The voices grew closer.
Hana's fingers curled into Min-jae's jacket from behind, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her steady. She could feel his back tense—solid, unyielding—as he subtly shifted his stance to block her from view.
Two students passed by the edge of the stage, laughing, unaware of how close they were.
Min-jae waited until their footsteps faded before he spoke again.
"Did you recognize the handwriting?" he asked quietly.
Hana shook her head. "No. But it felt… intentional. Like they wanted to pull me away from you."
Min-jae exhaled slowly. "Then they succeeded."
She flinched. "I'm sorry."
He turned to face her.
"No," he said firmly. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry that someone thought they could use you."
His words settled heavy between them.
The noise of the festival drifted back in—the music, the laughter, the announcements—but it all felt distant now, like they were standing in a space separate from everyone else.
"Hana," Min-jae said, lowering his voice, "from now on, if anything feels wrong—even a little—you tell me. Immediately."
She met his eyes. "What if it causes problems for you?"
A brief, humorless smile crossed his lips. "It already has."
Her heart skipped.
"What do you mean?"
Min-jae looked away, jaw tightening. "People are watching. Teachers. Students. Yuri."
He paused, then added, "I don't care."
Hana stared at him.
"You… don't?"
"No," he repeated. "I'm tired of pretending I don't choose sides."
The weight of his words pressed against her chest.
Before she could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"So this is where you disappeared to."
Yuri stood a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes flicking from Min-jae to Hana and back again.
"The stage was left unattended," she continued. "That's irresponsible for a president."
Min-jae didn't flinch. "I made sure everything was covered."
Yuri's gaze lingered on Hana. "Of course you did."
Hana forced herself to speak. "If there's a problem, it's my fault. I—"
Min-jae stepped slightly in front of her.
"No," he said. "It's not."
Yuri's expression finally cracked.
"You're protecting her now?" she asked quietly. "Right in front of everyone?"
"Yes," Min-jae replied. "Because she deserves it."
Silence.
The kind that stretches too long.
Yuri laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. "You really are crossing lines you can't erase."
"Maybe," Min-jae said. "But at least they're mine."
Yuri looked at Hana one last time.
"Be careful," she said again—but this time, it sounded like a warning meant for both of them.
Then she turned and walked away.
Hana realized she'd been holding her breath only after she exhaled shakily.
Min-jae turned to her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, though her voice trembled. "I think so."
He hesitated—just for a second—then gently took her hand.
Not hiding it.
Not letting go when footsteps passed nearby.
Just holding it.
Hana's heart pounded so loudly she was sure others could hear it.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered. "People will talk."
"I know," he said. "Let them."
She looked at their joined hands, then up at him. "And if it costs you something?"
His grip tightened slightly.
"Then it costs me," he said. "Not you."
The festival lights flickered on as evening settled in, bathing the campus in warm colors.
For the first time, Hana didn't feel like she was standing in someone's shadow.
She felt seen.
Chosen.
And that scared her almost as much as it comforted her.
Because once lines were crossed…
there was no going back.