Mint Is Pure Love - Chapter 25

Cha Seokyung stood up and casually unlocked the padlock with the key he was holding.

The door opened into a cluttered storage-like space filled with broken desks, chairs, a teacher’s podium, and other leftover school supplies. Two metal cabinets stood by the hallway-facing windows, making it unlikely anyone could see inside.

Sunlight poured in from the east-facing window, lighting up the room. In the middle, two desks were pushed together face-to-face like some makeshift table. On top of them sat two buns, an ion drink, and a bottle of strawberry milk—laid out like some kind of tiny banquet.

“How do you have the key to this place?”

Seokyung pulled out a chair and sat down, answering without a hint of concern.

“I stole it.”

“……”

“Kidding.”

A joke, told with the kind of face that didn’t suit joking at all.

“Being a scholarship student means doing more than just studying. You have to keep the school happy too.”

He pushed one of the buns and the strawberry milk toward me with his big hand.

“They asked me to clean and maintain this place,” he added. Apparently, the homeroom teacher had assigned it to him. I didn’t need him to say more to get it. I also had designated cleaning areas once a month.

As I stuck a straw into the strawberry milk, I asked, “So, what? You want us to eat lunch here from now on? What about your friends?”

“They’re used to it. I show up sometimes, sometimes I don’t. They don’t care.”

“There are people in the cafeteria who always check if you’re there, you know.”

Like Lee Hojung. And all the girls who had confessed to him—or were planning to. Even the boys who trailed after him, drawn to that cold, blunt attitude of his.

I threw the words out like I didn’t really care. “This is kinda lame, though. I mean, eating lunch in secret like we’re in middle school? What are we, five?”

“It’s not lame. Not to me.”

I tore into the cream-filled bun with one big bite. It was the kind I liked—those soft crescent buns with whipped cream inside. At least he had good taste.

“Still… this just makes something small feel way too big, you know?”

Seokyung set down his half-finished ion drink and looked at me. “What’s something small, and what feels big?”

“…Aren’t you uncomfortable being seen with me? People talk, you know. You hate attention. You said you hate drama.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I dunno… What about you?”

He asked it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe it was the sunlight, but I thought I saw a faint flush creep up his face.

“How do you feel, being seen with me? Do you hate it?”

Hate it? If only it were that simple—just a matter of like or dislike.

The plastic wrap of the bun crackled in my hands. Out in the field beyond the window, someone was shouting, playing. The distant noise hung between us like a soft barrier.

“Seokyung… I’m kinda pretty, right?”

Instead of answering, his throat bobbed in a dry swallow.

“My dad wanted me to become a celebrity. He owns a big entertainment agency. Makes a lot of money, probably. He even donates scholarships to the school.”

Of course, mostly for tax breaks and publicity.

“Anyway, it was kinda embarrassing. I wasn’t super into studying either, so he tried pushing me to debut. Gave me lessons, made me do this and that.”

My dad saw everything, even his kids, through a business lens. Less about what we wanted, more about where we could be useful.

“I wasn’t particularly talented or anything, but the trainers always said it didn’t matter. If you could dance, or sing, or just look good, you could make it. Just stick around long enough and you’ll get something. I did like singing, though. That part was real, I guess. But… maybe I looked too casual about it.”

I’m sure there was someone—probably a fellow trainee—who resented me. While they were desperately chasing their dreams, here I was, the CEO’s daughter, waltzing in like I didn’t even care.

And they were right. I wasn’t really serious about it.

“I didn’t realize how scary it was to have so many people know who you are.”

It all started because of one lyric. December 12th. Someone posted a theory about it on a fan page.

We were still using pagers back then. Somehow they figured out my number. I’d get spammed constantly—numerical insults, recorded threats from strangers.

It got worse when I found out the person who leaked my info was someone I thought was close to me. An older trainee unnie. That betrayal hurt more than the rest.

At school, I’d find my ID photo slipped into my desk or drawer, sometimes next to razor blades or bl00d-colored scribbles. Probably from fans who went to the same school.

It didn’t stop after a day or two—it went on. Different methods, different messages. I was sixteen.

The rumors spread faster than I could keep up. Every little thing I said or did was picked apart.

Girls in my class weren’t classmates. They were like cameras with thirty lenses and mouths that recorded, exaggerated, and broadcast everything. And it didn’t stop with them. It spread to other classes. Other schools.

It escalated again when another company launched a girl group to rival my dad’s. Suddenly I was the “princess” of my dad’s company.

“Did you hear? She gets special access to the broadcast station’s waiting rooms. Doesn’t even have to wait in line.”

They were sixteen too, but their gazes were sharp, brutal. Mob mentality gave them permission to do worse. They’d lurk outside my house, wait at the school gates.

I remember those stares. Clawing, sneering. Especially when I was with Hojung. They’d glare at her like she’d touched something they owned.

That was what scared me the most—those stares. Not even the threats. Not even being alone. But what scared me more… was knowing no one would protect me.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Yeonseo. It’s just a phase. Every idol goes through stuff like this.”

“It’s nothing. You’ll grow out of it.” That’s what they told me.

“…I think I dated Kim Eunho because I hoped people would see me differently. Think better of me.”

A lonely, desperate part of me thought maybe if I dated someone everyone liked, they’d like me too.

Which—yeah. Was a really dumb idea.

Labeled relationships carry weight. Friend, lover, family—those titles come with expectations. And when you can’t carry that weight, things fall apart.

Relationships aren’t just about feelings. They’re about how much you can carry at your age.

“Our P.E. teacher says things should be light at our age. Everything should pass easily.”

But I couldn’t even carry the average weight of being eighteen.

“That’s why I like things light.”

No labels. No expectations. Just like how I still call her my “stepmom” even though I love her—because calling her “mom” would mean wanting more than I deserve.

“Seokyung, I can pretend we’ve known each other forever. That’s easy. Because it’s fake.”

I didn’t want anyone to see what I was really feeling. I was afraid. I didn’t want to get hurt again.

“I can’t be your secret friend. That kind of thing… it’s not light once it has a name.”

Whatever we call this—if we name it, it won’t stay light. A label means weight. And eventually, things fall under that weight.

“And anyway… I’m gonna keep making waves.”

I’ll keep drawing attention, keep standing out. Keep reminding people I’m not the kind of girl they think I am.

I’ll take whatever they throw at me. Like it doesn’t hurt. Like I don’t care. I’ll walk through the halls with my head high, like everything’s normal.

“One person’s attention is enough for me.”

“……”

“If I start pulling in yours too… I don’t think I can handle that.”

If you got hurt because of me, like Hojung did. If even the good memories started to fade…

I don’t think I could survive that again.

Seokyung didn’t say a word.

“Let’s not make this complicated.”

I folded the bun wrapper neatly and picked up my empty milk box.

“Thanks for the snack today.”

There won’t be a next time. Because this is too childish. And it feels like too much. I pushed back my chair, stood up, and slid it back into place.

Opened the sliding door, stepped out, and closed it again. That same old ache—regret, sadness—rested on my shoulders. The kind of weight that follows you when you’re leaving something you might not get back.

The door opened again.

This time, another hand reached out and touched my wrist. Not cold. Not hot. Just… warm. Barely.

Seokyung rubbed something into my palm—a warm piece of metal.

“No tree lives in sunlight all day. No plant grows only in the rain.”

“……”

“If there’s ever one hour in the day when you just want stillness… come here.”

There was a key in my palm. Probably to this empty classroom.

“Where no one’s watching. Where no one cares.”

“……”

“I’ll draw the attention out there. For now.”

Why are you doing this for me? Seokyung, what are you trying to tell me? What do you want from me? Instead of asking, I just looked up at him.

Once again, his throat bobbed like he was parched. Like always, when he looked at me.

“I’ll be like air.”

No weight. Just here. By your side.

“Light. Nameless.”

He really did look light then. Like he didn’t want the weight either.

And yet… like someone who still didn’t want to let go.

His voice dipped lower as he added quietly.

“But I’ll come here sometimes.”

“……”

“Just sometimes. Me too.”

What are you hoping for from me? How do you see me? And why… do I keep wanting to cry when I’m with you? Why does my heart keep overflowing?

Even though you say you’ll just be like air—neither a ten-year friend, nor a secret one—I couldn’t push you away.

Not anymore.