Mint Is Pure Love - Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

Summer, August 2000

“Go out with me, Ji Yeonseo.”

My heart dropped, just like when you step into thin air, thinking there’s solid ground under your foot, but there isn’t.

So this is it.

Finally, this moment.

At the tail end of August, under the last stretch of green that still clung to the trees, a cool shade fell over my white school uniform.

Instead of tilting my chin up to look at him, my eyes drifted to Lee Hojung’s group — the ones who always said they wanted to touch those strong, lean arms of his. I remembered that fleeting brush of cold skin and absently rubbed my wrist.

“You’re not gonna look at me?”

His voice pulled my gaze up, slowly.

I stopped once at the second button of his crisp uniform shirt, sun-dried and stiff. A little higher, at the sharp line of his Adam’s apple. And then, finally, our eyes met.

The second I looked at his face, my chest tightened a bit, no, honestly, a lot.

He was the one confessing, but it felt like I was the one being confessed to. His face was as calm and blank as always, and that made it all squeeze tighter around my ribs.

With that face in front of me, I couldn’t help but ask.

“Why should we even date?”

We’re not friends, we’re not anything — so why do we need to be that?

“What do you even want from me?”

Cha Seokyung and I — our relationship had always been light as air. Why did he want to weigh it down?

Was this hope? Fear?

Excitement? Dread?

My feelings swung back and forth like a loose scale — but his answer didn’t come right away.

That tiny delay made me anxious, so I bit down on my lower lip, just out of habit. The same lip that always got chewed up whenever someone picked on me. Cha Seokyung reached out and gently brushed it with his thumb, saving it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Eat lunch with me every day.”

”……”

“Come home with me after school.”

Cha Seokyung’s voice always sounded like ice made from the cleanest water — no noise, no extra fluff, just clear and cold. His low voice flowed out neat and steady through perfectly straight teeth.

“If you don’t get something in class, or with homework — ask me.”

”……”

”…If anyone’s mean to you, or if you’re having a hard time — tell me.”

My hands were sweaty. I clenched my skirt and let it go. For a second, I forgot what I’d even asked him.

“That’s what I want to do with you. So… go out with me.”

”……”

It felt weird.

So the things Cha Seokyung wanted to do with me, the reason he wanted to be my boyfriend — it was like…

“Do you really know Seokyung? Do you know him like I do?”

I could hear those smug lips, the way those words stabbed at soft spots.

No way. No way it’s that.

“Cha Seokyung, why do you want to date me?”

I told myself I trusted him — that it wasn’t about that.

That the hesitation on his face right now wasn’t about that.

I really believed that. But then —

“Because I think you’re —”

The moment I heard his answer, it felt like bungee jumping with no cord — the world spun out from under me.

I’ve always had a list of labels stuck to me.

Bitchy. Annoying. Boy-crazy. Pretty enough to string guys along for fun. Heartless.

And yet Cha Seokyung picked the one word that didn’t fit with any of those. The one word that felt unfamiliar, raw, infuriating — and stuck it in front of my name, then asked me to be his girlfriend.

A cold draft slid through my chest — so out of place for this warm season.

Somewhere past the front gate, a group of kids was heading our way, voices loud and getting closer.

Like he wanted to wrap this up before they got here, Cha Seokyung’s voice turned a shade more urgent.

“So — go out with me.”

”……”

“I want to be with you, Ji Yeonseo.”

A noisy cluster of Myeongwon High kids came pouring in — loud, laughing, all eyes and chatter.

My eyes drifted from Cha Seokyung’s face — which just a moment ago had felt almost dazzling — to that mass of people getting closer behind him.

On their faces, the second they spotted Seokyung’s back, was that familiar softness — the look people gave him.

Because he was that person. The one everyone liked.

“Pointy” Ji Yeonseo lifted her chin.

Like my grandma always said — when you die, all you’ll have left are your white bones and your damn pride clinging to them.

I clenched my teeth once — and like a spring snapping free, the words shot out of my mouth with no hesitation.

Thank god my voice didn’t shake. It came out steady, stiff, just like I wanted.

“No. I don’t want to date you.”

“. . . Why?”

His Adam’s apple jerked — like he was swallowing down surprise that got stuck in his throat. Of course, he’d thought I’d just say yes. You always thought people would say yes.

Seeing that look on his face made me feel a tiny spark of triumph — but behind it came something sour and sad. I hated that soggy feeling so much I blew it up like a pufferfish, spitting out words sharp enough to hide how flimsy I really felt.

“…Cha Seokyung. You go to this school with money my family pays.”

His pale, perfect face — that usual calm, crack-proof mask — turned to me.

It didn’t make my heart skip anymore.

Something else rippled through me instead.

“I hate feeling sorry for someone.”

The air got tight in my chest.

It’s just the summer heat — that’s all. Not his blank face. Not the fact that I just swung a knife that cut flesh, my own or his.

The mess of the last three months flashed by like a cruel flicker — and it left behind just a pinch of regret I couldn’t swallow.

…If only. If only you’d just try to hold onto me one more time.

Thud.

His voice dropped to the ground at my feet.

“Okay, then.”

I saw his broad back turn away, no hesitation. Okay, then. Just like that — two dry, careless words closed the book on Cha Seokyung’s confession, in an August afternoon that would never come back.

He walked away like nothing had happened — light, clean, his long legs carrying him back through the shade we’d just walked under together.

Step, step.

He disappeared up that tree-lined path we’d once walked side by side — the path that felt like a dream when we were together.

Now I was the only one left standing there, stuck like I was half-asleep.

Summer’s end — shapeless, weightless — pressed against my solar plexus, hurting in a way I couldn’t touch.

A side▶▶

Spring, April 2000

Snap.

Right as my mechanical pencil lead snapped, the song ended.

Through the tangle of my earphone cord, I heard the small click and whir of the tape finishing its spin — the soft whirr-click of the Walkman as it stopped.

I flipped open the lid and turned the cassette over with a motion I could’ve done in my sleep.

Twenty whole minutes of lunch break left — no way was I about to sit here and let the noise of this other world crash into my head. I was about to hit play again when —

“So, who’d you pick? Choi Hyuk oppa or Cha Seokyung?”

My finger froze above the silver play button.

A name lined up right next to the leader of that hit dance group — the hot topic these days.

“Mmm… I’d pick Cha Seokyung.”

A burst of giggles exploded, playful teasing riding on squeals that echoed across the classroom. Around Lee Hojung’s desk, a cluster of girls were gathered, gossiping like it was their job.

“Hey, didn’t you say Choi Hyuk’s the hottest guy on earth?”

“Well, I mean… Hyuk oppa’s an idol, so he’s got stylists and makeup and all that, right? But Cha Seokyung … he just shows up in his uniform, washes his face, and he still looks — you know…”

Another round of laughter, bright and sharp like marbles scattering across the classroom floor — the sound I hated most in the world.

Usually I’d scrunch my eyebrows, shove my earphones in deeper, and crank up the volume until my ears rang.

But today, I sat there with my earphones dead silent, pretending I couldn’t hear. I didn’t even know why.

When their giggles finally died down, another voice jumped in, quick to keep the mood rolling.

“He really is different though. Like, when the guys come back from the field during lunch break, they all reek of sweat — it’s nasty just standing next to them. But Cha Seokyung? He just smells like soap.”

“Oh my god, what, did you go around sniffing him like a perv?”

A chorus of fake gasps, teasing, giggles — curiosity pretending it wasn’t curiosity — all of it swirled together in the air, sticky and warm like stale sugar.

“Come on, though — he’s the only reason half of us even bother showing up here. It’s like heaven took pity on us. What if all we ever saw were squid-faced boys and clueless dorks?”

The one saying that, Choi Sunyoung, used to have a massive crush on Kim Eunho — our school’s old poster boy. Which was why she’d glare daggers at me whenever I passed by last year.

“Seokyung probably has super high standards, right? I bet he wouldn’t even look at a girl unless she’s ridiculously pretty.”

Lee Hojung, who was pretty enough herself, popular enough, and the boldest when it came to Seokyung — asked that, voice dipping low and fishing for the answer she wanted. Someone like you, Hojung.

That’s what she was waiting to hear.

“But honestly, if it’s just looks… there’s no one in this school who matches him like Ji Yeonseo, right?”

The second those clueless words dropped, all that noisy chatter turned into an eerie silence.

Like someone pressed pause, the hush draped over the whole group.

Four desks ahead, diagonal to mine, their eyes finally slid toward me — flickers of glances sharp as needles.

With my dead earphones still in, I kept pretending — pretending I couldn’t hear, pretending to copy notes no one would ever see, pen dragging across the page.

“I mean… she really is pretty.”

A beat of silence again.

Then those ugly looks — sticky, mean, clinging to my skin.

So what if she’s pretty? Her attitude’s sh1t. B1tch thinks she’s hot stuff. Can’t even call her name — she’s always got something stuck in her ears anyway.

They didn’t even bother to lower their voices.

“Hey, is it true her dad’s the CEO of JSB Entertainment?”

“Yeah, I heard it from a kid who went to middle school with her. Apparently, at last year’s festival, her dad even got some celebrity to film a greeting video for us.”

“Must be nice. She probably gets to meet all the idols, huh?”

“What’s the point though — she’s still a b1tch. I asked her once if she could get me P.O.P’s autographs, and she told me to say something that made sense first.”

Like I could just waltz in and grab signatures from my dad’s rival group. That’d be like hugging a bomb and jumping into a fire. If you’re gonna beg, at least know what you’re asking for. I muttered all that in my head.

Their complaints about me dragged on, stretchy and sticky like stale gum.

From innocent stories about Kim Eunho to snide digs — perfect, pretty, cold, stuck-up, fox-faced.

Nobody likes being chewed up like cheap gum — but whatever.

If I was good enough to be someone’s boredom snack on a dull day at eighteen, so be it. Half of me had already given up.

By the time they moved on to wondering what lip balm Ji Yeonseo used, lunch break only had about ten minutes left.

I reached for the Walkman again — just one more song, I thought, pressing my fingertip to the play button.

But right then, Lee Hojung’s voice slipped out, tinted with something sly.

“Hey, you guys know what siat is?”

My finger froze.

Pressing down just a tiny bit, then stopping.

“Siat?”

“No, not ssi — siat!”

“What’s that?”

“A mistress. Like, you know — a side piece, a second woman.”

I didn’t have to look up to know — Lee Hojung’s eyes had snagged me like a trap.

“My grandma said it. Ji Yeonseo’s mom? She’s a siat. A mistress. An affair.”

…

Scrape.

The ugly screech of my chair dragging cut through their giggles. I yanked the long earphone cord from my ears and dropped it on my desk. When I lifted my eyes, Hojung’s little pack was staring right at me.

Step by step, the rubber soles of my sneakers crossed the floor. The other girls in her circle squirmed, avoiding my eyes, but Lee Hojung — that smug little brat — didn’t look away.

“Hey, Lee Hojung.”

“…What? What?”

Maybe she saw something sharp in my eyes — her gaze twitched, like she’d flinch if I so much as raised a nail to her face.

“If you’re gonna talk, get it right. My real mom isn’t a mistress — my stepmom is.”

“…”

“My stepmom’s the mistress. The siat.”

I don’t fight girls.

I don’t bother snapping back at the ones chewing me up behind my back or to my face. That’s always been my rule.

But spreading bullshit? That I can’t stand.

Call me pretty, call me rude — fine, I won’t argue. That’s all true anyway.

But lies? I don’t let those go.

“And FYI, she’s the fourth mistress. Got it?”

If you’re gonna chew on my life like gum, at least know whether you’re tasting kimchi or strawberry flavor. Get it right before you spit it out.

“Hey, Hojung. Wanna come over and try my stepmom’s tteokbokki sometime?”

“Hah — what, are you nuts? Psycho.”

Hojung twirled her finger at her temple like I was insane.

I shot her a sweet little smile and spun on my heel.

Someone behind me let out a gasp like they couldn’t believe it — but who cares.

I should at least grab some milk.

Skipped lunch, wasted my energy on nonsense — now my stomach felt raw.

I walked the hallway at a perfectly normal pace, bathed in April’s lazy spring sun.

If Ji Yeonseo ran, she’d get talked about.

If she dawdled, she’d get talked about.

If she rushed, if she dragged her feet — always something for someone to pick at. So I walked as normally as I could. My stomach was empty enough; I didn’t need more gossip to fill it.

Even passing through the drifting dust in the hallway, I could feel it — eyes, poking at my back, dull curiosity sharpened just enough to scratch.

It’s nothing.

None of it’s anything.

I tilted my chin up on purpose and stepped up to the window at the stairwell’s end. Down below, through the glass, I could see the little single-story brick snack stand.

I scanned the kids milling around, calculating — could I get my strawberry milk without bumping into anyone annoying?

That was all. Just strategy — I definitely wasn’t looking for anyone.

“…Cha Seokyung.”

His name slipped out before I knew it.

Not because I wanted anything. But like the girls said, that boy stood out no matter where he was.

Among all those half-baked boys, he bloomed alone, neat and bright like someone had taken real care to grow him.

Surrounded by dumb boys clowning around, Cha Seokyung didn’t have to say or do anything — just standing there pulled all the eyes to him.

He’d smile sometimes like a prince humoring his jesters, fiddling with the strawberry milk in his hand.

And then — he lifted his head.

Our eyes met.

My feet froze. Then, without thinking, I stepped back.

Why did I flinch? I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t even trying to look at him.

When I peeked out again, Seokyung and his friends were already walking away.

That back, fading into the distance — I knew it so well.

I know Cha Seokyung.

Even if he doesn’t know me.