Being a "boyfriend" in a K-drama looked easy on screen.
In reality, it was a high-stakes endurance test of social stamina and spatial awareness.
After our lattes, Sora led me into one of the massive luxury malls in Gangnam. It was a labyrinth of glass, chrome, and neon. For someone who usually felt at home in a dusty gym or a quiet classroom, the sensory overload was intense.
We spent the first hour in the "Game Zone."
"San-ah, look! The punching machine!" Sora pointed, her eyes sparkling. "I bet you could break the record. Myung-dae said you have 'gorilla strength.'"
"Myung-dae talks too much," I grumbled, but I stepped up to the leather bag anyway.
I used the explosive force I'd developed from vaulting—a quick, snapping rotation of the hips and a straight-arm drive.
CRACK.
The machine groaned. The digital numbers spiraled upward, past the daily record, past the weekly record, and settled on a score that made the nearby middle schoolers stop and stare.
"Whoa," Sora whispered, her face glowing with a mix of pride and amusement. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
"I only fight inanimate objects," I joked, though my shoulder gave a small, sharp throb of protest.
As the sun began to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the Han River, we left the mall to stroll through the city.
The air was cooling down, and the city lights were starting to pulse. It was strange—for the first time, I wasn't rushing to a bus or looking for a practice room. I was just walking.
What do they do in the dramas? I wondered, my internal "K-Culture Manual" flipping pages.
Eye contact?
No, too intense.
Deep monologue?
Maybe later.
Ah, right. The hand.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers.
Sora didn't pull away; she entwined her fingers with mine, her hand small and warm against my palm. A weird, light feeling fluttered in my chest—something that felt dangerously like genuine happiness.
"It's not so bad," I said, looking at our joined hands. "Being a boyfriend. It's actually kind of fun."
Sora squeezed my hand.
"It's better than fun. It's... normal. I don't get to be 'normal' very often, San."
For the next half hour, the barriers started to drop. I found myself telling her things I hadn't told anyone in Korea—not even Ha-neul or my foster parents. I talked about the frozen Dnipro River back in Ukraine, the way the air smelled like old iron and pine in Smila, and how my grandmother used to make me tea when I failed a gymnastic landing.
She was the first person I'd shared more with than just my age and the fact that I was an exchange student.
But as the conversation turned toward my plans after the year ended—toward my "real" dreams—the old awkwardness returned. I wasn't ready to talk about the fear of going back, or the uncertainty of staying.
"Anyway," I said, shifting the topic with the grace of a falling gymnast. "I've been listening to some indie stuff lately. Do you know a group called Youthful Memoirs? I saw them on the Autumn Festival."
Sora's face lit up.
"Oh, the ones with the 'Jay' frontman? They're great! They actually have a show in a Hongdae club tonight. It's one of those underground 'Secret Saturday' gigs."
She let out a small, longing sigh.
"I wish I could go. I've always wanted to see them live, but I have to get home and finish a history project. If I don't get a 'B' or higher, my agency will cut my weekend practice hours."
"Education is a cruel mistress," I said, hiding the sudden spark in my eyes.
We reached the taxi stand.
The city was in full Saturday-night mode now—neon signs flickering, crowds of people heading toward the nightlife hubs.
I hailed a taxi for her, opening the door like a proper lead actor.
"Get home safe," I said.
Sora stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my neck for a lingering farewell hug.
"Thank you for today, San-ah. It was the best date I've never had."
I leaned down and whispered into her ear.
"There will be more. I promise."
I handed the driver a ten-thousand won note(well, first I cringed actually), covering the fare, and watched as the taxi pulled into the stream of traffic. Sora waved from the back window until she disappeared behind a corner.
I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, the warmth of the hug still on my skin.
My expression was changing.
I checked my watch.
A surprised whistle escaped my mouth. I felt like I was Leo, who often whistled when he was nervous or suprised.
8:30 PM.
I thought about Jun-seo—'Jay'—performing in Hongdae right now without his "secret weapon."
An ominous, sharp smile curved onto my face.
"So," I whispered to the neon night. "Let's go to Hongdae?"