Even Falling Might Be a Luxury
It was a day of heavy rain. I'd thought I'd grown used to Professor Seo's eccentricity, but calling me out on a day like this, with the downpour relentless, still made no sense. He'd probably checked the forecast and picked this weather on purpose. Even with an umbrella, my pant cuffs were soaked through. Only after stepping into the building housing his office could I finally catch my breath. I shook off the umbrella and headed to his office. It had been a while, but I hadn't forgotten the way. I reached the door on the third floor and knocked politely.
No answer came. I knocked harder a few times, but it stayed silent. I pulled out my smartphone—no messages. With a deep sigh, I decided to kill some time elsewhere. There was a lounge in another building, but I wasn't about to venture out in this storm to find it. I wandered the halls looking for a decent spot to wait, but nothing suitable turned up. As I looped around the building, a voice called out.
"…Sunbae?"
I turned, and there stood a girl with a squirrel-like vibe. I didn't need her to say more; that "sunbae" told me exactly who she was.
"Sunbae, right? What brings you here?"
It was Muk Ha-neul, the one junior in this department who still called me sunbae.
"Oh… it's you. Just here to see Professor Seo. He said he had something to discuss."
We weren't exactly on greeting terms anymore. It had been ages since we'd had a proper conversation, ever since things got awkward from that incident. Even I felt a bit thrown off.
"Professor Seo? He stepped out a little while ago."
"…Ah."
Surprisingly, Ha-neul still didn't seem to hate me. She was an odd one.
"No idea where he went, but I doubt he'll be back soon."
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"If you need a place to chill, want to hit the café downstairs with me?"
"Café?"
Had she forgotten that whole mess? And was there even a café in this building? I racked my brain, but nothing came up. Luckily, her words proved my memory was fine.
"They opened it this year. First floor. Small, but decent for sitting."
"Guess I'll head there, then."
"Good call."
Ha-neul turned and started down the stairs. The café was tucked in a corner—easy to miss on the way in. I ordered a chocolate latte; she got an iced Americano, or "aa" as they call it. I paid for both as a matter of course. She didn't protest. It wasn't just because I was a guy. I simply figured there was no need for a woman to foot the bill. Plus, she was still a student, and I was out in the real world already—it wasn't weird.
"You still love sweets, huh."
"I can't wrap my head around aa. It's just bitter water."
"That's why you'll always be a kid, sunbae."
"Yeah, right."
Me, with my patchy stubble? Anyway, it was a surprisingly warm chat. It had been years since that big incident—enough time to forget, maybe? But she acted like it never happened. Three years could do that… right? Silence hung until the drinks arrived, which made sense; we didn't have much to say.
Ha-neul sipped her aa slowly through the straw, the level dropping at a snail's pace. I couldn't fathom it. My chocolate latte? I chugged it in one go. Her aa was still over eighty percent full; mine was less than half gone in a single gulp.
"What's the point of gulping it down like that?"
"Chocolate flavor, duh."
Mindless banter. Women were always like this. She was no exception. Order a coffee, nurse it forever while chattering away, then show off the empty cup. Nothing surprising there.
As I mulled those worthless thoughts, chewing the paper straw from my empty cup, Ha-neul suddenly spoke up while sipping her coffee.
"Sunbae, congrats on the award."
"Yeah. Some small lit mag."
"That's impressive."
"No big deal."
It really wasn't. A minor prize for a story that happened to catch eyes. Sure, to Ha-neul, who hadn't debuted yet, it might seem huge.
"I'm prepping a piece for a contest right now. Actually came here to show Professor Cheon."
"Oh, yeah?"
I wasn't thrilled, but I played along. Felt like trouble brewing.
"Wanna take a look?"
And there it was. Had she planned this? After that critique, she still wanted my take? I wanted to say no, but she'd shown me the café, and I had time. On a whim, I nodded.
She fished a printed manuscript from her bag. I skimmed it. Titled Fall, it was about a novelist's downfall. I started casually, but soon got sucked in. An arrogant writer suddenly unable to write, grappling with torment. The theme hooked me—I couldn't look away.
Not that it was fun. Objectively well-written, zero entertainment value. But it left a queasy aftertaste. It took a while, but I finished.
Ha-neul watched anxiously as I set it down.
"What'd you think?"
"Well-written."
Her face fell. In the Creative Writing Department, "well-written" never meant praise. Not that I intended it that way—I wasn't about to correct her. There were issues.
"Specifically, what's wrong?"
"Cliché premise, boring execution. Technically solid, but no grip on readers. Can't call it a good novel. Prose too feminine, reeks of it."
"R-Really."
She looked visibly crushed. She knew "feminine" was no compliment from me.
"Still, way better than your old stuff. You've improved a ton. Personally, I liked the story. But winning a contest? Probably not, in my opinion."
Her eyes widened at the unexpected positivity.
"You liked it? Which part?"
"The novelist who loses his writing but gets a shot at everything else instead. Choosing writing over all that—his guts there were spot-on. If he'd picked otherwise, he'd be happy. He knows it. Yet he chooses writing anyway. Means even his own misery can't stop him. I dig characters like that."
"I-I see. Actually, this story… it's modeled after you, sunbae."
Ah, that explained it. Why it pulled me in so hard. Noticing my stiffening expression, she fidgeted.
I liked the content, the protagonist's resolve—but basing it on me without asking? Unpleasant. Not that it wasn't like me. It was. Still, writing about someone without permission was rude.
She'd confessed because I praised the lead. Short-sighted.
"Yeah, if she were a woman, that choice would've been impossible."
Ha-neul went quiet. She'd caught the sarcasm. What could you do? She was a woman, after all.
Trusting a "woman" was folly.
"S-Sorry."
At least that's why we could still interact—she knew shame. Her fault from the start.
"For the contest, change the protagonist to a woman. Easier to write, easier to judge."
I laced the pointless advice with bite. A female lead would make it simpler, more appealing, more popular.
"But that kind of story…"
"Yeah. Porn."
Selling out women. I doubt she'd agree, but that's how I saw it. Porn had its place, but not alongside literature.
"…I'll think about it."
She'd say that, but she wouldn't change it. Ha-neul was a bit "less" womanly. She knew the easy path but wouldn't take it. If she did, she'd just be ordinary. Fine, this settled that old critique. Both at fault (I still stand by mine). Water under the bridge.
She reviewed her story, rereading my points. I crunched the ice from my empty latte, zoning out.
Then:
"Why the hell is that guy here?"
The voice came from beside us—Yun Su-a, sparrow-like, my fellow department junior. She wouldn't see it that way, nor would I want to, but there she was.
"Ha-neul, why are you with him?"
"Su-a. We ran into each other by chance, so I asked him to look at my story."
"Bet he spewed his usual crap critique. Thinks he's hot shit."
Yun Su-a hurled insults without restraint. Our rift started with that critique fight, but we were never close before. First critique session—I'd called her story the kind of drivel only brainless feminists would write, convinced everything oppressed women. Probably trashed the rest similarly. Until Ha-neul's critique sparked our blowup. After that, no more reading each other's work. She hit me with the same pitiful insults every time. Honestly, she had more talent for that than writing. SM club, maybe? Women think they're oppressed but never watch their words. Not that I wanted to bash her head in. I tuned her out, ear turned away pointedly.
She fumed at the gesture and kept going.
"Bet you gaslit this innocent girl. You don't deserve to critique her."
"More than you, who hasn't debuted?"
She bristled, pathetic.
"Got even ruder while I wasn't looking. Just like your friends. Birds of a feather—black-hearted creeps stick together. Whatever your ulterior motives with Ha-neul, over my dead body will—"
"Won't happen, so don't worry."
Her face soured as I cut her off. Ha-neul beside her looked oddly tense.
"Come on. Don't hang with trash like that."
Yun Su-a grabbed Ha-neul's hand, pulling her up. I didn't bother responding. No desire to engage.
Ha-neul, led away, whispered to me:
"Um, I'll… text you later."
Yun Su-a snapped something like "Text him?!" but whatever.
Less than an hour had passed already. Professor Seo might be back. I packed up and left right after they did. In the hall, I spotted their backs at the end—Yun Su-a yapping away. Nothing I could do. Probably telling her to cut ties. Maybe Ha-neul would finally do it. But I'd never expected more from her. No betrayal if she did—just natural. Expecting anything from a woman was a luxury.
And I wasn't rich enough for luxuries.