Chapter 2 - Sparks in the Workshop

The next afternoon, Ra-in tugged her hair into a high ponytail before stepping into the HIT engineering workshop. The air was warm with the smell of oil, metal, and ambition. Tools clinked like tiny bells; safety posters shouted in red:

Tie hair. No loose sleeves. Safety first.

She adjusted her goggles and tried not to trip over the massive toolbox by the door.

Professor Nam stood at the front beside Kang Woo-jin, who looked like he belonged here more than oxygen did. His sleeves were rolled, a torque wrench balanced effortlessly in one hand.

"Today," Professor Nam announced, "we'll assemble the inline-four cylinder model. TA Kang will demonstrate. No accidents, please—this isn't a K-drama set."

Snickers spread across the room.

"Understood, sir," Woo-jin said, calm as ever.

Ra-in lined up beside Choi Ha-neul, whispering, "How is it that he even makes safety glasses look like a fashion shoot?"

"Focus, Rain," Ha-neul teased. "You already caused traffic chaos yesterday. Don't add explosions."

Before Ra-in could roll her eyes, Woo-jin's voice carried across the room.

"Class rep."

She jumped. "Y-yes, sunbae?"

"Bench three. Assist me."

Professor Nam nodded, stepping back to supervise another pair. Woo-jin's workshop, Ra-in realized, was now her battlefield.

He gestured toward a half-disassembled engine, grease ghosting his knuckles. "Sort these by size, then torque sequence. Don't mix anything."

"I'm not five," she muttered but grabbed the tray anyway.

Across the room, Jung Mi-so and Lee Da-eun pretended to deburr edges, whispering.

"Look at them," Mi-so said. "It's giving drama."

Da-eun bit her lip. "He's just helping. Sunbae is always... kind."

Mi-so snorted softly. "Sure. To her."

Woo-jin didn't look up, but Ra-in had a feeling he heard every word. He always did.

She set to work, arranging bolts into neat constellations, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. If he wanted an assistant, he'd get a perfect one. She even double-checked the torque chart taped to the bench.

"Good," Woo-jin said after a moment, glancing over. "Now hand me the M10 hex. Your left, third row."

Without looking, she passed it to him. His brow twitched—a fraction.

He slid the bolt in with calm precision. "Since you're confident, mount the bracket and align the housing. I'll secure."

"Obviously," she said, hefting the bracket. It was heavier than pride allowed. She balanced it, eased it forward—then her boot caught a wrench.

The world tilted.

A solid arm caught her waist, another hand braced the bracket with a metallic thud. In one heartbeat, Ra-in found herself pinned lightly against the workbench, Woo-jin's breath brushing the side of her face.

The world around her dimmed — just the scent of oil, the trace of soap on him, and that sudden rush of memory from the rain.

"Careful," he said quietly. "Machines don't forgive."

"I—I knew that," she stammered, pulse betraying her. "You just... surprised me."

His eyes lingered, then softened a degree. "Tie your ponytail higher." A pause. "It suits you."

Ra-in's ears went hot. "You—! Don't tease me while lecturing!"

"I'm multitasking." His mouth curved slightly, maddeningly.

He eased back but didn't step away until she'd found her balance. She reseated the bracket, this time steady. Woo-jin's hands worked beside hers, precise, deliberate. Their fingers brushed once—pure accident, absolutely illegal.

Mi-so gasped audibly. Da-eun looked like she wanted to cry into her gloves.

"Again," Woo-jin said mildly, tapping the torque chart. "Sequence five, then eight."

"I know," Ra-in said through gritted teeth, cheeks still pink.

They fell into rhythm: she aligned, he secured, she wiped, he checked. The engine began to look like a promise instead of a puzzle. Beneath his sharpness, she found something unexpected—patience. Not the coddling kind; the exacting kind that made her want to match his pace.

"Break," he said at last, handing her a bottle of water. "You get clumsy when your blood sugar drops."

"I'm not clumsy," she said, unscrewing it. "I'm... charmingly kinetic."

He actually huffed—a soft sound that could have been a laugh if he were human. "Sit."

She obeyed, perching on the stool. The afternoon sun poured gold through dusty windows. For a moment, the workshop was quiet except for distant clinks.

"Why me?" she blurted. "Why pick me as class rep?"

Woo-jin studied her face like it was a schematic. "Because you're the kind who refuses to be average—even when you're late."

"That's not an answer."

"It is." He tipped his chin toward her ponytail. "And because you tied it higher today."

"That's not a reason!"

"It is to me."

Her heart did something traitorous. She gulped water to bully it down. "You're impossible."

"Efficient," he corrected, turning back to the bench.

Professor Nam passed behind them, humming approval. "Nice teamwork, you two. Kang-ssi, she might outpace you soon."

Woo-jin's lips twitched. "That's what I'm hoping for, sir."

Ra-in blinked, unsure if that was sarcasm or a rare compliment.

By the time the class ended, the assembled engine gleamed. Students cleaned up in pairs. Mi-so dragged Da-eun away, whispering about "unholy chemistry."

Ra-in peeled off her gloves, flexing her sore fingers. "Good work, sunbae."

"Likewise," he said, tone unreadable.

He reached for a rag beside her, the motion bringing him close again. She shifted—too late. Her hip clipped a tray. A socket rolled to the edge.

"Ah—!"

His hand shot out, covering hers over the tool, palm warm and rough. The socket stilled. So did she.

"See?" His voice dropped low enough to tremble through her bones. "Clumsy when distracted."

"I'm not—distracted," she said, horribly aware of every inch between them.

His gaze flicked to her mouth—quick, controlled—then returned to her eyes. "Clean up. You're done for today."

She grabbed the rag too fast, cheeks on fire. "You— You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Looking like you're about to smile, and then not."

He considered this. "I don't waste expressions."

"Wow. Poetry."

"Moonlight Café shift?" he asked, already collecting tools.

She blinked. "How do you—?"

"You smell like coffee most afternoons," he said simply. "And you text your friend about latte art during thermodynamics."

"Yah! Privacy!"

"Public group chat, class rep. Learn your settings."

He stopped at the door, half-turned. "Tie your hair high tonight. Safer on a bike."

"A bike? I'm not going anywhere near— Wait, what bike?!"

He didn't answer, only lifted a hand in lazy farewell and disappeared down the corridor.

Ra-in stood there for three full seconds before pressing both palms to her face and groaning.

From behind a drill press, Mi-so squealed, "Sparks! Literal sparks!"

Da-eun, eyes soft, murmured, "He's... kind. In his way."

"In his way is doing strange things to my heart," Ra-in admitted.

By the time she reached Moonlight Café, twilight bled orange across the windows. Ha-neul slid a fresh apron toward her.

"You're late by two minutes and nine heartbeats. What did he do?"

"Nothing," Ra-in said too fast. "Everything."

Ha-neul's grin widened. "Both? Wah. Tell me later."

They worked in sync—orders, foam, laughter. Outside, the street glowed under neon. When Joon-ho oppa walked by with friends and waved, Ra-in's chest fluttered like high school again.

Then, a familiar engine hum. A sleek Yamaha slowed at the curb. The rider didn't remove his helmet—only paused, visor angled toward the café glass.

Ra-in froze mid-wipe.

"Is that...?" Ha-neul began.

"I don't know," Ra-in lied.

The bike roared off. Her reflection trembled in its wake.

That night, as she locked up, she caught herself tying her ponytail higher—and told herself it was just for safety.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***