The local blue Jeju bus hummed smoothly along the coastal highway, its broad windows framing a parting view of the sapphire ocean.
Beside me, Ha-neul was silently staring at her phone, but my brain was still back at the guesthouse driveway.
Saying goodbye to my host grandparents had been an unexpectedly emotional event. Grandma Lee Chang-gu had wrapped her arms around my broad waist in a smothering hug, refusing to let go until she had made me promise three separate times to bring my friends next time.
"There is always a spot in this house for young boys with big appetites!" she had declared loudly. Then, leaning in close, she'd added with a sharp glance at her granddaughter: "And if Ha-neul ever bullies you back in Seoul, you call us immediately. We will handle her."
Ha-neul had pulled a deeply distasteful face at the accusation, attempting a tactical backward retreat. But Grandma's veteran island grip was absolute. She had effortlessly snared Ha-neul by the sleeve, immobilized her in an iron embrace, and planted a loud, wet kiss directly onto her flushed cheek while aggressively patting her back.
Watching them, I couldn't help but smile. They loved their grandchildren with a fierce, unapologetic warmth that felt remarkably comforting.
Before we'd left, I had also finally managed to call my own real grandmother back in Smila. Hearing her crackly, distant voice over the line—and listening to her weep soft, emotional tears of relief because her grandson was eating well in Asia—had left a quiet, melancholic ache behind my ribs.
"Hey. Sloth. Wake up, we're here."
Ha-neul's sharp voice pulled me right out of my nostalgia. I blinked, realizing the bus had ground to a halt at the main transit terminal in the heart of Jeju City Center.
The urban rhythm of Jeju City was a vibrant contrast to the quiet, volcanic coastline. As soon as we stepped off the bus, we spotted Jun-seo standing near the glass entrance of a cafe. He was wearing a sleek navy trench coat over a dark turtleneck, looking like he'd stepped directly off a fashion billboard.
"Jun-seo-ah!" Ha-neul called out, her voice instantly dropping that sharp, administrative scowl she usually reserved for me.
"You guys made good time," Jun-seo smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her before turning to give me a solid high-five.
I looked at him and asked:
"President where's your things?"
"Huh? Ah, I didn't really bring anything, I came here just to see my grandma, I usually don't really bring anything," he returned my gaze with his own.
"Okay... Then what will we do..?" I nodded.
For the next three hours, the two of them led me through Nuwei-maru Street—the bustling pedestrian heart of the city, lined with neon signs, indie clothing boutiques, street food vendors, and buzzing arcades.
It was genuinely fun, but I couldn't ignore the glaring, undeniable dynamic : I was a total third wheel.
It wasn't like the old days where I felt awkward or out of place. I was comfortable now; I could laugh with them, tease Jun-seo about his posture, and joke with Ha-neul about her carrot obsession. But watching them walk side-by-side—the way Jun-seo naturally shifted to the street side of the sidewalk to protect her from passing scooters, or the way Ha-neul's usual icy defenses vanished into quiet, genuine smiles whenever he spoke—made the unspoken energy between them blindingly obvious.
'Yep,' I analyzed internally, stepping behind them into a brightly lit souvenir boutique. 'He sees her as a sister? Right. And I'm a professional ballerina.'
While they were debating the merits of local roasted tea leaves, I scoured the shelves for Lee Sora's present. I wanted something authentic, stylish, and apologetic.
Jun-seo's eyes drifted to San's back.
"Huh, what's he doing?"
Ha-neul raised her eyebrow, realization hittiing her. She leaned closer to Jun-seo's ear and whispered something.
By the time they noticed what I was busy with, I had already made my choice.
My eyes landed on a high-end, hand-crafted glass gift set featuring a small bottle of solid Jeju Mandarin Blossom perfume alongside a delicate, polished black basalt stone charm. It was elegant, subtle, and distinctly island-themed.
"That's actually a great choice, San," Jun-seo noted, appearing over my shoulder and tapping the box. "You're learning."
"I am surviving," I corrected deadpan, handing my card to the cashier.
Before leaving the district, Ha-neul dragged us into a Life Four Cuts photo booth studio. We threw on ridiculous headbands—Jun-seo in a giant tangerine hat, Ha-neul wearing bunny ears, and my massive frame crowned with a tiny shark hat—and squeezed into the tiny booth. The printed strip of four photos came out hilarious: Ha-neul glaring, Jun-seo smirking, and me towering behind them like a broad-shouldered bodyguard.
That'll definitely go into my collection of photos!
By 5:00 PM, the winter sky was darkening, and Mr. Lee's luxury black SUV purred to a stop right at the curb of the pedestrian plaza.
Ji-hoon rolled down the window, wearing his dark sunglasses despite the dusk. "All aboard! Ferry departs the main port in forty minutes!"
Jun-seo and Ha-neul looked at each other, both looking visibly disappointed. They clearly felt like they hadn't even fulfilled twenty percent of their quota for showing me around the city.
"Aish, time flew way too fast," Jun-seo muttered, rubbing his neck.
"We didn't even get to take him to the dragon-head rock," Ha-neul sighed.
"We'll do it next time," Mr. Lee called out from the driver's seat, smiling through the rearview mirror. "Jump in, children! We can't miss the sea crossing!"
That was when the physical layout of the vehicle presented a catastrophic logistical flaw.
The SUV was already packed to maximum structural density. Mr. and Mrs. Lee occupied the front row, Ji-hoon sat in the middle, and the rear luggage area was entirely barricaded by three massive boxes of Kimjang cabbage, four travel suitcases, and my beast-like backpack. There were exactly two available leather seats left in the middle row.
And there were three teenagers.
Leaving Jun-seo stranded here was basically impossible. So, the family reached an immediate, terrifying consensus.
"Jun-seo-ah," Mr. Lee chuckled, waving his hand nonchalantly. "San-gun has the broadest thighs in the Golden Triangle. Jump on!"
My jaw dropped.
"Abeonim—"
Before I could file an official administrative protest, Jun-seo let out a resigned sigh, stepped into the vehicle, and sat directly down onto my lap.
The entire twenty-minute drive to the Jeju International Ferry Terminal was a masterclass in physical humiliation. I sat pinned against the leather door, my 190-centimeter "Mountain" frame acting as a literal armchair for the Student President of Kirin Arts. Every time Mr. Lee took a sharp turn or hit a speed bump on the coastal road, I had to physically wrap my broad arms around Jun-seo's waist to keep him from flying straight through the front windshield.
Across the row, Ha-neul was clutching her stomach, laughing so hard she was silently wheezing against the window glass.
"If any student from Kirin sees this," Jun-seo muttered deadpan, staring straight ahead as my arms locked him in place, "H-Wnot is officially dissolved."
"Hold on tight, President," I grunted, bracing my core as we hit a roundabout. "You are currently riding the Ukrainian Express Airlines."
The ferry ride across the strait was a calm, dark blur of ocean wind and hum of engines, followed by a swift connection back toward the capital.
By exactly 7:00 PM, the Lee family sedan pulled into the quiet, snow-dusted driveway of our Gangnam residence. The bright neon lights of Seoul felt sharp and intense after the quiet volcanic coasts of Jeju.
We dragged our heavy bags through the front door, the warmth of the modern foyer rising to meet us. The weekend escape was officially over. The mountain of salted cabbage was safely stored, the third-wheel dynamics were logged, the apologies to Sora were packaged in a glass box, and the relentless, sub-zero reality of the winter weekdays was waiting right around the corner.
I dropped my backpack onto my bedroom floor, unbuttoned my jacket, and looked out the window at the distant Seoul skyline.
Monday is coming, a quiet smirk catching my lips.
Time to go back to work.