There was no way he could focus. As soon as he submitted his test paper, the indifferent-looking TA tapped the stack of papers into order and slipped them into an envelope. In the end, Shin-jae never showed up until the exam was over.
Sa-yoon stood in the now completely empty lecture hall for a moment before finally stepping out. As he exited, he immediately pulled out his phone, wondering if there had been any messages.
[Are you on your way?]
[Where are you??]
[The exam is about to start soon.]
[Nothing happened, right?]
[If you’re late, just come in anyway.]
But even the “1” next to the last-minute messages he had sent right before the test hadn’t disappeared. Meaning, they hadn’t been read.
Why the hell didn’t he show up? If he never intended to take the test in the first place, he wouldn’t have spent all that time holed up in the library studying. That meant his absence today wasn’t planned.
It was strange. Sa-yoon had dropped courses before, and he’d had classmates who overslept and missed their exams. Back then, it was just something to laugh about over drinks—nothing that ever lingered in his mind like this.
Was it because of those gentle-looking eyes? Or maybe because he was six years younger? Unlike the other juniors, Shin-jae gave off the feeling that he needed to be looked after.
“The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable….”
Sa-yoon tried calling again, but after a long ring, only the automated voicemail message played. With a sigh, he ended the call.
At least today was the last exam. Even with an F, he’d probably avoid academic probation. As long as he didn’t get expelled, grades could always be salvaged. He just hoped there wasn’t an accident, or that Shin-jae wasn’t sick or something.
With that thought, Sa-yoon slowly made his way toward the arts department. The shortest route from the general education building to the arts department was through the business administration building. As he walked, he scanned the students coming out of the buildings, just in case—but the face he was looking for was nowhere to be found.
He was just stepping into the business administration building when his phone rang. Checking the screen, Sa-yoon’s expression twisted in realization.
“Ah, Min-gyu.”
The caller was Kim Min-gyu, a former classmate who now ran a sandwich shop. He was also someone Sa-yoon had completely forgotten he was supposed to meet today.
“Didn’t you say your exam would be over by 11?!”
Back then, he had expected to finish the exam in 30 minutes and head out.
“You said you’d call when it was over, but you haven’t even checked your messages.”
“The exam ran a little late. We’re meeting at three, right?”
Replying as naturally as if he hadn’t forgotten the plan, Sa-yoon quickened his pace.
He had two plans for today—grabbing drinks with his classmates and meeting Min-gyu earlier for lunch as a thank-you for covering his shift last time.
“Young-chan is treating down in the countryside right now, so everyone should be able to make it.”
Lunch was near Min-gyu’s shop, but the dinner meetup was back near the school. Now that he thought about it, his schedule was a bit inefficient. He had found it strange that Min-gyu insisted on buying him lunch despite already paying him for the shift, but it turned out the real reason was to check out a new sandwich shop that had opened nearby.
At the time, he had agreed without much thought, figuring he and Shin-jae could just take the bus there after the exam. But now that things had changed… this was kind of a hassle.
“You wanna just come here instead?”
“You’re trying to drag me to a Korean set meal place again, aren’t you?”
How did he know? To be honest, Sa-yoon never really cared about finding good restaurants. As long as the food provided enough calories, that was good enough.
Korean set meals were perfect—fast service, a variety of side dishes, nutritionally balanced, and there was even a place near the North Gate where he was such a regular that he called the owner “Auntie.”
“I’ll buy you coffee.”
Besides, he was busy right now. Since it was exam season, he had parked his rank at the top 1% in the 2v2 arena. Even though it was still early in the season, the rewards were good, so competition was fierce. If he wanted to stay in the top 100, he’d have to grind all weekend.
The ideal plan was to grab a quick meal, hit the PC bang, and knock out his daily quests in advance. This was all WarTum’s fault for posting the update notice so late. If he had known earlier, he wouldn’t have scheduled a drinking meetup!
“No way! Absolutely not!”
Min-gyu, being in the food industry, stood firm. He had worked at a café and knew sandwich recipes inside out, and Sa-yoon was the only one among their classmates who had recently eaten at his shop. Not that it mattered—Sa-yoon wasn’t exactly the type to analyze flavors.
Looked like there was no changing plans or squeezing in a PC bang session.
“Ugh…”
As he gave a half-hearted response, he suddenly spotted someone in the quiet hallway. It wasn’t the face he was looking for, but it was someone he knew.
“Hey, hold on. I’ll call you back later.”
“Huh? Wait, so when are you—?”
Sa-yoon quickly hung up and strode over to a small group gathered nearby.
“Hey.”
The startled group turned to him in surprise. They were Shin-jae’s classmates. There was usually a tall guy among them who often asked Sa-yoon for general education tips, but today, it was just four girls.
“Oh, Shin-jae’s senior!”
“Hello!”
“Have you seen Shin-jae?”
“Shin-jae?”
At the blunt question, the girls’ eyes widened as if caught off guard. Their expressions clearly showed confusion, as if wondering why he was asking them. Finding their reaction odd, Sa-yoon added,
“He didn’t show up for the exam today. I was just wondering if any of you had heard from him.”
The group exchanged glances before collectively shaking their heads. That gesture alone was enough for Sa-yoon to realize he wouldn’t be getting any answers from them.
“I don’t know… We don’t really keep in touch with him like that.”
So, he was the type to be meticulous about his image and avoided private contact with female classmates to prevent misunderstandings. That made some sense. Accepting this, Sa-yoon asked again,
“If you don’t talk to him directly, maybe there’s something in the class group chat? Or has anyone else reached out to him?”
“Wait, is Shin-jae even in the group chat?”
“I don’t think so? I don’t remember ever seeing him talk there.”
“What?”
That didn’t sound right. Even Sa-yoon was in at least three active group chats with his classmates—one with all his yearmates, and two smaller ones with close friends.
If he counted the chats with juniors and seniors, the number was even higher. They were battery-draining nuisances, but they were also where today’s meetup had been arranged.
Then came an even more surprising revelation.
“He doesn’t really have any close friends in our department.”
“You guys are close, though?”
“Us? Aren’t you closer to him, sunbae? You even studied together.”
“Yeah, that’s why I thought it was kind of weird.”
“Shin-jae kind of… keeps his distance, you know?”
Sa-yoon was caught off guard. He had been asking about Shin-jae’s well-being, only to stumble upon something completely unexpected.
“We just had lunch together sometimes. Then one day he said he’d eat alone, so we said okay and that was that.”
He must have had a strange expression, because one of the girls hesitated before adding,
“Uh… yeah. Anyway, thanks for asking.”
Sa-yoon wasn’t even sure how he ended up at the bus stop. Even as he boarded the 125 bus to his next destination, his mind was still stuck on that conversation.
It was the kind of realization that made a parent feel like they had failed to notice their child struggling to fit in at school. The eerie feeling sat uncomfortably in his chest.
Rumble.
The sky had darkened considerably, and a few rumbles of thunder echoed beyond the bus window. By the time he got off at his stop, raindrops had begun to fall one by one.
At least the area near the bus stop looked familiar now.
Walking through the light drizzle, he soon reached the convenience store where, last time, they had gone through an absurd number of eggs. He ducked inside, bought an umbrella, and stepped back out—only to find the rain had already softened into a gentle drizzle.
Tok. Tok.
Raindrops pattered softly against the umbrella as Sa-yoon resumed his walk.
“He doesn’t have close friends in his department…”
The thought left him feeling strangely dazed. It was like glimpsing behind the scenes of a stage production he had assumed was flawless.
Was that why Shin-jae had asked him to eat together? Why he had suggested studying together?
Now that he thought about it, he must have missed a family dinner that night…
Unintentionally, Sa-yoon had seen an article about Shin-jae’s mother, actress Seo Sang-ah, attending a film festival—and even staying for the after-party.
Sa-yoon didn’t know why Shin-jae hadn’t shown up for the exam, but one thing was clear—what should have been a happy birthday had completely fallen apart.
His chest felt uncomfortably heavy, like something was stuck there even though he hadn’t eaten anything. Pressing a hand to his sternum, he found himself unconsciously walking in the opposite direction of the sandwich shop.
It was the same direction Shin-jae had disappeared to that day. Back then, he hadn’t managed to follow right away and had only caught sight of an empty alley.
He had no idea how long he had been walking when the rain, which showed no signs of letting up, finally soaked through his pant legs.
“…What the hell am I doing?”
Even he knew he was acting irrationally. It wasn’t like he was searching for a lost five-year-old. Running into someone by chance in the middle of a neighborhood wasn’t something that happened outside of dramas.
He pulled up the map on his phone. If he turned the corner past a small park up ahead, he could loop back toward the sandwich shop.
But when he arrived, it wasn’t much of a park—more like a playground surrounded by bushes and trees.
Of course, given the weather, no children were playing there.
Yeah, there were no kids. But there was someone else.
Sitting on a bench meant for parents, just outside the sandless playground, was Shin-jae.
Without an umbrella, alone, letting the rain soak him completely.
Even as Sa-yoon approached, Shin-jae didn’t lift his head, his gaze fixed on the ground. Judging by the way his clothes clung to his frame, he must have been here for a while.
A raindrop rolled down his cheek, hanging at his jawline for a moment before finally falling.
It looked so much like a tear that, without a word, Sa-yoon stepped closer and tilted his umbrella over him.
