My Hidden Jealousy Awakens a Hidden Ability
‘……Did I really want to know Jung Seo-yoon that desperately in my usual life?’
At first, it was a purely logical question about the conditions for the new ability awakening.
But the arrow of that question naturally curved, turning toward the hidden truth inside my heart.
Was it true that I valued how a junior named Seo-yoon thought of me and looked at me that much? It was important enough to trigger an ability?
Looking back coldly, I had never met Seo-yoon privately often or shared deep conversations with her.
We were in the same major, but different years, so we didn’t even share regular lectures, and there was no common elective course together.
After that one semester of group projects where I had nearly died, the days we went without seeing each other in person far outnumbered the times we actually faced each other during the semester.
Over 90 percent of the messages we exchanged on the messenger were dry, public stuff like sharing assignment materials or feedback on course registration.
In fact, I barely knew anything about Seo-yoon as a person—her favorite food, what hobbies she enjoyed on weekends or during break, how her family was, where she came from, or even who her closest friend in the department was.
We were just distant senior and junior.
Yet the sight of her chatting with some other guy at the café yesterday made my nerves tingle.
When that man finally got rejected, I felt as if ten years had been lifted off my shoulders. And when her face brightened the moment she spotted me, it felt like I had gained the whole world.
That radiant golden and pink aura surrounding her body, I desperately hoped it was positive and special feelings toward me.
The shame hit me so hard that I covered my suddenly warm eyes with one hand.
‘……I liked her more than I thought.’
I couldn’t spit out that heavy sincerity even in the empty room.
It wasn’t some grand confession to anyone, but admitting it honestly to myself in the darkness made me so embarrassed it felt like my whole body was covered in goosebumps.
I had always lightly dismissed my feelings as just that of a visibly friendly, pretty, somewhat irritating good junior in the department.
Just a junior who made me feel a little better when we met.
I hadn’t tried to define it with grand, heavy words like “I like her” or “I love her” because it would make everything seem too serious.
If I didn’t give it a clear name, the cowardly me could avoid any responsibility and any risky action.
I didn’t have to approach her clumsily or confess. I didn’t have to worry about ruining our good senior-junior relationship from group projects by getting horribly rejected.
Just like now—keeping a safe distance, exchanging messages only for assignments, leaving only a faint spark of possibility in my heart. That was enough.
But now that the hidden sincerity in my heart had activated this unrealistic ability, I could no longer pretend not to know my own feelings and run away cowardly.
The feelings Seo-yoon had for me weighed far more on my life than I had imagined.
I had only been closing my eyes to that enormous fact, acting like the foolish one who didn’t know.
Dong-oh calmed his complicated heart, turned over, and lay down on the bed.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
No classes, and no chance of meeting Seo-yoon.
There was no guarantee of seeing her on Monday either.
Without a shared lecture, the next meeting could only happen if I deliberately sought her out—and I didn’t have any reason to.
‘No excuse to go.’
Dong-oh sighed and closed his eyes again.
But a second later, a lifeline flashed through his mind like lightning.
It was the conversation from yesterday afternoon in the café.
Seo-yoon was suffering all weekend, struggling with the infamous Professor Kim’s modern sociology assignment, scrambling to make a report outline and presentation slides by Saturday.
And she had asked him directly with sparkling eyes, “Did you make the presentation materials all night during that tough class last year?”
At the time, Dong-oh had brazenly answered, “I forgot the topic as soon as I got the grade.”
But honestly, it wasn’t that the exact text of the presentation topic didn’t come to mind; he hadn’t actually erased the memories of the intense group project files and materials he had backed up on his laptop’s hard drive.
Whether the old files from a year ago had been wiped when he formatted the laptop or were still there was anyone’s guess.
Dong-oh suddenly shot upright in bed as if pulled by a magnet.
‘……It could be helpful.’
He didn’t know what lame excuse he was mumbling aloud.
But for the timid Dong-oh, nothing more perfect or natural existed.
He turned on the light in the dark room, sat at his desk chair, and pressed the power button on the sleeping laptop.
The bright screen pierced his eyes.
The messy computer folders, full of unknown temporary files and study guides from every semester and subject because he hadn’t organized them in ages, were like a junkyard.
Hundreds of meaningless documents like “aaa.docx” or “New Text Document.txt” existed, their contents impossible to guess from the names alone.
Dong-oh tensed his fingers and typed Professor Kim’s full name into the search bar.
Unfortunately, the result was simply that nothing was found.
Next, he tried the lecture name “Modern Sociology.”
Fortunately, the old course plan PDF and a few weekly attendance notes from last year appeared one after another.
But the actual slide deck he had personally created for the presentation was nowhere in sight.
‘Oh…… Did I decide it was useless and permanently delete it right after the semester ended?’
A massive wave of disappointment and emptiness washed over his chest.
But Dong-oh couldn’t give up.
He couldn’t let this one golden ticket slip away—the only chance to send a good morning message to Seo-yoon on the weekend.
He widened his eyes and began manually digging through the old folders one by one, double-clicking.
[University] -> [2nd Year, 2nd Semester] -> [Major Assignments] -> [New Folder] -> [New Folder (2)]……
He finally found an ancient file buried deep inside, even compressed, and extracted it.
Inside the cramped folder, a lineup of familiar file extensions flashed into his eyes.
Presentation Data_Final Version.pptx
Presentation Data_Modified Modified.pptx
Presentation Data_Real Final.pptx
Presentation Data_This Is Really the Last Final Version.pptx
All of them had tear-streaked filenames dripping with deadline exhaustion.
Dong-oh double-clicked the most recent “Real Final” file.
The screen filled with the presentation he had stayed up all night creating with red eyes.
The moment he checked the grand sociology topic title at the top, the buried memories from deep in his unconscious flooded back like a flood.
The design sense of that era looked shabby and amateurish to the Dong-oh of today, but the logical structure of the text and the reference data were astonishingly meticulous—far more thorough than he remembered, carefully arranged to meet Professor Kim’s strict standards.
Especially the very last slide, left intact, contained the secret key points and question list that Professor Kim had personally pointed out sharply during Q&A after the presentation, written in text specifically for the final exam.
The current topic Seo-yoon was preparing—“Digital Divide”—was slightly different, but he could swear there was no better reference or study guide for the overall introduction-body-conclusion structure or the unique scoring criteria Professor Kim used to award points.
Dong-oh scrolled through the entire file from the first slide to the final feedback slide with the mouse wheel.
Sharing this useful, high-quality old material with his junior out of pure goodwill would look completely natural—no one in the department would think it was weird or full of hidden motives.
Yesterday in the café, the conversation had naturally turned to Professor Kim’s infamous class, and now here he was, coming home and casually finding old materials to share— a warm senior story.
Perfect.
‘……Yeah, just attach this file to the messenger and send it. That’s it.’
Dong-oh turned on his phone.
The last timeline in the chat was several days ago, when Seo-yoon had asked about major course registration credits and he had answered with a short, dry reply.
He swallowed hard and tapped the message input field, starting to type.
— While organizing old files, I found the presentation materials you asked about from Professor Kim’s lecture yesterday.
Dong-oh paused mid-sentence, fingers stopping.
Re-reading it, his chest stung.
Of course it was a bright red lie.
It wasn’t because he had accidentally organized and found the files; he had sat in front of the dark desk for tens of minutes, scouring through ancient materials just to create an excuse to message her naturally on the weekend.
He froze in shame for a moment, then put on a poker face and continued.
— The feedback from the professor is included too, so maybe it could be helpful?
That was fine.
It was just a natural extension of yesterday’s conversation and a kind gesture as a senior worried about his junior’s grade at the perfect timing.
At least on the surface of the sent message, it looked perfect.
Dong-oh tried to attach the file but stopped again.
If he just sent the materials, Seo-yoon would probably reply with thanks and the chat would end there.
He added one more line to the input.
— It’s a bit different from the topic you chose, but I can go over the useful parts if you need.
Dong-oh finally raised his right thumb over the send button.
His heart pounded like it would explode.
It was only a completely ordinary thing—sending one assignment file to his junior.
It wasn’t like he was clumsily confessing “I like you, let’s date” directly, nor was it rushing to set up a private date on the weekend.
There was absolutely no reason to hesitate with sweaty palms.
But while his head told him it was fine, his timid fingers couldn’t press the button easily and hesitated several times.
A second later, Dong-oh closed his eyes tightly, saying “to hell with it,” and pressed the send button hard.
A clear chime echoed with the message—three messages in a row—appearing in Seo-yoon’s chat room.
He immediately attached the original presentation file as well and sent everything.
The dice were cast. As a senior, his part was over.
If Seo-yoon confirmed the materials and replied with thanks, he would just answer that it was nothing special.
Dong-oh set the smartphone down and lay back on the bed.
A moment later, a short vibration rang out.
He reflexively checked the phone.
— Thank you!
An exclamation mark had been added.
A new message appeared right after.
— I was going to the library from morning anyway, and since the presentation is next week, my schedule is pretty tight.
Dong-oh stared at the screen. Seo-yoon’s typing indicator reappeared.
— If it’s okay with you, could you spare a little time tomorrow?
Dong-oh’s thought circuit froze for a second.
Was he reading the message wrong? He rubbed his eyes and read it again and again.
Seo-yoon had requested a meeting on the weekend—tomorrow—politely.
Of course, the surface reason was purely academic: she wanted feedback on the materials he had given for the assignment.
No sentences hinted at a date or hidden personal feelings.
Yet it was impossible to stop the corner of his mouth from rising in the empty room.
While his fingers moved to reply in the cool, natural tone of a senior who wasn’t showing his joy, another message from Seo-yoon arrived at the perfect timing.
— Since it’s a separate request on the weekend, I’ll treat you to a meal as thanks. Even if it’s simple.
Dong-oh looked down at the smartphone screen and let out a small, involuntary “pfft” laugh.
It wasn’t that he found the idea of dragging his senior all the way to campus for feedback on the weekend and offering nothing more than a cheap student cafeteria lunch ridiculous or ridiculous.
He had imagined her feeling guilty and grateful while thoughtfully considering what gift or reason to offer in return for his personal time on the weekend.
Dong-oh typed his reply in a cool tone.
— I’m not giving you a meal just so you can eat.
After typing the sentence into the input field, he stared at it for a moment, then added one more line.
— What time tomorrow?
Seo-yoon’s reply arrived instantly, as if she had been waiting with the phone in her hand the whole time.
— I’ll be at the library from morning. Does noon work?
— Twelve?
— Yes. I’ll see you in front of the library.
Dong-oh felt his heart flutter and was about to send the reply when he stopped his fingers and took a deep breath for a few seconds.
His reply speed was too sharp; he didn’t want her to think he was like a senior just waiting for her message.
But stalling now after reading the message was pointless.
— Sure. See you then.
Soon Seo-yoon’s reply came.
— Yes! See you tomorrow.