Episode 9
“Kwon Beomjin. If you don’t know how to write one, I can teach you.”
The sudden voice belonged to Seungwoon. Junyoung turned her head, letting out a breathless laugh. Seungwoon had come up beside her and was waving at Beomjin.
Beomjin didn’t even look back. Silence settled over the now-empty hallway. Seungwoon muttered awkwardly, “Well, yeah. I wouldn’t have believed me either.”
Junyoung sighed briefly. Seungwoon cautiously asked, “Have you ever written a reflection letter before?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I don’t even know how to start.”
He sighed, tapping his lips with the pen in his hand. Junyoung looked at him sideways. His usually smooth forehead was furrowed.
The fact that he was even writing a reflection was ultimately because of her. She hadn’t asked him to step in, so she couldn’t say it was unfair, but still. Junyoung lowered her gaze and murmured softly:
“I had no intention of disrespecting the teacher. It hurts me just to be misunderstood as someone who would hold such feelings toward a teacher I’ve always respected. However, I deeply acknowledge my wrongdoing. If the teacher, with a generous heart, would give me another chance, I will always uphold the mindset of a proper student. I will strive to become someone the teacher can be proud of.”
The words flowed effortlessly. Seungwoon’s lips parted gradually. He stared at her in astonishment before stammering, “…You’ve never written one before?”
“You write it. If I do, it’ll sound sarcastic. But you? It won’t.”
She turned to leave, but Seungwoon’s voice stopped her.
“Junyoung.”
He stepped in front of her, leaving no room to dodge.
“Did I… do something wrong to you?”
One of the gazes she felt behind her had to be Oh Hyesoo’s. But even before that thought surfaced, her mood was already twisted.
Seungwoon’s bright, gentle face was now filled with concern and caution. He seemed to believe that if he’d made a mistake, he could apologize and resolve things—that everything would be fine.
That simplicity and confidence—born of never having been hurt—felt both admirable and, in a corner of her heart, like swallowing coarse sand.
Junyoung’s lips tensed.
“No.”
“Then why—”
“You don’t have to make a mistake for someone to feel uncomfortable around you.”
When he looked at her, things she usually ignored screamed for attention. Her faded shirt, frayed sleeves, hair washed in the kitchen sink that morning, possible traces of sweat and dust—every bit of it.
Na Seungwoon was the kind of person who could make her feel small without even lifting a finger. And yet, like an addict chasing a high, she couldn’t help but look at him.
Leaving the now-stiff Seungwoon behind, Junyoung walked off.
The students peeking around the classroom door quickly scattered. Only Hyesoo remained, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.
Grinning with her eyes, Hyesoo covered her mouth and whispered, “What’s going on with you and Kwon Beomjin?”
“Do you like me or something?”
“W-What?”
Startled by the abrupt question, Hyesoo’s eyes widened. Junyoung stared at her blankly and said dryly, “If not, then mind your business.”
Back at her seat, Junyoung picked up her pen. Her thoughts were a mess, but thankfully her hand moved on its own.
No matter what she wrote, the teacher would probably make her rewrite it anyway. As she jotted down formal phrases, she bit her lip. The faint fever clouding her mind throbbed again.
After submitting her reflection, Junyoung hesitated briefly, then headed for the mountain. It was dark, but she could still make things out.
She didn’t want to go home. Sure, she should probably study for the upcoming exams, but that wasn’t why she was headed to his house.
She wanted to confront Beomjin—about how he helped her so much and then brushed her off like nothing.
She could guess the reason. It had to be one of two things. Either he wanted to protect the isolated bubble he’d created for himself—or he wanted to protect their secret.
Thinking it might be the latter made her cheeks puff and her lips pout. Imagining that cold, blunt face having the same thoughts as her made her feel oddly ticklish and embarrassed.
“As if someone like him is even capable of being that delicate.”
Of course, this wasn’t just about checking on that. She figured she could study while she was there. His place really was great for concentrating.
What if he’s not there?
Panting as she climbed the slope, Junyoung glanced back. If it got any darker, she wouldn’t be able to get back down without a light. She might have to crash there again.
Oh well. Better than home.
Thinking of home brought back the thoughts that had been circling her mind all day. Her mom, and Oh Hyesoo.
Hyesoo’s dad ran a plastic factory in the neighboring town. Nothing fancy, but Hyesoo wore the nicest clothes in the area and went out on weekends in her dad’s big sedan.
Every year she threw birthday parties full of food you’d only see on TV. She had plenty of fans, boys and girls alike, and accepted their praise like it was her due.
That was, until Na Seungwoon showed up.
Hyesoo disliked Junyoung, but not to the point of openly attacking her—at least not if Junyoung didn’t get too close to Seungwoon.
…I need to ask Mom. At least once.
There were too many things to think about. Her head ached as she pressed on her temples. Then, despite herself, she smiled.
The warehouse-like house was dark, but it wasn’t locked.
Sleeping again, huh? Don’t you ever get tired of that?
She shook her head and quietly pulled the door open. She put her bag down, careful not to make a sound, but bumped into a chair. She looked up toward the second floor, startled—no sound.
I hope you hit your head on the ceiling and wake up. That’s what you get for shaking off my hand like that.
Suppressing a snicker, she tiptoed up the stairs. Carefully, slowly. At the top, she stretched her neck and spotted a black lump sprawled on the bed.
With a mischievous grin, Junyoung took a deep breath and slammed both hands onto the bed.
“Hey, Kwon Beom—! Aagh!”
It happened in an instant. Before she could process it, she was yanked down onto the bed. A large hand wrapped around her throat.
The grip was terrifying. She couldn’t breathe, panic flooding in. Then the hand released her, and she gasped and coughed, twisting her body.
The same hand that had just been choking her was now shaking her shoulder.
“Yoon Junyoung, are you okay?!”
“You—cough—what the hell?! You psycho!”
She’d only been choked for a moment, but her voice was gone. Her throat still felt compressed. A tear rolled down from the corner of her eye.
Beomjin’s panicked voice came from above.
“You came in without making a sound—I thought you were some weirdo… Why’d you sneak around like that?”
“So when you get startled, you choke people?! I almost died!”
Still shaken, she didn’t even think to push him off. She clutched her throat and yelled hoarsely.
He let out a low sigh. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Bring me some water.”
She barely finished the sentence before Beomjin dashed down the stairs. Junyoung, halfway sitting up, had to shout again with her raspy voice:
“And turn on the light, will you?!”
No one ever listens.
The lights came on, and she collapsed onto the bed. Her throat was still sore. A few breaths later, Beomjin returned, handing her a glass of water.
She glared at him, and for once, his sharp eyes dropped slightly. The image of him earlier—lunging toward the math teacher—flashed in her mind, and she almost laughed.
Clenching her lips to stop herself, she snatched the glass.
“And here I was worried I’d fall down the stairs. I should’ve been worried about getting murdered.”
“I’m sorry. But seriously, don’t pull pranks like that.”
Beomjin frowned, maybe bothered by her hoarse voice. His tone was serious. Junyoung’s brow shot up.
“You choke someone and now I’m the one who’s out of line?! That’s rich!”
“I’m not like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
He shot back too fast and winced. He turned away, scratching his chin.
“Good reflexes?”
Impulse overtook her. She kicked him in the waist. It made a dull thud, but it was like kicking a pillow—he didn’t budge.
Instead, she had to cradle her own foot.
Grinding her teeth, she watched him awkwardly rub the back of his head. Seeing how massive his hands were—big enough to cover her face—made her angry all over again.
She sipped water and glared.
“Why’d you do that earlier?”
“Do what.”
“The basketball.”
His hand paused at the back of his neck. He slowly leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Bad habit when I sleep, I guess.”
Liar.
To be continued…
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