The cafeteria was loud.
Not chaotic.
Not messy.
Just… full.
Voices layered over each other like background music no one asked for. Trays clattered, chairs scraped, someone laughed too loudly at something that wasn't that funny.
It was the kind of place where everyone looked like they had control over their lives.
Geon didn't.
He stood at the entrance for a second, scanning the crowd like a man trying to locate his destiny.
"…why does it feel like everyone here knows what they're doing," he muttered.
"They don't," Dae-Sung replied calmly. "They are uncivilised, hungry monsters."
"…that's worse."
They grabbed their trays and moved forward.
A table.
Four seats.
Geon dropped into one like he had just survived something.
"I am not ready for today."
"You have not been ready for any day this week."
"Because this week is aggressive."
Dae-Sung considered that.
"…statistically valid."
A moment later—
Seo-Yeon arrived.
No rush.
No hesitation.
She placed her tray down and sat across from Geon, eyes already scanning his face like she was about to diagnose a problem.
"…you look worse than usual," she said.
"…thank you."
Before he could recover—
Another tray landed on the table.
Han Ji-Eun.
Second rank in school.
Topper.
Dae-Sung's academic rival.
Sharp eyes.
Clean posture.
Zero tolerance for nonsense.
She sat down like she had chosen the seat, not the other way around.
"…so," she said casually, looking at Geon,"where is she?"
Geon blinked.
"…who?"
Seo-Yeon leaned forward slightly.
"Your crush."
Silence.
Geon turned slowly.
"…you told them?"
"I didn't have to," Seo-Yeon replied, eating like this was normal.
Dae-Sung nodded.
"Your behavioral pattern is highly predictable. Bro"
"…I hate all of you."
Ji-Eun rested her chin lightly on her hand.
"Point her out."
Geon hesitated.
"…why."
"So we can evaluate."
"…I don't need evaluation."
"You absolutely do," Seo-Yeon said.
"…this is bullying."
"This is support."
"…this feels illegal."
"Point. Her. Out."
Geon sighed.
Deep.
Defeated.
Then slowly—
He raised his hand.
"There."
All three turned.
Yoo Ara.
Across the cafeteria.
Talking.
Laughing.
Completely unaware that a full committee had just been formed to judge her existence.
Ji-Eun leaned back.
"…hmm."
A pause.
"…she's out of your league."
Geon closed his eyes.
"I already heard that today."
Dae-Sung nodded.
"From a reliable source."
"…YOU."
"Yes."
Seo-Yeon tilted her head slightly.
"…but not impossible."
Geon opened one eye.
"…what?"
Ji-Eun looked at her.
"You're encouraging this?"
Seo-Yeon shrugged.
"It's interesting."
Dae-Sung added—
"With strategic guidance, success probability can increase by 12%."
"…TWELVE?? THAT'S IT??"
"Higher than zero."
"…I'm surrounded by psychopaths."
They started eating.
Then—
"Where's Min-Jae?" Seo-Yeon asked.
Geon froze.
Then—
His entire energy shifted.
"Oh—"
And just like that—
He stood up slightly, already halfway into performance mode, hands moving before his brain could organize the story.
"The gate was closing—LIKE THIS—" he said, holding his palms inches apart, slowly bringing them together with dramatic tension, as if the entire fate of humanity depended on those two imaginary doors.
"I was running—full speed—like Olympic level—no, faster—like those slow-motion scenes but in real life—wind in my face, destiny calling, background music playing—"
"You tripped twice," Dae-Sung added calmly, not even looking up from his food.
Geon didn't even pause.
"THAT WAS CONTROLLED FALLING," he snapped, immediately switching demonstration styles. He pointed to the ground, then mimicked a stumble with alarming commitment. "First one—strategic slide—reduced air resistance. Second one—momentum adjustment. I was optimizing speed. Athletes do it all the time."
"They don't," Ji-Eun said flatly.
"They SHOULD," Geon fired back. "You wouldn't understand, this is high-level movement science."
Seo-Yeon was already laughing.
"And then—" Geon leaned forward, lowering his voice like the story had entered its emotional peak, "Min-Jae—POOR GUY—he's outside… sweating… breathing like his lungs resigned mid-run—just standing there, watching his future collapse."
Geon straightened, wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead, then looked off into the distance like a tragic hero.
"I stopped right at the gate—like this—" he froze mid-step, then slowly turned his head with exaggerated precision. He lifted his wrist, checked an invisible watch, narrowed his eyes—
"—and I went…" he leaned slightly forward, face completely serious, "…ha… ha… ha…"
For a second, there was silence.
Then—
Ji-Eun laughed.
Actually laughed.
"…you're ridiculous."
"…but entertaining," Seo-Yeon added, shaking her head.
Geon sat back down, completely satisfied, like a performer who had just received a standing ovation.
"Thank you," he said, picking up his chopsticks like nothing had happened.
The bell rang.
Lunch was over.
They stood.
Still talking.
Still laughing.
And in all that chaos—
Geon forgot something.
On the table.
His keys.
A few minutes later—
Ji-Eun noticed them.
"…his?" she asked.
Seo-Yeon looked down.
Smiled slightly.
"I'll give it to him."
And that—
Was the beginning of the next problem.