Chapter Text
Her phone would alarm at 6:00. Wonyoung opened her eyes at 5:59 and touched the screen before it could sound.
The blackout curtains kept everything dim except for the light from her phone. Her Dyson air purifier showed green numbers—air quality good. The humidifier released steady mist into the air.
She placed her feet on the cream carpet, shoulder-width apart. The meditation app played its opening chime. Breathe in for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight. She needed to email Professor Choi about the recommendation letter. In for four. The consulting club met at two. Hold for seven. Did she charge her iPad? Out for eight.
Warrior pose. Her right knee bent at exactly ninety degrees. Triangle pose. Tree. Each position held for thirty seconds. The yoga mat had a small tear in the corner she kept meaning to replace.
The plants on her windowsill got their morning water. Three tablespoons for the jade plant, two for each succulent in their ceramic pots, arranged by height on the white desk beneath. She peeled off the v-line mask and dropped it in the waste basket. The rose quartz roller was cool against her skin. Up the neck, across the cheekbones, gentle pressure around the eyes.
Her Google Calendar filled the phone screen. Economics 9-10:30 (blue). Consulting club 2-4 (green). Pilates 5-6 (yellow). Dinner with Sunghoon 7 (red). The vitamin reminder was set for 7 AM. Birth control at 9 PM.
She opened her closet. The white blouse from Theory, pressed yesterday. The beige skirt that hit exactly mid-knee.
The dining room table could seat twelve but only held three place settings. Morning light filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Apgujeong's skyline. Her mother sat with perfect posture, sectioning a grapefruit.
"Oh, your spine, honey."
Wonyoung adjusted before she'd fully sat down. "Sorry, Omma."
"It's okay, sweetie. You know I only mention it because I love you." Her mother smiled. "Did you hear about Jihye's daughter? Goldman Sachs. Hong Kong office."
"Impressive."
"Twenty-three and already international. But you'll do even better, won't you?" Her mother's eyes stayed warm while her voice sharpened. "You always do."
Her father scrolled through his tablet, coffee untouched.
Wonyoung placed chicken breast on her plate. The kitchen scale read 150 grams.
"One fifty? That's... ambitious." Her mother tilted her head. "You know how muscle photographs. But if that's what makes you happy."
She added steamed broccoli, half an avocado.
"Your hair needs attention, honey." Her mother reached across to touch a strand. "When did you last visit a hair salon? It's looking a bit..." She paused. "Tired. I'll book you an appointment. What kind of mother would I be if I didn't help?"
Her mother poured chlorophyll water from a glass pitcher. "This will help with your skin. You've been looking stressed lately."
The liquid was grass-green and smelled like cut lawn.
"I've been using the Sulwhasoo serum."
"Every night?" Her mother studied her face. "Sometimes serums aren't enough, sweetie. Dr. Kim has a new treatment. Very subtle. No one would even know."
Wonyoung swallowed the vitamins her mother had lined up—white, yellow, clear, pink.
"Sunghoon's mother was discussing wedding venues yesterday." Her mother's tone stayed light. "Spring 2027, after your first year at McKinsey. The Shilla Hotel. She's already placed holds."
"We haven't even—"
"Of course not. You're focused on winning." Her mother touched her hand briefly. "I'm so proud of how driven you are. Just remember, even successful women need partners. The good ones don't stay available forever."
Her father looked up briefly, then back to his tablet.
"I only want what's best for you, honey. You know that, right?" Her mother's smile never wavered. "Everything I do is because I love you so much it hurts."
The driver waited beside the black Genesis G90. Her father took the front seat, already on a call about quarterly reports. Wonyoung slid into the back, the leather seats cool against her legs.
The ride from Apgujeong to Sinchon took forty minutes in morning traffic. Her father spoke numbers into his phone. Wonyoung watched Seoul wake up through tinted windows. Office workers emerged from Gangnam station. Students clustered at bus stops. A mother pedaled past on a mint-green bicycle, her daughter in a yellow helmet gripping the back seat, school bag bouncing with each bump.
At the university gate—Seoul University of Science & Arts, the top campus in Korea according to the banners—Wonyoung climbed out. Her father stayed in the car, still talking.
"Should I come back for you?" the driver asked through the lowered window.
"No, I have dinner in Yeonnam. I'll take a taxi."
"Understood."
The Genesis pulled away, her father's voice still audible through quarterly projections.
Campus paths were already filling. She passed the engineering building where students camped out for group projects, the library where the law students lived, the café that made the only decent americano. Her phone buzzed. Liz asking which room they'd booked for consulting club. Gaeul wanting to review projections before the meeting. She typed responses while walking.
Advanced Macroeconomics met in Hall 203. Wonyoung took her usual seat, third row center. Not too eager like the front row, not too casual like the back. Professor Choi distributed graded midterms face-down.
She flipped hers. 98% in red ink. The girl next to her whispered "Yes!" at her 84%. Someone behind them groaned.
"Outstanding work from several of you," Professor Choi said. "Particularly Wonyoung's analysis of monetary policy intervention. Graduate-level thinking."
She slid the exam into her folder between the labor economics quiz (100%) and the statistics problem set (97%). After class, she'd scan it and file the PDF in her Google Drive folder labeled "Spring Semester - Graded Work."
Students were already gathering their things, the usual post-exam chatter filling the lecture hall. Wonyoung packed methodically—laptop, folder, pencil case.
"Wonyoung-ah." A girl from the row behind caught up with her in the aisle. "Congratulations on the ninety-eight."
Wonyoung nodded, muscle memory more than acknowledgment. These conversations had a rhythm. Compliment, then request.
"I heard consulting club is entering the McKinsey case competition next week." The girl adjusted her tote bag. "I was wondering if maybe you could put in a good word? For the summer internship?"
"The application is online." The same answer she gave every semester. "Same for everyone."
"Right, of course, I just thought—"
The girl was still talking. Wonyoung was already calculating walking time to the meeting room. Eight minutes if she took the stairs.
Near the door, two more faces. She'd seen them before. Everyone started to look the same after three years.
"Ninety-eight?" One of them half-smiled. "Of course."
The other one leaned forward. Something about lip product. The question floated past like all the others.
"Amuse. Dusty pink."
She kept walking. Behind her, voices dissecting the answer. They always wanted the specific product, like the right lipstick would change anything fundamental.
The hallway stretched ahead, more familiar faces she wouldn't quite place. Someone else might approach before she reached the meeting room. They usually did. The conversations would blur into the same template: acknowledgment of her success, request for proximity to it, disappointment when she offered only facts.
The consulting club had reserved Meeting Room 3B from 2:00 to 4:00. Wonyoung arrived at 1:50 with her laptop, printed slide decks, and three colors of highlighters. Through the glass door, she saw people inside. Multiple people. With cameras.
She checked her phone. 1:52 PM. Their reservation was confirmed in the university booking system.
She opened the door. Ahn Yujin looked up from adjusting a tripod. Still dressed like she'd rolled out of bed—leopard print baby tee with a stretched-out neckline, cardigan sliding off one shoulder, pants dragging on the floor. Her hair hung past her shoulders, unwashed. The whole look screamed trying too hard to not try.
Wonyoung's jaw tightened.
"We have this room at two."
"We're here until three." Yujin stayed bent over the tripod, not straightening up.
"No. Two to four." Wonyoung showed her phone screen with the booking confirmation.
"We booked it first." She pointed to the paper schedule taped to the whiteboard. Someone had written "Film Club Screening Prep 1:00-3:00" in handwriting that looked like a child's.
"That's not official. You need to book through the online system."
Yujin's face did something quick, maybe embarrassment. Her friends kept working. The pink-haired one—Rei, the Japanese exchange student—adjusted lighting equipment. Youngji sorted through movie posters. Karina typed on her laptop without looking up.
"Unbelievable," Minji said from behind Wonyoung. She'd arrived with Liz and Gaeul, all carrying matching leather portfolios. "Almost Ahn can't even book a room properly?"
Youngji looked up from the posters. "Your outfit is incredible today. Very 'my dad will sue you' core."
"We need to set up," Gaeul said, checking her Apple Watch. "The case presentation won't practice itself."
"Just—" Yujin started packing the tripod. "Give us five minutes."
"We have it at two," Minji repeated. "It's 1:56. Can you read clocks or is that also—"
"We're going." Yujin's voice went flat.
They packed with the efficiency of people used to being displaced. Rei folded the lighting equipment into a black case. Youngji rolled the posters carefully. Karina closed her laptop and slid it into a tote bag covered in film festival patches. Yujin took the tripod apart in quick movements.
"Maybe use the digital system next time," Liz said. "It's 2025."
Yujin carried the tripod past without responding. Her friends followed. Youngji gave an exaggerated bow on her way out. "Your meeting room awaits, your highness."
The door closed. Wonyoung's team immediately spread out, claiming the space. Minji connected her laptop to the projector. Liz arranged printed copies of their analysis. Gaeul pulled up their shared Google Doc.
"God, she's so embarrassing," Minji said, adjusting the projector focus. "Remember freshman year debate when she completely choked against you?"
“Can we focus?" Wonyoung opened her laptop. The McKinsey case competition was next week. Mental health app for Seoul students. They'd win, because Wonyoung always won these things, and it would go on her resume next to all the other wins that blurred together.
They ran through the presentation four times. Minji practiced her section on market analysis. Liz refined the financial projections. Gaeul timed each segment with her phone. By 4 PM, her contact lenses felt dry. She'd skipped lunch to review the appendix slides.
The walk to pilates took fifteen minutes through Sinchon's student maze. Kimbap places advertising 3,000 won meals. Study cafés stacked seven floors high, every window glowing. Cosmetics shops with samples that lasted exactly one midterm season.
SUSA's main gate opened onto this ecosystem. Korea's top 1% competing for McKinsey spots and Samsung management tracks. The university threw scholarships at anyone who might raise rankings. International students who photographed well in diversity brochures. Yujin types who made poverty look inspiring.
The intersection where three universities met but never mingled. Yonsei's stone gates. Ewha's sloping campus. SUSA's glass and steel claiming the prime corner. The hierarchy clear: SUSA for future CEOs, Yonsei for old money, Ewha for something she'd never bothered to understand.
The pilates studio: third floor above a PC bang that never closed.
Fifty minutes later, her thighs trembled from the last set of bridges as she stood at the café counter below.
"One matcha latte, please."
The barista used a bamboo whisk, creating perfect foam. She paid with her phone and found a spot by the window. The ceremonial grade matcha—imported directly from Kyoto according to the chalkboard—came in a ceramic cup with delicate foam art.
She held it up against the window light and took a photo. The green was perfect against the white cup. She added it to her Instagram story with a matcha emoji.
Within seconds, Liz had liked it. Then Gaeul. A message popped up from Sunghoon: "Can't wait to see you tonight honey 😘"
She put her phone away and sipped the latte. It tasted expensive.
"Sorry," Wonyoung said, though she was only two minutes late.
"No problem. I ordered the tasting menu." Sunghoon stood to pull out her chair. "The chef trained in Paris."
The first course was three bites arranged on black slate. Hamachi—14 grams protein if each piece was 30 grams. The microgreens were garnish, two calories at most. A dot of yuzu mayo, 20 calories. She lifted the first piece with her chopsticks.
"The demo next month is huge." Sunghoon had his phone out, swiping through slides she couldn't see from her angle. "If Samsung Ventures leads our Series A, we're looking at a 40 billion won valuation by next year."
"That's wonderful."
"You could join after graduation. We'll need someone to head operations."
"I'll be at McKinsey." She said it like a fact, though nothing was certain until next week's competition.
"Right. Of course." He swiped to another slide. "But after you're done with consulting—"
The second course arrived. Some kind of foam over fish. She took small bites.
"So the yacht party this weekend." He reached across the table to touch her hand. "At Sevit Island. Should be fun."
"I saw it in my calendar."
"After..." He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. "We could go back to my place? It's been a while."
She took a sip of water. "We'll see how late it goes."
"Come on." His smile was the one from his LinkedIn photo. "We barely have time alone anymore."
The rest of dinner passed in courses she didn't taste and conversation about term sheets and user acquisition costs. Sunghoon paid with his black card, the one his parents got him for his birthday. He kissed her cheek outside the restaurant. His lips were dry.
"Think about it," he said. "Saturday night”.
Another KakaoT home. This driver played trot music low on the radio. Wonyoung leaned against the window and watched Seoul blur past. Her phone buzzed. 9:00 PM. Birth control reminder.
She found the packet in her bag and swallowed the pill with a half-empty water bottle. The driver glanced in the mirror. She looked back at her phone.
At home, the house was quiet. Her parents' bedroom door was closed, light seeping underneath. Wonyoung went to her bathroom and began the routine. Oil cleanser to remove sunscreen. Foam cleanser for everything else. Toner on a cotton pad. Serum patted into skin. Eye cream dabbed with her ring finger. Night moisturizer in upward strokes.
She set her clothes in the hamper. White blouse on top, skirt folded beneath. Her pajamas were cotton with tiny flowers, a gift from her aunt who thought they were cute.
In bed, she opened Instagram. Liz had posted from a wine bar in Hannam. Gaeul was at a gallery opening. Chaewon's story showed her at a study café with notes spread across the table. Everyone's life looked filtered and perfect.
Sunghoon had sent another message. "Missing you 💕"
She thought about Saturday. His apartment in Gangnam with the view of the river. His bed with sheets that smelled like cologne. His hands on her skin, always slightly too warm. He was handsome. He worked out five times a week and had the body to prove it. He was gentle, always asking if she was okay.
She opened Google and typed: "am I asexual?"
The results loaded. Naver blog posts with pastel headers. Medium articles. Anonymous posts on Blind. She clicked on one titled "I thought I was broken until I learned about asexuality."
A new search: "sexual exhaustion from perfectionism"
Articles about burnout. Forum posts from overachievers who felt nothing during intimacy. Someone described sex as "another task on the to-do list."
One more: "going through the motions relationship"
Her battery was at 15%. She plugged in the charger. The blog post on her screen talked about performing in every area of life, including the bedroom. The author had thought something was wrong with them for years.
She thought about Sunghoon's abs, geometrically perfect from careful attention. They looked nice. The same way the matcha latte had looked nice. The same way her Instagram feed looked nice.
Her eyes were getting heavy. She let the phone fall onto her pillow, screen still glowing with other people's stories about not feeling what they were supposed to feel.