Chapter 14 — The Group Assignment Trap
Professor Han announced the group presentation with the same casual indifference he used to assign homework, as if he weren’t dropping a timed device into the middle of Jae-in’s already crowded mental space.
“Three people per group,” he said, tapping the lectern once. “You’ll analyze narrative unreliability in modern fiction. Presentations in two weeks. I’ll assign groups.”
Jae-in felt the familiar tightening in his chest—the reflexive hope that, just this once, he’d be placed with strangers. Background students. Interchangeable faces. People whose thoughts he would never hear.
The professor glanced down at his list.
“Han Jae-in. Seo Yuri. Min Chaerin.”
The room didn’t react. Chairs didn’t scrape. No one gasped. On the surface, nothing happened.
Inside Jae-in’s head, everything detonated.
To his left, Seo Yuri didn’t look at him. She simply turned a page in her notebook, pen moving smoothly.
Her thoughts slid in like a well-organized spreadsheet.
‘Efficient grouping. Familiar dynamics reduce friction. Two emotional variables. One controllable subject. Acceptable.’
Across the table, Min Chaerin froze for half a second—then smiled so brightly it almost hurt to look at.
Her thoughts burst like confetti soaked in gasoline.
‘Together. Of course we are. Professor knows. This is basically a double date. No—triple? No, Yuri’s just… background. It’s fine. I can handle it. I have to handle it.’
Jae-in stared down at his desk, fingers curling around his pen.
This was fine, he told himself automatically. Group projects were normal. He’d survived worse. He could manage this. Two weeks. Structured meetings. Public spaces.
He did not think about the fourth presence until the chair at the back of the room scraped softly against the floor.
Kuroe Hana sat there, exactly where she always did—last row, near the window, half in shadow. She wasn’t in the group. She wasn’t looking at him.
Her thoughts arrived anyway, thin and sharp, like a blade laid gently against skin.
‘Group formed. Variables increased. Observation required.’
The professor continued speaking, oblivious. “You’ll submit an outline by next Monday. Coordinate among yourselves.”
Jae-in felt three different interpretations of the word coordinate press in on him from all sides.
They didn’t speak immediately after class.
That alone was strange.
Chaerin hovered at his side, hands clasped behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels. Yuri gathered her materials with unhurried precision. Hana stood near the door, pretending to read a notice board that hadn’t changed in months.
It was Yuri who broke the silence.
“Han Jae-in,” she said gently. “Shall we schedule our first meeting?”
Her voice was polite. Professional. Her eyes were warm in the way a doctor’s were warm when delivering bad news.
Her thoughts aligned themselves neatly.
‘Initiate early. Establish structure. Reduce emotional volatility. Location selection critical.’
Chaerin immediately leaned closer to Jae-in, shoulder brushing his arm.
“We can do it today,” she said brightly. “No reason to wait, right? We’re all free. Probably.”
Her thoughts tangled over themselves.
‘If we meet now, it’s real. If it’s real, he can’t leave. He won’t leave. He promised—no, he didn’t promise, but he stayed, so it’s the same.’
Jae-in opened his mouth.
Hana’s thoughts cut in before sound could.
‘Public space preferred. Enclosed rooms increase risk.’
“I have work tonight,” Jae-in said finally, the first excuse that came to mind. “But… maybe tomorrow? After classes?”
Yuri nodded immediately.
“Of course,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon, then. Atria Café is convenient. Neutral.”
Neutral, her thoughts echoed, approving.
‘Public oversight. Predictable environment. Easy to manage interruptions.’
Chaerin smiled, relief flooding her expression.
“Atria?” she said. “Yeah! That’s our place. I mean—everyone goes there. It’s nice.”
Her thoughts corrected themselves frantically.
‘Our place. Our place. Don’t say it out loud. Don’t scare him.’
Hana pushed off the wall and walked past them, footsteps soundless. As she passed Jae-in, one thought slipped free, unguarded.
‘Not neutral.’
She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.
Jae-in watched her leave, stomach sinking.
The next afternoon arrived too quickly.
Atria Café was bright, warm, and loud in the way only student cafés could be—steam hissing, cups clinking, overlapping conversations blurring into a comfortable hum.
Jae-in arrived first.
That was a mistake.
He had just enough time to sit down and convince himself that maybe—maybe—this could be manageable before the noise began stacking.
Yuri arrived exactly on time.
She wore the same calm smile she always did, setting her bag down neatly, ordering tea without asking him what he wanted.
‘He forgets to hydrate. I’ll order for him next time.’
She took the seat directly across from him, posture perfect, tablet already out.
Chaerin burst in two minutes later, breathless, cheeks flushed, carrying a bag of pastries.
“I brought snacks!” she announced, sliding into the chair beside Jae-in with practiced familiarity.
Her knee pressed against his under the table.
‘Sit close. If I’m close, he won’t drift. If he doesn’t drift, everything stays the same.’
Jae-in’s shoulders tensed.
Yuri noticed.
Her thoughts adjusted instantly.
‘Physical proximity noted. Allow for now. Address indirectly later.’
Before Jae-in could say anything—before he could pretend this was normal—the chair at the far table scraped softly.
Hana sat down alone, back straight, coffee untouched, eyes fixed on the window.
She hadn’t been invited.
No one commented on her presence.
Her thoughts moved quietly, methodically.
‘Line of sight established. Exits visible. Group dynamics unstable but contained.’
Jae-in swallowed.
This was his group.
They tried to talk about the assignment.
They really did.
Yuri outlined the structure efficiently, dividing the presentation into three parts.
“I can handle the theoretical framework,” she said. “Chaerin, you’re good with examples. Jae-in, you can synthesize.”
Her thoughts flowed smoothly.
‘Assign roles that reinforce dependence. He synthesizes—meaning he relies on our inputs.’
Chaerin nodded eagerly.
“Yeah! I can do examples. Like, unreliable narrators who think they’re the hero but aren’t? That’s easy.”
Her thoughts flared.
‘He’s looking at me. I’m useful. See? I’m useful.’
Jae-in jotted notes, nodding along, trying to focus on the words instead of the undercurrent.
From the corner of his awareness, Hana’s thoughts ticked steadily.
‘Yuri: high control. Chaerin: high volatility. Jae-in: passive. Intervention threshold not reached.’
He almost laughed at that.
Almost.
Halfway through, a classmate approached their table.
“Hey, Jae-in,” she said casually. “Professor Han said—oh. Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Yuri smiled politely.
“We’re in the middle of a meeting,” she said. “Perhaps later.”
Her thoughts sharpened.
‘Interruption. Inefficient. Remove.’
The girl nodded awkwardly and left.
Chaerin’s thoughts buzzed with relief.
‘She left. Good. Good.’
Hana’s gaze flicked briefly to the retreating student.
‘Threat negligible.’
Jae-in stared at his notes, the words blurring.
No one had raised their voice. No one had been rude. And yet the table felt smaller by the second.
It got worse when Park Minjun stopped by.
“Whoa,” Minjun said, grinning. “Study group? Fancy.”
He leaned against the table, glancing between them.
“You guys make this look intense.”
Jae-in forced a smile.
“Group assignment,” he said. “Nothing special.”
Minjun laughed.
“Sure doesn’t look like nothing.”
Yuri’s thoughts tagged him instantly.
‘External male. Non-essential. Monitor.’
Chaerin’s spiraled.
‘He’s seeing this. He’s seeing us together. What if he jokes? What if he takes Jae-in away? No. No. He won’t.’
Hana’s thoughts recalibrated.
‘Non-hostile. Potential catalyst.’
Minjun looked at Hana, eyebrows lifting.
“Oh, hey. You’re in this group too?”
Hana didn’t respond.
Her silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.
“No,” Jae-in said quickly. “She’s just… here.”
Hana’s thoughts didn’t change.
‘Correct.’
Minjun shrugged.
“Well, good luck,” he said. “Don’t let them work you too hard, man.”
He walked away, oblivious.
The moment he was gone, the air shifted.
Yuri adjusted her glasses.
“Back to work,” she said pleasantly.
Her thoughts tightened around the edges.
‘Distraction resolved.’
Chaerin leaned closer, voice dropping.
“He was annoying,” she said. “Right?”
Her thoughts begged.
‘Say yes. Agree with me. Choose me.’
Jae-in nodded automatically.
“Yeah,” he said.
The relief that washed through Chaerin was almost painful to hear.
Yuri noted it.
Hana cataloged it.
Jae-in felt tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
They wrapped up after two hours that felt like six.
As they stood to leave, Yuri spoke again.
“We should meet twice a week,” she said. “To stay ahead.”
Her thoughts were already scheduling.
‘Monday. Thursday. Control variables.’
Chaerin clapped her hands together.
“Twice a week is good! More time together.”
Her thoughts echoed it differently.
‘More time. Less distance.’
Jae-in hesitated.
“I—”
Hana stood.
‘I will walk him home.’
She didn’t say it aloud. She didn’t need to.
“I have errands,” Yuri said smoothly. “Chaerin?”
Chaerin pouted.
“I wanted to go too,” she said. “But… okay. Next time.”
Her thoughts twisted.
‘Next time. There’s always next time.’
Hana was already moving toward the door.
Jae-in followed, heart heavy.
As they stepped into the evening air, the café noise faded behind them.
Hana walked beside him, half a step behind, silent.
No thoughts.
That was worse.
He glanced at her.
“Thanks,” he said, unsure what he was thanking her for.
A beat.
Then, finally, a thought surfaced—flat, certain.
‘Group assignment increases exposure. I will compensate.’
Jae-in didn’t ask how.
He didn’t want to know.
As they walked through the dim campus lights, he realized something with unsettling clarity.
This assignment wasn’t about grades.
It was a closed room.
And he was already inside it.
