“Oh Ha-ni,” he said, not even looking up from his textbook. “Your IQ is probably the same as the room temperature. Focus on passing your exams. Not on me.”
That night, Ha-ni cried into her pillow. But the next morning, Mrs. Baek served her a breakfast of grilled mackerel and rice, winking at her. “Don’t give up,” she whispered. “His shell is hard, but the nut inside is… complicated.”
“Oh, you poor things! You’ll stay with us until it’s fixed,” she declared, her eyes twinkling as they landed on Ha-ni. Playful Kiss -K-Drama-
He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was her old love letter, the origami heart, carefully unfolded. “I took it out of the trash that day,” he confessed, his voice low. “I’ve had it for three years.”
Ha-ni stared at him. The great Baek Seung-jo, the human supercomputer, had kept her messy, misspelled love letter. “Oh Ha-ni,” he said, not even looking up
He didn’t tutor her. He just sat at the other end of the porch, reading a medical journal. But whenever she made a frustrated sound, he’d say, “No. Balance the oxygen atoms first, idiot.” It was brutal. It was efficient. She passed. Not with a high score, but with a solid 72. She’d never been so proud.
Her latest scheme involved a love letter, folded into a perfect origami heart, and delivered with trembling hands during the lunch break. Seung-jo, surrounded by his usual court of admirers, took the heart, glanced at it with the same expression he’d give a mildly interesting bacteria sample, and then dropped it into his empty yogurt container. Not on me
Ha-ni’s old rival, the pretty girl from the roof incident—Yoon Ji-soo—reappeared. She was elegant, smart, and a fellow med student. She pursued Seung-jo with a quiet, sophisticated determination. And for a terrifying month, Seung-jo seemed… receptive. He went to a classical concert with her. He discussed medical journals with her. He looked at her like she was a peer, not a problem to be solved.