Chapter Text
Vincenzo Cassano was notoriously known for reasons he did not even understand.
Yes, it was true that he was Italian-Korean. His adoptive family raised him well, so it was also true that he was very smart, very attractive, and very good with people.
But he had absolutely no fucking clue where the other shit came from.
For example, today, he had walked down the halls of the day's lecture building. He was wearing a suit and his hair was slick back because he had a debate he was required to look formal for. He smiled at the students who made their way by him and stared, and he was polite, but he heard the whispers.
"Casanova," he heard. "Vincenzo Casanova."
"He looks like a mafia member," he heard now and then, but even more amplified with the suit.
"Imagine how many women he's picked up wearing that suit," rumors began to circulate along the ones that were already there.
He had learned to shrug it all off, but it still annoyed him with how prominent these rumors were when he, quite literally, has done nothing to start them. And as much as he enjoyed talking to others - okay, no, he didn't enjoy it, but he was used to speaking to others so they don't think he's a completely different entity - he just wanted to get to class without any difficulty.
But then.
Goddammit.
"I like you!"
He had almost, almost made it today without a random person confronting him about God knows what, but he missed the woman turning the corner to meet him right before the door to his next lecture. He was so focused on the staircase that on the other corner that people would sit on to stare. "So please," the young woman had said this rather loudly, and it was enough to garner the attention of his classmates also arriving, "give me a chance, Mr. Cassano!"
Vincenzo sighed. It wasn't the first time he had rejected a woman, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He always felt bad; it wasn't like the women who asked him weren't beautiful or brilliant. Even then, as she stared at him with pleading eyes, he recognized her as Seo Mi-Ri, the award-winning pianist who would travel abroad for competitions and always come back in first place. She was pretty, and no doubt one of the most talented people he's ever met, but...
"I'm sorry," he said, placing one hand over hers that were clasped between them and lightly pushing them downward, "but I'm not interested."
With that, he pulled his hand away quickly, nodded as an apology once more, before turning and walking into the lecture hall. He heard her weep as he passed the doorway, but even moreso the things his classmates had said.
"There he goes again, rejecting another woman."
"He has so many lined up, there's no way this man's a virgin."
"He probably gets a new one whenever he likes, so he doesn't need these other girls begging for his attention."
These were the rumors he hated. They made him sound so... cruel. Like a womanizer, as if his mama didn't teach him better than that. Although he would admit he has had his fair share of relationships in the past, there was never an instance he would mistreat or disrespect them in the way his classmates spoke about.
But he had no reason to shut down their rumors. No matter what they said, women would keep coming to him, anyway. And he knew they weren't true, he owed them no explanation, he had no interest in other women, and so, he walked on. Let them call him a mafia playboy, and he didn't really give a shit.
After all, the other things were true. He was attractive, respectful, loved his family and did good- no, great in school. And nothing would stop that, not even their rumors. And he'd make sure he'd end up on top.
Or at least... that was his intention.
But there was at least one person in this university who was just as notoriously known as he was.
Hong Cha-young.
Vincenzo had never met her, but he never had to. He may have been smart, but she was smarter; the top of the class, absolutely brilliant and the top dog of the university's law department; a natural beauty, a sight no man would ever forget; fierce, confident, loud, strong, independent. Those were the words of the school, the professors, anyone who knew of her knew that those words rang true. And it was proven, time and time again as her face would be plastered all over the walls of the university, the face of the school right beside the grades that bested every other person in their year.
Vincenzo had never met her, but he knew she was a force to be reckoned with.
Stunning, fierce, intelligent.
But she was in his way.
And if he wanted the top spot, he had to get through her.
"Aish," he cursed as he put up his hood, stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his head down on his way to the library. It was night time now, the school day long over, but it was a Friday night. Other students were bustling around as the moon hit its peak in the sky, stars and lampposts lighting their way as they went on dates, to watch a movie, go out for drinks, attend the countless numbers of parties that they held on the weekends. The air was slightly cold but the presence of the excitement warmed it up, hushed conversation mixed with loud laughter from friends who walked hand-in-hand, shoulder to shoulder. All of this made a perfect balance of what it meant to live within university life.
A life that he never actually lived before.
Vincenzo put a bud into each ear and let the opera music fill until he heard nothing else but the strong vocals of his favorite Italian singer. He had thought about going to a college party multiple times, but when he finally did go to one, he found it off-putting. A bunch of newly-commenced young adults drinking their problems away at a karaoke bar with people they barely knew? Or the amount of times disgusting guys would try to hit on innocent young girls who had no idea what was going on? His eye twitched at the memory; he had thrown a guy across the room and knocked down an entire tower of cup pong before the latter was able to spill the drugs into a woman's drink.
He got kicked out, of course, but the woman said thank you. And he was glad she left safely, too.
But anyway. Yeah. University parties? No matter what anyone else thought, that kind of university life wasn't for him.
He finally pulled out the earbuds when he entered the large library building. He enjoyed the smell of the coffee made by the librarians who stayed til late, the expresso reminding him of home. He loved the largeness of the building that held so many stories, and especially loved the music that played in the late night when the librarians noticed less students come in so they can listen to their own music - music he himself enjoyed, too. Instrumentals, opera, jazz.
Books, quiet, music, and expresso. On a Friday night, in all honesty, there was no place else he would rather be.
Vincenzo smiled.
He made his way through a few aisles, keeping his head low and his face hidden. His hair was unkept under the hood which bothered him a bit, but it was better that way; if someone as well-known and spoken about as him wanted to have a quiet night alone, he had to keep his appearance as discreet and... "normal", as possible. Casual. More casual than the clothes he usually wears. There was a mask in his pocket, too, just in case he had to go that far as he finally settled on a book he thought looked rather interesting.
Grabbing it from the shelf and stuffing it under his arm, he began to walk briskly towards the table he usually sat at during this time. But since his eyes were downcast and making its way to the book out of curiosity once more, he bumped into someone on his way out. Books fell between him and the person, and he heard a groan that didn't come from him. "Ah," Vincenzo said, apologizing. "Sorry, I wasn't-"
"Watch where you're going!" He was immediately interrupted by a woman's voice and the irritation struck him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he momentarily glanced upward. "Damn it..."
When his eyes landed on her face, they immediately squinted slightly. Her face felt familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint the name. Maybe it was the long day and the late night getting to him. "Sorry," he repeated. "I wasn't watching where I was going. That's my fault."
The young woman scoffed at his response. "Yeah, okay."
The attitude was heavy in her tone, and there was immediate dismissal in her eyes as they went from him to the books on the floor. As she bent down to pick up the books, Vincenzo's eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened. His day was long and tiring enough, and the irritation tore through his usual politeness, and broke free.
He muttered under his breath. "Ha un pessimo atteggiamento." She has an attitude.
The woman's eyes flashed upward and met his. "Ha qualche problema, signore?" The sound of smooth and swift Italian caught Vincenzo's attention as his eyes locked with hers. "Hai voglia di morire?"
Do you have a problem, sir? she had asked him. Do you have a death wish?
Vincenzo's eyes widened in surprise, then shock as he realized how fluent her Italian sounded.
But then, the surprise wore off almost immediately afterwards.
Absolute amusement took its place.
He rose an eyebrow and smirked. "Come fai a conoscere l'italiano?" How do you know Italian?
The young woman picked up her books quickly and stood back up, a hot glare staring deep into his face. "Next time, watch where you're going, Cassano."
Vincenzo's smirk grew wider. "Oh, so you know who I am?"
She tilted her head and rose an eyebrow, annoyed. "Doesn't everyone?" She asked, but it was meant to be an insult rather than a compliment. She rolled her eyes. "Just because you're in a different outfit doesn't mean you're a different person. And who else would know Italian as well as me?"
She stepped forward and shoved through his shoulder, pushing him aside as she walked off. "Next time, watch where you're going." She disappeared into the next aisle as she said, "you're in the way."
Vincenzo stood where he was as she left, stuck between the aisles of Italian and Korean history, left to ponder on what kind of encounter this was as the gears started turning in his head. The lightbulb flickered overhead and the smirk never left his lips. The utter surprise mixed with amusement continued to brew inside. "Hong Cha-young," he finally said, the name dancing across his tongue like a brand new song as he finally remembered her face. "Hong Cha-young, Hong Cha-young..."
He turned his body to the direction in which she left, and his smirk turned into a playful smile. "Beautiful and brilliant," he said to himself, "just like people say."