Chapter 3

Soo-young

I was already in a bad mood.

The morning had been a complete disaster.

My alarm hadn't gone off, which meant I woke up ten minutes before class, barely having time to shove a granola bar into my mouth before throwing myself together like a lunatic. My notes were a mess, my brain foggy from another pathetic attempt at sleeping, and to make things worse, the professor had cold-called me on a question I barely remembered reading about.

It wasn't even noon yet, and I was done with today.

So by the time I left the lecture hall, I was running purely on caffeine, irritation, and the will to not drop out of med school.

I just wanted to disappear into the library, drown myself in caffeine again, and pretend I wasn't on the verge of losing my mind.

But apparently, the universe wasn't done testing me.

Because the next thing I knew—

Someone walked straight into me.

Hard enough that my textbook slipped from my grip, hitting the ground with a loud thud, followed by loose papers scattering everywhere.

I froze for a second, staring at the mess on the floor.

Then I let out a sharp breath and turned to the person who had crashed into me.

"Watch where you're going," I snapped.

The words came out harsher than I intended, but I was not in the mood for this.

The guy standing in front of me immediately stiffened, his expression unreadable.

"I—" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "Sorry."

I expected that to be the end of it. Most people would have just muttered an apology and walked away.

But he didn't.

Instead, he shifted awkwardly and said it again.

"Sorry."

I blinked.

His voice was soft but oddly firm, like he was genuinely apologetic. And when I finally looked at him properly, I realized I had seen him before.

Cafeteria. Late at night.

The guy who sat at the farthest table, drowning in coffee and textbooks, looking just as dead inside as I felt.

I hadn't really paid attention to him then.

But now, up close, I noticed things.

Dark hair, slightly messy. Uniform a little wrinkled, like he hadn't cared enough to fix it. And his eyes—tired, dull, like he was running on fumes.

"I didn't mean to—" He hesitated. Then, with an almost robotic stiffness, he bowed his head slightly. "I'm really sorry."

I stared.

What?

Before I could even process that, he did it again.

"I didn't see you—I mean, I should have, but I wasn't—" His words fumbled over each other. "I—uh, sorry. Again."

Okay.

This was getting weird.

I had met polite people before, but this was something else.

He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, and for some reason, that irritated me even more.

I let out an exhausted sigh and bent down to grab my papers. He stood frozen for a moment before suddenly moving—dropping down as well, his hands reaching for my stuff.

I grabbed a loose sheet just as his fingers brushed it.

I pulled it back before he could.

He paused.

"...Sorry," he mumbled again.

I exhaled sharply through my nose. "You don't have to keep saying that."

He looked at me, startled, like the idea of not apologizing hadn't even occurred to him.

I didn't know what to say after that, so I just stuffed my papers into my bag, stood up, and brushed past him without another word.

I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked away.

I didn't look back.

And I didn't think about him again.

At least, not then.

---

Hanuel

I hadn't been looking for him.

In fact, I rarely did.

Woo-hyung and I weren't close. We never had been. Even when we were kids, there was always a distance between us—one that only grew wider as we got older.

But Oxford was small, in its own way. Paths crossed whether you wanted them to or not.

And that was how I saw it.

The moment was brief, insignificant to anyone else.

I had just finished a lecture and was heading down the hall when I caught sight of him.

At first, I didn't think much of it.

But then, I saw the girl.

She wasn't anyone I recognized. Her uniform was a little messy, her hair slightly disheveled, as if she had just pulled herself out of a stressful class.

And the look on her face? Irritated.

I slowed my steps, watching as the scene unfolded.

Woo-hyung had bumped into her.

Not hard, but enough to make her drop her things. Papers spilled onto the ground, and for a second, no one moved.

Then, she exhaled sharply and said, "Watch where you're going."

A small, insignificant interaction.

Except—Woo-hyung reacted in a way that caught my attention.

He froze. Then, stiffly, awkwardly, he bowed his head. "Sorry."

That should have been it.

But then, he said it again.

"I'm really sorry."

And again.

"I—uh—sorry."

I narrowed my eyes, barely holding back a scoff.

What was this?

Woo-hyung had always been like this—rigid, overly formal, acting like every small mistake needed to be atoned for. I had seen it my entire life.

And yet, watching it now, it irked me.

The girl just stared at him, like she couldn't figure out if he was serious or not.

It was just Woo-hyung, standing in the middle of the hallway, stiff and awkward. And the girl I didn't recognize—staring at him with a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

She looked annoyed. He looked like he wanted to disappear.

It was just a simple accident.

An encounter that meant nothing.

I knew that.

And yet—

A slow, amused smirk tugged at my lips.

An idea formed.

It wasn't anything grand. It wasn't some intricate plan.

I watched as the girl huffed, snatched her papers from the floor, and walked off without another word. Woo-hyung stayed frozen for a moment before finally turning away, his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to shrink into himself.

He looked even more pathetic than usual.

He had always been like this—distant, brooding, weighed down by things he never talked about. The perfect son, the prodigy, but never happy.

And yet, no matter how miserable he was, the adults in our family still worshipped him.

His name carried weight.

Mine didn't.

Not like his. I was just—Baek Hanuel.

And yet—despite having everything, despite being their perfect son—he walked around like a shadow of a person.

Like he wasn't even really here.

It pissed me off.

The small smirk still playing at my lips as I pulled my phone from my pocket.

It only took a few swipes to find the contact.

Uncle.

Or, more accurately, his father.

I pressed the call button and lifted the phone to my ear.

The line rang a few times before a sharp voice cut through.

"Hanuel?"

I smiled slightly. Polite. Controlled.

"Uncle," I greeted. "It's been a while."

A pause. Then, his voice came again—clipped, impatient. "What is it?"

Straight to the point. As always.

I turned, leaning casually against the wall as students passed by, my gaze flicking absently toward the hallway where Woo-hyung had disappeared.

"I thought you'd want to know something," I said, keeping my tone light. "It's about Woo-hyung."

Then, sharper—

"What about him?" Here it was, that unmistakable edge in his tone.

I closed my eyes briefly, picturing his expression—disapproval, suspicion.

I let the silence stretch for a second, then exhaled, as if hesitant.

"It's nothing too serious," I started. "But… I saw him with a girl today."

The reaction was immediate.

"A girl?"

I bit down a smirk.

"I wasn't going to say anything," I continued, "but they seemed… close."

A complete lie. But I knew exactly how to make it believable.

I had seen the whole thing. They weren't close at all.

But Woo-hyung's father didn't know that.

And the thing about him was—he wasn't the type to assume the best.

There was a sharp silence on the line.

Then, his voice came through, clipped and cold. "Who is she?"

I shrugged, even though he couldn't see me.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I haven't seen her before. But if I had to guess…" I trailed off, then lowered my voice slightly.

"She's probably his girlfriend."

The line went silent.

I almost laughed.

It was so easy.

Woo-hyung was a lot of things. Hardworking, disciplined, intelligent.

But there was one thing he would never be.

Rebellious.

Woo-hyung had never dated. Never stepped out of line. He was the perfect son, obedient and driven.

His father's control over him was suffocating. Absolute.

Which meant this news—fabricated or not—would not sit well with his father.

The silence stretched.

I could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

Finally, a sharp exhale.

"I'll handle it," his father said.

I smiled. "Of course, uncle. I just thought you should know."

The call ended without another word.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and pushed off the wall, exhaling slowly.

I had no idea what was going to happen next.

But I did know one thing.

Woo-hyung's life was already miserable.

And now?

It was about to get a whole lot worse.

---

Hyun-woo

The first sign that something was wrong came in the form of a missed call.

Father.

The name flashed on my screen, cold and impersonal.

I stared at it for a few seconds before pressing the power button, watching as the screen faded to black.

I should have expected this.

It had only been a few days since our last call—since his voice, sharp and clipped, had carved its way into my mind like a scalpel. Since he had reminded me, once again, of what I owed him.

A scholarship had gotten me into Oxford, but to my father, that didn't mean I was free.

It meant I had no excuses.

No right to fail.

I exhaled through my nose and turned back to my notes. There was a practical tomorrow, and I hadn't even begun reviewing the case studies. The human nervous system blurred in front of my eyes, words and diagrams melding together into an incomprehensible mess.

I blinked hard.

Read the same sentence.

Again.

Again.

Nothing stuck.

Damn it.

I rubbed my temples, trying to will away the exhaustion pressing against the inside of my skull. Sleep had been a foreign concept lately—an abstract thing that I couldn't afford, that I no longer even craved.

Instead, I lived off of caffeine and obligation.

Keep going.

No stopping.

No distractions.

The ringing started again.

I stiffened.

I already knew who it was before I even looked.

Father.

Again.

This time, I couldn't ignore it.

My fingers curled around my phone as I swallowed back the tension clawing at my throat. A part of me wanted to let it ring, to pretend I hadn't seen it, but—

That was never an option.

Not for me.

Slowly, I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello," I said quietly.

There was a beat of silence. Then—

"Kim Hyun-woo."

His voice was like ice.

I stayed silent, waiting.

The next words came sharply, cutting through any pretense of formality.

"I heard you've been distracted."

My fingers clenched around the phone.

There it was.

The beginning of another lecture, another reminder of what I was supposed to be.

I closed my eyes briefly, already exhausted. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean," he snapped. "Hanuel told me everything."

Hanuel?

A strange, cold feeling crept up my spine.

What the hell did Hanuel have to do with this?

I hesitated, but my father didn't give me time to respond.

"A girl, Hyun-woo?" he said sharply. "Are you serious?"

My breath caught.

What?

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

My brain raced, trying to piece together what he was talking about, but—

There was nothing.

I hadn't been talking to anyone. I hadn't even looked at anyone.

Unless—

The hallway.

That girl.

The one I had accidentally bumped into.

The one who had barely even acknowledged me before walking off.

Was that what this was about?

The realization settled like a stone in my stomach.

"I don't know what Hanuel told you," I said, voice carefully measured. "But you're misunderstanding. I'm not—"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

I flinched.

"This is not what you're here for, Hyun-woo." His voice was razor-sharp, slicing through any attempt at defending myself. "I don't care what nonsense you think you have time for. You will focus on your studies. Do you understand?"

I swallowed.

"Yes, Father."

A pause.

Then, softer—but no less cutting—

"Do not disappoint me."

That should have been the end of it.

I should have just nodded, swallowed my frustration like I always did, let it sink into the pit of my stomach and rot there until it became another layer of numbness.

But this time—

Something snapped.

A bitter, burning anger coiled inside my chest, tight and suffocating.

"I'm twenty-four years old," I muttered, my voice low.

A silence.

Sharp. Warning.

But I didn't stop.

"I'm an adult. Even if I were dating—which I'm not—why would that even matter?" My grip tightened around the phone, my knuckles aching. "Why would you care?"

Another pause.

Then, in that same, ice-cold voice—

"Because you don't belong to yourself, Hyun-woo."

I sucked in a breath.

"You are not some ordinary man who can waste his life chasing after foolish distractions. You are my son. You exist to reach my expectations. That is your purpose. That is what I have raised you for. I didn't raise you with all my sweat and tears just for you to become a nuisance— a burden to our family. So, you don't get to choose."

The words hit like a slap.

And that was what did it.

Not the disappointment. Not the accusation.

But the sheer, unshakable certainty in his voice.

Like my entire existence had already been decided.

Like there was no room for me in the life he had built.

Just his expectations. Just his perfect son—a title I had never wanted, a cage I had never been able to escape.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing my fingers against my forehead.

"Right," I said, barely above a whisper. "Of course. Because it's never about what I want. It's never about me at all."

He didn't respond.

There was nothing left to say.

The call ended. The screen went black.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as my grip tightened.

The anger was still there, simmering under my skin.

But more than anything—

I felt exhausted.

Because no matter how much I wanted to fight it—

I already knew.

There was no winning.

There never had been.

The exhaustion that has been pressing against my skull turned into something heavier.

Something uglier.

Because I already knew—this wouldn't be the last time.

No matter how much I obeyed.

No matter how much I gave.

It would never be enough.

---

The hallway was a blur. I was too tired to register anything beyond the sound of my own footsteps and the crushing weight of my exhaustion.

Second year. Halfway through. It wasn't an accomplishment—it was just survival. Each day bled into the next, each hour stretched thin between lectures, rotations, studying, and whatever was left of my sanity.

I wasn't even fully present. My body moved on autopilot, my mind a dull hum in the background.

Then—

A sudden thud. A gasp.

I stopped. My head snapped toward the sound.

A student had collapsed a few feet away, slumped against the cold linoleum floor, motionless. A small group of people gathered, frozen, whispering, watching. None of them moved.

Why weren't they doing anything?

My body reacted before my mind did. I wasn't thinking when I moved. I just did. Muscle memory. Training. Instinct.

I dropped down beside the student, already reaching for her wrist to check her pulse.

At the same time, someone else crouched across from me. Probably another med student.

I barely glanced at her. There was no time for that.

"Pulse?" I asked, already tilting the student's head back to check her airway.

"Thready," she said, pressing two fingers to her wrist. "Breathing's shallow."

I scanned for signs of injury. No obvious trauma, no bleeding. Her skin looked pale, her lips dry. Dehydration? Hypoglycemia? Too many possibilities. Too little time.

"We need to get her to the infirmary," the student alongside me said, her voice clipped, focused.

I nodded. "Someone call for help!"

No one moved.

I snapped my head up, glaring at the bystanders. "I said, call for help!"

Finally, someone scrambled away.

The student on the ground shifted slightly, a weak groan escaping her lips.

I let out a slow breath. Still responsive. Good.

"That's something," the girl muttered.

The infirmary staff arrived within minutes, lifting the student onto a stretcher, asking quick questions we barely had time to answer. And then—just like that—it was over.

The tension left my body all at once. My arms felt heavier, my head light. I exhaled, pushing a hand through my hair.

Then I heard her voice.

"You're the guy from the hallway."

I blinked, looking at her properly for the first time. She was watching me, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"...What?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You bumped into me the other day. Apologized about twenty times."

I stared.

Oh.

Right.

"...Yeah," I muttered.

There was a brief silence. Then she sighed, shaking her head, and held out a hand.

"Choi Soo-young."

I stared at it for a second before shaking it.

"Kim Hyun-woo."

The second I said my name, I noticed it—the flicker of acknowledgement on her face.

She hesitated just long enough for me to ask, "...You're Korean too?"

She gave me a flat look. "What, did you think I was some Brit blonde girl this whole time?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because honestly? I hadn't noticed before. I hadn't even thought about it at all.

"Well, congratulations. You finally figured it out," she replied dryly.

I had no response to that.

The air between us felt strange—not heavy, not exactly awkward, just... unfamiliar.

I had nothing to say to that either.

For the first time since this conversation started, the exhaustion hit me in full force. My adrenaline had burned out. My brain wasn't catching up fast enough.

Soo-young exhaled sharply, "Shit. That was a mess." she muttered.

I nodded. It was.

But she hadn't panicked. She hadn't frozen. She had handled it exactly how I would have.

The first real conversation we ever had, and it wasn't about anything personal. No small talk, no introductions before now. Just two exhausted med students reacting to a crisis.

She turned and walked away without another word.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the empty hallway.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was drowning alone.