The snow didn't fall gently anymore. It came down in uneven, heavy flakes that melted the second they touched skin, turning the sidewalks of Campus 2 slick and reflective. The entire campus looked colder and sharper, as if the world had lost its soft edges overnight.
By their second week at Big Box, the atmosphere inside the gym had shifted. It wasn't necessarily worse, just clearer. XH noticed it immediately during warm-ups; P hovered much closer than usual, his laughter ringing out too loudly as he clapped his hands together as though applause were his oxygen.
"MY BROTHERS," P announced, pacing with an intense energy in front of the mirrors. "TODAY WE PUSH LIMITS."
JP muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip on a weight. "He says that literally every day."
"Man thinks he's a motivational podcast," TZ chuckled, shaking his head.
NS stayed quiet—too quiet. P drifted closer to him again, stepping in to correct his posture without asking, his hands lingering where they shouldn't have. NS stiffened visibly under the touch.
"I got it," NS said, his voice firm as he stepped out of the trainer's reach.
P just laughed it off, flashing his usual wide grin. "RELAX. WE FAMILY HERE."
XH felt something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. Family didn't feel like this. As they continued to lift, P kept up his endless boasting about genetics, natural strength, and god-tier muscle. He disappeared into the back room again, returning a few minutes later heavily sweating, his veins showing louder than his voice.
"If that's natural, I'm the moon," JP whispered to the others.
TZ snorted so hard he nearly dropped a dumbbell, but NS didn't laugh. He finished his set with his jaw tight, keeping his eyes focused entirely on the floor.
"Let's switch stations," XH suggested quietly, sensing the escalating tension.
NS nodded, but P followed them across the floor. "YOU STRONG, NS," P said, leaning in too close again. "VERY STRONG. YOU COME TRAIN WITH ME AFTER HOURS."
NS straightened up to his full height. "No," he said. The word was calm, flat, and entirely final.
The gym went quiet in a way only men-only spaces ever did, the air snapping tight and fast. P's smile didn't disappear, but it hardened into something entirely artificial. "DON'T BE LIKE THAT," P said, his tone dropping. "I'M JUST HELPING."
NS set his bar down carefully on the rack. "Help someone else," he replied.
JP froze mid-lift, TZ stopped stretching, and XH stepped forward instinctively. P laughed again, but the sound was much thinner this time. "YOU SENSITIVE."
That was the breaking point. NS didn't shout or hurl insults; he just grabbed his jacket from the bench. "We're done here," he said.
P's smile twitched. "WHAT?"
"We're leaving," XH added, standing firmly beside his friend.
P's voice rose, drawing the attention of the few others in the room. "YOU DON'T WALK OUT ON BIG BOX."
JP turned at the door, offering a cold glance. "Watch us."
They left without another word, the biting cold outside hitting them hard as the heavy gym doors slammed shut. No one spoke for a full block, the adrenaline still fading. Finally, NS exhaled slowly, a cloud of vapor rising into the air. "I hate that place."
XH nodded. "We all felt it."
"Man thinks fake smiles cover everything," JP said, kicking at a chunk of slush on the sidewalk.
TZ cracked his knuckles, looking around at the group. "So. Local gym?"
"Local gym," XH agreed. None of them noticed P watching them intently from the doorway, and none of them saw NS glance back once, briefly, toward the parking lot. The trainer's tires were intact—for now.
While the guys navigated the fallout of the gym, Kitty spent that afternoon avoiding class entirely. She sat in her room, phone in hand, scrolling aimlessly through her feeds without actually absorbing anything. Messages were piling up, group chats were buzzing, and rumors were stacking on top of rumors, but she ignored them all.
Her thoughts kept circling back to the same exact place: the courtyard, the word together, and the frustrating way June hadn't flinched. Kitty pressed her palm against her forehead, the silence of her room loud. "You wanted control," she whispered to herself. "You got it."
But control felt incredibly lonely. She replayed the moment again, not because she desperately wanted XH to choose her, but because she wanted to understand why it hurt so much more than she had anticipated. She stood up, pacing the small floor space until her phone buzzed again with a message from Jihye: "you okay? people are talking nonsense again."
Kitty typed out a response, deleted it, and typed again: "yeah. just tired." It was a lie, but a soft one.
Needing an escape from her own walls, she changed her clothes, put on a thick jacket, and went outside without any real destination in mind. Uneven snowflakes caught in her hair, and the sudden shock of the cold grounded her, successfully slowing her breathing. She passed the edge of campus and stopped near the back gate—the spot she always went to when she didn't want to be seen.
Leaning against the fence, she finally let herself feel the weight of it. It wasn't jealousy; it was the loss of possibility. Once something went public, it stopped being fragile and became fixed. She had fixed herself into a position she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to defend anymore. Her phone buzzed a second time, this time from the guy from the courtyard: "haven't heard from you. did I do something wrong?"
Kitty stared at the words. He hadn't done a single thing wrong, and that was the core of the problem. "no. you didn't," she sent back, adding absolutely nothing else to the text. She slid the phone back into her pocket and watched the snow hit the dark asphalt. "I don't want noise," she said quietly to the empty air. "I want honesty." The realization didn't solve her problems, but it stopped the internal spiral from getting any worse.
On the other side of the campus, June was taking a completely different approach to the noise. She didn't avoid the crowded notice board this time; she walked straight up to it. Students were clustered tightly around the paper announcement, their anxious voices overlapping.
"My parents want me to switch immediately." "I already submitted my transition form." "They're saying our degrees won't be verified."
June listened quietly for a moment before speaking up. "That's not what the notice says."
Several people turned around, a few recognizing her from classes. "The notice says review," June continued calmly, her voice cutting through the panic. "Not revocation. Not closure. It says review."
A guy near the front scoffed, crossing his arms. "That's just corporate language."
June nodded, unbothered. "Yes, it is. And fear language is worse."
Someone else laughed nervously. "So you're saying we shouldn't worry at all?"
"I'm saying panic is a decision," June replied, looking directly at them. "And it's one that benefits the exact people who want you to leave this program quietly." The crowd stilled, listening. June pulled out her phone, flipping open a tab. "THKM and Lola are board-certified, practicing doctors. It's all public record. You really think fake institutions hire active surgeons and pediatricians?"
A low murmur rippled through the gathered students. "I actually spoke to Lola," June continued, keeping her tone steady and factual. "She's still practicing, still licensed, and still entirely accountable."
Someone from the back called out, "Then why did they launch the review?"
"Because private institutions get targeted every year," June answered simply. "Because a rumor is always cheaper than an actual investigation."
Silence followed her words—not necessarily full agreement, but genuine consideration. June stepped back from the board, her heart racing slightly from the confrontation. XH watched her from a distance, a quiet sense of pride swelling. She wasn't being loud or dramatic; she was just steady, and in a environment built on panic, that steadiness mattered.
That night, the weight of the campus tension manifested differently for NS. He couldn't sleep, the events of the gym replaying on a loop in his head—P's fake smile, his lingering hands, and the dismissive way he had called him sensitive. Unable to rest, NS got dressed and quietly headed outside into the dark.
The fresh layer of snow muffled all sound, making the dark world feel distant. He didn't plan his route, but his feet carried him down the familiar roads until Big Box loomed ahead, its front lights dimmed for the night. The parking lot was completely empty.
NS stood there for a long moment, breathing heavy fog into the freezing air. Then he moved. The action was quick, clean, and entirely silent. Four tires. One definitive decision. He didn't smile as he did it, and he didn't feel a surge of pride; he just felt done. He pocketed his tool, turned on his heel, and walked away into the snow without looking back a single time.
The next morning, XH's phone buzzed early with a succession of messages from the group chat. JP: "bro. BIG BOX closed today." TZ: "apparently some 'incident' overnight." NS: "local gym at 6?"
XH stared at the screen for a second, a slow smile breaking across his face as he typed out his confirmation.
An hour later, the air at the local gym felt completely different. It was a smaller space with older, worn equipment, but it came with normal smiles. Other guys nodded in greeting as they walked in, spotters helped one another without any added ego, and the laughter in the room sounded real. NS relaxed visibly as he loaded a barbell, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
JP grinned, looking around the modest facility. "This is a million times better."
"Told you," TZ said, bumping shoulders with XH. They lifted, they laughed, and for the first time in weeks, they just breathed.
Back on campus later that morning, June sat in her morning lecture, focused and steady as always. Kitty walked into the room a few minutes late, her eyes tired but noticeably clearer than they had been the day before. As she found a seat, her gaze met June's across the rows of desks. There was no look of challenge between them, and no unspoken apology. It was just an acknowledgment. The chaotic energy of the week didn't end with a grand resolution, but the balance was beginning to return in small pieces. Some masks had slipped, some crucial truths had surfaced, and for the first time in a long time, everyone felt like they could finally breathe.