A9 4

Suho gave a hollow laugh and said, “Ha ha, right.” The soul that had already slipped away showed no sign of returning, and Hyunju, too busy grumbling at her blunt son, didn’t notice his expression. By the time her muttering was coming to an end, Minhyuk casually replied, “Yeah, got it,” and raised one eyebrow. Then he lightly tapped Suho’s arm and jerked his chin toward the main gate.

“Let’s go, Im Suho.”

‘Shouldn’t you be spending this time reviewing even one more word instead of lingering here?¹Suho’s understanding of what Minhyuk implied.’ His indifferent tone grated on Suho’s nerves. He couldn’t quite explain why that one line bothered him so much. If someone else had said it, he wouldn’t have cared, but since it was Kang Minhyuk, irritation welled up inside him.  

Still, with Hyunju watching, he couldn’t start a verbal spat, so Suho gave a lifeless smile. I’d better just head into the exam hall. His pride was bruised, but Minhyuk wasn’t wrong. He would be better off reviewing even a single page of his notes than standing around here, wasting time.

“We’ll head in now.”

“Alright. Both of you just do what you’ve been doing, so don’t get nervous, okay?”

“Yes.”

After bowing his head and saying he’d be back, Suho started toward the exam hall. Whenever Hyunju’s cheerful shout of “My boys, fighting!” rang out from time to time, he had to turn and wave several times, but aside from that, things went by quietly enough.

Once he was completely out of her sight, Suho straightened his back, which had been bent like a shrimp. Maybe it was the earlier commotion, but his body and mind already felt exhausted. The silence filling the test site and the students moving neatly toward their assigned rooms made the nervousness he had momentarily forgotten start creeping back in.

The corners of his lips, which he had been forcing into a smile, fell slack. Now that it was finally time to take the Suneung, the reality of it hit him, and his steps into the exam hall felt oddly awkward. Noticing the sudden change in Suho’s demeanor, Minhyuk tilted his head slightly, watching Suho’s uneven pace with a puzzled expression. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant look.

“…That’s unusual.”

“What is?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you tremble like that.”

“I could say the same to you. What kind of change of heart made you start caring about me all of a sudden? Or maybe you’ve got time to spare? Don’t tell me the Suneung doesn’t mean much to you.”

Suho shot back mechanically, his tone defensive. Minhyuk merely raised one eyebrow, as if it didn’t matter at all. Even that small gesture was irritating, but whatever. It wasn’t like he would have to see that face again once the exam was over. Even if he had to attend school for a few more days, he could just avoid running into him like he always did.

“Don’t waste your time worrying about me. Just focus on your own exam. You never know what might happen. What if you make a marking mistake for the first time in your life?”

Without hesitation, Suho turned away and headed for his assigned room.

“I’m going first. If you don’t know the answer, just pick number three.”

Not that you’d ever need to, of course. With that final remark, Suho hurried his steps toward his designated room. His pace was almost like running away, but because of his nerves, his steps kept tangling. He knew perfectly well that he looked ridiculous, acting so unlike himself, and as he stepped into his assigned room, a small laugh escaped him.

At this rate, I might be the one who makes a marking mistake.

* * *

…Fuck, I jinxed myself.

He had made a marking mistake he had never once made in his entire life, and three of them at that.

Forget the broken engagement or whatever. Maybe I should just go die.

* * *

1112131²The Suneung grading system uses nine levels per subject, with each digit on the report card representing the grade received for that subject. Grade 1 is the highest, typically given to the top 4% of test-takers. Grades 2 and 3 follow, representing progressively larger portions of the distribution. The scores are based on a curved (stanine) system comparing students nationally. Each subject is graded separately, and the scores collectively paint the student’s academic standing.. The string of numbers on his report card was devastating. It had started off well enough. He had always been confident in Korean History, Korean, and English, and his scores in those were decent as usual. But the sudden 2 and 3 left him deeply dejected. Fine, maybe a 2 could be forgiven as a simple mistake if one were being generous. But that damned 3 in Korean Geography, caused by a critical misalignment of answers, was something he could never accept. 

How could he make such a ridiculous mistake? How could someone taking the Suneung for the second time mess up something so basic? A person who had never once in his life gotten a level 3, ruined by a single marking error…

“…Ha.”

Suho crumpled his score report in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way the errors revealed in the preliminary grading would miraculously disappear in the official results. Any faint attempt to hold onto hope only brought back the memory of the moment he misaligned the answers, making him feel worse before he knew it. On top of that, today was the day for individual college counseling sessions at school, which meant he’d have to spend the entire day drowning in that gloom.

Like a soaked wad of cotton, Suho dragged himself toward the teachers’ office. The moment he stepped inside, he let out such a deep sigh that it seemed like the floor might collapse beneath him, drawing disapproving stares from several teachers. He didn’t care. Holding his crumpled preliminary score sheet, he trudged over to his homeroom teacher, whose expression was just as heavy.

The college counseling didn’t take long. They entered his scores into the admissions program, which, based on accumulated data, calculated the expected acceptance cutoffs. Then the teacher would suggest which departments might be safe to apply to; that was all. Maybe that was why it felt even more miserable. His dream school, Hanguk University’s Department of Business Administration, was far out of reach, and even the less popular departments looked uncertain.

Staring at the red “Rejected” text on the monitor made him feel like he was sinking into the floor. His face was blank, his eyes hollow, and even his faint breaths were heavy with despair. Perhaps unable to bear the sight, the teacher quietly scrolled the screen down to hide the results.

“Suho. Even so, this is still really good. Remember when you applied for early admission? You couldn’t even dream of getting into a university in Seoul back then. But look at you now. With your scores, you’re already within the acceptance range for universities ranked in the top three in Korea.”

It was close, but perhaps he could still hope to be accepted off the waiting list at Hanguk University. His homeroom teacher, who had been cautiously gauging Suho’s mood from the start, forced a small smile and offered words of comfort. Of course, they didn’t help much.

“It’s still Goyoung University, though.”

“That Goyoung University is a place most people would do anything to get into. It’s right up there competing with Yeonje University after Hanguk University.”

“That’s exactly my point… No matter how you put it, it’s still not Hanguk University, right?”

“…That’s true.”

A reluctant answer fell from above. Suho let out a long sigh, as if taking the final blow.

“I have to get into Hanguk University no matter what.”

“…Suho.”

“If it’s not there… then it’s meaningless.”

Suho’s gaze, which had been gradually lowering, soon landed on his feet. Truly, if it wasn’t that university, then it meant nothing. Once Minhyuk broke off their engagement, he would become a man without a fiancé, an Alpha family’s useless dominant Omega, treated like a burden within his own household. Even if he decided to live on his own and find a way to survive, could he really endure that kind of life?

People claimed that the times had changed, that it was a meritocratic society free of discrimination. But in truth, every society has its own unchanging prejudices. He had hoped that this world, this so-called “novel,” might be different, yet here, the Alpha and Omega distinction was an even firmer basis for discrimination. Because of that, an unbacked dominant Omega like him had little chance of being accepted into a respectable company.

That was why he had to prove his abilities, no matter what. A prestigious university’s name was the bare minimum, the deciding factor in whether an employer would even bother to turn the page of one’s résumé. Thinking that he might lose that crucial credential over a single marking mistake was…

“Ha…”

Suho shut his eyes tightly, as if refusing to believe that the nightmare he’d never dared imagine had become reality. Seeing this, his homeroom teacher, whose expression had grown even heavier, offered a quiet word of comfort.

“If it really doesn’t work out, taking the exam again next year wouldn’t be a bad idea. For now, just safely enroll in Goyoung University and then retake the Suneung…”

“…I’m sorry, but I’m not considering retaking the exam.”

Suho firmly expressed his refusal. Of course, it wasn’t that he had never thought about it. But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t make another mistake next time, and the thought of going through this hellish senior year all over again—three years in total—was unbearable. In the end, it would only waste more time and push him further behind his peers, shutting him out of what people called the “elite course.”

When his thoughts had grown that bleak, a strange calmness came over him. For now, the best he could do was compromise with reality: set foot inside Hanguk University through a different department, then double major in Business Administration or transfer into it later.

Once he let go of his stubbornness, the college counseling session quickly drew to a close. His first choice, much to his distaste, was Goyoung University’s Department of Business Administration; his second choice, Hanguk University’s Department of Oriental History, which at least seemed within reach; and finally, as his third choice, he pinned his hopes on being accepted off the waiting list for the Business Administration Department at Hanguk University, which he simply couldn’t give up on.

Just as he was about to stand up—

Knock, knock.

The polite sound of knocking drew everyone’s attention to the door. Before long, the door opened slightly, revealing a familiar face peeking in.

Round-tipped nose and eyes, lips pursed nervously into a small circle, smooth hair without a hint of curl, and light brown eyes. And faintly wafting from him, the soft scent of jasmine. Even without trying to stand out, that delicate boy naturally drew attention; he was AROUND9’s main bottom, “Lee Jaeyoung.”

“…Ah, hello.”

Flustered by the sudden gazes directed at him, Jaeyoung, looking as startled as a squirrel, quickly hid his face behind his score sheet and hurried forward. Everything he did seemed awkward and clumsy. Raising one eyebrow, Suho glanced his way, then looked away again with an indifferent expression.

At that moment—

“Ah…!”

Jaeyoung, who had been keeping his head down all this time, suddenly lifted it. He looked around frantically as if searching for something, then froze when his eyes finally landed on Suho. His body stiffened, and his eyes slowly widened.

• 1
  Suho’s understanding of what Minhyuk implied.
• 2
  The Suneung grading system uses nine levels per subject, with each digit on the report card representing the grade received for that subject. Grade 1 is the highest, typically given to the top 4% of test-takers. Grades 2 and 3 follow, representing progressively larger portions of the distribution. The scores are based on a curved (stanine) system comparing students nationally. Each subject is graded separately, and the scores collectively paint the student’s academic standing.