MIN-JAE'S POV
The clock read 11:48 a.m. I wasn't supposed to be awake this early. My body ached, my leg throbbed, and my doctor's voice still nagged in my head—more rest, less stress. But rest was something I had forgotten how to do. Instead, I was sitting on my sofa, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, half out of boredom, half out of habit. Tomi's exam, she'd told me, would run until 2 p.m. I had planned to call her right after, maybe tease her about surviving finals, maybe hear the tired excitement in her voice. The thought alone had put a small curve on my lips. Then, in between endorsements, cooking reels, and fan edits of my old dramas, I saw it. A live stream. The thumbnail caught me immediately—because in it, standing frozen with a crowd around her, was Tomi. I didn't even think. My thumb tapped the video before I could stop it. And then—my chest tightened. There he was. Han Ji-hoon. I hadn't seen his face in years, not since that ridiculous gala where his father shoved him into every conversation like a prized pet. Even then, I'd disliked him. The spoiled brat aura, the arrogance that didn't need words because his entire posture screamed it. Han's Corporation's golden son. And now he was on my screen again. This time with his eyes fixed on Tomi. He had flowers. Gifts stacked high, like he was staging a proposal. The crowd of students was eating it up—girls whispering, guys gaping, phones raised. It was a scene that looked like something out of a drama, one that could go viral within minutes. And Tomi was right in the middle of it. My first reaction was fire in my veins. Jealousy, sharp and uninvited, twisting my stomach. Seeing him stand that close to her, smiling like he owned the ground she walked on—it made me clench my jaw so hard my teeth ached. But then, as I watched, something shifted. She didn't smile. She didn't blush or look flattered. She didn't even reach for the flowers. Her expression was guarded, her body tense, like she was trying to retreat while the crowd boxed her in. And when the chanting began—"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"—my blood boiled. Ji-hoon leaned closer. Smug. Certain. And Tomi—my Tomi—pushed him away. Flat rejection. In front of everyone. I actually laughed. Out loud. Relief surged through me so powerfully it softened the sharp edges of jealousy. My chest warmed. Pride curled deep inside me, unshakable. She didn't let him touch her. She didn't fall for the show. She stood there, firm, even when the crowd pressured her. I was still smiling like a fool when the live continued. The camera jostled, following her as she suddenly turned and ran through the crowd. Her eyes searched desperately until they landed on someone—another girl. Sasha. I remembered Tomi mentioning her name once. She was chasing her, frantic, disappearing off-screen as the live streamer's camera struggled to keep up. My smile fell. What happened? Why did she look so shaken? Why was she running after her? I immediately grabbed my phone and dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. Right. She'd told me she would switch it off for exams. She was disciplined like that, always determined not to get distracted. But right now, that discipline felt like a curse. I tried again. Same thing. My chest tightened. Panic bled in. I needed to know she was okay. Without wasting another second, I pulled up Tae-ho's number. My thumb hovered, then pressed call. He answered almost instantly, his voice careful. "Hyung? Do you need something?" "Yes." My tone was sharper than intended. I exhaled, trying to steady myself. "Go to the university. Now. Check Tomi's dorm, check the campus—I don't care. I need to know she's okay. Bring her to me if you can." There was silence for a beat before he replied, "Did something happen?" "I'll explain later. Just—please, Tae-ho. Right now." "I'm on my way." I ended the call but couldn't sit still. I typed out messages to her, even though I knew she wouldn't see them until later:
Tomi, are you okay?
I saw what happened. Please call me as soon as you can. I'm worried. Please.
Each word felt inadequate compared to the storm in my chest. Out of restless frustration, I reopened the live video. It had ended, but the user had already saved it to their feed. Of course they had. Anything viral spread like wildfire. I clicked play again, watching the scene unfold a second time. Watching Ji-hoon's smugness, the way he tried to touch her, the way he didn't take no for an answer. And all that old dislike of him deepened into pure loathing. I remembered his face at that gala years ago, the careless way he had bragged about his family's power, about deals his father had secured like toys. I remembered the empty way he had shaken my hand when we filmed that promotion for Han's Corporation. Nothing genuine. Nothing respectful. Just entitlement. And now he had dared—dared—to humiliate Tomi in public. To trap her in a spectacle she didn't ask for. My hands shook with the need to do something. Anything. But for now, all I could do was wait for Tae-ho. And wait for Tomi's phone to come back on. Still, I made a silent promise to myself. If Han Ji-hoon thought he could play with her like one of his spoiled stunts—he was about to learn otherwise.