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Park Seonghwa had never wanted to follow in his father's footsteps.
Not because he disapproved. Quite the opposite.
His family had given him everything.
A roof over his head. A name people respected. More money than he knew what to do with. A brother who had always shielded him from things he was never meant to see.
And a father who had made one thing abundantly clear from the moment Seonghwa had announced he wanted to go to medical school.
"You keep your hands clean."
So he did.
While his older brother sat through meetings and learned how to one day inherit the family business, Seonghwa memorized muscles and blood vessels. He spent his nights hunched over textbooks and his mornings trying not to fall asleep during lectures.
He spent more money on stationery than clothes.
His camera roll was full of unfinished notes, blurry lecture slides, and screenshots he swore he would organize later and never did.
The most dangerous thing he had done in the past month was drink three coffees before a histology quiz and spent the afternoon convinced his heart was going to explode.
His father called him his pride.
His brother called him annoying.
His mother called him too skinny.
And Seonghwa thought all of them worried too much.
Because really, his life was painfully ordinary.
Or as ordinary as life could be when your father was Park Minseok.
Chairman Park Minseok, to most people.
Dad, to Seonghwa.
The kind of man whose name made rooms quiet. The kind of man whose phone calls were answered on the first ring. The kind of man people spoke about carefully, even when he was nowhere near them.
But to Seonghwa, he was also the man who texted him reminders to eat breakfast.
The man who pretended not to notice when Seonghwa fell asleep at the dinner table with his face in his notes.
The man who had once sat through an entire explanation of the brachial plexus with the serious expression of someone being briefed on an international crisis, only to say, very carefully, "I understood almost none of that, but I am proud of you."
His older brother was not much better.
Park Seongjun had been raised to inherit everything Seonghwa had been allowed to avoid. He sat in meetings Seonghwa was never invited to. He knew names Seonghwa was never supposed to hear. He carried himself like someone who had learned too young that softness was something people could use against you.
And still, every morning, without fail, Seonghwa woke up to the same message.
Eat breakfast.
Sometimes Seonghwa replied.
Sometimes he didn't.
On the mornings he didn't, Seongjun called.
On the mornings Seonghwa ignored the call, Seongjun sent one of the drivers with food.
Seonghwa loved him.
Seonghwa also thought he was insane.
Which was exactly why he had never wanted bodyguards.
Not when he was sixteen.
Not when he was eighteen.
And certainly not now.
Seonghwa loved them. He really did. He understood, better than most, why they worried.
But sometimes, he just wanted to be Park Seonghwa.
Not the son of Park Minseok.
Not Park Seongjun’s little brother.
Not the family's golden child.
Just Seonghwa.
A twenty-one-year-old medical student trying to survive anatomy.
A twenty-one-year-old medical student who still had half a chapter on cranial nerves to review, a lab practical next week, and absolutely no idea how anyone in his class was pretending to have their life together.
Which was exactly why he'd spent the last twenty minutes arguing with the two men currently following him.
"I'm twenty-one."
"And sir requested—"
"My father requests a lot of things."
"Young master—"
"No."
"Master Seonghwa—"
"No."
"Doctor Park—"
Seonghwa sighed dramatically.
"I am not a doctor."
"Not yet."
"I'm serious."
"So are we."
"I'm literally going to get coffee."
"And we'll literally follow you."
"You know people stare when two men in suits follow me around campus, right?"
"Good."
"No, not good. That is the opposite of good."
Neither man reacted.
Seonghwa groaned.
"You're ruining the atmosphere."
Still nothing.
"Fine," he said, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "But you're staying outside."
One of them looked like he wanted to argue.
Seonghwa lifted a finger.
"If you follow me inside, I will call my brother and tell him you stressed me out before my anatomy review."
That worked.
It always did.
Seongjun was terrifying to most people, but apparently he was especially terrifying when Seonghwa was involved.
And that was how Park Seonghwa found himself briefly free, dramatically under-caffeinated, and balancing three textbooks, his phone, and an iced coffee he was ninety percent sure was going to be responsible for his eventual death.
It wasn’t.
Not exactly.
But it did ruin his life a little.
Because one missed step later, coffee splashed across the sleeve of the man sitting by the window.
Seonghwa froze.
"Oh my God."
The stranger blinked.
Seonghwa looked genuinely horrified.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
"No, no, that is not okay."
"It's just coffee."
"It’s all over your shirt!"
"It's black."
"That's not the point!"
And Hongjoong, who was used to fear, respect, and people avoiding him altogether, simply stared at the beautiful stranger currently apologizing like he'd committed murder.
Seonghwa set his books down too quickly, nearly knocking over the stranger's drink in the process.
Which, honestly, would have been impressive.
"I can pay for dry cleaning," Seonghwa said immediately. "Or a new shirt. Or both. I can do both."
The stranger glanced down at his sleeve.
Then back up at Seonghwa.
"It's fine."
"It is not fine. I ruined your day."
"You didn't ruin my day."
"I ruined at least part of it."
"You really didn't."
"You don't have to be nice about it."
"I'm not being nice."
Seonghwa paused.
The stranger stared back at him.
For some reason, that made Seonghwa feel even worse.
He bowed.
Once.
Twice.
Probably a third time, though honestly, he lost count somewhere between panic and humiliation.
"I'm really sorry."
The stranger's mouth twitched.
Barely.
Almost nothing.
But Seonghwa noticed it anyway.
"Do you apologize this much to everyone?" the stranger asked.
"When I spill coffee on them, yes."
"That happen often?"
"No," Seonghwa said, then hesitated. "Not often."
The stranger's expression did not change, but something in his eyes shifted.
Amusement, maybe.
Or judgment.
Seonghwa hoped it was amusement.
He insisted on buying him another drink.
The stranger said no.
Seonghwa insisted again.
The stranger still said no.
By the fourth attempt, the barista behind the counter was watching them with open interest, and Seonghwa was seconds away from throwing himself into traffic.
Eventually, he grabbed a napkin from the table and dug a pen out of his bag.
The pen was purple.
Of course it was.
His life was already embarrassing enough. Why not make it worse?
"If it stains," Seonghwa said, scribbling quickly, "or if you decide you hate me later, call me."
The stranger looked down at the napkin.
Then at Seonghwa.
"You give your number to everyone you assault with iced coffee?"
Seonghwa gasped.
"I did not assault you."
"Debatable."
"It was an accident."
"Most assaults are."
"That's not true."
The stranger almost laughed.
Almost.
Seonghwa hated that he wanted to hear it.
He finished writing, then pushed the napkin across the table like some kind of peace offering.
The stranger picked it up.
"Thank you for not yelling at me," Seonghwa said, smiling despite himself.
The stranger raised an eyebrow.
"Were you expecting me to?"
"You'd be surprised."
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Seonghwa became painfully aware of the way the stranger looked at him.
Not like the people who recognized his last name.
Not like classmates who wanted study notes.
Not like bodyguards waiting for him to make one wrong move.
Just looked.
Like he was trying to figure him out.
Seonghwa cleared his throat and reached for his books.
"Anyway," he said, very elegantly knocking one of them sideways. "I should go before I somehow make this worse."
The stranger's eyes flicked down.
"Anatomy?"
Seonghwa looked at the textbook in his arms.
Then back at him.
"Unfortunately."
"Med student?"
"Unfortunately," Seonghwa repeated, more sincerely that time.
The stranger hummed.
"Good luck."
Seonghwa blinked.
It was such a normal thing to say.
So simple.
So ordinary.
Still, it warmed something in his chest.
"Thanks," he said softly. "I need it."
And then he was gone.
Leaving behind the smell of vanilla, a coffee stain, and for some reason, a smile Hongjoong found himself remembering long after the stranger disappeared.
The napkin in his hand was simple.
Sorry again :(
Text me if I owe you a new shirt.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Kim Hongjoong slipped it into his wallet.
By the time Seonghwa escaped the library, the sun had already begun to set.
His anatomy textbook was tucked under one arm, his headphones around his neck as he smiled down at his phone.
There were three missed messages from Seongjun.
One from his father.
And one from his mother, asking if he had eaten dinner and if he wanted her to make his favorite kimbap.
Seonghwa smiled despite himself.
He typed back to his mother first.
I ate.
It was not technically a lie.
He had eaten half a protein bar at noon and stolen a piece of candy from his own bag during lecture.
That counted.
Probably.
Then he opened Seongjun's messages.
Jun: Eat dinner.
Jun: Text me when you leave campus.
Jun: Are you ignoring me or dead?
Seonghwa rolled his eyes.
Hwa: Still alive.
Hwa: Unfortunately still studying.
His brother replied almost immediately.
Jun: Not funny.
Seonghwa grinned.
Hwa: A little funny.
Jun: No.
Hwa: A little.
Jun: Eat.
Seonghwa looked toward the edge of campus, where the streetlights had started to flicker on.
Maybe he'd stop and grab dinner.
Maybe he'd actually get a full night's sleep.
Maybe he'd think about the cute guy from the coffee shop and whether his shirt survived.
And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd finally have a little peace.
After years of practice and a ridiculous amount of trial and error, Park Seonghwa had perfected the art of losing his bodyguards.
Apparently, today was one of his better performances.
No black SUV.
No voices calling after him.
No one a few steps behind.
For the first time all day, Park Seonghwa was completely alone.
And honestly?
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so peaceful.
He smiled to himself.
Unfortunately, it would also be the last peaceful moment he'd have for a very long time.
Something sharp pressed into his side.
His smile faltered.
He barely had time to turn.
A hand covered his mouth.
And then—
Everything went dark.