EPISODE THIRTEEN

Two weeks drifted by, each day a quiet echo of the tumultuous night their study group had rallied to save Lee Jun. It was also the night Hae Soo had finally, with a nervous tremor in her voice, confessed the truth about her relationship with Han Wool to her mother.

To Hae Soo's relief, and perhaps not entirely unexpectedly, Yeon Hwa had embraced the news with a gentle smile and a warm hug. A wave of gratitude washed over Hae Soo. She had known, deep down, that her mother's love was boundless enough to accept them, but the verbal affirmation still felt like a weight lifted from her chest.

What truly surprised Hae Soo, however, was the understated nature of her mother's acceptance. In the initial days following her confession, Hae Soo had braced herself for the typical maternal overprotectiveness. She had envisioned a barrage of well–intentioned lectures—a detailed itinerary of relationship dos and don'ts, especially at their young age—she had anticipated her mother's gaze following her every move, a silent surveillance ensuring no youthful indiscretions occurred.

But Yeon Hwa, to Hae Soo's astonishment, offered none of that. Yes, in the immediate aftermath of that fraught night, her mother had looked at the faint bruises still lingering on Hae Soo's face with a worried frown. She had quietly urged Han Wool to "keep an eye on her," her voice laced with concern. Hae Soo had quickly dismissed it as a minor scuffle with friends, a clumsy lie that Han Wool, ever the supportive boyfriend, had readily corroborated. Yeon Hwa, though perhaps not entirely convinced, had chosen to trust their words, a silent act of faith that Hae Soo deeply appreciated.

Even a few nights prior, when Han Wool had arrived under the guise of a study session, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and had swiftly disappeared into Hae Soo's usually locked bedroom, Yeon Hwa had outwardly remained unperturbed—or so they believed. But inside, as the minutes ticked by, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach. She was accustomed to the quiet solitude of her daughter's room, not the muffled whispers and occasional giggles that now emanated from behind the closed door. The realities of teenage relationships were not lost on her, and a familiar maternal anxiety began to simmer.

That particular night, Han Wool's intentions had indeed been rooted in academics, though a playful undercurrent had certainly been present, a secret he wouldn't readily admit even to himself. Yet, amidst the comfort of Hae Soo's familiar space, surrounded by the soft glow of her bedside lamp, their textbooks lay forgotten. Instead, they were tucked beneath her cozy blanket, lost in a world of shared laughter and whispered memories of their budding relationship. Han Wool found himself wishing the moment could stretch into eternity, wanting nothing more than to remain enveloped in Hae Soo's warmth, the gentle rhythm of her breathing a soothing melody.

However, Hae Soo, ever mindful of the delicate balance within their household, had reluctantly but firmly nudged him out. She knew her mother's quiet composure likely had a breaking point, and the thought of her father discovering Han Wool in her room sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. While she desperately wished she could disregard his volatile temper, she couldn't bear the inevitable fallout, the way his anger always seemed to find its target in her mother.

So, their clandestine moments were confined to school days and stolen evenings. Eventually, the night would invariably lead Hae Soo back into the house, not to the peaceful silence she once knew, but to the increasingly familiar sound of her parents' strained voices. The thin walls of their bedroom seemed incapable of containing the escalating tension. It was a nightly ritual, a bitter symphony of harsh words and accusations her father would hurl at her mother.

It was nothing new, this constant undercurrent of discord. The raised voices, the sharp retorts—they had become a disheartening backdrop to her life—but what was different now was the relentless persistence of it all. Night after night, the conflict raged, an unending drama unfolding behind closed doors, a recurring play with the same tired script, its predictable sorrow clinging to the air like a persistent, unwelcome guest.

Hae Soo felt a weariness seep into her bones, a dull ache that mirrored the nightly turmoil echoing from her parents' room. The constant tension in the house was a heavy blanket, suffocating the joy from her stolen moments with Han Wool. Yet, the burgeoning fatigue within her found itself constantly overshadowed by the profound exhaustion etched onto her mother's face. It was a silent, heartbreaking narrative that unfolded before Hae Soo's eyes each day.

She couldn't ignore the subtle but telling signs of her mother's increasing burden. Her steps, once light and quick, now seemed weighted down by an invisible pressure. A slight slump had become a permanent fixture in her shoulders, a silent testament to the burdens she carried. And the dark circles beneath her eyes, a stark reminder of sleepless nights, spoke volumes of the internal battles waged in the quiet hours. Hae Soo knew those nights were often punctuated by the soft clinking of a beer bottle against glass, a solitary ritual meant to quell the storm of emotions brewing within her. A helpless anger simmered in Hae Soo's chest, a bitter resentment at her own inability to alleviate her mother's suffering.

Yeon Hwa maintained a stoic silence regarding the conflicts that raged between her and her husband. She shielded Hae Soo from the harsh realities of their fractured relationship, believing she was protecting her daughter from unnecessary pain and worry. But this silence, intended as an act of love, felt like a wall between them, a barrier that deepened Hae Soo's sense of helplessness.

Oh, how Hae Soo longed for her mother to confide in her, to shatter the carefully constructed facade of normalcy. She yearned for her mother to unburden herself, to share the weight that was so visibly crushing her spirit. If only her mother would open the floodgates of her pain, would allow herself the release of tears, Hae Soo would be there, a silent anchor in the storm.

She might not possess the wisdom to mend the broken pieces of her parents' relationship, nor the eloquence to offer profound comfort, but she could offer something just as vital: a safe haven. Her arms would be a comforting embrace, her shoulder a steady support for her mother to lean on, allowing the unshed tears to finally flow, soaking into her clothes, a tangible manifestation of shared sorrow, rather than being forcefully swallowed down, leaving only a residue of quiet despair.

Each morning, the fragile peace that might have momentarily settled in the house with Han Wool's presence would shatter with the abrupt and unpleasant departure of Hae Soo's father. Even with Han Wool present, he made no pretense of civility. His angry remarks, sharp and laced with resentment, would be directed at Yeon Hwa, cutting through the quiet of the morning like shards of glass. He would then storm out, the slamming of the door a violent punctuation mark on his displeasure, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort and awkwardness his behavior inflicted, not just on his wife and daughter, but also on Han Wool, who happened to be there. He didn't seem to care what impression he made on the young man who was becoming an increasingly significant part of Hae Soo's life.

Han Wool, for his part, wasn't entirely taken aback by the father's hostility. Hae Soo had, over time, shared enough glimpses into her family's strained dynamics for him to have formed a picture of the man's temperament. Yet, the current intensity, the almost theatrical display of his anger even when Han Wool was around, did raise a few unspoken questions in Han Wool's mind. He sensed a shift, a deepening of the underlying conflict. However, respecting Hae Soo's privacy and knowing her reticence when it came to her family's troubles, he chose to remain silent. He would wait. He trusted that if the situation was significant enough, if it warranted his concern, Hae Soo would eventually confide in him, in her own time and in her own way. Until then, he would simply offer his quiet support and understanding, a silent promise to be there whenever she was ready to share the weight she carried.

And just like that, the tense atmosphere of the house was left behind as Hae Soo settled into the plush leather seats of the car, Han Wool beside her. A familiar comfort washed over her as she brought the bottle of strawberry milk to her lips, her focus entirely consumed by the sweet, pink liquid. Han Wool watched her, a soft smile gracing his features. A wave of warmth would invariably bloom in his chest each time he observed her simple enjoyment, the way she savored the milk as if it were the most exquisite delicacy.

There had been a time when the very thought of strawberry milk had been repulsive to Han Wool. He had harbored a deep–seated aversion to its saccharine sweetness, a flavor he hadn't even truly experienced. In fact, his dislike extended to milk in general, and the addition of artificial flavoring only amplified his prejudice.

He had built a wall of disdain without ever crossing the threshold of a single taste. But then, he started noticing Hae Soo's almost daily ritual of purchasing the pink drink, and a flicker of curiosity ignited within him. What was the allure? What made this seemingly childish beverage so appealing? Yet, his preconceived notions held firm, preventing him from ever actually trying it.

Until one evening, under the soft, silvery glow of the moon in a secluded corner of the park, Hae Soo's gentle persistence finally wore him down. They were seated side–by–side on a weathered bench, the quiet solitude amplifying the playful tension between them.

"Just have one sip, Han. It won't kill you," she pleaded, her voice laced with a playful whine, her feet tapping a restless rhythm against the ground.

Han Wool shook his head resolutely. "Not having a sip won't kill me either. Let me hate it in peace," he retorted, the imagined artificial sweetness already assaulting his senses. He could practically taste the cloying, synthetic flavor.

"Ugh," Hae Soo groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation. "Just one sip. I swear I won't bother you again if you still dislike it. Okay?" she begged, her eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she held out the bottle, the straw hovering tantalizingly close to his lips.

Han Wool sighed, a theatrical display of reluctance. "Promise?"

"Promise," she affirmed, her smile radiating confidence.

And the moment the cool, sweet liquid touched his tongue, a surprising sensation flooded his palate. It wasn't the artificial, sickly sweetness he had anticipated. Instead, it was a delicate blend of creamy milk and the bright, fruity essence of strawberries, a surprisingly harmonious combination that left him wanting another taste. He couldn't deny the unexpected pleasure, the pleasant surprise that danced on his taste buds. But admitting it aloud would be a blow to his carefully constructed image of unwavering preferences. So, he stubbornly maintained his initial stance.

However, Hae Soo's sharp eyes didn't miss the furtive, stolen sips he would take whenever she glanced away, his initial aversion slowly melting with each secret indulgence. Sometimes, she would simply observe with an knowing smile, letting his silent contradiction speak for itself. But other times, she couldn't resist a playful jab. "Someone seems to be enjoying something they claimed to hate," she would tease, her voice light and teasing. To which Han Wool would simply roll his eyes, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he muttered, "It's tolerable, alright? Just tolerable."

"I can't believe you hated strawberry milk," Hae Soo exclaimed, the words tumbling out as if she had plucked them directly from Han Wool's thoughts, surprising him slightly. "It's literally the best thing ever." Her eyes held a playful challenge, daring him to disagree.

Han Wool chuckled softly, a warm sound that filled the comfortable space of the car. "Best? That's debatable," he countered, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Still, you can't deny that it's good," Hae Soo persisted, her gaze narrowing playfully. "Want a sip?" She held out the bottle, the straw pointed invitingly towards him.

Without a word of refusal, a small smile playing on his lips, Han Wool leaned forward. He gently closed his lips around the straw and took a long, deliberate sip, savoring the familiar sweetness, perhaps a little longer than necessary.

"Hey! That's too much," Hae Soo protested, a mock annoyance in her voice as she playfully tugged the bottle away.

Han Wool smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. "Your fault for making me like it."

Soon, the car approached the familiar school gates, preparing to turn into the driveway when a cluster of students standing near the entrance caught Hae Soo's attention. Her friends.

A flicker of surprise crossed her features. Why are they here? she wondered.

"Ahjussi, I'll get down here," she announced, her hand already reaching for the door handle. The driver, accustomed to her sudden requests, smoothly slowed the vehicle to a stop right beside her group of friends.

Han Wool, seated beside her, felt a familiar twinge of displeasure. For the past two weeks, this had become their routine: Hae Soo requesting to be dropped off a short distance from the gate so she could walk the remaining way with Ji Woo and Hee Won. While he wasn't thrilled about these premature departures, he couldn't deny the genuine joy that illuminated her face whenever she met them. The wide, radiant smile, the sparkle in her eyes as she embraced her friends—it was a happiness he found difficult to begrudge.

He understood this newfound camaraderie was important to her, a fresh and exciting aspect of her school life. And seeing how much it meant to her, he had reluctantly agreed. Besides, she had promised to still have lunch with him and steal at least fifteen minutes on the rooftop—a small concession that helped him manage his possessive tendencies—so, despite his personal preference, he had allowed this new habit to continue.

But today was different. Today, she had promised to ride all the way to the entrance with him. Yet here she was, about to hop out a mere two minutes earlier for her friends.

He let out a soft sigh, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "You were supposed to go with me today."

Hae Soo turned to him, her expression a blend of apology and playful mischief. "Sorry," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with a hint of guilt. Before he could fully register her intention, she leaned in swiftly and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek. The contact was so brief it was almost ephemeral, a mere brush of her lips against his skin.

Before Han Wool could even process the gesture or formulate a response, she had already slipped out of the car, her backpack slung over her shoulder as she hurried towards her waiting friends.

He was undeniably irritated. That half–second peck felt like a tease, hardly sufficient after the anticipation of their promised full ride. The ghost of her lips on his cheek still lingered, a faint warmth against his skin, even as the driver pulled away, leaving him with a mixture of annoyance and a reluctant fondness for her impulsive actions.

As Hae Soo stepped out of the car, her friends' gazes were already fixed on her, their eyes filled with unspoken questions. They knew she wasn't supposed to walk with them today, yet here she was. She offered them a quick wave, closing the distance and standing beside Hee Won. Then, her attention shifted to the three figures standing before their small group.

The Disciplinary Committee boys. Kim Gyu Jin, his self–importance practically radiating off him, and two other nameless faces Hae Soo didn't deem worthy of her attention.

Gyu Jin, wielding his authority like a flimsy weapon, pointed his stick directly at her. "You too. You six, who said you don't have to wear a jacket?"

Hae Soo's brow arched in disbelief. She was clearly wearing her school jacket. What delusion was this boy operating under?

"It's still winter dressing season, you brats," Gyu Jin declared, his tone condescending.

"I'm wearing a jacket," Hee Won said softly, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Are you feeling blind in this broad daylight?" Hae Soo retorted, her voice sharp and laced with sarcasm. Gyu Jin's face tightened, clearly offended by her blatant disrespect, but he quickly averted his gaze, perhaps sensing her simmering annoyance.

"Go back home," he ordered with an air of casual authority, as if dismissing them would somehow magically reset the clock and allow them to return to school on time.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Ji Woo snapped, her temper flaring. She took a step forward, likely intending to unleash a verbal assault, but Jun was quick to grab the strap of her bag, holding her back.

"What? You don't want to? Do you want penalties, then?" Gyu Jin sneered, clearly enjoying his perceived power.

"Penalties?" Ga Min's eyes widened in alarm at the word. Penalties for such a trivial matter as not wearing a jacket? The injustice of it hung heavy in the air.

Before any of them could voice their outrage, a familiar, calming voice interjected from behind them. "I thought the jacket wasn't mandatory anymore?"

Recognition flashed across their faces instantly. Their heads swiveled in unison, eyes widening with surprise and a sudden spark of relief, like parched earth greeting a sudden downpour. "Ms. Lee?" they chorused, their voices a blend of disbelief and burgeoning hope.

Ms. Lee stepped forward, her presence radiating a quiet authority that immediately shifted the dynamic. "It's winter dressing season until May," she stated calmly, her gaze sweeping over the students, "but the mixed dressing period starts from April 20th. The school rule must say it's okay to wear the spring uniform."

A collective sense of relief washed over the study group. They stood a little taller now, their initial apprehension replaced by a newfound confidence as they faced the three Disciplinary Committee members. Ji Woo couldn't suppress a triumphant smirk, her eyes lingering on Gyu Jin with undisguised amusement. A wave of gratitude towards Ms. Lee surged through them, their teacher once again coming to their unexpected rescue.

"The Disciplinary Committee should know the rules, at least," Ms. Lee added, her words carrying a gentle but firm reprimand. The subtle chastisement was enough to bring a flush of shame to Gyu Jin's face and his companions, their gazes dropping to the ground in awkward silence.

With a final, reassuring nod to her students, Ms. Lee turned and walked towards the school building, leaving the study group to exchange knowing glances at the now deflated Disciplinary Committee trio.

Gyu Jin,