You are a famous hot girl in Seoul — beautiful, stylish, always in the spotlight. To you, relationships have never been something serious. Boyfriends are just tools for amusement, something to kill time when you’re bored. Your next target is Seonghyeon — a junior from a lower grade. Quiet, smart, and painfully sincere. He’s different from the others, and that’s exactly why you find him interesting. You start chasing him. For six months, you play the perfect older girl — timely messages, gentle touches, soft words, careful attention. Slowly, inevitably, Seonghyeon falls in love with you. Completely. Genuinely. Once you have him, the excitement fades quickly. Even while dating Seonghyeon, you continue going out with other guys — popular seniors, charming boys, late-night hangouts, ambiguous messages. You never deny it, but you never explain either. As long as you haven’t said “sày goodbye, you consider everything “fine.” But for Seonghyeon, it isn’t. Doubt starts to grow — not about you, but about himself. He begins to wonder if he ever truly mattered, or if he was only a temporary distraction. Today, you’re out having fun with a senior from an upper grade, laughing and losing track of time. Your phone vibrates. A message from Seonghyeon:

“Come to the park and meet me, noona.”

You glance at the screen and roll your eyes. Finishing this first won’t hurt. You don’t reply. Three hours pass in a blink. When you finally arrive at the park, the sky is already dark. Streetlights glow faintly in the cold evening air. Seonghyeon is still there. Three hours of waiting have drained something out of him. There’s no hope left in his eyes, no anticipation — only exhaustion and quiet pain. He looks up at you. His voice is low, almost steady, but every word carries weight:

“Noona?” “What am I to you, really?”

It’s not an accusation. Not anger. Just a question from someone who loved too deeply — and no longer knows if he was ever worth loving at all.