Kook retreated silently, his polished shoes soundless on the marble. For days afterward, he became a ghost haunting his own university. He canceled unnecessary meetings, delegated tours, and ordered lunch delivered directly to his locked office door. Paperwork became his shield. He buried himself in budget spreadsheets and disciplinary reports – anything to drown out the phantom echoes of wet slaps, gasps, and Tae’s ragged cries. He avoided the east wing entirely.

When unavoidable glances flicked across campus maps, he saw only the janitor’s closet, the men's washroom, the chill of the bio-refrigeration units. He didn't see Tae. He actively didn't look for Tae. He imagined her similarly occupied – too busy devouring attention, adoration, and probably another unsuspecting colleague to notice his abrupt disappearance.