CPT 7

Episode 7

She hadn’t expected him to come out on their first meeting. Yuha blinked, then apologized before it was too late.

“…Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We’re doing great, actually. It’s only been a year since we started dating, so things are still pretty hot.”

“Sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

Peter grinned slyly at her repeated apology.

“Nah, it’s okay. I just happen to like handsome men.”

“Well… same here.”

“…What?”

“I like handsome men too.”

Peter burst out laughing so hard that he slapped his thigh.

“Sister, I like you already.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me buy you a drink. What’ll you have?”

Looking down at her empty pint glass, Yuha quietly wondered—
Maybe the British aren’t tea-obsessed, but alcohol-obsessed instead.

“Stout,” she said flatly.

Peter could drink as well as Daisy—maybe even better.
So the drinking session that began at 7 p.m. didn’t end until 11 p.m.,
and only because Rashid finally threw in the towel.

Luckily, since they’d stuck to dark beer, Yuha wasn’t drunk.
At least not as much as last night.

She didn’t get lost on her way back this time.
Finding the dorm’s electronic key and opening the door swiftly, she stepped into the cool air of the building.

It was colder inside than outside.

While rubbing her arms, she climbed the stairs and froze as she reached the second floor.

Room 202.
That door stood firmly in view—
and she remembered exactly who lived there.

(Or who might still live there.)

She gave the door a quick side glance, then silently continued up the stairs.
That brief pause was her only visible reaction.

There were questions she could ask—
like how things went with the porter, or why he’d looked at her that way.

But then she murmured softly in Korean:

“굳이.” (No need.)

Reaching her own room on the third floor, she opened the door and shut her curiosity away with it.

Right. No need.
No need to dwell on questions that didn’t really matter.

Yuha tried to stop thinking about “that boy,”
but the world didn’t seem willing to help her.

After her shower, she checked her phone and found a new email from the porters.
At first, she assumed it was a standard announcement for all Everett College residents.
But then she noticed the recipients—only six names.

Only residents of Flat Willow, her dorm building.

Reading carefully, Yuha raised an eyebrow.

“Huh.”

The porters had chosen the direct approach.
They openly confirmed that Geoffrey Hester was living in Flat Willow,
and asked all recipients to keep this fact confidential.

“Guess he decided to stay after all.”

In truth, that was the best option.
He couldn’t switch rooms, and kicking him out would seem like punishment—or privilege.

She reread the email, replied with a short confirmation, and was about to turn off her phone when—
a new notification popped up.

She’d been added to a group chat.

Opening it, she saw six members—the same six from the email.

Laura:
Hello guys 🙂

Laura, who lived next door in 301, had started the chat.
Yuha greeted politely, followed by everyone else, one after another.

The last person to send a message was him.

After the formal “Let’s get along this year,” the chat fell silent.
No one mentioned why the chat even existed.

Yuha smiled faintly. “At least my flatmates are discreet.”
She closed the app.

The third and fourth days were crammed with orientation events for freshmen.
Lectures about the school’s history, traditions, equality policies, introductions to the student council,
and even local food recommendations.
By the end, it was already evening.

Yuha had dinner with fellow statistics majors.

And so came the fifth day—
the grand finale of Welcome Week.

The event of the night:

“The Night of Madness.”

A long-standing tradition where freshmen were practically forced to drink their livers out.

Usually, students partied within their departments,
though sometimes related majors joined forces.
Her department, Statistics, was teaming up with Psychology and Chemistry.

The current time: 3:50 p.m.
About two hours before the chaos began.

To brace herself (and her stomach), Yuha stopped by a Thai restaurant.
She had just ordered green curry when she overheard a conversation from the next table.

“Hey, you know he’s in PPE, right?”
“Jeffrey Hester? Yeah, everyone knows he’s PPE.”

She hadn’t expected to hear that name here.

Though he didn’t look it, Geoffrey Hester was a hot potato on campus—
so famous that everyone knew his major.

They didn’t even say his name, just ‘he,’ and the other girl knew immediately.

Curious, Yuha discreetly glanced over.
Two girls—one with red hair, the other brown.
They looked vaguely familiar, maybe from the main dining hall.

As she calmly sipped her soda, their hushed conversation continued.

“So why bring him up? Did something happen?
I heard rumors about a fight with the porters.”

“He’s still living in the dorm?”

“He’d have to. Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair. But do you know which dorm he’s in?
No one seems to talk about it.”

“No idea. Funny how that detail never spread.”

“If it were me, I’d brag to everyone that he was my neighbor.”

“Right? Same.”

Flat Willow residents sure know how to keep their mouths shut.
Feeling oddly proud of her responsible dormmates, Yuha smiled to herself.

“Anyway, why bring up PPE? Something happened there?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Apparently, the second-years in PPE are out for blood.
They’ve decided it’s time to expose ‘Gentleman Jeffrey’s’ true self.
And get this—their budget for tonight’s stunt…”

The girl lowered her voice so much that Yuha almost missed it.

“…Two hundred and three pounds.”

“203 pounds?! They’re insane!”

Thanks to the redhead’s loud reaction, Yuha managed to hide her shock.

‘Damn, that was close. Almost got caught eavesdropping.’

But really—203 pounds on alcohol?
In the UK, where cheap booze fills entire aisles of Tesco and Sainsbury’s?

For a moment, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jeffrey Hester.

How much do they hate him to spend that kind of money?

“He’s in for one hell of a night.”

“Yeah, they’re dead set on it—girls, guys, even gay students are in on the bet.
Don’t you want to know who’s going to ‘win’ tonight?”

“No way!”

“There’s even a betting poll. Wanna see?”

“Show me, show me! Oh my God—who wrote this title?
‘Who Will Feast on Geoffrey Hester Tonight?’”

Yuha blinked, caught between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.

“…Welcome Week, huh. What a nightmare.”