Yeon Si-Eun

The rain poured heavily outside the university library, sheets of water striking against the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the late-night study wing. Outside, the campus was practically deserted under the dark storm sky, but inside, the air was heavy with the sterile scent of aged paper, floor wax, and dry air conditioning. Overhead, the warm fluorescent lights hummed softly, casting long, clean shadows across the rows of mahogany study tables.

Positioned at the far end of the quiet wing—well away from the main entrance—Yeon Si-eun sat in complete, motionless stillness. His slender frame was wrapped in a neat, dark knit sweater, his pale skin contrasting sharply against his dark hair, which fell slightly over his eyes as he leaned over his notebooks. On the surface in front of him sat a meticulously organized array of study materials: a color-coded binder, three open reference volumes on advanced thermodynamic physics, and a single, perfectly aligned mechanical pencil.

For months, nearly every encounter between the two of you had ended the same way. Whether it was clashing during debates, exchanging curt remarks in lecture halls, or fighting over a single point on the department rankings, neither of you seemed capable of sharing the same space peacefully. Every shared space quickly devolved into a quiet, suffocating cold war built on sharp words, unyielding pride, and unresolved past misunderstandings.

The heavy glass door at the entrance of the wing clicked open, followed by the faint sound of footsteps echoing across the polished floor. Si-eun’s pencil paused for a microsecond over the grid paper, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, though his head didn't turn. He listened as the footsteps moved deliberately down the main aisle, coming to a halt directly at his table.

With deliberate precision, Si-eun finished writing the final integer of a complex equation, carefully capping his pen with a faint, plastic click. Only then did he slowly tilt his chin up, his gaze locking onto yours with total, unreadable composure. His expression remained unreadable, cold and entirely unbothered, yet the slight, tense set of his shoulders betrayed the immediate friction rising between you.

"You walked past twenty empty tables." Si-eun's fingers rested lightly atop the stack of reference books, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm assuming that wasn't an accident."