Chapter 2

The first semester of Sangwoo’s junior year had finally come to a close. His schedule had been jam-packed with twenty-one credits worth of notoriously difficult classes, but he’d managed them just fine. It was the two-credit core curriculum required course that’d worn him down in the end. The class, Ethics for Hanguk University Students, consisted of weekly lectures and several simple group projects. Indeed, the topic of the final presentation had seemed so straightforward to Sangwoo that, at first, he hadn’t taken it seriously. Even when he’d found out one of his group members would be skipping class entirely for a competition, he hadn’t thought much of it. But then another member had suffered a family emergency, and yet another ghosted him the day before the presentation. What’d once been a task Sangwoo could’ve easily finished alone in a day had subsequently turned into a time-consuming hassle as he chased down teammates and waited on their materials. Annoyed as he’d been, Sangwoo put it behind him once the presentation was over—at least until the grades came out, and a minor issue surfaced. The day the grades were posted, Sangwoo’s phone was bombarded with messages. Two people sent a single message and left it at that, but one kept pestering him with texts and calls—demanding that they meet in person to talk—until Sangwoo finally blocked the number. Then came winter break. Sangwoo planned to reduce his course load the following semester to focus on developing a mobile game. To prepare, he had been teaching himself programming languages during the week and working part-time at an internet café on weekends. His life was going smoothly, save for one nagging distraction. It happened on a Saturday like any other, which meant he was in the middle of his shift. Two undergraduates were on their way out after gaming the day away, and standing by the register as he was, Sangwoo couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. “Did you hear that Jaeyoung isn’t going to be able to graduate this semester?” one of them asked. “Huh? How come? I thought he was gonna study abroad.” The first student sighed. “It’s because of that core class, Ethics or whatever. Some guy told the professor that Jaeyoung was having someone else mark attendance for him, so he got an F.” “Oh, shit! And he can’t make up for it or anything?” the second student asked. He clicked his tongue. “Apparently, the professor didn’t wanna compromise for the sake of the guy who snitched.” “Oh… So he’s basically telling Jaeyoung to talk to the dude himself.” The story sounded way too familiar. Sangwoo continued to eavesdrop while pretending to be busy behind the counter. “I heard the guy’s not picking up his phone, though.” “Really? What’s his major?” “Not sure. Mechanical engineering? Computer science? Anyway, Jaeyoung has been trying to figure out where the guy lives. He’s seriously pissed… Nobody knows, though, so he’s screwed big-time.” There was a pause. “I’m honestly kinda impressed that he snitched. Must be one of those goody-two-shoes types, huh…?” It seemed Sangwoo had found himself tangled up with yet another jerk. Still, this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten caught up in some sort of conflict during his university years. He’d always managed to handle things well enough. During his freshman year, for example, he’d almost gotten into a fistfight with an older student who tried to force him to down a soju bomb. Another time, he’d made it into the school newspaper for refusing to pay the student council fee. He’d even gotten into a scuffle with a stranger on the street over bumping shoulders, and had once ended up at a police station after a heated argument with someone who’d cut in line. But none of those incidents could be compared to possibly ruining someone’s graduation. Sangwoo seriously considered changing his phone number, but ultimately decided against it. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so it would be silly to act scared. Still, after that, he couldn’t stop himself from going rigid every time a notification popped up on his phone. Sangwoo was sorely disappointed by the first message he’d received in a while. Despite Suyoung’s slow pace—the consequence of a busy schedule—her illustrations had been absolutely fantastic. Sangwoo had already designed the game around her style, so having to replace her with another artist was far from ideal. This school is full of irresponsible people, Sangwoo thought. At least she’d bothered to find someone to replace her before disappearing—though there was no guarantee this replacement would be any good. After wrapping up the conversation, Sangwoo headed to campus. The meeting was scheduled for 4 PM, but he arrived three hours early to organize character drafts and sketches. Visual design major Jaeyoung Jang, huh? he pondered. Aside from the vague promise of talent, Sangwoo was completely in the dark about the person in question. He didn’t even know whether they were male or female, much less what their art style was like. Would they be as busy as Suyoung, or as willing to leave the project half-finished to chase after some job? For now, he’d just have to give them a chance and see for himself. At 3:55 PM Sangwoo packed up his things and headed upstairs. He arrived at the small meeting room he’d reserved on the third floor of the library just one minute before the meeting. He took out his notebook and pen, ready. However, the replacement didn’t show. If it had been any other appointment, Sangwoo would’ve left without a second thought. But his project needed a designer. He couldn’t do it alone. He killed time by playing a game on his phone for ten minutes. Still, no designer. Maybe they’d mixed up the time, or something urgent had come up. It was also possible that Suyoung had given them the wrong information—or that they’d simply changed their mind about coming at the last minute. Sangwoo’s mind ran through all the possibilities as another ten minutes passed. And still, no designer. What a total scumbag, Sangwoo thought. In his experience, anyone who couldn’t bother to be punctual rarely turned out to be decent. Working with someone like that was bound to lead to trouble. His frustration simmered as another ten minutes ticked by. And yet, no designer. “This is it. Last chance,” Sangwoo muttered. Purely out of respect for Suyoung, who had been both skilled and kind to him, he decided to wait for just ten more minutes. But though he sat there with the patience of a monk, the other person didn’t show. Gritting his teeth, Sangwoo pushed himself up from his chair. He despised all forms of waste, but nothing irritated him more than wasting time. He had just begun to reach for the doorknob, ready to leave, when the door swung open abruptly. “Is this the right place?” the person on the other side of the door mumbled under his breath. Sangwoo continued to scowl as he looked at the newcomer. He was wearing a loose black beanie and had oversized glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Three metal piercings glinted along one ear. With the attitude of the truly unapologetic, the man sauntered into the room and casually flopped down in the seat across from Sangwoo. Though they were supposed to be having a meeting, his hands were notably empty when he pulled them from his pockets. He rubbed them together before finally glancing up. The man’s eyes widened as they met Sangwoo’s. He pointed a finger at him. “Oh!” “Can I help you?” Sangwoo asked. He reflexively reached up to feel his own cheek, wondering if there was something on his face. The man looked momentarily taken aback, but he soon regained his composure. His wide eyes returned to normal size. Though Sangwoo had already lost all interest in working with the man in front of him, he decided to go through the motions for the sake of protocol. He forced himself back into his seat and gripped his pen. “Are you the designer?” he asked curtly, avoiding eye contact. “I sure am.” “Are you aware of what the project entails?” The man, who was apparently the Jaeyoung Jang he’d been waiting for, hummed distractedly. “Kinda.” Suppressing a wave of frustration, Sangwoo explained patiently, “I’m developing a 2D action-adventure game geared toward children. It uses the Creator2d-x framework, and the story is in first-person point of view.” Jaeyoung didn’t seem to be listening to a word Sangwoo said. He was slouched in his chair, bouncing his legs up and down. Then, without bothering to ask for permission, he suddenly picked up Sangwoo’s notebook and started flipping through it. “Someone’s done their homework,” he commented. Sangwoo snatched the notebook back, flipped to a blank page, and set it down on the table before pulling a folder from his bag and handing it to the man. The documents within detailed his game’s title and overall concept, accompanied by the preliminary character designs Suyoung had created. Jaeyoung glanced down, silently examining the papers. “Man, this sucks,” he mumbled under his breath, though it was plenty loud enough for Sangwoo to hear. Lifting his eyes away from the meticulously organized Veggie Man drafts, he added, “Suyoung’s usually pretty good, but I can see she half-assed this. The concept’s unoriginal, and the sketches are lazy.” With a flick of his hand, he sent the folder flying back in Sangwoo’s direction—the corner clocked Sangwoo right in the nose. Sangwoo placed the folder on top of his notebook, his expression hardening. He had planned to at least go over the details of the project out of courtesy, but his patience had already worn thin. Realizing that exerting any more effort would only drain his energy further, he decided to cut the meeting short. “I don’t think we’re a good fit,” Sangwoo declared, gathering up his notebook and folder. “I’ll look for another designer.” “Are you really that good at coding?” Jaeyoung asked out of nowhere. “Like…if I asked you to implement something, would you be able to?” “I can implement almost any feature that would be necessary for a 2D action-adventure game, as long as it’s been designed properly.” “You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Jaeyoung remarked. The dismissive tone stung at Sangwoo’s pride. Was the guy underestimating him because he was just a student? Or because he’d only recently returned to school after finishing his mandatory military service? “I’m especially skilled in debugging and optimization,” Sangwoo clarified. “In high school, I built a budget-tracking app, and I even developed an HTML5-based arcade game—” “That stuff doesn’t matter,” Jaeyoung said, cutting him off. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little, he tapped a finger on the Veggie Man concept sheet. “It’s not enough for a game to just run without errors. It’s gotta be fun. How smooth the animations are, how satisfying it is to hit an enemy—those are the real selling points. And it’s not just the graphics; background music matters, too. Which makes me wonder: Can I really trust your judgment when you okayed a garbage concept like this? Is this project going to be worth the time I invest in it?” The man was totally unpredictable. He couldn’t care less one moment and was all business the next. Sangwoo instinctively tensed. “If you put your faith in me, I will do my best.” As soon as the words left his mouth, frustration bubbled up inside him. He wasn’t some subcontractor who had to grovel for work—he was the one hiring for this project. “But I have to ask…” Sangwoo straightened up and crossed his arms. “Do you have any experience working on mobile game projects?” It was a well-timed counterattack. If this man turned out to be all talk and no skill, Sangwoo was ready to walk out the door without a second thought. “No,” Jaeyoung responded easily. “Then, goodbye.” “But I do have quite a bit of experience in web design…” Sangwoo paused in the middle of rising from his seat. If this man was skilled at crafting website UI, designing an app shouldn’t be much of a stretch. Beyond the smaller object sizes and additional optimization requirements, the fundamentals were the same. Plus, Suyoung had spoken as if this deadbeat was exceptionally talented. “May I see your portfolio?” Sangwoo asked. Jaeyoung smirked, pulling a tablet from his coat pocket. A few taps later, he handed it over to Sangwoo. Sangwoo studied the screen before him. A list of projects had been arranged in a horizontal scroll, displayed against a clean white background like paintings at an art gallery. Carefully examining each piece, he zoomed in to check the details. From websites to posters, logos to illustrations, this guy could seemingly do it all. And the quality was far above what you’d typically expect of a college student. He’s even better than most pros, Sangwoo concluded. UI efficiency—check. Conciseness of interface—check. Effective color usage—check. And his illustration skills? They were excellent. His art style was distinct, lively, and full of character. Internally, Sangwoo had already discarded the sketches he’d previously adored, his mind moving on to something better. “Yeah, I’m no slouch,” Jaeyoung said, catching a glimpse of Sangwoo’s reaction. “You did all of these yourself, correct?” After dismissing Sangwoo’s question with a snort, the designer began to sketch something with a pen into Sangwoo’s discarded notebook. After twenty seconds, he’d produced a drawing of a carrot character. It was nothing like Suyoung’s work. His carrot was rebellious, edgy, and…incredibly cool. It was absolutely amazing. Sangwoo couldn’t help but be impressed; the man clearly had every right to be confident in his skills. Sangwoo’s heart raced with excitement, though he forced himself to keep it in check. He still had a few lingering doubts. “Can you dedicate your time to this project throughout the entirety of next semester?” Sangwoo asked. “Yeah. I happen to have a ton of free time because my graduation plans got screwed up.” “What if you get a job offer halfway through the project like Suyoung did?” Jaeyoung shrugged. “I always finish what I start.” Only minutes ago, Sangwoo had inwardly sworn that he would never trust someone who was forty minutes late to a meeting, but this man was making him change his mind. With talent like his, Sangwoo could overlook a little tardiness. That was saying a lot, considering Sangwoo usually held punctuality—and diligence—above all else. “Could I have your contact information, then?” Sangwoo asked, respectfully offering the man his phone. Jaeyoung took it and began to enter his number. Then abruptly, his expression shifted. His brows furrowed as he slowly tilted his head to look up at Sangwoo. “It’s already in here.” “No, that can’t be right,” Sangwoo objected. Jaeyoung’s voice grew sharper. “Here, look.” Confused, Sangwoo took his phone back—and saw that it was already calling someone. Calling Freeloader 3… Sangwoo and the man stared at the screen in silence as the number dialed. Then, from somewhere within the room, a ring sounded. Jaeyoung pulled his phone from his coat pocket, his expression cold. He let out a dry, disbelieving laugh as he stared at the screen. Sangwoo also glanced at it and saw the name he’d been saved under. Incoming call from Douchebag! Shocked, Sangwoo bolted out of the meeting room, leaving his notebook and pen behind. He didn’t dare look back, so he had no idea if Jaeyoung called after him, chased him, or just stayed where he was. The next twenty minutes were a blur. When Sangwoo finally made it home, he only paused to catch his breath after he’d secured the door using all three of its locks. His knee was throbbing, aggravated after he’d tripped while rushing up the stairs. Sangwoo staggered over to the fridge and gulped down a bottle of water. “This can’t be happening,” he muttered to himself. For the longest moment, he stood rooted to the spot, dazed. Then he finally mustered the courage to pull out his phone. No missed calls or messages. With trembling fingers, Sangwoo unblocked “Freeloader 3,” and a string of unread texts and missed calls immediately popped up. Five days ago, Jaeyoung Jang, aka Freeloader 3, had sent him a lengthy text, apologizing and asking to meet. In the message, Jaeyoung admitted he’d made a mistake in not reaching out to Sangwoo directly about his absences since Sangwoo was the group representative. He claimed he’d explained everything to another group member instead. There were also several follow-up texts, some of which felt borderline threatening. That was the last message. As Sangwoo scrolled through the texts, his initial shock began to fade. The man he’d thought was a talented game designer had turned out to be nothing more than a shameless, self-centered scumbag with zero integrity. In a way, he was lucky to have found this out before they’d started working on the project together. A part of him was disappointed, especially after seeing Jaeyoung’s impressive illustrations, but Sangwoo knew it was in his best interest to move on. There was no way he’d ever work with a punk like Jaeyoung, and he doubted the guy would want to work with him, either. I did nothing wrong, Sangwoo reassured himself. The conflict had been unexpected, but in the end, it was entirely Jaeyoung’s fault—not his. Even so, an uneasy feeling lingered in the pit of Sangwoo’s stomach. He kept glancing at his phone until, in the early hours of the morning, exhaustion finally overtook him and he fell asleep. When he woke up, a new message was waiting for him. Sangwoo tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, then stared at the screen for a long moment. When he was a kid, he’d only ever been called by his childhood nickname. He’d practically gone through his entire life without hearing his first name. Then, in college, he’d mostly been a respectful “Mr. Sangwoo Choo.” During his military service, it’d been “Private Choo,” “Corporal Choo,” and finally “Sergeant Choo.” The only people who ever called him just “Sangwoo” in such a casual manner were his parents. The responses were unsettling—menacing, even. Sangwoo stared intensely at the screen, reading them over and over. As he did, two new texts came in. Sangwoo scoffed, clenching his phone tightly. “As if.” He hadn’t done anything wrong; there was no reason for him to listen to the guy. So what if Jaeyoung had done some digging on him? What was he going to do, report Sangwoo to the police? If anyone was going to do that, it was Sangwoo—he was all for relying on police authority when in a difficult position. He knew exactly what kind of situation would be best to call upon them. He reread Jaeyoung’s message, slowly this time. Whatever the guy’s intentions were, his text was clearly a threat. Still, Sangwoo wasn’t perturbed in the slightest. Jaeyoung had no real power over him. Sangwoo diligently attended classes, but otherwise kept his involvement with campus activities to a minimum, which meant his professors were the only ones who could affect him in any way. return 0; After three days, Sangwoo assumed that the ridiculous feud between himself and Jaeyoung had finally fizzled out. In hindsight, this was an entirely and painfully incorrect assumption. But given the internet café’s proximity to their school, all it took was a little critical thinking to realize that the likelihood of running into Jaeyoung there was relatively high. On that fateful day, Sangwoo was restocking cabinets with bags of chips when a pack of college students rushed through the internet café’s front door. The tallest one was saying, “I told you, there’s nothing going on between us. We just grabbed a meal, that’s…all…” He trailed off when he saw Sangwoo, and his footsteps slowed. Lightning seemed to crackle between the two men as their eyes met. Just like a scene in a movie, time ground to a halt and the rest of the world faded away. Behind Jaeyoung’s oversized glasses, his previously impassive eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed into calculating slits. If it hadn’t been for the intensity in his gaze, Sangwoo honestly might not have recognized him. Even though he hadn’t really done anything wrong, Sangwoo’s fingers went stiff with anxiety. The bag of chips he’d been holding dropped to the floor, and a number of thoughts flashed through his head, including Damn it, this is going to be annoying, and Get me out of here! Although Sangwoo was silently readying himself for a fight, Jaeyoung simply walked right past him and disappeared into the smoking-allowed room with his four friends. Sangwoo returned to his chair behind the counter and tried to get some studying done, but he found he couldn’t focus on his textbook or class notes at all. Sangwoo glanced up from his book, noted where Jaeyoung’s head was peeking over the PC, then turned to look at a window on the screen of his own computer. It showed a list of users in the internet café and what programs they were using. Jaeyoung—seat number thirty-two—was playing an online RPG when Sangwoo looked first. He eventually switched to an FPS game, then an MMORPG. Meanwhile, Sangwoo was stuck on the same page. Maybe I was worried about nothing, Sangwoo mused. He’d honestly thought Jaeyoung would throw a punch or two, based on the threatening texts he’d sent, but now it seemed like he was going to act his age and drop it. This was probably the best possible outcome Sangwoo could’ve asked for. However, his hopes were dashed when he saw a message pop up on his computer screen. Of course. With a long sigh, Sangwoo rose to his feet and began to prepare the noodles according to the recipe, pouring precisely 450 mL of water into the pot. Although it only took minutes to boil, it felt like hours. As he methodically cracked the dried noodles in half, placed them in the pot, and sprinkled the soup base on top, Sangwoo thought back on how he’d resolved past conflicts. As far as he could remember, he’d always fought with logic, choosing to point out other parties’ faults instead of letting his emotions overcome him. They, on the other hand, most commonly dealt with their anger by swearing at him or even occasionally taking a swing in his direction. When violence of that sort broke out, he preferred calling the police rather than reciprocating with his own fists. Deciding he might as well follow the same protocol when dealing with Jaeyoung, Sangwoo headed over to the room the other man was in. When he pushed the door open and stepped inside, he found the space hazy with cigarette smoke. Carefully balancing the bowl of instant noodles on a tray, Sangwoo walked over to seat number thirty-two. Jaeyoung reclined comfortably in the chair with a cigarette between his lips. When Sangwoo set the plate down, Jaeyoung spun the chair to face him and stared with a strange look on his face. He was wearing a red sweatshirt with an extremely obnoxious pattern on the chest, making him look more like a common thug than anything else. Disgusting, Sangwoo thought. He began to turn around, but Jaeyoung’s leisurely voice brought him to a halt. “I didn’t realize you worked here, my dear Sangwoo.” Frowning slightly, Jaeyoung stubbed out his cigarette on an ashtray. As a thin wisp of smoke rose into the air, he slowly looked back at Sangwoo. “So, why have you been ghosting me? You’re hurting my feelings, you know.” Sangwoo wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He knew how to stand his ground against someone who threatened him or used violence, but he’d never encountered anyone who picked a fight in such a calm manner. “Answer me, Sangwoo.” Jaeyoung’s voice was very gentle, especially considering that he was harassing someone. Sangwoo decided he would hold back until the man showed his true colors. When Sangwoo finally responded, it was with a “Can I help you?” “Yeah. Look me in the eyes when I’m talking.” This was a request that Sangwoo could easily fulfill. He lifted his head to meet Jaeyoung’s eyes, and the other man glanced away to light another cigarette. For a long moment, he just sat there with smoke occasionally puffing out through his lips. Then he looked back at Sangwoo and abruptly extended his right hand. “Let’s make up,” he demanded. “We’re going to make that game together, right?” Sangwoo stared at the large hand that had been offered to him, unsure if he was seeing things. Concluding it was indeed reality, he blinked curiously. “How can we make up if we’ve never fought? Furthermore, I am not planning on making anything with you.” Jaeyoung dropped his hand back onto his lap and chuckled incredulously. “Why do you think I was asking to meet up, huh?” “I have no idea.” “Well, maybe you should try being a bit more imaginative.” Sangwoo shrugged. “Talking with me won’t change your grades. As someone who evidently possesses a high enough IQ to be accepted into a university, I hope you know that.” Jaeyoung crossed his arms, lips turning up in a cold smile. “You think this is about my damn grades? The correction period ended weeks ago.” “Why do you keep harassing me, then?” Sangwoo asked flatly. “Nobody’s harassing anyone. I figured I would talk to you since Suyoung introduced us and there’s a potential project on the line. I was gonna listen to what you had to say and try to resolve any misunderstandings between us, okay?” “But I have no interest in talking with you.” Jaeyoung’s tone immediately grew sharper. “Would it have been too much trouble to text me that? Huh?” he asked in a low voice. “Where are your fucking manners?” Sangwoo, who had been quietly massaging the phone in his pocket just in case things escalated, noted that Jaeyoung possessed an uncanny skill for cussing someone out while maintaining an incredibly even tone. That was not reason enough to call the police, however. Sangwoo suddenly felt a bit lost, unsure how to react. A part of him knew that a simple apology might be enough to smooth things over, but he was following his typical protocol—and the hostile command had already been activated. “How was I supposed to deduce that you truly just wanted to talk?” he finally responded. “From all accounts, you are still actively suffering from the false belief that your inability to graduate is my fault. It would be odd if you weren’t holding a grudge. With that in mind, I don’t know how you can conclude that I’m the one in the wrong.” Back when Sangwoo had been in middle school, a teacher had slapped him across the face after he’d talked back to them in a similar tone. “You can’t keep talking to people like that when you’re out in the real world,” he’d been told countless times, and he’d made an effort to fix his speech patterns as a result. With Jaeyoung, however, he found that he couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice. Strangely enough, Jaeyoung remained completely nonchalant as he said, “I would have graduated if you hadn’t run your mouth to the professor. Two damn credits, and now I can’t go to grad school abroad.” “I still fail to see how that was my fault.” “Sangwoo—,” Jaeyoung began, but Sangwoo cut him off. “Stop acting like we’re friends. And did you really think you would be able to graduate after making someone answer the roll call for you? Why do you think other students go to class every day? Moreover, do I seem like a dimwit who would include some deadbeat’s name as a contributor on the project?” Despite the barrage of words, there was no hint of surprise on Jaeyoung’s face. “Yeah… I figured you’d be like this.” “Now, may I be excused?” “No, I’m not done yet.” Jaeyoung took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled the gray smoke, then spat, “You think you’re some kind of saint? Or upholder of the law? Don’t try to lecture me, asshole. You don’t get to be the judge of my actions.” “Fine. You can continue being a lowlife if you wish, but please do refrain from contacting me.” “Shit… You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” Jaeyoung’s eyes were cold as he put out his cigarette. “I’m just trying to be friendly, okay? It’s not like I asked you to grovel for forgiveness or beg the professor to reverse his decision. The least you could do is act a bit embarrassed instead of trying to judge me for my sins.” Although the anger in Jaeyoung’s voice was obvious, Sangwoo was a little lost as to what he was trying to get across. In the end, he responded, “I’m not quite sure what you mean. If there’s something you want from me, just say it outright.” He hadn’t meant to offend, but Jaeyoung looked like he’d just been attacked. Dumbfounded, he gaped at Sangwoo like a fish, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before crossing his arms and leaning further back into his chair. His face twisted into a scowl. “Repeat after me: ‘I’m sorry that you can’t go on your awesome study abroad program because of me.’” It was an easy task. Sangwoo opened his mouth confidently, but…the words stuck in his throat. Jaeyoung’s sentence contained a glaring error, or perhaps two. “Only if you correct both errors in that sentence. Firstly, I’m not the reason you couldn’t graduate. It was because you missed too many classes and you didn’t get points from the project. Secondly, I am not sorry.” Once the feedback was applied, his new task would be to say, “You can’t go on your awesome study abroad program.” That was the truth, so he had no issue speaking it aloud. “Shit, you’re such a weirdo,” Jaeyoung snapped, his voice full of derision. The name-calling didn’t affect Sangwoo in the slightest—it was an insult he had already heard many times. Jaeyoung turned his chair back to face his monitor, then stirred his bowl of instant noodles with a pair of chopsticks. “Damn, the noodles are all soggy,” he muttered. He shoved the tray back at Sangwoo, snapping, “Take it back.” Sangwoo wordlessly obeyed, but as he turned around to walk out of the room, Jaeyoung called out to him yet again. “Hey!” “Yes?” he responded calmly. “I never wanna see your face again, you hear me?” In terms of results, Sangwoo couldn’t have asked for anything better. Somehow, it appeared that he had unintentionally defeated his opponent. Jaeyoung was shooing him away with an exasperated expression. Sangwoo nodded. “My shift ends at 10 PM. Make sure to leave the building after I’m gone.” “You crazy asshole…” You’re one to talk, you sleazy scumbag, Sangwoo thought to himself as he walked out of the smoking room. return 0; Sangwoo’s life returned to normal after the conclusion of his and Jaeyoung’s ridiculous feud. He diligently studied in the school library every single day, even though he was on break. However, he was still facing a serious issue: he had yet to find a new designer for Veggie Man. He’d made another post on the school forum, saying he was looking for a designer to make graphics for an action game, but his inbox remained empty. This was quite problematic, since he’d intentionally scaled back his schedule for the next semester, anticipating that he’d be dedicated to working on the game. If he couldn’t find a designer, he’d end up wasting all that precious time. Other than that, the rest of his life was going well. That was until, on a day like any other, Sangwoo decided to head over to the dining hall after meeting his studying quota. On his way, he beheld a large box walking toward him, a smaller one perched on top of it. They were being carried by a student who was obviously struggling and unable to see anything in front of her. Sangwoo glanced at her feet. Then, after a brief examination of her walking patterns, he concluded that she had only a few seconds left before tripping on a protrusion. Moments later, he heard her shout, “Nooo!” The smaller box fell, spilling a variety of random items, including a reading stand, a roll of tape, and several bags of snacks. Unfortunately, the spot where they landed was on an incline, and they began to roll downhill. The girl desperately reached out with one arm and chased after the items, but it seemed to be a lost cause. Though he found her rather pitiful, Sangwoo continued on his way. After all, his objective was to reach the dining hall. As he walked past her, the girl called out, “Excuse me!” Sangwoo immediately stopped walking. “I-I’m really sorry, but could you help me out? These boxes are killing me. I’ll treat you to a meal in return!” “Where are you headed?” “The lockers on the third floor of the library!” Gears began to turn in Sangwoo’s head. At a brisk walk, he could reach the library in about seven minutes. He didn’t even have to refer to the meal prices at the dining hall—it was a deal that would pay him far above minimum wage. Giving the girl an affirmative response, Sangwoo turned his focus to helping her gather up all the fallen items and put them back in the smaller box. Once that was done, he proceeded to lift the bigger one with both hands. The girl began to fidget with embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s super heavy, right? I’ll take the smaller one.” “Yes, it really is. What’s inside?” “Oh, you know… Just some books.” The box was indeed “super heavy,” as the girl had put it. Even though Sangwoo took two breaks along the way, he still had to remove his puffer jacket to avoid getting too sweaty. What he’d thought would be a seven-minute trip ended up taking fifteen minutes, and by the time he reached the third floor of the library, he was limp from exhaustion. It was clear that the energy he had exerted was worth far more than a single meal, and he regretted making such a foolish choice. “Thanks so much, Sangwoo! You’re my savior,” the girl, who introduced herself as Jihye, exclaimed. In the fifteen minutes it’d taken to get the boxes upstairs, she’d not only learned Sangwoo’s name, age, and major, but she’d also swiftly shifted from speaking to him like a stranger to addressing him like a close friend. Most people, especially underclassmen, didn’t try to strike up a conversation with Sangwoo since he had a naturally standoffish look about him, but Jihye seemed to be built differently. As the two of them walked out of the library, she asked, “Is there anything you wanna eat?” “You can just buy me a meal ticket. It’s fine.” Jihye gasped dramatically. “No way! I’m not letting you eat at the school dining hall. I have to buy you a really nice meal to express my undying gratitude, okay? C’mon, follow me.” “All right.” “Oh, and stop acting so stiff! We’re friends now, not strangers.” “If you say so…” Jihye swore that it would only take ten minutes to get to the restaurant she had in mind, but Sangwoo could already tell that the trip would be considerably longer. He was slightly peeved that he was going to have to walk so far just for a single meal, but he decided he wouldn’t complain. He’d been the one who’d agreed to let Jihye pick their destination, after all. It turned out that Jihye loved to talk. Even though Sangwoo didn’t respond to most things she said, she kept chattering on. “I’m telling you, this Italian place is the best. The pasta’s amazing, of course, but the pizza dough is super thin and crispy, too. I love it! I got Alfredo pasta in one of their bread bowls last time, and it was so good I practically ate the freaking plate! Oh, and they give a ten-percent student discount, and every single worker there looks like a celeb…” As Jihye continued to describe their destination, they left campus and walked down a street lined with bars, all swarmed by undergrads. Jihye confidently led Sangwoo into a quieter alley and pointed to the second floor of a building. There was a sign with a single tree drawn on it. The simplicity of its design gave the sign a quiet aura of elegant confidence, as if to vouch for the restaurant’s quality. The stairs below led to a large door, and a small bell rang as Sangwoo pushed it open. Dim lights illuminated the spacious interior, and the furnishings added to the space’s warm and welcoming ambience. A hostess greeted them, then asked if they had a reservation and how many people were in their party. Shortly after, they were shown to an empty table. “The only requirement to work here is being smoking hot, I swear,” Jihye said in a hushed voice as she glanced around. Ignoring her, Sangwoo took a seat and immediately began to analyze the menu. Am I seeing this right? he wondered, doubting his eyesight. Even the lowest-priced item was more than three times the amount he usually paid for food of any kind. It was completely unreasonable in his opinion, especially since most of the dishes on the menu were primarily composed of some sort of starch. It was definitely not the kind of compensation he deserved for just lifting a couple of boxes. After a pause, he asked, “Are you sure you can afford this?” “Eh, it’s a special occasion! I’ll just starve a bit at the end of the month,” Jihye replied cheerfully. The logic for making such a decision escaped Sangwoo, but there was no reason for him to concern himself with the status of someone else’s bank account. Instead, he turned his eyes to the menu as Jihye began to shower him with praise for basically saving her life. Fresca citrus salad, cacciucco alla livornese, calamari fritti… The list of unfamiliar items went on and on. Sangwoo pronounced each one in his head, eyes narrowed in concentration. Suddenly, a kind voice broke into his thoughts. “Are you ready to order?” Before Sangwoo could say anything, Jihye piped up, “One spaghetti alle vongole for me, please!” “I’ll get…,” Sangwoo began, fully prepared to order the most expensive pasta dish on the menu. However, his words trailed off when he made eye contact with the server. Maybe the restaurant did value the workers’ looks above everything else—even Sangwoo had to admit the server was an unusually handsome man, even though he did not normally pay attention to others’ appearances when interacting with them. The man’s hair was combed over neatly, keeping his hair out of his slim, smiling face. His monolid eyes were bright and large, and his nose was straight and perfectly shaped, perking up just a bit at the tip. Overall, his appearance was neat and dashing, his white shirt and black apron only adding to the effect. Have I seen him before? Sangwoo wondered as he stared intently at the man. Maybe he’s some kind of model and I came across him in an ad…? He was still deliberating when the server’s lips curled up into an icy smile. “Sangwoo? Hello?” Jihye urged Sangwoo impatiently, snapping him out of his thoughts. He quickly ordered some pasta with lobster, and the server jotted down their orders on his notepad. “One spaghetti alle vongole and one lobster tortellini—got it. Can I get you anything else?” “You guys do discounts for Hanguk University students, right?” Jihye asked. “Of course. Actually, I’m also a student there,” said the server as he smiled and marked something on his notepad. Jihye’s voice grew more excited as she took out her student ID from her wallet and showed it to him. “I already knew that! I’ve seen you a few times while passing the art department. I saw that play last year, too—The Salesman! It was crazy difficult to get those tickets.” The server took her ID and examined it closely before handing it back to her. “A French major?” he noted. But strangely, he directed a somewhat unfriendly gaze right at Sangwoo when he continued, “I guess it makes sense. Some of you have pretty unique tastes.” Completely oblivious to the biting undertone, Jihye laughed and said, “I’m the only French major here. Sangwoo, what was yours again?” Sangwoo had no desire to share details of his life with a stranger, and he thought it was completely unreasonable for the server to glare at him even though they had just met. So he simply asked, “You got our orders, right? I suggest you get back to work.” Silence washed over the table. Jihye looked like she was watching a horror movie unfold in front of her, but the server’s smirk just grew even more bitter. “It’s nice that you’re so consistent,” he muttered quietly, picking up his notepad and pen. After announcing that it would take about twenty minutes for the food to be ready, he walked away. Jihye glanced at Sangwoo nervously. “Are you upset?” “No.” Jihye chewed on her lip nervously, as though she didn’t believe Sangwoo’s honest answer. “I—I swear I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m so sorry… My stupid tongue just slips up sometimes.” “I told you, I’m fine.” “I’m so, so, so sorry!” Jihye bowed her head and began to grovel like she had committed some awful crime. “Stop that. I said I’m fine.” “I—I know, but still…” “That’s enough.” Sangwoo sighed in annoyance and turned his head slightly, only to accidentally lock eyes with the server who had taken their order. Instead of looking away like most people would, the man stared intently back at Sangwoo as he wiped a wine glass with a cloth. After a moment of intense eye contact, Sangwoo decided to look away first. “That server keeps glaring at me,” he commented. “Huh? No way!” Jihye discreetly glanced in the server’s direction. “Oh, you’re right.” “I don’t think he likes me.” “Aw, I’m sure it’s not that.” They filled the next twenty minutes with meaningless chitchat. Jihye asked in a low whisper if Sangwoo thought he could beat the server in a fight, and Sangwoo responded that he did not enjoy violence—if they ended up getting into a scuffle, he would simply let the server get a punch in and then call the police. Hearing this, Jihye laughed loudly. “You’re so funny. You don’t look like the type…” “What do you mean by that?” “I mean, I didn’t think you would make a joke like that.” “It wasn’t a joke.” Jihye fell silent, nodding awkwardly. After that, they sat quietly until the server came by with their food, carrying two plates on one arm. His face was strangely stiff as he set down Jihye’s plate and walked around the table to place Sangwoo’s dish right in front of him. Then, talking so quietly that only Sangwoo could hear him, the server whispered, “I wasn’t planning on doing this, but the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.” “Excuse me?” “Why the hell are you here? You trying to pick a fight or what?” Sangwoo blinked in surprise and finally looked up at the server, who was glaring at him with venom in his eyes. It seemed unlikely that the man would be so angry just because of a single comment. After a brief moment of contemplation, Sangwoo decided the server had mistaken him for somebody else. “Do we know each other?” he asked. The server’s lips fell open in shock. For a long moment, he just stared at Sangwoo in disbelief, then a caustic laugh escaped him. His glare never wavered as he took out a pair of glasses from his apron and put them on. A flash of realization struck Sangwoo like lightning when their eyes met through the oversized lenses. The deadbeat trash he’d encountered in the library meeting room had been wearing similar glasses, and the height seemed to match as well. Although he wasn’t wearing any of the earrings or the painful-to-look-at clothes, Sangwoo figured the two of them had to be the same person. “You’re…the Kim dude.” Belatedly, he added, “Youngjae Kim.” The server’s face had already gone tight with anger. He bent over slightly and whispered right in Sangwoo’s ear, “I told you I never wanted to see your face again.” “I didn’t know you worked here.” “Sangwoo…” The sugary sweet tone sent a shiver down Sangwoo’s spine, and he pushed his chair back slightly to put some space between himself and the server. Unfortunately, the man shifted forward at the same time, so his handsome face remained as close as ever. “C’mon, bro. Can’t you hear me talking to you?” “I only have a sister,” Sangwoo responded curtly, his voice cracking slightly. At this, the server scoffed. “Okay, you’re just asking for it now. So, what’s something you dislike?” “You,” Sangwoo answered honestly. The server didn’t even bat an eye. “Least favorite color?” “Red.” Sangwoo didn’t particularly like or dislike most colors, but he hated red—it was the color of an error. “Least favorite animal?” “Homo sapiens.” In Sangwoo’s opinion, humans were the most imperfect creatures to walk the planet. They didn’t have strong claws, thick skin, or lethal venom, and were easily swayed by impulses and emotions. He silently glared at the personification of irrationality standing in front of him. “Least favorite food?” “Pasta.” He wasn’t a picky eater by any means, but at this very moment, he despised everything that had anything to do with this man. “Least favorite place?” “Anywhere within ten meters of you.” So please get lost, he thought, but let the rest of his sentence go unsaid. The server laughed coldly, breaking the brief silence that had settled after their dry exchange. Then, in that same soft tone from before, he whispered, “I was planning on just ignoring you, since you didn’t seem…normal. But I’ve changed my mind. You should really look forward to next semester.” “Sure, feel free to put a hit out on me. I’ll keep the police on speed dial.” “Your imagination really needs more work.” By the time Sangwoo came up with a good comeback, the server was long gone. “Are you friends with him?” Jihye asked brightly, already halfway through her food. “Not at all.” “Oh, I guess I should have known, since you got his name wrong. It’s Jaeyoung, not Youngjae.” Sangwoo silently stabbed his pasta with his fork, but he’d entirely lost his appetite. “He’s in the drama club, and he’s super popular. I know a lot about him because my friend audited a bunch of graphic design classes after watching him in a play. Apparently, J.S. Entertainment wanted to recruit him as an actor when he was twenty—” “Stop.” Jihye blinked in confusion. “Sorry…?” “Talk about something else.” Jihye fell silent, her face dejected. She’d maintained a stream of constant dialogue no matter the situation prior, so Sangwoo hadn’t expected this sort of response. Feeling a tinge of anxiety, he began to shovel pasta into his mouth. Somehow, the food seemed to taste worse than what he typically ate at the university dining hall. What did he mean, he “changed his mind”? Sangwoo wondered. He tried to steer his mind in another direction but ultimately found it impossible. I just hope I never cross paths with that deadbeat again, in any way, shape, or form. return 0; Sangwoo remained faithful to his schedule of studying during the week and working part-time over the weekend. Time flew, and before he knew it, the new semester was about to begin. All engineering students were required to take at least two liberal arts courses, since it was apparently important for them to possess a general knowledge of the humanities. Sangwoo had chosen to take both this semester and had utilized his free time to study the textbooks and materials they would cover. The rest of his schedule only consisted of major requirements, which would give him no trouble. Up until now, he’d made sure to take more than twenty credits every single semester, but this one was different. He’d intentionally created an easy schedule for himself so that he could develop his game in peace, though, thanks to the string of inconveniences he’d run into, he was still lacking a decent designer. Unfortunately, the class adjustment period had ended a long time ago, and Sangwoo didn’t particularly feel like messing with his perfect timetable. He’d specifically arranged it so every single day of the week was perfectly balanced, and he would be able to grab lunch right after class. When the first day of the new semester finally arrived, Sangwoo went about his day as per usual: wake up at 8:30 AM, do a brief workout, shower, then eat some cereal with milk. The next tasks on his list were to brush his teeth, then get changed. Sangwoo’s closet was divided into two sections: shirts went on the top shelf and pants went on the bottom, organized in the order they were washed. Today, he decided on a black T-shirt and black cotton pants with his usual belt. He then combed his fingers through his hair before pulling on his customary black cap. A black padded jacket, scarf, and backpack completed the ensemble. By the time he got downstairs to his bicycle, it was 9:16 AM on the dot. When he arrived on campus and walked through the front gates, he was satisfied to find that it was exactly 9:24 AM. Sometimes he ended up being a minute or two late due to traffic conditions, which never failed to irritate him. Thankfully, this rarely ever happened. Sangwoo put his bicycle in the bike parking area first, then headed to the humanities building. The doors opened to reveal a staircase. It had sixty-four steps in total, with short corridors located at every sixteen-step interval. It took precisely 0.9 seconds to climb one step, which meant that all combined, it took exactly sixty-one seconds to reach lecture hall 403, the classroom on the fourth floor where his Intermediate Chinese class was located. Sangwoo entered the room thirty minutes before class started, though a brief glance revealed that a student was already sitting in one of the front rows. Not thinking much of it, Sangwoo immediately headed over to the fourth row. “What the…?” he muttered. There was a strange sight in front of him—more specifically, there was a bag sitting on the desk farthest to the right. He blinked in surprise, struck speechless. During the past six semesters, he had always sat in the exact same seat without anybody managing to steal it from him. The idea of sitting somewhere else felt absurd. Fourth row, farthest to the right. It was the perfect seat. From there, he could make direct eye contact with the professor without having to crane his head back to see the podium, and whatever materials were on the board, whether a presentation or something written, were perfectly visible. In addition, it was in a spot where the air from the vents wouldn’t make direct contact with his skin, and there were no windows nearby, which meant thermal conductivity was low. Furthermore, being right next to a wall made him feel much more comfortable compared to being surrounded by other students. Whose bag could that be? Sangwoo thought with a twinge of annoyance. But it was the unfortunate truth that people could sit wherever they wanted, since there wasn’t a reservation system for classroom seats like the library had. Even as he begrudgingly headed over to the seat right next to his original choice, Sangwoo couldn’t help but glance at the bag on the desk. He opened his textbook, but his attention was scattered. At last, he decided to politely ask the person if they would be willing to switch spots once they’d returned. Immediately, Sangwoo felt a bit calmer. He wasn’t a superstitious person, but he wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of sitting somewhere other than his “perfect” seat for the first lecture of the new semester. It was almost time for class to start, and the rest of the room gradually began to fill up. A male student who looked younger than Sangwoo nodded at him in recognition. “Good morning,” he said. The student’s face wasn’t familiar, so Sangwoo ignored him. A moment later, a female student greeted him with an upbeat, “Didn’t expect to see you here again!” Of course, he didn’t recognize her, either. Students continued to stream into the room, but nobody took the seat with the bag. Sangwoo glared at it, noting that it was made of leather and had a single long strap so it could be worn on one’s shoulder. If only he could just push it aside and reclaim his rightful place… But Sangwoo repressed the urge. Even he knew that putting a bag on a seat was an unspoken way of laying claim to it. The professor walked into the room just three minutes before 10 AM and passed around some handouts. She said a few casual greetings, then glanced around curiously. “It looks like the TA is running late,” she said. Given that this class was an elective, Sangwoo had to admit he was slightly impressed. Most people didn’t have the passion required to volunteer as a TA outside of their major courses. Though the job came with extra credit and was a great opportunity to get to know a professor better, it was also accompanied by a list of tedious chores—the main reason most people weren’t particularly motivated to take the position. As the students looked around the room curiously, somebody walked in through the back door and raised his hand. “I’m right here, Professor,” he said cheerfully. “There you are, Jaeyoung! I haven’t seen you in a while. This is the last class that I’d expect you to volunteer for.” “I still need some credits to graduate, and I figured I’d brush up on my Chinese a bit.” “Excellent,” she said, nodding in approval. “Everyone, meet Jaeyoung. He will be our TA for the semester. Jaeyoung used to live in Hong Kong, so feel free to go to him with any questions you might have! He’ll be collecting all your assignments for this class as well.” Sangwoo, who had been scanning the handout, flinched in surprise. But it was probably somebody else—Jaeyoung wasn’t exactly a rare name. At that moment, he heard the leather bag being lifted off the desk to his right as somebody dropped into the seat. Sangwoo genuinely didn’t want to look, but his head turned before he could stop himself. Jaeyoung Jang was wearing a red beanie and puffer jacket; they stood out so much they were nearly offensive to look at. To add insult to injury, he was wearing a red sports jersey underneath the jacket and clutched a red can of soda in one hand. It was a very small relief that he wasn’t wearing red pants as well. Sangwoo’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “I didn’t realize you were in this class,” Jaeyoung commented shamelessly as he took a sip of soda. And he had the gall to call me a weirdo. Sangwoo remained speechless even as the professor began her lecture.