"You..." Kim Yu-jin whispered, staring at the crest on my chest. "Kirin?"
I flinched, instinctively raising my hand to cover my face.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
It's over, I thought.
She knows.
She knows I'm the 'Kim Man-du' who pretended not to be a rival student.
"I... I can explain," I stammered, looking for an exit route. "The uniform... it's a laundry mix-up. I actually go to... uh... nowhere."
"Hey," Yu-jin said softly, stepping closer. "There's no need to act like that."
I froze.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm going to bite you," she smiled, a genuine, warm expression that confused me more than anger would have. "Just because our schools are rivals doesn't mean we have to be enemies in a comic book store. It's okay."
I blinked.
"It's... okay?"
"Of course," she laughed, brushing a strand of long black hair behind her ear. "I haven't seen you around before. Did you move here recently? Or transfer?"
I stood there, my hand still halfway to my face.
My brain made a dial-up modem noise.
Glitch.
She doesn't know.
I looked at my reflection in the darkened window of the shop.
The "Comma" hair.
The slight makeup.
To her, the sweaty guy in the oversized hoodie who read manga and "San 2.0" were two completely different species.
"I..." I lowered my hand slowly, a strange sensation washing over me. Relief mixed with a cynical realization. "Yeah. I'm an exchange student. New here."
"I knew it!" she beamed. "You have that... distinct vibe. I'm Kim Yu-jin, by the way. Second year at Hanyeong."
"I'm San," I said. "Just San."
"San," she tested the name. "Nice to meet you. Sorry for falling on you. I usually have better balance."
"It happens," I said, my voice automatically dropping to a lower, cooler register to match the suit. "Gravity is a harsh mistress."
She giggled.
Actually giggled.
"So, San," she said, leaning against a bookshelf. "I'm into photography and cinematography. That's why I was looking for this volume—the paneling is genius. What about you? Do you act? You have the face for it."
"I'm in a band," I blurted out.
"Woah," her eyes lit up. "A band guy? That's so cool! What do you play?"
I stared at her.
The last time we met—when I was 'Kim Man-du'—she was polite but distant... and teasing.
Now, she was open, friendly, bubbling with interest.
Is this it? I thought bitterly. Is this the 'Beauty Privilege' Koreans talked about on the Internet?
Put on a make-up and style your hair, and suddenly the world wants to be your best friend?
"Excuse me," the shop owner grumbled from the counter. "Are you two going to order something or just block the aisle?"
Yu-jin jumped. "Oh! Right!"
She turned to me, her eyes sparkling.
"Hey, let me treat you. As a thank you for saving me from a concussion."
"No, that's fine—"
"I insist!" she said, grabbing a menu. "Order anything. Ramyeon? Tteokbokki?"
I looked at the menu.
I looked at her hopeful face.
"Mandu," I said, a small, ironic smile touching my lips. "I really like Mandu."
We spent forty minutes sitting at the small plastic table in the corner of the shop.
It was... weird.
We talked about manga, about cameras, about how strict Hanyeong was compared to the chaotic freedom of Kirin.
She laughed at my jokes.
She listened intently when I explained the difference between a guitar riff and a lick.
I wasn't used to this.
I wasn't used to being looked at instead of looked through or glared at.
"I have to go," I said, checking my phone. "My host family will worry."
"Oh, right," Yu-jin checked her watch. "Me too. Thanks for the chat, San. It was... surprisingly nice talking to a Kirin student."
"Yeah," I grabbed my garment bag. "Surprisingly nice."
I walked out into the night, leaving her waving at the door.
I walked toward the Lee residence, checking my face in my phone camera.
The makeup was holding up.
The hair was still perfect.
"Beauty privilege is real," I whispered to myself. "It is terrifyingly real."
I felt a mix of ego boost and hollowness.
She liked 'San 2.0'.
Would she have eaten mandu with the guy in the hoodie? Probably not.
I reached the bottom of the hill.
I decided to stop at the convenience store near the house to grab a water.
My throat was dry from talking.
The store was empty, except for one person in the beverage aisle.
A girl in pink pajamas and thick glasses was standing on her tiptoes, trying to reach a carton of strawberry milk on the top shelf.
She hopped once, twice, missing it by an inch.
Ha-neul.
I walked up behind her silently.
I reached over her head.
The sleeve of my Kirin blazer, entered her field of vision.
I grabbed the milk easily.
I lowered it and held it out to her.
Ha-neul froze.
She turned around slowly, clutching her pajama shirt.
She looked at the milk, then up at the expensive suit, the broad chest, the styled hair, and the handsome face.
Her eyes went wide.
Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Oh," she squeaked, taking the milk with trembling hands. She bowed quickly, avoiding eye contact. "T-thank you. Thank you very much."
She scurried toward the counter, looking flustered by the sudden appearance of a 'K-Pop idol' in her neighborhood store.
I watched her put the milk on the counter.
She was digging for coins, her hands shaking slightly.
I walked up behind her.
"Ha-neul," I said, my voice calm. "Dongsaeng." (Little sister).
She froze.
The coin dropped from her hand and rolled on the floor.
She spun around, staring at my face, searching for the familiar idiot behind the styling.
"San?" she whispered, her jaw dropping.