After leaving Seowoo’s training room, Sihyeon stopped by a couple more before returning to his own. Everywhere he went, people kept bringing up Haru and asking if he had apologized yet, leaving him irritated with nothing to show for it. Feeling unsettled, Sihyeon dropped onto the bench as if collapsing.
It’s not like I don’t want to make up.
If it were up to him, he would’ve gone to find Haru and talked it out immediately. But since he was the one at fault—and had already apologized—the only answer now was to wait for Haru.
Thinking of Haru, who had looked like a frightened cat, Sihyeon let out a sigh.
Even after finishing training and eating, nothing changed. Silence filled the room. Within that uncomfortable quiet, Sihyeon fell asleep, hoping for the next day.
Time passed like that.
One day, then two, then three.
A long time passed.
What he thought would be resolved quickly still hadn’t been fixed even after more than a week. Running a hand through his hair, Sihyeon looked at Haru. As if sensing his gaze, Haru lowered his head.
That was all.
When their eyes met, they exchanged greetings—but that was it. Neither of them tried to approach the other first, and the lack of progress was starting to frustrate the people around them.
“When the hell are you two going to make up?”
“This is getting frustrating for us too~”
The two roommates—arguably the biggest victims—came to Sihyeon to complain. It was only natural. Sihyeon rolled his eyes toward Haru.
Since Haru sat right next to him, he would’ve heard everything. Sure enough, Haru’s shoulders flinched at Haeun’s whining. Watching him, Sihyeon spoke.
“Yeah… seriously.”
When would they finally make up?
Though he spoke to Haeun, his gaze remained on Haru. Tilting his head slightly, Sihyeon saw Haru’s shoulders shrink even more.
“Whatever it is, just fix it already.”
“You’re making everyone else walk on eggshells.”
At Hamin’s comment—once again proving himself the only sane one—Sihyeon nodded. It had already been ten days since their subtle falling-out. If nothing changed by today, he planned to grab Haru and force a conversation, even if he had to cling to him to do it.
***
Swordsmanship skills begin with drawing the blade, followed by basic techniques like horizontal slashes, downward strikes, and thrusts. By combining and applying these, the user creates their own sword technique—and when that technique solidifies, it becomes a skill. As Sihyeon listened to Seowoo explain this “secret” of the Swordsman class while demonstrating skills for him to copy, he suddenly spoke.
“You’re really allowed to tell me all that?”
“What’s there to not allow?”
“It sounds like a class secret.”
“It’s not like you’re going to go around telling people, right?”
At the certainty in his voice, Sihyeon found himself at a loss for words. Seowoo, sword resting at his waist, looked at him.
“What?”
“How did you end up fighting with your partner?”
“Ah….”
Since no one had asked about the reason, he’d assumed no one cared—but apparently that wasn’t the case.
“I messed up a bit.”
“That’s rare.”
“What is?”
“You were obsessively biased toward him. So I thought maybe you got tired of your partner.”
The way he still refused to call him “Haru hyung” made Sihyeon frown.
“Why would I get tired of a person?”
“Hm.”
Seowoo narrowed his eyes, humming meaningfully. It had been a while since Sihyeon heard that tone. As he watched him, Seowoo soon shrugged as if nothing had happened—a familiar, irritating attitude Sihyeon hadn’t seen in days.
“I feel a bit wronged.”
“What now?”
“There’s someone else trying hard to get on your good side. It’s the first time I’ve been so blatantly treated differently, so I’ve been trying even harder—but you’re completely absorbed in your partner. Do you know how disappointing that feels for the person performing tricks right in front of you?”
His tone was gentle, like a kindergarten teacher soothing a child—yet also scolding him at the same time. Sihyeon stared at him with an incredulous expression, wondering why he was hearing this from a seventeen-year-old. Seowoo, watching him, let out a small laugh.
“I’m just pouting.”
“That sounded pretty serious for pouting.”
Half-lidded, Sihyeon spoke, but Seowoo simply picked up his sword again as if to say “think whatever you want.” As he resumed training, the door to the training room suddenly burst open.
“Wanna spar?”
Without even knocking, Hamin entered and proposed a match outright. Seowoo, who had been cutting down a metal dummy, turned his head.
“I’m out.”
It felt like the two of them were about to start trading blows and lines like ‘You’re good.’ ‘You too.’ straight out of a coming-of-age movie, so Sihyeon got up. As Hamin walked past him toward Seowoo, he glanced toward the entrance before looking back at Sihyeon.
“I saw Ban Haru looking for you earlier.”
“What?”
The urge to correct his lack of honorific vanished instantly. Who was looking for who? Thinking he’d misheard, Sihyeon asked again. Hamin pointed toward the entrance with his sword.
“More like he wasn’t exactly looking. He was standing there before I came in. Asked if you were inside, so I said I didn’t know.”
“Why would you say you didn’t know?”
“What—?”
Damn, I can’t even pass on a message without getting yelled at. Hamin frowned at Sihyeon’s reaction. Ignoring him, Sihyeon turned toward the entrance—but Haru was nowhere to be seen.
“…He could’ve just come in.”
“Then why don’t you just go yourself? You’re not some star-crossed lovers or anything.”
At Hamin’s teasing remark, Sihyeon shot him a look. Easy for a third party to say. If he were in the same situation, he’d probably be just as clueless.
Based on what he’d seen so far, Sihyeon could already picture exactly how Hamin would act in his place.
“Make sure you do that when it’s you.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“Good luck. I’m going.”
There was no point dragging it out—he’d just get more complaints—so Sihyeon brushed it off and headed for the entrance. He looked around just in case, but there was no one. Since it had happened before Hamin entered, it was only natural Haru would be gone by now.
After steadying his breath, Sihyeon’s gaze drifted down the hallway—then stopped at a room about ten meters away from Seowoo’s.
Haru’s training room.
“……”
After a brief hesitation, Sihyeon turned and walked toward it, ignoring the sound of clashing blades behind him. For some reason, his heart pounded heavily in his chest.
Is this too sudden? He still seemed uncomfortable with me. What if he’s still scared because of what I did that day?
Knowing someone else was aware of your weakness was far more sensitive than people thought. It made you suspicious, guarded, uncomfortable. Thinking that, Sihyeon narrowed his eyes slightly—then shook his head.
Haru had come looking for him first. That should make this okay.
That shy Haru had even spoken to Hamin to ask about him—Sihyeon took that as a signal to start fixing things.
Knock, knock.
There was no response.
Sihyeon slipped his hand into his pocket and checked his phone. It was around the middle of seventh period… Unless Haru had stepped out briefly, he should be inside. Sihyeon stared at the white training room door again.
“Haru hyung.”
“……”
“Are you inside?”
For a moment, the memory of the dorm incident from a few days ago overlapped in his mind. Shaking his head to clear it, Sihyeon knocked again. He hadn’t expected the door to open right away.
Deciding he wouldn’t leave until he got a response, he alternated slowly—one knock, one call of Haru’s name—so as not to startle him.
After calling “Haru hyung” about ten times, the door finally creaked open.
Creaaak.
Through the slowly opening gap, black hair came into view.
It had been a while since he’d seen that color up close.
“…I, um…”
“…Let’s talk, hyung.”
Even after opening the door himself, Haru seemed to hesitate again. Before he could retreat, Sihyeon quickly seized the chance, meeting his gaze. When no response came, silence settled between them. Sihyeon glanced past him into the training room.
He’d seen Dawoon’s, Geonwoo’s, Hamin’s—even Jihye’s training room. This was the only one he hadn’t entered.
“…Can I come in?”
After a brief pause, Haru nodded slowly. With that permission, Sihyeon stepped inside, sitting on a small bench as he looked around.
There wasn’t anything particularly different about Haru’s training room—but it felt different.
An unfamiliar, strange sensation crept over him.
Only after Sihyeon sat did Haru take a seat as well, leaving a bench’s worth of distance between them, head lowered.
They were finally face to face, yet still no conversation came. The silence felt suffocating. As Sihyeon searched for the right moment to speak, he noticed a small movement from Haru.
It felt like ten minutes had passed before Haru’s voice, heavily subdued, finally broke the silence.
“…Did you start to hate me?”
“……?”
Sihyeon’s gaze snapped to him. Wondering if he’d misheard, he stared closely. A beat later, Haru slowly lifted his head and looked at him without a word.
His shoulders seemed to sag. Through his dark hair, Sihyeon thought he could see red eyes filled with moisture. Blinking, he watched as Haru’s dry lips moved slowly.
“…I’m sorry.”
At the quiet apology, Sihyeon’s shoulders flinched.
Haru’s voice was low and damp, like it carried the weight of a rainy season. His red lips parted slightly, then closed again.
In a situation where someone else was saying the words he was supposed to say—
Sihyeon found himself, without meaning to, thinking about how to accept an apology he hadn’t expected.
