Episode 7
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Early morning. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 501, class representatives' room.
The room was quiet. Empty.
The blinds were half-closed, slicing the early morning light into pale, merciless lines.
On the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Han-bin lay curled on her side.
Light stabbed through her eyelids.
She groaned, shifted, then suddenly exhaled sharply—
This was not her room.
Han-bin murmured to the empty space in a hoarse whisper,
"…Ugh… what the—where am I… damn… my head… I'm dying…"
She propped herself up on one elbow.
The unfamiliar walls registered slowly.
The couch. The desk.
The smell of paper and air conditioning.
Her eyes landed on her phone lying on the low table.
07:02.
She frowned, flipped it over, tapped the screen.
An alarm stared back at her.
07:00—set manually.
Silence.
Her breathing grew shallow.
Memory seeped back in fragments—disconnected, sharp.
A strong arm around her waist.
Being lifted.
Hanging upside down, like a sack of rice over a solid, steady shoulder.
And a calm voice, low and controlled:
"Sleep here. And leave before classes start."
Han-bin jolted upright.
"Oh no. NO! No no no—"
Her hands flew to her face.
"I didn't—I couldn't—I was—"
She snatched her phone.
Her fingers shook so badly she mistyped twice. Deleted. Tried again.
Finally, she sent a message to Mi-yeon:
MI-YEON!!! URGENT!!! Don't ask anything!!
Bring me clean clothes from the dorm!!
I'm in the class reps' room!!!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!
Before anyone comes!!
I'm begging you!!!
She dropped the phone onto the couch and pressed her palms to her temples.
"I want to disappear," she muttered. "I want to evaporate."
A few minutes later, a soft sound came from the door.
Han-bin nearly screamed—but the door opened just enough for a small figure to slip inside.
Mi-yeon.
She clutched a bag with neatly folded clothes, eyes wide, shoulders tense. She closed the door with her elbow, almost silently.
Mi-yeon whispered softly,
"Han-bin… what—how did you even—?"
Han-bin collapsed back against the couch, hands covering her face.
"I DON'T KNOW," she groaned. "Someone brought me here last night. Oh my god. I want to die."
Mi-yeon stepped closer, her voice full of confusion and surprise.
"…Someone… what?!"
Han-bin froze.
Then—
"Oh God… and I think I just remembered who that was," she said, peeking through her fingers.
"I saw his face for like five seconds when he put me on the couch…"
A breath.
"…Den oppa."
Mi-yeon flinched, her voice barely audible.
"Him…?"
Han-bin sat up abruptly.
"Yes! I was over his shoulder—like a sack of rice!"
She pulled the blanket over her head.
"God, I looked awful, didn't I? DID I?"
She grabbed Mi-yeon's sleeve.
"You saw me last night, right? Be honest!"
Mi-yeon hesitated, still fighting her own tangled emotions, then answered gently.
"Well… you were… very cheerful. And a little… loud…"
Han-bin gasped.
"PERFECT. Just perfect! Don't tell me I was screaming!"
Mi-yeon replied softly, but truthfully, "…A little."
Han-bin collapsed backward.
"AAAAH! Kill me. Just kill me."
She grabbed the bag and stumbled behind the folding screen to change.
From behind it, her voice spilled out in broken complaints:
"Ow—my head—what is this top? Is this even mine?"
"…Den—why did he even carry me here?"
"I swear, if he told anyone, I'm dead. I'm socially dead."
Mi-yeon waited in silence, nervously twisting the strap of her own bag.
A minute later, Han-bin emerged—wearing clean clothes, her hair shoved into a messy bun, her face pale but more focused.
Han-bin suddenly turned serious.
"Tell me honestly… Am I a complete disgrace at this point?"
Mi-yeon shook her head quickly.
"No! You just… drank too much. That could happen to anyone."
Han-bin exhaled hard.
"It shouldn't. Not on the first day."
She looked down, then added more quietly, "He could've left me there. Or worse…"
Mi-yeon answered without hesitation, her voice soft but firm.
"He would never do that."
Han-bin looked at her—actually surprised by such a bold defense.
"You're… that sure?"
Mi-yeon blushed and nodded.
"He just… somehow… I don't know… good."
Han-bin snorted weakly.
"Good or not, I don't remember much—"She paused, grimacing.
"Quite strong, though. Carried me all the way here like I weighed nothing."
She squinted.
"I hope he didn't think I was heavy."
Mi-yeon let out a quiet laugh.
"Han-bin! That should be the least of your worries right now."
For the first time that morning, the tension broke.
Han-bin swung the bag over her shoulder.
"Alright. I'm gone. If anyone asks—I was never here."
She pointed a warning finger.
"And if anyone finds out Den oppa carried me here, I will explode. Got it? EX-PLODE."
Mi-yeon smiled faintly.
"Yeah. Got it."
Han-bin cracked the door open and peeked into the corridor.
"…Clear. Executing operation 'Escape.' Black-ops style!"
She darted out.
Mi-yeon lingered alone for a moment. She looked at the couch, the folded blanket, and smiled to herself, genuinely amused by the whole situation.
Her voice was barely more than a breath.
"Quit doing that. Stop making me like you."
She turned off the light. The door closed softly behind her.
4 March 2025, Tuesday. Early morning. SNU, men's dormitory.
Across the campus—on the opposite side of the park—in the men's dormitory, morning began almost at the same moment Mi-yeon left the class representatives' room.
Den opened his eyes. He lay still for thirty seconds, gathering scattered willpower, then stood up.
He washed his face, ran water over the back of his neck, bringing himself into something resembling order.
The first sip of hot tea burned his throat—like a reminder that last night he had spent half the night solving other people's problems.
From the doorway, cheerful Min-jae appeared, as if energy was something he could generate at will.
"Hyung!" he called brightly.
"Just call me Den."
"It's either Den-ssi or Hyung. Pick your poison. You are older!"
A faint grimace crossed Den's face.
"So what? What if I tell you that in my language pointing out that someone is older is extremely rude?"
"Really?!"
Den sighed.
"Unfortunately, no. Just messing with you.
Trying to make you call me by my name."
Min-jae blinked, then continued.
"Anyway… I got matching SNU jackets for both of us yesterday. Consider it your welcoming gift. Put on everything I left for you on the chair near the closet so you'll look like a real student in Korea. Out of what you have in the closet, that would be the best option. Get dressed or you'll be late."
He waved once, already turning away.
"Alright, I'm off. See you!"
Den took another sip of tea and walked around the bed, stopping in front of the chair with the outfit Min-jae had picked for him.
He stared at it all like it belonged to someone else.
…What the hell is this?
His voice was dry, tired.
"This is not gonna fly."
The white sneakers went into the corner—discarded into the trash bin of aesthetics. He put on the shirt, but the tie went onto a hook like it had always belonged there.
Sleeves rolled up. He hates looking official.
The trousers fit perfectly.
The SNU basketball jacket wasn't even considered. Den looked into the closet instead; his gaze stopped on a black suit jacket.
He grabbed a "Citizen" modest titanium watch from the nightstand. Black shoes: strict, clean, instantly adult. He looked in the mirror, confirming his choices.
Just a man who knows what feels right on his body.
He took another sip of the tea, swung his backpack over one shoulder, and left.