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Ra-on rose from her seat, looking haggard. Despite having slept, she felt no less fatigued.
As Ra-on was about to check the time, she remembered how she had carelessly tossed her phone onto the shoe rack upon coming home early that morning and let out a deep sigh.
“Haa...”
With a pounding headache, Ra-on sluggishly got up, her eyes still heavy with sleep. She wanted nothing more than to lie back down and catch up on rest, but she had promised to visit Hye-sung’s house around lunchtime, so sleeping in wasn’t an option.
Thinking of his barren kitchen—devoid even of instant noodles—Ra-on considered stopping by the store before heading over. She opened the door.
The sound of the door opening made Ji-an, who had been busily doing something, turn around.
“Oh, you’re awake?”
“…What are you doing?”
Ra-on frowned slightly at the sight of Ji-an standing in front of the induction cooktop, which was unusual for her.
Ji-an stirred something with a ladle as she replied, “Hye-sung called this morning, so I asked him what he wanted to eat. He said curry, so I told him I’d make some and bring it over. But he kept refusing and turning me down so much.”
Rambling on without structure, Ji-an shook her head with a laugh, unable to help herself.
“Oh, your phone is on the table.”
Ra-on glanced briefly at the phone on the table and then asked, “So… are you making curry right now?”
This coming from Ji-an, who could barely manage to cook rice?
Unaware of Ra-on’s muttered comment due to the hum of the range hood, Ji-an answered her previous question.
“Yeah. But the curry turned out a bit watery. I thought it looked too thick earlier, so I added more water. Maybe that’s why.”
Ra-on sighed and stepped into the kitchen. Pretending not to notice the chaotic state of the workspace, she moved next to Ji-an and saw that the curry simmering in the pot actually looked quite decent. Contrary to Ji-an’s claim, the consistency seemed just right.
Taking the ladle from Ji-an, Ra-on gave the curry a stir and looked at Ji-an with a curious expression.
“You did well.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
At Ra-on’s response, Ji-an beamed.
“Then I’ll pack some separately to take to Hye-sung, and we can have this for breakfast.”
As Ji-an began bustling around, Ra-on asked, “What’s gotten into you to start cooking all of a sudden? You’re someone who wouldn’t even bother making your own meals.”
Ji-an was the type who would rather buy food than eat something she made herself. Thanks to her, the housekeeper at her family home would deliver loads of pre-cooked meals every week, filling the fridge to the brim.
Shrugging as she placed bowls on the dining table, Ji-an replied, “He’s already struggling enough with his late manifestation. At least he should get to eat what he wants on time. Just sit down. I’ll bring the curry over soon.”
“…”
Ra-on, seated by Ji-an’s urging, wore an expression of disbelief. Ji-an—the same Ji-an who had once ordered porridge delivery from a shop near their house when Ra-on was sick—was now making curry.
It was the kind of story that would’ve made her aunt faint if she heard it.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ra-on stole a glance at Ji-an as she set down the bowl of curry. Oblivious to the strange look directed her way, Ji-an sat down across from her.
Just as she was about to take a bite of the curry, Ji-an suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! I just remembered!”
“There’s this one upperclassman who’s re-enrolling this semester. Not returning from a leave of absence—re-enrolling.”
Seeing Ji-an emphasize “re-enrollment,” Ra-on raised an eyebrow.
“Re-enrollment? In your department?”
“Yeah.”
Ji-an nodded hesitantly.
“What year was it again? Was it the class of 2012?”
“…2012?”
“Yeah. That’s such an ancient year for an upperclassman. The freshmen entering this year are the class of 2022. Can you believe how far back that is? It feels like ancient history.”
Even for them, the class of 2019, 2012 felt like a significant gap.
“But apparently, this senior is really famous.”
As Ji-an spoke, she picked up her phone. The chat window, left open on the screen, was flooded with rapidly incoming messages.
“It’s been chaos since last night. This news is so hot that my phone battery died by morning.”
“Look at this—I charged it fully this morning, and it’s already down to 47%.”
At Ji-an’s added lament, Ra-on paused mid-bite.
But someone re-enrolling in the business administration department...
[I’m thinking about going back to school.]
At that moment, a voice echoed in Ra-on’s mind like an auditory hallucination. She froze, spoon in mouth, and furrowed her brow.
‘Could it be him?’
The face of the man who had mercilessly crushed another person without hesitation flashed in her mind.
Han Do-kyung.
Just hours ago, he had forced an absurd promise out of her—a loan shark whom she had already mentally labeled as a gangster.
Ra-on focused again on Ji-an’s voice.
“That person is famous for being an extreme Alpha.”
“Extreme Alpha?”
“Yeah.”
Ji-an waved her chopsticks as she explained, “Among Alphas, they’re the top 1 percent—or rather, forget 1 percent. They’re less than 0.1 percent, an ultra-rare group. Basically, they’re on another level entirely. There might only be a handful of them in our country.”
“…”
Hearing this from Ji-an, who herself was a dominant Alpha, Ra-on slowly closed and opened her eyes.
Though his presence had certainly felt unusual, she hadn’t imagined he could be an extreme Alpha. After all, Alphas and Omegas were typically classified simply into dominant and recessive categories.
The term “extreme Alpha” was something rarely heard—it was that uncommon. And as Ji-an had said, their numbers were incredibly small.
While Ra-on was recalling Han Do-kyung’s face—someone who seemed too slick and polished to fit the image of such extremity—Ji-an pulled up a newspaper article and handed her phone over.
“When someone like that decides to enroll in a Korean university, it caused quite the uproar back then.”
“…”
“TV stations sent reporters, and there were even rumors that a foreign university president flew to Korea personally to try and recruit him.”
On Ji-an’s phone screen, a headline loomed large, dominating the display.
<Extreme Alpha Enrolls at Korea’s Most Prestigious University>
Ji-an, resting her chin on her hand, spoke.
“But the real kicker is that despite all the spotlight and hype surrounding his enrollment, he dropped out after just two days.”
Ah, Ji-an corrected herself.
“Well, technically it wasn’t a formal withdrawal. He just stopped showing up to school, so he was naturally expelled.”
As Ra-on listened to Ji-an’s explanation, she scrolled down a bit further.
There, another photo appeared.
Ji-an gestured toward the flipped screen with a nod.
“He really is handsome, isn’t he? I was shocked when I first saw his pictures.”
“…Yeah, he is.”
Ra-on’s delayed response slipped out softly.
The person in the photo didn’t even require asking Ji-an for confirmation—it was unmistakably him. Han Do-kyung.
In the picture, Do-kyung was smiling toward something, looking exactly as Ra-on remembered.
Gazing at the photo, Ra-on idly wondered if he really only owned black clothes—if so, he must be incredibly dedicated to his “job.” She absentmindedly rubbed her wrist—the same wrist that had been tightly grabbed by the drunk patron the night before, though it had been swiftly rendered limp under Do-kyung’s control.
Ra-on glanced sideways at her phone, which lay quietly on the table. The screen remained still, devoid of any notifications.
Then, with a soft sigh, she murmured to herself, “I never gave him my number.”
Her earlier worry about how to handle an immediate request for cocktail-making seemed pointless now that she realized she hadn’t even given Do-kyung her contact information. With a light tap, she turned on the screen, illuminating the default wallpaper.
“Anyway, starting this semester, the entire school’s going to be in an uproar. The business administration building will be packed. Articles are already flooding in, causing chaos.”
Ji-an spoke indifferently.
“Plus, considering he’s the heir to Hanyoung Corporation, which is currently skyrocketing in stock value, it’ll probably be even more chaotic than before.”
“Hanyoung Corporation?”
“Yeah. They’re famous for hotels and resorts, but I’ve heard they’re expanding overseas now.”
Thanks to her mother, who worked in the fashion industry, Ji-an often overheard tidbits like this.
“There’s been a lot of talk about the chairman being old and whether they should appoint a professional manager instead.”
“…And this guy’s the heir?”
“The chairman wants to pass everything to his precious son, born late in life, but since the son doesn’t have a proper degree, what can they do? Korea’s still a society obsessed with academic credentials.”
Then, Ji-an’s eyes widened in realization.
“Oh! So that’s why he’s re-enrolling—to earn a business degree!”
Shrugging, Ji-an stood up to clear her empty bowl.
“Well, either way, I won’t have anything to do with him, so it doesn’t concern me.”
“…Are you really going?”
Though Ra-on left the subject unspoken, Ji-an knew full well that the question referred to her upcoming trip abroad.
“I’ve already booked my flight tickets and finalized my homestay arrangements, so I’m definitely going. Plus, I want to go.”
Seeing Ji-an’s bright, confident smile, Ra-on said nothing further, lowering her gaze silently. Watching her eyes sparkle with anticipation, Ra-on realized it was already too late to stop her.
Just as Ji-an placed her dishes in the sink, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh!”
“Speaking of which, what’s going to happen with Hye-sung?”
“Why, what about Hye-sung?”
“He manifested as an Omega, right?”
Ji-an tilted her head.
“Then doesn’t that mean he can’t continue with military service?”
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