“What is this, you! You disappeared without even contacting me. I was seriously so hurt!”
“Huh? Yeon-seo! You go to this school too?”
Yeon-seo glanced at the Introduction to Film Studies textbook in Yi-hyeon’s hand and spoke.
“I heard from Ju-yeon that you’re in the same department as her, so I was going to come find you. And instead, I run into you like this on campus. Running into a classmate who ghosted without a word. Guess our connection runs pretty deep.”
Yeon-seo smiled brightly.
“What’s that? A girlfriend gift?”
She asked, eyeing the small bundle in Yi-hyeon’s hand.
“Ah…… girlfriend, my ass. It’s just… a friend’s birthday coming up.”
“A friend? Han Jun?”
The moment Han Jun’s name came out of Yeon-seo’s mouth, Yi-hyeon froze, his lips parting uselessly before he reluctantly nodded. He didn’t want to lie about Han Jun’s birthday.
“Wow, so you ghosted me but you’re still in touch with Han Jun?”
Yeon-seo looked at him with a sulky expression, and Yi-hyeon hurriedly shook his head.
“No, no. I haven’t contacted him either. So…… I probably won’t be able to give it to him.”
“Did you two fight or something?”
Yeon-seo asked with a serious face.
“No. It’s just… personal reasons.”
Perhaps grateful for the answer, Yeon-seo didn’t pry any further.
“Then can you give me your number now?”
With eyes full of expectation, Yeon-seo handed Yi-hyeon her phone. Yi-hyeon carefully typed in the ID of his completely empty account—no profile picture, nothing—and followed her, then handed the phone back.
“I said give me your number. Anyway, since you’re in Theater and Film, our buildings are pretty close. Let’s meet up sometimes for coffee. If you need someone to eat with, just text me.”
“Yeah. Let’s do that.”
“It would’ve been fun if Han Jun came to the same school too.”
“Kim Yeon-seo!”
When a group standing on the slope called her name, Yeon-seo turned back hurriedly, saying she’d contact him. She ran up the hill, then turned back again to wave. Yi-hyeon smiled brightly back at her—but the moment she disappeared, his expression sank again as he fiddled with his phone, staring at the follow notification.
“……Yeah. It really would’ve been fun if we came together.”
Yi-hyeon murmured, gazing quietly at his bitter reflection on the black screen.
The cold winter passed, and spring—when new shoots sprout—came rushing in. Children’s Day appeared before Yi-hyeon almost as if it had been waiting. Once again, Yi-hyeon bought Han Jun a birthday present. Even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to give it to him, he chose the best gift he could afford and carefully placed it in the desk drawer at home, alongside the necklace.
He thought that maybe, when enough time had passed and everything had blurred, a day might come when he could give Han Jun a birthday present without any hesitation. But knowing full well that such a perfect day would never come for someone who had been the first to leave, Yi-hyeon stained his eyes red once more as he stared at the gift.
***
Another winter without Han Jun came to Yi-hyeon.
On a February day, white snow piled softly atop bare tree branches. A text arrived announcing the freshman retreat gathering. Attendance was mandatory for second-years, while third- and fourth-years could decide based on circumstances. As a third-year who didn’t particularly need to attend—and as always, due to physical issues—Yi-hyeon clicked Not Attending again this time. Almost immediately, a call came in from Seo-chan, a senior one year above him who had always been fond of Yi-hyeon.
—Hey, why is it not attending again?
“I’m sorry, sunbae. I have a part-time job that day. And I heard it’s polite for ammonites to sit out.”
—Why are you talking about ancient history? That’s not how it works anymore. These days, a few seniors who actually know retreat culture go along—that’s the trend. Please. Just this once. You didn’t participate last year either. Come to think of it, you didn’t come freshman year either, you little punk?
“I really can’t.”
Saying that part-time jobs were meant to swap shifts or skip once or twice anyway, Seo-chan clung to him desperately, telling him not to even think about backing out this time.
And it made sense. The reason was that when Ah-yoon—Sa-eun’s friend who was deeply infatuated with Yi-hyeon—clicked Not Attending, Sa-eun, the second-year Seo-chan had a crush on, followed suit.
Seo-chan, who would have to enlist after graduation, started whining that he wanted to confess at this retreat, date for at least a year before leaving, and finally shed his lifelong single status—begging Yi-hyeon to help him.
“I’m sorry, sunbae.”
Not knowing Yi-hyeon’s physical secret, Seo-chan was frustrated, saying he couldn’t understand why someone so soft and harmless would cut off gatherings as cleanly as scissors. Then, as if a good idea struck him, the voice on the other end shifted from pleading to confident.
—You’re taking Professor Lee Eun-joo’s class this semester, right?
“Yes.”
—You know she’s super picky about editing.
“Yes, I’ve heard the rumors.”
—Then who’s the top-tier video editor at our school?
Seo-chan possessed outstanding skill—able to turn even raw footage into something stylish through editing alone. Yi-hyeon acknowledged that himself, having asked him for help more than once.
“That would be Lee Seo-chan sunbae.”
When Yi-hyeon answered in a polite tone, Seo-chan cleared his throat and dangled a purposefully calculated reward.
—If you attend, I’ll edit your assignment video for you.
It was an enticing offer for Yi-hyeon, who was weak when it came to editing. But thinking of the physical limitations he carried, he couldn’t accept so easily. Seeing Yi-hyeon hesitate instead of rejecting him outright as usual, Seo-chan decided to drive the final nail in—taking his precious camera hostage.
—Using your camera to shoot a short film is kinda pushing it, isn’t it? If you attend, I’ll lend you my baby.
Top-tier editing and a high-spec camera. An opportunity that wouldn’t come twice.
Yi-hyeon’s camera was a secondhand model—just barely decent enough for appearances in video production. It had a fatal flaw: it couldn’t properly handle focus drift, causing frequent out-of-focus shots.
Yi-hyeon hadn’t transformed into a puppy even once in quite some time, and the retreat location wasn’t far from the orphanage where he’d grown up, so he knew the area inside out. It was only a short one-night, two-day orientation anyway—and even if he did get a nosebleed, the small mountain behind the training center was practically his playground. He figured he could just hide somewhere safe until his ears stopped ringing, then come back out.
“Make sure you keep your promise, sunbae.”
He bit the bait without hesitation.
