HMN C19

Chapter 19

“…Hey.”

After a long silence, it was Daeyoung who finally spoke first. Still clutching the mouse, he lifted only his gaze.

“I thought you told me not to talk to you.”

That was true, but there was a question he knew he couldn’t just leave unanswered.

“You didn’t… say anything about me to people, did you? To your friends or anyone…?”

At those words, Go Chiwoo’s expression twisted. His face screamed contempt, so much so that Daeyoung knew the answer without hearing it. Awkward, Daeyoung cleared his throat. “Forget it then…” he muttered quietly, lowering his eyes back to his phone screen.

“That’s what you call delusions of self-importance.”

“What?”

But his gaze shot back at him in an instant. With a sharp, audible snap, Go Chiwoo closed his laptop.

“You act like everyone’s only ever talking about you. As if you’re the center of all their attention.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

It was nonsense—and Daeyoung had been about to explain the rumor he’d overheard that day—but before he could say more, Chiwoo stood, expression closed, unwilling to hear another word.

“Watching you stumble around, too afraid to even speak to the girl you like while hanging about to make sure she doesn’t say anything bad about you—it’s pathetic.”

“……”

Daeyoung shut his mouth. Even if Chiwoo had misunderstood entirely, his words still struck like a blow beneath the ribs.

Heat flooded his face. He knew that staying silent made it seem like an admission, but his tongue stung so wretchedly he couldn’t force out the protest.

“……”

The café was quiet. Arrogant bastard. The words burned up to the tip of his tongue, but Daeyoung swallowed them whole. Rising soundlessly, he slung his prepared bag across one shoulder and passed Go Chiwoo, pushing open the café door without a word.

All the day’s irritation, piled high, now felt like it was pounding against the crown of his head. Whether Chiwoo locked up or not was his own problem—another minute in there and Daeyoung was sure he’d scream. The cool brush of wind against his heated cheek felt sharp, even against the lingering warmth of the café heater.

“Son of a bitch. Talking like he knows a goddamn thing…”

Striding, long-limbed and furious, the words slipped from him almost unconsciously. What stung most was not being able to wholly deny what Chiwoo had said. Daeyoung had asked about the rumor because of what he’d heard earlier that day, but the deeper unease stemmed from that moment with Minhae—the fact she’d seen him fall clumsily onto Go Chiwoo.

He didn’t like her, exactly, but she was someone he wanted to be closer to. The worry that she might misunderstand after seeing something like that—it was real. And the fact he hadn’t been able to tell her the truth directly, had instead tried to probe around Chiwoo, was also true.

“……”

It felt like his whole life, as a loser, had been laid bare. His chest burned hotter than it ever had, even compared to Sungrae’s old joke about him being a hopeless geek. He clenched his fist, then opened it again. His wrist throbbed, the bandage on his palm already half peeling up at the edges. He must have been so preoccupied all this time that he hadn’t even noticed until now. The crust of dried blood beneath looked dirty, unkempt. He’d have to hide it from his parents when he went home—showing up like this would only worry them.

Daeyoung shut his eyes tight, then opened them with a long exhale. The day had been endless.

Hwwwhhh.

Early afternoon. The breeze brushing his cheek no longer felt so cold anymore. Sitting in a daze, his mind wandered into useless corners.

“Hmmm…”

If he had to choose—between spending hours in that café being tormented by the arrogant Go Chiwoo, or going to class as the laughingstock of senseless campus gossip—which would it be? Naturally, the latter. Normally there wouldn’t be a question: better to face one person than a crowd. But that one person’s presence was overwhelming. Still, it was a pointless thought.

Tap, tap.

“Hey, word is those two are secretly dating. Someone even dropped their names straight up.”

University rumors were quicker and lighter than he expected. Lifting his gaze from the badge on his messenger app showing over a hundred unread messages, Daeyoung listened to Haegyeom’s chatter. Across the campus quad, a couple strolled.

“You don’t know a thing, do you.”

Checking the time as he spoke, Daeyoung carefully peeled open his cup ramen lid. Today, instead of the dining hall, they’d settled for a convenience store meal. Sandwiches, rice balls, cup noodles—the three of them sat on the outdoor steps beneath the fine weather, eating while the sun shone over their heads. At Daeyoung’s words, Haegyeom puffed up his shoulders proudly, as though he’d just been praised.

“Hey. There’s nothing on this campus I don’t know.”

“As if.”

It was Wonjung who scoffed—but Daeyoung had to admit, he thought something similar. After all, there were plenty of embarrassing stories he hadn’t told even his closest friends. With that thought, naturally, Go Chiwoo surfaced in his mind again, and his brow furrowed. Ugh. Appetite ruined. Scowling, he chewed his ramen with unnecessary force.

“How’s work?”

“Don’t ask. Recently, I wake up wanting to kill somebody.”

He cut the question off before it was even finished, leaving the other two only to glance at each other and shrug. Normally gentle, Daeyoung occasionally flared in sudden bursts.

“Hey, did you see? Freshmen still haven’t learned—half the campus is fawning over gochu prince, saying he’s so handsome.”

Haegyeom shoved his phone in their faces. On display was the anonymous school app, comments piling under a post about spotting a ridiculously good-looking student. Upperclassmen who already knew Go Chiwoo wrote warnings and sympathies in the replies. Did this happen every semester? Skimming through, Daeyoung averted his gaze.

“……”

“School’s only just started, so they still don’t know his true colors. But trust me—it won’t take long.”

This was exactly why Daeyoung didn’t want to talk about his part-time job. The reason, once again, was Go Chiwoo. Scowling at Haegyeom, Daeyoung shoved a piece of pickled radish into his mouth, grinding his teeth audibly as he chewed.

“Wow, look at all these posts looking for handsome guys. Someone’s even asking if there’s an idol trainee in our department. With his attitude, if he actually debuted, he’d be forced out in days for bad manners.”

“Plenty of people posting, don’t be surprised.”

“Yeah, but shallow fangirls would worship him anyway.”

“But wait—are we even sure this is about Go Chiwoo?”

“Huh?”

Wonjung’s question pulled Haegyeom’s eyes back to his screen. Daeyoung, meanwhile, blankly lowered another roll of kimbap into his noodles. His thoughts were still at the café.

How could someone grow up not even knowing how to wipe down a table? That wasn’t about being rich. Even if you were diamond-spoon wealthy, surely you’d at least once cleaned your own home. Only a king, centuries back in the Joseon Dynasty, could have never lifted a finger in his own house. Which meant he simply refused to do it. That was what made it so maddening: the sheer laziness. To show up claiming to help, yet only obstruct, scratching at his nerves every second of it.

Swallowing a mouth of broth, Daeyoung finally lifted his gaze from the sky to his two friends staring straight at him.

“What.”

His curt tone earned a slow squint and hissed “tsss” from Haegyeom, who then tipped his fingers beneath his chin, studying Daeyoung up and down like he was appraising him. Frowning again, Daeyoung snapped,

“What now.”

“Ever been scouted by an entertainment company?”

“Did your sandwich expire?”

Daeyoung frowned deeper at the nonsense, too annoyed to waste words. He shoved a limp, broth-soaked piece of kimbap into his mouth instead.

But Haegyeom still craned forward, serious. Finally, grudgingly, Daeyoung chewed and swallowed before wiping his lips with a napkin and accepting the water bottle Wonjung held out.

“I don’t know. Maybe once, when I was in grade school? But honestly, kids that age all look kind of pretty.”

Crack. Unscrewing the cap, he drank deeply. As a boy raised in the countryside, his school had been small. Few classes, few students. Trips into town hardly offered bigger crowds. Once, he remembered, a group of adults had stopped him at a claw machine in town, asking if he’d ever considered becoming an entertainer.

Turned out they were industry scouts out on some company workshop. Later, there had even been a few calls to his house. But by the time he entered middle school, when his parents asked if he wanted to be a singer or actor, he had answered no. And that was the end of it.

“Nah. Actually, when I was a kid, everyone said I looked like a frog.”

Haegyeom muttered sourly, setting off snickers around the group.

“What about in middle or high school then?”

The conversation looked like it would fade, but Wonjung prodded once more. Daeyoung lifted a brow, baffled at their curiosity.

“Nope.”

He didn’t like talking about school days. Shaking his head, he lifted his cup noodles instead, sipping at the spicy broth once before setting it down. Again, he caught his two friends sharing a glance, communicating silently with gleaming eyes. Always some mischief.

“I’m stuffed.” Murmuring to himself, Daeyoung pushed a hand back against the ground, then jerked it away as his wrist throbbed.

“Perfect weather today. Air’s clear, not a speck of dust. Good spot for a meal.”

Haegyeom seemed about to say more, but Wonjung briskly cut in.

“Yeah, but my hands are freezing.”

The air still called for a light jacket, though the sun blazed strong enough to heat their shoulders. Typical college boys, they’d already shrugged off their jackets, content to soak in calories under the sky. Daeyoung, full now, let his gaze wander past them. The campus stretched wide, lined with clusters of buildings.

Along its road, rows of trees stood bare for now, soon to bloom with cherry blossoms and later thicken into vivid green. Daeyoung’s eyes trailed up the thin dark branches, and at the edge of his vision caught on someone.

“……”

Hina noona. The reason he’d chosen this university. His former tutor. Their majors were different, and with his leave for the military, the years between them had widened. He hadn’t thought they’d ever cross paths here again. Yet there she was, slinging a bag over one shoulder, walking down the long road.