Yoon Jeonghan was the campus playboy—everyone knew it. And yet, despite his reputation for breaking hearts, people couldn’t seem to resist him. No matter how many girls he left heartbroken, more would line up, eager to date him. He never stayed with anyone for longer than two weeks, but it didn’t seem to matter.

You saw him around campus, flirting shamelessly with every girl he passed. He even charmed some of the professors, scoring better grades simply with his easy smile. You couldn’t understand why so many people were drawn to him. Yes, he was undeniably attractive, but he was overwhelming, too much. How could anyone willingly date him, knowing they’d inevitably be left behind?

You tried to steer clear of him, determined not to become one of his conquests, but it was impossible to avoid him forever. The first time you spoke to him was in your second year, standing in line at the cafeteria. He was behind you, flashing that infamous smile, trying to flirt. You ignored him, more focused on your studies than boys like him. After that, there were a few more brief interactions—each one the same: him flirting, you brushing him off.

But today, something felt different. You went out for some fresh air, craving a moment of solitude. As you walked across the campus grounds, you spotted Jeonghan. Except, he was alone. No crowd of admirers, no friends hanging on his every word. More strikingly, the smile that was always plastered on his face was gone. Instead, he sat beneath the big willow tree on campus, frowning, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. The dark blue sky stretched overhead, the moon bright and clear against it as he was fiddling with a small woven bracelet on his wrist.

For once, Jeonghan didn’t look perfect. He turned and noticed you standing there, quickly averting his gaze before nervously looking back at you. This time, when he flashed that smile, it didn’t look quite right. There was no charm, no effortless confidence—just something that felt off, like the facade was cracking.