Episode 15
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Late morning. SNU, Building 501, 3rd floor, chemistry department office.
The hallway outside the lecture halls was still buzzing when Soo-yeong turned sharply and headed in the opposite direction.
The chemistry department office was quieter. Time there seemed to move at a different pace.
Inside, a single student sat behind a desk cluttered with papers and a laptop—one of the department's student officers, clearly buried in administrative work. His posture was stiff, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the screen.
The door opened.
He looked up.
And froze.
Soo-yeong smiled at him.
Not a big smile.
Not a flirtatious one.
Her best smile—soft, innocent, almost grateful just to exist in the same room.
"You're… Lee Sung-min sunbae, right?" she asked sweetly.
"Y-Yes," he stammered, immediately straightening and nervously adjusting his glasses.
She tilted her head, leaning forward just enough to feel personal without being improper.
"Oh, good… um, could you check something for me? For the General Chemistry lab. Have the teams already been assigned?"
He nodded quickly, fingers already flying across the keyboard.
"Y-Yes, one moment…"
She added gently, as if it had just occurred to her, "My name is Kim Soo-yeong."
The screen reflected in his glasses as he scrolled. He swallowed, then spoke.
"I… found it. You're assigned with Lee Han-bin and Ma Chang-woo."
Soo-yeong's hand flew to her mouth.
"W-What?"
She blinked, wide-eyed, genuinely shocked—or playing it perfectly.
"That must be a mistake… Our professor specifically asked me to be in the same group as Denis Sokolov. I promised I'd help him with Korean terminology during lab work. If I break a promise to a professor…"
Her voice trembled just a little.
"People will say I'm irresponsible… careless… unreliable…"
She looked at him as if he personally held her social fate in his hands.
"Would you really let something like that happen to me, Sunbae?"
Sung-min scratched the back of his neck, torn.
"I… I'm really not supposed to change groups…"
Her expression softened even more. Almost childlike.
"Please… just this once. I'm begging you, Sunbae!" She clasped her hands together. "Don't be so cruel… rumors can destroy a girl, you know…"
He exhaled sharply. Then nodded.
"O-Okay. Okay! But only once! And don't come back asking again!"
He typed quickly, decisively.
"I'll switch you with Baek So-mi.
Now you'll be in a group with Denis and Mi-yeon.
Baek So-mi will take your place in Group 3."
He waved his hands urgently.
"That's it! Go. Please go. Don't make me regret this."
Soo-yeong beamed at him.
"Thank you so much, Sung-min oppa! You're really kind."
She turned and walked out, leaving him completely disoriented by her "oppa."
The moment the door closed behind her, the smile vanished.
Her face hardened. Her eyes narrowed.
Again Mi-yeon.
Even here. Even now!
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she walked down the hallway, heels clicking sharply against the floor.
How does she always end up beside him?
That quiet little nobody…
Soo-yeong's mind drifted back into a childhood memory.
She had been seven.
Too young to understand what auditions really meant, or why adults suddenly spoke her brother's name with careful excitement, as if it were already fragile.
The school auditorium had smelled of dust, warm plastic chairs, and cheap stage lights. Students crowded the rows. Parents whispered. Teachers clapped too loudly. On stage, under bright white lamps, her brother stood with his school band—tall, slim, his hair styled just a little more carefully than usual. When he sang, his voice cut through the noise, clear and confident, nothing like the boy who used to steal her snacks and complain about homework.
Soo-yeong had sat in the front row, feet dangling above the floor, clutching a glow stick someone had handed her. Her eyes never left him.
When the performance ended, the applause came fast and loud. People stood. Someone shouted his name. Soo-yeong clapped too, but her chest felt tight, as if something important were already slipping away.
Backstage was chaos—students laughing, teachers congratulating, phones raised for photos. Her brother found her near the wall, small among tall bodies. He crouched down in front of her, smiling, breath still uneven from singing.
"So?" he asked. "Was it cool?"
She nodded quickly. Too quickly.
"It was really cool, oppa," she said, then hesitated. Her fingers twisted the strap of her backpack. "But… are you really leaving after graduation?"
His smile softened.
"For training, yeah."
Her face fell.
"So you won't be here anymore."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out and adjusted her crooked hair clip, the way he always did when she was nervous.
"I'll still be your brother," he said gently. "That doesn't change."
"But you'll be famous," she said, the word heavy and unfamiliar on her tongue.
He laughed quietly. Not proudly. Not yet.
"Maybe," he said. Then, after a moment, "Listen to me, okay?"
She looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"If you want to succeed in this school," he said, choosing his words like someone repeating something he had been told many times himself, "you have to be popular. People need to see you. Like you. Follow you."
He tapped her forehead lightly with one finger.
"That's how life works."
She nodded, absorbing it the way children absorb rules—simply, absolutely.
"But I don't want you to go," she said again, softer now.
He pulled her into a brief, awkward hug, all elbows and too-long arms.
"I'll always love you," he said into her hair. "No matter where I am."
She clung to his jacket for one extra second before letting go.
Later, as he was called away by teachers and unfamiliar adults in sharp suits, Soo-yeong stood alone near the stage door, watching people gather around him. Watching how easily attention found him.
The glow stick in her hand dimmed.
She didn't cry.
Soo-yeong returned to herself.
She lifted her chin, smoothing her hair back into place.
A perfect mask restored.
I am Kim Soo-yeong.
She thought coldly.
A village girl like her is no obstacle.
I'll take what's mine one way or another.
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Noon. SNU's chemistry faculty, Building 500, near the cafeteria.
After two consecutive physics lectures, the first-year students drifted toward the cafeteria in a thin, exhausted line. Those with more money sometimes went to cafés outside the university grounds—but today, almost no one did. Everyone was drained. The cafeteria was closer. That alone made it irresistible.
Mi-yeon walked ahead, quiet and steady.
Behind her, Han-bin dragged her feet, shoulders slumped, looking like an ancient mummy that had somehow come back to life.
"Mi-yeon… I'm going to die…" Han-bin groaned dramatically. "Is it going to be like this every Wednesday? Why did I even go to university? I should've listened to Aunt Young-hee, stopped trying to be special, gotten married, and just made kimchi. I'm so stupid…"
Mi-yeon didn't answer.
She just smiled faintly—the kind of smile that said you're ridiculous, but I love you anyway.
At a table near the back, Min-jae and Den were already eating.
Min-jae handled his chopsticks with professional ease, chewing enthusiastically while trying to prove a very serious point.
"I'm telling you, Korean mandu are not worse than your pel-me-nee. Not at all."
"Pelmeni."
"Whatever the name."
Den listened, chewing slowly, shaking his head as he looked down at his plate.
"You don't understand what you're talking about, Min-jae. Mandu are edible. Even tasty. But it's not the same thing."
He gestured with his chopsticks, warming up.
"Real dumplings… meat dumplings… you boil them in beef broth, you know? From those stock cubes—the ones that contain the entire periodic table but absolutely no beef. Then you throw in onions, dill, bay leaves—"
"Oh, come on!" Min-jae interrupted, laughing. "This is just cafeteria food. If you tried my mom's mandu, you'd understand immediately. They're better than your pelmeni."
At that moment, Mi-yeon and Han-bin stepped away from the counter, trays in hand.
Min-jae spotted them and waved eagerly.
"Mi-yeon! Han-bin! Come here! I need backup. Den refuses to admit the superiority of Korean mandu!"
Han-bin headed over immediately—as if she were afraid she might collapse if she detoured even a few steps.
Mi-yeon hesitated for a second.
Just a second. Then she followed.
She felt a little unsure—but also relieved. It was nicer to eat with people than alone.
They sat.
Min-jae immediately turned to them, demanding judgment.
"So? Mandu or Russian dumplings?"
Han-bin answered without hesitation, a playful sparkle in her eyes.
"Mandu, every time!."
She popped a large bite into her mouth with enthusiasm, clearly enjoying herself, and gave Min-jae a supportive high five.
Mi-yeon ate more carefully. Slowly. Neatly.
When they asked her, she smiled shyly, glancing down at her tray.
"The mandu are really good…" she said softly. "But I've never tried Russian dumplings, so… I can't really compare."
Her voice was modest, almost apologetic. She was a little embarrassed.
But she was also quietly happy—sitting there, eating lunch, surrounded by people, feeling, for once, like she belonged.
Min-jae noticed it almost by accident.
Mi-yeon was eating slowly. Very slowly.
It was especially obvious next to Han-bin, who was shoveling food with the determination of a python, all while chatting about absolutely nothing.
Min-jae tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.
"Mi-yeon, why are you barely eating?" he asked, concerned. "Lunch break's almost over and you're still picking at it. Hurry up, or you'll stay hungry. Look at Han-bin—she eats so well."
Den froze for half a second. He didn't move, didn't speak. He just looked at his friend with quiet pity and counted internally, eyes half-lidded.
Wrong move, brother.
Three… two… one…
Han-bin stopped mid-bite.
She swallowed with effort, then turned slowly toward Min-jae, eyes wide—not truly angry, more theatrically offended, enjoying the moment far too much.
"Whaaaat?!" she dragged it out. "Explain yourself, Kang Min-jae. What do you mean I 'eat well'? Are you implying I eat too much? Are you saying I'm fat?!"
Mi-yeon couldn't help it.
A small smile slipped out before she could stop it.
Min-jae turned bright red—ears, neck, everything.
"N-No! No, not at all!" he blurted out, panicking. "I didn't mean that! You're not fat, not at all! You're very pretty! I just meant, I was worried Mi-yeon eats slowly, that's all! I didn't mean anything like that, really! I'm sorry!"
Han-bin raised one eyebrow.
"Oh? Is that so?"
She leaned back slightly, satisfied.
"Fine. I'll let it slide. But watch yourself. I've memorized this moment."
She pointed at him with her chopsticks.
"I remember you now, Kang Min-jae. You understand?"
Min-jae nodded rapidly, like his life depended on it.
"Yes. Yes. Of course. Completely understood, Han-bin-ssi."
Den finally exhaled, hiding a smile behind his cup.
Mi-yeon lowered her gaze back to her tray, still smiling—warm, quiet, grateful.
For once, lunch felt light.
5 March 2025, Wednesday. Late evening. SNU, men's dormitory.
The room was quiet in that specific way dorm rooms became late at night—not silent, but softened.
A desk lamp glowed warm yellow.
The kettle clicked off. Two mugs of tea steamed faintly on the table.
Den sat on his bed with a notebook open, half-heartedly looking over tomorrow's materials. Min-jae occupied the desk chair, leaning back and rocking slightly, hands laced behind his head, smiling.
His smile that evening was not the normal polite smile one would expect from someone simply in a good mood. It was radiant.
Den noticed it after a minute, squinted, then lowered his notebook.
"You look suspiciously happy," he said flatly. "What are you glowing for?"
Min-jae turned his head just enough for the light to catch his face.
"Isn't it amazing?" he said dreamily. "Han-bin said she'll remember me."
Den stared at him for a beat.
Then he snorted.
"Oh, she'll remember you, alright." He took a sip of tea. "As the guy who commented on how much she eats. She'll carve that on your tombstone."
Min-jae waved this off with exaggerated dignity, stretching like an old philosopher despite being younger than Den.
"You're still too young, my Russian Hyung, to understand the soul of a Korean girl."
He sighed theatrically.
"The important thing is this: she said that she will remember my name. The seed has been planted."
Den raised an eyebrow.
"Wow. An agronomist of female hearts." He tilted his head. "So you think you like her or something?"
Min-jae closed his eyes, smiling faintly now—softer, less joking.
"Fate doesn't ask for our opinion."
Den watched him for a second longer, then exhaled through his nose, amused.
"God help you, Kang Min-jae."
The kettle clicked again.
Outside the window, campus lights glowed softly.
Tomorrow will be loud.
Complicated.
Full of people.
But for now, the night was calm—and someone, somewhere between embarrassment and hope, was already dreaming.