I approached the third-year table with measured steps, my hand anchored deep in my coat pocket around the smooth, glass-wrapped souvenir box from Jeju.
The low chatter of the seniors died down as my body cast a shadow over the table. Eun-ho glanced up from his tablet, while Sora slowly set her straw down, her dark eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, icy composure.
"Sora-ah," I said softly, my deep voice cutting through the cafeteria noise. "Can we talk for a minute? Please."
I reached out, gently offering my hand, but before my fingers could even hover near her sleeve, Lee Sora jerked her wrist away with a sharp, dismissive snap.
"I have nothing to talk to you about, Oleksandr," she said, her voice flat, clinical, and completely devoid of warmth.
I raised an eyebrow, a sudden, cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck.
'Oh, she isn't just annoyed,' I realized, my heart dropping to my shoes. 'She is thoroughly, deeply pissed off.'
Without arguing or causing a scene in front of the third-year trainees, I pulled the hand-crafted Jeju gift set from my pocket and placed it directly into her open palm.
"Meet me at the roof garden after lessons today," I whispered, leaning in just enough so only she could hear. "Please. There's something I need to tell you..."
I looked into her eyes for a second longer, hoping for a sign of soft momentum, but Sora merely looked down at the glass box, her expression unreadable, before turning her head completely away to rejoin the seniors' conversation.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned on my heel, and walked away.
I navigated through the tables toward the Student Council enclave near the exit, where Jun-seo and Ha-neul were reviewing event logs over their lunch trays.
"Jun-seo-ah," I called out, leaning over their table. "I'm going to be a little late for H-Wnot practice today. I have some personal administrative business to clear first."
Jun-seo looked up, catching the serious shadow over my eyes, and offered a simple, understanding nod.
"Take your time, Mountain. We're just running vocal scales for the first half hour anyway."
Ha-neul squinted at me, her sharp radar clearly picking up the emotional disturbance, but I didn't give her time to launch a cross-examination.
I turned around and headed straight for the top floor.
The glass doors of the Kirin Roof Garden slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss.
Unlike my previous solitary visits during the autumn term, the indoor greenhouse was surprisingly alive with activity today. Because the outside temperature was sitting at a biting -5°C, the heated glass structure was a sanctuary of tropical warmth and bright winter sunlight. Off to the far left, a small group of students from the Botany Club were carefully measuring soil humidity levels and taking notes on clipboards.
I walked along the tiled pathway, the bright, pale sunlight penetrating the massive glass panes above, bathing the greenery in a golden haze. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and fresh blooms.
Near the central display, a familiar figure stood alone, leaning lightly against the wooden railing while observing a row of dark red winter roses.
She had smooth chestnut hair that, when caught in the direct glare of the afternoon light, shimmered with a soft, rich hazel tone. It was pulled back into an immaculate, high, and tight ponytail that emphasized her sharp, aristocratic profile.
Yoo Chae-rin.
I stepped onto the gravel path, my sneakers clicking softly.
"Hi," I said.
Chae-rin jumped a little, her spine snapping straight as she whirled around. She blinked, her dark, frosty eyes widening for a fraction of a second before her usual mask of cool indifference clicked back into place.
"Oh... Mountain," she breathed, exhaling slowly. "It's you. Why are you up here?" She scanned my tense shoulders and the dark shadow under my eyes, her brow furrowing slightly. "You look... worried? Did something happen?"
I remained silent for a long moment, watching the way the sunlight hit the crimson petals of the rose beside her.
"Do you remember," I started quietly, my hands shoved deep into my blazer pockets, "when we sang 'The Show Must Go On' right here?"
Chae-rin tilted her head, a soft, questioning look flashing through her eyes.
"Yes, I do. Why?"
I scratched the back of my head, letting out a airy, self-deprecating laugh.
"For no reason, really. It's just... it feels like it's been so long since then, but at the same time, not very long at all. But so much has changed since that day. I changed."
Chae-rin turned her gaze back toward the red roses, choosing not to interrupt my thoughts. She remained silent, her natural intuition picking up that I hadn't come up here for small talk, but needed an outlet. Her face retained its usual, un-glamorous indifference, providing a quiet, judgment-free space in the warm greenhouse.
I leaned against the railing beside her, staring at the glass ceiling.
"Hey, Chae-rin," I asked softly. "What do you actually feel... toward Min-gyu-ssi?"
Chae-rin blinked, turning her head toward me in genuine surprise.
"Huh? Why so suddenly?"
I let out a faint chuckle.
"For no reason."
Chae-rin scoffed, a tiny, rare smirk tugging at the edge of her lips.
"You really are strange today, Mountain."
She turned back to the display, reaching out with a manicured hand to lightly pet the soft, velvet petal of a blooming rose. She stayed quiet for a few long seconds, watching the way her touch moved the stem, before her voice dropped into a soft, uncharacteristically honest whisper.
"I feel... cared for," she murmured, her tone devoid of any high-society posture. "I feel... butterflies in my chest when he waits for me after practice. I feel... love."
I lingered on that final word for the longest time, letting the resonance of it echo through the warm air of the greenhouse.
Love...
I looked at her, a genuine, quiet smile softening my face.
"Thank you, Chae-rin."
'After all,' I thought, a spark of my usual humor returning, 'the Ice Queen can actually be useful sometimes.
Chae-rin shot me a thoroughly strange, bewildered glance, raising an eyebrow as if trying to figure out what kind of emotional code I was running.
Before she could ask, the loud, metallic chime of the final afternoon bell rang out across the campus, signaling the end of classes.
I straightened my spine, turned my face toward the entrance.