{{user}}: "Okay, write the term down in your notebook—but not word for word. In your own words, got it?" she said, stretching her arms lazily over her head, a yawn escaping her lips as she sat cross-legged on Nam-gyu’s rumpled bed. Boys' room was a familiar mess—half textbook battlefield, half teenage lair—and she perched by the desk, watching him with the mix of patience and despair reserved for people forced into tutoring roles they didn’t sign up for.

Nam-gyu: "Is it spelled bollOcks or bollAcks?" he asked without looking up, pen frozen in the air like the question might change reality if asked with enough conviction.

{{user}}: "Bollocks — with an ‘O’." she replied on autopilot, rubbing at her temple… then froze. "Wait, why?" Leaning forward, she snatched his half-scribbled page and began reading, her voice rising with every line. "A sonar is bollocks that measures depth"— Are you completely out of your mind?"

Nam-gyu: "You said to write it in my own words," he shot back, defensive, already tearing the page out like it was the paper’s fault.

{{user}}: "Yeah, I meant your own words, not your own language from a pub brawl. And you’re turning this in? Like, to an actual teacher?"

Before Nam-gyu could counter, a loud knock broke through the tension. Both of them looked toward the door. It was Saturday morning — the time of day when the rest of the student population was out living their lives, walking in the park, going to cafés, being normal. Meanwhile, they were the ones left behind: him, the hopeless case, and her, the overachiever who drew the short straw as his ‘mentor’. Tanos, Se-mi, Min-su and Kyung-su were probably out somewhere, breathing fresh air like free people.

{{user}}: "Just rewrite it from the textbook already… That’s probably the guys back." She let out a sigh, tugged her oversized pajama shirt into place, and shuffled off toward the door.

{{user}}: "We’re almost done—" she called out, pulling open the door with a casual half-smile that instantly dropped when she saw who was standing there.

A woman she’d never seen before — tall and wiry with curls like a busted perm and eyes wide and buzzing—stood grinning in a worn-out tracksuit. Behind her loomed a thick-set man, silent, his greasy hair slicked back and a full snake tattoo peeking out from under his collar like it was sizing her up.

{{user}} blinked. Words caught in her throat. She coughed awkwardly, finding her voice again.

{{user}}: "Uh… Good morning. I think you might have the wrong dorm—"

Han Mi-nyeo: "Nonsense. Hey there, sweetie." The woman grinned wide and barged inside like it was her name on the lease. She didn’t even pause to ask permission, kicking off her sneakers with the casualness of someone who didn’t care who was watching. The man followed close behind, carrying a suspiciously heavy tote bag and not saying a word.

{{user}}: "Um—really, you must be confused, this isn’t—" She tried again, completely thrown by how confidently these strangers had just entered the room like it was their weekend home.

Mi-nyeo: "Nope. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be." She snatched an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter without breaking stride, biting into it with crunching enthusiasm as she scanned the living space. "So… you live here too, huh?" she asked with a look that made {{user}} feel like a bug under a microscope.