Campus Log - Chapter 30

When I put on the lime green vest and stood on the red track, my throat tightened painfully. As this was the final event, students had left the shade of the tent and were sitting on the artificial turf, cheering at the top of their lungs.

Excited gazes flew at me from all directions. Even tying my hair back tightly proved difficult, and I fumbled several times.

Damn it, I shouldn’t have volunteered. The determination I’d felt earlier was fading. Right now, I wanted to flee back to the dormitory.

“Runner one and three, stand here. Runner two and four, please wait over there.”

The announcer designated the positions. Ryu Eun-seok, as if wanting to say something, kept his eyes on me the whole time before finally, a beat later, turned his steps. I saw his broad back crossing the field, cheered on by students.

With trembling hands, I took off my glasses.

The whole world blurred into a cloudy haze. All the gazes directed at me and the surrounding scenery melted into faint blobs.

My strategy was simple—not being able to see clearly.

Since all I had to do was pass the green baton smoothly to the next runner, clear vision wasn’t necessary. And besides, Ryu Eun-seok’s presence was distinctive enough to recognize even without glasses.

The fuzzier my vision became, the more my courage swelled. I needed confidence, even if it came this way. I didn’t want to become the scapegoat blamed for ruining the game for those thirsty for victory, and more than anything, I wanted to give Kim Do-wan a proper taste of his own medicine.

As I tried to put my glasses into my pants pocket, someone suddenly approached. I narrowed my eyes.

I looked up at the man who had suddenly appeared before me.

“I’ll hold onto your glasses.”

With my severe astigmatism and the harsh sunlight beating down, my expression couldn’t help but be heavily scrunched. I couldn’t immediately recall who it was, so I looked up intently—then Ryu Eun-seok’s sarcastic voice brushed my ear.

’Sang-hee is popular, huh.’

The man before me was Joo Seung-jae, who had approached me earlier using the corporate ethics assignment as an excuse.

“It’s fine.”

“What if you drop them? I’ll give them right back when you’re done.”

His smiling face looked blurry. My focus wasn’t sharp enough to clearly distinguish his intentions.

I looked down at the sweatpants I was wearing. The loose pockets had enough space for the glasses, but if I ran hard, there was a chance whatever was inside could bounce out. And they’d probably sway and feel cumbersome.

I was going to put them in my pocket since I had no one to hold them, but since Joo Seung-jae had proactively offered, it wouldn’t be bad to let him.

“Please take good care of them.”

After a brief calculation, I handed my gold-framed glasses to Joo Seung-jae. The man carefully folded the temples and lightly gripped them in his hand. Though my vision wasn’t clear, I could tell he was handling the glasses with care.

Having shed one burden, I looked across the track on the other side of the artificial turf. Eight runners were mingled there. Among them, one noticeably tall figure stood out easily.

It seemed like Ryu Eun-seok was also looking this way. But my severe astigmatism made it hard to gauge the direction of his gaze. Even with glasses on, the distance would have been too great to be certain.

“Alright, ready!”

The first runners, holding batons of various colors, stood at the starting line. The third runners, including me, stepped aside momentarily. I looked at the girl in the lime green vest—I didn’t know her name, and I couldn’t see her face clearly, but a pointless sense of camaraderie welled up.

Beep! A sharp sound erupted from the whistle the announcer blew forcefully.

And the Business Department was doomed from the start.

Perhaps too nervous, the girl holding the green baton started a step later than everyone else. So by the time the second runner, who’d received the baton from her, came running toward me, we were already more than half a lap behind.

As I paced at the starting line, I thought, *Since the first runner already ruined the game, I probably won’t get blamed. Even if I just jog casually and safely reach Ryu Eun-seok, I should be able to avoid the arrows of criticism.*

But I had a chronic problem.

My stubborn insistence on succeeding at whatever task I take on. And the bad habit of brooding over and over about my bruised pride if I don’t.

When I was young, if I couldn’t memorize something I was studying, I’d throw my book down and cry. My parents would console me, saying it was okay if I didn’t do well in school, but I’d wipe my tears, gather myself, and pick the book back up.

Since third grade of elementary school, whenever there was even a pop quiz, I’d voluntarily stay up studying until 2 a.m. My mom would sigh, wondering where on earth I’d gotten such obsessive drive.

Thanks to that extreme competitive spirit, I pushed my pace, closing the distance with the second runner. I had to get the baton as quickly as possible to catch up to the runners ahead.

My feet were already more than thirty meters behind the starting line. Technically, that meant the distance I had to run was longer—a disadvantage—but I had no time to calculate that. I urgently needed to take the baton from that gasping guy.

I snatched the green baton as if seizing it and sprinted forward. My tightly laced sneakers propelled off the red track. The cheers around me faded into a blur, and only hot wind rushed by my ears.

Around the curve, I overtook the third and second-place runners one after another. Before I knew it, the orange-vested Economics runner in first place was right in front of me. As if startled by something, the girl ahead glanced back at me with a frightened expression.

Just a little more, just a little more.

“Sang-hee-yah.”