“You brought a car? Whoa. Freshmen these days are scary, I swear.”

Her startled voice came through the phone.

The preliminary assembly had broken up earlier than I’d expected.

Everyone in group ten swapped cell numbers.

We’d tried to talk about the talent show, but the whole group went tongue-tied. (TL Note: The Korean is “like a fool who ate honey” — a play on the saying “like a mute who ate honey,” for someone who can’t get a single word out.)

They’d all been somebody in high school, but college was new to every one of them.

Everyone except me, the guy living this life for the second time.

Senior Kang A-rin didn’t have a real plan either.

Graduation season was a few days off.

Plenty of the kids had to head back down to their hometowns.

So we settled on this: everyone would come up with an act of their own and text it in.

This was still before group-chat apps like Bander and Kakao Tong had really caught on.

The iPhun was already on sale, but the Andreid camp’s star player, the Ojeong Group’s Galusy 1, doesn’t sweep Korea until 2010.

The Korean government runs interference for the Ojeong Group, nitpicking over things like radio certification.

For the country as a whole, it was a brilliant call, no question.

If the iPhun had taken the whole market back then, the Ojeong Group would have gone to its grave clutching its old flip phones, right alongside Materola and Nakia.

Senior A-rin had gone off with a few of the kids to buy them dinner.

As for me—the Arrogant Mouth—I said I already had plans and promised to come next time.

I knew she’d only called me that to my face because she was spacier and more innocent than she looked.

I didn’t want to hold a grudge over it.

“If I’m that scary, we can make it another time.”

“Whoa… now that’s scary~.”

I can’t stand it when a girl only comes along because she’s been dragged.

There’s a time for push and pull, but not with Son Yu-ri, the art school noona. We weren’t like that.

She was attractive enough to fall for at first sight, but then, so was I.

To love someone madly is to open the relationship already in the red.

Unless both people fall in perfect balance, it’s a losing trade, and I don’t make losing trades.

Even in love, I wanted to be selfish.

“I didn’t bring my car today. Come to Building 50, in the arts complex behind the law school. I’ll be right out~.”

That was the end of the call.

The low afternoon sun had crept across the parking lot.

With dry leaves heaped around it, the law building had a certain charm.

“Sunbae! Buy us drinks!”

“You got it! Invincible Group Three, follow me!”

“Jang-ju sunbae rules!”

Other groups, done with their meetings, came pouring out of every corner of the law school.

The ones with a good-natured or outgoing leader had already gotten close.

Their faces were all big smiles.

“Our group’s talent show starts with a drink under our belts. I know an amazing place.”

“Yes, sunbae!”

One group was already snapping to like recruits.

That’s why the leader matters.

Senior A-rin was never going to pull that off.

Especially since she had no idea she had a wild card in her group—me.

Naive or not, walking up and asking me point-blank if I was the Arrogant Mouth…

Beep beep.

I unlocked the car with the remote.

My car looked like nothing else in the law school lot, so naturally every eye went to it.

“Isn’t that the guy from before?”

“Yeah. He was with us.”

“That’s a Porsche, right?”

“…Maybe he did a repeat year?”

“Ugh, what a jerk… Total show-off.” (TL Note: A repeat-year student is a 재수생, jaesusaeng; 재수 on its own means luck, and 재수 없다, “no luck,” is everyday Korean for “what a jerk.” The second kid turns the first one’s word into the insult.)

The kids had no idea I had donkey ears. (TL Note: From the Korean telling of the Midas story, “the king has donkey ears” — the secret everyone whispers gets out anyway. Having donkey ears means you hear everything said behind your back.)

They were still kids; they didn’t know yet that jealousy is the most dangerous emotion people have.

I’d lived more than thirty years. I was the one who had to let it go. No way around it.

Fighting kids who were only now finishing high school over something like this was a waste of my time.

It was just one of the countless prejudices I’d have to put up with anyway.

I could take it like a vaccine shot.

Next to the working world, that kind of jealousy was about as dangerous as Miss Kim sweet-talking the regulars at the Star Tearoom. (TL Note: The dabang, the old Korean coffee tearoom, had a hostess who flirted with customers to keep the coffee selling, and “Miss Kim” is the stock name for her. “Star Dabang” — Star Tearoom — is also Korean slang for Starbucks.)

I tossed my bag in the back and pulled out.

Vrooooom.

I stepped on the gas, and the car zipped out of the law school lot.

I turned on the heater, but the engine hadn’t warmed up yet, so it only blew cold air.

I switched on the seat heater.

I do know basic manners.

Right around the corner from the law school lot was the arts complex.

It was a cluster of buildings the music school and the art school shared.

It’s famous for borrowing the central courtyard of a hanok.

Unlike the stiff law building, it’s a place where you can feel how freely artists live.

The art school and the music school face each other across it.

I parked in front of Building 50.

Even though it was break, the lot was full.

Sports cars and quirky rides were everywhere—just what you’d expect where sensitive artists live.

You need money to make art.

One look and you could smell it.

So I waited for her.

“!!!”

Then a woman filled my whole field of view.

An art student coming out of the art building, a long portfolio tube slung over her shoulder, her long straight hair streaming behind her.

She had on faded skinny jeans that drew a flawless line down her legs, and a khaki field jacket trimmed with white fur.

The vibe was nothing like when she’d had her cap pulled low.

She glanced around every which way, a bubbly college girl who looked great in sneakers.

I watched her from the car for a moment.

It finally hit me that I was a college student.

No—I was grateful for this moment.

I was an adult now too.

The curse of the youth protection law, which had kept my body on a leash from inside my own head, was coming to an end.

I’m a man too, and I know how to appreciate a beautiful woman.

The dark window tint kept Son Yu-ri from spotting me, so she took out her phone.

Ten meters between us.

I opened the door and got out.

Brrrrrring.

My phone rang right on cue.

She turned toward me as I climbed out of the car.

Ba-dump!

My heart was racing.

What? Freshmen are allowed to drive? And this car… what is this?

Son Yu-ri was thrown.

The canned coffee she’d been hooked on lately came from a machine in the law school, so she’d stopped by the way she always did.

That was where she’d spotted a tall, broad-shouldered guy.

She was tall for a woman, and her ideal type had always been a really tall man.

Because of her height, she’d never even dated.

So the guy standing in the law school lobby caught her eye instantly.

His clothes weren’t bad either.

When he bent down to take his coffee out of the machine, his thighs looked rock solid.

Normally she’d have waited her turn, chic and aloof.

Several law students with guaranteed futures had made a move on her, and she’d shot down every one of them.

But this time she was the one who walked up first.

And then there was his face.

A knockout, too.

Like an idol dripping with masculinity.

And those bottomless dark eyes, sparkling like the hero of a girls’ romance comic.

So she’d worked up her nerve and asked him to buy her a coffee.

She had money on her, but she played innocent.

A woman’s instinct she hadn’t known she had.

They’d talked.

He was different from every guy she’d ever met.

He didn’t fall for her.

Even now, one trip to Gangnam and she’d come home with a handful of entertainment agencies’ business cards.

No man had ever treated her so cool it was practically cold.

She’d been the one who asked for his number.

Backing off would have stung her pride.

And he was a brand-new law freshman, no less.

She’d made up her mind to play the relaxed, seasoned senior and show him a whole new world(?).

And yet…

He’s from money? And a LOT of it!

Not just anyone could pull off a sports car like that.

It didn’t fit conservative Hanguk University at all, let alone a stuffy law student.

For a second, Son Yu-ri floundered.

This was no freshman. One wrong move and she’d be the one getting played—by some guy who knew his way around the clubs.

Meeting her hadn’t fazed him one bit.

His face still reeked of cool.

While she waited, she’d showered in the studio’s shower room and done her makeup with real care, and he didn’t so much as blink at the result.

“After you.”

His manners weren’t bad, at least.

He had the basic courtesy to open the passenger door for her.

“Thanks—ah, thank you.”

She’d meant to pull rank as the older senior from the art school next door and talk to him casually. The plan fell apart.

It didn’t feel like talking to someone two years her junior. It felt like facing someone years her senior.

He even had the seat heater on… thoughtful, huh?

Something told her this law student had handled more than one or two women.

Wait—am I the one getting played here?

The passenger seat was cushy and held her just right. As Son Yu-ri sank into it, the worry set in.

Her friends and the magazines both said bad boys always start out nice.

Her family had been strict all through high school, so she’d been single since birth, and all kinds of thoughts flashed through her head.

“Please fasten your seatbelt.”

“Huh? Oh—okay.”

He didn’t lean across her like a guy in a drama pretending to buckle it for her.

Steadying herself, she buckled up.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Granny Kkotsuni’s Sundae.”

“All right.”

What? Does he live around here? He knows that place?

Granny Kkotsuni’s Sundae was famous as the Hanguk University students’ hangout.

The granny who ran it made no secret of treating them better than regular customers.

She’d only said the name, and Jang Tae-san pulled out right away.

He didn’t even glance at the GPS.

Not asking for directions wasn’t bluster.

He knew exactly where he was going.

Why is he such a good driver? Is he really a freshman? Did he do a repeat year? Two?

His driving was close to flawless.

No sudden acceleration, no jackrabbit starts.

The car glided down the road without a single jolt.

This car didn’t drive that smoothly for just anyone.

She drove a Porsche herself, so she knew.

Sports cars had twitchy steering and touchy engines, and they took extra care to drive.

The truth was, Son Yu-ri had brought her car to school.

But when Jang Tae-san said he had a car, she’d told him she didn’t.

She’d figured he’d shown up in his dad’s car, or some Korean compact at best.

But… this was Porsche’s top-of-the-line model.

“You drive well. How long have you been driving?”

“Since winter break of my senior year of high school. Last year.”

“Oh… senior year… wait, what? High school???”

Son Yu-ri had gone to a co-ed high school, and nobody there drove their own car.

It wasn’t in the school rules, but everyone understood that high school kids just didn’t drive.

At that age, only punks bragged about taking their dad’s car out without a license.

And now a brazen little high school senior was sitting right next to her.

“Under Korean law, anyone eighteen or older can drive.”

He was scarily good at reading her.

“…”

She knew that! But what high school kid drove around in a car like this?!

“Is this car in your name?”

“Yes.”

What family is he from?! A sports car worth over a hundred million won, for a kid(?)!

Son Yu-ri ran through everything she knew, trying to think of any rich family’s son or grandson who’d applied to Hanguk University law lately.

Her mom was Gangnam’s gossip hotline; there was hardly anything she hadn’t passed along.

But the only Hanguk University law student with conglomerate ties she knew of was Oh Dong-seong.

Even Oh Dong-seong, Gangnam’s most notorious hellion, hadn’t started driving to school until halfway through his first year.

Other than that piece of garbage, there was no one—not among the conglomerate families she knew, not among the Gangnam rich.

“Where do you live?”

“In a city outside Seoul. Not far from here.”

“Your parents must be pretty well off.”

“My father grows apples.”

“Oh~ apples~ So it’s a big farm?”

Son Yu-ri pictured a hundred thousand pyeong, at least.

That was about what it would take to buy your son a supercar.

“Well… it’s on the big side for the area. But they’re organic apples, so they don’t sell very well.”

Organic apples? That don’t sell? Then where does a Porsche come from?

“What does your mother do?”

“She’s a housewife who paints.”

“A housewife…”

Where did he get the nerve to call his mom a housewife, just like that?

“Then who bought you this car? Isn’t it expensive?”

She asked with a perfectly innocent face.

He met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I’m self-made.”

“What??? S-self-made?!”

(End of Chapter 81)