Chapter 3
After being brutally rejected in the workshop, Juhoon returned to his room, a storm of fury brewing in his chest. He slammed his backpack onto the floor and locked himself in the dark, illuminated only by the harsh blue glow of his laptop screen.
His severely battered pride made it impossible to sleep. Downing two consecutive mugs of dark, bitter coffee, he ran his hands through his hair and threw himself into recalculating every single load-bearing figure. He refused to follow James's instructions like an obedient subordinate. Instead, he was determined to find a flawless, complex engineering solution-a design that preserved his wildly ambitious curve while crushing any structural criticism. He was going to use his sheer intellect to force the senior into submission.
All night long, the frantic click-clack of the keyboard echoed in the coffee-smoke-filled room. Juhoon swore that by morning, he would make that arrogant man speechless.
The next morning, late autumn poured down a cold, relentless rain.
With dark circles framing his eyes from the all-nighter, Juhoon gripped a thick stack of documents and headed straight for the campus library-where he knew James always worked on mornings without classes. His hurried footsteps echoed through the empty hallways.
He approached the long table near the rain-streaked window. James sat there alone, surrounded by towering stacks of urban architecture books.
Juhoon slammed the neatly printed calculation sheets onto the wooden table. His voice was raspy from exhaustion, yet still dripping with defiance:
"Check it. This time, I've met even your most absurdly strict standards."
James slowly raised his head. Unlike his usual composed self, his face was pale, his thin lips cracked and drained of color. Yet, the look in his eyes remained as sharp and ice-cold as ever.
He unhurriedly flipped through the pages Juhoon had poured his entire night into. Without a hint of surprise, James quietly pushed the file aside:
"Still junk. You're bending the calculations just to protect your ego. Redo it."
It felt like another bucket of ice water had been poured over him. Juhoon let out a bitter, furious laugh. The patience he had maintained for the past twenty-four hours finally snapped. Planting both hands on the table, he leaned down until his face was inches from James's, whispering through gritted teeth:
"You're picking on me on purpose, aren't you? No matter what I do, in your eyes it's just-"
Juhoon cut himself off mid-sentence.
At a distance of mere inches, he realized the breath fluttering past James's dry lips was abnormally scalding. The senior's cheeks held a faint, feverish flush amidst his pale skin.
James knitted his brows slightly, displeased by the younger student's aggressive proximity. He pressed his palm against the wooden table, intending to stand up to retreat. But the second he pushed himself up, the light in his deep eyes vanished.
Clack!
The fountain pen slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor. The petite senior's entire body collapsed forward like a broken span of a bridge.
"Senior!"
Reflexes kicking in faster than thought, Juhoon reached out and caught James before his face could hit the hard wooden edge of the table. The senior slumped into his arms-burning hot as an ember and far lighter than Juhoon had ever imagined for a "steel wall."
Every trace of aggression and resentment inside Juhoon dissolved instantly, replaced by sheer chaos. Without a second thought, Juhoon lifted the unconscious senior into his arms. Taking long, hurried strides, he burst past the bewildered looks of students in the library and rushed straight toward the infirmary.
About an hour later, James slowly opened his eyes.
The stark white ceiling and heavy smell of disinfectant signaled he was in the school infirmary. An IV drip was running into his arm.
As his consciousness gradually returned, the first person to catch James's eye wasn't his best friend Seonghyeon, but Juhoon.
The sophomore was sitting cross-legged on a stool right beside the bed. His dark-ringed eyes were now filled with smug amusement. In his hand, James's expensive fountain pen was being lazily twirled between his lean fingers.
Seeing James wake up, Juhoon smirked, leaning back against the wall to deliver a thoroughly triumphant remark:
"Awake, Senior? You accuse everyone else of designing with their egos, yet you were reviewing structural calculations with a 39-degree fever?"
James tried to sit up, but a sudden wave of dizziness made him wince, bracing one hand against the mattress. Seeing the younger student casually spinning his pen, he took a deep breath, attempting to regain his usual calm tone despite his raspy voice:
"Give me back my pen. And thank you for bringing me here. You can go now."
"Go?" Juhoon let out a low chuckle. Instead of returning the pen, he slipped it directly into his shirt pocket. He stood up, leaned over the bed, and closed the distance between them with his arms crossed. "You abandoned my calculations in the library, kept me up all night, and now you want to dismiss me that easily?"
"I already told you, those documents didn't meet my standards-"
"Didn't meet your standards, or was your brain just too delirious from the fever to see anything clearly?" Juhoon interrupted, his sharp gaze locking onto James's face. "You keep talking about me working with my ego. What about you? Hoarding a mountain of work, passing out in the library from a fever, and still trying to dismiss someone else's effort just to preserve your authority?"
James fell silent. His deep eyes met those of the younger student, who was radiating youthful energy and lingering indignation. For the first time, the terrifyingly calm senior didn't fire back immediately. He let out a soft sigh, resting his back against the headboard as his gaze drifted to the space ahead:
"A real-world project doesn't allow for mistakes just because the architect is ill. Your design... if you recalculate the foundation loads using Option B, it won't collapse."
Juhoon froze. His tired eyes widened slightly.
"What... did you just say?"
"I said," James lifted his head, his eyes tired yet retaining every bit of their pride, "that curve of yours isn't bad. But instead of stubbornly forcing an expensive alloy steel frame to compensate, you only need to lower the incline by five degrees and transfer the load to the secondary support beam. You're smart, Juhoon, but you're in too much of a hurry to prove you're right."
An unusual silence settled over the infirmary. The rain outside continued to patter against the window, but the suffocating tension between them seemed to evaporate, giving way to something entirely new-a quiet, mutual acknowledgment flowing between their eyes.
Juhoon stood rooted to the spot. Hearing James say, "that curve of yours isn't bad," along with his concise yet spot-on analysis, hit Juhoon right where it mattered. The fury and frustration that had been brewing for twenty-four hours instantly vanished, leaving behind an electric flutter in his chest.
"I don't make a habit of giving my phone to other people," James said plainly as he saw Juhoon extend an open hand toward him, though his fingers still reflexively reached into his coat pocket hanging beside the bed.
"Then I'll just take it."
Without waiting for permission, Juhoon swiftly pulled out James's phone, dialed his own number, and hit call. The ringtone in Juhoon's pocket chimed twice before he hung up. He meticulously saved his contact information in James's phone before tossing it back onto the bedside table.
"Saved as: 'Kim Juhoon - Genius Architect'. If you change it, I'll bring this exact ego to our next project submission." Juhoon smirked, a playful glint lighting up his eyes under the harsh fluorescent lights.
James looked at the screen lighting up with the outrageously self-important name, shaking his head with a quiet sigh. A faint smile-so subtle it was nearly invisible-brushed past his dry lips before disappearing instantly.
"You have twelve hours to revise it according to Option B," James leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes to ward off the lingering dizziness, though his voice had regained its sharp edge. "If the new draft isn't in my inbox by nine tomorrow morning, you're still off the team."
"Twelve hours?" Juhoon crossed his arms, taking a step back toward the door, that arrogant smirk still resting on his lips. "Whatever you say, Senior. Take your meds and get some sleep. Next time you pass out, don't expect me to be this gentle."
Without waiting for James to react or throw another cold glare his way, Juhoon turned and walked out of the infirmary.
The door closed with a quiet click.
The room returned to stillness, filled only with the rhythmic patter of rain outside and the slow dripping of the IV. James slowly opened his eyes, looking at the empty stool beside him. A 39°C fever might have made his head foggy, but he knew one thing with absolute clarity: from this moment on, Kim Juhoon was no longer someone James could simply brush aside.
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