Han-bin exactly where it hurt most. She let out a quiet sound—not of physical pain, but something deeper.
"N-no…" she whimpered faintly. "N-not… to my room… please… not my room…"
Her fingers clutched the back of his shirt, weak but desperate, as if denial was the only thing she could still do.
"If… if they see me…" her voice broke, tangled. "Dr-drunk… and with a guy…"
She swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
"Soo-yeong… the girls… they'll… they'll…"
She didn't finish.
He gave her a gentle shake.
"Come on, Han-bin, think. I need some destination details."
She exhaled in short, uneven breaths, almost sobbing.
"They'll say… I did it on purpose…"
"That I'm… easy…"
"That I'm… a disgrace to the department…"
"I… I can't… survive that…"
Word by word, it hit him: she was terrified.
Her hand tightened on his sleeve as if she wanted to vanish into the night.
"Not… there… not home… please…"
A pause.
Her breathing turned heavy, uneven. Her head lolled against his shoulder.
"I just… don't want… anyone… to see me like this…"
Then, barely audible:
"Please… Den oppa…"
Her body went limp on the last word. Consciousness slipped away completely.
Den looked to the left and then to the right. With a mix of irritation and helplessness on his face.
Left: the dorms. Right: the park darkness behind him.
He stood there with a girl on his shoulder whose social fate for the coming months depended entirely on his next move.
He muttered under his breath, an old Russian line slipping out without thinking:
"Go left—lose your horse. Go right—lose your head…"
He adjusted his grip.
"Han-bin?" he murmured. "Are you still with me?"
No response.
"I have a more elegant solution. Probably."
He turned and started walking back toward the chemistry faculty building, silently hoping the class representatives' room was left open.
The campus lights glowed softly as he moved, carrying her away from the dorms, away from eyes, toward the only place that still made sense.
The campus grew quieter the farther Den moved from the dorms.
Lights thinned out. Footsteps echoed differently here—sharper, more exposed. Han-bin's weight shifted on his shoulder as her breathing turned shallow and uneven, the occasional murmur dissolving into nothing.
Then—
Laughter.
Female voices, close. Too close.
Den froze for half a heartbeat, then reacted without thinking.
He stepped off the path at the last possible moment, ducking behind a large promotional stand plastered with glossy posters—Welcome Freshmen, Chemistry Builds the Future, smiling faces frozen in fluorescent optimism.
He turned his body sideways. Angled Han-bin so her legs didn't jut into view. One hand braced firmly at her thigh to keep her from slipping.
The voices passed barely a few meters away.
"Did you see that dance?"
"I bet that Se-a is a pro—"
"I told you our team was robbed!"
"Ah, I'm starving, let's get ramen—"
They were drunk. Happy. Loud in that careless way that makes people blind.
Den didn't breathe.
He counted steps. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
The laughter faded, swallowed by trees and concrete.
Only when the night fully closed the space between them did he exhale, slow and controlled, the way people do when panic isn't an option.
If I have any credit left in my luck's account, I'd love to withdraw it right now.
He thought, not praying so much as negotiating with the universe.
He moved again, faster now, keeping to shadows, avoiding open pools of light until the chemistry building loomed ahead—dark, solid, impersonal.
3 March 2025, Monday. Late evening. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 501, class representatives' room.
The class representatives' room was on the 3rd floor.
He reached the correct corridor, located the office's door.
Pulled.
Nothing.
Of course.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath—in Russian, quiet but heartfelt.
He carefully lowered Han-bin to the floor, easing her back against the wall beside the office door.
Her head lolled slightly; he adjusted her position so her neck was supported, making sure her breathing stayed clear.
She stirred faintly, a soft sound escaping her throat, then sank again.
Den straightened and examined the door.
Locked—but not fully.
The handle sat slightly loose. No deadbolt. Just the latch.
The gap between the door and frame was narrow, but visible.
He glanced down the corridor. Empty.
Across the hall, one of the lecture rooms had been left ajar. A strip of light spilled out—someone forgot to turn it off.
Den slipped inside.
The room smelled faintly of chalk and cleaning solution. He scanned quickly, eyes landing on a long metal ruler resting on the lectern. He grabbed it, tested the weight—thin, flexible, but firm enough.
Back in the corridor, Den knelt by the office door.
Slow. Precise.
He slid the ruler into the gap, angling it carefully, feeling for the latch with practiced patience. There was resistance—then a soft click that sounded far too loud in the empty building.
He winced, waited.
Silence.
He pressed gently and the door opened.
Den exhaled through his nose, something between relief and disbelief.
At that exact moment, in the small security booth down the hall, one of the guards lifted his paper cup—and froze.
Coffee sloshed over the rim, splashing across his uniform as the image on the monitor registered.
"…What the—"
"Hey, Hyung—watch it!" the second guard barked, half-laughing, half-annoyed.
The first guard didn't answer. He leaned closer to the screen, eyes narrowing.
"Is that… a student?"
Den slipped inside the office, then returned immediately for Han-bin, lifting her again with the same controlled care. Inside, the office was dim, lit only by a desk lamp left on low. Sofas lined one wall. A coat rack. Stacks of paperwork. The quiet, neutral space of authority after hours.
He closed the door behind them, easing it shut without a sound.
For the first time since the park, they were completely unseen.
Den lowered Han-bin onto the sofa, positioning her on her side, shoes still on, distance intact.
He grabbed a spare jacket from the rack and draped it over her shoulders, practical, impersonal.
He stepped back, ran a hand once over his face. Only then did the tension finally loosen its grip.
Outside, the campus went on—laughing, flirting, forgetting. Inside the office, the night held its breath.
Den spoke quietly, keeping his voice low and steady.
"Sleep here, Han-bin. And try to leave before classes start."
She murmured something indistinct in response—no words, just sound—then turned her face slightly into the sofa cushion. Her breathing evened out, the sharp edges of panic finally dulled by exhaustion.
Den pulled the phone out from her pocket.
The screen was locked.
He gently took her finger—thin, almost weightless—and placed it on the sensor.
The phone unlocked.
He set an alarm for 07:00 a.m. Upped the volume. Enough to cut through sleep and regret.
Then he placed the phone on the table beside the sofa.
Den stood there for a moment.
Then stepped back, turned and left.
He closed the door with controlled precision, easing it so the latch didn't click.
As soon as he did it, two uniformed security guards appeared at the end of the hallway, approaching at an unhurried but unmistakably purposeful pace.
"Stay where you are!" The first one barked.
Den stopped.
Just my luck.
"What were you doing there?" the second guard asked, calmer. "And how did you open that office?"
Den didn't answer immediately. He lifted both hands slightly—not surrender, just demonstrating cooperation.
"A student from the orientation party drank too much," he said calmly. "She needed somewhere safe to lie down. I brought her here."
The guards exchanged a look.
"That room was locked," the second guard said.
Den nodded once. "It was."
"So how did you open it?"
Den hesitated for half a second.
"…With a ruler. I left it on the table inside."
Silence.
The first guard rubbed his face, in disbelief.
"Are you serious right now?"
Den gestured toward the glass panel and stepped aside, letting them look.
"If you want to check."
Through the waist-high glass panel set into the office door, the guards could clearly see Han-bin sleeping on the couch, curled slightly on her side, jacket pulled up to her chin. Her shoes were still on. Her bag rested on the floor near her feet. Metal ruler on a table beside her phone.
"Why did you bring her here?"
"She begged me not to take her to her dorm like this. I didn't know where else to bring her."
"Why not in the resting room?"
"Would you leave a drunk, young girl for the night in an unlocked public space?"
The first security guard turned to his partner looking for his reaction.
Second one frowned impatiently:
"Oh spare me from your moral dilemmas.
Stay here. We're calling the student council to verify."
Ko Su-ho arrived five minutes later, breath controlled but posture tense. He took in the scene in seconds—the guards, the door, Den standing too straight, seemingly oblivious to the trouble he was in.
"What happened?" Su-ho asked.
The guards explained briefly.
Su-ho nodded once, then turned to Den.
"These are first-year students from the orientation event," he said calmly, addressing the guards now. "She drank too much upstairs. He brought her here so she could rest."
"This office was locked," one guard reminded him.
"Shouldn't be," Su-ho replied.
"This is the class reps' room. Students are told to come here if they need help at any time. I will take full responsibility, this is my oversight."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't justify.
He simply stood there—solid, senior, unquestionable.
After a pause, the first guard sighed.
"Alright," he said. "But this doesn't happen again."
His gaze landed on Den, firm now.
"Verbal warning. Next time, call staff. Don't improvise."
"Yes, sir." Den replied immediately.
The guards left.
The corridor fell quiet again.
For exactly two seconds.
Then Su-ho turned.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped, voice low but sharp. "Are you trying to get expelled before your first lab class?"
Den opened his mouth—
Su-ho cut him off with a raised hand.
"Don't. I don't care what you meant to do." He pointed toward the office door. "I didn't step in for you. I stepped in for her."
Den's jaw tightened.
"You think anyone would care about your intentions if someone complained?" Su-ho continued.
"You're a foreign freshman carrying a drunk girl into a locked office. Do you understand how that looks?"
Den didn't answer.
He paused, then added, quieter—but heavier:
"I covered this today. I won't do it again. Follow rules. All that—stays between us, for her sake."
Su-ho turned and walked away, footsteps fading down the hall.
Den stayed where he was.
The office door behind him. The empty corridor ahead.
He dragged a hand over his face and let out a slow breath.
Great.
He thought bitterly.
Came to Korea to stay out of trouble.
Neck-deep on day one.