40 Episode.
29 May 2025, Thursday. Early evening. SNU, men's dormitory parking lot.
Den stood near the parking area, leaning against a streetlamp, waiting.
Less than a minute had passed before a sleek black luxury sedan rolled into the lot and stopped in front of him. The tinted rear window slid down without a sound.
Den stepped closer.
"Hi, So-mi."
She nodded once and pushed two shopping bags out through the open window. Her voice was calm, professional, almost cold.
"This is an exact replica of her dress," she said.
"Recreated by one of the best couturiers in Seoul. Same fabric. Same cut. Same label. Same details. Back zipper. Everything."
She paused, then added evenly:
"It's impossible to tell it apart from the original."
She tapped the second bag lightly.
"And this one contains the old dress. Don't throw it away just yet."
A faint, sharp smile crossed her lips.
"Just in case Mi-yeon decides to have a dramatic episode—'This isn't my dress, give me mine back."
She adjusted her tone slightly.
"But that's only insurance. I think she'll be happy."
Den nodded.
"Thank you, So-mi."
She glanced at him sideways, unimpressed.
"Don't thank me. For the record—I didn't help because I suddenly felt sorry for your countryside crush. And certainly not because of you."
Her gaze hardened slightly.
"Let's just say I owed her something. Now we're even."
Before Den could respond, she turned her eyes forward and said calmly, as the window began to rise:
"Drive, Kim-gisa-nim."
The sedan pulled away smoothly, disappearing into the night.
Den stood there for a moment, watching the taillights vanish. A crooked, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips.
Then he quietly turned and walked toward the women's dormitory.
29 May 2025, Thursday. Early evening. SNU, outside the women's dormitory entrance.
At the entrance, Den took out his phone and sent a message to Han-bin.
I'm downstairs. Come out.
Five minutes later, Han-bin appeared.
Den bowed slightly and handed her the bag with both hands.
"Here."
She took the dress out carefully, examining it.
Den added, "The old dress is still with me. I kept it, just in case Mi-yeon doesn't accept the new one."
Han-bin nodded. This time her expression was gentle—no anger, no sharpness.
"She cried a lot over that dress," she said quietly. "Not as much as she cried because of you… but still."
She looked at the bag, then back at Den.
"It's a very kind thing you did. But I still won't tell her who brought it. I'm sorry, Oppa."
Her voice remained firm, but not cruel.
"I don't want her to suffer because of you again. That condition hasn't changed."
Den nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. I understand."
He bowed slightly once more.
"Good night, Han-bin."
Then he turned and walked away.
Han-bin watched him go.
"Who knew, jerks may occasionally act noble," she muttered under her breath. "So stubborn though…"
She clicked her tongue softly, sighed, and headed back inside the dormitory.
29 May 2025, Thursday. Evening. SNU, women's dormitory.
Han-bin stood in the corridor, hugging the paper bag with the dress inside as if it were something fragile and alive. She hesitated in front of the door, gathering courage.
A deep breath.
Then she went in.
Mi-yeon was lying on her bed in a tracksuit, turned toward the wall. Her hair was messy, her arms wrapped tightly around the pillow, as if she were trying to give herself a hug.
She cried again, Han-bin thought with quiet sadness.
Every evening. The same ritual.
Han-bin moved carefully, sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed the bag beside Mi-yeon.
"I brought something," she said softly. "You should look at it, Mi-yeon."
Mi-yeon answered without turning around. Her voice was thin, cracked.
"Can we not… right now, Han-bin? I'm not in the mood."
Han-bin straightened. Her tone became firm.
"No. It has to be now. Get your ass up and look at what I brought you."
Mi-yeon sighed and slowly sat up. Her eyes were dull, emptied of light. She stared at the bag for a few seconds, then opened it.
She pulled out the dress.
Her eyes widened.
She turned it over once.
Then again.
And again.
She examined every seam, every fold, as if she didn't trust her own vision.
"What…? H-how?! These dresses aren't even sold anymore!"
She jumped up and rushed to her closet, searching frantically.
Her dress was gone.
She turned back to Han-bin, completely confused.
Han-bin smiled.
She hadn't seen that expression in days—the small, stubborn spark that made Mi-yeon look like herself again.
For the first time in days, there was life in Mi-yeon's eyes.
"On Friday, a courier came to me," Han-bin said calmly. "He said the client could fix your dress and asked me to hand it over."
Mi-yeon blinked, still holding the fabric, making sure it was real.
"I tried to ask how he knew about it," Han-bin continued. "But he said he didn't know the details."
She shrugged lightly.
"You were already miserable. It couldn't get much worse."
Mi-yeon looked down at it again, touching it carefully.
"But… who would care about my dress?" she whispered.
"And who would even know it was ruined?"
She looked up.
"Are you sure the courier didn't say a name?"
Han-bin looked away.
"He didn't," she said quietly. "But… he did say the client was a young man."
Mi-yeon smiled genuinely, biting her lower lip.
"Are you saying I have a mysterious guardian?"
For a moment, Han-bin felt an overwhelming urge to tell her everything.
But she looked at Mi-yeon's swollen, red eyes—
and at the happiness shining there—and changed her mind.
"Come on," Han-bin said, standing up.
"Let's go to the kitchen and make coffee. This deserves to be celebrated."
Mi-yeon laughed softly—almost happily.
"Let's go," she said. "But I'm drinking coffee in my tracksuit this time."
And for the first time in a long while, the room felt a little warmer again.
29 May 2025, Thursday. Evening. Bus stop near SNU's upper campus.
Late spring had settled over the campus with deceptive calm.
The air was warm but not yet heavy, leaves bright and restless in the light breeze. Final exams were approaching; the university felt tense beneath its surface.
He was there again.
Do-hwa sat at the bus stop, shoulders slightly hunched, elbows resting on his knees. He had been coming every day.
She hadn't.
For several days now, Yuna had stopped appearing. No denim skirt. No pink jacket. No quick glances from the path leading out of campus. Someone had mentioned, casually, that she had been walking through the park lately—taking another route, boarding at a different stop.
He still came.
The first day, he had told himself it was a coincidence.
On the second day that she must have gone to the library.
By the third, something cold had started creeping into his chest.
This was day four. He stopped telling himself anything at all.
Earlier, he had purchased soju in the nearest convenience store, poured it into his empty water bottle, and come to the bus stop to wait for her. Hopelessly.
He had been sitting there, sipping soju for a while now.
A bus arrived. The doors opened. Closed. Left.
He didn't move.
Another bus came.
He watched it as if it were a passing thought—irrelevant and distant.
She must be home already.
Or somewhere else.
Probably laughing with someone.
Evening thickened. The sky shifted from pale gold to muted blue.
He was still sitting there. By then, visibly wasted.
A couple of judging side glances had fallen on him just a minute ago, but at this point Do-hwa cared very little about public opinion.
A dark UAZ-469 rolled slowly along the street, the engine rumbling with a low, familiar growl. It slowed near the stop.
Den leaned slightly out of the open window.
"Hey. Do-hwa! What are you doing here so late? Are you waiting for the night bus?"
Do-hwa looked up, blinking as if pulled out of deep water.
"Ah… no. I mean—yes. I was just about to leave. Hi, Hyung.
Do you k-know… by any chance… where am I… supposed to go?"
Den studied him for half a second longer, realizing that Do-hwa was pretty drunk.
"I'm heading to get groceries. Hop in. I'll drop you off on the way."
He jerked his head toward the passenger seat.
There was a brief hesitation. He glanced once more at the path she used to take.
Then Do-hwa stood heavily, fighting gravity and his lack of balance. After a few moments of struggle, he finally got into the car.
The door shut with a heavy metallic sound. The UAZ pulled back into traffic.
For a few minutes, they drove in silence. The city lights flickered one by one.
"So," Den said casually, eyes on the road. "Ready for exams?"
Do-hwa let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.
"Trying to be."
Den nodded.
"General chemistry is going to be brutal."
"Yes," Do-hwa answered despondently. "C-chemistry is ruining me… right now."
A pause.
The engine hummed steadily.
Den glanced at him briefly.
"You look like someone who just failed something more important than general chemistry."
Do-hwa stiffened faintly, then looked out the window.
"General? No. General chemistry was okay… L-love… chemistry was… is… brutal."
Den didn't push immediately.
They passed an intersection.
"I know the feeling, Do-hwa," Den said after a moment, his tone lighter than his words.
"I lost someone important to me too."
Do-hwa turned slightly toward Den, eyes trying to focus, mind attempting to process a sentence that felt too long.
He turned his back to the rear window.
"…By the bus stop?"
Den smirked, still looking ahead.
"By acting impulsively. I acted first. Thought later… Actually, I wasn't thinking much at all. I did things without considering their cost. By the time I realized what I'd done… it was too late."
The streetlights slid across his face in alternating bands of light and shadow.
Do-hwa swallowed. It took him a while to respond. Den already thought that Do-hwa had fallen asleep when his unexpected passenger finally answered.
"I did the opposite," he said quietly.
"I waited. Thought too long. Planned too much. And then… didn't do a-anything. At all."
Silence filled the car—not heavy, just honest.
"So w-what to do now?" Do-hwa asked.
Den's hands rested loosely on the steering wheel.
"What to do?" he repeated. "Nothing. Wait."
Do-hwa frowned faintly.
"To wait?"
A pause.
"For… long?"
Den allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile.
"Two eternities. No less."
Do-hwa huffed softly, accepting it as punishment.
"Okay… And after that?"
"Maybe fate gives you a second chance," Den said evenly. "Until then, the best you can do is be her friend."
The UAZ slowed at a red light.
Outside, students crossed the street in small groups, laughing.
Do-hwa looked down at his hands.
"It's hard," he said. "To love a friend."
Den exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah. That's going to suck."
The light turned green.
The car moved forward, disappearing into the evening traffic as the bus stop behind them stood empty under the fading sky.