The Shoes That Waited

"I'll clean them up properly and return them to you good as new."

Seol-hee made the offer on the spot. It was the one thing she absolutely wanted to do. She couldn't repay the man who had saved her twice, and the guilt of having wrecked his beautiful, expensive-looking shoes sat heavy on her shoulders.

The man abruptly narrowed his eyes and studied her intently. When his gaze bore into her, something stirred in Seol-hee's mind, and she shook her head at once.

"I'm not trying anything with you, I swear. It's just... you've helped me twice now, and I have nothing to give you in return. My intentions are pure. Really."

Seol-hee widened her eyes and put on her best wounded look.

"Who said anything?"

The man snorted, as if she were the one getting the wrong idea.

"Ah, that's... I just didn't want you to misunderstand. You're so striking, is all."

Flustered, nonsense spilled straight out of her mouth with no filter in between. Seol-hee bit her lower lip.

"Shall we go, then?"

He rose from his seat, and Seol-hee blinked.

"Go where?"

Yi-hyuk glanced down at his shoes.

"If I hand you my shoes now, I'll have to walk barefoot. I have a spare pair in the car."

"Oh, right. Then we should get going."

Yi-hyuk led the way with Seol-hee following behind. A few steps ahead, he noticed the sound of footsteps behind him had vanished, and he stopped and turned around.

A vendor at one of the still-operating stalls, selling handmade couple's items, had seized Seol-hee. She waved both hands in helpless protest.

"We're not a couple!"

Yi-hyuk watched the scene in silence until she shook off the solicitor and started walking again.

All around them, the thudding bass of music and the clamor of festival crowds layered over everything like a constant soundtrack. Then a familiar song drifted toward Seol-hee — a survival competition track by O.I.O, infamous ten years ago as a banned anthem during college entrance exam season.

How could a desperate plea of *pick me* sound so bright and cheerful? Before she realized it, she was humming along. Only when she saw the man biting back a smile did she register that she'd been singing out loud.

I've lost my mind.

Now she understood why it was banned during exams.

They walked on in quiet. Seol-hee caught the man's scent — the closer she drew, the richer it became, leaving her mind pleasantly hazy.

Trailing that stream of distracting thoughts, they arrived at a suburban parking lot far removed from the central grass plaza.

"The festival took up all the parking nearby, so I had to park way out here. Your legs must be aching."

"I'm fine."

Seol-hee shook her head quickly. Aching legs were hardly worth mentioning.

"Now that I think of it."

Standing in front of the black sedan, the man's gaze dropped to her shoes.

"Your sneakers look in far worse shape than my shoes did."

He looked down at her sodden sneakers with an expression of genuine pity. Seol-hee's white sneakers had stepped squarely into the muddy puddles pooled across the central lawn, and they were a sorry sight indeed.

Staring down at her own shoes, now a deep shade of gray, she forced a show of indifference.

"Well, sneakers can just go in the wash."

She waved a hand as if it were nothing, then hurried to change the subject.

"Anyway — your shoes..."

She subtly urged him on, trying to scatter his attention from her ruined feet. His worried expression finally eased, and he popped the trunk open.

Yi-hyuk glanced down at his shoes for a moment. Then, without a word, he pulled out a pair of slippers kept on standby in the car, slipped them on, and handed her the paper bag holding his shoes.

"I hope this works out."

It wasn't that he didn't trust her. Handing over his shoes to a stranger simply felt wrong in a way he couldn't quite name. But if he refused even this, she would only feel more awkward, so he'd agreed. And there was also the fact that he wanted to see her again, at least once more.

"Just trust me."

Her earnest enthusiasm was so endearing that a smile slipped across his lips before he could stop it.

Meanwhile, holding the shoes, Seol-hee was wrestling with an entirely different problem.

How do we exchange contact info?

She stole a glance at the man. She was wary of asking for his number first — what if he thought she was hitting on him? So she chose the safer route: giving hers.

"I'll give you my number."

"Of course. One moment."

He reached into his trouser pocket for his phone — then froze.

"Ah."

Yi-hyuk faltered. The phone numbers of the high school students who had helped her were registered under his number. The last digits were distinctive. She might remember them. Worse yet, if she'd saved the number, things could get complicated. A short silence passed.

"Hold on."

Yi-hyuk fetched a notepad and pen from the driver's seat and handed them to Seol-hee.

"If you write it down, I'll be in touch."

Seol-hee accepted the pad with a bemused blink.

Don't most people just exchange numbers on their phones?

Perhaps sensing her skepticism, the man offered an explanation.

"I left my phone at home."

"Oh, I see."

Seol-hee wrote down her number and handed it over. Now that she actually had his shoes, she found herself at a loss for words. Unable to bear the awkwardness, she offered the goodbye first.

"Well then, I'll be off. Please give me a call."

The man answered with a single nod. Seol-hee turned and walked away, feeling oddly self-conscious. For some reason, the back of her neck prickled.

With every step, the damp insoles of her soaked sneakers squished water up between her toes, yet she had no room left to be annoyed by it. Her attention kept drifting back to the man she'd left behind her. In the distance, the music from the festival stage still thudded against her heart.

As she walked, the man's black sedan glided past her. Nothing of the interior showed through the heavily tinted windows.

Seol-hee looked down at the shoes in the paper bag, a needless pang of worry hitting her.

I'd better have leather cleaner at home.

Carrying that worry with her, she headed home.

That evening, Seol-hee returned home, scanned the résumé she'd prepared in advance along with the recommendation letter from Professor Kim, and submitted her application to the Shinwol Foundation without delay. The timeline had been tight, but she'd made the deadline — and everything else was falling smoothly into place.

Even after submitting her application, Seol-hee lay in bed unable to fall asleep. When she finally checked her digital clock after what felt like endless tossing and turning, two full hours had slipped by.

The face of the man she'd seen at school kept flickering before her eyes.

"Why does he look so familiar?"

She'd felt it briefly when they first met at the campus grounds, too. He was unmistakably familiar in some way — and that was both sly and strange. Even if they'd merely passed each other, a face like his should have stuck in her memory. Yet, curiously, she had no recollection at all.

"Where did I see him?"

They'd attended the same school, so maybe she'd simply crossed paths with him on the way. But things from over ten years ago weren't about to surface just like that. Still, she couldn't let it go. The memory hovered just beneath the surface of sleep, teasing the edge of her mind and refusing to release its grip on her thoughts.

"Ha. Looks like I'm pulling an all-nighter."

At this rate, she'd never sleep. As a last resort, she pulled the blanket clear over her head.

But that didn't last long either. She threw it back and muttered into the dark with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Where have I seen him before?"

Interview day at the Shinwol Foundation.

"Perfect."

Dressed in a crisp, tailored suit, Seol-hee scrutinized her reflection in the full-length mirror with the sharp eye of a hawk. A week after submitting her application, the notice had come: she'd passed the document screening. She'd been so overjoyed she'd actually jumped up and down.

It was only the paperwork stage, but after failing so many times before, it was a precious opportunity beyond measure. The greatest vitality in her new life came from being given the chance to try again. Trapped in that bar-less prison, serving as a human misfortune sponge, such a chance had been nothing but an impossible dream.

So every single moment mattered. Even if her nerves were trembling enough to rattle her bones.

"You can do this. Don't shake. Woo Seol-hee."

She gave herself a rousing pep talk and flung open the shoe cabinet — only for her bold expression to snap right back to its usual self.

The men's shoes sitting on the very top shelf were the reason.

On the day she'd gone to school to collect her recommendation letter, the man had helped her twice. She could have been seriously hurt when disaster struck out of nowhere, and in the middle of it all, his kindness had moved her so deeply that she'd made an offer her past self would never have dared — simply because she had nothing to repay him with on the spot.

Thankfully, the shoes were now immaculate. All that remained was the man's call — but days had passed, and not a word from him.

"...Am I Cinderella or something?"

One look had told her the leather was fine enough to be expensive, and the logo inside confirmed they were a luxury brand. She'd been entrusted with shoes so precious her hands trembled just holding them — and the man was completely unbothered.

"Has he really forgotten?"

Everything he wore that day had been worth more than an entire year of her part-time wages. So perhaps the shoes had slipped his mind entirely. In her heart, she wanted to go searching for him, but in reality, that was impossible. Above all, she was far too busy to go hunting for a prince.

Gazing bitterly at the shoes, Seol-hee found herself replaying that day's events — and then suddenly checked the wall clock.

"Ah, I'm going to be late!"

Losing herself in a daze on such an important day of all days.

Seol-hee pulled her own shoes from the very bottom of the cabinet, slipped them on, and rushed out of the house — never knowing that this fateful encounter was about to shake both their lives to their very foundations.