Dive // Jaeyi x Seulgi

Chapter 13

The scent of Jaeyi still lingered in the folds of Seulgi's hoodie, stubborn and soft, threading itself into every breath she took, as if Jaeyi had sewn herself into the fabric of Seulgi's lungs, into the very pulse of her body. She could almost hear her voice from that night — sleepy, teasing — whispering against the shell of her ear, "You better wash that before it starts to smell too much like me."

But Seulgi hadn't.

Wouldn't.

Couldn't.

Because washing it felt too much like letting go, and Seulgi wasn't ready for that — maybe she never would be.

The past few days had been heavy with that strange warmth, like standing in a dream just barely out of reach, her skin still aching from the memory of Jaeyi's closeness. But Seoul, with its gray sky and relentless rush, had a way of clawing you back to reality, dragging you by the throat if you let it — and today, it was dragging her harder than ever.

The professor's voice cut through the low hum of the classroom, snapping Seulgi's attention back like a cold slap.

"Before we continue, we're honored to welcome a very special guest today—"

Seulgi didn't bother looking up. Probably another donor here to write a few checks and pose for a photo, pretending to care about cancer research they didn't actually understand.

"—whose foundation is sponsoring the upcoming expansion of our radiation oncology research and imaging center—"

Her fingers froze mid-scroll.

"—Mr. Yoo Tae-joon of the Yoo Foundation."

Silence fell across the lecture hall, thick and slow.

The kind of silence that only happens right before something shatters.

Seulgi looked up.

And time fractured cleanly down the middle.

There he was.

Standing at the front of the room, tall and composed, his suit so sharply pressed it looked like it might cut the air around him. His face was the same — calm, pleasant, almost forgettable if you didn't know better — but Seulgi knew better. She could see it now, hidden in the stillness of his mouth, in the precise way his eyes didn't quite smile.

Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

Because that was him.

The man Jaeyi never spoke about.
The man who made her flinch at the sound of her own ringtone.
The man whose shadow had stretched all the way across the ocean to find them both.

Taejoon stepped beside the professor, hands folded politely in front of him, a picture of benevolence.

"Thank you for having me. It's a pleasure to be part of shaping the future," he said, voice warm, rehearsed. "Especially in a field so intimately tied to the balance between destruction and healing."

A few students chuckled at his little philosophical nod. Seulgi didn't even blink.

He scanned the room, casual, sweeping.

And then his gaze landed on her.

And didn't move.

Seulgi's pulse slammed against her throat, shallow and frantic, but outwardly she stayed frozen, stayed ordinary.

Because she had learned.

Because she and Jaeyi had planned for this.

Because if you blinked first, you lost.

Taejoon smiled faintly — a curve of lips that somehow looked more like the bearing of teeth — and continued speaking, seamlessly weaving in buzzwords and promises about innovation, precision, life-saving technology.

But every word felt dipped in poison.

"In this field," he said, eyes still brushing over her like a hand pressing too hard against glass, "knowing where to aim is everything. And knowing when not to speak is... just as vital."

The class clapped politely.
Seulgi wiped her palms against her jeans, trying not to show the tremble.

The lecture ended too quickly, too cleanly, and the professors flocked around Taejoon, shaking hands, taking photos, making small talk that Seulgi couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears.

She slipped out with the tide of students, keeping her head down.

But halfway through the corridor, she felt it.

A presence behind her.

Taejoon's footsteps, deliberate, patient.

He passed by her shoulder — so close she caught the faint, sterile smell of his cologne — and leaned in, his voice slicing into her ear so soft it almost wasn't there.

"Tell Jaeyi," he murmured, a smirk ghosting across his words, "she used to pick better."

Then he was gone, moving down the hallway like nothing had happened, smiling at professors, nodding at administrators, a shark among fish.

Seulgi stood frozen for a full minute, nausea clawing its way up her throat.

The message was clear.
And worse — it wasn't just about her.

It was about someone else too.

Pick better.

Haneul.

Seulgi tightened her grip on the strap of her backpack, her mind racing.

They had already suspected that Haneul was playing both sides — after all, Jaeyi had told her after the freezer incident, whispered against the freezing concrete that she trusted no one completely, not even old allies. But this?
This meant Taejoon knew about the betrayal.
And he had something planned.

Something coming.

The hoodie clung to her, Jaeyi's scent a steady drumbeat against the rising panic.

Outside, the air was colder, the wind sharp against her cheeks.

Seulgi didn't go home.

She didn't text Jaeyi, either.

Instead, she turned her hood up, ducked her head low, and doubled back toward the research wing — the side of campus where the real power moved, invisible to ordinary students.

Because if Taejoon was here, he wasn't just playing public relations.
He was moving pieces.

And if Seulgi wanted to protect Jaeyi — protect herself — she needed to know what they were.

No more guessing.
No more hiding.
Only proof.

One hand tightened around her stolen ID badge, the corners of it digging into her palm.

Jaeyi once told her: "You don't survive monsters by fighting fair. You survive by knowing when to strike — and when to let them think you're weak."

So she would be smart.

And if Taejoon thought she was just some trembling little bird, too scared to see the bars of her own cage—

He was about to be very, very disappointed.