The remainder of the week dissolved into a blur of academic survival and physical metrics.
I conquered the term's written testing blocks with surprising efficiency. The English exam was a absolute walk in the park—my fluent English meant I finished the advanced translation section in fifteen minutes flat, leaving the teacher staring at my paper in disbelief. The written Korean test was significantly more brutal, but thanks to my Korean tutor at the evening school, my syntax held the line.
Then came the physical education assessments.
While most of the Applied Music trainees groaned at the sight of the gymnasium floor, I stepped onto the court in my element. Coach Hong stood with his stopwatch and clipboard, watching as I effortlessly crushed the physical normatives: twenty-five clean, strict pull-ups on the high bar, flawless full-court dribbling drills, and a sharp sequence of three-point jump shots that swished cleanly through the net.
Coach Hong blew his whistle, his eyes wide as he slapped my shoulder with enough force to rattle a smaller guy's spine.
"Yah, Oleksandr! If you ever decide you're tired of holding a microphone, come straight to my office! The varsity basketball team has a starting spot waiting for you!"
"Thank you, Coach!" I laughed, wiping sweat from my forehead with my towel. 'Man, if I had just twenty percent more free time in my daily layout, I would probably jump at the chance. But my calendar is already a warzone.'
Inevitably, the campus rumor mill caught fire.
By Wednesday, whispers were flying through the corridors of Kirin Arts that the "Foreign Representative" and the top-tier third-year idol trainee had officially called it quits. Usually, students were used to seeing us standing together near the courtyard benches during the 10-minute breaks, but now, the picture had completely shattered.
Whenever I passed Sora in the main hallway and raised a hand to deliver a quiet, respectful "hi," she didn't yell or glare. She simply looked straight through me, turned on her heel, and walked away without uttering a single word.
To be completely fair, she had reacted the exact same way on Monday in the roof garden—when I had offered her my hand and asked if we could be friends, she had simply turned her back and left the conservatory without answering.
Standing in the hallway after her cold exits left me feeling thoroughly embarrassed. But beneath the social awkwardness, a massive, profound sense of relief settled deep behind my ribs. The heavy, suffocating knot of guilt that had tightened every time I looked into her genuine, loving eyes was finally gone. I was no longer living a lie. I was free, and so was she.
With my schedule suddenly freed from romantic obligations, I spent Friday afternoon wandering down to my favorite sanctuary: the Yeonnam-dong Book & Comics shop near the station.
The eccentric Hayeong student Yu-jin wasn't there this time, replaced by a quiet older man who merely nodded as I browsed the manga racks. I ended up purchasing the latest volume of Naruto. It was entirely in Korean, but I didn't mind—reading raw dialogue was the best way to practice my contextual vocabulary anyway.
I flipped through the crisp pages, noting the frantic, apocalyptic scale of the Great Shinobi War plot.
'Man,' I thought, a soft, nostalgic sadness touching my chest, 'the end of Naruto is getting ridiculously close. It feels like the end of an era.'
I slid the comic book safely into my beast-like backpack, zipping it tight.
And just like that a week passed...
Today was Saturday.
Today was definitely not the day to lose myself in fictional ninjas.
The winter sky over Sangam-dong was a pale, icy blue. I stood on the massive pedestrian plaza, shivering slightly in my dark jacket, staring straight up at the colossal, hyper-modern glass monolith towering into the clouds.
JBC BROADCASTING CENTER.
High above the main entrance, a giant LED digital billboard was broadcasting the live afternoon news stream. Mrs. Lee's sharp, flawless face dominated the screen, her voice booming softly over the outdoor speakers as she delivered a national report on economic trends.
'So this is the place,' I realized, my breath pluming into white steam. 'This is where Eomeonim works.'
"YAH! Pick up your jaw, Mountain! You look like a provincial tourist!"
A sharp, familiar female voice barked from directly behind me, followed by an aggressive tap on my right shoulder.
I whirled around. Kang Min-ah was standing there, practically vibrating with high-voltage excitement. She was dressed in a sharp, stylish winter coat, her pink Samsung phone gripped tightly in her gloved hand, her eyes sparkling behind her frames.
"Follow me, quick!" she ordered, grabbing my dark sleeve and yanking my broad frame toward the side revolving doors. "Or we're going to miss all the good backstage action!"
I reached into my pocket taking out a badge with our names inscribed on it. Before I could explain, she basically ripped it out of my hand. If clasped it a little tighter, she'd tear my hand off with it!
'Crazy.'
"Wait...!" I stumbled forward, my massive sneakers catching up to her high-speed pace. "Where on earth are you going so fast?! Have you actually been inside here before?!"
Min-ah shot me a wicked, mysterious smirk over her shoulder, swiping a high-level guest badge against the electronic security turnstile.
"Welcome to the database mothership, Sloth. Keep up!"