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Chapter 7
Jung Tae-heon had insisted on showing her the way home, yet deliberately chose the longer path instead of the shortcut.
It only added three extra minutes at an ordinary pace, so Haejoo didn’t complain. She was simply too scared to walk alone.
“You dressed warmer today.”
“It’s still cold out.”
“And you’re not crying.”
“I’ve never cried in front of you.”
Tae-heon blinked, slightly caught off guard, then studied her carefully before replying.
“You’re right. Why did I think you did?”
He let out a small laugh, half to himself.
“The first day we met, I thought you were crying. But come to think of it, you didn’t even shed a tear.”
She had—just barely—held back tears that day. Her eyes had welled up, but she hadn’t let them fall. There was no need to correct him now. Instead, she deflected.
“Honestly, you’re a little full of yourself. Asking if I was following you, assuming I already knew your name—what’s that about? You’re not a celebrity.”
He didn’t answer, and when she glanced sideways, his lips twitched like he was holding back a grin.
“Wait—don’t tell me. Are you actually a celebrity?”
“No.”
This time he outright smirked, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
Haejoo ignored it and turned her gaze forward, trudging up the hill.
“No matter how handsome you are, how would a freshman like me know you? I don’t exactly have time to chase after random guys.”
“Well, you did look busy yesterday.”
“…That’s because the café is usually busy once classes start. Yesterday was just slow.”
He arched a brow at her, amusement flickering across his face.
“So, I’m handsome? Is that your type?”
“No.”
Her denial was firm.
The truth was obvious: Tae-heon was good-looking—objectively so—and very much her type. But she had no intention of admitting it.
So instead she added:
“My type is someone diligent, kind, into cooking, hardworking, responsible, and financially sensible. Which is basically the opposite of you. So please, don’t misunderstand.”
“Sounds exactly like me. Careful not to fall too hard.”
“Don’t worry. Narcissists are a hard pass.”
“I’m actually very selfless.”
“…Sure you are.”
She gave up arguing.
“You know that saying?”
He caught her eyes as he spoke, lips curving smoothly.
“If you claim to value personality over looks, it usually means the other person’s not much to look at.”
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“A good face makes even flaws in character seem charming.”
“So what’s your point?”
“That inner beauty doesn’t matter much when the outer package is this good.”
“What the hell are you even saying…”
Haejoo gaped at him. He only laughed, and annoyingly enough, the sound was pleasant.
She steadied her gaze, forcing her eyes to focus on his features. His confidence wasn’t baseless—he was absurdly handsome.
So handsome, in fact, she wouldn’t have believed he was just another student at her university. Korea University didn’t even have a theater or music department; she had assumed the campus was full of nerds who only knew how to study.
But this? This was unfair.
She sighed and looked away.
“Still, personality is more important. It’s not like you can live off a pretty face.”
“So personality’s something you can chew on?”
“Yes.”
She thought fleetingly of the rumors: the most handsome guy in the business school. Looking at him now, she doubted even celebrities could rival him.
“So… what department are you in?”
“Me? Business.”
Her suspicion deepened.
“Do you… have a nickname?”
“Plenty.”
Her gut tightened. She was almost certain. This had to be him—the “biggest risk” of the business school.
And she swore to herself, once more, to keep her distance.
Her life was already risky enough without adding a walking hazard to the mix.
“Why? Heard something about me?”
“Not at all.”
She averted her gaze, pretending ignorance.
Best to just return the umbrella quickly and be done with him. She could sense it already: getting tangled up with this man would only spell trouble.
“By the way, don’t you think calling me ‘you’ all the time is a little much?”
“Do we really need titles between us?”
“Three coincidences make a connection. By now, we should at least settle on names. Or would you prefer I keep calling you ‘Insurance Fraud’?”
“Then I’ll just call you ‘Sunbae.’”
Yes. Titles would help keep the distance she wanted.
“Wow. I didn’t know Journalism majors were so strict about hierarchy.”
“We’re not. I’m just going to be strict with you.”
“Because I’m a boomer?”
She didn’t answer. He chuckled again, clearly satisfied.
He laughed too easily, this man.
While Haejoo ducked inside to retrieve the umbrella, Tae-heon waited outside the small neighborhood grocery. The shop, freshly reopened after renovations, was a decades-old family business. Even now, close to midnight, the lights were still on.
When Haejoo reappeared, umbrella in hand, she spotted him on the wooden bench out front, waving with something clutched in his other hand.
Against the old storefront, he looked unexpectedly natural, despite his sharp, city-bred appearance.
Well, maybe not unexpectedly. A face like his suited any backdrop.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Let me show you the umbrella’s fine.”
“That’s not necessary. You’re thorough, though.”
Since she’d decided to call him Sunbae, he had taken to calling her Hoobae-nim—half teasing, half amused. But she let it pass. The formality made her feel safer.
“It’s best to settle things clearly.”
She flicked open the umbrella. The fabric stretched taut, smooth and unscathed.
“See? Not a scratch.”
She turned toward him—and froze.
At some point he had risen and closed the space between them. Their eyes locked.
Hic.
A startled hiccup slipped from her lips. Whether from nerves or the last remnants of alcohol, she wasn’t sure.
She stumbled back, and her foot slipped.
“Hey, careful!”
His arm shot out, wrapping firmly around her shoulders before she could fall. The umbrella clattered to the ground.
Hic.
Pressed against his jacket, she heard the pounding of her own heartbeat.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Her hands clutched at his coat, clinging instinctively. His grip tightened in response, pulling her securely against him.
And with that, her heartbeat only grew louder.
Then, above her head, his voice came—low and close.
