I crab-walked backward until I hit a canvas wall, then turned and ducked into the nearest opening.
"Safe," I whispered, straightening up.
Or not.
It was pitch black inside. Not "dimly lit restaurant" black, but "cave at the bottom of the ocean" black. The air was thick with the smell of fog machine juice and cheap cologne.
I extended my hands like a zombie, navigating blindly—on touch—hoping to find a corner to hide in until Chae-rin and her judgment moved on.
I took two steps. My hand brushed against something warm.
I took another step. My hand landed flat on something... expansive.
It was soft, but there was a distinct, rock-hard firmness underneath. It was weirdly pleasant to squeeze. I gave it a test squish. Like a stress ball.
Click.
A blinding strobe light flashed on, followed by a deafening bass drop.
I blinked, dazzled.
I was standing inches away from a guy. He was tall—my height—but broader. His skin was deeply tanned, and he was wearing a sleeveless muscle tee that barely contained him. He was ripped.
And my hand was firmly clamped onto his left pectoral muscle.
He looked down at my hand. He looked at my face. He looked back at my hand.
"How long are you going to milk it?" he asked.
His voice was deep and unamused.
I snatched my hand back as if I'd touched a hot stove. "I... I..."
I looked at his chest. Then I looked down at my own chest. I was fit—I did my pull-ups—but this guy was a tank. My chest felt like a pillow compared to his armor plating. Why did I suddenly feel insecure about my muscle density?
"Why does this always happen in the dark?" I groaned, a flashback of the "tongue-fencing" incident in Hongdae hitting me.
"Welcome to the EDM Club!" a DJ screamed from a booth I hadn't seen. "Let's bounce!"
The crowd around us, previously invisible, started jumping.
The ripped guy leaned in, his face contorted in disgust.
"Kkeojyeo, byeontae!" (Get lost, pervert!) he shouted over the music. He shoved past me, disappearing into the mosh pit.
"I'm not a pervert!" I yelled at no one, shielding my face. "I'm just clumsy!"
I spun around and scrambled out of the tent, escaping the strobe lights and the judgmental muscles. I emerged back into the sunlight, squinting and scanning the crowd like a fugitive.
Yoo Chae-rin. Is she there? Is she gone?
I needed to be invisible. I hunched my shoulders, trying to blend in with a group of first-years.
Tap. Tap.
Someone touched my shoulder.
I jumped a foot in the air, spinning around with my fists raised. "I didn't touch anything!"
Standing there was Han Leo. He was holding a skewer of grilled chicken, looking at me with mild confusion.
"San... nim?" he said.
I lowered my fists. "Leo?"
"Is everything okay... San-nim?" he asked in English, his expression serious.
I groaned. "Nim? Leo, don't call me that. That's way too formal. It sounds like I'm your boss or your grandfather. Just 'San' is fine. Or 'Hyung' if we're speaking Korean."
Leo frowned, chewing his chicken. He switched to Korean, his pronunciation slow and deliberate, like he was reading from a teleprompter.
"But... my teacher... she said... to use... honorifics... as much as possible. To show... respect."
It was painful, but understandable.
"Your teacher is right, generally," I said, patting his shoulder. "But we're friends. And we're not in class. You can drop the nim."
"Okay," Leo said, switching back to English, looking relieved. "Cool. You look like you're running from the police."
"Worse," I said. "The school queen."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the black mask I'd used at the club. I pulled it on, covering the lower half of my face. Then I pulled my blazer collar up.
"I am undercover," I announced.
Leo chuckled, shaking his head. "You look like a K-pop idol trying to buy milk at 3 AM. Or a bank robber."
"It works in Korea," I mumbled through the fabric. "Everyone wears these."
"So," Leo asked as we started walking down the row of tents. "Have you picked a club yet? You're the 'Representative.' You gotta join something."
"I have no choice," I said darkly.
Leo stopped. "No choice? What do you mean?"
"I mean... it's complicated. I'm sort of... drafted."
Leo looked confused, but he didn't push it. He just gestured with his chicken skewer. "Well, I'm just looking around. Want to tour the weird ones?"
"Lead the way."
We spent the next hour wandering. We visited the Pottery and Sculpture Club, where a very intense girl handed us lumps of grey clay.
"Create," she commanded.
"Clay," I muttered. Glyna.
I tried to mold a dragon. It ended up looking like a deformed potato. Leo made a surprisingly accurate sphere.
"You have talent," I told him.
"It's a ball," he said.
We moved on. I kept my mask on the whole time. A few students glanced at me—a tall guy in a mask usually meant someone famous or someone hiding a bad breakout—but nobody stopped me. The camouflage was working.
I was just starting to relax, watching a demonstration by the Archery Club, when a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around my waist from behind.
It was a tight, enthusiastic squeeze.
"Caught you!" a bright voice chirped in my ear.
I froze. Not again.
I looked down. Small hands with pink nail polish.
I turned my head. Kang Min-ah was grinning up at me, her chin resting on my shoulder.
"Nice mask, Mountain," she teased. "Hiding from your fans? Or from your girlfriend?"