Monday morning running club felt like returning to normal after a weekend of emotional whiplash.
I showed up at the usual spot to find Bok-Jin already warming up, and when he saw me, he smiled in a way that made the 6 AM wake-up almost worth it.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning. You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well be productive about my insomnia."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just thinking about my presentation. And other things." He glanced at me. "How are you feeling? After yesterday?"
"Better. Still frustrated, but better."
Ji-Yeon bounced over before I could elaborate. "Unnie! Are you coming to the club social next week?"
"What club social?"
"We're doing a potluck dinner Wednesday after the run. Everyone's bringing food and we're just hanging out. It'll be fun!"
I looked at Bok-Jin, who shrugged. "First I'm hearing about it too."
"Min-Ho just decided it this morning," Ji-Yeon said, pointing to the club president who was making announcements. "He thinks we need more team bonding."
"I can probably make it," I said. "What should I bring?"
"Anything! We're keeping it casual. Just food and good vibes."
She bounced away to tell other people, and Bok-Jin looked amused.
"She has a lot of energy for 6 AM."
"She has a lot of energy, period. It's exhausting just watching her."
We started the run, falling into our familiar rhythm. The morning was crisp and clear, perfect weather, and for three miles I could forget about LEET scores and family pressure and just exist in the movement.
"So," Bok-Jin said as we rounded the library, "I was thinking."
"Dangerous."
"About your LEET prep. You said logic games are your weakness, right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"I'm good at logic puzzles. I used to do them for fun in high school. If you want, I could help you practice. Not teaching—I don't know the LEET format—but just as a study partner. Fresh eyes might help."
"You want to spend your free time doing LEET logic games with me?"
"I want to help. If that means logic games, then yes."
I thought about it. Having someone else there might actually help—force me to explain my reasoning out loud, catch mistakes I wouldn't notice alone.
"Okay. Yeah. That would be helpful."
"Tuesday evening? After your LEET class?"
"I get out at nine. That's late."
"I'm a night owl. Nine is fine."
"Okay. Tuesday at nine. Library?"
"It's a date. A study date. A logic puzzle date."
"You're overthinking the word 'date' again."
"It's a habit at this point."
Constitutional Law II was a welcome distraction from LEET anxiety.
Professor Kwon was discussing judicial deference to agency expertise—exactly the topic of my paper. I took detailed notes, asked questions, and felt engaged in a way that reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place.
After class, Seung-Ho caught up with me.
"Your paper's due Friday, right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Mine too. Want to do one final review session? Thursday afternoon? Make sure we're both solid before submitting."
I studied him, looking for the angle. But he seemed genuine—just another student wanting feedback before a major deadline.
"Sure. Library at 4?"
"See you then."
He walked away, and I stood there processing. Seung-Ho actively seeking collaborative study sessions. Character development was real.
My library shift that afternoon was quiet—perfect for working on my paper. I was deep in editing my conclusion when Ji-Won dropped into the chair across from me.
"You look stressed," she observed.
"Just finalizing a paper. It's due Friday."
"The environmental law one you've been working on all semester?"
"That's the one."
"I'm sure it's great. You're always so thorough."
"Thorough doesn't always mean good."
"In academia it usually does." She pulled out her own laptop. "Want company while you work? I have my own paper to finish."
"Yeah, sure. Misery loves company."
We worked in comfortable silence for the next two hours—her on her literature analysis, me on my constitutional law argument. Around 5 PM, my phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: Business strategy presentation went well. Professor said my revisions were "significantly improved." Thank you again for your help.
Me: Told you you'd be fine.
Bok-Jin: You're very smart and I'm very grateful. Dinner this week?
Me: Wednesday after running club? There's a potluck thing.
Bok-Jin: Perfect. I'll bring something that won't embarrass me.
Me: The bar is low. Just don't bring convenience store kimbap.
Bok-Jin: I would never. I have some dignity.
I smiled at my phone, and Ji-Won noticed.
"Boyfriend?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"You two seem happy."
"We are. It's new but good."
"That's nice. Relationships in university are either disasters or surprisingly functional. Sounds like you got the functional kind."
"Surprisingly functional. That's a ringing endorsement."
"In college? That's basically a fairy tale."
Tuesday evening LEET prep was focused entirely on logical reasoning—the section where I was closest to my target score.
Professor Jung had us working in pairs, taking turns explaining our reasoning out loud. The theory was that if you could explain why an answer was correct, you understood it well enough to replicate the process.
I was paired with Tae-Min, who was brilliant at logical reasoning but terrible at reading comprehension.
"Okay, this one," he said, pointing at a practice question. "The argument assumes that correlation implies causation. The author says 'crime rates dropped after the new policy was implemented, therefore the policy caused the drop.' But there could be other factors."
"Right. Economic changes, demographic shifts, other policies enacted simultaneously."
"Exactly. So the flaw is insufficient evidence for the causal claim."
We worked through twenty questions like this—explaining, questioning, teaching each other. By the end of class, I felt sharper.
After class, I met Bok-Jin at our usual study spot.
"Ready for logic games?" he asked, pulling out printed LEET practice sheets.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
He'd actually prepared—printed out games, brought scratch paper, set up his laptop with the answer key. It was unexpectedly thoughtful.
"Okay, start with this one," he said, sliding a paper toward me. "Talk me through your process."
I read the game setup—six people, three teams, various restrictions. Started sketching possible configurations.
"So I'm testing scenarios," I explained. "If Person A is on Team 1, then Person B can't be on Team 1 because of the restriction. That means Person B is on Team 2 or 3. If they're on Team 2, then..."
"Stop," he said. "You're jumping too far ahead. You went from 'Person B is on Team 2' to a conclusion without showing me the middle steps."
"But I can see the middle steps in my head."
"Right, but on the actual test, if you skip steps, you make mistakes. Slow down. Show every deduction."
I tried again, this time articulating every logical step. It was slower but more careful.
"Better," he said. "Now finish the question."
By the third game, I was starting to see the pattern in my errors—I was making intuitive leaps without checking my logic. Trusting my instincts was good for speed, but I needed to verify those instincts were actually correct.
"This is helpful," I admitted around 10 PM. "Annoying, but helpful."
"That's my brand. Annoying but helpful." He stretched. "Want to do one more?"
"My brain is fried. Can we stop?"
"Yeah, of course." He started packing up the practice sheets. "Same time next week?"
"You really want to spend Tuesday evenings doing LEET games with me?"
"I really want to help you get into the law school you want. If that means LEET games, then yes."
Something warm settled in my chest. "Thank you. Seriously."
"You'd do the same for me."
"I literally did. Last Saturday with your business presentation."
"Exactly. We help each other. That's how this works."
He walked me home, and we stopped in our usual spot outside my building.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "For working this hard. For not giving up even when it's frustrating."
"I can't give up. Too much is riding on this."
"I know. But still. You could choose easier paths, and you don't. That takes courage."
"Or stubbornness."
"Courage and stubbornness look very similar from the outside."
He kissed me goodnight—soft and sweet and perfect—and I went upstairs feeling lighter than I had in days.
Wednesday running club was chaotic because everyone was stressed about the potluck that evening.
"What did you bring?" Ji-Yeon asked me during warm-ups.
"Japchae. My mom's recipe."
"Homemade? That's so impressive!"
"It's just noodles and vegetables. Very basic."
"Still counts as impressive."
Bok-Jin had brought kimchi jjigae—"I didn't make it, I bought it from my favorite restaurant and I'm not pretending otherwise"—which was honestly smart.
After the run, we helped set up tables in the campus courtyard. People brought everything from elaborate homemade dishes to convenience store kimbap (despite Bok-Jin's earlier judgment), and the atmosphere was relaxed and happy.
"This is nice," I said to Bok-Jin as we sat with our plates of food. "Just being normal college students doing normal things."
"No business networking or family pressure or test anxiety?"
"Exactly. Just food and friends and not performing for anyone."
Min-Ho, the club president, stood up to make a toast. "To the best running club at SNU! And to all of you for being here even though we make you wake up at ungodly hours!"
Everyone cheered.
Ji-Yeon ended up sitting with us, along with a few other underclassmen. They were talking about their classes, their struggles, their plans for the future, and I felt oddly maternal listening to them.
"You're good with them," Bok-Jin observed quietly. "The younger students. They look up to you."
"I just remember being a lost freshman. It's not that long ago."
"Still. Not everyone bothers to help."
After we ate, people started sharing running stories—embarrassing moments, personal records, the time someone accidentally ran the entire course backwards. It was easy and warm and exactly what I needed.
Around 8 PM, people started trickling away to study or sleep or whatever responsible things college students did on Wednesday nights.
Bok-Jin and I helped clean up, then walked home slowly.
"I liked tonight," he said. "Seeing you relaxed. Happy."
"I liked it too. We should do normal things more often."
"Define normal."
"I don't know. Movies? Arcade? Existing without pressure?"
"That sounds perfect. This weekend?"
"I have LEET practice test Sunday, but Saturday I'm free."
"Saturday, then. I'll plan something aggressively normal."
At my building, we stopped and he kissed me goodnight. When I went upstairs, I found both roommates in the living room.
"How was the potluck?" Min-Ji asked.
"Good. Really good, actually. Just normal college socializing."
"Look at you, having a social life. Character development."
"I've always had a social life."
"You've always had us. That's different from actively participating in campus events."
"Fair point."
Yoo-Na looked up from her laptop. "Speaking of campus events, there's a business school networking thing next month. My father wants me to go. Want to come as moral support?"
"Another networking event?"
"I know, I know. But this one is students only—no parents, no executives. Just people our age pretending to be professionals."
"That actually sounds better than the last one."
"It is better. Plus, free food and I won't have to fend off Min-Woo's advances alone."
"Is he still trying?"
"He texted me today asking if I wanted to 'grab coffee and discuss market trends.' I said I was busy for the foreseeable future."
"Bold strategy."
"I'm hoping he takes the hint eventually."
Thursday afternoon I met Seung-Ho for our final paper review session.
He'd actually done significant revision work—his argument was tighter, his evidence was stronger, and his conclusion tied everything together coherently.
"This is really good," I said, reading through his draft. "Professor Kwon's going to love it."
"Thanks to your feedback last week. The Overton Park point was crucial."
We went through my paper next, and he offered surprisingly insightful comments about tightening my analysis and strengthening my conclusion.
"You're arguing for heightened scrutiny," he said, "but you need to be clearer about what that standard actually looks like in practice. Give concrete examples of how courts would apply it."
"That's a good point. I can add a section on hypothetical application."
We worked through both papers for ninety minutes, and by the end, both were significantly stronger.
"You know," I said as we packed up, "I didn't expect this to be genuinely helpful."
"Because you thought I'd sabotage you again?"
"The thought crossed my mind."
"Fair. But I've decided sabotage is too much work. Competing on actual merit is easier."
"Character growth. I'm impressed."
"Don't get too impressed. I'm still going to try to beat your grade."
"I'd expect nothing less."
He left, and I sat there for a moment processing. Seung-Ho as a study partner instead of an enemy. It was weird but not bad-weird.
My phone buzzed.
Bok-Jin: How'd the study session go?
Me: Surprisingly productive. Seung-Ho is apparently capable of being helpful.
Bok-Jin: Character development. The world is changing.
Me: Very slowly, but yes.
Bok-Jin: Want to call tonight? Or are you too buried in paper revisions?
Me: Call. Always call.
That night, after I'd made Seung-Ho's suggested revisions and finalized my paper, I called Bok-Jin.
"Hey," he answered. "How's the paper?"
"Done. Submitted. I'm free until LEET consumes my life again."
"How are you feeling about Saturday's LEET test?"
"Nervous. Hopeful? I've been doing better on the practice games. Maybe it'll translate to the full test."
"It will. You've been working so hard."
"Working hard doesn't always mean succeeding."
"No, but it increases the odds significantly." He paused. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"I really admire you. The way you keep pushing even when things are hard. I don't think I could do what you're doing."
"You absolutely could. You just haven't had to."
"Maybe. But still. You're impressive."
"You're biased."
"Biased and correct." I heard him moving around, probably getting ready for bed. "What are you doing this weekend? Besides LEET suffering?"
"Saturday I'm yours. Whatever aggressively normal activity you plan."
"Perfect. I have ideas."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if you're worried about having fun."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's meant to sound mysterious."
"You're very dramatic."
"You love it."
"I really do."
We talked for another hour about nothing important—his business classes, my constitutional law paper, Min-Ji's vet school stories, the weather. The kind of conversation that was really just an excuse to hear each other's voices.
When we finally hung up, I felt settled. Calm. Ready for whatever came next.
One more practice test on Sunday. Then two more weeks until LEET.
I could do this.