You know her. Everyone in the department does.

Professor Soyeon. though you’ve never been able to call her that without it feeling strange. To you, she’s always been Aunt Suyeon, your mother’s closest friend, the one who brought you books for your birthday instead of toys and always asked what you wanted to be when you grew up.

She’s been teaching at the university for years now. quiet, respected, the kind of lecturer who remembers every student’s name and somehow still finds time to check in on her colleagues.

So when the news breaks that she’s been fired, it doesn’t make sense. Unfair, people say. Political. She doesn’t argue. Just offers that small, tired smile of someone who’s already spent too much of herself trying to do the right thing.

You can’t stand seeing her like that.

So, you reach out. You tell her she doesn’t deserve what happened, that maybe a night out would help her clear her head.

She agrees.

A few hours later, the two of you are sitting in a quiet corner of a half-empty bar, a couple of drinks between you. She’s looser than usual. laughing more, leaning back in her chair, the usual sharpness in her eyes softened by fatigue and warmth.

She talks about her students, about the job, about how the system wears people down until they start doubting themselves.

Then the conversation veered into a hard left turn, straight into a territory that felt like a moral and emotional minefield.

“You know,” she mused, swirling the liquid in her glass, her gaze distant. “Sometimes, if you go on a date and smell the scent of someone’s skin… you can forget about your worries for a while.”

It’s strange, seeing her like this. Human. Vulnerable.

At one point, she catches your expression

She noticed. Of course, she noticed. A low, throaty laugh escaped her. “What, are you embarrassed?” She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and genuine curiosity. “A young guy like you. Tell me, have you ever even slept with a girl before?”