The doorbell rang, and I jolted out of half-sleep.
My eyes still felt heavy. I rubbed at them automatically and yawned wide.
"Who is bothering people this early? If it's that neighbor kid messing around again, I'm reporting him."
I forced my eyes open.
Morning light was already slanting from the window across the floor.
The clock on my nightstand read 5:50.
"Ugh."
I jumped out of bed.
I opened the door halfway while trying to smooth my hair down.
Alan stood there—neat, fresh, and calm—while I still smelled like sleep.
"You're not ready yet?"
"I overslept! Give me a second, I need to change!" I shouted, already turning back inside.
Random pants. Wrinkled T-shirt. Committee jacket. Name tag.
My fingers were moving faster than my brain.
I almost dropped my phone while grabbing my bag.
By the time I came out of the room, Alan was coming from the kitchen with a paper bag in his hand.
We rushed downstairs and into the car, both of us still breathing too fast.
"Ugh, we're definitely late," I muttered, on the verge of tears.
"Here. Eat first."
I took the sandwich from him like it was a life preserver.
My first bite was too big, and I swallowed it half in a panic.
Alan smiled a little—somewhere between sympathy and barely held-back laughter.
"Last night, I offered to leave at four and you turned me down. That was me trying to give you time to get ready."
I clicked my tongue, feeling stupid. "How was I supposed to know I'd oversleep? I swear I only took a vitamin last night."
"Vitamins don't make you sleepy."
"Maybe I grabbed the wrong one. Ugh. What a disaster."
"It's fine." Alan kept his eyes on the road. "Buckle up, I'm going to floor it."
He pushed down on the accelerator.
The car shot forward, slipping between other vehicles.
The tires squealed—short and sharp.
I yelped and grabbed my seatbelt.
My heart was bouncing around like I was on a roller coaster, except here one bad move could actually kill us.
Beside me, Alan stayed calm.
His hands turned the wheel lightly, shifted gears smoothly, and his eyes stayed focused without even looking strained.
Like someone who already knew the road by heart.
And within minutes, we were there.
By 6:05, the committee was already gathered in front of the stage.
I slipped into the middle of the group, trying to look like I'd been there the whole time.
The committee chair started talking—motivation, task assignments, the usual speech about making sure nothing got missed.
I nodded when appropriate.
My fingers were still trembling, not from the cold but from the leftover adrenaline of Alan's driving.
Mental note for today: never ask Alan to speed again.
Once was enough.
I'd rather not end up permanently traumatized.
The briefing wasn't even twenty minutes long.
As soon as we were dismissed, everyone split off to their stations.
I went into the hall, opened my locker, and took out my camera.
Strap tightened around my neck.
Spare battery? Check.
Memory card? Check.
Walkie-talkie? On.
Checklist? Tucked into my back pocket.
"Lin! Don't forget to stop by later, okay?"
"Okay. I'm doing a full loop first."
Marina waved from the hall entrance, but two equipment crew members were already dragging her away.
She still managed to laugh before disappearing down the corridor—carrying a coil of cable that was absurdly long.
I lifted my camera and headed toward the festival grounds.
I'd only taken a few steps when someone called out from the side of the path.
"You're Alina, right?"
I turned.
A guy in a judo uniform held out his hand, smiling easily.
"Yuki Haneda. Alan's classmate."
"Oh—hi." I shook his hand. "Are you performing today?"
"Yeah. Around nine."
Yuki looked at me like he was weighing something.
"So... what do you think of Alan?"
"Why are you asking me that out of nowhere?"
"No special reason." He shrugged. "It's just... Alan's been different since he met you."
Something in my chest loosened.
So it wasn't only obvious to me.
Yuki shifted a little, like he was finding a better position for the story he wanted to tell.
"I remember how it started," he said.
"In class, Alan was basically a ghost," Yuki said. "Head down. Half slouched. We could never tell if he was asleep or just didn't care."
"And then?"
"That day was different." Yuki raised a finger, suddenly serious. "He sat up straight. No phone. No doodling. He just tapped his fingertips lightly on the desk—like... he was actually there. The professor asked about routing protocols," he went on, slipping into an impression, "the difference between static and dynamic."
"Like always," Yuki added quickly, "the whole room went silent. Dead quiet."
"And Alan answered?"
Yuki nodded. "Before the professor even called on anyone. He answered. Calm, but clean. He said, 'Dynamic is like city traffic during rush hour, sir.'"
"I actually turned and stared at him," Yuki said with a laugh. "I was like, 'Alan? Who are you and what have you done with the real Alan?'"
"The professor smiled," he continued. "Then asked, 'You're different today. What's going on?'"
Yuki leaned forward a little and copied Alan's flat tone.
"Alan said, 'Nothing major, sir. I'm just... in love.'"
"He seriously said that?"
"Yep. The whole class exploded." Yuki lifted both shoulders. "Everybody laughed. The professor joked, 'If love can make students smarter, I pray all of you fall in love soon.' Then somebody yelled, 'Love makes people stupid!' and someone else shouted back, 'Love is blind! Alan's got it bad!'"
He let out a short breath. "I thought the same thing, honestly. I figured Alan's change was temporary. Just some love-struck high."
"But he stayed consistent," Yuki said, and this time there was no teasing in his voice. "He kept paying attention in class. If a discussion got heated, he didn't cut people off—he waited for a pause, then spoke. And when he did, his arguments were solid. People had to listen."
Yuki looked at the floor for a moment, then back at me.
"We even tried to drag him back to the bar—like before. Thought maybe we'd get the old Alan back."
"But he said no?"
"Yeah." Yuki nodded. "He just said, 'I made a promise. I'm not drinking.' That was it."
Yuki let out a quiet breath. "And somehow after that... we all started respecting him more."
He looked at me more directly.
"I always knew Alan had the brains for it. That was never the issue. The problem was his attitude—like he was stuck in that rebellious-teen phase and had no direction. Now he actually looks like he means it," Yuki said with a faint smile. "So yeah, I think you deserve a thank-you, Alina."
Hearing all that, I went quiet.
Like I'd just discovered another version of Alan—the version people saw in class.
"Seriously, thank you," Yuki said, lowering his voice. "There was a time when I was honestly scared he was going to get expelled."
I shook my head quickly. "I didn't do anything. He's the one who's always helping me."
"That's exactly what I mean," Yuki said, raising a finger. "You may not realize what kind of effect you're having. I'm just asking—keep looking out for him."
I was about to answer when a familiar voice cut in.
"Alina."
I turned.
Alan was walking toward us—unhurried, neat, same as always.
"Want to go somewhere after the festival?" he asked simply.
Yuki snorted. "You're not inviting me?"
Alan glanced at me. "Why would I? I want to go with Alina."
"Wow. After everything we've been through? We used to go everywhere as a group. And now you've abandoned me completely. Traitor."
"You sound exhausting."
"Fine. Then the trip's canceled. You're coming with me." Yuki grabbed Alan's arm.
"Where?"
"To the dojo. Free sparring partner."
"You little—I'll take you down."
"Try it."
They walked off shoving each other and throwing sarcastic comments back and forth—the kind of banter that only existed between people who actually cared.
I held back a smile and turned away, sitting with the thought for a moment.
Alan had changed.
Not in some dramatic, overnight way.
Not in a forced way either.
More like... he'd finally found the direction he was always capable of moving toward.
Because of me?
I didn't want to flatter myself. There were probably other reasons too. Maybe I was only one small part of it—just one hand that happened to reach him at the right time.
At exactly eight o'clock, the Soka University Autumn Festival officially opened.
What had been a row of empty tents that morning had turned into a small city, suddenly alive.
Amber and orange paper lanterns swayed along the main path.
Plastic maple leaves had been pinned onto every signpost.
From the main stage, acoustic music drifted through the air—guitar, cajón, and a vocalist whose pitch was a little off but whose confidence definitely wasn't.
Then the smell from the food booths hit: grilled corn, takoyaki, karaage... and candy apples sweet enough to make your head feel light just breathing them in.
I got to work.
Click.
A child tugging at a balloon, lower lip starting to wobble.
Click.
A student in a borrowed yukata—obi tied wrong, but smiling like she didn't care.
Click.
The crafts club booth: keychains, bracelets, tote bags printed with leaves.
In less than an hour, my memory card was already filling up with color and laughter.
"Hey—you're Alina, right?"
I looked up.
Sakura stood in front of me, holding an unwrapped candy apple.
Flawless. Beautiful. Her smile looked sweet—but the look in her eyes was measuring me.
"I'm Sakura. Alan's friend. Just a friend."
She tilted her head a little. "So you're the girl he picked?"
"I'm not—"
"Wow." She cut me off gently. "You must be pretty strong. To handle someone like him."
I frowned. "Handle? He's kind. Attentive. He always makes me feel like I matter."
Sakura smiled thinly. "And that doesn't make you wonder... what it costs?"
"Costs?"
"Love can be cruel sometimes," she said more quietly. "It trades feelings. It hides things. All so two people can stay together."
She looked at me again—not just sizing me up now, but like she wanted to make sure I really understood.
"And sometimes," she went on, her voice dropping lower, "once you're in... you can't just leave whenever you want. This isn't the kind of love you break off and go back to whenever it's convenient."
I held my breath.
Part of me wanted to laugh because it sounded so dramatic.
But another part of me... felt unsettled.
"Love has a beautiful side too," I said quickly, like I was defending something I hadn't even fully figured out yet.
"Sure." Sakura lifted one shoulder. "If you're the kind of person who can handle forever, go ahead. I'm not. But congratulations, I guess."
She didn't really sound congratulatory.
Then she just walked away, light and effortless, like she'd only stopped to say hi.
Alan was right—she really knows how to push buttons. Don't judge her by her face. I hope she stays single forever.
I watched her back for a few seconds longer than I meant to.
Then I let out a breath and forced a smile.
Forget it. Random ad break. Ignore it.
Focus on work.
I went back to making my rounds.
Committee members moved all over the place with their radios.
Campus security stood at the crowded intersections.
Sponsor banners fluttered along the side of the path.
I covered all of it, one shot at a time.
Until I noticed two men whose way of walking felt... off.
One was a large man who looked like a bodyguard—sunglasses, rigid posture.
Ahead of him was a man in a leather jacket.
He turned his head for a split second.
And I saw his eyes.
Green.
My steps faltered.
The memory of that night rose instantly—Alan's room, that flash of green in the dark.
I forced down the cold feeling creeping through me.
Stay calm.
Maybe they were contacts.
On instinct, I raised the camera.
Click.
One photo.
Fast.
Quiet.
I lowered the camera and immediately drifted toward the safer, busier part of the grounds.
I wasn't going to let suspicion ruin today's festival.
I looked for a quieter place—a bench along the side of campus, far from the festival's main path.
The second I sat down, my shoulders dropped on their own.
I fanned my face with my fingers and checked the time.
Eleven o'clock.
No wonder my stomach had been complaining for a while.
I had just started to stand and look for food when a figure appeared at the end of the path.
Alan.
Jogging lightly, carrying a paper bag and a bottle of water.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked, still half-surprised.
"My feet wanted to be near you," he said lightly.
I narrowed my eyes. "That's ridiculous. You're tracking me with GPS, aren't you?"
Alan didn't answer—he just smiled, way too calm for someone being accused.
"You're so annoying. That's a violation of my privacy."
"Don't throw accusations around," he said. "Try proving it first."
"If I ever find a tracker on me, I'm going to smack you."
Alan set the paper bag in my lap.
Bento.
Still warm.
I took it with mild embarrassment—I'd just been complaining, and yet my fingers were already opening it.
Alan didn't look offended. He just sat beside me as if all of this were perfectly normal.
First bite.
Second bite.
"What are you thinking about?" Alan asked.
I set the bento beside me and wiped the corner of my mouth with a tissue.
"I..."
I took a breath and forced my voice to stay steady.
Yuki's words were still spinning in my head. If this turned out to be a mistake, then I'd deal with it. But I was tired of always playing it safe.
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
I blinked.
For a second, I actually pretended I hadn't heard him—even though my heart had already started sprinting.
"Alina," he repeated more softly. "Will you be my girlfriend?"
I held my breath and let the silence sit for a second—not to be dramatic, but because I needed a moment to line my thoughts up.
"If I said no... what would you do?"
"I'd ask again. And again. And again," he said without hesitation.
I laughed softly, defeated.
"So you're just going to force the issue?"
"Yes. You have to say yes."
My cheeks warmed.
"Okay," I said at last, "but I have a condition."
"What is it?"
"A relationship goes both ways." My voice dropped. "We have to carry each other. I want you to stop hiding things from me. I'll learn to accept you and your flaws—and you have to learn to accept me too."
Alan swallowed.
For a second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—like the weight on him had just grown heavier.
But he still nodded.
"Okay."
Alan pulled me into his arms.
His big hand stroked my hair slowly, and then his lips touched my forehead—just for a second.
The warmth filled my chest so completely that I wanted to shout it to the whole world: We're official!.
And of course, the world never lets a moment stay perfect.
The radio crackled.
"There are visitors fighting in the front area. Any nearby committee members, please respond. Everyone stay focused."
I let out a breath, half wanting to curse, half wanting to laugh.
"I should get back to work," I said, still reluctant to pull away.
"Yeah." Alan adjusted his cap. "I'll head back to the dojo."
We separated without any drama.
No background music.
Just one look between us that said enough.
I immediately went to look for Marina.
I really wanted to tell her in person.
But the backstage corridor, the equipment area, the front of the stage—nothing.
In the end, I gave up and sent a message.
Me: Rin, Alan and I... we're official.
Her reply took a while.
Marina: Congrats.
Marina: Hope it lasts.
There was something strange about how she said it—short, neat, nothing like her usual over-the-top reactions.
But before I had time to think about it, the radio called again, and my feet were already moving.
I went back to taking pictures.
My smile came more easily now.
Until another committee member walked up beside me.
"You and Alan are..?"
I turned quickly. "Wait—how do you know already?"
She held up her phone.
On the screen, a cropped story was already going around—blurry, but clear enough to become gossip.
I covered my mouth, embarrassed and amused at the same time.
I nodded.
"Ugh, I'm jealous," she said. "How did you end up dating him?"
"Come on tell us."
"He is a basketball star Alina."
The questions started piling up, one after another.
What was I supposed to say to that?
Grinned and lifted my camera again. I need to mentally prepare for the gossip bomb.
By seven that night, the festival had officially closed. The committee gathered for evaluation and cleanup.
The committee chair gave a long speech—thank-yous, hard work, solidarity, "valuable experience"—and I nodded along while my eyes kept searching for one person.
Marina.
But she wasn't there.
As if she'd vanished.
Maybe she was still in the equipment area, I thought. They were usually the last ones done.
Once the committee was dismissed, relieved sighs came from every direction.
I let out one of my own, then headed alone toward the vending machine.
My camera bag hung at my side, and my mind was already mapping out the rest of the night: check the photos, pick the good ones, edit them, upload them for the archive.
In front of the machine, I hesitated for a second.
Then I pressed two buttons.
Green tea.
And strawberry milk—for Alan.
The machine hummed.
The cans dropped.
Then, for no reason at all, the back of my neck suddenly went hot.
Like déjà vu.
Like someone's eyes were stuck to my back.
"Who's there?"
Footsteps came closer.
Slow. Certain.
And then I saw him.
A man in a leather jacket.
With green eyes.
I swallowed hard.
Cold sweat broke out over my skin, but I forced my face to stay calm.
This was campus. A public place. He couldn't do anything reckless here.
"Good evening, Princess of Luveri Hamish," he said.
His voice was low and sharp. "It has been surprisingly difficult for us to find you."
I froze for a second.
My heartbeat suddenly sounded too loud.
"Why are you looking for me?" I was almost surprised my voice sounded steady.
"I only wanted to say hello." He smiled faintly.
"Are you a friend of my father's?"
"A friend?" The corner of his mouth lifted, without warmth. "No. To be honest, I hate him. We never got along. We think too differently, and that has always put us in conflict."
His words sounded calm, but the cold behind them sank straight into my bones.
"What do you want from me?"
He tilted his head, looking at me as though he were assessing something.
"I only want you to maintain a good relationship with Alan."
"What is your relationship with Alan?"
"He'll know soon enough. Don't worry. We are not in a hurry."
"What does that mean?"
"Does Princess Hamish already know who Alan really is?"
I didn't shake my head.
I didn't nod either.
I only stared at him.
"You seem to know a lot. Who are you?" I pressed.
"We will meet again."
He bowed politely—a nobleman's gesture, far too formal for someone who felt that harsh.
Then he left, swallowed by the night.
I stood there, frozen.
The cans in my hands felt heavy.
Who is Alan, really?
And why did that man know my father's name?
My chest felt tight.
My hands trembled around the drinks.
I was almost running by the time I reached the parking lot.
My steps were quick, and I kept shaking my head—like if I denied it hard enough, the whole thing might turn into a hallucination.
Weirdo.
Stay positive, Alina.
The second I saw Alan, I forced a smile.
I held out the strawberry milk, hoping my hand didn't look like it was shaking. Hoping he liked this brand.
"Why were you running just now?" Alan asked. "Was someone chasing you?"
"No." I got into the car quickly. "I just wanted to see you. You stayed in the dojo forever. What did Yuki do to you?"
Alan put the drink into the compartment behind the gearshift—there was a little cooler built into it.
"He asked me to do shooting practice with him."
"What?" I turned to him immediately.
"Yuki has another hobby," Alan said. "Shooting. With a real pistol."
He looked at the road, then went on in a flat voice with pauses that somehow made the story feel heavier.
"His father was in intelligence. He died on assignment—apparently he had been trying to expose the underworld back then."
I let out a slow breath. "That's awful..."
"That's why his mother never let him follow in his father's footsteps."
Alan pressed one hand briefly against the steering wheel. "But he's still Yuki. If he weren't stubborn, he wouldn't be Yuki. He still trains in secret."
"And then?"
Alan gave a small snort. "A hobby like that is expensive. So sometimes he drags me along to try it, just so he basically treats me like a human ATM."
I glanced at him, half teasing, half serious.
"You really don't mind? Your parents are rich, huh?"
"Something like that."
I let out a dramatic sigh. "Wow. I really am lucky a rich guy likes me. Maybe I won't have to take freelance jobs so often anymore."
"You don't have to work," he said lightly. "I'll support you."
I snorted. "No thanks. Freelance work is my training. That's how I get better."
Alan glanced at me briefly. "Okay. But don't push yourself too hard."
I nodded.
The car kept moving.
I stared at the window, but all I could really see was my own reflection—and behind it, the image of those green eyes that still wouldn't leave me.
When the car pulled up, I opened the door and Alan came in after me.
"Stay a little longer. I still want to talk," he said as he sat down on the couch.
"Sure. You can come by anytime. I'll give you a duplicate key later."
"Thank you, sweetheart. Let me see your photos."
"Okay." I lifted my camera. "The memory card's still in there. Go ahead. I'm taking a shower first. I'm exhausted."
"Okay."
I started to walk away, then glanced back. "Don't snoop."
"Yes, Princess."
I smiled a little, then headed to the balcony to take in the laundry.
From a distance, I saw Alan open the photo gallery.
His fingers moved fast, then stopped.
His face suddenly went still.
His brows drew together.
And I—without understanding why—felt cold all at once.
As if, while I wasn't paying attention, something had already been set into motion before I even realized it.