Mint Is Pure Love - Chapter 9

Just like he said—no take-backs—Cha Seokyung played his role as my badminton practical partner without a single complaint. Maybe it was because I’d snapped at him once, but even his serves now came over in much gentler arcs than before. Though returning them was still a whole other problem for me.

I still felt bad for being so terrible, and honestly, a little embarrassed too. I’d even considered skipping the test entirely, so I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t thought to actually try.

When had I picked up this habit of giving up in advance? Even the sweet taste of strawberry milk felt bitter on my tongue.

“Ji Yeonseo and Cha Seokyung, clean up the rackets and put them back in the P.E. equipment room.”

Whether it was on purpose or not, the gym teacher always made Cha Seokyung and me stay behind to clean up. That day was no different. As soon as class ended, the teacher pointed right at us.

By now, Seokyung was used to it. The moment we were dismissed, he started tidying up the rackets without hesitation.

The funny thing was, after a few times of him being stuck with cleanup duty, the other students started acting more carefully too. The rackets, which had once been dumped carelessly, were now stacked neatly in the basket. That alone said a lot.

Of course, not everyone got the memo.

“Oops. My bad.”

One racket bounced off the edge of the plastic basket and clattered to the floor—it had clearly been tossed in on purpose. Kim Eunho stood with one hand shoved into his pocket, throwing out a half-hearted apology. When his eyes met Seokyung’s, he shrugged like, So what, what are you gonna do?

Cha Seokyung’s calm gaze flicked from Eunho to the fallen racket.

“Pick it up.”

“What?”

“Pick it up.”

Though his voice remained steady and unbothered, there was something firm and commanding about his tone—undeniably authoritative.

If it sounded that way to me, there’s no way Kim Eunho didn’t catch it. He was always hypersensitive to how people spoke to him. The boy who usually wore a cocky grin now had a stiff, frozen expression.

Kim Eunho wasn’t what you’d call a delinquent. He could be a bit arrogant, sure, but he never caused big trouble. Most kids and even teachers saw him as a decent guy.

You know the type—slightly rebellious, good-looking enough to get away with it, the kind of kid every school has one or two of.

But his friends? A whole different vibe.

Maybe because he liked to hang out and mess around, he spent a lot of time with the rougher crowd. After school, they’d roam around together. That smug line he threw at me when we dated—Didn’t I at least get you talking to people?—wasn’t even totally wrong. Most students tiptoed around him… or more accurately, around his friends.

“Damn. What’s with your attitude?”

He was smiling, but his voice had an edge. Even with that loaded curse, Seokyung’s expression didn’t change. Like he was a wall. Like nothing Eunho said could touch him.

That made Kim Eunho frown deeper.

“Hey, Cha Seokyung. I said watch your damn tone.”

Seokyung looked at him, expression drained, as if tired.

“Pick. It. Up.”

Just two syllables. Not a curse, not a shout. But they cut deep. There was something cold and sharp in them that made your chest tighten.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said pick it up and put it in properly.”

“What the hell’s your problem, huh? What’s with that attitude?”

The air turned tense in an instant. If this were to turn into a real fight, I could already predict the outcome—Kim Eunho would lose. Height, build, and just presence—Seokyung had him beat. Eunho even flinched slightly at Seokyung’s flat words.

But I wasn’t worried about Eunho.

As someone who’d wrecked their own school life just by being someone’s ex, I knew how fast things could spiral. And as stupid as it sounded, I couldn’t help but imagine the worst.

Maybe someone else was about to ruin their school life too.

“Kim Eunho!”

I cut in.

Both boys turned to me.

In dramas or manga, this would’ve been a classic love triangle standoff. Two boys, tension thick in the air, with the girl caught in between.

But the thing that started this mess wasn’t me. It was a badminton racket lying on the ground. I wasn’t yelling Don’t fight over me. I was yelling, Don’t fight over a damn racket.

“Just leave, okay?”

Yeah, I knew I was interfering where I shouldn’t, but what if? What if something happened between Seokyung and those kids Eunho hangs out with?

“I need to clean up. You wanna see me get yelled at for being late to the next class?”

I forced my voice into a whiny plea. I hated doing that, but it worked. Eunho’s glare softened a little. Maybe he was happy I stepped in. He pouted dramatically and replied in a fake-sweet voice.

“Aww, our Yeonseo getting scolded? That won’t do~ Should I help you out?”

“No thanks. Just go.”

I shooed him off and crouched to pick up the racket—the same one that’d sparked all this drama.

Eunho winked and said he’d text me later before walking away.

In the silence that followed, I busied myself collecting the remaining rackets and shuttlecocks in Seokyung’s place. I could feel his gaze on my back—hot and piercing.

“What the hell was that?”

His voice wasn’t flat anymore. It had a sharp, cold edge. I looked up. The sun was behind him, casting shadows over his face. I couldn’t see his expression.

I stood and brushed my hands off.

“Kim Eunho might act lighthearted, but his friends aren’t.”

“So?”

“…”

“Are you saying you were worried about me?”

Worried.

Yeah, I guess I was.

I knew our situations were nothing alike—different reputations, different circumstances—but I couldn’t help it. I worried.

“Why?”

That question caught me off guard.

“Why are you worried about me, Ji Yeonseo?”

Yeah. Why was I?

Who the hell was I to worry about him? What were we, even?

But I knew. Even the smallest rumor could blind someone. Even the tiniest bias could ruin everything.

And I’m not the type to just stand by when something bad is about to happen. Never have been.

Just as I was sorting through all that in my head, Seokyung spoke.

Same calm, composed tone as always.

“You must have a lot of spare concern to give away.”

But the words were ice cold.

“…What?”

“You’re more worried about the ash at someone else’s feet than the fire on your own. Impressive.”

You’re in no position to worry about others, you outcast.

That’s what he meant, dressed up all nice and tidy.

“Save the pity party for your own problems.”

My earlier whining to Eunho came rushing back. I clamped my mouth shut. It was too fresh to deny.

Seokyung stacked the shuttlecock basket on top of the rackets and effortlessly picked them up, heading toward the storage room.

The sun cast long shadows across the field, and mine was the thinnest, faintest of all.

I looked down at my feet.

The fire on my own damn foot.

It felt like the flames had spread all the way to my ears.

Was it embarrassment? Shame?

Hell no.

It was rage. A deep, burning crimson kind of rage.

I stormed after Seokyung.

With every step, I got angrier. When I reached the storage room, I flung the door open and grabbed the first soccer ball I saw. I hurled it with all my strength at his broad back.

Thud. The ball bounced off his muscular shoulders and rolled away. He turned around.

I was breathless.

“Apologize.”

For the first time, he looked surprised—thrown off by the sudden attack.

“That was the third time you talked sh1t to me.”

“Is that how you usually try to get people’s attention?”

“Don’t start living like that already.”

I’d held back twice. I’d learned long ago not to react to every little comment. It’s a waste of energy.

But three times? That was the limit.

Maybe I’d misunderstood him, I thought. Maybe he meant something else.

But not this time.

“What? Are you offended that an outcast was worried about you? Does it bruise your ego that I was thinking about someone else while my own life is falling apart? Oh, I get it—you’re pissed you didn’t get to play the hero and have everyone cheer for you.”

“Enough. Stop.”

He tried to shut me down, low voice and all, but I was on a roll.

“I get it. You’re smart, you act mature, you want people to think you’re different. You pretend to listen, but you really believe only you’re right. For me, crying is the only way to fix things, but for you? Everything’s easy, huh?”

“I said stop. I get it, okay?”

“Do you? You think just because people say nice things about you, you can say whatever the hell you want? That you’re so well-mannered you can sh1t-talk me behind my back because I’m an outcast?”

“Ji Yeonseo.”

I stopped and caught my breath.

“You’re angry because I talked down to you, right?”

I tried to calm down.

“You think I cry to solve problems? If crying actually fixed anything…”

I would’ve cried ten, a hundred times over.

But I couldn’t say that out loud. Because if I did, I’d really start crying.

“I don’t care what you think of me. Say what you want to your friends behind my back. But you don’t get to say that kind of crap to my face anymore. You crossed the line. So, apologize.”

“…”

“If you do…”

Strange. I hadn’t meant to add a condition. An apology is something I deserve, no strings attached. And yet, I said—

“If you apologize, I’ll forgive you. Just this once.”

His eyes—watching me quietly—looked empty. Strangely hollow. It made it hard to keep yelling.

“So apologize.”

Maybe my voice shook a little.

In that moment, I realized something:

I had never once asked anyone for an apology.

No one had ever apologized to me.

“Apologize.”

Please. Just say you’re sorry.

Cha Seokyung said nothing.