The last month of spring semester felt like exhaling after holding my breath all year.
With the LEET behind me and my finals mostly finished, I had actual free time. It was disorienting.
"You keep looking around like you're forgetting something," Min-Ji observed one morning as I ate breakfast without simultaneously reviewing flashcards.
"I am forgetting something. I just don't know what."
"You're not forgetting anything. You're just not used to having downtime."
"It feels wrong."
"That's because you're a workaholic. Learn to enjoy relaxation. It's a valuable life skill."
She had a point.
Wednesday morning running club had become my favorite part of the week again—just moving without my brain spinning about logic games or reading comprehension strategies.
"You're faster," Bok-Jin observed as we ran. "Without the LEET stress weighing you down."
"I feel lighter. Like I can actually breathe."
"It's a good look on you. Happiness."
We rounded the library and I realized he was right—I was happy. Genuinely, uncomplicated happy. When was the last time I'd felt like this?
After the run, Min-Ho made announcements about the club competition in three weeks.
"10K timed run," he said. "Saturday morning, two weeks from now. We'll have age groups and ability levels, so everyone has a chance to compete. Sign up by Friday if you're interested."
"You should do it," Bok-Jin said as we stretched.
"Maybe. I haven't done a real competition since high school."
"Exactly. It could be fun. No pressure, just running."
"I'll think about it."
Ji-Yeon bounced over. "Unnie, are you signing up for the competition?"
"Considering it."
"You should! I'm doing it! It'll be fun even if we're not fast."
"You're fast," I said. "You've improved so much since the beginning of semester."
"Really? You think so?"
"Definitely. You're keeping up with people who've been running for years."
She beamed. "Okay, now I'm definitely signing up. And you should too!"
After she left, Bok-Jin looked amused. "You're good with her. The mentoring thing."
"She's enthusiastic. It's hard not to encourage enthusiasm."
"Still. Not everyone bothers." He checked his watch. "Want to grab breakfast? I don't have class until 11."
"Yeah, let me shower first. Meet you at that pancake place in an hour?"
"Perfect."
An hour later, clean and dressed, I met Bok-Jin at the pancake place near campus. It was a small spot that made massive American-style pancakes and served coffee in huge mugs.
"Okay, real talk," he said after we'd ordered. "What are your plans for summer?"
"I don't know yet. I need to work—build up savings. But I also want to actually have a summer for once."
"What does 'have a summer' mean?"
"I don't know. Normal summer things? Beach? Hiking? Existing without constant academic pressure?"
"Revolutionary."
"I know, right?" I took a sip of coffee. "What about you? What are your summer plans?"
His expression shifted slightly. "My father wants me to intern at Hansung. Corporate strategy division. Learn the business from the inside."
"And you don't want to?"
"I don't know what I want. He's been pressuring me about it since last summer. Says it's time I 'take my responsibilities seriously.'"
"That sounds like a quote."
"It's exactly a quote. He says it at least once a week." He played with his coffee mug. "The thing is, I don't know if I want to work for the family company. But I also don't know what else I'd do. Business strategy is fine, I guess. It's just not... exciting."
"What would be exciting?"
"I don't know. That's the problem. I'm good at business. My grades are good. But I don't feel passionate about it the way you feel passionate about environmental law."
"Not everyone has to be passionate about their career. Some people just want stability."
"But do I want stability, or do I want my father's approval? Those aren't the same thing."
I reached across the table and took his hand. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. You're twenty-two. You're allowed to not know."
"Says the person who's had their career path planned since freshman year."
"My career path is planned because I didn't have the luxury of uncertainty. But you do have that luxury. Use it."
He squeezed my hand. "When did you become so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You're just now noticing."
"Fair point."
Our pancakes arrived—absurdly large stacks with butter and syrup. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, and I thought about summer.
Three months without classes. Three months where I could work, save money, and actually have a life.
Three months with Bok-Jin without the constant pressure of academic deadlines.
It sounded perfect.
Thursday afternoon I met with Professor Kwon to finalize my recommendation letter details.
"I'll need a few more details about your law school interests," she said, pulling up a form. "Specifically, why environmental law? What drew you to this specialty?"
I thought about how to articulate it. "I like that environmental law has real-world impact. Regulations affect entire ecosystems, not just individual cases. And I like the challenge of balancing development with conservation—finding solutions that work for everyone."
"That's a good answer. Sophisticated but practical." She made notes. "What do you want to do after law school? Corporate environmental compliance? Government regulatory work? Nonprofit?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure yet. Maybe a mix of things. I want options."
"That's wise. Keep your options open." She looked up from her notes. "You're aware that environmental law jobs are competitive? The nonprofit sector especially?"
"I know. But I'm willing to work for it."
"I don't doubt that. You're one of the hardest-working students I've taught." She closed her laptop. "The paper award results will be announced next week, by the way. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you won."
I stared at her. "I won?"
"You won. The committee was unanimous. The award comes with a small monetary prize and publication in the student law journal."
"That's... that's incredible. Thank you."
"You earned it. Your analysis was thorough, your argument was compelling, and your writing was clear. Those are the fundamentals of good legal work." She smiled slightly. "You're going to do well in law school, Ms. Han. I have no doubt."
Walking out of her office, I felt like I was floating.
Paper award. Strong LEET score. Solid grades. Professor Kwon's confidence.
Maybe I actually had a shot at this.
That evening, I met Yoo-Na and Min-Ji for dinner at our favorite cheap restaurant near campus.
"Okay, summer plans," Yoo-Na said after we'd ordered. "I start my internship June 1st. My father's company. Nine weeks of corporate hell."
"That bad?" I asked.
"It's not bad, it's just... suffocating. Everyone knows I'm the boss's daughter. Everything I do is scrutinized. And Min-Woo's going to be there too."
"Still not taking no for an answer?"
"He thinks persistence is attractive. It's exhausting." She turned to Min-Ji. "What about you? Vet school summer plans?"
"Clinical rotations at an animal hospital. Sixty-hour weeks dealing with sick pets and neurotic owners. Should be fun."
"That's a lot of hours."
"Vet school is a lot of everything." She looked at me. "Ji-Mang?"
"I need to find work. Build up savings for fourth year. But I also want to not work every waking hour for once."
"Revolutionary," Yoo-Na said, echoing Bok-Jin's earlier comment.
"Everyone keeps saying that. Is it really that unusual for me to want work-life balance?"
"For you? Yes," Min-Ji said. "You've spent three years in constant achievement mode. Taking a breath is character growth."
"I feel like everyone's therapist lately."
"You earned it by being impossible to help for three years."
"Rude but accurate."
Our food arrived, and we ate while planning logistics. The apartment lease ran through August, so we'd all be around Seoul for summer. Different schedules, but at least we'd still see each other.
"We should do something fun before summer jobs eat our lives," Yoo-Na suggested. "A trip? Beach weekend?"
"I'm broke until I find summer work," I said.
"So we do something cheap. Camping? Day trip to the coast?"
"I've never been camping," Min-Ji said.
"Never?"
"I'm a city kid. The outdoors is where Wi-Fi goes to die."
"Then we're definitely going camping. It's decided. Last weekend of May, before everyone starts their summer obligations."
"This feels like a terrible idea," I said.
"The best ideas always do."
Friday morning I woke up to an email from the law school department.
Subject: Outstanding Paper Award - Congratulations
Even though Professor Kwon had told me, seeing it in writing made it real.
I'd won.
There was a ceremony next Thursday—a small reception where they'd present the award and I'd say a few words about my paper.
My phone buzzed. Bok-Jin.
Bok-Jin: Running club in 30 minutes. You coming?
Me: Yeah. Also I won the paper award.
Bok-Jin: WHAT! That's amazing! Congratulations!
Me: Professor Kwon told me yesterday but I just got the official email.
Bok-Jin: We're celebrating. Immediately after running club. No arguments.
Me: I have to shower after running club.
Bok-Jin: Then we celebrate after you shower. This is happening.
At running club, I was distracted and unfocused, my brain spinning with the news.
"What's going on?" Bok-Jin asked during our run. "You're somewhere else today."
"Just processing. The paper award is real. They want me to speak at a ceremony."
"You're going to give a speech?"
"Apparently. In front of law professors and other students."
"You'll be great. You know your material better than anyone."
"What if I freeze? What if I sound stupid?"
"You literally just got 166 on the LEET. You're incapable of sounding stupid."
"That's not how it works."
"It's exactly how it works. Stop looking for reasons to doubt yourself."
After the run, Bok-Jin dragged me to the fancy bakery near campus—the one that sold expensive pastries we usually avoided.
"This is too much," I said as he ordered two slices of cake and fancy coffee.
"It's a paper award. That deserves cake."
"It's just a student paper."
"It's a unanimous decision from a committee of law professors who think your work is publication-worthy. That's not 'just' anything."
We sat by the window with our cake, and I tried to let myself feel accomplished.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked.
"Always."
"I keep waiting for someone to tell me it's a mistake. That I didn't actually win, or the LEET score was wrong, or I'm not actually good enough for any of this."
"That's imposter syndrome. Classic overachiever problem."
"I know what it is. Doesn't make it go away."
"No, but recognizing it helps. You earned everything you've achieved. Your LEET score, your grades, this award. All of it. Nobody's going to take it away because you deserve it."
I took a bite of cake and tried to believe him.
"Fourth year is going to be different," I said. "I'm going to actually enjoy it instead of just surviving."
"I'm holding you to that."
"Good. Hold me accountable."
"Oh, I will. Aggressively."
That weekend, Yoo-Na organized our camping trip planning session.
"Okay, logistics," she said, pulling up a map on her laptop. "There's a campsite two hours outside Seoul. Cheap, decent facilities, near a lake."
"How cheap?" I asked.
"Like, cost of two meals cheap."
"Sold."
"Great. Now we need supplies. Tents, sleeping bags, food, bug spray."
"I have a tent," Min-Ji said. "My brother used to camp. I can borrow his stuff."
"I can handle food," I offered. "If someone else deals with cooking equipment."
"I'll get the cooking stuff," Yoo-Na said. "My father has camping gear somewhere. He went through a phase."
We spent two hours planning what should have taken twenty minutes, but it was fun. Frivolous planning for something that wasn't academic or career-related.
My phone buzzed. The LEET study group chat.
Su-Jin: Anyone want to meet up next week? I'm going crazy with nothing to do.
Tae-Min: Yes! I need human interaction that isn't my parents asking about my future.
Min-Seo: I'm working but I can do evening. Tuesday?
Me: Tuesday works for me.
Su-Jin: Great! Same café as last time? 7 PM?
We all agreed, and I felt grateful for people who understood the specific anxiety of waiting a year to find out if your plans work out.
That evening, Bok-Jin called.
"Hey, so about summer," he said. "I talked to my father. I'm doing the internship."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Resigned? It's three months. I can handle three months. And maybe it'll help me figure out if I actually want to work for the company long-term."
"That's a good attitude."
"I'm trying. The positive thing is I'll still be in Seoul. So we can still see each other."
"That is positive. I was worried you'd disappear for the whole summer."
"Not disappearing. Just working a lot. But nights and weekends should be free."
"Good. Because I have plans that involve you."
"What kind of plans?"
"Normal couple plans. Movies. Dinners. Existing together without stress."
"That sounds perfect."
We talked for another hour about nothing important—his roommate's terrible cooking, Min-Ji's latest vet school horror story, the running club competition coming up.
Normal things. Easy things.
The kind of conversation that reminded me life was more than just achievements and stress.
Monday morning I signed up for the running club competition.
"Excellent," Min-Ho said, checking my name off. "We need our fast runners. You'll be in the advanced women's category."
"That sounds intimidating."
"You'll do great. You've been consistently fast all semester."
Bok-Jin signed up too, and Ji-Yeon, and about twenty other club members. The competition was becoming a real event.
"Want to train together?" Bok-Jin asked after the run. "Leading up to the competition?"
"Like, actual training? With strategy?"
"Why not? Make it fun. Push ourselves."
"Okay. Yeah. That could be fun."
And it was fun. We started running four times a week instead of three, adding speed work and longer distances. Not because we had to, but because we wanted to.
Because running had stopped being just stress relief and started being something I actually enjoyed.
By the end of the week, I felt stronger. Faster. More present in my body than I'd been in months.
Thursday evening was the paper award ceremony.
I wore the blazer Yoo-Na had bought me for the networking event and tried not to throw up from nerves.
Professor Kwon introduced me, listing my accomplishments in a way that made me sound far more impressive than I felt.
"Ms. Han's paper on heightened judicial scrutiny for irreversible environmental harm represents the kind of rigorous analysis we hope to see from all our students," she said. "Her work demonstrates both theoretical understanding and practical application. We're proud to award her this year's outstanding paper award."
I walked to the front of the room and accepted the award—a certificate and a check for 500,000 won.
Then I had to give my speech.
I looked at the crowd—professors, students, a few family members. Bok-Jin in the back row giving me an encouraging smile.
"Thank you," I started. "I honestly didn't expect this when I chose my paper topic. I just wanted to write about something I cared about—finding ways to protect the environment through smarter legal frameworks. This award means a lot, not just because it's recognition, but because it confirms that environmental law is worth pursuing. That trying to make systemic change through legal work is possible. So thank you for seeing value in this work. I'm excited to continue developing these ideas in law school."
Short, simple, genuine.
People clapped. Professor Kwon looked pleased. I didn't throw up.
Success.
Afterwards, Bok-Jin found me immediately.
"You were perfect," he said. "Confident, clear, exactly the right length."
"I was terrified."
"It didn't show. You looked completely professional."
"Good. That's what I was going for." I showed him the check. "Look. Actual money for writing a paper."
"That's incredible. What are you going to do with it?"
"Savings. For fourth year expenses."
"Very practical."
"I'm a practical person."
"You really are."
We went to dinner with my roommates to celebrate—nothing fancy, just our favorite cheap restaurant and good company.
"To Ji-Mang," Yoo-Na said, raising her soju glass. "Who keeps collecting achievements like they're going out of style."
"To achievements," Min-Ji added. "And to finally having time to celebrate them."
We drank, and I felt something settle in my chest.
I was doing it. Actually building the life I wanted.
One achievement at a time.