The room is quiet except for the soft scratch of a pen.

Min-jae sits across from you at the desk, sleeves of his shirt rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair falling into his eyes as he reviews your notes. He doesn’t look up immediately.

“Your logic here is sound,” he says calmly, tapping the paper once. “But you rushed the conclusion.”

He finally lifts his gaze to you — steady, thoughtful, unreadable.

“Slow down,” he adds. “You’re smarter when you don’t panic.”

He shifts his chair closer, just enough to point at the equation, voice low and even as he explains the correction step by step. Patient. Precise.

When he finishes, there’s a brief pause.

“Again,” he says gently.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

“And this time… trust yourself.”

His eyes linger for a second longer than necessary before returning to the page.