Separation Anxiety

34.

#Are You Interested?

The campus morning broadcast started at 8:30, so Broadcasting Club members had to arrive at school by 8:00.

“We’ll let it slide for those who were late today since it’s the first day, but there shouldn’t be the same mistake next time. Two tardies and you’re out,” a third-year senior warned in a cold tone without expression. The lateness was only about 3 minutes. While feeling somewhat unfair, the freshmen sat rigidly, hardly daring to breathe.

“Fill out the monitoring form for today’s broadcast and submit it before you leave.”

A sheet of paper was placed in front of each freshman. The morning broadcast had already ended, and the freshmen, who had been too focused on watching the seniors to remember the broadcast content, were inevitably flustered.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t listen,” the senior asked sharply. The freshmen thought they should have been told about this before the broadcast started, but no one dared to ask, intimidated by the senior’s demeanor.

“If anyone wants to quit, please do so preferably within this week. We need to recruit and train replacements quickly.”

Looking at the frozen faces of the freshmen, the senior nonchalantly said they wouldn’t stop anyone from quitting. It sounded like they were pushing them to quit and leave quickly.

“This is too much. I heard other clubs treat their freshmen to meals and such. The seniors really dote on them,” one freshman complained when the seniors were out of earshot.

“This isn’t a club, it’s something else entirely,” another added.

“Did you hear earlier? They said there’s an afternoon broadcast too, so we have to gather after classes end. How am I supposed to do my part-time job? I have tutoring later,” a female student said with a dejected expression. None of the other freshmen could offer comfort. They too would have to cancel their afternoon plans.

“No wonder they offer scholarships,” someone remarked. The scholarship didn’t seem that substantial now that they couldn’t even work part-time jobs. Sighs erupted from all around. Even filling out the monitoring form in front of them seemed daunting.

“I can’t do this,” the girl with tutoring plans stood up. Her monitoring form was blank.

“I’m quitting. They should have told us about this in advance,” she declared.

Her decision caused a stir among the freshmen. Some tried to persuade her, saying they should try to endure a bit longer since they had worked hard to get into the Broadcasting Club.

“Quitting my tutoring job would be too big a blow,” she said, seeming regretful despite her decision to quit. The other freshmen exchanged glances, feeling they should try to stop her somehow, but unable to do anything about her tutoring situation.

After she left, a silence fell as if cold water had been poured over them. Most couldn’t understand why the seniors were being so harsh.

“It’s because it’s the Broadcasting Club,” Na-eun broke the silence.

“Since they do live broadcasts, not recorded ones, even the tiniest mistake isn’t tolerated. That’s why they’re strict at first. The seniors will probably change after some time passes.”

“How do you know? Even sports clubs don’t discipline this harshly nowadays.”

“The reason for discipline in sports clubs is different. Remember how they asked intentionally flustering questions during the interview? They probably wanted to see how we respond to sudden situations.”

Everyone nodded at her quite reasonable explanation. Still, the current situation felt like sitting on pins and needles.

Dawoon, who had been listening to the freshmen’s conversation, suppressed a sigh and picked up his pen to fill out the monitoring form. They probably weren’t expecting perfect answers anyway. Of course, if there were any flaws, they’d likely be criticized for it, but they had to fill out something at least.

Following Dawoon’s lead, the others started scribbling on their monitoring forms with frowns. No one was writing with confidence.

“Are you done?” The conference room door opened and Choi Yu-na, a second-year student, entered. Compared to the third-year seniors, the second-years were generally kinder to the freshmen. Choi Yu-na stood out among the announcers with her appearance. Moreover, with her constant smile and gentle tone, she was the least intimidating senior to the freshmen.

“Jeong Dawoon,” she called out.

“Can you collect the monitoring forms and bring them to me?”

Dawoon was the only freshman who had finished writing and put down his pen. He agreed and stood up.

“You don’t have to force yourselves to fill everything out. Just submit what you’ve written so far and go to your lectures now. You’ll be late if you delay any longer,” Yu-na said, pointing at the clock. It was 5 minutes to 9, and considering travel time, students with far-off lecture halls might actually be late. Realizing the time, the others handed their monitoring forms to Dawoon and hurriedly got up.

“Here you go,” Dawoon said, neatly aligning the corners of the monitoring forms before handing them to Yu-na.

“Thank you,” she smiled brightly, looking up at Dawoon.

“Don’t you have a first-period class?”

She asked, noticing Dawoon wasn’t in a hurry.

“I do.”

“Ah…” she seemed somewhat disappointed.

Dawoon stared at her blankly. “If you have something to say, go ahead.”

Fortunately, his first-period major class was in the Social Sciences building, right in front of the Student Union building where the Broadcasting Club was located. The professor also usually came in 5 minutes late.

“Well…” Yu-na’s gaze shifted towards the conference room entrance. Turning around, Dawoon saw Na-eun standing at the door.

“You’re in the same department, right?” Yu-na asked, gesturing towards Na-eun with her eyes. Dawoon just nodded. They were in the same department and would probably attend the same classes, but he wasn’t sure if Na-eun was waiting for him.

“Even if you’re not dating, you seem quite close,” Yu-na said with a smile. Dawoon neither confirmed nor denied it. He thought any answer would be irrelevant to her. Seeing Dawoon’s silence, Yu-na looked embarrassed and averted her gaze.

“When do your morning lectures end today?”

“At 11.”

“I see.”

Dawoon wondered if she had some Broadcasting Club task for him, but she said nothing more.

“You can go now,” Yu-na gestured towards the door again, implying that he should hurry since Na-eun was waiting. Dawoon wondered why she had asked about his lecture schedule, but as she was urging him to leave, it felt awkward to ask.

“What’s going on? What did that senior say?” As soon as they left the conference room, Na-eun bombarded Dawoon with questions.

“Nothing much really,” Dawoon replied. Na-eun raised one eyebrow skeptically.

“Then why didn’t you come out right away?”

“She just asked when my morning lectures end.”

“Why would she ask that?”

Na-eun was still full of curiosity, just like two years ago. It might have been burdensome if it were someone else, but knowing her as well as he did, Dawoon just chalked it up to her personality.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, but Na-eun’s eyebrows furrowed even more.

“Suspicious!”

What was suspicious?

“Isn’t that senior interested in you?”

Dawoon stopped walking and turned to look at her, surprised by her unexpected assumption. Na-eun blinked her large eyes as if asking what was wrong.

“Never mind. Let’s drop it,” Dawoon turned away, finding it ridiculous to explain about Yu-na to Na-eun.

“Why? What were you going to say? I’m curious!” Na-eun chased after him, about to grab his arm but stopped just before touching him. Looking back, Dawoon saw her frowning deeply and then taking a big breath. When their eyes met as she looked up, she shook her head, flustered.

“No! I didn’t touch you.”

“…I know.”

She seemed to still remember how he had scolded her in high school for being too casual. In fact, even then, he knew it was just her habit and not something specific to him. However, since it was after her confession, he thought it better to draw a clear line.

Seeing her still being careful and considerate after so much time had passed made him feel a bit sorry. He was more aware that he had been more sensitive than others.

“About Senior Choi Yu-na,” Na-eun said, catching up to walk beside Dawoon.

“She feels oddly cold. I can’t warm up to her.”

They had only officially started Broadcasting Club activities today, and before that, they had only seen her during the interview, so they had met just twice. There wasn’t much to feel warm or cold about. Still, other freshmen spoke most favorably about Yu-na among the seniors. She was pretty, had a gentle way of speaking, and a smiling face, so it was natural to like her.

It was interesting that Na-eun alone spoke differently about someone most others liked. Na-eun was also sociable, quickly becoming friends with anyone and getting along well even with people she just met.

“Don’t get too close to that senior,” Na-eun requested.

Dawoon swallowed a sigh, suspecting that she might still have feelings for him.

“There’s nothing to be close or not close about,” he said. She was just a Broadcasting Club senior, that was all.

“That’s good then,” Na-eun nodded in agreement, but her face still looked displeased, her cheeks puffed out.

“Kim Na-eun, perhaps…”

“Don’t say it. I won’t listen,” she covered her ears with her hands and made a loud “Aaaaah” sound. It was as if she already knew what Dawoon was going to say. Dawoon swallowed his words and just kept walking.

Sometimes, there were things that couldn’t be helped even if you knew about them. Dawoon understood that too.