Title

In the heart of downtown Seoul, at a busy intersection, a giant screen nestled between high-rise buildings displayed the 9 o’clock news.

Breaking News: The identity of the notorious scammer who deceived the entire nation has finally been revealed. Thanks to an anonymous tip, the police have identified the con artist as a 35-year-old male. Investigations are underway.

The screen flashed an image of a man with disheveled hair partially covering his face.

In the bustling crowd, Junwoo Han, his hat pulled low, lifted his head and grumbled,

“Did they have to use that photo?”

Junwoo watched the screen. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he also couldn’t help but be amused.

“Never thought I’d become a national sensation.”

He sighed. I’m exhausted. Time to go home and put my feet up.

In the bustling traffic, a police car drove past, its siren wailing. Junwoo stretched, casually slipped his hand into his pocket, and melted into the crowd.

***

30 years ago.

“Hey, kid. Did you see something shiny roll by here?”

It was Ilnam Go, a member of the most notorious scam ring in Korea known as the Boogeymen.

Right now, he was in big trouble.

He was at a daycare event for the children of South Korea’s wealthiest families. After scoping out one of the parents, he had managed to switch their real diamond ring for a fake cubic zirconia.

And then it all went wrong—the ring slipped from his grasp and rolled toward a child.

“Tell the truth, kid. Did you pick it up?”

The boy remained tight-lipped, wearing a face that said he had no idea what Ilnam was talking about. His head was bowed fearfully under Ilnam’s persistent questioning.

“I don’t know… I didn’t see nothing,” the boy mumbled.

But under it all, he had an indignant expression at the accusation. This isn’t fair!

It didn’t seem like he was lying to get out of trouble; he seemed genuinely clueless. Maybe the kid really didn’t know anything. After all, it wasn’t as if he was caught red-handed with the ring.

Ilnam scratched his head, muttering, “Where the hell did it go…?”

He continued scanning the area.

The commotion around him grew as people began to gather one by one. Ilnam guessed that some parents might hurry over to comfort the teary-eyed kid before him. He had to leave now. The show would be over if the kid spilled the beans that he was searching for something.

He was heading away, ready to bolt if necessary, when a teacher approached the crying boy.

“You’re not my student. Who’s your teacher?”

“Dad…?” the boy said.

The teacher, mistaking Ilnam for the kid’s father, looked at him, silently asking for an explanation.

Then…

“Dad!”

“Huh?” Ilnam said. “Me?”

“I was wrong. Please don’t leave.”

The boy was clearly speaking to Ilnam.

The hell are you talking about?

Ilnam’s mind came to a standstill. Around him, all the parents were now watching the scene.

The child began to cry even louder. “I’m sorry, take me with you. I’ll listen now, Dad. I won’t ask for a Nerf gun anymore, I promise.”

The boy’s pitiful gaze never left him. If this continued, Ilnam would end up branded as a heartless father who left his young son over a toy.

Quickly backtracking, Ilnam lifted the child into his arms. “Hah. When did I say I was leaving? If my son wants a toy, that’s what he’ll get. Let’s go.”

Striding away from the scene, Ilnam wondered what he was doing. Playing the role of a father wasn’t part of the plan. But staying any longer could be risky.

They reached an alley a few blocks away from the daycare. Ilnam set the child down. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I’m your Dad?”

“You did the same, sir,” the boy replied.

“I did? When?”

“You lied. Back there, I saw everything.”

Ilnam was baffled. Just a moment ago, the child had acted as if he knew nothing. But this little one had been reading him from the start.

“Is the game over now?” the boy said.

“What game?”

“The one we were playing. It was fun. Everyone fell for it, didn’t they?”

Ilnam was astonished.

That’s it? After making me work so hard, it was all fun and games? Does he think I’m an idiot?

“Alright, the game’s over. Scram.” Ilnam’s mind was still preoccupied with the whereabouts of the ring. How was he going to get back in there?

The child made a sullen face as Ilnam flapped his hand at him in annoyance.

“Aww. I wanted to play more. But at least I won,” the boy said, opening his fist. There, lying in his palm, was the diamond ring Ilnam had been searching for this whole time.

“You…”

Ilnam took the ring, feeling dazed. What was this? He felt like the loser, just as the child had said.

“Where’s your house?” Ilnam asked.

“I don’t have one.”

“Then, where’s your mom?”

“I don’t have one of those either.”

The boy pursed his lips and shrugged, looking up at Ilnam with an innocent expression. His tone sounded dismissive, as if to say, “Do I really need those?”

Ilnam’s curiosity about the child deepened.

“So where have you been staying all this time?”

“I just live like you, sir. I don’t really have a home.”

Live like me? The idea that this child had been living a life similar to his own, lurking in places like this, struck Ilnam.

Was that even possible? But based on what he had seen today, it also made sense.

Is this all a game to him?

Ilnam was suddenly scared of the child in front of him. If he was like this now, what would he be like as an adult?

The boy looked downcast. “Are you scared of me too, sir?”

Ilnam felt like he had done something wrong. If he left now, this kid would end up in a similar situation somewhere else.

Was it pity, or was the chaos of the day just making his judgment hazy?

Before he could even think it through, Ilnam blurted, “Wanna come with me?”

That was the day Junwoo gained not one but four scammer fathers.

***

Junwoo was grumpy. Ever since he had come to this house, there had been nothing fun to play with.

The “fathers,” who had given in once or twice to the boy’s audacity, quickly gave up and left him to his own devices. Now Junwoo was getting bored.

His interest was piqued for the first time when he watched a movie he liked, his face lighting up with excitement.

“What are those people doing?”

“You know the games you like to play?” Ilnam answered. “They’re like that. Well, sort of. They’re just acting.”

“Like our game?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

That was how Ilnam explained it. From that day on, Junwoo spent his days watching movies.

Junwoo’s love for movies was immense. He was so obsessed that he would sit in front of the TV all day, watching every movie he could find, regardless of genre.

Even when the gang was plotting in the living room, Junwoo didn’t give them a second glance. The countless performances of the actors in the movies captured his heart. Plus, he remembered every scene, every piece of dialogue—not a feat that could be achieved by mere effort.

Later, he even began to reenact entire scenes, exchanging lines with imaginary characters in a corner of the living room. But he soon grew tired of even that. What he desperately craved was a companion.

Junhwan Jang, one of the fathers, began to pay closer attention to Junwoo. It was clear that Junwoo’s behavior was more than just mimicking people on TV out of childish curiosity; he definitely had a talent for acting.

That kid might be useful.

“Kid’s a prodigy, isn’t he?” Junwhan said.

Ilnam looked up. “What?”

“You said that the day you brought him in. That he’s a genius.”

“Yeah… I guess so.”

A sense of unease crept over Ilnam as he noticed Junhwan beginning to take an interest in Junwoo, whom he had previously ignored.

Has he already grown attached to him? I didn’t bring him here for this.

Still, there was nothing he could do. Junhwan had agreed to take him in for a while because he felt sorry for him. It was clear that he would be kicked out if he became useless.

Ilnam could only hope that he was wrong about Junwoo being an acting prodigy.

One evening, Junhwan approached Junwoo, who was staying up late in front of the TV.

“Do you wanna do that, kid? The stuff on TV?”

“What?”

“Do you want to give it a try? Act in front of cameras?”

And just like that, Junhwan drew the unsuspecting Junwoo into their scamming world. Junwoo’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” Suddenly, Junwoo, who had been motionless for hours, leaped up from the floor. “Yes! I’ll do it! I know I can do it well!”

Ever since he had come to this house, Junwoo had drifted through his days in boredom. This was the first time he had looked so excited.

And so, Junwoo’s first scam began.

***

Junwoo’s first mission was to distract the target while the gang did the job.

His first role: “The Lost Child.”

He recalled a scene from the movie he had stayed up watching a few days ago. A minor character, after searching for his missing parents all day long, wept uncontrollably. Although it was a scene that appeared only briefly in his favorite show, Junwoo memorized everything in perfect detail.

He frantically ran his hands through his hair. Finally, he pulled the target’s collar. “Sir?”

The target turned around. The child, who was about his height, looked confused and anxious.

“My mom…” As he said those words, Junwoo’s eyes, crinkling in fear, began to water.

How long had he been running? His hair was a mess, his shoes were half off. He burst into tears as soon as he said the word “mom.” It was clear that he was a lost child who had been searching for his parents all day and had finally come to an adult for help.

The target set down his briefcase and crouched in front of the boy, looking him in the eye.

And with that, the first job was a success.

“How was that?” Junwoo said to the gang. “I totally fooled that man. And he even gave me this.”

Junwoo was buzzing with excitement. In his hand, he clutched two crumpled-up banknotes.

“This kid is a born con artist,” Junhwan Jang mused.

“I did good, right?”

From that day on, Junwoo became more and more involved in the cons. His hard work paid off; every game was a success.

At the time, Junwoo could never have guessed where his talent would take him.

***

The moment Junwoo opened the door, he sensed something was wrong. The air was charged with tension, and he noticed the gang’s sidelong glances as he stepped through.

“What? What’s up?”

Everyone was squirming, avoiding his gaze. Even Junhwan Jang, who had never been like that before, couldn’t look him in the eye.

Junwoo was young, but that didn’t stop his highly developed intuition. He had a hunch.

“No way. Is that…?”

“Junwoo, listen…” Ilnam began.

Junwoo knew the instant he saw Ilnam’s resigned expression. The worst had happened.

“I tried to warn you…” Ilnam continued.

“I told you to leave it alone!” Junwoo burst out. “Didn’t I make myself clear?!”

His frustration boiled over. He had always gone along with their schemes, pretending Ilnam was his father. He had done everything he could to make money for him. But it was all for nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his rage. It was over.

Junwoo had always been a natural. Gradually, their operations had come to revolve around him. If he couldn’t see a solution, the game was off. Junwoo’s decisions were always on the mark. The gang knew that.

They should never have meddled.

“A hundred billion won!” Junhwan Jang retorted, his face flushed with anger. “How could we just give that up? That was my ticket out of here. I didn’t know it would end up like this.”

“Come on, Junwoo. Is there anything we can do? You always have an answer. What do you think?” one of the fathers said, his eyes desperate.

At his words, the others, previously sunken in despair, began to see a glimmer of hope.

Ilnam should have known. Once again, it all came down to Junwoo. They had never truly wanted this kid for who he was; they had only wanted his talent.

A cold realization washed over Junwoo.

What am I even hoping for? I know there’s nothing else I can do.

“There is no answer. It’s all over,” Junwoo said.

“There has to be something.”

“Just let it go.”

“We can’t go back to prison again. We’re all screwed!”

A bitter laugh escaped Junwoo’s lips. He understood now—they wanted him to take the blame.

“You think you can just bail on us?” said one of the fathers. “We’re all going down together!”

So now it was down to threats. Unbelievable. Even if they were panicking, that was going too far.

Where had it gone wrong? As the games got bigger, the fathers became more and more money-hungry. It was sickening to see them still trying to claw something out of this mess.

Junwoo paused. If he wanted to, he could get out of this and put a few scammers behind bars.

“Junwoo, please…! You’re our son. You gotta save your dads, don’t you?”

But it wasn’t going to be easy. His father’s hand was shaking as it gripped his shoulder, a last-ditch plea from a desperate man.

Junwoo didn’t know what to say.

Still, they’re family, even if they see me as just a tool. At the end of the day, they took in an orphan with nowhere to go.

Junwoo sighed and stepped out to get some air. Suddenly, he felt an arm around his shoulder. He turned to see Ilnam’s sad face.

“Don’t stress too much, Junwoo. It’s time to hang it up anyway.”

The moment Junwoo looked into Ilnam’s eyes, he knew what he’d decided. Ilnam had always had concerns about the path he had led the boy down. Junwoo knew that.

Ilnam never wanted things to get this big. He had a criminal record, so if he was caught again, he would have to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Not only that, he had a number of health problems, some of which had him hooked on prescription painkillers.

Junwoo pictured the man slowly dying in pain on the cold floor of a cell.

If I went in…

The truth was, Junwoo had grown weary of the scamming world. It had ensnared him before he fully grasped what he was getting into.

Junwoo’s world was a stage, and he was the director. He enjoyed it in a way.

Yet, for a while now, he had felt a nagging uneasiness in his chest. Was this really the right thing?

Still, regret was a pointless emotion.

He knew there was no going back. Regardless of his intentions, he was a criminal. He had resigned himself to his fate, believing it was the only life he was meant to lead.

But what was he going to do now? He was sick of his fathers and their greed, and he was tired of always having to sneak around.

He longed to escape it all.

That’s when he made up his mind. He had done everything he could.

Might as well take a break, too.

By the end of the day, Junwoo’s face was all over Seoul. No one had any idea it was intentional. It was a masterful last con.

I do have one slight regret.

“Did they have to use that photo?”

If he’d known that was the one they were going to plaster all over the news, he would have taken it out.

***

Junwoo realized the extent of his popularity as soon as they locked him up. The news had even spread among the other prisoners. As the attention from his fellow inmates quickly turned sour, the warden sent him to solitary confinement for his own safety.

Flopping onto his back, Junwoo stared at the stark ceiling above him. A smirk played on his lips.

The cold, quiet solitude of the cell felt unexpectedly comforting. What had been the point of all that sneaking around if he was just going to end up here?

I’m just…

He reflected on the day he first entered the game—the rush of his first role, the exhilaration of having the world at his fingertips.

He had orchestrated countless games, fooled countless people. The puppet master.

Back then, it felt like he was living in a movie. It was the only way he could make sense of his life. As a child surviving on the streets, this was his one and only skill.

But reality had finally caught up with him. No matter how much he wished it were otherwise, Junwoo was just a con artist and criminal. He had been living in a dream world. What more could he have hoped for?

A deep sigh escaped him. If this was what he had to do to atone, then so be it. He could use the rest.

It’s not like I can turn back time.

As his thoughts wound down, an overwhelming drowsiness enveloped him. The cell around him gradually darkened, and his eyes drifted shut.

The world went black as he fell into a deep sleep.

“Ugh, I’m so nervous,” Joonki groaned, clutching his head in frustration.

Beside him, Noeul took a long sip of his iced Americano. “Hey, just watching you breathe is A-plus content. Even you sitting still is entertaining.”

“Come on, don’t mess with me,” Joonki said, his hair disheveled as he shot Noeul a glare.

He looks even better with his hair all messy, Noeul thought.

Glancing anxiously at his watch, Joonki noted that Jiwoo was due to arrive soon. He nudged Noeul with his elbow.

“What are you craving these days? I’ll treat you big time if this goes well.”

“You better keep your promise. I want your entire paycheck.”

“Of course. Who else would take time out of their day to help a friend’s love life? I owe you one. For real.”

Noeul wanted to tell him not to use phrases like “for real” around Jiwoo but decided against it.

Anything Joonki said would sound cool anyway. Who was he to give advice? Today, his job was just to be the comic relief and keep things light. Just because he was invited to hang out with a girl didn’t mean he should start acting out of his league. That would only lead to accusations of overstepping.

Joonki straightened his shoulders and smoothed out his clothes, turning to Noeul. “Do I look okay?”

“You’d look fine even if you were dunked in the Han River and rolled around in the dirt. Don’t worry.”

“Stop joking around.”

Noeul wasn’t joking, though. Spitting on a jewel doesn’t make it any less valuable. Wash it off, and it shines just as bright. On the other hand, no amount of gold dust can make poop anything more than gold-covered poop.

Noeul stole glances at Joonki, marveling at how the good-looking seemed to have it all: thick hair, minimal sweating, small pores, perfect teeth. They barely felt the heat or the cold, as if these traits came as a package deal for the more attractive.

He decided to stop sneaking peeks. I’ll just look like the jealous, ugly guy envying his handsome friend.

And what was Joonki so worried about? All he needed to do was sit there and occasionally say something like, “Oh really?” and the girls would be smitten. Even a puzzled “What did you say?” would come across as charmingly indifferent.

That’s the nature of charm. Whatever you say or do is seen through the lens of your physical appearance. Words from a not-so-pretty face come across as not-so-pretty, and actions taken by an average person are average.

Joonki knew this well. Having lived with that face for over twenty years, he didn’t need someone to explicitly tell him, “You’re hot.” It was evident in the looks and atmosphere around him. If he ever asked, “What’s so attractive about me?” people would eagerly explain.

“Oh, you brought a friend.”

Before they knew it, Jiwoo was standing by their table. When Joonki had mentioned he had feelings for someone, Noeul found it hard to believe. Usually, it was Joonki who was the object of admiration. But upon seeing Jiwoo, he instantly understood why.

Jiwoo was striking, surpassing many idols with her long, glossy black hair, finely sculpted face, captivating cat-like eyes, sparkling small lips, and a mole beneath her eye that added to her almost ethereal beauty. She looked AI-generated.

“Oh, you’re here,” Joonki said stiffly, almost like a robot.

Jiwoo chuckled and sat across from him.

Knew it.

In situations like these, it wasn’t wise for anyone to mimic Joonki’s awkwardness. When a hot guy likes a beautiful girl, people are thrilled. But if an unattractive guy likes a beautiful girl, it puts people off. At best, he might receive a sympathetic nod.

Noeul’s strategy was surprisingly simple: treat them like anyone else. Pretending not to see their beauty avoided the pitfalls of appearing bitter. Saying something combative like, “You think she’s pretty? I don’t see it,” would make him seem resentful. A more balanced approach, like, “Jiwoo? Oh, yeah, she’s pretty,” was safer and more tactful.

Noeul greeted Jiwoo with a warm smile. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

This was how Noeul made people who might have been wary of his appearance think, “He’s no looker, but he’s got a great personality.”

Jiwoo gave Noeul a faint smile in return.

Without even looking, Noeul could feel the stares in the café. They were directed at the visually striking pair of Joonki and Jiwoo. Some were probably for Noeul, too, wondering what he was doing there. Ignoring these glances was crucial—acknowledging them would only invite pity.

Meanwhile, Joonki, visibly tense, clasped his hands under the table and rubbed his knees. He barely managed to look Jiwoo in the eyes as he spoke.

“So… do you like surfing?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“Ah, your profile picture. I saw you surfing in your messenger photos… Not that I was stalking or anything…”

“It’s fine. That’s why the photos are there. Do you surf too?”

“I’ve tried a few times. I’m not very good at it, though…”

Noeul instinctively knew it was his cue to step in.

“Hey, if you’re not good, then what does that make us? A bunch of worms?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Joonki said with an awkward laugh.

There, just laugh like that, and she’ll be won over in no time, Noeul thought.

Jiwoo looked intrigued. “Did you go surfing with your friends?”

“Yeah, we were like Poseidon and his foes,” Noeul replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we rented wetsuits to go surfing, right? This guy here put his on first, and he looked so cool. I got hopeful for myself and went to put mine on. But when I came out, I looked like one of those villains from the Detective Conan cartoons.”

“What?”

“You don’t know? Look it up. If you search for ‘Conan villain,’ you’ll see what I mean.”

Jiwoo pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. Shortly after, she burst into laughter, and Joonki and Noeul joined in.

Noeul realized the importance of not taking his appearance too seriously. By poking fun at himself, he made it easier for others to laugh along, and he came across as easygoing. Riding this momentum, Noeul carried on with his story.

“So, after surfing, our plan was to head back to Seoul the next day. Everyone had a lot to drink that night, myself included. The next morning, I woke up to the blinding sun, groggy, and found myself lying on some bench. My head was killing me, and I went to Joonki, ‘How did I end up here?’ He explained that everyone else had left to catch the bus, but he stayed behind because I was knocked out.”

Joonki gave an awkward smile and scratched the back of his head.

Jiwoo looked at him with admiration. “You’re pretty loyal.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say loyal,” Joonki replied. “I had no urgent plans the next day, so I just waited around. It felt wrong to leave him by himself.”

Noeul chimed in with a grin. “Joonki, that’s called loyalty.”

Joonki and Jiwoo laughed. As Noeul continued talking, Joonki seemed to relax more and started conversing with Jiwoo more comfortably. They were hitting it off well.

Sensing that things were going smoothly, Noeul knew it was time for him to step back and simply respond when needed. Dominating the conversation now would only make him seem like he was seeking attention.

Noeul was starting to feel bored. He wanted to head home quickly. The truth was, conversations among the stunningly attractive were often dull because they got by on their looks alone. However, Noeul knew that tagging along with Joonki boosted his own social standing. While some might think hanging out with a handsome guy like Joonki might underscore his own lack of good looks, Noeul had accepted his role. Being the funny guy next to good-looking Joonki had its perks.

Noeul recognized he could never outshine Joonki in popularity. He had once hoped that his personality might win more affection than his friend’s looks, but he eventually understood that was a naive thought.

Society grades people from birth, and these grades are plainly written on their faces. Noeul had come to accept that his current reputation was the best he could achieve, given the cards he’d been dealt. Wanting more would be like reaching for the unattainable, and any protest against the unfairness would likely be dismissed as insecurity.

Recognizing his position and understanding his realistic prospects was crucial for someone like him. Noeul was grateful for this clarity.

“Should we get going?” Joonki said, glancing at his watch.

Noeul checked the time as well, pretending to be surprised at how late it had gotten. Jiwoo grabbed her bag.

Noeul inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. At last, he could go home and unwind. Why spend his precious weekend meddling in someone’s love life, especially when it involved such attractive people?

Anyone watching would find it laughable.

Yet, this was his way of fitting in with his peers. A wry smile unknowingly crossed his face as they stepped outside the café.

“Which way are you guys heading?” Jiwoo asked.

Noeul gave Joonki a meaningful look as if to say, “Aren’t you going to spend more time with her?”

Joonki hesitated, looking unsure.

Jiwoo waved her hand. “My bus is that way.”

Noeul thought about encouraging Joonki once more but decided against it. They could always arrange to meet another time.

He waved to both of them and said, “I’m taking the subway. See you guys.”

***

Bzzz.

Noeul fumbled for his phone on the bedside table.

[Did you get home ok?]

The sender’s profile name was “Jiwoo.” Surprised, Noeul checked the profile picture. It really was Jiwoo. What’s this about?

Oh, he quickly reasoned, she’s probably just maintaining her image because I’m so close to Joonki. This happened often. He couldn’t let himself think she might be interested in him because he was funny. The right move was to respond in a way that matched her tone.

[Yeah. Did you?]

[Yeah. I had fun today haha.]

[Me too lol. Let’s hang out again sometime.]

[For sure. I feel like I didn’t get to talk to you much today.]

Noeul scoffed.

“Didn’t talk much, or didn’t want to?”

He replied:

[Maybe haha. Anyway, goodnight.]

He sent a sleeping fox emoji wrapped in a blanket.

[I’ll sleep later. Are you going to sleep now?]

Did she have something more to say? Typically, when someone sends a “goodnight” message with an emoji, the conversation ends there. But Jiwoo was still texting. Noeul replied:

[I’m going to sleep now. Why?]

[It’s kinda early.]

[I usually go to bed early haha.]

[Do you wake up early too?]

Noeul couldn’t understand why Jiwoo was dragging out the conversation.

[Yeah, kind of. Did you have something you wanted to tell Joonki?]

[No? Why?]

[Seemed like you did.]

[Huh? No haha. I just wanted to chat with you.]

Noeul felt a surge of anger. Why was she saying this? Was she trying to give him false hope? And if he did entertain that hope, then what?

Occasionally, someone would show interest in Noeul. Naturally, they didn’t actually like him. What they liked was the fact that Noeul loved them.

Was it like how Esmeralda must have felt being adored by Quasimodo?

Noeul couldn’t understand it. But he knew one thing for sure: expecting kindness from others only led to misery.

Jiwoo’s continued interest was baffling. Attractive people might not realize how their attention could make others uncomfortable. Noeul couldn’t just say, “I wanted to chat with you.” People didn’t want to chat with him.

If Jiwoo expressed interest, most would be thrilled. Noeul’s world, by contrast, was vastly different from Jiwoo and Joonki’s. Thinking about these differences only deepened his sense of isolation.

He’d lived a miserable life, so he had developed a lot of coping strategies. His best move now was to retreat before he got hurt.

[I don’t really have anything to say haha. I’m going to sleep now. Bye.]

Noeul switched his phone to silent and tossed it onto his bedside table.

“You were born to be loved. Are you feeling that love in your life?”

Yoonwoo had never had a peaceful night’s sleep in his small, non-soundproofed studio apartment. He often woke up in the early hours to the loud phone conversations of the Chinese exchange student next door. Now, on this Sunday morning, the singing voices of children from a nearby church pierced through the small window, tormenting his eardrums.

You Were Born to Be Loved was a popular kids’ tune he had learned in elementary school. But to Yoonwoo, it was just a bunch of lies. He had never felt truly loved by anyone.

Back in fourth grade, his homeroom teacher was a young woman. One day, after either reading a motivational book full of fancy words or watching some educational program, she told the class, “We need to learn to love ourselves. After all, how can we expect others to if we don’t feel that way about ourselves? Self-respect and self-love is the first step.”

Even at that young age, Yoonwoo instinctively knew this wasn’t true. Take Hyerim Jo, for example. She was the class president, and she wasn’t admired just because she loved herself. It was her pretty face and lively personality that made her popular. If the teacher’s words were true, then was Yoonwoo ostracized by his classmates just because he didn’t love himself enough?

Yoonwoo was just an average kid. But after someone remarked that his voice sounded feminine, laughter would erupt whenever he spoke, and he was even mocked as being gay. It made him fearful of speaking up. He grew quieter and struggled to make friends. Was that really because of a lack of self-love? Even before Yoonwoo started to dislike himself, others had already begun to treat him poorly.

Hyerim Jo, the class president who never joined in the teasing, said to him, “Yoonwoo, did you hear what the teacher said? You need to love yourself, too!”

Yoonwoo knew the teacher had asked Hyerim to look out for him because he didn’t fit in with the other kids. Seemingly intoxicated with her role—the beloved class president, even getting special requests from the teacher—Hyerim would sometimes throw out these random pieces of advice. This time, it sounded like she was saying Yoonwoo was unloved and that it was his fault.

Angered, Yoonwoo shot back, “Really? Well, I already like myself a lot. Since I love myself so much, does that mean you’ll love me too, Hyerim? Should we start dating?”

The teacher had said that you needed to love yourself before others could love you, not that loving yourself would automatically make others feel the same. But that kind of logical detail didn’t matter much to young kids.

Hyerim’s eyes widened in shock, and soon, tears began streaming down her face. Almost instantly, Yoonwoo found himself the object of everyone’s criticism. No one cared to listen to his attempts at explaining himself. With the popular, pretty Hyerim in tears and the unpopular Yoonwoo by her side, it didn’t matter what had actually happened; everyone blamed Yoonwoo. From that moment on, he realized how pointless it was to speak up. So, throughout middle and high school, he stayed silent. Whether he spoke or not, he felt the same—unloved and alone.

Yoonwoo had no fond memories of his childhood. His parents fought constantly, and their anger often turned toward him. “Why did we even have a child if we have to suffer like this?” they would say. “If it weren’t for him, we’d be much better off…”

Yoonwoo felt guilty about everything: eating, using water, turning on the heat. Simply breathing and being alive felt like a mistake. He studied hard because if he brought home bad grades, his parents would fight, each blaming the other for their child inheriting the “wrong” traits.

But even when he did well in school, there were no words of praise, no special meals out. To his parents, spending money on Yoonwoo was a burden, and his academic success wasn’t something to celebrate; it was just what was expected. It’s hard for a child to hate their parents, so in Yoonwoo’s mind, he was the problem. Before falling asleep, he would always imagine a world without him—a world where his parents didn’t have to spend much money, didn’t fight, and could enjoy their meals together in happy conversation.

However, the world he envisioned wouldn’t magically appear just because he was gone. If Yoonwoo were to die at home, his gruesome corpse would soil the house, costing money to clean up. Worse, his parents might be held responsible for his death, potentially ruining their reputation—something they, both being university professors, valued above almost everything else. So, if he were to die, Yoonwoo thought, he’d have to make sure not to dirty the room and to ensure his parents weren’t blamed. Otherwise, even in death, he feared he would still be a burden.

“You’re much more valuable than you think, Yoonwoo.”

These were the words of his psychiatrist. In his cramped studio apartment, a few pills like diazepam and quetiapine were the only things holding Yoonwoo’s deteriorating mental state together. Whether these medications had a positive impact on his psyche was uncertain, but since starting them, his sleep had increased to about eleven hours a day. Yoonwoo hadn’t gone to the psychiatrist expecting his nearly twenty-year-long depressive mood to suddenly lift. He sought help because the waking hours were pure agony, and anything that could reduce that time, even just a little, felt like a relief.

Sitting through the psychiatrist’s seemingly pointless chatter during each visit was a different kind of struggle. Every time, the doctor would say things like, “You are capable; didn’t you get into a good university?” and “Believe in yourself; you are special.” To Yoonwoo, these comments felt more like mockery than encouragement.

He figured the doctor probably gave similar advice to all his patients, offering some kind of rationale to affirm their worth and motivate them to keep going, before prescribing the necessary meds. It seemed to Yoonwoo that even if a broken clock sat in the patient’s chair, the psychiatrist would commend it, saying, “Haven’t you worked hard in the past?” and “See? You show the correct time at least twice a day.”

University? Sure, Yoonwoo’s parents were professors at SoSo University, but Yoonwoo had failed the entrance exam there. Instead, he got into the economics department at Gogo University, a level below. It felt like a failure. His parents neither congratulated nor consoled him. He should never have been born. Every aspect of his life felt like a failure. Yoonwoo himself was a failure—a broken clock to be discarded.

Rabbit: Tofu, are you already asleep?

It was 9 p.m. Yoonwoo had been awake since early morning, roused by the unpleasant singing of children, and he still felt lousy even after getting back from the gym. He hadn’t eaten anything and just lay in bed, staring into space.

The KakaoTalk message was from a person whose face and name Yoonwoo didn’t know—someone he’d met in an open chat room. Yoonwoo used the nickname ‘Tofu Soft Tofu,’ while his friend went by ‘Mountain Rabbit.’ Rabbit addressed Yoonwoo as Tofu, and Yoonwoo, finding it awkward to type the strange name ‘Mountain Rabbit,’ simply called her Rabbit.

Tofu: I’m about to go to bed.

Rabbit: Oh, why? I just woke up. Let’s have a drink.

The invitation wasn’t a suggestion to meet in person. Instead, the idea was to video their drinks and exchange photos via KakaoTalk to enjoy the moment together.

Initially, Rabbit had suggested they meet in person for drinks, but Yoonwoo, preferring not to meet anyone or be seen, had declined. Rabbit then proposed this alternative. Although Yoonwoo wasn’t much of a drinker, he played along, sipping a cheap can of beer. This delighted Rabbit, who seemed to drink almost daily.

Tofu: If I drink now, I won’t be able to wake up early tomorrow.

Rabbit: What’s wrong with that? You didn’t schedule any classes for first period on Mondays anyway right?

Tofu: But I’ll feel bad if I wake up late because I’m hungover.

Rabbit: Why don’t we just get it over with quickly? I’m good whenever.

Tofu: I still… feel like I’d be less sorry if I at least got my diploma before dying. To my parents…

Rabbit: Once you’re dead, it’s all over. Why worry so much about other people?

Tofu: But we agreed to do it after graduation.

Rabbit: Yeah, I just said that because I hoped you’d feel a bit better. I guess I’ll go play MapleStory now.

Tofu: Okay. I only drink on Fridays or Saturdays, so let’s talk then.

Rabbit: I don’t even look at a calendar anymore, so I don’t know what day it is. You’ll have to tell me.

Tofu: Okay, I’ll do that.

Yoonwoo had met Rabbit in a one-on-one open chat room. Although searching for the word “suicide” in such rooms was prohibited, there were plenty of alternative terms that people used to get around the restrictions. When Yoonwoo first started university, he was overwhelmed by the urge to end his life and began searching for the quickest, cleanest way to do it. But all information on the subject was heavily censored.

Why is that? If someone is desperate enough to attempt suicide due to the lack of an easy way out, wouldn’t it be better for them to just die? If they’re that kind of person, wouldn’t it be okay to let them go? This world that forces people to live is too cruel. So why can’t they just censor the chat rooms instead?

Many people of all ages and backgrounds, all wanting to die, gathered in these open chat rooms. Yoonwoo wandered through them, hoping to find information on a comfortable and clean death. But most of the rooms he found weren’t serious.

The most distressing cases Yoonwoo encountered were people who persistently inflicted severe injuries on themselves and seemed eager to show these injuries to others. For some reason, those who self-harmed always wanted to show their wounds, as if it didn’t matter who saw them. Yet, ironically, they didn’t really want to die.

Yoonwoo found it extremely difficult to look at such photos. They made him feel disgusted with the people who shared them. It seemed to him that they were using the idea of death as a way to create a spectacle, to attract attention, ultimately causing more trouble for everyone around them.

“Everyone naturally wants attention. Such actions manifest from their deep emotional pain,” his psychiatrist had said when Yoonwoo shared his thoughts about these people. Of course, Yoonwoo didn’t mention that he was searching for ways to die. He just said he was lonely and looking for someone to talk to when he came across them.

Yoonwoo understood that everyone craves attention. Nevertheless, he believed that to get attention, you need certain qualifications. You had to either have exceptional charm, like Hyerim Jo, the class president from his childhood, or achieve something significant, like getting into SoSo University. Attention, it seemed, was reserved for a select few. People like Yoonwoo, who didn’t meet these criteria, often found themselves overlooked, even by their own families.

But to seek attention through tantrums without having any qualifications? That was just naïve. When he thought about it more, though, he realized that these people were victims too. You Were Born to Be Loved. That song had misled so many. If someone grows up genuinely believing they were meant to be loved, only to be profoundly disappointed later, it can be devastating.

They were essentially crying out, “Look at me. Wasn’t I born to be loved?” as they expressed their pain. Adults irresponsibly plant these fantasies in children, only to mock them when they grow up and express their feelings of injustice, dismissing them as immature. If anything, kids should be taught from a young age that only a select few are born to be universally loved.

During his earnest quest to find a means to end his life, Yoonwoo encountered Rabbit. Unlike Yoonwoo, Rabbit wasn’t seeking a method to die alone but was instead searching for a companion to share the end with. To Rabbit, it seemed that as long as she had someone to die with, nothing else really mattered.

Rabbit was profoundly lonely. But observing that Rabbit didn’t actively seek out companionship and preferred to stay alone in her apartment, it seemed she also recognized she wasn’t one of those “born to be loved.” Although Rabbit had once suggested meeting up for drinks, when Yoonwoo declined, Rabbit didn’t press further, possibly implying it wasn’t a genuine invitation after all.

Rabbit wasn’t reckless in seeking attention and was committed to her principles, which made it easy for her and Yoonwoo to get along. They even had a few voice chats through the app, but once, Rabbit was crying so much that Yoonwoo couldn’t make out what she was saying. Rabbit mentioned that she often woke up at night and immediately started drinking. She said she got through each day in a drunken haze. When Yoonwoo asked if the day they had chatted while she was crying was a boozy day, Rabbit actually said she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol then.

Ultimately, what truly mattered to both of them was finding a companion who was seriously considering death. Conversations about love or attention seemed irrelevant in the face of mortality. So, they agreed to steer clear of unnecessary personal questions as much as possible. During their voice chats, Yoonwoo realized that Rabbit was female, but this detail didn’t matter to him. Similarly, Rabbit never remarked on Yoonwoo’s voice. As companions on their journey to the afterlife, they were nothing more than loyal and supportive friends.

Rabbit’s goal was simply to die with someone, by any means necessary, while Yoonwoo’s was to disappear cleanly without tarnishing his parents’ reputation. If he were to die with Rabbit, leaving behind a foolish note suggesting a romantic double suicide between lovers, it would likely reduce the chances of his parents being embroiled in scandal over his death. In this way, Yoonwoo and Rabbit’s interests aligned perfectly.

At least… it seemed that way at the time.

Why aren’t they paying me?

It seemed like something he’d seen on the internet.

Giving up grilled intestines for a hundred million won, giving up soda for a hundred million won, enduring a mind-numbingly boring meeting with the company chairman for three hundred million won, and so on… The kind of story where you get money if you endure a harrowing trial.

Shouldn’t they be paying me by now? The total would be in the tens of billions by now.

Eunho stared at the unbelievably dull group around him, contemplating. He didn’t remember choosing the “endure a tedious alumni gathering for an hour and get paid” option, so why was he sitting here? He sighed.

He wished he could just go home and play Gun Tales, his most recent gaming infatuation.

Gun Tales was a popular game, featuring cute yet suspiciously well-armed characters who entered battlefields and dungeons to slaughter other creatures.

I want to game with Ruby, he thought wistfully.

It would be far more worthwhile to play with his guildmate, Ruby, whom he met in Gun Tales.

No, it wasn’t just worthwhile—meeting Ruby was far better than any gathering or meetup. Ruby was incomparable to anyone: fun, kind, cute…

“Don’t you remember?” someone said. “Mingyu used to like Sojeong.”

“Ugh, come on, don’t bring that up!” another complained.

They were Eunho’s former classmates—alumni of the same high school—and they were now howling with laughter as they reminisced about their unremarkable high school years. He aimed his gaze at them, imagining them as targets.

“I’m only saying this because Sojeong isn’t here, but back then, she liked someone else, not Mingyu.”

One shot.

“Mingyu, are you crying?”

“Crying?”

Two shots fired simultaneously.

“She got so pretty, though. Mingyu, we should meet up with her.”

“For what? I got rejected back in high school anyway.”

“Wait, seriously? Man, why are you just now telling me this?”

Moving targets are even harder to hit. But he took them down in one blow. Now, his ultimate skill was fully charged…

“…Ah,” Eunho sighed.

He glanced at Jeongwon, seated beside him, and put down the imaginary rifle. His interest had evaporated.

“What?” she asked, arching a brow. “What’s the problem now?”

Eunho waved her off. “Nothing, nothing.”

Leaning back on the sofa, he began to scrutinize Jeongwon.

Jeongwon Yoo was a long-time friend. They’d met in elementary school, then attended the same middle and high schools. He watched her short bob sway over her forehead, then his gaze shifted to the lip balm she’d taken out.

“What’s that?” he laughed.

“What do you mean, what?” The lip balm was light pink with a plastic ribbon at the end.

“Come on, what are you doing with something like that? What’s with the ribbon?” Eunho snickered.

“The—The ribbon is there so I know which way is up, okay?” Jeongwon retorted, looking flustered. “Haven’t you ever used lip balm before?”

“Of course I have! Who needs a sign on the top of their lip balm, Jeongwon? That’s hilarious.”

Jeongwon’s ears turned bright red.

At least something entertaining was happening at this meeting. Eunho, unable to hold back, slipped his fingers between Jeongwon’s palms and snatched the lip balm away.

“Flutters of a Blind Date Pink?” he read aloud. “Jeongwon, did you have to say the full name when you bought this? Say it—‘Flutters of a Blind Date Pink,’ please. Just once.”

“Oh come on, why would I say the whole name? I just asked for number three!”

Jeongwon, now completely flushed, tried to grab the lip balm from his hand. Eunho simply passed the lip balm to the alumna across from him.

“See, Jeongwon? This kind of thing is perfect for someone like Sunyul.”

Sunyul had long, wavy hair, and was wearing a frilly skirt and a slim-fit, light pink cardigan. Sunyul pursed her lips and said, “Are you still teasing Jeongwon? Stop comparing me and her.”

“Exactly,” another former classmate added, grinning. “Look at Eunho Ju, with his cocky attitude. You’re twenty-three now, you know.”

“Trash, total trash.”

“Stop picking on Jeongwon. Here, take this back.”

The others retrieved the lip balm and handed it to Jeongwon, eyeing her expression. But Jeongwon just stared at it for a moment, then shook her head.

“No, Eunho is right.”

She passed the little tube straight to Sunyul.

“Do you think I brought this ridiculous ‘Flutters of a Blind Date Pink’ lip balm for myself?” she scoffed. “Look, Eunho, use your eyes. This is brand new.”

Jeongwon pushed the lip balm in complete exasperation toward Sunyul.

“Take it, Sunyul. I picked it up on the way here because it’s your style.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Unable to hold back their laughter at Jeongwon’s bluntness, their old classmates sounded more like a pack of hyenas than a group of high school alumni.

“Why are you trying to give it to me?” Sunyul asked, perplexed. “Eunho was just joking.”

“I’m serious,” Jeongwon insisted. “Do you really think I’d use ‘Flutters of a Blind Date Pink?’ The only time I feel flutters is when I land a perfect shot to someone’s chest. That’s just how athletes are.”

“Did you join a gang after graduating?” someone laughed.

Sunyul took Jeonwon’s offering in confusion, and tried to lift the weird mood by striking a cute pose, holding the bizarrely named lip balm next to her face.

“Thanks, Jeongwon! Eunho, how does it look? Does it suit me?”

Eunho looked her over, from the lip balm that seemed to perfectly match her cardigan to her face, and replied nonchalantly, “Yeah, I guess.”

The lip balm didn’t really matter to Eunho.

He’d just wanted to find a topic that would shake up this boring gathering. Putting Jeongwon and Sunyul aside, he caught the others’ attention and asked, “By the way, do any of you play Gun Tales?”

“When did you become a total gamer freak?”

***

Eunho threw his bag into the living room, changed clothes, washed his hands, and then, with the tip of his toe, pressed the power button on his PC.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

He dropped into his chair, moved the mouse, and launched the game. The moment he put on his headset, a pleasant notification popped up.

<Ruby has logged in.>

Eunho worked hard to keep his lips from curling up and cleared his throat, greeting Ruby with a cool, deepened voice. The voice of his character, Graze.

“Ruby, perfect timing today. I just got on too.”

“Graze! We must be on the same wavelength.”

A warm and soft voice. A cute, playful personality. The adorable healer avatar. The pink sparkles that appeared above her name.

As soon as Ruby started talking in the guild’s voice chat, the guild-exclusive chat window lit up.

<StrongMinsu: Ruby probably looks gorgeous in real life too, haha>

<SupremeSwordMaster: Let’s do a guild meetup!>

“Ugh, gross perverts.”

The guild Salvation, where Ruby and Eunho met, was mostly filled with men. With her pretty avatar and sweet voice, Ruby was practically an idol amongst them.

There were even people who’d log in from their hospital beds just to hear Ruby’s voice.

Ruby had so many guys flocking around her that the guild’s entry requirements kept getting stricter.

<Ruby: Huh? Graze, my headset is acting up. What did you say?>

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. Ruby, want to go do dailies?”

“Of course! I’ve been saving them so I could do them with you.”

“Let’s just call it ‘not doing them’… Ah, never mind. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Listening to Ruby’s sweet voice coming through his headset, Eunho laughed inwardly.

I’m different from you losers.

Eunho was different from his fellow guild members. He was nothing like those pathetic guys who blindly chased after Ruby just because of her cute avatar and voice.

Ruby’s an angel. Her voice and in-game appearance aren’t all there is.

To him, her voice and avatar were just extra perks.

Ruby was kind, cute, and lovable, and being with her was pure healing. Unlike the rest, he truly liked her for who she was.

“Ruby, are we done with the dailies?” he asked after a while.

“Aww, I missed one…” Ruby pouted. “I got distracted following you and went through the portal by accident.”

“Then wait here. I’ll go finish it up solo and come back without leaving the party.”

“Really? You’ll do that for me, Gray-Gray?”

“It’ll take five minutes, tops. I got you,” he reassured her in his cultivated cool, gentle voice.

Eunho then maneuvered his character right into the dungeon.

Ruby had missed just one monster, but to catch that one, he had to massacre a hundred monsters. Still, he couldn’t help but laugh.

I want to meet Ruby at least once.

When he was with Ruby, even this tedious grinding felt enjoyable. He’d gladly give her every item he collected if it meant he could keep playing with her.

Isn’t this what true love is?

Even though he didn’t know her real face, wasn’t it true love to genuinely appreciate the beauty of Ruby’s very existence?

Eunho pressed the keys harder than usual, gathering more items to bring to the pretty healer.

***

“Hey, what are you doing? Looks like there’s nothing left for me to do.”

“Pretty big words from someone who maxed out every character, and that’s including their alts,” the guild master retorted.

“Come on. I’m asking what you’re doing.”

“I’m doing my dailies right now.”

Admittedly, Gun Tales was somewhat lacking in content. Wondering if there was anything more to do, Eunho had contacted the guild master of Salvation.

But the guild master was busier than expected, which struck Eunho as suspicious.

“Wait, you’re doing dailies? With who? No way you’d be doing them alone.”

“Dailies” referred to the daily quests—mindless grind quests where players endlessly killed monsters and collected the dropped items.

Doing grind quests alone was unbearably dull. So, players usually did dailies with guildmates, chatting to pass the time.

“I’m doing them with Ruby.”

“Oh, damn! Why didn’t you tell me you were with her!”

“These are PC cafe-exclusive dailies. You never do those,” he pointed out.

“It’s a different story if Ruby’s involved,” Eunho protested.

“Anyway, I’m going into a raid with Ruby. Talk later.”

“Hey, wait!”

The PC cafe-exclusive daily quests, which could only be done in Gun Tales-partnered cafes, offered little reward except for cute fashion items.

Eunho had no interest in avatar customization, so he hadn’t even realized this event was happening.

But since Ruby had a weakness for dressing up her avatar, of course she’d do the PC cafe dailies. How did he not think of this? He should have helped her with the dailies and given her all the items.

Eunho rushed out of the house.

“Wow, why are there so many people here?”

The place he arrived at was the nearest partnered PC cafe. It was a weekend afternoon, so naturally, there were so many people that only a few spots were open.

The last few empty seats were taken by elementary school kids who shoved right past him.

“There’s seriously just one seat left?”

Receiving a hesitant look from the cafe worker, Eunho walked to the only remaining spot. And next to that spot, he saw a familiar short bob cut swaying.

“What the—Jeongwon?”

“Eun—Eunho?”

Ordinarily, Jeongwon would have just cast a disdainful glance his way, but now, startled, she fidgeted in her seat.

She shifted as if to hide her monitor and suddenly shouted, “Don’t sit there!”

“What?” Eunho stared at her.

Glancing between the monitor and Eunho, Jeongwon took off her headset and continued to yell, “I—I haven’t showered in like, three days! No, four days! No, a week!”

“What? Jeongwon. I know I told you that you’re not cut out for trying to look good, but I never said you shouldn’t live like a human. Go home and take a shower.”

“No, actually, someone threw up over there earlier!” she said hastily. “They ate black bean noodles and threw up all over that chair! It’s seriously disgusting!”

That got his attention. “Oh, crap. Really?”

He grabbed the chair to check. Contrary to what Jeongwon said, the chair was clean and smelled fine. Maybe they’d scrubbed it thoroughly enough to remove any traces. For now, the chair seemed safe to sit on.

It was the first time in ten years that he’d seen Jeongwon look this flustered. It was intriguing, but wasn’t really what mattered now.

He had to raid with Ruby immediately. Today’s “man of the guild” had to be him, Eunho Ju, not the guild master.

No matter how bad it smelled, he had to take this one remaining seat. The next nearest partnered PC cafe was a twenty-minute bus ride away.

“I’ll just hold my breath and go for it. There’s only one seat left.”

“Ugh, go somewhere else! There are other PC cafes, aren’t there?”

“Why are you worrying about my nose, Jeongwon? I need to get into the raid right now.”

“I said you can’t sit there!”

Eunho pried Jeongwon’s arm off the chair and logged into Gun Tales, then called the guild master.

“Hey, I’m logging in now.”

“Got it…” he muttered distractedly. “No, Ruby! Heal, heal! Ruby!”

Holding his phone roughly between his shoulder and ear while setting up, he listened with surprise as the guild master yelled for Ruby.

Huh? Did Ruby disconnect?

Had Ruby suddenly lost her connection? The guild master was in desperate need of her healing skill.

As he was about to put down his phone with a click of his tongue, a familiar sound came from Jeongwon’s monitor.

“Warriors, leave your backs to me.”

It was the chant that played when a healer character in Gun Tales used their ultimate skill.

“…What the heck?”

A sudden sense of dread crept into Eunho’s chest. He could hear still the guild master’s panicked voice calling for Ruby from the phone he’d placed on the table

“Jeongwon, let me see your mouse,” he demanded.

“What? Why? No way, you lunatic!”

Ignoring her protests, Eunho seized Jeongwon’s mouse and peered at her monitor.

Dungeon instructions, the dungeon map, inventory, equipment window, skill window… All the windows that cluttered the screen seemed to be intentionally hiding something. He shot them down one by one, then froze.

And there it was—a gleaming pink PC cafe-exclusive name tag.

“…Ruby.”

That name, radiant and glowing: Ruby.

No way.

Why was Ruby’s character waving at him from Jeongwon’s monitor?

This better be a damn joke!

“…so white.”

Gion’s grasp on the hilt of his long black sword tightened.

Stained with copious amounts of blood, the long black sword emitted a crimson hue in the sunlight.

Gion walked along the White Flower Path, which stretched from the gate of White Dragon Castle to White Hall.

The avenue was made from unblemished marble-white stone.

The heavenly aura of the stone glowed with a light so strong that Gion struggled to keep his eyes open against the glare.

Looking at this scenery, Gion felt the blood in his body chillingly cool.

Despite being built on the sacrifices and blood of the people, White Dragon Castle’s grace was infuriatingly majestic.

For what reason did so many people have to die in Biryu? They willingly headed to the battlefield only for the glory of White Flower Kingdom. They firmly believed that this path would lead to the glory of White Flower Kingdom and staked their lives on it. But that is far from the truth. It was for the selfish desires of the corrupted royalty.

Those who nobly gave their lives did so with eyes wide open, while the royalty reveled in opulence in the safe confines of White Dragon Castle.

And when the returning national heroes knew their true faces, members of the royalty falsely accused them of treason. They threw them into the demon-infested Valley of Snow.

How should I console their souls?

Gion’s black eyes radiated a profound emptiness as though they had devoured all the darkness.

His hair, of the same color, was frozen stiff from the unmelting snow. The general’s uniform, once a regal gift from the king, now hung in tattered shreds from his gaunt frame.

The body that returned alive from the Valley of Snow was so battered it scarcely seemed human.

As a drawn sword moved to defend the White Flower Kingdom, Gion’s long black blade suffered damage and approached the brink of its demise.

Clutched in his other hand, opposing the weary blade, was a fistful of hair belonging to a woman. The woman was none other than the queen of White Flower Kingdom.

“Please, save me…” she cried.

Gion did not respond to her desperate voice. His steps resolutely sounded, one after the other.

Advancing with the long sword in tow, he approached the location where the king stood. The blood droplets from the blade formed a scarlet trail along White Flower Path.

The warriors guarding White Dragon Castle paced anxiously in place.

Finally, Gion reached the threshold of the White Hall, where the king stood awaiting his approach. As Gion advanced, the king, trembling with fear, thundered orders to the warriors of White Dragon Castle. His trembling voice couldn’t hide his anxiety.

“Do not attack! I command you to keep your distance! The queen’s safety is paramount!”

The queen, paralyzed with fear, scratched at Gion’s hand with her fingernails. Even as the skin on his hand tore, Gion remained motionless, gazing at the signboard of White Hall.

The sign said:

When the Black Qi of the demons spreads over the land, the beloved white dragon of the heavens will descend. Only then will the darkness lift and the white flowers fully bloom. - From Chapter 1 of White Flower Kingdom Folklore -

“The darkness lifts…”

Yes, within the White Dragon Castle’s stronghold, there is no darkness. Only light. And they manifested that light by casting the people into the darkness, for the light of White Dragon Castle, not of White Flower Kingdom.

Gion swung his sword through the air.

The signboard inscribed with White Flower Kingdom’s folklore helplessly splintered.

The warriors trembled at the sight.

“The… the White Flower tree… the signboard of White Hall...”

Legend had it that the White Flower tree was impervious to any force, which is why all the wood used in White Dragon Castle hailed from the White Flower tree.

Furthermore, the inscribed folklore on the signboard had undergone numerous jade treatments, rendering it seemingly indestructible.

However, it succumbed to Gion’s badly damaged sword, shattering unexpectedly.

Gion looked at the retreating warriors. The young warriors, still showing their naivety, wore clothes that did not fit their bodies. Their footwear was so deteriorated that the soles hung in tatters, and their hands, marred with untreated wounds, bore the harsh testament of neglect. Yet, their swords were designed to defend White Dragon Castle and crafted from exquisite white stone.

Despite this, they turned away from the king, directing their blades towards Gion instead.

A trembling young warrior managed to voice his confusion:

“General… why are you doing this… why…”

Another warrior beside him shouted:

“General? Silence if you value your life. Though once a general, he now stands accused of treachery! Even at this moment—”

Gion looked at them.

Fear silenced the young, trembling warrior discussing treason. Just Gion’s gaze was enough to freeze them.

Gion, the esteemed hero of White Flower Kingdom, the seasoned general who had consistently secured victories in battles, said, “Step back. I do not wish to harm you.”

The warriors froze at Gion’s dignified voice, unsure of what to do as he approached the king.

Gion said to him, “You seem well.”

Gion’s gaze rested on the king, who had turned pale with fright.

The king wore his golden crown, sleek silk attire, and opulent adornments.

Gion’s grip on the queen’s hair tightened, her veins bulging.

“Ahh!” The queen screamed in pain as Gion forcibly pulled her head back.

Overwhelmed by desperation, the king collapsed to his knees. “Forgive me! I beseech you. Show mercy just this once. The queen is innocent!”

“Innocent?”

He cast his gaze downwards, scrutinizing the queen’s head, a lavish display adorned with extravagant ornaments. The wealth spent on her adornments alone could sustain a family of six in opulence for no less than twenty years. This was in an era where the widows of war struggled to subsist on mere gruel.

“How can you claim that the queen, the closest confidant to the king of a nation, was truly oblivious to White Flower Kingdom’s predicament?”

“She is at fault for knowing all your wrongs but staying silent. Her guilt comes from enjoying luxury by not speaking up.”

The king, hearing this, only fixed his gaze on Gion’s hand holding the queen, not responding to his words. Gion clenched his teeth.

“Are you afraid of

“Are you afraid of losing your beloved?”

“…What?”

“Is the king, blessed by the White Dragon, so consumed by fear that he prostrates himself at the first sign of adversity?”

Gion looked up to the sky as if searching for someone, then gazed down at the throne room…

“For the sake of White Flower Kingdom alone, for you, the people and their families joined the battlefield.”

The king’s pulse quickened, and his breathing labored.

“Every day, every moment, they endured for White Flower Kingdom, bearing the same fear you feel right now.”

Watching Gion recite his transgressions like a madman, the king trembled in fear.

“I’ll kneel anytime. I’ll bow down. Please, show her mercy–”

With the sound of something being cut, the king’s words stopped. The sound of squirting liquid echoed in the large hall.

The queen’s decapitated head fell to the ground, followed by her body crumpling to the once immaculate palatial floor.

“Aah!”

The king wailed at the sight of the queen’s lifeless body.

“What you’re feeling now is the agony of seeing a loved one die before your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Does it wrench your heart?”

Spitting on the queen’s remains, Gion then seized the king by the scruff of his neck. “This is what I felt when you annihilated my family.”

That day was still vivid in his memory. The day he found his beloved parents and siblings hanging dead at the gates of White Dragon Castle. On that day, he was slandered, labeled a demon kin and traitor, and deprived of any moment to grieve.

The day he was cast into the Valley of Snow with his comrades, he was denied the chance to grant his family a dignified burial. The day he stood as the lone survivor, his comrades succumbing to the brutal assault of the demons.

Gion’s eyes flashed with a manic sense of delight.

“When the royal family, capable of defeating demons with the White Qi, feared the demons, the people and I went to the battlefield, risking our lives. And yet, you called us the demon clan?”

“That was a-a m-misunderstanding-”

“Were you so afraid that I would covet the throne?”

Gion knew. He knew the king had feared him because the White Qi’s power had gradually faded from the king. Yet, Gion still served the king. Willingly went to the battlefield, fought off invasions, and slayed demons.

All for the glory of White Flower Kingdom.

But now, he couldn’t feel even a trace of the White Qi’s power from the king. Instead of the White Qi, he could only sense the king’s vile greed.

Seeing Gion’s pitch-black eyes, the king trembled in fear and then lost all semblance of his reason.

“Aren’t you afraid of the White Dragon’s wrath! The White Dragon chosen by the supreme heavens chose me. Me!”

Gion swung his sword, the blade whistling through the air, and pierced the king’s shoulder.

“Aaaah!”

A light glimmered on Gion’s black long sword.

“The White Dragon chose you, but why can’t I see the White Qi’s light in you anymore?”

“That, that’s because…”

“I haven’t received the White Dragon’s grace, nor do I possess the energy of the five guardians, yet why can’t you even block my sword?”

The king had used the power of the White Qi to extend his life. While the White Qi was supposed to shield the populace, it only served to fortify White Dragon Castle’s walls.

Gion’s grip tightened on the sword’s hilt. Dark energy flickered on the long black blade, piercing the king’s other shoulder.

“Aaaah…”

“Do you know? The sword you bestowed upon me used to radiate a white glow.”

“Gasp…”

“It turned black as I sealed the demons you feared so much.”

Gion plunged the sword deeper into his shoulder.

“Aaaah!”

Gion’s sword swung lower, this time finding the king’s ankle. A mocking sneer escaped Gion’s lips. “Little did I know I would be accused of being a demon kin because of this.”

The king crawled towards the inside of White Hall towards the luxurious throne placed on the dais at the end of the fine silk path. This was where meetings with ministers were held.

Even on the brink of death, the king crawled towards the throne, grasping one of its jeweled feet.

Gion grabbed the king by the back of his neck and flung him to the ground.

The king began to scream.

“Where are the five guardian families? Hoyeong! Sihwan! Juya! What are all of you doing…”

Gion observed him in silence so profound that it swallowed the king’s desperate pleas. Confusion and terror flickered across his face as he stared back at Gion.

“Ah, aah…”

Now, they were visible in the light. The scars etched on Gion’s body. Scars from saw-like swords, wounds from whips and maces, burned skin, flesh rotting from poison, misshapen limbs from broken bones forcibly realigned…

“Even after throwing them into Biryu, now you desperately seek them.”

“This can’t be. The five guardian families… they!”

“The White Dragon has abandoned you.”

Gion’s sword impaled the king’s chest.

The king gasped for breath. Unable to thrash in his extreme pain, he could only spew blood.

Looking at the king, Gion said, “You won’t die instantly. You’ll breathe in pain several times and then die in despair, unable to close your eyes.”

Gion stared into the void with lifeless eyes and said, “Just like they did.”

Gion pierced a spot where the king wouldn’t die instantly. The demonic energy sealed in the black long sword began to consume the king’s body. The king, sensing this instinctively, groaned in terror.

“Back then, I shouldn’t have... accepted Rohwa’s request…” The king’s gaze was not on Gion but on the empty air. “Rohwa… Just once more for Rohwa...”

Perhaps it was because the king had never known true suffering within the sheltered walls of White Dragon Castle that he faltered, his last words unspoken, before succumbing swiftly.

In that solemn moment, a frantic cry pierced the air.

“Princess! You mustn’t! Please…!”

The voice was laced with desperation. The footsteps that followed it drew steadily closer to Gion. The cadence was distinct, markedly different from the times they had walked side by side.

Gion stood with his back to the approaching sound, shielding the lifeless king.

How could she hasten so with those delicate steps?

Without turning, Gion knew who was coming. How could he not know?

It was the voice he longed for and remembered every day.

“…Gion?”  said a voice as if containing all the beautiful melodies of the world. The crisp and elegant voice trembled faintly.

Hearing his name called with such a sound, Gion couldn’t help but turn around.

“Be careful.”

His words were a plea not to witness this scene.

He faced the face he longed to see.

Her hair shone like polished ivory, and her skin glowed with the flush of life. Her blue eyes were not just clear; they blazed like brilliant jewels.

If the white flowers became human, surely they would look like this.

She was the 17th and only royal descendant of White Flower Kingdom, the king’s noble only daughter.

Her name was Princess Rohwa.

“Don’t they teach you people how to greet a customer?”

Dowon had been stacking green crates, tetris-style, when the man’s unpleasant voice came from behind him. An overwhelming odor rolled off the man as he dragged out each nitpicking syllable, his overconfident stance solidifying Dowon’s opinion of him.

“Oh, yes,” Dowon drawled sarcastically. “Welcome.”

“Too late,” the man sneered.

“Sorry.”

“I said too late.”

Do you want me to help you find a shortcut to hell? Dowon resisted the urge to grab him by the collar and shake him until the stench of alcohol fell off, but instead, he stepped out from behind the counter.

The alcohol smell was even stronger up close. Dowon thought briefly of the air freshener his coworker had left after her shift that morning. Would this guy report me if I sprayed him?

“Cigarettes,” the man grunted,

“What kind of cigarettes would you like?” Each polite word that left Dowon’s lips cost him dearly.

“That one.”

The fact that this guy was a smoker did not surprise Dowon one bit. The unmistakable smell of cigarettes mixed with the alcohol could be smelled a mile away. Dowon mentally selected a few of the strongest, most disgusting packs, closed his eyes, and chose one at random.

“This one?” he asked, turning to the man.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one.”

He seemed happy that Dowon got it right on the first try, but for Dowon, there was nothing worse than dealing with a happy drunk at a convenience store.

“Kid, where do you go to school?” the man slurred. “Around here? You should be working a real job, where you get a real paycheck.”

And that was exactly why Dowon despised a happy drunk. They always seemed to ramble on and on when they were in a good mood.

Dowon knew he had to answer. Last time he had an encounter with one of these guys, he wouldn’t leave until Dowon answered his questions. Dowon then had to spend 30 minutes trying to convince the guy to leave. Eventually, a worker from the next shift helped get rid of him.

Dowon was not about to try for round two.

“I’m a high school graduate,” he answered shortly.

“Of course.” The man clicked his tongue. “My son’s starting high school this year, too. But he’s so good at studying that it’s actually costing me a fortune.”

“How unlucky for you.” Dowon didn’t bother to modify his flat tone. The drunk wouldn’t notice either way.

“You wouldn’t believe the cost of tutoring fees these days…”

Roughly 20 minutes of boasting about his son later, the proud father made a sudden beeline to the fridge and bought the cheapest 1,000 won drink.

“This one’s buy one, get one, right? Here, have a drink on me.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Do your best, kid. Even if you’re just a high school graduate, there are plenty of ways to make a living. They say every cloud has a silver lining.”

Leaving the cheap, sour drink behind, he winked, and the door swung shut behind him, its bell jingling cheerfully.

If you’re going to buy me something, at least pick something more expensive than this…

That drunk probably thought sending his son to a good university was all that mattered. As long as he spent money on tutors and made the poor kid solve stacks of workbooks, that would be enough.

But there was one thing he’d never know.

The part-time convenience store worker he’d bought a cheap drink for, had actually graduated from Seoyeon University, the school he dreamed of sending his son to.

Dowon wasn’t in a position to accept a cheap pity-gift. If he had honestly said he’d graduated from Seoyeon University instead of saying he was a high school graduate, would anything have changed? The guy would have probably asked why he was working here instead of tutoring.

“Why, you ask? Damn it…”

Dowon’s relationships had all fallen apart. He’d ended up avoiding everyone, throwing all his classes and clubs into the trash, and graduated just to escape. From there, he began studying for the civil service exam. With a degree from Seoyeon University, he thought the exam would be a breeze.

It was then that he realized that he had been relying solely on his intellect, without any actual drive to study for the civil service exam. Or anything else for that matter. And so, Dowon found himself, at 27 years old, working part-time at a convenience store. He didn’t feel the need to go into detail when people asked. If he simply said he was a high school graduate, they would just give him a pitying glance and leave.

It was easier that way, but something about it gave Dowon the overwhelming urge to rip things apart.

“Hey, I told you not to get that one, you pervert.”

A couple had come in while Dowon was buried in his green crate, letting the self-loathing overtake him. They didn’t seem to notice the part-timer moving boxes right next to them as they stood, arms around each other, giggling in the toiletries section.

“What about this one?”

“That’s the same kind as the other one, you idiot.”

Yeah, you’re both idiots and perverts. I’m right next to you, you think I can’t tell you’re trying to pocket the condoms?

The whole “pick it up, pretend to put it back, and slide it in your pocket” tactic wasn’t as original as people seemed to think it was.

“Then should we get this one, too?”

The couple were wearing matching university jackets. A campus couple, huh? That was one of the best ways to screw up life. University was a jungle where rumors spread like pollen through the air.

Did campus couples last forever? They usually ended where they began: on campus. Their lifespans didn’t typically extend beyond that.

If a university romance somehow survived the grueling obstacle course of campus life, it was a blessing from their ancestors. Because the moment a college relationship ended, both parties would find themselves drowning in gossip, pointing fingers, and playing the victim. And before they knew what hit them, all their relationships were in shambles.

You think it’s hard to drop out of university, ditch short-term room rentals, and spend the rest of your twenties running away? Anyone can do that.

You’re going to screw up for sure. You’ll pour too much time into your relationship, miss classes, rely on your wits to scrape by, throw everything away, get bored of each other, watch the relationship fall apart, lose your last resort, see the gossip mill turn, and end up thinking you might as well wear condoms on your head because you’re so screwed.

“Excuse me.”

Dowon jumped a little at the sudden voice. “Oh! Yes, sorry.”

How did I end up like this?

He rang up the young couple on autopilot.

“Thank you!” they said loudly, before muttering, “He kinda smells like alcohol. Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not me, damn it. As soon as the couple disappeared, Dowon slumped into the plastic chair behind the counter and rubbed his face. If the boss had caught him sitting here on CCTV, his hourly wage would have been cut by 10%, but Dowon had no energy to stand right now.

What is wrong with me?

I might be messed up, but I didn’t want to become some kind of lunatic, trying to ruin everyone else’s life. When did I get so whiny, cursing others, hoping they’d fail just like me?

Will I end up stuck in a short-term room rental, grabbing random people, swearing at them, and threatening to make them buy me a drink if they don’t listen? Are those people the ultimate evolution of students preparing for exams?

He didn’t want to end up like this. He wasn’t one to blame others, but he wasn’t sure if it was entirely his fault either. If things had gone just a bit better for him, he wouldn’t be working here, having his wage cut for sitting.

“Hello.”

Dowon didn’t really feel like acknowledging the greeting, but he stood up from the plastic chair and raised his head. When he realized what he was looking at, he found himself speechless.

Her fingers, tucking her long, shiny, black hair behind her ear, were white and slender. How could someone’s skin be so bright? Dowon hadn’t even finished admiring her hands and hair when his gaze shifted to her eyes.

Maybe it was the convenience store lighting, but her big, gleaming eyes sparkled as she glanced over the selection of gum under the counter. Her eyelashes were so long they cast a shadow on her cheekbones.

Her features were small and delicate, and her elegant fingers searched through the gum with a grace that matched her slender build. When she finally chose a pack and straightened up, the look on her face was gentle and angelic. It was the kind of face that could ask you to buy her a yacht and you’d agree without a second thought.

Oh I’m so screwed.

Having such a beautiful woman come into the store should have been a good thing, but Dowon’s fingers trembled with an all-consuming anxiety. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

Dowon needed to stay calm. If he showed even the slightest sign, she’d notice in an instant. He tried to keep his head down as he grabbed the gum and searched for the barcode to scan.

“…Are you Dowon Lee?”

She smiled brightly as she said his name. He smiled awkwardly back and placed the gum on the counter.

“It’s been a while… Dahye.”

Dahye Yoon. Back when Dowon held the top spot in school for three straight years, Dahye was the eternal second, like a needle and its thread.

“You work here…?”

Damn it, seriously?

***

Dahye always seemed to have a glowing smile on her face. There was even a rumor that she studied so hard, she took a vocabulary book to the bathroom. Yet he also remembered how she selflessly helped struggling students with their studies, smiling as she did.

She was a model student, the one their teachers loved the most. Even when he would give her a half-hearted wave, she would always return it with that shining smile. That same Dahye Yoon now stood before him.

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Uh…” Dowon didn’t want to answer that. “You seem to be doing well.”

She wasn’t just doing well. Dahye had become incredibly beautiful since high school. He remembered she had been popular, even back then, but now she looked like someone who was often mistaken for a celebrity.

As she reached for the gum, he could smell a mix of shampoo and a light perfume. Her shirt and skirt fit her figure perfectly, and she looked so neat and polished that anyone could tell she was a refined professional.

“Oh, you already have one,” she said.

“Huh? One what?”

“A drink. This tea is buy one, get one, so I was going to share with you.”

Dahye had pulled two citron teas out from the warmer next to the counter, covering her mouth with her palm as she chuckled softly. Dowon quickly pushed the cheap vitamin drink aside.

“Oh, that’s just… A customer left it. It’s not mine.”

“Oh okay, then take this. Two is too much for me.”

Dahye pushed the citron tea across the counter with a smile. She hadn’t changed since high school. He remembered being pretty harsh towards her back then, caught up with studying, but she had always been kind to him regardless.

She really was like an angel. She handed him the citron tea without a hint of mockery, despite seeing him working a minimum wage job. Maybe it was a pity-gift, though, concealed by a sunny smile.

Dowon wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell if she was just being polite, or if there was some other motive.

Dahye, still smiling, said, “I recognized you right away when I came in. I just wasn’t sure because you’re not wearing a name tag. I thought you might just be someone who looked like you.”

Dowon didn’t wear a name tag deliberately, to avoid running into people he knew. The boss would definitely have something to say if he found out, but as long as Dowon did the job well, it didn’t matter. Feeling strangely guilty, he nodded without meeting her gaze.

“Well, you know,” he muttered. “No one cares about a part-timer’s name anyway.”

“I cared,” Dahye said kindly. “I wanted to see if it was really you.”

Why? Because you heard I went to a good university and couldn’t believe I was working here? He swallowed the shame rising in his throat.

“You look good,” Dahye went on. “In high school, you always seemed so tired.”

He chanced a look at Dahye’s again. Her shining face was the picture of honesty. She tried to open the lid of the citron tea but then sighed in frustration, pushing the bottle towards Dowon.

“Since I paid for both of us, can you open it for me?”

He took the tea and easily twisted the cap off. Dahye giggled and took the bottle with both hands. Her cheeks had taken on a pinkish tinge.

“Listen, I’m not weak. I loosened it up already, to make it easier for you.”

Was Dahye always this playful? Or maybe she was joking around to lighten the mood. Whatever the reason, she looked completely at ease.

“It’s really nice to see you,” she said. “Do you still keep in touch with anyone from high school?”

“Well, not really.”

“It’s hard isn’t it?” She nodded with understanding. “When you actually try to catch up, it feels so awkward to randomly ask them to hang out.”

She was still clutching the bottle of tea in both hands.

“Do you remember the Korean teacher with the red glasses? You have to know who I’m talking about.”

“Oh yeah, I remember. That guy was…”

Dowon was about to say “crazy,” but instead, he just nodded, feigning politeness.

“He finally got married. Remember how he used to say he’d never get married, and he’d get all worked up about it?”

“Really? Wow, he actually found someone.”

“Right? I even went to the wedding. I knew him pretty well.”

That made sense. Dahye was the sort of kind-hearted girl who took on all the teachers’ errands, even though she was busy studying. It was no wonder she had such a good reputation.

He remembered how that Korean teacher used to praise Dahye every day.

“Dowon may always be number one, but look at how hard Dahye works. It’s not all about grades—you should strive to be like her,” he used to lecture.

Was that really true?

“Dowon, when does your shift end?”

He blinked. “About an hour… Why?”

“Then, do you want to grab something to eat together after? We can catch up a bit.”

Instinctively, he studied Dahye’s face, looking for any sign of ridicule. She looked a little shy, but there was genuine excitement there too. Maybe she really had struggled to find time to meet up with old classmates.

“Sorry, I know it’s out of nowhere,” she said quickly. “You can say no! I’m just feeling all nostalgic about high school now.”

“Uh…” Dowon hesitated.

Dahye drummed her fingers on the citron tea bottle, watching his expression for any hint of an answer.

Normally, he would have said no without a second thought, but instead he said, “I guess… I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Really?”

“Why, were you just joking?”

“Joking?” she laughed. “Why would I bother plucking up the courage to ask if I was joking? I was actually really worried you wouldn’t remember me.”

If it were any other classmate, he wouldn’t have agreed to meet up with them, even if he was paid. It would be too painful.

How would they react when they found out that the former top student, Dowon Lee, had ruined everything and was now working part-time at a convenience store? Just thinking about it made his chest tighten, filling his lungs with needles.

But Dahye had a talent for putting people at ease. Her relaxed voice made him feel like she was only capable of happy conversations.

“Why don’t you give me your phone number, then?”

He stared at Dahye’s face as she handed him her phone. Somehow, he felt okay around her.

***

After finishing his shift, Dowon headed to the restaurant Dahye had chosen. The moment he stepped in, he heard Dahye’s cheerful voice.

“Dowon, over here!”

The table was already full of food, as if she’d ordered everything on the menu. As he sat down across from her, she pushed a glass toward hom.

“It takes a while for them to cook, so I ordered ahead. If there’s anything else you want, feel free to order.”

“What? You’re paying?”

She looked politely puzzled. “Of course. I’m the one who asked you out to eat.”

Dahye handed him the menu. Dowon wasn’t hungry yet, so he subtly set the menu on the chair next to him.

“By the way, that Korean teacher, right?” Dahye leaned in, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “Did you know he used to date the English teacher?”

“What? Really? Why would she date him?”

“Come on, he wasn’t that bad. I saw them together once when I ran an errand to the teacher’s office.”

Talking about high school turned out to be more fun than Dowon expected. Honestly, it was really fun. Despite his bad attitude about the past, it made sense. High school had been the happiest time of his life. He was on top and had nothing to fear. Having even an echo of that feeling find him again was exhilarating.

As they talked about their high school days, Dowon drank more than he usually would. It felt like the excitement made the alcohol hit faster. Or maybe he drank faster because of the excitement—he wasn’t sure.

“But the English teacher was at the wedding, too.”

“Seriously? Wasn’t it weird? Or, I guess it didn’t matter since they dated so long ago.”

“I don’t know, I was feeling awkward just watching. And you know what else was surprising? That English teacher knows my boss. She said hi to him at the wedding.”

“Oh, really? How do they know each other?”

“I think her son is getting ready to work at a bank, and they introduced him to some connections through mutual acquaintances.”

“A bank?” Dowon asked cautiously, but Dahye waved her hand as if it was nothing.

“Oh, yeah. Hanban Bank.”

“You work at Hanban Bank?”

“Yeah, I just kind of ended up there. Anyway, so the English teacher—”

Working at Hanban Bank was definitely something to brag about. The entrance exam just to apply was so hard to pass; he wondered how many people even made it in.

But Dahye brushed it off as if it were unimportant, and started describing the expressions on the English and Korean teachers’ faces when they ran into each other.

“Hanban Bank, that’s impressive,” he said before he could stop himself.

Impressive, my ass. He shouldn’t have steered the conversation this way. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t control himself. Bringing this up would inevitably lead to the question: If the second-place student got into Hanban Bank, what was the first-place student doing?

It was a ridiculous situation. There had been times when he couldn’t understand why Dahye worked so hard. He used to think that success in school was largely based on innate talent. He might have even mocked her for working so diligently a few times. While Dahye had succeeded, what had he been doing? Maybe she was secretly laughing at Dowon, thinking it served him right.

But Dahye blinked at him, as if she genuinely didn’t understand.

“Oh, thanks. I was just lucky. Did you hear what I said?”

“Huh?”

“I was telling you about the Korean teacher’s expression.”

Dahye tried to twist her face into a silly expression, but her pretty features somehow managed to stay flawless.

“You look the same, even when you do that.”

“The same? That doesn’t really sound like a compliment.”

“It’s not a compliment.” He grinned at her.

“Hey, Dowon Lee.”

Dahye laughed loudly. She had always been kind and pretty, but she had grown even more relaxed and confident. That easygoing personality, always considerate and caring—maybe that was why her face looked so clear and beautiful.

The more time passed, the more Dowon became immersed in his conversation with Dahye. Talking to her wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t nerve-wracking, and he didn’t feel anxious. He just felt good. They kept drinking, and soon they were the last ones left in the restaurant.

“So, Dowon, you know? I always thought you were really, really amazing.”

Dahye giggled, her words slurring slightly. Even her drunken slur was cute.

“No, you’re the amazing one,” he shot back, his own mouth feeling like cotton.

“Uh-uh, no way. Back in high school, you got such good grades, you were so great at sports, always first in every project and evaluation…”

Yeah, there was a time when I was that person. Not anymore, though. He began casting around for a new subject with embarrassment flushing his cheeks, when Dahye tapped the back of his hand, grinning.

“You were like that… But you never know what happens with life, right?”

“Huh?” Dowon’s stomach dropped.

“It feels like you’ve taken quite a big fall.”

Dahye’s face remained unchanged. She still looked happy and bubbly, with that clear, bright face. Her beautiful skin seemed so perfectly pale that he wondered if she was really even drunk.

I wish that girl were dead.

She didn’t deserve a peaceful death. She deserved to die of a terrible disease, to feel her body and mind crumble one agonizing day at a time.

That’s the way it should be.

Yoonmin Seo sat in the back of his tenth grade classroom, glaring at Haein Ju. His pretty classmate sat just ahead of Yoonmin, off to the right. Her long hair gleamed under the classroom lights, and her eyelashes were so long you could rest a piece of pencil lead on them. Her face was small and delicate, like a smoothly rounded apple. When she stood next to others, her tiny features almost seemed to distort the perspective of the viewer. There was an aura of mystery about Haein, with her taut lips and serious gaze. All the kids in their class, or possibly in the entire school, liked Haein.

That fact made Yoonmin seethe with hatred.

They have no idea how malicious she is. Even if I told them, they’d never understand. Yoonmin brought his utility knife down on his eraser. Just die, Haein Ju, die!

The red letters reading “Haein Ju” split under the repeated assault of Yoonmin’s knife.

O Abremelin, God of Shadows, and Madame La Voisin, who consorted with Asmodeus, cast a terrible curse on the wicked Haein Ju. Let her suffer from illness for three years then die in a hideous state, buried in soil swarming with maggots and corpse flies…

A soft voice drifted through the air. “Yoonmin…Yoonmin… look… up…”

The voice did not reach Yoonmin’s ears.

Wait, three years… Is that too much? Yoonmin debated. Hold on, hold on. I take back that last prayer. Let’s make it one year. Yes, just one year.

Just as he finished his prayer, Yoonmin felt a sharp pain on his forehead.

“Ah!” he yelped. Damn it.

Mr. Song, infamous for nagging his students, stood over Yoonmin.

“Yoonmin Seo, how old are you? Are you seriously playing with an eraser instead of getting your textbook out?”

His classmates burst into laughter. He’d forgotten he was currently in Korean class.

Damn it, calling a sacred black magic ritual “playing with an eraser!”

Behind Mr. Song, Yoonmin could see Haein staring at him blankly. That face again, that annoying face! What is she thinking? Is she mocking me? Do I look pathetic? One year isn’t enough. It has to be three years. No, let’s make it five years!

“Do you think good grades excuse that kind of attitude?” Mr. Song continued. “Mindset comes before grades! I’ll see you in the teacher’s office after class.”

Yoonmin gritted his teeth.

Haein Ju, this is all your fault.

***

The bell rang, signaling the end of morning classes. A herd of boys shot out the classroom door like colts with their tails on fire. The girls formed smaller groups and made their way into the corridor at a decidedly slower pace. Yoonmin didn’t bother to get up from his seat. If he went to the cafeteria now, there would be far too many people and nowhere to sit. Even if there were seats, he still wouldn’t be able to sit down. The cafeteria tables sat six. If he tried to sit at a table alone, larger groups of friends would shoot him dirty looks, as if his existence was taking up too much space.They might even outright ask him to leave so they could have his table. Even worse, they may sit anyway and pretend he wasn’t there: an unbearably awkward way to spend his lunch period.

High schoolers had a pack mentality. Everyone attached themselves to a friend group, and those who didn’t were ostracized. Yoonmin was one of those lone wolves, always pushed to the outskirts of school society.

The behavior of his schoolmates baffled Yoonmin. There were likely plenty of kids who weren’t even close with the people they spent their time with, yet they remained. There was always one person at the center of each group that acted as the Sun, pulling their planetary friends toward them. Then there were those who lingered at the edges, likely just afraid of being alone, and reduced to watching their Sun’s every move. It was pathetic. They were so scared of being alone that they would mindlessly wander along behind any group that would have them. What was so wrong with being alone?

After all, weren’t independent people more mature than those constantly trailing after others? Needing others around them to perform basic tasks like eating, going to the bathroom, or having fun—doesn't that just show how immature they are?

Good, great rationalization of myself. Yes, yes, that's right. I'm a mature person, and that’s why I’m fine on my own. Yes.

Yoonmin nodded slightly to himself, satisfied with the outcome of his mental debate, and grabbed a book from his backpack. Printed across the cover was The History of Occultism, Sorcery, and Magic. Admittedly, the title sounded ridiculous, but in actuality, it was a serious, academic text. The curse he’d been working over his eraser was nowhere near complete. He still needed to study the principles and concepts behind curses in general before he would be fully prepared to bring down that malevolent Haein Ju.

He was deeply engrossed in his studies when someone spoke.

“Yoonmin. Yoonmin Seo.”

Yoonmin raised his head, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he realized who it was.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

It was Haein Ju. But it wasn’t just Haein. Behind her were five of the most popular girls in the school, members of Haein’s little lunch clique. Each one of them was staring at Yoonmin with open dislike, wearing expressions that said, “Why is Haein talking to someone like him? Disgusting.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yoonmin muttered.

“...I see.”

With that, Haein simply turned her back on him. She and her five friends shoved their desks together and settled in to chat.

Are you happy, Haein? Are you happy, damn it?

Yoonmin lowered his head again. His face felt hot. Shit, he had just finished justifying his isolation to himself, only to have the school queen bees’ stares tear it all down. Not a single one of them was an outsider—each one of them was exceptional.

Why had Haein spoken to him? The answer was obvious to Yoonmin. She wanted to remind him of her superiority.

“See who I hang out with? I’ve become part of a group. I’ve made friends with these incredible girls. But what about you? Sitting alone in a corner, reading some creepy book. Pathetic. How long are you going to stay like that?”

That was probably what she was thinking. Anyone else listening in on his thoughts might think Yoonmin was paranoid. Not at all. Haein was just that kind of person, even if Yoonmin was the only one in the school who knew her true nature.

If someone said Haein used to be a loser like him, no one would believe it now. But it was true. The beautiful Haein was once an outcast, no better than Yoonmin.

Haein transferred to Seorim Middle School in her second year and ended up in the same class as Yoonmin. At first, she got a lot of attention. Everyone wanted to talk to the stunning, doll-like new student. But Haein’s response quickly killed any interest her looks attracted.

She would look terrified and even cry in class. To make matters worse, she never spoke, not even a word. It was enough to make anyone second-guess their efforts to befriend the new girl. Even Yoonmin didn’t bother talking to her, even though she sat right next to him.

Haein was always alone. She ate alone, and went home alone... until she became friends with Yoonmin. It happened by complete coincidence. Haein dropped her notebook and Yoonmin picked it up. While trying to smooth out the crumpled pages, he saw what was written inside.

“Why did the gingerbread man go to the doctor? Because he was feeling crummy!” Yoonmin read aloud.

“Oh,” Haein said, going red.

“What’s a vampire’s favorite fruit?” Yoonmin continued, unable to stop himself.“A blood orange! Oh my.”

“No…” Haein whispered. “Please… don’t read it out loud…”

Come to think of it, Haein was always scribbling in her notebook during breaks. Yoonmin had thought she was writing poetry or something... but she had been writing bad jokes instead.

“What kind of clothes do clouds wear? Thunderwear?” Yoonmin snorted. “That’s kinda funny,”

“Oh… really?” Haein laughed. It was the first time Yoonmin had seen her smile.

Haein and Yoonmin grew close in the days that followed. They once got caught by a teacher passing notes in class.

“You two back there, what’s so funny?” the teacher demanded, snatching the note away.“Why don’t skeletons fight each other? Because they don’t have the guts… What? What are you two… doing?’”

Yoonmin and Haein ate lunch and walked home together each day. They were friends, right? But Yoonmin later realized; he was the only one who thought they were friends.

He had trusted Haein, but she had betrayed him. She used him as a stepping stone to propel herself up the social ladder. She achieved the status of a popular girl, denying their friendship over and over, just as Peter denied Jesus three times before the crucifixion.

“Oh, no. I’m not close with Yoonmin. We just sit next to each other.”

Yoonmin had heard her say it loud and clear. He tried to think of other reasons she might be saying something so cruel, other interpretations, but no matter how he thought about it, her meaning was apparent. They weren’t friends.

In their third year of middle school and even after they became high schoolers, Haein continued to ignore Yoonmin. She pretended that she’d never even met him. Yoonmin knew what her actions meant. He wished he were either too dumb to understand or smart enough to have seen it coming from the start.

To Haein, Yoonmin was worth nothing. To her, the popular crowd she gossiped with about TV shows, celebrities, makeup, and fashion was far more valuable than Yoonmin had ever been. The occult books he lent her and the horror movies they watched together... She probably never enjoyed them to begin with. The times they spent coming up with lame jokes together? Just a way to kill time.

Yeah, I knew. I knew I wasn’t an exciting person. I knew how others saw me. But you could’ve just left me alone. You should have left me alone. Why did you pretend to be my friend? Why did you ask me to eat with you? To walk home together? Were you bored? Were you lonely? If that was the case, how could you abandon me, knowing how it feels to be lonely?

Yoonmin’s spiraling thoughts made it nearly impossible to focus on his book. He hadn’t even managed to get through two pages and now, there were only 15 minutes left of lunchtime. He wouldn’t be able to eat today.

Forget it, I wasn’t hungry anyway.

But then, it happened.

“Hey… you know…” Haein said, moving toward him.

Why does she keep bothering me?

Yoonmin wished Haein could feel his hatred. Saying it out loud would only cause trouble with Haein’s friends.

Yes, Haein’s “friends.”

“I have an energy bar…” She hesitated. “Do you want it?”

Yoonmin shook his head, pressing his lips tightly together against the deluge of curses he wanted to unleash against her.“Not hungry,” he said instead.

Die, Haein Ju. Just die already.

***

There are people who cringe and shake their heads in disapproval at the mere mention of black magic. Yet black magic also has its own significance in cultures across the world. The act of cursing someone was a widespread practice until the early 20th century. Even in modern times, some people go to shamans in search of retribution against those who wronged them.

There are two fundamental laws in black magic: the Law of Similarity and the Law of Contagion. The Law of Similarity holds that, if you perform an action on something that shares attributes with the target, the action will affect the target as well, like a voodoo doll. The Law of Contagion states that, if you perform an action on a part of the target or something that has been in contact with the target, the effect will also reach the target.

The method Yoonmin intended to use was the Law of Contagion. He planned to obtain a piece of Haein’s body, or something that had been in close contact with her in order to place his curse upon her. When it was his day to be the teacher’s assistant, he would have the perfect opportunity to obtain what he needed.

After sending the other students ahead, Yoonmin moved to inspect Haein’s desk. Her drawer was stuffed with textbooks and workbooks. No notebook? That joke notebook... Well, she probably didn’t need it anymore. She was never truly interested in that kind of thing to begin with.

Isn’t there anything? he thought desperately. Like a strand of hair or something?

Yoonmin glanced at the floor around Haein’s desk. It occurred to him that he probably looked like some kind of pervert, digging around in Haein’s desk, alone in an empty classroom. Of course, that wasn’t the case. He just wanted to cast a curse on her. Still, trying to explain that wouldn’t help. He had to finish quickly.

Luckily, it took less than 10 minutes for Yoonmin to find something. He picked up a crescent-shaped fragment of fingernail that had been lying near the leg of Haein’s chair. She had an anxious habit of biting her nails whenever she was stressed. There had been a pop quiz in math today, clearly triggering her nerves. She was terrible at math.

I’ll cast the most painful curse I can find, Yoonmin thought viciously.

He wrapped Haein’s nail in a tissue, sealed it in a ziplock bag, and grabbed his backpack. He was able to escape the classroom unnoticed. Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

But of course, it couldn’t stay that way. Nothing in Yoonmin’s life ever went smoothly. He scowled when he spotted Haein standing by the school gate.

“Oh… Yoonmin,” Haein called.

Yoonmin didn’t bother to respond, but Haein grabbed his wrist.

“Can we… talk for a minute?” she asked.

She’s gotten good at talking now, huh? Must be from hanging out with the popular kids.

There was no one around to reprimand him, so Yoonmin shook her hand off and spat, “Screw off.”

There are only two things worth having in this world: money and power. Everything else is just a bunch of bullshit, talked about by people with warm beds and full stomachs.

Power allows you to make money, and money allows you to hire powerful people. Thus, the world is run by the powerful and the wealthy.

Love? Friendship? Do such things really exist? People will happily sell out their families and lovers for the sake of money or power. How many times have you seen this?

Believing his thoughts were the truth of the world, the powerful Bosha led the mercenary army known as Black Fang with the single mission to gain more wealth. They seemed unstoppable.

Until the day she arrived at the Black Fang base.

***

“Hey! Who are you, young lady? With a face like that, there’s no way I don’t recognize you,” Vala, the troop leader’s deep, grating voice, was heard from outside Bosha’s tent.

“Let me see Captain Bosha.”

The voice was a stark contrast to Vala’s. It was soft yet firm, reminiscent of a plum blossom blooming in the bitter cold.

“If you’ve got something to sell, you’d better talk to me because my boss isn’t into that sort of thing.”

“I’m not here to sell anything. I am Ygraine, daughter of Duke Uther Le Fay. I’m here on an important request.” Despite being treated like a common pauper, she spoke calmly, without a trace of anger.

“Eh? You’re a lady? What are you doing here?”

Hearing the ridicule in Vala’s voice, Bosha shook his head in disbelief. That idiot.

Bosha had thought for some time that someone from the Kingdom of Astania would make contact. He just didn’t know it would be her, Ygraine, the so-called incarnation of the Goddess Lutea. He’d warned Vala, but the bastard couldn’t remember anything.

“Tell her to come in,” Bosha called out.

“Captain?”

“No nonsense, I said let her in!”

Ygraine was ushered into the tent by Vala, who nodded sternly at Bosha before exiting. Ygraine stood before him, and Bosha marveled inwardly at her. He’d heard rumors, but he’d never seen her in person. She was thought to be the manifestation of the Goddess because of her personality, but she was also beautiful enough to rival a goddess. Skin as soft and white as the fine sand of the Kashiba desert to the southwest. Standing before him in the tent, her shocking head of silvery hair shone like molten platinum.

Bosha swallowed his admiration and motioned for Ygraine to take a seat before launching into the reason he knew she was here. He didn’t care for pleasantries.

“So, how much can you pay me?”

“I haven’t even told you what I want yet.”

“The reason is obvious. You’re afraid the witch’s army will come after you while Astania’s own army is away, so you want us to protect your rear line of defense, right?”

Ygraine nodded. “Indeed. The rumors are true, Fox of Kaldura.”

The Fox of Kaldura was a common nickname for Bosha. He was a powerful and cunning creature who carefully monitored the situation surrounding the Empire of Ur and the Kingdom of Astania. When he saw an opening, he took advantage of it like a vengeful spirit. It was often said that the balance of power between the Empire and the Kingdom was due to a fox in the wastes.

Of course, that was before the Empire was beaten by a witch. The current war was not between nations but between witches and humanity.

When Ygrainne told Bosha the amount Astania was prepared to offer for his help, Bosha frowned.

“That’s all? That’s too little.”

“It’s the most my estate can pay,” Ygraine declared.

“That’s really the best you can offer? Couldn’t you get more if you sold some of the precious metals or clothes you have stashed away?” he asked.

“This is all we have,” she replied firmly. Bosha looked her up and down. Despite her reputation, she was dressed shabbily.

“I’m disappointed,” said Bosha, “I didn’t think Duke Le Fay would offer less than a witch."

As Bosha spoke, Ygraine’s face hardened.

“What did you just say?”

Despite Ygraine’s glares, Bosha spoke bluntly.

“If that’s the best you can offer, I’ll hear no more. Get out.”

“So, the Black Fangs are siding with the witch’s forces, abandoning humanity?” Ygraine demanded, ignoring his request.

“No. We’re siding with whoever pays the most money,” Bosha said calmly.

The witch, Granadilla, had offered Bosha a large sum of money to help her defeat Astania’s forces. Bosha had listened to the witch and, knowing that someone from the Kingdom would soon arrive to make a similar deal, had decided to go with the highest bidder. But Ygraine’s offer was worse than Bosha expected.

“Don’t you know about witches?” Ygraine asked, her voice getting louder. “Witches kill people by the dozen, capture children, and torture them. Innocent people are screaming in agony!”

The corners of Bosha’s mouth twitched as he heard those words: innocent people. He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached up to untie the hood wrapped tightly around his head. Ygraine, sitting opposite him, let out a soft gasp of shock.

“Look at this hair,” he commanded. Bosha had revealed a vibrant head of red hair.

“My parents abandoned me in the marshes of Varus in the north as soon as I was born because they said that red hair was proof that I was born with Granadilla’s magic. Is it so strange that I, born with the witch’s magic, would side with her?” he asked.

“That’s superstition. Hair color has nothing to do with magic!” Ygraine exclaimed.

“I know, but the people of Kaldura cursed and threw stones at me as soon as they saw me. What did I do to deserve that?”

“That’s…”

Bosha shouted, interrupting Ygraine. “I was guilty of being powerless and penniless! The greatest sin in the world. If you can’t stand up to a witch because you have no money or power, you deserve what is to come. Does the Kingdom help the penniless and powerless?”

Ygraine looked straight at Bosha, a hint of sadness in her beautiful eyes. “No, they don’t. That is my sin. My lack of strength.”

Hearing those words, Bosha clicked his tongue. Kaldura wasn’t even Duke Le Fay’s territory, so why would this woman feel responsible?

Ygraine was biting her lip hard, and her eyes squeezed tightly together. She looked as if she were about to cry.

As Bosha watched her, he thought it was ridiculous, calling her a manifestation of the goddess. Did she really think she was the Goddess Lutea?

“We’re done talking. Get out,” he said with a sneer.

“It’s not over. If the Black Fang sides with the witch, the people will be in great danger,” Ygraine said and looked at him hard, her eyes no longer sad but angry.

“So what? It’s only natural for the powerless to bow to the powerful. If you need our help, bring more money.”

Ygraine did not move from her seat and continued in a gloomy voice.

“The powerless must submit to the powerful; do you really believe that? When Lutea created life from her own blood, all she wanted was for everyone to get along.”

“Bullshit. Vala! Come and remove her!” Bosha called out to where he knew Vala was waiting outside.

Vala strode into the tent.

“Is it over already, boss? Hey, lass, time’s up. Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea with me?” Vala let out a low chuckle.

Ygraine still didn’t move. She sat there, glaring at Bosha. Vala stood beside him and spoke in a troubled voice.

“Captain, I don’t think this young lady is finished with you.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I’m done. Drag her out if you must.”

“Drag her out? Where should I hold her? If I grab her by the arm, she’ll snap!” Vala cast his eyes over Ygraine’s tiny frame with an uncertain smile.

Vala was the largest of the Black Fangs, with forearms like boulders. Despite his size, the boar-like man was strangely kind to women.

Bosha urged the hesitant Vala on.

“Didn’t you hear me telling you to drag her out?”

Vala took a step towards Ygraine, hands clasped in front of him. “He’s in a temper, lass. Time to leave.”

Vala moved closer to Ygraine and made to grab her by the shoulders.

“Huh?!”

Vala groaned in a dumbfounded voice. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

Ygraine had reached out to intercept Vala’s clutches, her slender fingers wrapped around Vala’s wrist like iron bars. Vala’s hands were pinned in the air, unable to move in Ygraine’s powerful grip. Even when he twisted his hippo-like bulk from side to side, he could not remove himself from Ygraine’s grasp. Bosha was equally surprised. He’d never heard of Lady Ygraine having such power.

Ygraine released Vala’s wrists and stood up, looking straight at Bosha.

“As long as you are an avowed enemy of humanity, I cannot leave.”

With that, she brought her hand to the sword hanging from her waist. Bosha had thought it was just a decoration to show her status as a Lady, but it wasn’t.

“It is natural for the powerless to submit to the powerful,” Ygraine repeated to Bosha while Vala huddled in a corner of the tent, nursing his bruised wrists. “That being said, if I were to compete against you and win, would you grant my request and fight the witch for the sake of humanity?”

Bosha narrowed his eyes, his brow deeply furrowed, and glared at Ygraine.

***

To reach Vaidor, where the Kingdom’s rear defense force was stationed, they had to pass through the Baruba Gorge, a wilderness unfit for horses. The uneven, hard ground should have been painful to walk on, but Ygraine didn’t seem to mind.

Bosha walked alongside Ygraine, and the Black Fangs followed behind them. Every single one of them wore a grim expression, concerned about the presence of this new woman.

How could they be comfortable after seeing Captain Bosha, a man who prides himself on his absolute strength, beaten like a grasshopper by a delicate Lady?

But his men’s discomfort was nothing compared to Bosha’s humiliation. Bosha’s stomach still churned. He felt as if he had swallowed rotten fish entrails.

His entire life had been turned upside down. A mercenary captain with nothing more than his strength to his name had been beaten to the ground by a Lady!

It wasn’t just that Ygraine was much stronger than Bosha, either. Bosha hadn’t been able to lay a finger on Ygraine, who was covered by a pure aura as white as freshly fallen snow. It was more like a divine energy than magical energy.

When Bosha had first noticed it, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Not even the holiest monks in the Church possessed an aura of such purity.

As they walked through the canyon, and Ygraine moved in front of him, Bosha stared intently at the nape of Ygraine’s neck. He hadn’t given up yet. For a mercenary like him, defeat is defined only by death and Bosha was not dead.

One day, I’ll see that head hit the ground, he thought to himself.

It was no accident that Bosha became a captain at the young age of twenty. Force is one thing, but his determination was another. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t win a hand-to-hand fight. He just had to wait for the right opportunity to strike. Until then, he had decided to pretend to go along with Ygraine’s whims.

Ygraine walked straight ahead, her face innocent, unaware of Bosha’s true intentions, for now. Eventually, they came to a village, the canyon town of Rishaia. The village had recently suffered significant damage from a demonic raid. Perhaps because of that, the people’s reactions when they saw Ygraine were intense.

“It’s the Saint! Her army is passing through the canyon!”

“Oh, Saint, you’ve finally come to save us!”

“Those monsters killed our son! Please send down divine punishment!”

Bosha frowned as he watched the people chanting for the saint.

Pathetic. So helpless. So dependent on others. To hell with the saint. She’s just a hypocrite who sounds a little more convincing than everyone else.

As Bosha was thinking this, someone shouted.

“That’s Bosha! Bosha the Red Fox! Bosha is with the Saint!”

Some of the people recognized Bosha, even though his hood hid his red hair. When they realized it was him, their faces turned grim.

Before the witch took control of the empire, the Black Fangs interfered with salt prices, causing trouble for the local people who worked the rock salt mines and made a living selling salt. As a result, many held grudges against Bosha and the Black Fangs.

“Get out of the Saint’s presence, you filthy fox!”

With that, they all began to pick up stones. Bosha snorted at the sight of them.

“All right, throw them,” he said, “I’ll catch those stones and smash your damn heads in with them!”

Bosha laughed maniacally as he watched them. Unaware of the pale magic emanating from his body, they began throwing stones at him. Dozens flew through the air, thudding and cracking around him. Then it happened.

Someone threw a stone that landed with a dull thud, connecting with someone. It didn’t hit Bosha. Instead, it hit Ygraine on the forehead and fell to the ground. The dirtiness of the stone left a small black mark on Ygraine’s pure white forehead.

Ygraine stood between the Rishaia villagers and Bosha with her arms open.

When they saw her, they stopped throwing stones and shouted, “Saint, why do you embrace Bosha?”

“He is a man who knows nothing but his self-interest. You should not be with him!”

“You are surely being deceived by him, Saint.”

Ygraine replied, “No. He, too, is a child of Lutea. Lutea does not want her children to quarrel with each other.”

The villagers didn’t buy it. They continued to shout angrily.

“No, Saint, he is not Lutea’s child.”

“He is the child of a witch, a cunning fox!”

Ygraine shook her head gently, looking each villager in their eyes one by one. She slowly scanned the crowd, connecting with each of them in this way without saying a word. Eventually, they began to put the stones down. Their eyes still burned with anger, but none dared to throw a stone at Ygraine. One by one, the villagers left, glaring at Bosha as they did. He sneered back at them.

“You’re right to protect those fools. You knew I would take those rocks and break their heads with them,” Bosha said, turning to Ygraine.

Ygrainne shook her head.

“No, it was you I was trying to protect.”

Bosha was immediately taken back by her response.

“Did you think I would get hurt by being stoned?” he asked incredulously.

“Your heart would be, yes. Captain Bosha, your body is as strong as iron, but your heart is as fragile as a newborn chick.”

Bosha’s expression twisted with anger. Fragile? Who the hell is she talking to?

“Ha! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life!! That stone must have hit your head harder than I thought!” Bosha mocked Ygraine.

Ygraine looked back at him with a smile on her face.

That face. He didn’t like that smug face. As he looked at her, Ygraine’s clear silver eyes turned to meet his, and he found himself immediately looking away, unable to meet her gaze directly.

What’s going on? he thought. Even when facing a dragon in the Barus Swamp, Bosha hadn’t flinched, but for some reason, he couldn’t look Ygraine in the eye.

Ygraine spoke. “Captain Bosha. The day will come when those who throw stones at you now will chant your name with joy, and you will smile back at them. Let go of old hatreds. Learn how to love and understand happiness.”

Bosha found himself recalling his childhood. His pathetic self, begging for someone to save him. He had cried and cried, but no one reached out to help him. Instead, they threw stones. He had burned his grief and turned it into hatred, surviving by drinking muddy water and chewing on worms. Determination and resilience. That’s how the current Bosha came to be.

But Ygraine’s pearly eyes seemed to see right through him, to the weak boy he had once been.

One day, soon, I will kill you, Bosha repeated to himself as Ygraine turned and continued walking through the village. His heart, which had calmly dashed through countless rains of arrows on the battlefield, pounded anxiously.

Ygraine’s words lingered like fishhooks, stabbing at him as they pushed forward.

“Hey.”

Yeomyung turned at the door, meeting his coworker Sunhee’s gaze.

Sunhee’s tone was sharp as she continued, “You clocked in before changing into your uniform again, didn’t you?”

The store used fingerprint scanning for tracking shifts. Yeomyung looked down, saying nothing.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Clock in after you’re in uniform,” Sunhee said. When he remained silent, she pressed on. “Are you actually working while changing? No, right? Working hours start when you’re in uniform.”

Yeomyung shifted uncomfortably.

“Think ten minutes isn’t a big deal? Six shifts of that adds up to an hour of wasted wages.”

“I… forgot,” Yeomyung replied.

“God, these new hires,” Sunhee muttered. “Having to explain every little thing…” She shot him a final glance before disappearing into the kitchen.

Yeomyung left, his thoughts churning as he walked to the bus stop. Why isn’t changing time counted as work? I’m only wearing the uniform because of the job. Shouldn’t that count?

But what was the point in arguing?

His phone buzzed twice. Dad calling.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Yeomyung,” his dad said as soon as he answered, “pick up Grandma’s cream from the pharmacy. You know the one?”

“Yes.”

“Get the cheapest one— Mom, please, I’m talking to him… Why do you keep—”

He could hear them squabbling in the background.

“This old lady, I swear…” his dad grumbled. “Here, just take the phone.”

His grandmother’s voice came through. “Yeomyung.”

“Hi, Grandma.”

“My arms and legs are so prickly lately. Must be the mold in the house. Can’t sleep through the night. Nothing helps—not the medicine, not the cream…”

“Just tell him what you need,” his dad interrupted from somewhere nearby. “Stop rambling.”

“That cream you always buy… could you try a different one this time?”

His dad cut in, “What different one? Give me the phone.”

“I just think maybe the cheap one isn’t working,” his grandmother protested.

More bickering, then his dad’s voice came through clearer. “Just buy the same one, okay?”

“I’ll ask if there’s something better,” Yeomyung said.

“Don’t bother. They’re all the same,” his dad said. “At her age, nothing’s going to help anyway.”

“…I’ll still ask.”

His dad sighed, muttering about how she was becoming more childlike with age.

Yeomyung ended the call and boarded the bus.

A dark thought crossed his mind: it would be nice if his grandmother passed away soon. She was over 90—she’d lived a full life. Surely wishing for her death wasn’t such a terrible betrayal? It’s not like the wish itself could make it happen. That made it okay, right?

Then another thought: maybe it would be better if his dad passed too. Not that Yeomyung disliked him. It’s just… his presence didn’t seem to help much. His dad was hardworking but earned little. He’d retired too early and hadn’t done anything since. Though that wasn’t entirely his fault either.

Yeomyung felt no resentment toward his dad. And his dad never blamed Yeomyung for his poor grades or lack of skills. They had an unspoken agreement not to fault each other. In their own way, father and son were alike in their incompetence. Members of the same tribe don’t harm their own.

Yeomyung stepped off the bus.

Just then, a loud noise split the air. It sounded like a scream or tires skidding on asphalt.

Yeomyung’s head instinctively snapped toward the noise.

Something flashed before him. He couldn’t process it fully, but something massive was hurtling his way. At this rate, the light would swallow him, and that ‘something’ would strike with lethal force.

Am I going to die?

Time stretched as that ‘something’ closed the gap from an arm’s length to mere inches. Then it stopped, right at his nose.

Yeomyung stood frozen.

Voices erupted around him.

“Oh my god, that was close!”

“Are you okay?”

“Someone could’ve died! Who drives like that?”

Time snapped back to normal.

An old man at the bus stop collapsed from shock.

The ‘something,’ Yeomyung now saw, was a motorcycle. Its back wheel had lifted almost vertical before slamming down with a thud. If it had flipped, he’d be in critical condition.

Getting injured wouldn’t do. Death, maybe, but not injury.

The thought surfaced, then left him confused.

Had he failed to dodge, or chosen not to?

Maybe it had been too late to avoid by the time he saw it. But he hadn’t even tried to move. If he had, he’d probably be sprawled on the sidewalk now.

Had his instincts decided it was hopeless? Or had he figured a crippled life wasn’t worth living? Don’t all creatures fight to survive, no matter what? Or had shock simply paralyzed him? Unable to move, or unwilling?

He couldn’t tell if he felt relief or disappointment.

The motorcyclist approached. Even with his helmet still on, Yeomyung could tell he was young. The motorcyclist hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay?”

Yeomyung nodded once. He was completely fine.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and started toward home.

Someone shouted behind him, “Hey, at least get his contact information!” He glanced back but kept walking.

There was a tap on his arm.

“Excuse me…”

Yeomyung turned. The helmeted boy stood there.

“Could we exchange numbers? If you leave like this, it might count as a hit-and-run…” His voice trailed off. He seemed oddly familiar with the procedure, as if this wasn’t his first close call.

“I didn’t get hit,” Yeomyung said.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing touched me.”

Yeomyung raised both arms to demonstrate.

The boy stared.

“That’s enough, right? Leave me alone and go.”

Yeomyung shoved his hands in his pockets and walked on.

Another tap on his arm.

Irritated—he hated getting caught up in these situations—Yeomyung turned with furrowed brows. But it wasn’t the boy.

A girl stood there.

Small, was his first thought.

She might have been pretty or doll-like, but all Yeomyung noticed was how tiny she was. Her height, frame, head, nose, mouth—everything miniature. Only her eyes seemed too big, as if they might tumble out at any moment.

Her skin was pale, like someone newly freed from long confinement. Her hair was disheveled, her white dress creased as if she’d just rolled out of bed.

She said nothing. Instead, those huge eyes roamed over him, studying him like an interesting dog at the park.

Her mouth hung slightly open as she looked him up and down.

Yeomyung stepped back.

Those eyes…

She seemed unhinged.

He turned to leave but stopped short as she blocked his path.

He took a wide step right to go around her.

He walked faster, but quick footsteps followed—the girl’s short legs almost running to match his stride.

As the path turned uphill, her breathing grew heavy.

What kind of persistent, crazy girl is this?

Yeomyung pressed on without looking back, the gap between them widening.

“Hah… hah… Excuse me!” she called out.

He ignored her.

“Why didn’t you dodge earlier?”

Yeomyung stopped.

He turned.

She stood doubled over, hands on knees, catching her breath. The wind caught her short, curly hair.

He hesitated, weighing whether to engage with this strange girl. Wouldn’t it just invite trouble?

If things got weird, he could always run uphill.

“Why are you asking?” Yeomyung said.

Still panting, she replied, “A person should instinctively avoid danger, but… you didn’t.”

“There wasn’t enough time.”

“That’s a lie.”

Had she noticed his moment of confusion, when he’d wondered if he couldn’t dodge or simply wouldn’t?

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re…” She frowned.

Yeomyung swallowed.

Her breathing steadied. “You’re an alien, aren’t you?”

The hell…?

He turned and started climbing again. She followed, seemingly refreshed from her brief rest.

Yeomyung regretted giving her that chance.

She shouted at his back, almost frantically, “You didn’t dodge because that situation wasn’t a threat to you—not like it would be for humans! That’s why your survival instinct didn’t kick in. You probably haven’t been in a human body long. Hah… So… you’re not fully adapted yet. Hah…”

She was panting again, clearly out of shape.

Her frail frame had no muscle, thankfully. If this crazy girl had been strong too, there’d be no escaping.

“Or maybe… are you wearing optical camouflage? Is that why you checked your pockets, to look for suit damage?”

As he walked, Yeomyung wondered if such a strange girl had always lived nearby. He’d never seen her before. Crazy people stood out, and someone this pretty would be hard to miss.

She stopped suddenly, shouting, “You can trust me! I’m not on humanity’s side! Hey! Please, take me with you. When you return to your planet, take me too!”

Yeomyung kept his pace.

Happiness comes in sample sizes, like free cosmetic testers, but misfortune arrives as a complete set. His burdensome family, his low intelligence, his poverty, his weakness… and now this irritating encounter, as if life worried things might get too dull.

“Crazy girl…” he muttered under his breath.

I am in an aquarium.

There is no water in my aquarium.

It only contains old silence and habitual resignation.

The aquarium isn’t just in my imagination. It’s invisible, yet more distinctly real than anything. People think they’re the only ones watching the fish within, but the fish are also watching the people outside.

They talk, laugh, clap, lean back, point, wipe away tears, talk, frown, gesture, and talk some more…

These things occasionally steal my attention. Sometimes, I imagine myself outside my aquarium, standing beside them. It’s like looking at someone’s expensive jewelry and pretending it’s mine.

But such unreachable dreams only bring pain. I force myself to look away, acting like I’ve never desired them, and turn my gaze back inside the aquarium.

***

“You’re so good, are you sure you’re not attending some academy?”

Hyuncheol kept his eyes fixed on the presentation material, occasionally letting out exclamations of amazement.

I pretended not to look but still stole a few glances at his face.

Hyuncheol stopped scrolling and stared at me.

I quickly shifted my gaze to the laptop screen before our eyes could meet.

“I couldn’t make something like this even if I was in college for ten years,” Hyoju said with a laugh.

“It’s not that we’re lacking; Woogi is just exceptional,” Hyuncheol told her.

“I think we are slightly lacking.”

“Thanks for being with us, Woogi.”

As Hyuncheol and Hyoju continued their banter, I didn’t meet it with a smile. Instead, I acted as if their praise didn’t matter, as if I hadn’t expected anything. I avoided eye contact and stared blankly at the laptop.

Hyuncheol cracked his knuckles. “I really need to do well in this presentation.”

“Yeah. We can’t afford to mess up these perfect slides.”

11:45 AM

The time displayed at the bottom of the screen caught my eye. I checked my wristwatch, mimicking someone pressed for time. Hyoju noticed my restlessness.

“You need to head out, right?” she asked. “Let’s catch up in our next class.”

“We’ll make sure we’re well-prepared.”

Unable to look at their faces, I gave a slight nod, hardly noticeable enough to be considered a goodbye, and left the classroom. I walked quickly through the lobby and down the stairs.

After descending a floor, I allowed myself to slow down.

Now alone, the earlier scene replayed in my mind. I wanted to go back and savor the moments that had slipped into my mental aquarium. Yet, something inside me resisted the temptation to indulge in these reflections.

Don’t get your hopes up. It’ll only lead to disappointment.

My expression, which had softened, hardened again.

Reaching the ground floor, I stepped out of the building and into the blinding sunlight. I closed my eyes against its brilliance, and for a moment, a comet-like streak of light flashed through the darkness.

I bent over, feeling dizzy. I propped myself up with my hands on my knees and waited for the sensation to pass. It was a side effect of staying up all night working on the presentation material. The caffeine I’d consumed every three hours was wearing off.

Slowly, I raised my head and opened my eyes.

A classmate once asked me why I put in so much effort, and I found it hard to respond. It struck me that some people start with such a low negative score that they have to work twice, three times, or even ten times as hard just to get to baseline ‘zero.’ If that effort can make them appear almost on par with those who are in the positive, then it must be worth it to put in that extra work.

Of course, the fact that I had to exert more effort than most to reach zero was something I kept to myself.

***

I walked through the living room of my house. Glancing at the kitchen, I noticed ingredients on the dining table: kimchi, pork, and garlic.

I went into my room. After dropping my bag by the door, I flopped onto the bed. I closed my eyes. Like an electronic device unplugged from the socket, sleep rushed over me all at once as if the power had gone out. My sense of reality quickly faded. Just as I was about to fall asleep…

The door burst open.

My head throbbed, and my heart beat slightly faster. My sense of reality snapped back.

“Thought you’d just sneak in, did you?” said Mom.

“…”

“Come out here for a minute. Help me with this.”

I remained motionless, only my chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.

Mom took a few steps into the room. “Are you sleeping?”

“…”

She nudged me lightly. “I know you’re not asleep.”

“…”

“I’m going to head to the kitchen, okay?”

“…”

As if urging me to get up, Mom turned on the room light and went to the kitchen.

I sighed softly and crawled out of bed like I was pulling myself out of a swamp.

When I reached the kitchen, Mom handed me her phone. “Read this for me.”

The screen displayed a recipe for kimchi stew. As she pulled out some pork from a plastic bag, Mom said, “I make it all the time but still can’t remember.”

I had once printed out a recipe for kimchi stew in large font for Mom because she complained that standard recipes were too small to read, she disliked videos, and always asked me to read the steps aloud. A few days later, I found the printed recipe in the trash. Mom had thrown it away, scolding, “Is it too much to ask you to read this one thing for me?”

“Put… Uh—”

My voice cracked. It always happened when I hadn’t spoken all day.

“Start by heating sesame oil in a pot and frying the kimchi.”

“Do I have to fry the kimchi first? Can’t I fry the pork first?”

Here we go again.

“I guess whichever is fine.”

“Fine? But why does it say to fry the kimchi first?”

“That’s what it says. Each recipe is a bit different. Why do you always ask?”

“Because it’s confusing.”

“It doesn’t matter which one you do first.”

“Surely one way tastes better.”

Although it was typical of Mom to nitpick, it still annoyed me every time. I ignored her comments as much as I could and continued reading the recipe.

“Add one tablespoon of minced garlic and one tablespoon of sugar.”

“Then what?”

“Pour in eight cups of rice water.”

“Rice water? Can’t I just use regular water?”

“That’s fine.”

“How do you know?”

“We used regular water last time.”

“When?”

“The last time we had kimchi stew.”

“Why?”

“…”

The words “Please, stop” almost escaped my throat.

“When did that happen? Why? Who did it?” Answering these endless questions always drained twice as much energy. I managed to keep my composure and continued reading.

“Add the pork and a tablespoon of soybean paste.”

“Why soybean—”

“Don’t ask why we add soybean paste. I already showed you that thing online, remember? It’s to remove the gamey smell from the meat.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t ask.”

“Boil over medium heat until the meat is cooked.”

“What’s after boiling?”

“I’ll tell you after it boils. You’re going to ask again later anyway.”

“Tell me now. I need to know what’s coming.”

“We add the seasonings.”

“What seasonings?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

“Can’t you just tell me twice? Is it that hard?”

I slammed the phone down on the table with a thud, drained by the pointless back and forth. I just felt like giving up on trying to accommodate my mom and everything else.

***

“Is this the presentation script?”

“Really well written…”

I nodded without looking at Hyuncheol and Hyoju. I tried not to expect too much. However, I couldn’t deny the tingling anticipation in the corner of my heart.

All night, as I worked on the script, I had to consciously push away any expectations about their reactions. Occasionally, I’d tap my head with my hand, trying to refocus on the words in front of me.

Hyuncheol and Hyoju exchanged looks. Then, as if contemplating or perhaps troubled by something, they aimlessly scrolled the mouse wheel down.

By now, it had been quite some time without the kind of response I’d hoped for. I pretended to be indifferent to their unusual behavior and kept my eyes glued to the screen.

“Um…” Hyuncheol broke the silence.

What did that “um” mean? I tried to read into his tone, pitch, and the drawn-out length of the sound.

“Did you write this because of the grade for the first presentation?” he asked.

That caught me off guard. I nodded as if to say I was responding simply because the question had been asked.

Hyuncheol hesitated, then said, “But we prepared a script for the second presentation to try and do better.”

“It’s nowhere near the quality of what you’ve done, though,” Hyoju chimed in, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Something was off. Suddenly, I realized this was ‘that moment’—the kind where speaking up could correct any preconceived notions about me, resolve misunderstandings, and set things right. It was a moment I had let slip by thousands of times in my life.

“I didn’t want to say it because it sounds like I’m putting myself down…” Hyuncheol trailed off.

I sensed that this might be the last chance to seize ‘that moment.’ Even someone completely oblivious would notice it, and even the biggest fool wouldn’t stay silent. But as I clearly felt ‘that moment’ passing, I still said nothing.

“We stayed up all night writing the script. But then you come along and effortlessly turn in better, making us feel useless,” Hyoju blurted out. “In our past team projects, I never had the courage to speak up because everything you did was always better. This isn’t just about my grades. So when you always had the presentation materials ready, I acted happy about it… Initially, I was genuinely grateful. But as time went by, I started feeling worse about myself. Am I just a spokesperson for you? A puppet?”

She continued, sounding more and more agitated, “Other students envy being in your team, riding on your coattails for this class, but the guilt hits hard.”

Even after missing ‘that moment,’ there’s still a chance to turn things around. If you say things like “You’ve got the wrong idea” or “That wasn’t my intention,” you might be able to mend the relationship. At the very least, if you say, “How could you say that?” or “Is that really how you see me?” it might not feel as unfair.

But those words seemed trapped inside me, surfacing in my throat every time I inhaled, then sinking back down with every exhale, like they were part of my breath. Yet they never left my mouth.

In situations like these, people often take my silence as a sign of rejection or indifference, which only tends to make things worse. Hyoju’s voice grew more intense as she spoke.

“What do you really think of us?”

“…”

“How can you not say a word? Is it true what the others say? Do you not like acknowledging us because we’re not in your league? Is that why you ignore us?”

My lips twitched.

I blinked.

My breathing became ragged.

“…”

But that was all. As always, no words came out.

In such moments, silence can be interpreted as agreement.

“I thought maybe you had your reasons for staying quiet, but you can talk. I’ve heard you on the phone with your mom.”

“We were really surprised when we heard you. We were so careful and considerate, wondering if maybe you couldn’t speak.”

Hyuncheol grabbed his laptop and bag, which lay within reach, and stood up.

It seemed too late now. This was it. My desperate attempts to fit in had failed.

A shadow loomed over me from within. I needed to escape before being consumed by it. I told myself urgently that it was inevitable. Maybe it’s better this happened now. I’ve never been good at getting close to people. Honestly, I never truly wanted to. I’m better off alone. At least you don’t get hurt when you’re alone.

That’s right. I’m meant to be alone.

“Fine… We’ll use your script for the presentation. Just read it like a robot.”

“Yeah. There’s nothing left to discuss. I won’t let your grades get messed up. Don’t worry.”

With that, Hyuncheol and Hyoju walked toward the classroom entrance.

I didn’t look in their direction. I kept my eyes fixed on the darkened laptop screen, my reflection staring back at me.

I thought to myself, Nothing will change. I was always alone. I could just continue living as I have been…

I lifted my gaze to the door. Naturally, Hyuncheol and Hyoju were gone. They hadn’t come back.

I slowly looked around.

“Isn’t she top of the class?”

“Heard she carries every group project.”

“Basically just ignores everyone.”

“Thinks she’s better than us.”

“…doesn’t talk to anyone…”

“…knew it would be like this…”

“Wondered how long it would last…”

“What’s even her deal?”

From inside the aquarium, I can see out, but that’s all I can do. I can never truly be part of it.

I thought I was always aware of this, but maybe I’d forgotten for a moment. I was always in the aquarium, but now it felt even more painfully clear.

I am in an aquarium.

There is no water in my aquarium.

It only contains old silence and habitual resignation.

It is said that when a person dies, they become light: starlight to guide the lost at dawn, moonlight to caress the hair of the sleeping, and sunlight to give life to all things rooted in the earth. The source of all this light is the Goddess Lutea, and to worship her is to meet the departed.

Kurzina’s mother told her this story amidst a coughing fit when Kurzina was only five.

“Zina, your mother is not leaving you. On the contrary, I will always be with you. When you clasp your hands toward Lutea, remember that I am the light hovering over you. To be close to Lutea is to be close to me.”

Kurzina believed those words. When her mother lost consciousness and eventually rested in the soil, Kurzina prayed with folded hands.

May Mother become the brightest and warmest light in the world, and may I become someone who can recognize that light.

Kurzina was convinced she had finally met the light.

As Kurzina knelt before Ed, her white, slender hands grasping his, a tear fell from her ebony eyes.

“Oh, Saint. Our Master. We were foolish, and our eyes were blinded. We did not recognize the light and have done you great disrespect.”

“Scion of a witch, a descendant of Bosha! You are no ordinary man, after all!” Aruru, standing on Ed’s chest, cried out in excitement.

Kurzina glared at Aruru.

“Watch your tongue, foolish field mouse! He is not the offspring of a witch. He heals the wounds of his enemies and rekindles extinguished life. He is the source of all light!”

“What?! How dare you call me foolish! I’ll bite your ankles off!”

“Bite me? You little mouse. If you…”

Ed’s anger dissipated as he watched the exchange between the two. Aruru was alive and chattering away. He looked at Raghad and Yug, who both stood over him. Yug was stunned, his eyes glazed over.

Ed tried to piece together what had happened—he still couldn’t remember a thing, whatever it was had apparently caused Kurzina to mistake Ed for the reincarnation of the Goddess Lutea.

The more Ed tried to remember, the more confused he felt. It hadn’t felt like a real black-out to him, more as though his consciousness had sunk into the depths of his mind and someone else had taken its place.

Raghad stepped closer and reached for Kurzina.

“Stand up, Zina.”

When she ignored him, he grabbed her shoulder and shook her.

“Zina, do you realize what you’re doing? A descendant of the heroic Bosha stooping to a descendant of Ygraine!”

“Cousin, didn’t you see it, too? The way the white light enveloped Tug and the mouse? That’s a miracle no one can duplicate.”

“No, it can’t be. There must be another explanation. How can the cursed blood be imbued with the Goddess Lutea?”

Kurzina glared at Raghad.

“The believer sees Lutea in the darkness without a single spark of light, and the unbeliever cannot grasp her hand even when she reaches out to him. Cousin, you are not taking Lutea’s outstretched hand. You have seen the true light but deny what you have seen. If it’s imbued with Lutea, doesn’t that mean it’s not cursed blood?”

“Nonsense. His silver hair and the scars on the back of his neck are proof that he is the descendant of a witch!”

“What are you claiming, cousin? Is there anyone else besides Lutea who can rekindle a dead life? Are you going to call that the work of a witch? And if it is a witch’s work to give life and show mercy, aren’t we right to serve her?”

Raghad didn’t know what to say. His obsidian-black eyes shifted from side to side uneasily. He had seen the same thing as Kurzina, but unlike her, he was not ready to accept it.

Raghad was a direct descendant of Bosha. He had been touted as a possible heir to the throne. Unlike Kurzina, his pride in his family was far greater than his faith in the Goddess, and now that pride was being questioned.

“Stand up, Zina.”

This time, it was Ed urging her to stand.

“I am honored a Saint would remember my name!” Kurzina turned back to Ed and smiled.

Ed felt strange. He had never been spoken to like this before, not as Ed or Bosha in his previous life. Kurzina’s eyes sparkled. They looked like the eyes of the people who had called Ygraine a saint. Ed knew that she believed with all her heart that Ed was the reincarnation of the Goddess Lutea. And he knew that this was an opportunity he needed to grab hold of with both hands. It was a chance to spread truth in a world of lies.

Before Bosha was the Red fox of Kaldura, he was known as Bosha the Trickster. His specialty had been acting. He could take on any role he needed to achieve his end goal. Ed knew he couldn’t pass up this opportunity and what he needed to do.

“Yes,” he said, staring into Kurzina’s eyes. “I am the Goddess Lutea. And I am Ygraine.”

Kurzina’s eyes shone brightly, wet with tears of joy.

“Rise, wise child, for I want no one to prostrate or kneel before me.”

“Of course!”

Kurzina rose at Ed’s command. Aruru tilted his head, glancing back and forth between Kurzina and Ed.

“You have eyes to see the truth,” Ed continued. “Ygraine was the name of the body I took to defeat the witch Granadilla, but my foolishness and incompetence allowed a lie to overtake the world. And now my flesh and blood descendants are being unjustly persecuted.”

Ed felt a little uncomfortable as he spoke. Ygraine hated lying. She would be frowning deeply right now if she could see Ed’s shamelessness.

Sometimes, a lie is necessary to tell the truth, though you would never approve, Ed thought.

Kurzina’s smooth, youthful face creased into a frown at Ed’s words.

“If this is true, our family is committing an unforgivable sin! We are putting shackles on those who should bask in glory and humiliating them in front of the masses. How can we atone for such sins?”

As Ed had suspected, Kurzina accepted his words readily. But the problem was Raghad. He refused to accept what Ed had to say so easily. He moved to stand in front of Kurzina as if to protect her from what Ed might have to say next.

“You say it was Ygraine who defeated Granadilla? That is absurd! Are you saying that our ancestor, Bosha, was not a hero?”

“You are afraid of the truth, child,” Ed replied calmly. “Captain Bosha led the Black Fangs through Cyros territory. He was killed in battle, single-handedly defending against Granadilla’s spawn. He died young, leaving no children behind.”

“Bosha, a Captain? Leading the Black Fangs? Why would the eldest son of a duke join a mercenary army?”

“Captain Bosha was an orphan. He has no connection to the Duke.”

Raghad’s face reddened in fury. He had reached his limit regarding what Ed had to share.

“No. No, I don’t believe it. It can’t be. If it were true, then who are we, if not the descendants of the hero Bosha?! Answer me that!”

“I’m wondering the answer to that question myself,” Ed replied calmly.

***

Back home, Raghad was in anguish. Earlier that morning, he could only think about taking the first seat at the Festival of Saints. When he wasn’t studying with his tutor, he was training his Magick in the study hall. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to do either.

Kurzina and Yug were his closest relatives, but both fell for Ed’s words. He wasn’t surprised that Kurzina had fallen under his spell, but he hadn’t expected Yug to do the same.

“We must give the saint a place to stay. We have treated the noblest of men with the humblest of hospitality. It is only fitting that we should prepare a fur bed and silken quilt for him. But we need to avoid the eyes of the elders of the house.”

As Kurzina spoke, Yug, sitting in a daze, stood up. Yug was wary of even looking at Ed. His disdain for the witch’s offspring had been replaced by awe.

“Why don’t you come to my house? We can hide from prying eyes in the warehouse; it’s less used, and my parents aren’t home.”

Yug’s father was the third captain of the Saint Defense Force, and his mother was a clerk in the local government of Vaidor. They were both very busy and rarely home.

“But what about the medic who checks on him daily?”

“I can do something about that. There are only ten days until the Saint’s Festival,” Kurzina replied. She looked back at Raghad.

“What are you going to do about your father? Are you going to tell Ashur?”

Raghad paused for a moment, then shook his head. This had been a first in his life. To see corruption in his own family and turn a blind eye.

Later, as he lay hiding in his room with his head in his hands, he couldn’t think straight. He decided to head for the library in the study hall, intending to read a history book.

History books detailing the events filled an entire wall of the library. He’d read them over and over again since he was very young. They told of the heinous deeds of the witches’ forces and how the heroic Bosha and his allies had driven them out. How could this all be false?

If Bosha was an orphan, what were the people of Le Fay now? He had asked Ed, but he hadn’t answered. He had only told him to find out for himself.

Raghad picked one of the books he had read many times and flicked through it again. He wanted to confirm that he was a descendant of the hero Bosha, and plenty of books said so. But no matter how many books he read, the white light he’d seen emitting from Ed earlier refused to leave his mind.

As Raghad scanned the shelves, a new book caught his eye.

I’ve never read this book before.

Raghad took the book from the shelf. It was titled ‘The Astanian Racial Dictionary.’ It was over fifteen hundred pages long, and the handwriting was so delicate and hard to read that he suspected this was why he hadn’t gotten around to reading it.

“The Astanian Racial Dictionary explains how the races that make up the kingdom of Astania are organized,” Raghad began to read aloud. “It details where each race originated and where and how they migrated.”

Raghad’s curiosity was piqued. He kept reading.

“A race with black hair… ah, here it is.”

The Astanians’ origins are traced to the Stone Age people who lived in the caves of the Astanian coast. Their diet consisted of fish and seaweed, and their jaws were narrower than those of landlubbers.

“What’s with the long explanation?” Raghad’s eyes ached after only a few minutes of reading the tiny scrawled handwriting, but he persevered. He wanted to confirm the origins of the Le Fay family somehow and see how the Astanians had traveled to Vaidor. He skimmed quickly, flipping through the pages, when a passage caught his eye.

The unusually white skin is the result of a long cave life. Whether red eyes are related to cave life remains to be studied.

“Red eyes?”

The hair and eyes of the Le Fay and Bosha people are all black. None of them had red eyes.

“Then I guess we’re not Astanians?”

Raghad took the book and headed for his room. He was determined to uncover the answer. What race had black hair and black eyes?

Back in his room, he flipped through the pages repeatedly. After flipping through all fifteen hundred pages, he returned to the first chapter to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. He did this until the moon set and the sun rose.

Raghad’s face was pale. He didn’t know if this was because he’d been up all night or the shock of his discovery.

There was no record: a black-haired, black-eyed race did not exist in the Astanian Racial Dictionary.

Raghad closed the book and stormed out.

Father will have answers, he thought. Ashur, his father, was knowledgeable and trustworthy, stern but compassionate. Ignoring the servant who brought him breakfast, he ran to his father’s room.

“You must be in a terrible hurry, barging in at breakfast time. Don’t you know how rude that is!” Ashur looked up at his son and chuckled.

“Who are we, Father? What race are we? Where do we come from? How did we live?”

“When did you suddenly become interested in anthropology?” Ashur raised an eyebrow but continued eating his breakfast. “We are Astanians. Our ancestors ate fish in coastal caves.”

“No, we are not. Astanians have red eyes, and ours are black as night.”

A deep wrinkle formed on Ashur’s forehead as he turned to glare at Raghad. It was the most terrifying expression he had ever seen his father make.

“Astanians have red eyes? Who told you that?” Ashur’s voice boiled with rage.

“I read it in a book.”

“Bring me the book!”

Raghad did as he was told and raced back to his room to fetch the book and bring it to Ashur, who immediately snatched it from him. Magick flickered over Ashur’s hands as he held the book tightly.

“I can’t believe you still have this book.”

Flames leaped from Ashur’s hands and devoured the book in seconds. Ashur threw the smoldering pages out the window.

“Father!”

Ashur turned to the startled Raghad. “You have seen nothing. There is no such book in this world. Do you understand me?!”

Dahye couldn’t hear the music coming from the store’s loudspeakers over the ringing in her ears. She almost felt as though she was submerged underwater, and the ringing was a warning signal.

What is that?

Dahye snapped to attention at the thud of Dowon’s fist smashing into the countertop. Freed from the watery haze, Dahye finally took a proper look at Dowon. What she saw wasn’t the usual Dowon, standing with his head down and shoulders slumped.

He was glaring at her.

She’d heard what to do in a situation like this. Or rather, what not to do. She knew you shouldn’t tell people who express suicidal thoughts to cheer up. If someone was still alive because they couldn’t find the willpower to die, you shouldn’t give them motivation. The first thing they do is attempt suicide.

Dowon was glowering at Dahye with bloodshot eyes, as if on the precipice of some important decision. Dahye curled her fingers into her damp palms tightly. She was scared of this wild expression she’d never seen on Dowon’s face.

Only the deep hum of the refrigerator filled the air around them. Dahye’s jaw felt welded shut. No clever words came to her. She couldn’t even spit out a sigh.

Maybe… Have I driven Dowon to the edge of a cliff?

Dahye squeezed her eyes shut and finally opened her mouth.

“You—”

“I’m sorry.”

She opened her eyes in shock. What she saw was the familiar Dowon, head down, shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry for getting angry for no reason. Things have been tough lately.”

As if all of it had been a dream, Dowon was once again apologizing with his head bowed.

***

Dowon had heard, for people who didn’t know where their life went wrong, there was still hope. Conversely, in cases where one could pinpoint exactly where life went wrong, it was hard to turn things around.

Perhaps the latter was not just speculation, but cases where people truly knew they were too far gone.

Dowon clearly knew the point where he had gone wrong. He even knew the reason why. He knew everything, including how every small mistake had snowballed until they were large enough to crush him. He just didn’t know how to get back on the right path.

His eyes stung. Thinking of school, employment, Mom, and just everything sent his heart plummeting to his feet. His chest felt tight and painful, as if enormous claws were closed around it. Like some monstrous creature had seized him and was shaking him side to side, telling him to fall to his death. Yet his mind was clear, which made it all the more painful.

It was horrid how he’d just tried to blame these cascading dominoes on Dahye. She was just a stone that had fallen off the snowball he himself had rolled. Is it really the stone’s fault if you trip over it? It was Dowon’s fault. All of this was his own fault.

Every time he repeated that thought, he broke out in a cold sweat and his heart thundered in his ears.

“Can I have four scones to go?”

So, in light of the encroaching darkness, Dowon bought Hana’s favorite snack and headed to her house. He thought he might feel a little better if he made Hana happy. He opened the door to Hana’s house, holding the white box with the scones.

“Hana, I got you scones.”

He took off his shoes and peered inside. The lights were off.

“Hana, are you sleeping?”

Fluorescent light leaked from Hana’s half-open door. She couldn’t be sleeping if the light was on. But, if she wasn’t sleeping, she would answer. Something felt off.

“Hana.”

Something must have happened.

“Hana!”

Dowon dropped the scone box by the sink and opened the door to Hana’s room. He heard her sobbing before he saw her.

“You—Why did you take this out?”

Hana’s face was buried in her knees, and her hands clutched the back of her head as if she didn’t want to risk looking up again.

At Hana’s feet was a synthesizer. It was the instrument she had cherished most, a gift she received when she was immersed in music.

“Hana, I’ll put this back. But first—”

“No—”

Hana shook her head, trembling. She refused to show her face, now clinging to her knees as if she would die if she moved.

“Hana Baek, let me see your legs.”

He had a bad feeling. He grabbed Hana’s hands and wrestled them away from her knees.

Hana’s thighs, which fell limply to the side, were covered with scarlet slashes. Half had hardened to a dark red, dried with time, but half still oozed blood.

“…Why did you do this?”

Hana’s only answer was her continued sobs

Dowon took a deep breath. “I’ll put this back for now.”

Hana had deliberately taken out the synthesizer and looked at it while she cut herself. The streaks of red were packed close together, barely leaving any undamaged skin between them. Dowon put the synthesizer on a high shelf in the closet where Hana couldn’t see it. Then he brought a wet towel. The crusted blood didn’t wipe away easily.

“I told you not to take it out anymore,” he chastised her gently. “Did something happen today?”

Still, she didn’t speak.

“Hana Baek.”

Hana seemed unable to do anything other than cry. She didn’t answer, nor did she look at Dowon. He tried to comfort her while wiping the blood from her skin as the cuts continued to run red.

“Hana, do you want some scones? I bought them from the place you like. The caramel flavor is always sold out, right? But today there was one left—”

“I don’t need it…” she whispered.

He took Hana’s hand and cleaned the blood from it. He glanced at the bedside table. It seemed she had taken today’s meds. Either the medication wasn’t effective, or Hana had spent the day staring into space, sinking into depression.

“I don’t need it…” she repeated. “I don’t need anything…”

It seemed that Hana just wanted to wither away and die. After he’d managed to clean up her legs, Dowon laid her down on the bed. He thought it was best to let her sleep.

Hana closed her eyes, lying on the bed listlessly. After staring at her eyelashes for a while, he headed to the sink. He looked down at the scone box, wide open from being dropped.

Then, he left Hana’s house.

A noise of disbelief huffed from his throat.

Nothing was going right. He didn’t want to be anywhere. Walking aimlessly through the streets wouldn’t change anything, but he felt he would suffocate to death if he stayed in a space that reminded him of reality.

He knew that misfortune always brought its own entourage. That was why Dowon’s twenties felt like they had been deliberately marred, as if someone had put in the effort to tarnish them. However, he had also heard that joy comes at the end of suffering.

At 27, it was hard to tell what kind of joy would come to Dowon, if it would come at all. Could it be that the joy at the end of suffering was simply the courage to end it all, to die without any regrets and put a stop to the overwhelming pain?

Even if his life were just some TV show he was watching, he wouldn’t enjoy it. He just wanted to end it quickly.

If the world was desperately telling him to die, he wanted to obey. He didn’t want to stubbornly weather the storm when he was being pushed like this. He wanted to fall like flowing water, using the excuse that it wasn’t his will.

Who on earth could he express these feelings to? Going through it alone was even more painful. Classmates? Friends? His boss? Hana? Family? None of those options made sense.

Yet paradoxically, he couldn’t die because of those people. It wasn’t a protagonist-like thought of staying alive for their sake. Those people clutched the strand of his life in their fists. With them in mind, he couldn’t even die peacefully.

If he died, his classmates would laugh, and his mother would struggle with debt and resent him. Hana… What would happen to her without him? Would she starve to death?

“This is really fucking shitty…”

Even calling it shitty was an understatement. Dowon thought it would be nice if a passing car simply crushed him. Rather than being a stupid late-twenties guy who committed suicide because he couldn’t bear the shame and embarrassment of his existence, it seemed better to perish as a young man who had lived diligently, but sadly lost his life too soon.

And so, his eyes flitted toward the road.

“Looks nice…”

He could see a family chatting and laughing in the backseat of a passing car with the window down. Based on the snippets of conversation, they’d had dinner together to celebrate something. Dowon found it hard to gauge how many years it had been since he had dinner with his family to commemorate something.

By the roadside, office workers who appeared to have finished a company dinner were parting ways, waving to each other with tipsy smiles. Dowon thought of Dahye. He thought of Dahye having dinner with her fellow admirable employees of Hanban Bank.

He thought of Dahye handing out her business card without hesitation. He thought of Dahye talking about how great it was to work at Hanban Bank. He thought of Dahye comfortably enjoying the results of sleepless school nights. He thought of Dahye stepping into Hanban Bank for the first time.

He didn’t even feel envious. Those were things Dowon could never enjoy.

Dowon entered the convenience store in front of him and bought a bottle of soju. Then he went home, lay down without even taking a shower, and drank the soju straight from the bottle.

He deliberately didn’t turn on the lights. In this world where everyone except him was happy, he didn’t want to even be seen in the window. The TV’s light illuminated Dowon’s face with a bluish glow.

He thought he wanted to do things his way, at least at the end.

***

“Why vent your anger…”

If she closed her eyes and focused, Dowon’s face floated around behind her eyes like an afterimage. Dahye pressed her fingers to her eyes and massaged them. It must be a side effect of exhaustion.

Dowon had looked so weak as if he would die if even a finger was laid on him. It seemed like, if she had uttered even a word, he might have stabbed himself in the throat with the box cutter she’d seen in the pencil holder beside the register. Dahye couldn’t unsee the terror that had been in those fierce eyes.

“Damn, why are you doing this?”

It wasn’t like she told him to kill himself. Of course not. Dahye just wanted a little payback. That must have been why he apologized; he knew, deep down, that he was at fault. That all of this was not Dahye being irrational, but rather the karma Dowon had built up.

“Why is he being so intense about it?”

But if Dowon really was having those dark thoughts, whose fault would it be?

“He’s just a good person,” Hana’s voice echoed.

Dahye kept thinking of the basketball Dowon had thrown back to her.

She found herself unable to sleep at all.

When her alarm went off, Dahye straightened her stiff body and looked out the window at the dim, bluish sky. With bloodshot eyes from her sleepless night, Dahye eventually headed to the pharmacy.

She went to a pharmacy near her office, frequented by many employees and specifically asked for the best option for fatigue recovery. She followed the enthusiastic pharmacist’s recommendation and bought a bottle of expensive vitamins. The price seemed excessive.

“I’m really emptying my wallet because of Dowon Lee.”

She put the vitamins in a shopping bag and headed to the convenience store. Wasn’t there a saying that when you’re depressed and tired, you should clean yourself up, then eat something delicious? She could just hand the bottle over, telling him to take a shower and have some good food.

If Dowon seemed to have recovered a bit, then she could bother him again. After all, you’re supposed to give the carrot before the stick.

“…Where did the part-timer here go?”

“Who? I’m the part-timer…”

Standing behind the convenience store counter was a woman she had never seen before. The stranger glanced over Dahye in confusion, before her gaze fell on the vitamins held in her hand.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“The guy who works at this time… Dowon Lee.”

“Oh, he quit…”

The hand holding the vitamins tensed. She rushed out of the convenience store, yanking out her phone, and selecting Dowon’s contact.

“What are you trying to do now?”

Without even a ring, an automated message played, telling her the number was unavailable.

“Did you just block me?”

Hyungnyun Jubeop was the oldest and most worn-out book Yoonmin owned. If you translated the Chinese characters, it read "Cursed Wheel Method:" a terrifying title. He secretly took it from his late grandfather’s storage.

Even if you searched for the book’s title online, there were no explanations. The author, Ubutsuna Doman, had a brief and eerie mention in an online encyclopedia. It says Ubutsuna Doman was an onmyoji (an ancient magic practitioner) who specialized in curses, having killed over 400 people. After a powerful lord’s daughter rejected his affections, he performed a curse, and when he was caught, he was executed. However, even after his death, the lord’s daughter vomited maggots and corpse beetles for over three months before starving to death.

In short, a seriously creepy stalker. But that made his curses look even more legit. A creepy, psycho stalker onmyoji sounded like exactly the person you’d go to for a good curse.

More than that, Hyungnyun Jubeop itself looked incredibly authentic. It wasn’t written on paper but on dried animal skin, with the text in a blood-like dark red. If any curse from this book were cast, it would surely work. Even horror movies didn’t have books like this. Jiyoo was afraid to even look at it. The only problem was that the entire book was written in Chinese characters, mixed with classical Japanese and Japanese kanji.

Over the past few days, Yoonmin had been deeply engrossed in deciphering this book. And recently, he successfully decoded one of the 122 curses.

“So, is this it?” Jiyoo asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. Cool, right?” Yoonmin grinned at her.

“Ew… It uses maggots as an ingredient?”

Jiyoo looked vaguely nauseated. Annoyed, Yoonmin thought, Shouldn’t she be saying something else first? Like how impressive it is that I deciphered all those crazy Chinese characters?

But he kept his mouth shut and watched Jiyoo’s face as her eyes darted across the notes he’d made. She let out a groan.

The summarized instructions were:

1. Write the target’s name and birthdate on a piece of paper.

2. Soak the paper in animal blood and place it inside pig intestines.

3. Twist the pig intestines into a specific shape, then bury them in soil filled with maggots or corpse beetles.

4. Chant the incantation, “This one is already dead, so their blood must seep into the Earth. This one is already dead, so their flesh must become food for the worms. This one is already dead, so their soul must depart for the afterlife.”

These were the key steps. The rest were precautions to take during the ritual: like not saying anything other than the incantation while doing it.

“Yoonmin… This is seriously scary…”

“Right?” he said enthusiastically. “You can feel the real vibe with this one.”

“So, you’re going to cast this curse on Haein, right?”

“Huh?” He blinked at her, startled.

“That’s what you’re planning, isn’t it?” she persisted.

He hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. Wait, why hadn’t he thought about it? He had started reading these books with the intention of cursing Haein in the first place, of course Jiyoo would assume he wanted to try the new curse on her.

Truthfully, Yoonmin had been decoding Hyungnyun Jubeop to avoid reality. He didn’t want to think about Haein.

“Please… Please, can’t we go back to the way things were? Saying hi in the morning, talking together, making jokes together, walking home together…”

The memory of Haein holding onto him, crying into his shirt, kept replaying in his mind. Her tearful face, trembling voice, and raw emotion—All of it hurt his heart. But why did it hurt, after all the things Haein had done to him? She ignored him for two years! When Yoonmin cried and begged, she ignored him completely. Didn’t she deserve a taste of her own medicine?

Even after the day she trapped him in the classroom, Haein occasionally sent him messages.

Haein Ju: I’m sorry, Yoonmin. I know I’m being shameless.

Haein Ju: I know I'm asking a lot, but… can’t you give me just one more chance?

Haein Ju: You can hit me until you're not angry with me anymore.

Yoonmin hadn’t replied to any of those messages, but they drove him crazy. He should have resented Haein, hated her, cursed her—yet he couldn’t muster the energy to do so. Not anymore. He didn’t even have the motivation to carry out a dark magic ritual. All he did was continue to work his way through Hyungnyun Jubeop.

“Yoonmin. Are you not going to curse Haein anymore?” Jiyoo asked. She didn’t sound panicked, disgusted, or even nervous anymore. Her voice was strangely calm, almost cold.

Yoonmin didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know why this mouth refused to obey him.

“Do you not hate Haein anymore?” Jiyoo asked evenly.

“I do.” He sounded unconvincing, even to himself.

“But?”

“But… Jiyoo, don’t you think this curse is kind of messy? Where am I supposed to get pig intestines?” A half truth.

Jiyoo fiddled with her phone for a moment and said, “They sell them online. Cleaned pork intestines, as a whole.”

Seriously, what a convenient world. You can even get ingredients for a curse with a single click. Ubutsuna Doman, are you seeing this? I bet it was a bit tougher back in your day.

Yoonmin tried again. “They’ll smell like pigs. Just thinking about it is nasty.”

“Really? It seems pretty easy,” Jiyoo argued. “You’re not going to cook with them, so you can just hold your breath for a minute.”

Jiyoo was being abnormally enthusiastic about this. She had once brought him a fried chicken instead of using a proper animal corpse, and then complained about using the pig head because it was gross. Why was she so eager now?

“It’s not just that. Maggots and corpse beetles? Ugh, gives me chills.”

“There’s an unmarked grave on the hill behind us,” Jiyoo said. “Can’t you just bury it there? Maggots and corpse beetles will gather on their own. It’s pig intestines, after all.”

Yoonmin searched for another valid argument but failed to find one.

“Let’s be honest, Yoonmin. Something happened between you and Haein, didn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to curse her anymore.”

“Something…” he trailed off.

Yes, there was something.

Jiyoo was right. Normally, he would’ve just gone ahead with the curse, regardless of how difficult or disgusting. Jiyoo would have been the one trying to stop him, not the other way around.

But right now, Yoonmin didn’t want to. Hyungnyun Jubeop looked too convincing and Ubutsuna Doman too insane. The idea of vomiting maggots and corpse beetles for three months and starving to death—it was too horrific. Cursing Haein with that? It felt too… extreme.

Sure, Haein had betrayed him and yes, Yoonmin was deeply hurt. He had wished she would die. But when he imagined her pretty face crawling with maggots and corpse beetles… when he pictured her thin arms becoming even frailer, her small face sinking into a skeletal mask…

“Something… did happen. Actually….”

“What?”

“Actually… I guess I just kind of changed my mind.”

“How?” Jiyoo’s voice was downright icy.

“Like you said, I think I’m too obsessed with her. Looking back, it feels like that’s only hurting me more. So maybe… it’s better to just cut my losses and move on.”

Jiyoo stared at him silently.

“You told me that before. And then you mentioned dropping out together, right? Let’s just do it. We can prepare for the GED together and—”

Suddenly, Jiyoo’s face twisted. She seized a pillow from the bed and swung it at Yoonmin.

It didn’t hurt, but the feathery assault was scrambling his train of thought.

“Hey, seriously, Jiyoo! What are you doing? Wait, hold on, hold on—”

“No! I don’t want to!” she screeched. “I’m not dropping out!”

“What? Why? You’re the one who suggested it! At least tell me why you’re trying to beat me to death with a pillow!”

“Die, Yoonmin Seo! Just die!”

What the hell is going on? You were the one who wanted to drop out together, weren’t you? I’m just going along with what you wanted!

He didn’t get the chance to voice his thoughts. Jiyoo’s pillow slammed into him again and again.

“If you drop out, you’ll never hear the end of it! I’ll seriously kill you!”

He was utterly perplexed by Jiyoo’s sudden and violent change of heart.

Yoonmin spent about another 30 minutes getting beaten by Jiyoo before she kicked him out of her house.

***

The following day was a Saturday and Yoonmin was trying with all his might to yank Jiyoo out of the piss poor mood she was in.

“Jiyoo, look over there, your favorite—Dippin' Dots.”

Silence.

“Let’s grab some together,” he went on, deciding that plowing ahead was the best course of action. “How about it? You like strawberry, right? Strawberry and… Let’s see…”

“Hey, Yoonmin.”

“Yeah?”

“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“Uh… no?”

“You’re thinking if you stuff me with food, I’ll cheer up.”

“N—no. This is just… me showing that I’m sorry…”

“Is it?” she sniped. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

“W—well… you know… that… um….”

"You don’t know, do you?” She gave a humorless laugh. “You don’t know. You really don’t know."

Why the hell is this so hard? She’s being so unreasonable! Am I supposed to telepathically understand why she’s upset? She needs to tell me the reason so I can apologize if I have to!

This was probably the most upsetting thing he’d endured this year. Being on his only friend’s shit list for reasons unknown, and being unable to escape it.

What exactly did I do? All I said was that I was tired of obsessing over Haein and that we should drop out and study for the GED together. It was Jiyoo who told me to stop obsessing over Haein and suggested dropping out for the GED. Now I’m saying I’ll do what she wanted, so why is she upset? This is driving me crazy. Is this what people mean when they say women are hard to understand? What complicated thoughts are going through this little girl’s head while she’s munching on those chocolate bars? Damn it, why can’t she just tell me!

As usual, Yoonmin kept these thoughts to himself. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper here, not when Jiyoo was already pissed off. She was his most important friend. She understood and supported him more than his family, more than anyone in the world. Come to think of it, Jiyoo was able to understand him, so it was Yoonmin’s fault if he couldn’t understand her.

“Well… I guess… I must have done something wrong since you’re angry, right? You’re not the type to get angry for no reason.”

“Of course not,” she said loftily.

“I’m too dumb to figure it out… Can you just tell me?”

“No!” she snapped. “The fact that you don’t know is part of the reason I’m mad!”

He groaned.

This is driving me nuts. I’m going to lose my mind. How do popular kids handle situations like this? Am I struggling because I’m poorly socialized?

Despite his distress, Yoonmin made sure to closely observe her expression. He noticed her gaze was now fixed on one spot. He followed her line of sight to a sign.

It read: A Manga Cafe with Cats! Read manga with 15 adorable cats!

It dawned on him that Jiyoo absolutely loved cats. This might be his way out.

Seizing the moment, Yoonmin said, “Hey, want to go in there? I’ll buy you drinks and treats for the cats!”

Jiyoo said nothing, but her eyes gave her away. She obviously wanted to go to the cat manga cafe.

Yoonmin grabbed her wrist and led her inside. As he predicted, Jiyoo didn’t resist and followed him into the cafe.

I’m counting on you, furballs. Please help me get back on Jiyoo’s good side!

Muttering to himself, Yoonmin paid for the entrance tickets. They found seats, picked out some manga, and started looking for cats. But soon, Yoonmin stood up. No cats were coming near Jiyoo. These hairy fleabags, tainted by capitalism, weren’t even interested unless they were bribed.

“I’ll go buy some treats. Wait here.”

Yoonmin headed toward the counter, leaving his phone on the table.

He heard his phone buzz. Jiyoo stared intently at the notification on the screen.

***

Yoonmin Seo was an idiot. He was smart, but an idiot. He played it cool and aloof all the time, but inside, he was ridiculously soft. That was why he acted like this.

Haein Ju: Yoonmin… I’m really sorry, but could we meet and talk just once? I really, sincerely want to apologize to you. Please… I’m begging you…

Jiyoo glared at Yoonmin’s phone, fury rising up within her and spilling out into her veins.

He wants to drop out over someone as pathetic as this?

Unable to hold back her rage, Jiyoo grabbed Yoonmin’s phone. She’d known the lock pattern for ages.

Jiyoo opened his messaging app and typed a message out to Haein Ju.

Yoonmin Seo: Hey, I’m Yoonmin’s friend. You’re seriously shameless. You know that, right?

Yoonmin Seo: Did you put your conscience through a meat grinder and fry it up?

The rehearsal room was quiet. Junwoo sat on the floor, absorbed in re-reading the scripts he had already tackled.

“Planning to spend your whole life just staring at those?”

Before he knew it, Mansik was there, his arrival unnoticed until he spoke. He held a heavy paper bag in one hand.

Junwoo blinked. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all morning.”

Mansik turned the paper bag upside down, and books tumbled out in a steady stream.

That’s…

Junwoo’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I guess this is enough for now?” Mansik said, scratching his head, though he looked displeased.

Understanding Theater, Basic Theater Theory, Introduction to Theater, Glossary of Stage Direction, Directing Techniques, Playwriting Theory, Ancient Roman Theater and Comedy, not to mention classical books and scripts in their original languages.

There was only one bookstore in this rural area, and it was located in the city center. To have gone all the way there on such a hot day… It looked like he had purchased every theater-related text the tiny store had to offer.

Junwoo had wondered where the theater owner had disappeared to. The off-hand comment he had made yesterday must have stuck in Mansik’s mind. Unaware of that, Junwoo felt a bit embarrassed about just lying here reading scripts.

Mansik cleared his throat as Junwoo picked up one of the thick books.

“Even if it’s a boring read, it’ll still help. I can’t imagine how frustrating it must have been for you.”

As Mansik spoke, he wondered if suggesting all these theories was pointless. He wasn’t entirely convinced if Junwoo really needed them. He was afraid that trying to confine the kid’s natural genius within a structured framework might do more harm than good.

Was he doing the right thing? No matter how much he mulled it over, he couldn’t think of another way to help.

In the end, he selected only the works he deemed masterpieces, thinking that his unconventional teachings might be useless. He worried that explaining his point of view on theater and directing might narrow Junwoo’s mind, yet he also fretted that Junwoo, who was just starting to enjoy acting, might lose interest after looking through the pile of theoretical books before him.

It didn’t take even five minutes for Mansik to realize that his concerns were unnecessary.

“They’re not boring,” Junwoo said, his gaze fixed on a book. He spoke with a slow nod, his eyes shining.

“I guess it does help a bit, doesn’t it?”

“It’s my first time studying this stuff, but it’s surprisingly fun.”

Fun. Mansik felt like there was something odd in that statement.

“Have you really never acted before? How could someone who doesn’t know anything pull off what you did on stage?”

“Actors aren’t the only ones who can act.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Watch out. Someone like you could get taken advantage of out there.”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re always so quick to jump into things. No fear, no hesitation.”

Mansik laughed in disbelief. “Oh, please. What would a runt like you know? When did I ever do that?”

“You’re doing it now—to me. You don’t even know me.”

Mansik pressed his lips tightly together.

Junwoo, who had suddenly closed the book he was reading and was staring intently at Mansik, asked, “Do you want me to become famous?”

“No, not necessarily.”

“Then?”

Mansik’s face became somewhat serious. It was a hesitant expression, uncertain of how Junwoo would take his next words. “I just hope you live doing what you really want. It took me a long time to figure that out.”

It wasn’t a lie. Anyone could tell just by looking at Mansik’s face that his feelings toward Junwoo were sincere.

“I suppose you might think I’m using you, but even if you messed up on stage, I would’ve still gone to the bookstore today.”

Mansik quickly avoided eye contact as soon as he said it. He gave an awkward cough. “…Probably,” he muttered.

Use him? If Junwoo had thought the theater owner was using him, he would’ve walked away a long time ago.

Seeing Mansik look embarrassed, Junwoo couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think that. I’m grateful for these. I actually needed them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Junwoo scanned the books. I’ll pay you back later, he added silently.

***

“Hello, Mr. Joo. I heard you run this theater.”

They were in front of the theater. Mansik momentarily furrowed his brow at the unexpected visitor. However, once he confirmed the stranger’s identity, he couldn’t help but be surprised.

The person confidently bowing toward him was unmistakably Jaemin Choi, a top-level director at NK Entertainment.

What’s someone like him doing here?

NK Entertainment was renowned for producing some of South Korea’s top actors. Despite not being an actor himself, Jaemin Choi was a household name. He had gained attention for his excellent casting decisions for several major films and TV shows. Now, whenever his name was attached to a project, not only investors flocked but also journalists. There was a common saying among them: “If Jaemin Choi did the casting, it’s a must-see.” Any project he participated in carried a guarantee of box office success.

“I do,” Mansik replied. “What brings you here?”

Seeing that Jaemin even knew Mansik’s name, it didn’t seem like a casual visit. Jaemin extended his hand for a handshake.

In contrast to the excitement he had just shown toward Junwoo, there was a sense of caution in Mansik’s demeanor.

Jaemin Choi, maintaining his smile, lowered his hand. “I enjoyed the performance yesterday. Is that young man a member of this theater?”

Even without mentioning a name or any details, Mansik could tell who he was referring to—the kid.

“Yes, he is.”

He may not be officially part of the theater company, but… Well, he does work here, so it’s not a lie.

“I have a proposal for you. I apologize for dropping by without notice. I must admit, I don’t normally rush things like this. It’s just that… it’s been a long time since I had that feeling of discovering a gem.”

Things had been tough for Jaemin Choi lately due to contract renewal issues with NK Entertainment’s actors.

They all seemed to follow the same pattern, asserting their market value with unreasonable demands as if they had coordinated beforehand. In an attempt to cool his head, he had come down here and happened to see Junwoo’s play.

From the first line out of the kid’s mouth, one thought sprung up in Jaemin’s mind and wouldn’t leave him alone: He doesn’t belong here.

For a long time, Jaemin Choi had been surrounded by actors whose only priorities were their reputation and fame, more so than genuine acting. Coming upon this kid was like discovering a shining star.

However, the theater owner didn’t appear as open as Jaemin thought he would be. Indeed, if someone like that young man was affiliated, this couldn’t be an ordinary countryside theater.

“Are you thinking of casting him?” Mansik asked.

“Not just casting. We haven’t had much luck finding a child actor for an upcoming production. A kid who can portray intelligence beyond their years, who can embody a certain sophistication—it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. But that young man expressed the life of someone in their thirties without any awkwardness. In fact, it went beyond that. Who knew someone like that could be hiding here, of all places?”

The executive’s eyes sparkled as if mentally replaying yesterday’s performance. It was clear that he was eager to cast Junwoo in a project immediately.

If this entertainment company took on a project, success was guaranteed. It was on a different scale than yesterday’s stage performance. This went beyond anything Mansik could orchestrate on his own.

“I understand your eagerness to start shooting right away. The kid’s talent isn’t just outstanding; it’s exceptional. Do you have a specific plan for him?”

“Plan…?”

There was a firmness in Mansik’s tone, mingled with concern for Junwoo. He wondered if this executive might be rushing into it, blinded by Junwoo’s talent, without considering the bigger picture.

“I’m well aware of the scale of NK’s experts. I guess I’m asking about possibilities of basic training, participation in big domestic and international projects, opportunities for overseas education, attendance at major events, that kind of thing. Of course, all of this is under the condition that Junwoo agrees.”

“You mean, offer all that to an inexperienced rookie?”

“You watched the performance. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you saw his potential.”

Jaemin Choi was taken aback. Why was this theater owner so bold? He had expected a humble reaction, considering the extent of the offer.

“Hmm…”

Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. That was how much he wanted to sign this kid.

“I’ll do my best to work something out. It’s not something I can decide on my own, but…”

To Mansik, it was obvious that this executive was the one who should be grateful, not him. Judging by Jaemin’s hesitation, it seemed like he still hadn’t fully recognized the extent of Junwoo’s abilities.

You haven’t even seen the half of it.

If the NK director got to see more, Mansik was sure he would be pushing to work with Junwoo, conditions be damned.

But it wasn’t up to Mansik alone. From his interactions with Junwoo so far, he knew the kid wasn’t the type to just blindly follow along.

“We simply want to provide an environment where we can help a young talent like him. We hope you’ll make a decision that’s beneficial and expedient for the boy, as much as you care for him.”

The executive thrust a business card toward Mansik.

“Please take some time to think and contact us when you’re ready.”

***

Junwoo lay sprawled on the floor of the rehearsal room. Scripts and books that Mansik had bought were scattered messily around him.

After tirelessly reading through all the books for a while, Junwoo gazed at the lights hanging from the ceiling.

What should I do? It’s not like I have money right now.

He was thinking about Mansik. He realized that he had only been taking from him and hadn’t really done anything for him in return. To make things even more uncomfortable, Mansik wasn’t the type to care about money. No matter how hard Junwoo thought, he realized that the thing Mansik truly appreciated about him was… Junwoo himself.

Hmm…

From a distance, Mansik secretly watched Junwoo. A thought—totally different from what Junwoo was thinking—crossed his mind.

He’s already bored, huh?

Mansik furrowed his brows.

“Ahem!” he coughed, stepping forward. “I came to check on how you’re doing. Do you really not have a single question for an experienced theater director?”

Junwoo looked up at Mansik’s entrance.

Mansik glanced at the theory books spread out next to Junwoo.

Ah-ha. The kid who normally only scanned things once had drawn a question mark in the empty margin.

“Looks like you do have some questions.”

“Oh, that. I found the definition, but when I looked up the examples, it kind of had a different meaning.”

“Right. Even though I’ve been in this field for about five years, I’ve studied for ten. Let me take a look!”

Mansik felt his heart racing. Finally, he could be of some help.

Junwoo glanced at Mansik’s excited face and got up with a slightly awkward expression. “This part here…” he said, pointing to a specific section with his finger.

However…

“Huh…” mumbled Mansik.

What language was this exactly? Even though he had a deep understanding of classical texts, he had only ever studied their translations. The original sentences looked like alien scribbles. Mansik’s mouth went dry.

“Oh, this here is… Hm…” Despite not being able to recognize anything, Mansik squinted as if deep in thought. “My stomach’s feeling a bit funny today… Just keep at it for now.”

Mansik walked away, absentmindedly stroking his belly. This was way beyond his abilities. He couldn’t comprehend where the translated version ended and the original began.

Leaning against the door, Mansik looked up at the ceiling in a daze.

How many more surprises are there?

The kid was as outstanding as he had imagined. It was why Mansik had run to the construction site like that in the first place. However, now he was beginning to feel that he was in over his head.

It was scary how fast a young man who had only just started acting picked it up. Despite experiencing countless hurdles in life, this was the first time Mansik felt so unsure of himself. He wondered if he could properly guide this child.

The next day, Junwoo began asking questions.

“I don’t understand this part. Please explain.”

This time, while it was still challenging, it was within Mansik’s ability to answer. The topic the kid wanted to know about was Brecht’s Fourth Wall Theory.

“That there refers to the imaginary wall between the audience and the stage. In Brechtian theater, actors sometimes break the fourth wall, engaging directly with the audience. Theater isn’t just simple entertainment; it has life lessons that we…”

As Mansik continued his exuberant explanation, Junwoo nodded quietly, a subtle smile on his face.

“Got it. And what’s this about?”

Junwoo opened another book. Various parts were marked with a red pen. After having a lively discussion for about thirty minutes, Mansik, upon returning, sat down at his desk and unfolded the theory books he had set aside.

And to think I’d see this again at my age…

He hadn’t felt this passionate about the theater world since he had first jumped into it.

***

Over the course of the next week, Mansik’s concerns deepened as he watched Junwoo’s unbelievable progress.

The kid’s natural talent, combined with passion and dedication, had propelled his development at an unimaginable pace. There was no need for additional theory books now; the boy had already surpassed an expert level.

After the theater closed for the day, the kid set up the empty stage to his liking and flawlessly acted out the script. He didn’t just mimic the emotions and habits of the various characters; he also adjusted the lighting angles to suit each scene.

It was like watching art come alive.

Noticing Mansik lost in the breathtaking spectacle, Junwoo merely scratched his head and casually asked if he could rearrange a few things. He continued practicing by reworking the script, leaving only the characters’ emotions intact and discarding the rest of the lines.

It was more than just “practice.” It was the pure enjoyment of bringing his own creative vision to the stage. A radiance emanated from him that surpassed even the brilliance of the stage lights.

Absently watching the stage, Mansik subconsciously reached into his pocket and found the business card he hadn’t yet discarded.

I have to do it.

Fidgeting with his pocket, Mansik eventually pulled out the card. On it was the name ‘Jaemin Choi’ and a phone number embossed under it.

The signal beeped on the other end of the line.

“It’s Mansik Joo. Let’s meet up to talk.”

“That camisole dress looked good on you last time, too.”

“Is this guy totally insane?”

Jeongwon found the lace camisole dress buried deep in her closet, pulled it out, and placed it on her bed, glaring down at it.

“When he made fun of me, he said it looked awful… Now he says it looked good?”

Jeongwon hadn’t forgotten how Eunho’s merciless jabs had made her cry out of pure embarrassment. Yet now he was acting as if he’d completely forgotten, saying that dress had actually suited her.

“Was it a lie? Which part was the lie?”

Jeongwon couldn’t tell if he was lying now about the dress looking good, or if he’d been lying back then, when he told her it didn’t suit her.

She was about to punch the wall in frustration when she hesitated, lifting a fabric poster that concealed a dent in the wall.

“Another hole, and I’m done for.”

She’d already put one hole in the wall over Eunho’s taunting and had covered it with the poster. If she did it again, she’d definitely get kicked out. Instead, Jeongwon clenched her fists and pounded the bed.

“Is he just messing with me…?”

Maybe these clothes didn’t even suit her. Maybe Eunho had been setting her up with odd outfits, and her classmates were just humoring her.

But then again, her popularity had been on the rise. Even though she didn’t care for it, girls kept flocking to her. Given the results, Eunho’s taste didn’t seem to be completely wrong.

“…Maybe the lace detail didn’t stand out as much.”

Maybe the lace camisole dress was an exception, the only one that suited her.

She hadn’t even worn it by itself—it had been layered over wide-legged denim to make it more her style.

“Ugh… Is that really it?”

Jeongwon couldn’t understand Eunho’s intentions. If he was going to tease her, then he should tease her, or if he was bored with it, he could just leave her alone.

“…Should I just wear it?”

Sighing, Jeongwon grabbed the dress for her afternoon lecture.

Every step she took felt awkward and strange, as if she were wearing something that didn’t fit. Just as she crossed the school gate, someone called her name from behind.

“Jeongwon.”

It was the same senior who’d complimented her outfits before. Jeongwon greeted him briefly and turned to head inside.

“That outfit really looks amazing on you, Jeongwon. You look beautiful.”

“…Ah, thank you.”

Could he be serious? She didn’t know if she could trust his words.

The senior continued to admire her clothes and her looks, inching closer with every word. Rumor had it that his attitude was different with guys and girls, which made it hard to believe his flattery was genuine.

But then again, he was super supportive even when I dressed more masculinely.

And no, she reminded herself, he wasn’t gay. She was clearly a woman. All these tangled thoughts swirled in her head, making her feel exhausted.

“Ugh…”

“Why are you sighing?”

“Just… don’t feel like going to class.”

“Dressed so nicely?”

She groaned. “…Thank you.”

With this guy, it was impossible to get an objective opinion. She was pretty sure he’d say she looked good even if she wore a burlap sack.

She forced a stiff smile at his overly friendly grin and quickly made her way into the building.

“Eunho, Eunho Ju!”

Spotting Eunho inside, Jeongwon rushed over and grabbed him.

“This is the outfit you said looked good, right?”

Eunho seemed momentarily speechless when he saw her.

“Well? Isn’t it? Tell me, does it look good?”

Eunho’s eyes darted up to the senior behind her, and a whisper of irritation crossed his face.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he replied dismissively and turned to leave. But Jeongwon grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging him back.

It wasn’t a cute tug; it was as if she were trying to tear his shirt off. She turned him halfway around and yanked him backward.

“Hey, damn it! Are you trying to strip me in public?”

“You idiot, you said it looked good! I wore it because you said so, and now you’re saying it doesn’t? What the hell is your problem?” Jeongwon was hurt. She felt like she was constantly falling for Eunho’s tricks. She’d been taking him at his word all this time. “So all the stuff you said before was lies too, huh? You just said whatever, claiming something looked good or didn’t, just to mess with me, didn’t you?”

Eunho, startled, grabbed Jeongwon’s hands and tried to pry them off, shaking his head quickly.

“N—no! You think my time is cheap or something? Why would I waste my limited time just to mess with you?”

“You did, though!”

“Okay, maybe, but—hey, just let go already!”

Seeing Jeongwon’s face darkening, Eunho hastily shouted, “Th—the top and bottom don’t match!”

Jeongwon froze, still clutching Eunho’s shirt as if it were a failed exam she was about to tear apart.

“Wait… Isn’t this the same as last time?”

She looked down at her jeans, confused. She was wearing the same wide-leg jeans as before—what was different? Eunho, flustered, cleared his throat and tried to keep his cool.

“See, you were wearing light denim last time, and now it’s dark denim. Even with a white top, you can’t just wear anything. White tops look best with light denim, don’t you think?”

“Oh… Well… Yeah, I guess I did wear lighter jeans last time.”

Eunho let out a relieved sigh as Jeongwon looked down thoughtfully at her jeans, contemplating. Jeongwon released him and pulled out her phone, scanning a shopping app for lighter-wash jeans.

“Why… Why do you keep wearing what I tell you to?”

When he asked, Jeongwon widened her eyes a bit, but she answered casually, “Because I’m no good at picking clothes. I don’t have an eye for quality, so they wear out fast, or get ruined right after I throw them in the wash…”

“Maybe that’s because you’re doing laundry half-heartedly.”

“I thought that was normal—just sorting out whichever clothes survived.”

“Quit treating it like a survival game and do laundry properly.”

As Jeongwon began looking up proper laundry techniques,

Eunho kept glancing toward the good-looking senior who’d been hovering nearby.

“Hey, though…”

“Don’t wear light denim?”

“No, not that. …What did that senior say to you?”

Without hesitation, Jeongwon replied blandly, “No idea.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just said hi. Anyway, would faded black jeans be a bad match, too?”

“Just pick for yourself! You’re sending my whole day downhill!”

Eunho, clearly frustrated, stormed off toward the lecture hall, leaving Jeongwon standing alone, watching him with a puzzled expression.

“There he goes, acting crazy again.”

***

Lighter denim is better. What the heck am I doing?

Eunho sighed, resting his face on the cold tabletop. He had genuinely tried to pick out clothes that looked good on Jeongwon, though his intentions weren’t entirely innocent.

He’d deliberately chosen mostly tomboyish clothes to keep her from getting too full of herself and attracting a new wave of “victims.”

If Jeongwon ever found out the clothes she’d picked really did suit her and that he’d lied about what didn’t suit her, she’d probably start crying all over again.

Pathetic. Do you cry like that when you lose points in a match? Is that the spirit of a true athlete?

He wanted to say that to her, but every time he thought about Jeongwon’s teary face, he felt a twinge of guilt.

Should I just pick what really suits her?

But wouldn’t it be easier to just mess with her like he used to? He worried now that even if he picked some truly ridiculous outfit, Jeongwon would trust his word and wear it without a second thought.

Then again, the girls around her would say something.

Her classmates weren’t stupid. They’d only praised her lace camisole dress, her recent shirts, and the slacks because they genuinely suited her.

If she showed up in something ridiculous, they’d probably step in and tell her it wasn’t right.

So I’m stuck being her personal stylist forever?‘

That prospect was irritating. Plus, he didn’t like the idea of good-looking guys, like the senior who’d been following her earlier, hitting on her.

Not that it’s my problem or anything.‘

Eunho pressed his ice-cold Americano against his cheek to cool down. He’d even gone outside on this hot summer weekend, just to clear his head.

Who cared if Jeongwon ended up dating someone? It didn’t affect him, and he actually felt a little sorry for anyone she might ensnare with her antics. But something was still nagging at him.

“She is seriously not good at flirting…”

In real life, Jeongwon was so awkward. She seemed to attract “victims” only in games.

If he didn’t know any better, Eunho might have thought he was worried Jeongwon might end up meeting the wrong people, getting emotionally hurt, or even financially taken advantage of, and end up spiraling into despair.

“To be that clueless with a face like that? That’s a talent.”

Jeongwon was the type who’d been so completely focused on sports that, even though she was always surrounded by guys, she hadn’t dated anyone—true naive.

On top of that, she was totally oblivious and annoyingly easygoing, so despite her looks, only a few guys had actually tried to approach her seriously.

“Ugh… Why am I even worried about this?”

Eunho fretted that, by dressing Jeongwon too well, people might start noticing her appeal, and then, if Jeongwon ended up with someone who caused her trouble, it’d be partially on Eunho for setting her up.

With that bizarre guilt bouncing around in his mind, Eunho buried his head in his hands on the table, causing the ice in his Americano to clink.

Maybe I really should style her properly at least once.

If he picked out outfits with weird intentions and ended up feeling guilty, he’d just lose sleep anyway. It was better to help her for real, just once.

“Are you seriously telling me to wear this?”

The reason Eunho had come out on this hot summer weekend was none other than Jeongwon. Closing his eyes and picking what he thought would genuinely suit Jeongwon, Eunho handed her a crisp, white linen blouse and denim skirt.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re doing this just to mess with me…”

“It’s scorching out there—do I need to say it twice? If you’re not gonna try it, I’m going home. If you think I’m wasting my precious time—”

“Fine, fine… I’ll put it on, okay?”

Jeongwon dashed off to the changing room. Eunho waited, sucking down the last of his iced Americano, feeling unexpectedly nervous.

“How is it?”

When Jeongwon finally stepped out, Eunho felt like the world was spinning. Maybe it was from finishing that nearly empty drink so fast.

“Well?”

Eunho found it hard to form words, just staring at Jeongwon in stunned silence. Jeongwon looked at him strangely, probably wondering what was going on.

“Does it look good or not?”

Still speechless, Eunho just gazed at her, ice clinking in his cup.

I’m actually amazing at this stylist thing…

***

“Eunho Ju, hey. This is Taekwondo Department Rep, Jihoon Kim.”

So he’s the department rep? Just did that to meet girls, huh? Quite the dedication.

Eunho thought, looking at the “handsome senior” who’d been hitting on Jeongwon lately. Jihoon had been glued to Jeongwon’s side every time they walked around campus.

“So, you’re friends with Jeongwon? Are you close?” Jihoon Kim asked.

“We’re not close.”

“I see you together all the time these days.”

“She borrowed money from me and still hasn’t paid it back,” Eunho flung back.

“Oh, is that so?”

It seemed Jihoon Kim, Taekwondo Department Rep, had ended up at a drinking gathering with the student council and the school paper editors. Since Eunho was in the student council, he had to attend.

“Eunho, you really aren’t close with Jeongwon?”

“Don’t even put our names in the same sentence. We’re not close.”

Jihoon snorted. “Your expression’s priceless.”

“Your face is funnier.”

“Ah, Eunho Ju, I really like you.”

Eunho really couldn’t stand Jihoon Kim.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Jihoon seemed to be warming up to Eunho.

“You know, Eunho, Jeongwon can be kind of… stiff, right?”

“Yeah, sure. ‘Stiff’ doesn’t even cover it; she’s like a total block of wood.”

“Exactly. I was trying to get to know her better, but it’s not easy.”

“Why would you want to get to know someone like her?”

In the casual atmosphere, another Taekwondo student nearby laughed and gave Jihoon a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, man, you’re really trying to make a move on Jeongwon? I mean, these days, she’s been looking seriously good.”

“Huh? Doesn’t she have a boyfriend or something? Figured that’s why she’s dressing like that.”

Eunho gripped his glass a little tighter, staying silent as he listened. When Jeongwon’s name came up, Jihoon chuckled slightly and responded.

“Nah, she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Right?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, looking to Eunho for confirmation. With a bored tone, Eunho gave a half-hearted answer.

“Yeah, yeah. She doesn’t. Would she?”

“Why not? That face is damn attractive.” Jihoon smirked, pulling up one corner of his mouth. “Girls who play sports can be pretty naive in some ways. Judging by the way Jeongwon acts, it’s the same.”

Without noticing Eunho’s reaction, Jihoon continued in a lowered voice.

“She seems like she’s probably never even dated anyone, right?”

Jihoon seemed to be probing for confirmation. Eunho clenched his drink but gave a flat response.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Really? Well, judging by the way she acts, that’s the impression I get.” Jihoon glanced around, then muttered quietly, “So, she’s a total newbie, huh? If you handle it right… You could get what you want without dating her.”

Eunho knew it shouldn’t matter to him if Jeongwon ended up with Jihoon or anyone else. Like he always said, he and Jeongwon weren’t friends; if anything, they barely tolerated each other.

But his mouth didn’t seem to be aware of that fact.

“You filthy bastard—did you seriously just say that?”

On Sunday at 10 a.m., Yoonwoo was awakened by the loud hymns coming from the church in front of his house.Grabbing his phone, he saw a new KakaoTalk chatroom invitation. Hyerim Jo and an unsaved contact – likely Jieun as “LJE” – were already chatting. Jieun had told him to call her “noona” instead of her name but the title still felt awkward, so he often accidentally called her name without thinking.

Yoonwoo, are you awake? How’s your stomach?

Yoonwoo, hi.

Both Hyerim and Jieun, who seemed to handle their alcohol better than Yoonwoo, had started messaging from 9 a.m.

The movie starts at 3.10 this afternoon. Do you want to come with us?

How about we meet before and have some hangover soup?

Unni, you’re not thinking of having a hangover drink, are you?

Unni?

Unni, why aren’t you answering?

The last messages from Hyerim were sent at 9.53 a.m., but Jieun hadn’t responded.

Still groggy, Yoonwoo drank a glass of water and replied:

Yeah, my stomach’s fine.

See, I told you it was fine since it was just soju. You could’ve had a bit more.

Jieun responded quickly to Yoonwoo’s message, seemingly ignoring Hyerim’s messages on purpose.

Noona, thanks for the drinks yesterday. How can I repay you?

Buy me a coffee later.

No problem. And when I get my allowance next month, I’ll pay for dinner.

No, you don’t have to do that. Usually, the seniors pay, so it’s fine for you just to buy coffee. It’s okay.

Yoonwoo knew he wouldn’t feel right leaving it at that.

Yoonwoo, do you know where the cinema is? Let’s go together later.

I don’t know exactly, but I can find it.

What about going together?

Yoonwoo preferred going alone, but refusing Hyerim’s invitation only to end up on the same bus seemed ridiculous. He quickly agreed.

Yeah, sounds good.

Guys, what about me? Aren’t we having a hangover drink?

Unni? Hangover drink? I thought it was hangover soup.

I think I need to eat lunch at home and then go out. Would it be okay if I just met you guys at the theater?

No, Yoonwoo. Unni’s house is right next to the cinema. She’s telling us to come early to drink with her.

Ah, I see.

Yoonwoo, still dizzy from last night’s single bottle, couldn’t fathom drinking again.

Yoonwoo can’t join us for lunch. Oh well, there’s nothing we can do about it. Hyerim, you come.

Then I can’t come with Yoonwoo. I’ll eat lunch at home too.

You don’t have to worry about me, Hyerim. Go ahead. I can find my way.

No, Yoonwoo. If she goes early, she’ll only talk about drinking.

Hmph, both of you are so stingy. I’ll drink alone then.

Unni, don’t drink, okay? It’s bad to smell like alcohol in the theater.

A little bit won’t smell.

No, it’s just you who doesn’t notice it. Your varsity jacket smells like alcohol.

Ha! Sure, Hyerim. I mean, really!

Unni! No, really.

Alright, I’ll wear different clothes then.

That’s not what I meant. I meant don’t come after drinking.

I’ll wear a hoodie, then it should be fine, right?

Ah, seriously.

Yoonwoo smiled at Hyerim and Jieun’s rapid-fire exchange. He wondered if Jieun’s varsity jacket really did smell of alcohol.

Though still uneasy about meeting Hyerim, he felt oddly at ease with Jieun. Despite her extroversion, she was unique - petite and cute in appearance, but lively and straightforward in personality. She spoke her mind without hurting others, perhaps due to her atypical interests. Plus, she’d thoughtfully given him chocolate milk last night to ease his drunkenness.

Jieun reminded him of someone he’d known before, which might explain why she felt familiar when they first met.

At 1 p.m., Yoonwoo and Hyerim met at the bus stop, well before the movie. Hyerim wanted to intervene before Jieun could arrive smelling of alcohol.

“Yoonwoo, you weren’t pressured to come, were you? Sorry, Jieun can be a bit... you know.”

“Don’t worry, I’m glad she invited me. But it’s been a while since I’ve been to a theater, so I’m a bit nervous.”

Hyerim was dressed differently than usual, wearing an H-line skirt and white shirt with loafers, a departure from her usual jeans and Converse. The clothes enhanced her well-maintained figure, making her look more mature than usual.There was subtle sensuality to her appearance due to her clothes and the perfume she had used.

Yoonwoo resolved to keep his gaze above Hyerim’s neck, wary of misunderstandings.

“Really? What was the last movie you saw? Who did you see it with?”

Yoonwoo furrowed his brow. “Um, I think it was “Old Partner.” A group of us from school saw it together.”

“Wow, the documentary with the cow? I bet the kids didn’t like that.”

“It was okay. It was sad when the cow died.”

“Um, about yesterday, Yoonwoo. You didn’t know any of the movies we discussed. Do you like films like “Old Partner,” or do you have a favorite genre?”

“I don’t watch often, but when I do, it’s usually horror or thrillers. I saw ‘Paranormal Activity’ recently.”

“Wow, that’s kind of unexpected. I wouldn’t have guessed. Why horror?”

Why did he like horror films? It was a difficult question to answer honestly. He found a strange pleasure in watching demonic entities disrupt happy families, lovers, or friends. When he watched “Insidious,” Yoonwoo had rooted for the demon seeking to destroy the family, not the father saving his son. It wasn’t like he was harming anyone by watching. But revealing that might raise questions about his state of mind.

“Um... I just like ghosts and monsters?”

“Oh, well then, maybe next time we could watch together. But I’m not really a fan of horror, though.”

“Ah, the bus is here.”

Hyerim seemed to want to say something on the bus, opening her mouth several times, but it was too crowded to continue their conversation. The ride took less than ten minutes. Upon arrival, Hyerim called Jieun.

“Unni, what are you doing?”

“About to eat. I just got some beef soup delivered. Why?”

“So, you haven’t started drinking yet? We’ve arrived.”

“What? Why did you guys come so early? There are still two hours left.”

“We came early to stop you from drinking.”

“What? Seriously? Aren’t you taking this too far?”

“So, did you order any alcohol or not?”

“I didn’t order any.”

“Really?” Hyerim raised her eyebrows and glanced at Yoonwoo. “I’m surprised that you listened for once, Unni.”

“Why order more when I have plenty? Ever tried vodka with beef soup? It’s surprisingly—”

“We’re coming over now.”

“Why are you so strict today? You usually let these things slide. It’s not like I drink during the day that often.”

“Even so, not today. Yoonwoo and I are going to head there now. I know your door lock code.”

“What? Hey, bringing Yoonwoo is crossing the line. I mean, I’m a woman, after all! I haven’t even showered yet. And my place is a mess. I mean, my underwear is hanging out to dry.”

“Then hurry up and put the alcohol away.”

“Ugh, alright. Hyerim, you are one intimidating junior. I spent my own money, and I can’t even drink the alcohol I bought. What a hard life I’m living!”

“Just get ready and come out. Yoonwoo and I will look around the mall.”

“So I can drink in the evening, right?”

Hyerim sighed and hung up.

“You heard most of it, right, Yoonwoo? Let’s look at some clothes until she comes.”

“Uh... Is it okay to just hang up like that?”

“It’s fine. I used to think that’s just her personality, but lately, I seriously think she’s an alcoholic. She needs a bit of a talking-to. Is it normal to keep a bottle of vodka at home?”

“Um, but still…”

“Everyone calls her cute, so she thinks she’s some kind of alcohol fairy. Someone needs to intervene. Next time, I’m going to her place and taking some of it away. Anyway, let’s go, Yoonwoo.”

“Okay.”

He could see Hyerim was genuinely concerned about Jieun’s health, even if she was being strict. Jieun probably knew that, which was why she listened.

Hyerim and Jieun seem to have a good friendship.

Watching them made Yoonwoo wonder if he should also intervene when Rabbit drank. But would Rabbit listen to him? If the usually distant Rabbit got angry, he might not dare speak up. As he followed Hyerim into the mall, he decided to try at least.

They browsed clothes, and Hyerim persuaded him to try on black jeans from a well-known brand. The slim, long jeans fit well, neither too tight nor loose.

“Yoonwoo, you suit those jeans. Your legs are long and slim, so they fit you perfectly. You should buy them.”

He glanced at the price tag.

Discounted to seventy-nine thousand won? Crazy.

“Ah, no, it’s okay. I have plenty of pants.”

All he had were old pants he’d been wearing since high school, but spending eighty thousand won on new jeans was beyond his tight budget.

“The jeans are perfect for you, Yoonwoo…”

Those jeans seemed destined never to be his. As Yoonwoo pondered this, Hyerim stared intently at them, lost in thought.

“How about we look at clothes for you instead, Hyerim? I don’t know much about clothes, and I’m not planning to buy anything.”

And he didn’t have the money.

“Me? I don’t need anything. Oh, right. Yoonwoo, when’s your birthday?”

“It’s October twenty-sixth.”

“That’s around when midterms end, right?”

Yoonwoo didn’t understand the sudden shift in conversation to his birthday, but he suspected that such questions often carried a hint of invitation for reciprocity.

“When’s your birthday, Hyerim?”

“Mine? It’s in March. Why?”

“Just wondering since you asked. I was curious, too.”

“You’re curious about my birthday?” She giggled. “It’s March twelfth.”

Suddenly, Hyerim’s phone rang.

“Unni?”

“Where are you guys?”

“Wow, you’re ready already?”

“Without alcohol, I couldn’t eat much. I showered and came out.”

“You’re out already? Where are you?”

“I’m on the first floor at the cosmetics store. You?”

“We’re at the men’s clothing store, third floor.”

“Let’s meet on the eighth floor then.”

“Eighth floor? Isn’t the theater on the ninth?”

“I want ice cream.”

“Wow, Unni, you sounded like a kid when you said that.”

“What? Do only kids eat ice cream? Adults like it too.”

“Alright, we’ll see you on the eighth floor then.”

Hyerim hung up and turned back to Yoonwoo.

“What did she say?” Yoonwoo asked, the surrounding noise having muffled Jieun’s side of the conversation.

“We’re meeting on the eighth floor. She wants to eat ice cream. There’s a Baskin Robbins there.”

“Ice cream? That sounds like her.”

“Right?” Hyerim nodded.

“I should pay this time since she covered the other night and the movie. Anything else we should get? Like popcorn?”

“Probably not. She only drinks beer when watching a movie, but I’ll make sure she doesn’t drink this time.”

“Jieun Noona is predictable, isn’t she?”

Yoonwoo hoped Jieun would opt for popcorn or a snack to offset the chicken and beer she’d treated him to earlier. Covering that cost strained his finances. Even with Rabbit’s fifty thousand won, which he intended to keep untouched, spending now meant skipping meals next week. But it felt right.

To Yoonwoo, kindness was a debt requiring repayment. His life held no unreciprocated kindness. Even his parents scolded him for results disproportionate to their investments. He believed kindness wasn’t always genuine, sometimes extended reluctantly due to social obligation. Yoonwoo lived assuming only such favors were available to him. Unreturned, they’d quickly render him worthless.

He once prepared White Day chocolates in case a classmate gave him some. Unfortunately, his mother discovered it, threw a fit and discarded every piece into the trash.

“Yoon-ha! It means hello, Yoonwoo,” Jieun called loudly as she came up the escalator. Her greeting was strange.

“Unni, don’t! It’s embarrassing!” Hyerim covered her eyes.

“Oh, again! Why is Hyerim oppressing me lately? She won’t even let me drink.”

Yoonwoo saw she was wearing a hoodie with jeans, as she had promised. She wore skinny jeans, which made her look like she was wearing children’s clothes because of her petite height and slender legs.

Is there a place that sells adult clothes in such a size?

Her oversized zip-up hoodie, whether intentional or not, added to her cuteness.

“Unni, what’s with the cute outfit today?”

“I’m naturally a bit cute,” Jieun grinned. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Hyerim grabbed Jieun’s shoulders and buried her face in her collarbone. Jieun was startled and struggled, but she was too weak to escape Hyerim’s grip.

“You, is that what you’re into? No wonder you weren’t dating any guys. So, you’ve been eyeing me all this time! Hey, I’m not that easy!”

“You don’t smell like alcohol? So you didn’t drink today?”

“Gosh. Even my mom wasn’t like this to me.”

“Unni, does your mom know about the vodka at your house?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t she act this way if she knew?”

“She’ll never know, so it’s okay.”

Hyerim hugged Jieun, both jostling and talking loudly. Yoonwoo was embarrassed as he realized people were looking at them.

“Noona, I’ll buy the ice cream. Let’s go.”

“I’m going to eat something expensive, you know.”

“It’s okay! Let’s go,” Yoonwoo said as he ushered them out.

Since Hyerim had also given him macarons and coffee, he thought this would also be a good opportunity to clear that debt.

“Noona, Hyerim, tell me what you’ll order.”

“I want an Oreo shake!”

“Gosh! Unni, what’s up with you today.”

“Yoonwoo! Hyerim is nagging me again!”

Oreo shakes weren’t just for kids.But loudly announcing one’s order was something else. A nearby child enjoying the same thing made it funnier. Hyerim and Yoonwoo ordered single cups. Jieun walked ahead, sipping her shake, looking like a kid.

“Oh, how cute.”

“Ugh... Stop it.”

Hyerim kept poking Jieun’s cheeks playfully, and Jieun’s annoyance made her seem even younger, which was amusing.

Yesterday, she had seemed like a reliable senior when they were drinking, but now Yoonwoo noticed how small she was standing next to him. He felt like he was taking care of a child.

Twenty-year-old guys were no fun. Jiwoo sighed, watching yet another guy her age drone on about his high school glory days. They all seemed the same—self-absorbed and oblivious. No matter what topic she brought up, they’d inevitably steer the conversation back to themselves: their academic prowess, how popular they were with girls, how much they could lift at the gym. Did they really think anyone but their mothers cared?

Their attempts at subtlety were laughable. Even the so-called “intellectuals” from prestigious colleges were no better. If anything, their boasting was more intense, as if terrified that without it, they’d fade into obscurity. It was like they were desperate to show how brilliant they were.

Despite her frustration, Jiwoo wasn’t cruel. These guys weren’t bad people, just… predictable. Most were polite enough, and they meant well. So she played along, nodding and laughing at the right moments, offering thoughtful responses when needed. It made her college life, and life in general, neither thrilling nor miserable—just comfortably mundane.

Then Noeul entered the picture.

From the start, he stood out. Unlike his peers, Noeul didn’t feel the need to constantly brag. Instead, he listened, really listened, to others. He had a knack for highlighting people’s strengths, making them feel even more remarkable than they already were. When conversations lagged, he’d crack a well-timed joke, breathing life back into the room.

The only time Noeul spoke poorly of anyone was himself, and even then, it was always in jest, never fishing for sympathy. Rudeness seemed to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. He’d deftly turn insults into humor, rendering any malice utterly toothless. It was as if negative words couldn’t find purchase on his unflappable demeanor.

Being around Noeul was comfortable and fun. It was no wonder Jiwoo found herself drawn to him.

For a while, she worried she’d somehow put him off. Maybe she’d been too eager, too pushy in her attempts to befriend him. She fretted that he was avoiding her, that maybe he simply didn’t like her.

But as it turned out, those fears were completely unfounded.

“…I don’t dislike you.”

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Jiwoo was relieved to know that Noeul wasn’t avoiding her.

But then, why did he keep leaving her alone with Joonki? It wasn’t that Joonki was a bad guy, but conversations with him were like pulling teeth—stilted, awkward, and often punctuated by his abrupt boasts about his professor praising his paper or wondering aloud why freshmen girls thought he was hot. What could Jiwoo say to that besides a polite acknowledgment?

“Are you full?” Joonki’s voice snapped her back to reality.

“Huh?” Jiwoo blinked and looked at him.

“You’re not eating much.”

They had come to another bar. Jiwoo realized she’d been absently pushing peas around her plate while deep in thought. Noeul had claimed he had a major assignment due tomorrow and had rushed home after the first round of drinks.

Jiwoo tried to stop him, pointing out that it wasn’t exactly the best time to work on an assignment after drinking, but Noeul insisted it was important and left anyway.

But didn’t they all have similar classes? Did he really have an assignment due tomorrow?

Well, Noeul was diligent, so maybe he was taking an extra class or two.

“I guess I’m still full from earlier,” she replied.

“Oh…”

And there it was, Joonki’s trademark conversation-killer. Where Noeul would have quipped or teased, Joonki just stopped.

After an uncomfortable silence, Joonki spooned some soup from his kimchi hotpot. “Have you seen Dead Man?” he asked.

“Yeah, I heard the sequel just came out.”

“Right.”

Jiwoo could practically see the gears turning in Joonki’s head. She’d been here before—that hesitant look guys got before asking her out. Why did they always act like they were defusing a bomb?

Finally, Joonki blurted, “Would you… like to see it this weekend? Together?”

“Sure,” Jiwoo replied, then added without missing a beat, “Let’s invite Noeul too.”

The light in Joonki’s eyes dimmed noticeably. “Ah… Noeul…”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“Oh? Uh… nothing. I’ll ask him.” Joonki mumbled something about Noeul being busy, but Jiwoo wasn’t buying it.

“Really? Well, let’s wait until he can join us, then.”

Joonki didn’t respond.

Jiwoo pressed on, genuinely curious now. “Is Noeul always busy on weekends? Does he have a part-time job or something?”

“You’ve really been wanting to hang out with Noeul a lot lately,” Joonki observed.

“Yeah, he’s fun to be around.”

“Yeah, that’s true…”

As the conversation petered out, Jiwoo couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. There was an undercurrent here, something left unsaid. What was really going on? Why did it feel like they were dancing around some unspoken issue?

“Do you like people who are fun?” Joonki asked.

Jiwoo shrugged. “Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

“I mean, is that your ideal type?”

The question caught her off guard. “Oh… I’ve never really thought about it that way. But yeah, I guess it beats someone boring.”

“I see…”

Why is he suddenly asking what my type is? Jiwoo’s boredom suddenly turned into slight restlessness. What’s going on?

“Isn’t Noeul really fun?” Joonki continued.

“He is…”

“Whoever dates him would be lucky. He’d always keep things interesting.”

“Probably.”

“…Have you ever thought about dating Noeul?”

Jiwoo’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Dating Noeul? I’ve never thought about that.”

To her surprise, Joonki burst into laughter, relief palpable in his voice. “Right? I knew it. Sorry, my bad.”

“Sorry for what?”

Joonki looked at her, clearly uncomfortable. Jiwoo wondered if they were having two completely different conversations.

“Oh, I just thought you might’ve been offended,” Joonki explained. “I didn’t really think you’d be into him, but I asked just in case.”

“Oh… Right.”

As Joonki sipped his soju, clearly embarrassed, Jiwoo felt a wave of irritation wash over her. Why was she suddenly so annoyed? Was it just Joonki’s company grating on her nerves?

The realization hit her: she didn’t want to be here anymore. She didn’t want to talk to Joonki, didn’t even want to look at him. All she wanted was to go home.

***

Noeul stumbled into his apartment, dropping his bag by the door before collapsing onto his bed. As the sensor light in the entryway flickered off, he found himself staring into the darkness, his mind a jumble of thoughts.

The emotional whirlwind he’d felt earlier with Jiwoo had subsided, leaving behind a strange numbness. It wasn’t relief or resolution—just… emptiness. He’d been down this road before, mistaking fleeting feelings for something deeper, only to realize there was nothing substantial beneath the surface.

Was he truly feeling nothing? Or was he forcing himself into emotional numbness because that’s what he thought he should do? After years of second-guessing his own emotions, Noeul couldn’t even trust his gut anymore. All he knew was the vague uneasiness in his stomach.

As he propped himself up against the wall, his phone buzzed insistently. Hansol’s name flashed on the screen.

What does she want?

Noeul hesitated before answering, his voice rough with fatigue.

Let’s just get it over with.

“Hey, Hansol.”

“Were you sleeping? What’s up with your voice?”

Noeul almost mentioned the drinking, but caught himself. No need for excuses. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been crying my eyes out,” he deflected.

Hansol chuckled. “Hey, your class ends early tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Wanna start drinking early? Let’s get hammered and spend all day Saturday hungover at home.”

Noeul couldn’t help but laugh. “What kind of absurd plan is that?”

“Well, are you in or not?” Hansol said, giggling. “Or is Mr. Popular too busy?”

That made Noeul let out a bitter laugh. Sure, he got invited out often enough, but did he actually enjoy it? Or was it just another performance, a way to prove to the world that he was normal, safe, part of the group?

The truth was, Noeul was afraid. Not of being alone, exactly, but of how society might view someone like him—an unattractive guy without friends. He imagined the judgmental glances, the whispers of “unstable” or “dangerous.” So he kept up the charade, laughing at the right moments, buying rounds, being the guy everyone wanted at their party.

But girls like Hansol? They could be loners without consequence. If a pretty girl didn’t have friends, society would assume it was by choice. Her beauty was a sign of safety, normalcy, and stability. No one would ever think a girl like that was dangerous or untrustworthy.

As Noeul reflected on this, he found himself growing irritated with Hansol’s voice. Why wasn’t she like other attractive girls? Her kindness, her desire to spend time with him—it all felt like some cruel joke.

“Sorry, I’ve already got plans,” he lied, forcing a lighthearted tone. “Next time, book in advance.”

“Oh, come on, hang out with me.”

“No can do. I’m hanging up now.”

“Hey, I’m serious!” Hansol yelled on the other end. “You know I don’t have any friends besides you. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

“What do you mean you don’t have any other friends? That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true. When have you ever seen me hanging out with anyone else?”

“…I’m hanging up,” Noeul repeated.

“Why do you keep acting like that? Stop trying to run away.”

Something in Noeul snapped. “If you want to make friends, just ask the others to hang out. They’d all jump at the chance to be friends with you.” The words came out harsher than he intended.

A beat of silence followed.

“I just feel the most comfortable with you,” Hansol said softly.

“What do you mean ‘comfortable’?” Noeul scoffed. “You even said it yourself—it’s all nonsense about how personality matters more than looks. So why are you trying to be friends with me?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Noeul felt a wave of shame wash over him.

“Well, that’s because…” Hansol trailed off.

Noeul let out a bitter laugh.

See? I almost fell for it again. What’s wrong with me lately? It’s like I’ve lost my mind just because a couple of pretty girls suddenly want to hang out with me. What an idiot…

As he chuckled bitterly to himself, Noeul suddenly snapped back to reality.

What am I doing right now? Why am I getting mad at her? What did she even do wrong? She just called to ask me to drink tomorrow.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, unable to find the right words. Everything sounded like a pathetic excuse.

“It’s okay. It happens,” Hansol replied, her understanding only making Noeul feel worse.

He felt exposed, raw, like all his insecurities were on display. Here he was, not just unattractive but emotionally volatile, while Hansol handled his outburst with grace. What must she think of him now? He felt humiliated.

“Uh… I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later,” he muttered, hanging up before she could respond.

Alone in the darkness of his room, Noeul buried his face in his hands.

“Ugh…” he groaned, his expression pained. “What am I even doing?”

“How could I not love?”

Every time Juya drank, she murmured these words as if casting a spell. Even though she was a drinker by nature, whenever she felt the warmth of alcohol, she would firmly tie up her red hair and look around her.

No matter how small or insignificant the life, Juya’s eyes would sparkle when she looked at the small creatures of the White Flower Kingdom, the scurrying animals, even the insects clinging to the ground.

“Princess, look at these. Aren’t they just adorable? What should I do? I’m afraid I might crush them if I hold them.”

To Juya, every wildflower on the road and even the ants underfoot embodied loveliness. Her sharp eyes would dissolve into radiant smiles, beaming brightly with pure joy.

Rohwa spoke as she lay on Gion’s lap, watching Juya handing a squirrel a nut. She poured cold water on Juya’s warmth. “But Juya, they don’t reciprocate your affection. How can you love them? Don’t you feel resentment?”

Juya frowned as the squirrel scurried away. She made an angry voice, like a four-year-old child throwing a tantrum. “Ah! I don’t care! I like them. What can I do about it!”

Watching Juya flop down on the grass, Rohwa shook her head in disapproval. “There she goes again,” she said.

Juya was the chieftain of the Phoenix tribe. With her power over the fire element, she only used her abilities for good. That would include disciplining bandits who hunted indiscriminately, warming the floors of every villager’s home for children suffering from colds, and lighting fires in caves to keep animals warm during cold days. She even used her fire to speed up the village women’s laundry drying by the riverside.

Finding a living creature in the White Flower Kingdom that hadn’t received Juya’s help would be difficult. However, those who received Juya’s help didn’t think much of her.

At first, many admired Juya, but this quickly deteriorated. Most people took Juya’s help for granted, seeking her only when in need. When Juya suffered from a fever due to overusing her abilities, no one noticed, and people only complained about her absence. Animals were no different. They feared her fire element but still took the food she offered.

While Juya never stopped helping others, Rohwa thought such behavior seemed foolish. “Juya, why don’t you pour your affection on those who will love you back? Everyone takes nonstop kindness for granted. That’s just human nature.”

Gion looked at Rohwa disapprovingly. Rohwa rolled her eyes and continued scolding Juya, saying, “Being generous can sometimes even make you a target for attacks. In the end, you’re the one who gets hurt.”

Juya understood that Rohwa didn’t want her to get hurt. She said, “Why does our rabbit-like princess talk like she’s seen the whole world?” Juya playfully pinched Rohwa’s lively cheeks and said, “It’s not just about receiving in return.”

“Huh?” Rohwa said.

Juya said, “I don’t give kindness. I give love.”

“Whatever.”

“No, really. Their smiles are my reward, and that reward motivates me to help someone else… It’s just that simple. I don’t need anything in return. Just because I give love doesn’t mean they’re obligated to love me back.”

Juya glanced at Gion, and a smile flickered on his lips.

“See,” Juya said, “Gion understands what I mean.”

Gion didn’t respond, but he knew precisely what Juya meant. He had diligently trained every moment, vowing to protect the people in any way possible. It was impossible for him not to know.

“Really, Gion? Do you understand?” Rohwa was clueless in this regard. Or maybe she was pretending to be. Gion awkwardly avoided her gaze, fearing his feelings might be exposed.

But Juya seemed to think it was time to stop teasing. She pulled off Rohwa’s hands, which were playfully clutching her sleeves, and said, “Someday, our princess will also understand how priceless unconditional love is.”

Juya’s smile shone brighter than anyone else’s. While intoxicated or sober, she radiated happiness as if she was the happiest person in the world. She declared, “There might be something better than love you’ll discover someday. But it’s not valuable enough that I’d prefer to live knowing it.”

After that day, Rohwa began to pay closer attention to her surroundings. She even attempted to mimic Juya’s actions. On rainy days, when she used to sulk, Rohwa started admiring the droplets on leaves. She used to dislike birds for their erratic fluttering, but after the rain, she found herself watching them fly in the sky for a long time.

Gion smiled at this, finding Rohwa’s appreciation of Juya endearing. He chose to remain silently by her side.

***

“Why do you do that?” asked Gion, looking down at Juya, sprawled carelessly.

Without even glancing at Gion, Juya muttered, “Do what?”

“Why did you love something that doesn’t deserve to be loved?”

Juya struggled to stand up, her body wavering and trembling, and she struggled to maintain balance. Eventually, she managed to steady herself. “There’s nothing you shouldn’t love.”

She gazed at the mountain, now a barren wasteland. There were no wildflowers, animals, or villagers that Juya used to love here, so it made it easier for her. She said, “True love originates from within, not from external objects. That’s why it’s possible to harbor love for everything in the world.”

Juya spoke excitedly. “Animals show love towards humans, and humans show affection for plants, life loves nature… No matter the recipient, if it’s bound by love, it’s all part of ‘us.’ I’ve always told you that.”

Where was she looking while speaking? The depth in Juya’s eyes was unfathomable.

She had always kept her eyes open, breathed, and responded because she had to. But there was usually no sign of life in her. Even when she met one of her comrades whom she had fought alongside a century ago, there was no emotion on her face. The person who once believed that love was the most valuable thing in life now seemed incapable of feeling any emotion.

There were no words left to say but these: comfort comes to those ready to receive it.

Pouring water on Juya, who was burning herself like a flame, would only make her burn brighter. And Gion was not about to be hypocritical. The words Gion had to say to Juya were meant to shatter her love.

“Where is the Seventh Chime?”

The White Flower Kingdom had become a stronghold for demons. Those demons oppressed the people, preventing humans from living lives fit for humans. At the top, the Chimes commanded these beings. Amidst this, one of the five guardian tribe chiefs, a human, fell in love with a demon.

Abandoning one’s responsibility to protect humanity is not only problematic but also a betrayal of all that is good in the world. The Seventh Chime and Juya would never be able to be together, despite their wishes. And surely Juya knew this. That’s probably why the one who used to give love so abundantly was now so broken. The saying that love could make a person strong implies that love could also make a person weak.

“Why are you curious about the Seventh Chime’s whereabouts?”

Juya seemed to snap out of her daze and showed emotion for the first time in response to Gion’s question. She made a slight frown, barely noticeable, but the furrow on her brow stood out starkly since she usually wore no expression.

“I’ll hide you.”

“What…?”

“I’ll tell you of a place where you two, not as a human and a demon, but as ‘us,’ can live.”

Time seemed to halt for Juya for a moment, but it indeed flowed. In her eyes, which had seemed so hollow, a flicker of hope passed, albeit briefly. It was like the sensation of rusted gears engaging and turning.

But soon, it faltered and came to a stop.

Juya grabbed Gion’s wrist. “You want to use me to kill the Seventh Chime?”

***

“Your wound has healed.”

Juya observed the large burn scar adorning the man’s arm. She quietly said, “It seems that once you become a Chime, the recovery speed is faster.”

The man, one of the Chimes, casually replied to Juya. “How long do you plan to keep drinking?”

There was silence.

“Human lifespans are short. Life ends in the blink of an eye. You should try to live a bit longer.”

Juya’s gaunt figure made the Seventh Chime frown. It had been a while since they last saw each other, but asking why he came seemed pointless. It was the kind of relationship where it wasn’t strange for him to show up. That’s how they were.

“Does it really have to be this way?”

It was an abrupt question thrown without any context, but the Seventh Chime knew precisely what Juya was asking.

“The demons in the White Flower Kingdom were mobilizing to exterminate the five guardian spirits. Only a Chime and the Demon King can control them.”

“Why did you do it?”

“If I hadn’t become a Chime, the demons would have killed even you. I had to do it to keep you alive.”

“I didn’t die, but everything I loved burned to ashes.” Juya listlessly gazed at the puddles gathered around the Seventh Chime, then fell silent.

The last time they faced each other unfolded vividly: the day a man, who was just one of the demons, suddenly became a Chime and invaded the Phoenix tribe’s mountain. The demons were devouring the tribe members while the water energy swept away the villagers Juya had been protecting from the mountain.

As Juya unleashed a massive blaze to evaporate the water, the Seventh Chime immediately retracted his energy. Leaving Juya in the burning mountain, he left with the other demons, his last silhouette disappearing.

“You know why I did it,” The Seventh Chime said, his tone implying no regret. It couldn’t have been any other way for us.”

Juya stared at the Seventh Chime, her eyes unfocused, trying not to miss even a fleeting moment by blinking.

Silence enveloped them like a thick fog. Footsteps shattered the stillness, drawing closer to the Seventh Chime. He trembled as he saw the origin of the noise in the distance. “Juya, how could you…”

Juya didn’t respond to the Seventh Chime’s words. With the White Qi flickering around his form, Gion slowly advanced—one step, then another.

“How could it be you of all people... why did it have to be you…” said the Seventh Chime to Juya in anguish.

Gion continued to approach, but the Seventh Chime’s gaze was fixed solely on Juya. Something even more pressing was at play than the menacing advance of his own death.

“Why did you abandon me?”

Was he capable of showing expressions of regret? The Seventh Chime, completely still as if not a single drop of blood would spill even if cut by a sword, asked in a desperate tone. Tears gathered in his vacant eyes, forming puddles, yet they seemed dry.

Juya, who had been unemotional until now, broke down and trembled her lips slightly as she said, “I love you.”

Seorin looked troubled, like a lost stray dog wandering without purpose.

“How’s your sister doing?”

“My sister…”

Could it be something related to Arin? Why hadn’t Seorin answered when Yeomyung had asked about her? It was unsettling, to say the least.

Was his guess correct? Had Arin been admitted to a psychiatric hospital? Or was it something worse? Then again, maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe Arin had recovered and returned to her life before Yeomyung entered it. That’s what he hoped to hear—that Arin was fine. That would’ve finally silenced the nagging discomfort in his mind.

Instead, Seorin’s response only unearthed his buried guilt.

Yeomyung tried to avoid thinking about someone suffering because of his mistake. If that were true, how could he continue living so casually? Though he’d convinced himself countless times that he wasn’t to blame, why did this unpleasant feeling keep rising from the dead, zombie-like?

Maybe Arin was fine, and he alone carried this burden. He could simply contact Seorin and ask about Arin. But what if the news was bad? What would he say then?

Judging by Seorin’s expression yesterday, his suspicions weren’t unfounded. Perhaps it was better to remain in this limbo, where he could still cling to the possibility, however slight, that Arin was okay.

Yet the conclusion remained unchanged: Yeomyung wasn’t at fault, and Arin’s condition shouldn’t affect him. He’d told himself this before, so why did he keep needing the reminder?

Yeomyung parked his bike in front of the sandwich shop but hesitated before entering.

Inside him, emotions swirled like murky water stirred by a stick, leaving him both irritated and unsettled. The cause was Daeun.

Last night with her had stirred a gentle breeze in his heart. He wanted to stop these feelings, yet part of him longed to let them linger. If it were just the breeze alone, he might have welcomed it.

But Daeun’s resemblance to Arin was uncanny, making it impossible not to think of her. While Daeun lived a normal life, Arin might be trapped somewhere—in a vegetative state, or worse. Though Yeomyung knew it wasn’t his fault, the thought haunted him. How could he let his heart flutter for Daeun under such circumstances? It felt wrong.

He pushed through the door, still conflicted.

“Ham and cheese, right?” Daeun greeted him with a smile.

“Yes.”

Their time together yesterday had changed even this simple exchange. Her gaze felt more intimate now, like one shared between people with a secret.

As Daeun’s hands moved swiftly preparing his sandwich, Yeomyung reminded himself: she wasn’t Arin. The girl who spoke of being taken to space could never have transformed so completely. Even Daeun’s words last night proved she was different from that troubled girl.

There was no reason to feel about Daeun as he had about Arin. No reason at all.

“Do you watch the news?” Daeun asked, still focused on the sandwich.

“Not really.”

“Then you probably missed the rocket launch in the U.S.—the USSF-51 Atlas V 55.”

“…”

“Makes you think about the astronauts, though. Imagine something suddenly flying toward your peaceful home up there.”

A strange feeling crept over Yeomyung.

“Why are you talking about this?” he asked.

Daeun looked up. “Oh, I’m just interested in that stuff. Hard to tell when I’m always making sandwiches, right?”

Was this just a coincidence?

“Why are you interested in it?” Yeomyung pressed.

“Well…” Her hands stilled over the sandwich. “I just… wanted to think about something bigger. Broader, you know? When you believe what’s right in front of you is all there is, it gets suffocating. But from space? Everything down here seems insignificant. All the amazing and terrible things just… fade away.”

The explanation seemed reasonable. Arin could never have explained it like that. This was pure Daeun. Just because someone mentioned space didn’t make them Arin.

“Do you usually get off work at that time?” she asked, bagging his sandwich.

“Yes… usually.”

“Someone ordered the wrong sandwich earlier. I’ll probably take it home tonight. Want to share it at the convenience store again?”

When Yeomyung hesitated, she added, “I owe you for those dumplings last night.”

“Uh… well…” Yeomyung managed a vague nod.

Noting his expression, Daeun asked, “See you later, then?”

“Yes…”

Yeomyung grabbed his sandwich and hurried out.

He mounted his bike, aware Daeun might be watching from inside. His usually natural movements felt stiff and awkward, his heart hammering in his chest. The bike wobbled dangerously as he fumbled with the pedals. After barely catching his balance, he rode on, wondering if Daeun had witnessed his near-fall.

Well, if she saw, she saw.

His mind drifted to what he’d just agreed to. Was he really meeting Daeun after work? Did she have feelings for him? Why else would she suggest meeting?

Or maybe she was just being nice about the dumplings. But then, wouldn’t a free sandwich have been enough? Why specifically suggest meeting in the evening?

Heat crept through his body. The weather was still pretty hot.

Why had he agreed? He’d said yes simply because he couldn’t think of anything else…

The traffic light turned red.

Yeomyung stopped at the crosswalk. Had he really agreed just because he was caught off guard? He could have easily said he was having dinner at home. If he truly didn’t want to see Daeun, he would have refused. Instead, he made excuses: “It would be awkward to refuse since we see each other regularly.”

The light turned green.

As he pedaled forward, his mind raced. Should he follow through since he’d agreed? Or was he just telling himself he had no choice because he actually wanted to go?

He could easily make up an excuse not to meet. He didn’t even need to return to the shop. He could just look up their number and call. But as soon as Yeomyung realized there were ways to avoid seeing Daeun, an unexpected disappointment settled over him.

Should he really cancel? Could he meet Daeun just this once? Maybe they could settle the dumpling debt tonight and part ways cleanly.

But Yeomyung knew better.

If he saw her today, he’d want to see her tomorrow. Breaking away would only get harder. Now was the easiest time to stop.

He considered their situation. What future could there be between two twenty-five-year-olds like them, neither in college nor holding steady jobs?

Some might say they were young—why so pessimistic? But their lives had been stunted from the start. Those destined to bloom were already living differently from people like Yeomyung.

A life lived this way in youth wouldn’t improve with age. If anything, it would worsen—health would fade, minds would dull, looks would deteriorate.

Fear crept in the more he dwelled on it. This was exactly why Yeomyung avoided thinking about the distant future. This was why he lived day by day. No amount of worrying would change what lay ahead; it would only poison his present.

Daeun’s life seemed equally adrift. What good could come from two people like them getting together? Even if they understood each other perfectly, what would change? Two tedious lives combined would only multiply the tedium. Poverty added to poverty would only breed more poverty. The only thing that would double would be their burdens.

Yeomyung parked his bike in front of the dumpling shop.

He’d call the sandwich shop after lunch to say he couldn’t meet tonight.

***

“Seorin.”

“Yes?”

“When will you clear out Arin’s room?”

“Oh… well…”

“You said you’d call someone to clear it out.”

“I think it might be better to leave it for now,” Seorin said, swallowing hard. Despite her fear, she knew she had to speak up.

Her mother’s voice turned sharp. “Why? Didn’t we already agree?”

Seorin’s mouth opened slightly. Her mother despised repeating conversations.

Though confident and assertive everywhere else, before her parents, Seorin shrank back to her elementary school self.

“It feels too soon. We have other rooms, why rush to empty hers…”

“I’ve already moved all the golf clubs from storage because you said we’d clear it in a few days. Now you’re changing your mind?”

“At the time it seemed right, but thinking about it again…”

“Why are you thinking about it again? Don’t waste thoughts on that. How do you expect to get work done? You know what I always say—your decisions don’t end with you. They become company strategy, affecting hundreds of employees. How can you carelessly change your mind after making a decision?”

“Mom, this isn’t work. It’s family…”

“Work or family, decisions need care. Once made thoughtfully, don’t look back. See? We moved all the golf clubs because of what you said. Every decision has consequences.”

Seorin wanted to ask why her mother seemed more energetic than before. Considering her sister’s present condition, her mother seemed unusually full of life, as if she had something to celebrate.

Not that Seorin could point it out. She knew her mother would agree, would probably say it was something to celebrate.

“You think I’m heartless, don’t you?” said her mother.

Seorin couldn’t win. Her mother was always right. This was her parents’ kingdom, and here, they were never wrong.

“No…” Seorin said, sounding resigned.

“Clear out the stuff within a few days.”

“I’ll clear it out by the end of this week.”

“That’s too long. Do it within three days.”

Her mother grabbed her car keys and left, leaving Seorin standing there in silence.

It was snowing. It seemed to have started the night before. I walked to the security office, my footsteps crunching with each stride. The roof was thickly covered, with white sheets seeming to cascade off the edges. When I reached the door, I brushed the snow off the handle with my sleeve and pushed it open.

“…!”

It was like touching a red-hot iron; I jerked my hand back in shock, almost gasping but catching the sound in my throat. It wasn’t until I’d stepped back that I noticed Dongju in the corner. His gaze was vacant as he stared at me. Scattered around him were several soju bottles with red caps and a few with labels in indecipherable English.

Dongju blinked slowly. “Is it seven…?”

I stepped into the office. The coldness of the floor bit at my feet. I turned on the boiler and walked over to the desk, kicking aside a few empty bottles. How many had he drunk since the morning? If he was this wasted now, he must have started at dawn. I sat down, pretending not to care.

The room was thick with the smell of alcohol. I booted up the computer as usual.

Dongju’s words slurred as he spoke. “Does it smell in here?”

“…”

“It’ll probably be like this all day.”

He sighed deeply. It seemed he was drinking straight from the bottle today instead of using a glass.

The sound of a bottle rolling across the floor echoed in the small room.

Dongju’s voice cracked as he said, “I have… a really great plan. I absolutely must not drink tomorrow. Absolutely not. So today, I’m soaking myself in it… from my neck to my toes, totally drenched… so I won’t touch a drop tomorrow. If I can even move my fingers, I’ll end up drinking again… so I have to completely numb myself…”

He chuckled intermittently as he spoke, his words tangling and slurring more than usual. He was exceptionally drunk today. Normally, even after a few drinks, he didn’t seem any different from his sober self.

Today was different. It was like something had happened.

Dongju rambled on, his words spilling out uncontrollably. “You ever had a drink? If you ever plan to start, take my advice. At first, it makes you nauseous. But the more you drink… if you stop, it feels wrong. It’s like being hungry without eating. The kind of hunger only alcohol can satisfy. And every time you drink, you end up like me… a walking liquor tank. Not drinking feels like… um… Ever tried holding your breath? When you hold it to the absolute limit, you get dizzy, desperate… ‘I’d kill my own parents just to breathe’ kinda desperate. That’s how it is with alcohol.”

I rested my hands on the keyboard, glancing at Dongju, unsure of what to do next. He was pouring his heart out, and ignoring him felt wrong. But sitting silently wasn’t easy either; if I looked like I was listening, he’d expect a response I wasn’t prepared to give. Interrupting seemed just as improper. The best course seemed to be to simply listen quietly. Maybe if I remained silent, he wouldn’t notice my presence and would speak freely.

I quietly lifted my hands from the keyboard.

“I think about it a dozen times a day. No, it’s like breathing. Should I quit drinking? Should I really give it up? Maybe I should be locked away, my hands and feet tied, whatever it takes to stop. Or maybe I could cut off a finger every time I drink. If I don’t have any fingers to hold a bottle, I can’t drink, right?”

The computer screen went black.

I heard Dongju breathing slowly and shallowly, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“But then… what’s the point of quitting? Maybe it’s better just to live like this, intermittently… cutting through time, cutting through memories… Why try to live life more completely? Why try to live more clearly…?”

Suddenly, he laughed—a laugh that sounded almost like sobbing. The chuckle lingered for a while.

“Ah… that’s funny… Woogi, have you ever imagined winning the lottery? Buying a house and a car if you win… It’s just like that. It’s not like I can quit anyway. What’s the use of worrying about it?”

Dongju paused for a moment, then resumed in a lower voice.

“It’s like a bear dragging a chicken by the head. Your conscience screams at you. You shouldn’t drink, you said you wouldn’t… But reason is just like a chicken’s head being dragged along. The alcohol is the bear. No, the mind is obsessed with alcohol… the brain cells broken by alcohol are the bear… Reason has no…”

At that moment, a loud thud sounded from outside.

***

Dongju knew it was laughable, speaking to the back of someone who didn’t respond. Yet, he couldn’t help it. The words that spilled from his mouth would typically draw curses or scorn for bragging about his drinking habits. Aware of such reactions, it was hard to even begin speaking—fear of sarcasm and contempt silenced him before he could start.

But there were moments, like today, when you knew the type of reaction you’d get yet still felt compelled to reach out and share your thoughts. That’s why Dongju was here, in a place where someone would listen without responding. It was actually a cowardly choice. He wanted to express thoughts that might draw derision but was unwilling to face the scorn.

Even here, in the security office where he had stumbled in drunk, Dongju found it difficult to speak. It wasn’t that he lacked words; he was terrified of Woogi’s silent judgments. What would she think of him? To disguise his sincerity, he slurred his words more, making his speech sound like drunken nonsense. To make it seem like a joke.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound from outside.

Snow from the roof poured down, knocking the monitor off the shelf. Dongju glanced out the window, then back inside.

For a moment, everything seemed frozen as if captured within a picture frame. Woogi remained motionless, not even turning toward the sound or the window. She was as still as a lifeless statue, her presence marked only by the occasional blink of her eyes, reflected in the darkened screen of the laptop that had been untouched for a while. She seemed detached, hearing nothing, thinking of nothing.

In that moment, the silence was palpable, like a single snowflake landing softly in a snowy field.

Dongju swallowed, feeling a surge of emotion rise in his throat.

His vision blurred, and tears began streaming down his cheeks.

People often say that everyone has the right to cry when sad, but in reality, even crying seems to require a certain standing. Someone who seemed worthless, like Dongju, was often blamed even for his tears. Crying is a means to share sadness and seek comfort, but Dongju felt he had no right to such expressions. Thus, he only cried when he was completely alone, deep in the night when even his shadow seemed to have deserted him.

But at times like this… when someone implicitly agrees not to see, hear, or think about Dongju… he wanted to do something he wasn’t qualified for.

Dongju felt a constriction within him suddenly snap. In that fleeting moment of relief, he dropped his head.

Deep furrows formed between his brows, like cuts from a knife. His lips trembled, and tears seeped from his closed eyes.

“Hic… Hic…”

Tears hit the floor with a distinct plop.

Dongju clenched his teeth. He took a short, deep breath, trying to stop the tears. He found his own desperate sobbing repulsive, detesting the sound that reached his ears and loathing the sight of himself, seemingly pleading for sympathy.

But the more he berated himself, the more bitterly the tears flowed.

“Hic… Hic…”

Tears welled up and fell in a continuous cycle, each bringing a salty, bitter taste up his throat.

Dongju curled up, fetal-like. Words he had buried, fearing they would uncontrollably stir him if remembered, now poured out like a breached dam.

“I’m sorry… so sorry it’s shameful even to say sorry… I did wrong… I regret it so much… I regret it to death… Why did I do that? Why did I do that back then… Don’t forget me… never forgive… I don’t forgive myself either… But still… I miss you so much… I’m so sorry… I prayed we wouldn’t even meet in dreams… but I really miss you… I’m sorry… I’m sorry for missing you…”

Dongju’s rough breathing mixed with his crying, his face smeared with tears and mucus.

One particular face was vivid in his mind, even through the veil of tears. He gasped as if his heart was being squeezed.

“Where were you… Hic…” he murmured as if that face was really before his eyes. “When I couldn’t remember… when no one could… Hic… Where were you…”

Dongju’s crying filled the office, desperate like an animal suffering from a fever.

Outside, the snowfall gradually lessened. The snow began to melt where the sunlight touched. Inside the office, the sound of crying gradually subsided.

Dongju blinked his slightly swollen eyes. He felt numb. No thoughts came to him. It felt as if many things had drained away with his tears, leaving a relieving emptiness in their wake.

He staggered to his feet, using the wall for support as he walked toward the door. Leaning against it, he cracked it open slightly, and a gust of cold air rushed in. The breeze felt strangely unfamiliar, reminiscent of the wind by the river just before spring arrives, carrying a hint of changed temperature and humidity.

For a moment, Dongju felt as if the past had let him go. He peered through the crack in the door. He thought about how, like the melting snow, this moment too would eventually pass.

Dongju turned his head to look at Woogi. Before the moment faded, Dongju felt there was something he had to say to her.

“I haven’t cried like this in two years,” he said, his voice steadier now. “I shouldn’t do this… I really shouldn’t. But after crying, it feels like a weight off my chest.”

Woogi remained as silent and immobile as ice.

“I couldn’t have cried in front of anyone else. But with you, Woogi… there’s no one else like you. So quiet. You stop whatever you’re doing, being careful to stay quiet for my sake. You don’t even look out the window if there’s a disturbance. You never show any surprise. It’s like you’re not even here…”

Dongju paused for a moment.

“Nobody does that. Nobody does that for just one person.”

He looked out the door, then turned back to Woogi.

“Thank you.”

“I heard Jihoon and that one friend of Jeongwon’s got into a huge fight.”

“They say it was a really bad physical fight.”

“Why did they fight?”

Someone squeezed into the conversation and whispered.

“Hey, it was because of Jeongwon Yoo. I heard it directly.”

“Really?”

Everyone’s ears perked up.

“That guy, Jeongwon’s old school mate, Eunho Ju, was seriously trash-talking Jeongwon. So Jihoon just turned around and hit him. He’s such a romantic.”

“Seriously? I knew Jihoon liked Jeongwon.”

The gossipers didn’t seem to realize that Jeongwon herself was nearby. Her face was pinched into a complicated expression.

He’s been spreading rumors behind my back?

Jeongwon had thought she’d grown a tiny bit—really just an ant’s toenail’s worth—closer to Eunho. She was even starting to think a little bit better of Eunho.

But hearing this rumor, she almost smashed the ceramic cup she was holding. She regretted coming to the café near campus.

She had been wondering why her classmates were looking at her with pity but not saying anything. But now she wished she hadn’t heard. To think Eunho Ju started these rumors…

How horrible was he being for Jihoon to start throwing punches? He’s from the Taekwondo department, he shouldn’t be out there starting bar fights.

For Jihoon—not just a member of the Taekwondo department, but the department president—to physically attack Eunho, it must have been serious. She shouldn’t be surprised by Eunho’s behavior, not when he felt so comfortable mocking others and running his mouth.

Maybe he’d disparaged the Taekwondo department because Jeongwon, also a member, had never responded to his cruelty with force. She wondered how badly Eunho got beaten. She tried imagining it but felt neither satisfaction nor relief.

It was frustrating.

Why didn’t Jihoon tell me about it? Was he worried I’d be concerned?

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen much of Jihoon lately. Jeongwon sighed deeply and quietly brought her fist to the table.

I was just thinking you’d become a decent person… But Eunho Ju, you’re exactly the same.

Disappointment rose from her toes. Even with age, even becoming an adult, Eunho’s true nature hadn’t changed. She supposed that the fight was merely karma for someone who took pleasure in tormenting others.

It was so typical of Eunho. Spouting garbage and expecting not to face any repercussions. At the same time, Jihoon began edging his way into her thoughts.

…I thought he was just someone who couldn’t resist women, but maybe he’s surprisingly decent.

Jeongwon thought somebody couldn’t be that bad if they’d throw punches to defend the honor of an underclassman they weren’t even close with, who they’d only recently started talking to. Though she didn’t want to befriend someone with such violent tendencies, she still had to appreciate the gesture.

How much must Jihoon have liked Jeongwon to sully his position as department president?

Does he like me that much?

Were all his greetings and compliments sincere? She almost felt sorry for finding him annoying all this time. But that didn’t mean she would trust him. At the same time, she thought of Eunho. What was Eunho thinking, helping her while simultaneously spreading rumors so awful that he got beaten up?

With her head full of questions, Jeongwon left the café feeling frustrated.

“Hey, Eunho Ju!” Jeongwon shouted, spotting him just outside the café. She caught Eunho as he tried to speed walk away.

“What exactly did you say to Jihoon?” she demanded. “Do you know about the rumors going around?”

“None of your business,” he grumbled.

“They’re rumors about me, Eunho, what do you mean it’s none of my business?” She glared at him. “What have you been saying?”

Eunho gave a hollow laugh and looked her up and down. “…I said I couldn’t stand seeing you act like you’re pretty, what are you going to do about it?”

“What?” Jeongwon felt as though she’d been hit.

Eunho exhaled in disbelief. “I said it because I was angry at you for walking around, not knowing your place, you—you—”

“What? What?!” she snarled. “Say it!”

Eunho opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. His face just went red and his arms swung uncomfortably at his sides. He looked away from her, brows furrowing, and took a deep breath. “Just go, go! Don’t even know your place…”

“I don’t know my place? Am I not even allowed to walk down the street?!” she yelled. Yet her anger was dwindling and a chill began to rise within her.

Why is he getting mad? I’m the one who should be angry right now. I’m the one who was wronged.

Her blood began to boil again, thinking about the friendly facade he’d put on, all the while spreading rumors about her to an upperclassman she barely knew. Jihoon wasn’t even her classmate, but her department’s president. How lowly did he consider her, if he felt comfortable to behave that way? Was he trying to steal her friends? Was the verbal torment not enough? Was he trying to isolate her again?

“You think I’m funny?” Jeongwon asked, her voice trembling.

“Aren’t you?”

“The correct answer is ‘No!’ Jeongwon struck Eunho’s shoulder with her fist.

Eunho let out a genuine scream. “You fucker, the whole Taekwondo department is trying to kill people! You’re all insane!”

“I’m never asking you anything again.”

“What?”

“I’m never going to ask you for anything ever again,” Jeongwon snapped, a flush blooming across her cheeks. “You’re a shit person who treats people like garbage whenever you feel like it.”

Jeongwon stormed away, grinding her teeth.

***

“Shit… How did Jeongwon know to hit there…”

Though Jihoon had said people from the Taekwondo department shouldn’t go around punching people, he’d cleverly chosen spots that wouldn’t show. Of course, Eunho had thrown the first punch, and it was partly his fault, so he couldn’t complain.

Even so, Eunho thought, “This really fucking hurts, that crazy bastard…”

The Taekwondo department wasn’t given a healthy dose of respect for nothing. Taekwondo was truly an impressive martial art. Eunho couldn’t fight at all and wasn’t even close to being in shape, so he’d gotten his ass handed to him.

“This is so fucking embarrassing.”

Getting his ass kicked was humiliating, but what was driving him even crazier was the fact that Jeongwon was the reason he got worked up in the first place. Then, on top of that, word of the fight had spread across campus.

“I… got into a fight because of Jeongwon Yoo.”

Eunho tried to hit his pillow as he screamed, but his injured arm failed him.

“But then why is Jeongwon acting like that?”

Jeongwon had gotten upset, said she’d never ask him anything again, cursed him and left. He thought she was just throwing another tantrum, but Jeongwon’s attitude changed more and more as days passed.

“We run into each other but she doesn’t say hi, doesn’t talk to me, doesn’t contact me…”

Beyond not asking about coordinating outfits, Jeongwon was working very hard to ignore Eunho, like she didn’t even see him. Even the polite wave they used to exchange in their shared elective class disappeared. She even pretended not to notice when their eyes met. After a few days, she stopped looking at him altogether. It wasn’t just going back to how things were before—she treated him like a complete stranger.

“Why is she so pissed off?”

He felt strangely hurt. But of course, it definitely wasn’t because he had feelings toward Jeongwon. It felt like losing a devoted follower. Because of her inability to dress herself, he’d started to take quite an interest in fashion, and now his outlet for that new interest was gone.

No, hurt wasn’t the right word either. He just felt empty for a moment. And angry. Even considering their relationship, it wasn’t polite to suddenly cut him off when he’d been trying to help her.

“Fine by me! Have a good life, Jeongwon Yoo. Helping you was annoying anyway. I should’ve been getting paid!”

Sure, Jeongwon had consistently bought him coffee and meals, but how annoying had it been coordinating outfits all this time? He just felt a momentary void because an irritating presence was gone, and he was a bit angry about being cut off after everything he’d done.

That was all. His chest felt tight and stuffy. Had he ever felt this wronged? Eunho wanted to snap at Jeongwon, but also never wanted to see her again.
He wanted an apology from Jeongwon, and to explain himself, and yet, he also didn’t want either of those things.

He couldn’t understand himself. He thought it would be better to just erase Jeongwon, this whole topic, from his mind. Eunho didn’t particularly enjoy exploring his inner workings. He was afraid of discovering things he didn’t want to know.

“What does it matter? I’m busy playing a new game anyway.”

Eventually, Eunho forgot about Gun Tales and started a cute RPG game with chibi characters. To tackle the RPG game’s dungeon, he searched party communities and started playing with complete strangers. A player named OpenWideForHeals appeared in the voice chat.

“Hello.”

For someone with such an aggressive nickname, she had a gentle voice. Eunho had to turn off his mic so he could laugh deviously.

“Her voice is prettier than Ruby’s.”

Surely wandering in search of a new goddess like this would make him forget about Jeongwon and everything else.

“Hey healer, you’re a really good teammate. Can we play together again? When do you usually come online?”

***

“Hey, Eunho. I heard Jeongwon and that Taekwondo department president are drinking together today.”

“So what?” he answered irritably, without even lifting his head.

Eunho was in the middle of an open chat trying to schedule the next dungeon with the healer he met in his new RPG game.

“Well, isn’t that president guy kind of weird? I heard from that editorial department guy who drank with you and him last time… He told me you guys had a really creepy conversation.”

Seokjun, Eunho’s department classmate, jabbed Eunho’s shoulder with his elbow.

Eunho brushed off the arm and answered half-heartedly, “If you heard something like that, you should’ve corrected it, damn. Don’t you care about your friend’s reputation?”

“I tried to tell him that wasn’t true, but you know how college rumors are. What can you do when people prefer the twisted version?”

“So you’re saying they like the version where I’m the villain?”

Seokjun shrugged and answered. “It would make sense to me too. You did spend a lot of time bullying Jeongwon.”

“What a shitty world,” Eunho sighed.

Seokjun laughed awkwardly. “But aren’t you going to try and stop it? Shouldn’t you tell Jeongwon the truth?”

“Why should I?”

“They’re drinking together, just the two of them? You said that guy was a creep.”

Jeongwon’s face swam to the forefront of Eunho’s mind. Jihoon was definitely a creepy, potentially dangerous person. But how would Jeongwon react if he told her not to drink with Jihoon?

“Forget it. It’s pointless for me to say anything. Seokjun, just stop talking to me about Jeongwon.”

“You talked about her more, asshole.”

“Then let’s both stop talking about it. Let’s forget everything, okay?”

“What’s wrong with you guys?” Seokjun asked, ignoring him. “You seemed friendly until now.”

Eunho glared at him. “We’re really not friends. Really. Really, really, really fucking not friends.”

“Okay, I get it,” Seokjun said, hands raised in surrender.

“I’m not going to worry about her anymore so would you please stop bringing her up?”

Eunho left Seokjun in the department room and went home. As usual, he turned on his computer with a haphazard toe and logged into his new RPG game Tales Story, then checked his friends list.

“Oh, the healer’s here.”

He cleared his throat and put on his headset. He just needed to have a sweet dungeon date with the healer, then he could relax, but Eunho kept bouncing his leg.

“Damn, am I getting anxiety?”

Eunho was chewing on his lips when the voice chat connection sound made him clear his throat again.

“Hey healer, where do you want to go today? Exp dungeon?”

Even while discussing where to go on his date with the healer, Eunho’s leg wouldn’t hold still. While one finger rapidly alternated between light and heavy attacks, he chewed on another finger.

“Yes? Oh, sorry. Yeah, cast some buffs.”

Eunho watched their battle against the boss monster progress smoothly, yet he couldn’t shake that gnawing feeling in his gut.

“Yeomyung, Hyeonmyung. Come sit here for a moment.”

The familiar serious tone in his father’s voice made Yeomyung’s stomach tighten. These family meetings never brought good news—just announcements about their aunt’s failing café, another uncle’s medical bills, or yet another downgrade in their living situation.

His dad maintained the same solemn air he’d had since Yeomyung was small, back when they lived in the big house. Back then, his dad had seemed like a giant during these talks, and Yeomyung would listen with childlike reverence. Now, in their moldy semi-basement apartment, that same gravity felt almost absurd, like something out of a dark comedy.

Yeomyung dragged his feet the few steps it took to reach his dad in their cramped space. He fixed his gaze on the yellowed linoleum floor, dreading whatever news was coming.

His dad cleared his throat. “Don’t be too shocked, but listen. Your grandmother had her regular check-up a few days ago. The results came back today… she’s been diagnosed with liver cancer.”

The brothers remained silent.

“Liver cancer is tricky—symptoms don’t show up early,” their dad continued, trying to fill the heavy silence. “But they caught it early. With proper treatment, she should be fine. Don’t worry too much.”

Still no response.

“Given her age, surgery might be risky. She’ll probably need radiation or chemotherapy.” He paused. “We’ll need to figure out transportation to the hospital and medical costs. We can discuss the details later.”

When neither son spoke, he dismissed them with a quiet, “Alright, back to it.”

Yeomyung and Hyeonmyung rose without a word.

From the corner of the living room, their grandmother’s raspy voice called out, “I’m not getting treated. What’s the point at my age? My time’s up.”

“We’ll handle it, Mom. Just stay quiet.”

“Quiet? I told you I’m not doing it. Don’t you dare drag me to the hospital.”

“Mom, please! Should we just watch you die? How does that make sense?”

“Why wouldn’t it? I’ve lived long enough.”

“Enough! That’s enough. Can we just have some peace? Please, be quiet.”

Yeomyung slipped out of the house. Under the streetlamp, he pulled out a cigarette.

The door creaked again—Hyeonmyung. Their eyes met briefly before his brother moved away to lean against the wall. Neither spoke as Yeomyung lit up.

He struggled to gauge his own reaction. Not because he was numb, but because he couldn’t calibrate how bad this news really was. Would it be like more mold creeping into their basement, or would it flood the whole place with sewage? He couldn’t tell.

The only clear thought was how there seemed to be no end to their misfortune. Hyeonmyung’s expression suggested he was thinking the same thing.

Yeomyung pulled out his phone and typed into the search bar: liver cancer treatment cost.

The shame hit him immediately—that cost was his first concern. But the results were worse:

6-month treatment: 44.14 million won… End-stage liver cancer and ‘useless insurance’

Liver cancer costs most expensive at 66.23 million won

New liver cancer drug after 10 years: 5 million won per treatment; patients crushed by cost

Yeomyung searched desperately for something hopeful, some proof that this wasn’t as dire as it seemed. But the world seemed to mock his efforts, like a child repeatedly “saving” an ant from water only to drop it back in—a cruel game of false hope.

Did you think there was a way out? Not in your life.

One article stood out:

Elderly patients who receive regular check-ups double their survival time after liver cancer diagnosis.

The irony hit him. Why had his grandmother even gone for a check-up? She always said she’d lived long enough, that she didn’t want to burden them anymore. Yet here they were.

If she hadn’t gone—if the cancer had remained undetected—she could have passed quickly, without expensive treatments. But wasn’t this typical of her contradictions? For someone who claimed to be ready for death, she religiously took her medications, ate her meals, and attended check-ups. She’d even throw tantrums if she missed a dose by minutes.

Yeomyung hadn’t responded to her “I should just hurry up and die” declarations in years. He no longer played the role of the good grandson, telling her she should live longer. He knew she wanted to hear those words, and perhaps that’s exactly why he stayed silent.

He remembered when his grandmother had been hospitalized while his mother was still alive. The doctor had warned them to prepare for the worst, but she’d recovered. His mom had said afterward, with a hint of mixed emotions in her voice, “That doctor must not have known your grandmother well enough.”

Yeomyung had said nothing then too, pretending not to notice the mixture of longing and disappointment in his mom’s words. Some feelings were better left unacknowledged.

Yeomyung crushed his cigarette under his foot.

It wasn’t his grandmother’s fault—life itself was the cruel one. Still, he felt no guilt for wanting her gone. Unlike his grandmother, he wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean.

“When you have memories like that, you can’t just hate someone completely, no matter how horrible they become.”

His death wishes never came from simple hatred, but from something deeper—a nauseating feeling that rose from his oldest memories, like old linoleum sticking to his feet.

Now he understood that feeling. It took him back to their old house with the yard, to a heavy snow day in winter. He’d wanted to go sledding, and his dad had pulled his sled for hours. When they finished, his dad couldn’t let go. His hand was frozen around the rope. Young Yeomyung, wearing warm gloves, had gently pried open each of his dad’s ice-cold fingers.

This was the kind of memory Daeun meant. The kind that made it impossible to live purely in bitterness.

And this was exactly why he hated family. For the poor, family wasn’t strength or joy—it was a burden you couldn’t bear but couldn’t abandon either.

The poor shouldn’t get involved with others. Yet even as he thought this, Yeomyung longed for connection. Not family, but someone different. Someone free of obligations—no one to feed, no hospital bills to pay, no caretaking required. Just someone to talk with until they both tired of it.

“So if no one knew… I’d kill them myself.”

He wanted to see Daeun. Now he regretted turning down her dinner invitation.

Yesterday, he’d thought, What’s the point of two losers meeting up? Now here he was, wanting to see her. Why? Because his life had just dropped from third-rate to fourth-rate in the span of minutes?

He hadn’t cared when they were equals, but now that he’d sunk lower, did third-rate suddenly look good? Yeomyung found his own shallowness darkly amusing—not shameful, just funny. Wanting to meet someone who was trash, but slightly better trash than himself.

Was this just survival instinct? Evolution? The desperation of his genes? If so, life truly was the ugliest thing imaginable.

He stared at his phone. There it was—”Daeun Kim” in his contacts. She’d given him the number yesterday after he’d declined dinner.

“If you need anything, don’t contact the shop. Call this number instead.”

He’d taken it despite his reservations, telling himself he probably wouldn’t use it. No harm in saving it, right? But deep down, he’d known this feeling would come.

What would it mean to Daeun if he called now? She’d probably suggested meeting thinking they were equals—someone she could handle while juggling temp jobs and her own life. Maybe she just wanted the comfort of not being alone.

Would she be disgusted to learn he was actually fourth-rate?

Yeomyung hesitated, not out of concern for her feelings, but fear of being rejected again. This was why he avoided people, regardless of their station in life.

But maybe a few hours would be okay. He could hide his impending downfall during a brief meeting. He hadn’t hit bottom yet—he was just teetering on the edge. Maybe he could enjoy these last moments of being third-rate before the final fall.

Yeomyung turned the phone in his hands, pressed dial, and raised it to his ear.

Daeun picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s Yeomyung.”

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

The words stuck in his throat. Was this a mistake? No excuse came to mind. Should he just say what he’d meant to?

Before he could decide, Daeun spoke. “Want to come get the dumpling debt you didn’t collect yesterday?”

***

“The sandwiches were only until yesterday,” Daeun said when he arrived at the convenience store.

“I’m aware.”

“I brought something very similar instead.”

Daeun lifted her bag from the floor and pulled out aluminum-foil wrapped packages, handing one to Yeomyung. Inside was bread with strawberry jam.

He gave her a look: This is similar?

“If you don’t want it, don’t eat it,” she said confidently, taking a bite.

Hiding a smile, Yeomyung bit into his. His eyes caught the bag on the table—the logo seemed familiar, like some luxury brand he’d heard of.

“I’m getting soju. Goes well with sandwiches, right? Want anything?”

“No.”

Daeun flashed an okay sign and went inside. Curious, Yeomyung searched the logo on his phone. He scrolled through results until he froze.

There was the exact same bag.

Price: 13,000,000 won

The convenience store door chimed, and Daeun emerged with two bottles of soju. Yeomyung couldn’t help but stare.

Haein lay alone in the dimly lit room, staring at her phone. The more she looked at the opened chat, the tighter her chest felt.

The girl identified herself as Yoonmin's friend. Friend. That word hurt Haein more than the accusation that she had no conscience.

It was probably that girl. The small, cute girl who always waited for Yoonmin at the school gate. She had sent Haein a message. And from Yoonmin’s phone, no less. What did that imply?

The girl must be with Yoonmin right now. Otherwise, how could she have access to his phone? Were they sitting together while Yoonmin watched her type? Or was she using his phone while he was away? Either way, it was clear they were very close.

The girl texted at an incredibly fast pace.

Yoonmin Seo: You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You’re counting on Yoonmin being so soft that he’ll forgive you if you push hard enough. Am I wrong?

Haein’s stomach churned. Was that it? Did she really think that? Of course, she did. She couldn’t deny it. Her face flushed.

How long had this girl known Yoonmin, and how deep was their relationship? It was not easy to figure out that Yoonmin was like a marshmallow on the inside. From the outside, people would often mistake him for a gloomy and resentful person. But Yoonmin… He wasn’t like that.

Yoonmin Seo: You can make fun of me all you want, I don’t care.

Yoonmin Seo: Think about what you did to him. You threw the notebook you shared with him in the trash, hung out with the kids who used to bully him, and pushed him away like he meant nothing when he tried to talk to you!

Yoonmin Seo: I thought I was going to lose it. I was with him all that time. Even with me yelling at him to stay away from you, he just kept trying. You’re seriously messed-up. Yoonmin kept trying to tell me you weren't like that. What a moron. He’d pick up the notebook you threw away and cry every day…

This was the first time Haein had heard any of this. He got the notebook out of the trash? And cried? Because of me?

Actually, it was easy to imagine. The Yoonmin she knew would have done that. But Haein had never stopped to think about it, never tried to picture it.

Why? It was obvious. She didn’t want to think of herself as the bad guy. Most people want to believe they’re good, and their brains play all kinds of tricks to maintain that belief.

Yoonmin Seo: After all that, now you want Yoonmin to forgive you? Are you out of your mind? You ditched Yoonmin, made popular friends, and now, you suddenly miss him? You must expect the world to revolve exactly the way you want it to.

Yoonmin Seo: And now what? You’re offering to let him hit you until he stops feeling betrayed? How dare you even suggest that. You know Yoonmin would never hit anyone. You sent it because you know he wouldn’t. If you had even the slightest bit of conscience, you’d be thinking about how to heal the wounds you’ve inflicted for the past two years.

Yoonmin Seo: Do you seriously think a few punches, groveling on the floor, and an apology will make up for two years of suffering? Do you think your apology is such a grand gesture? Is your groveling some monumental thing? Do you think, just because you’re sort of pretty, that your apology will be earth-shattering?

Yoonmin Seo: Please, just get out of Yoonmin’s life. You worthless bitch.

That was the last message. Haein pulled the blanket over her head and read the message again and again.

Yes. It’s all true.

Her chest throbbed. Every word from the girl’s message felt like an arrow piercing a different part of her body. Worthless bitch—no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t refute it.

A memory bubbled up to the forefront of her mind. She had once compared Yoonmin to a pill bug. She hadn’t meant it in a bad way. She thought it was cute how Yoonmin curled up, burying his face in a book. But after she said it, the other kids laughed. What was she thinking when she said that? It was just a thoughtless comment, but she should have known how the others would take it.

“You’re right. He does look exactly like a pill bug,” the other kids agreed, snickering.

From that moment on, Yoonmin’s nickname became “pill bug.” Of course no one would like being called that. She should have apologized then.

“Haein, you’re hilarious.”

“She’s quiet, but every time she says something, it’s a hit.”

Those words used to make her feel good. They always seemed to come from kids Haein admired. The ones who would gather during lunch breaks to talk and laugh, who went to karaoke or cafés for snacks after school…

Haein desperately wanted to be part of their group. So…

I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have. I should have apologized.

There had been plenty of chances. Yoonmin had given her so many opportunities, for two whole years! Yoonmin had even apologized first. He had said, “If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me.” But Haein ignored it. Yoonmin had done nothing wrong, done nothing to deserve her mistreatment.

She shouldn’t have thrown away their notebook or crumpled up Yoonmin’s notes. She shouldn’t have ignored Yoonmin’s greetings or made Yoonmin the target of class jokes. She shouldn’t have let two years pass like that. She shouldn’t have taken her role as Yoonmin Seo’s only friend for granted. That had been the most important achievement she’d ever accomplished.

Something inside Haein snapped. She started laughing only to have the sound choked by tears.

Just look at me now. If someone were reading about my life, they’d probably say, “Serves you right. You acted like a jerk and look where that got you.”

Streams of tears began soaking into the blanket that shielded her face from the outside world.

Can’t I turn back time, just once? Whether it’s to 8th grade or 9th, it doesn’t matter. Back then, Yoonmin would have accepted my apology. We could have gone back to how things were.

For two years, someone else had taken her place as Yoonmin’s only friend. Whenever Yoonmin was sad, happy, or angry, that person was there. Now, she was standing up for Yoonmin, getting angry at Haein on his behalf. Haein had become Yoonmin’s enemy, and that girl was Yoonmin’s only ally.

How could everything go so wrong in just a couple of years? Two years ago, the world was against Yoonmin, and Haein was the only one watching his back.

The sound of a knock at her door startled her.

“Haein, I'm coming in for a minute.”

It was her father.

“Haein? What's going on?” he asked, concern lining his face. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”

Her father sat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked Haein's hair.

“Who made my daughter cry? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Haein just sobbed wordlessly into her pillow.

Dad, I'm not a good person at all.

***

“Jiyoo, what are you doing?”

Yoonmin asked. It had taken some time to pay for the cat treats. There was a line to the register now, and the part-timer seemed to be new, handling orders at the pace of an elderly sloth. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, Yoonmin finally returned with the bag of treats, only to see Jiyoo holding his phone in her hand.

“That bitch, not even answering,” she muttered.

His stomach dropped. “Bitch?”

“Here.”

Jiyoo handed Yoonmin the phone. Then he checked it, going through the messages Jiyoo had sent to Haein. A sickening cold sweat slithered across his skin.

What the hell, this is insane.

It was a rampage. Jiyoo had relentlessly berated Haein, and Haein had not responded to any of it. Yet all the messages had been marked as read.

“Jiyoo?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Why did you—”

“Sorry for messing with your phone. But seriously, she was being so damn annoying, wasn’t she? Someone like that needs to be cussed out a bit to bring them back to reality.”

“…Still, you shouldn’t use my phone without asking.”

“Got it. Won’t do it again.” Jiyoo gave him a mock salute. “But anyway, Yoonmin, don’t be a pushover, okay? If you accept her apology and become friends with her again, it’s over for her, for you, and for me, too.”

Jiyoo watched him expectantly, waiting for a response. Yoonmin reluctantly nodded. She looked suspicious, narrowing her eyes as she picked up on his hesitation.

He felt grateful to Jiyoo. Jiyoo was always like this—getting angry on his behalf as if what happened to Yoonmin happened to her. Sometimes, her rage spiraled out of control, and he often wondered if Jiyoo had an anger management issue, but still… Wasn't that cool in a way? Donating money to an orphanage or volunteering at a soup kitchen—anyone could do that. Even without genuine altruism, anyone could pretend to care by smiling and saying the right things.

But people like Jiyoo were rare. Empaths who can feel joy, sadness, or anger over things that don’t concern them directly… Jiyoo was a great friend.

“Thanks, Jiyoo,” he said at last.

“No problem. Don’t you feel better?”

He didn’t. Yoonmin didn’t feel better at all. If Haein had argued back or fought with Jiyoo, he might’ve felt more at ease, but the fact that Haein had said nothing bothered him.

What did Haein look like now? How did she feel reading Jiyoo’s messages? Was she crying again, mumbling an apology, or was she not bothered at all?

No, who cares? It shouldn’t matter. So why am I thinking about it? Whatever, fuck it. What mattered today was hanging out with Jiyoo.

“The cats are cute,” Yoonmin said, and tore open the bag of treats.

.

***

On Monday morning, Haein was clearly not okay.

“Haein, are you feeling sick?”

“Are you alright?”

“Why aren’t you answering? Did you lose your voice again?”

Haein showed no reaction to the concern surrounding her. She just stared blankly at the desk, as if something really important was written there.

“Haein?”

“Is she really not feeling well?”

There was no life in Haein’s face. She didn’t move. She hadn’t even gotten out her books or her pencil case. She looked like a mannequin.

Jian approached the back of the classroom, where Yoonmin was sitting.

“Yoonmin, what should we do? Haein seems off.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Yoonmin retorted.

No, Yoonmin. Stop thinking this is about the messages Jiyoo sent. I’m not who matters to Haein, right? It’s her popular friends that she cares about. Maybe something happened with one of them over the weekend.

Yeeun, Jian, Soyul, Jinsol, and Ahyoon… One by one, the girls who were closest to Haein went up to her desk and tried talking to her. Haein didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at them. She totally ignored the friends she had valued more than Yoonmin.

Even when class started, nothing changed. Haein still didn’t take out her books.

“Haein Ju, are you not paying attention?”

Only after the teacher scolded her did Haein take out her book, as if she had just realized the teacher was there.

Even at lunchtime, Haein sat alone. Her friends called out to her, but Haein remained catatonic. She just stared numbly into space.

“Something must be wrong. Let’s just leave her alone today.”

Her friends left Haein alone and ate their lunch at another table.

What’s wrong with her? Wait, I don’t need to worry about her. No, I shouldn’t care. Didn’t Jiyoo say not to act like a pushover? Right now, Yoonmin should be celebrating Haein’s pain. Even if Jiyoo’s words did this, it wasn’t something for him to concern himself with. She deserved those insults, considering what she did.

Then, Yoonmin remembered something. That expression—she had seen it before. It was the first day Haein transferred in, back in 8th grade, after she’d broken down crying from stress. When the other kids stopped approaching her, she wore exactly that same expression.

Eating lunch alone while looking at her phone, going home alone… Back then, Yoonmin had noticed Haein because of her behavior.

Should I go talk to her? he’d wondered. No, she wouldn't enjoy my company.

In actuality, the way he’d discovered Haein’s joke notebook… wasn’t just by chance.

Damn it.

Yoonmin stood up. He couldn’t take it anymore. He resented his mother for passing on her weak genetics. He should’ve gotten his dad’s genes instead. If he were the type of person who was indifferent to other people’s pain, life would’ve been easier.

“Hey, Haein.”

Yoonmin walked over to Haein’s seat, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

“Let’s talk.”

On the other end of the line, Jaemin Choi’s voice brightened as if he’d been expecting Mansik’s answer.

“You made the right decision. I will fulfill all the conditions you mentioned earlier. If the kid has any additional requests, I’d like to discuss them as well.”

Agreeing to everything? He must be as keen.

“Yes, let’s discuss that with him later,” Mansik replied.

“Is tomorrow a good time? If he’s coming in person, I’d like to see him act with our script.”

“You want him to act right away?”

Mansik hadn’t even mentioned anything to the kid yet. Would it be okay to ask him to act already? A troubled expression crossed Mansik’s face.

“Oh, don’t worry too much,” came the voice on the line. “Take it as an opportunity to look around and see if our company is a good fit for him. Consider it a casual visit.”

The executive’s voice exuded confidence, almost as if the contract had already been signed. It was unusual for him to be so accommodating with the terms for a newcomer. Among the ranks of aspiring actors, nobody dared to turn down an offer presented by Jaemin Choi.

Mansik felt awkward.

I should probably go with him…

The contract could wait. It was clear that this experience would be helpful to the kid. Mansik was curious to see how he would react to the LED screens, state-of-the-art cameras, and extensive sound systems after only being in a quiet rural area. He might even develop unprecedented ambitions. After all, these were all things he wouldn’t have experienced before.

The decision could be left to him later.

***

Junwoo and Mansik sat in a restaurant.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Junwoo asked through a mouthful of rice.

The soybean paste stew in front of Mansik was getting cold.

Mansik racked his brain. No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t seem like the kid would come to Seoul willingly. He’d probably just say his time would be better spent reading scripts at the theater instead.

Staring intently at Junwoo, Mansik narrowed his eyes.

I know going there in person will convince him. But how to get him there in the first place?

Junwoo looked back as if to ask if there was a problem, then eyed Mansik’s stew.

“I’ll have that if you’re not.”

Before Mansik could reply, Junwoo pulled the stew toward him.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead,” Mansik said a second too late, jolting back to his senses. “Do you want to order anything else?”

“No, I’m good.”

Why am I so worried about what this kid thinks anyway?

It felt like Mansik was the boy’s manager at the moment.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Mansik finally said. “You ever been to Seoul?”

“No.”

“What, been living under a rock or something? What about a vacation? Ever taken one of those?”

“I’ve never been on vacation.”

“Seriously? Never? Do you have any idea how many amazing—”

Oops. He’d almost gone off on a tangent. Mansik, having regained his composure, continued speaking.

“Anyway. Have you heard of the 63 Building? It’s in Seoul. It’s amazing in real life. It has a whopping sixty-three floors.”

The usually reserved Mansik began to speak animatedly, counting on his fingers.

“That sounds cool,” Junwoo replied, looking slightly puzzled but not offering anything more.

Mansik suddenly felt awkward. “Well, anyway, what I mean is, I have to go to Seoul tomorrow. If you’re bored, how about we go take a look? It’s on a whole different level than this country town.”

After that, Mansik began to rattle off places he thought might catch the kid’s interest, like the hottest shopping districts, the grand Han River, and others. When he finished talking, he anxiously observed Junwoo’s reaction.

“You want to send me there?” Junwoo said.

“Oh, no, we’re just checking out the city.”

“That’s sad. And you wanted to keep me here so badly.”

“What?”

Does already know?

Had the boy overheard the phone conversation? Or personally met with Jaemin Choi without Mansik’s knowledge? Mansik was confused. In contrast, the kid sat leisurely eating his meal with an indifferent expression.

Junwoo couldn’t help but be curious, even though he wanted to remain oblivious. Lately, the theater owner had been sighing and looking worried whenever he saw Junwoo.

Mansik sighed deeply, resigning himself to the situation.

I should have said something first if I knew it would be like this.

He wondered if Junwoo would be convinced if he just asked plainly.

“So, we’re going to Seoul tomorrow?”

“What?”

Mansik had expected him to refuse. As such, he was puzzled by Junwoo’s easy agreement. The kid never did something he didn’t like. Listening like this was highly unusual behavior for him.

“Y-You really want to go?”

“Do I not seem like it?”

“Is there anywhere you want to visit?”

“No, not really.”

“Then why do you want to go?”

The boy didn’t look like he had an ulterior motive. It seemed like he genuinely wanted this.

Thinking back to Junwoo saying that he felt “sad,” worry tugged at Mansik’s heart. What if he had hurt the kid’s feelings? Mansik didn’t want him to think this was all because he needed professional training.

Quite the contrary. Junwoo was already well-rounded; there was no need for improvement in his directing or acting.

“It’s not because I think you need to improve.”

“I know.”

“It’s because of the company in that building. It’s bigger than anything you can imagine. Think carefully. I don’t know about your situation, but if anyone can help you later, it’s them.”

Junwoo didn’t reply.

“You need to meet people at your level,” Mansik continued. “And you won’t find them here. So what if you’re a good actor? You’re surrounded by rookies. It’s pure luck that you don’t mess up on stage. And what would you have to learn from them?”

Mansik felt a twinge of guilt at his condescending remarks toward his other actors. But he wasn’t wrong; the countryside theater was no place for this kid.

“So where is it?”

“Would you even know? The company’s called NK Entertainment. If you go there, I’m sure they’ll be someone who sees your value.”

Junwoo nodded.

“So… you really do want to go?” Mansik asked once more, unable to shake off his doubts.

His questions showed his needless indecision, like he was stuck building and then rebuilding a set.

***

NK Entertainment.

Junwoo scanned the interior, tugging at his hat.

Well, it’s certainly nice.

Even considering it was twenty years ago, the place was filled with state-of-the-art facilities on every floor, as befitting a top entertainment company in South Korea.

Mansik was more excited than ever, even though he had been the one to offer to show the boy around. His excitement had been through the roof since they had stepped into the lobby.

“Oh, look over there, that’s the production studio. I’ve seen it on TV. And that…!”

“Why are you so excited? You’re not some country bumpkin, sir.”

They were then ushered to the conference room. By the time they stood in front of the doors, Mansik was more nervous than Junwoo.

“Do we go in here?” Junwoo asked.

“Yeah, this must be it. Let’s go.”

Mansik took a deep breath and shook his hands as if he were doing warm-up exercises.

The employee who had guided them to the conference room looked puzzled. He had been told that the audition was for a teenager, but now he wondered if he had misunderstood.

Surprised by Mansik’s attempt to go in with him, Junwoo paused and blinked at Mansik. “Are we going in together?”

Oh. Mansik had been so distracted by nerves that he had almost strode in with the kid. Feeling awkward, Mansik stepped back and opened the door for him.

Junwoo entered the conference room alone.

On the other side of a long table, Jaemin Choi and another person sat side by side. Even though Junwoo knew of the NK director, he was slightly surprised when he saw the person sitting beside him.

It was Junho Gil, NK Entertainment’s top acting talent. Well, he wasn’t a top actor yet, but he was well-known to anyone who loved movies. He looked younger than Junwoo remembered.

He brought him here on purpose.

Junwoo knew Jaemin Choi hadn’t brought Junho Gil to this meeting by chance. He could tell by the way the executive was smiling; he was clearly aware of the actor’s presence and was trying to make a good impression.

But seeing him like this is still amazing.

Junho Gil was the king of supporting roles, stealing the spotlight even from the main characters. This was the time when he was at the height of his fame.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Please, have a seat.” Jaemin gestured to the seat across from him. His face was full of interest as he studied Junwoo. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one. But I’m thinking of making one soon.”

No name? Was the kid already thinking about his stage name? Jaemin thought back to the countless aspiring actors who had stood before him, all trying their best to make their names stick.

He’s not even nervous.

Jaemin supposed that could be possible after living so long in such an isolated palace. He continued speaking nonchalantly.

“Okay. We can get to that later. I really enjoyed your performance. Quite spectacular, really. When did you start doing theater?”

“The play was two weeks ago, so it’s been about two weeks.”

“Oh,” Jaemin said with a chuckle. “Yes, I saw that play, too. I mean, when did you first start your journey in theater?”

“That was my first performance.”

Only two weeks? What was this? It didn’t seem like he was lying, but he wasn’t really trying to sell himself, either. Jaemin cleared his throat at the unexpected answer, trying to hide his surprise.

“Our agency is producing a movie right now.”

Jaemin slid a script across the table.

Miracle Switch.

It was a movie Junwoo knew. He remembered watching it alone at the movie theater in his past life. It was about a middle school student and a 40-year-old teacher whose souls switched places.

Jaemin was relieved to see Junwoo staring intently at the script. The kid was clearly interested.

“I’d like to see you act before we discuss the story in detail. Even just a few lines.”

“Here?”

Junwoo turned around with a curious expression on his face. Outside the meeting room, he could just make out the silhouette of Mansik, clinging to the door like a cicada, desperately trying to eavesdrop.

Jaemin was full of anticipation at the thought of seeing the same performance he had seen that day right here in this room.

Junho Gil, who was sitting next to him, was the same. He was an actor from a rural town who had come up from the bottom despite his difficult family circumstances. At first, no one wanted to use him. After several years of struggle, he began to gain attention after being cast in a supporting role in a drama. He now held the title of “The King of Supporting Roles.”

He had been treated well in the industry and had come across all sorts of people and aspiring actors. In recent years, most clung to him, saying they respected him and wanted to see his acting just once. But the guy before him didn’t look the least bit desperate.

It was a mystery. The Jaemin Choi he knew would have kicked this kid out of the building and prevented him from ever setting foot in the industry again. He was surprised at how forgiving Jaemin was of the kid’s nonchalance.

Just how good is this kid?

Junwoo casually flipped open the pages that Jaemin directed him to.

Page 34

Scene 14: School Hallway

The hallway is bustling with students laughing and talking. Students are skateboarding, reading books, and more. Taekyung, standing in the hallway, is looking around, trying to figure out what is happening. The camera slowly follows Taekyung (with Youngsik’s soul inside) and captures his expression. Taekyung is very confused and flustered.

Taekyung: Why am I here… Oh, what’s wrong with my voice?

The dialogue continued. Jaemin clasped his hands together.

“Not too difficult, right? Can you give it a go?” Jaemin Choi asked.

Junwoo glanced around the meeting room briefly, his head tilted in concentration. “I can’t do these lines here.”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“I can’t fill the lines.”

“What?”

“The ambient noises mixed with the lines. There’s none of that here.”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. What is he talking about? Is he making excuses because he’s not confident?

“Hmm. Are you saying you can’t because of our location? That’s just a matter of focus. Everyone auditions in quiet places like this.”

Junwoo hesitated for a moment, wondering where to start. Explaining what he instinctively felt in words was more difficult than he thought.

“It’s not about focus. It’s about the dialogue. The dialogue here should stand out against the background noise of skateboards, laughter, teasing, whispering, footsteps, the sound of a ball bouncing in through the window, that kind of stuff. If it doesn’t, it’ll be meaningless. It will be a completely different scene.”

Noise in the dialogue? Jaemin had never heard of such a thing. What difference could it make?

“I’m having a hard time understanding what you’re saying. Why is that important?”

Jaemin was turning over the kid’s words in his mind when Junho, who had been quietly listening, tilted his head. He looked troubled.

Then, as if he had to check something right away, he took the script in front of Junwoo and started flipping through it.

Surprised by his sudden change in attitude, Jaemin whispered, “What are you doing?”

Junho was too distracted to respond. After looking through the script several times and pondering it over, the actor made a surprised face as if he had realized something.

It was the first time Jaemin had seen Junho like this. He suddenly remembered the theater owner and his excessive confidence about this boy.

He wasn’t bluffing, was he? He must be something special.

Jaemin became even more eager to see for himself. He was determined to see this kid’s acting today, no matter what.

“I don’t really know what the problem is, but… even if the environment’s not ideal, could you try it out? Just think of it as a simple audition or table read.”

Audition. So that’s what it was.

Junwoo finally realized why he was sitting there. He’d actually never been that interested, so he hadn’t given it much thought. He had just agreed because Mansik looked so happy.

And I thought this guy was asking me to act.

Junwoo grabbed the script again. “Oh, I didn’t know. Can I just do it sitting?”

It was a scene that required a partner. In front of him was Junho Gil. Memories flashed through Junwoo’s mind: watching the man in movies, receiving awards on TV, and other moments in his future. Junwoo had never thought he’d be in this position.

This might be interesting.

Having come without much thought and unexpectedly encountering a famous face, Junwoo began to feel intrigued.

“It would be better to have a scene partner. Do you have another script, by any chance?”

Everything looked bleak. The unmelted snow cast a pallor over the season’s barren face.

Dongju walked the ginkgo tree-lined path, now draped in shades of gray so deep, it was hard to imagine they had ever seen the vibrancy of spring or summer. In this tranquil landscape, only Dongju seemed out of place.

He paced the length of the path, stopping occasionally to take deep breaths. Memories of that day flickered in his mind, including scenes he wished he could erase. In his imagination, he viewed himself from a CCTV camera above, looking detached and shameful. His own crying, self-pitying and disgraceful, echoed in his ears despite his attempts to block it out.

Why did I do that? Why did I behave like that? These questions kept running through his mind.

Why did I do that? That can’t happen again.

But Dongju couldn’t trust himself anymore. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t repeat his actions. Like the thickest ice that eventually melts at the arrival of spring, Dongju feared his own nature might betray him. Abruptly, he stopped walking and stared at the security office.

It felt wrong to go inside. Woogi was there—the person who had provoked his most loathsome aspects. Dongju knew he should stay away to keep his promise to himself. It seemed so clear, it barely required thought.

However…

Not all memories from that day were terrible. There were also moments of serene quiet, like being encased in ice, the draft from a slightly open door, the thawing of something within him, the relief, Woogi’s face on the dim screen… These memories mingled, creating a bittersweet ache in Dongju’s heart.

Like the memory of a spring night’s air, the remnants of that day caressed his skin. Dongju dared not indulge in these sensations, not even allowing himself to acknowledge them. He simply let them scurry past like a mouse, fleeting and unnoticed.

But what Dongju didn’t realize was how deeply these feelings were embedding themselves in his heart, shaping his thoughts and actions like a longing for a long-lost home. Even now, his actions betrayed his internal conflict. Faced with the clear choice to avoid the security office, he found himself drawn to the more difficult path.

I shouldn’t drink so much in there again.

With renewed but fragile trust in himself, Dongju headed toward the security office.

***

Woogi stretched her arms far back, a familiar gesture that somehow seemed different today. Dongju watched, feeling a slight tension as he accepted a paper cup from her. He peeked inside cautiously as if verifying the contents of a secretive exchange. It was kimbap, the same as always. Egg, pickled radish, ham, spinach.

“Oh, I don’t eat carrots.”

He had made the comment the first day Woogi brought kimbap for lunch, returning it without taking a bite. But since then, Woogi had made sure her kimbap was carrot-free, and Dongju had eaten it without fail, never noticing the change. How had he missed that?

Now, holding the kimbap, Dongju hesitated. It would have been strange not to eat it, especially since he always accepted food. He chewed it slowly as if tasting it for the first time. His gaze drifted to the slippers.

They were neatly aligned, positioned perfectly for slipping on when heading out. Dongju had never been the one to organize them; he habitually kicked them off in different directions upon entering. Yet, they were always orderly when he needed to go out. He had never considered why.

In that moment, Dongju could easily envision Woogi, diligently arranging the slippers each day. He saw himself, foolishly slipping them on without a second thought.

He suddenly felt like a drink.

He took a bottle of soju from the fridge and picked up a glass from the top, which was upside down among other glasses. As he tried to pour the soju, he hesitated.

Looking at the glass in his hand, he noticed the water droplets clinging to it.

He realized he had never washed this glass himself. Glancing up, he saw Woogi’s back.

Setting the glass down, Dongju felt a sense of helplessness, like ice slowly melting before a fire. He almost wanted to confront Woogi, to ask why she was doing this to him.

He didn’t want to know more about Woogi’s thoughtful acts, yet he couldn’t ignore them. His awareness of her actions had sharpened, making everything she did seem amplified, as if under a microscope. Every movement Woogi made—opening a drawer, turning her head, twirling a pen—captured Dongju’s full attention.

Feeling overwhelmed, almost seasick from this rush of sensitivity, Dongju curled up and lay down. He pondered how Woogi, who disliked being disturbed, turned out to be so considerate in such quiet ways.

How long had he been lost in thought? Woogi picked up her phone, adjusted the volume, and seemed to assume Dongju was asleep. She gently placed the phone back on the desk, typing softly, making sure even these small actions were silent.

Dongju replayed these moments in his mind, slowly, meticulously. He turned away from Woogi and lay facing the wall. His eyes were open, staring blankly.

Fear crept in. Dongju worried that witnessing Woogi’s kindness could make him vulnerable again, possibly even lead him to another emotional outburst. He realized he shouldn’t treat Woogi the same way as before.

***

“I couldn’t have cried in front of anyone else. But with you, Woogi… there’s no one else like you. So quiet. You stop whatever you’re doing, being careful to stay quiet for my sake. You don’t even look out the window if there’s a disturbance. You never show any surprise. It’s like you’re not even here…”

Dongju Choi was surprisingly observant. How did he notice everything I did even while drunk crying? It seemed like he wasn’t paying any attention, yet he caught every little thing. He even seemed to deliberately overlook what Professor Kang said last time, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Maybe… Dongju Choi had picked up on it all along.

“Thank you.”

That “Thank you” resonated deeply within me.

Was that really something to be thankful for? I was just being still…

I thought back to what I had done.

I tried my best to be unobtrusive, so… I guess that was something to be appreciated.

But no one had ever thanked me for that before. Probably because I never spoke up, they assumed I was just being quiet.

How did Dongju manage to express his gratitude for something like that? He really was something else. Not just sharp or smart, but… different.

I wondered exactly what was different about him.

“Woogi Kim, come out here, please!”

My mom’s voice came from the living room.

Suddenly, I remembered what Dongju had said.

“I was like that in middle school, too. When I wasn’t speaking to my mom. ‘Ah, just leave me alone.’”

“Definitely, when you’re annoyed, it just comes out.”

When I was in middle school, I found my mom particularly irritating. As I grew older, I understood why she acted that way, but at the time, all I felt was annoyance.

I stared at the door, hating the fact that I had influenced my mom to behave a certain way. She could be warm and gentle, and I didn’t want to believe she spoke like that only because of me.

A tingling pain spread through my chest. I felt like I needed to see her.

I got up and went to the living room.

Mom was sitting in front of the couch, painting her nails. She looked up and said, “Gosh, I called you a while ago and you’re just coming now? Come here and help me with my right hand.”

Seeing her ask for help so casually was a relief. I sat down, propped her right hand on my raised knee, and began to paint her thumb.

Mom seemed surprised. “What’s this? You’re helping so willingly?”

She studied my expression.

I pretended to focus on applying the nail polish and kept my head bowed. “Is there another color?”

“Hey, buy one for your mother and then talk,” she teased.

“What, I bought you one last time.”

“When? Did you really?”

“…”

As usual, I struggled to respond.

Mom’s voice softened. “Tell me, I really can’t remember.”

“Never mind,” I said, my voice weaker than normal.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

I just wanted to be honest.

“You don’t have to do that anymore.”

Mom looked at me, puzzled.

I felt awkward saying it. “I’ll speak.”

“What’s with you? Is something wrong?”

Mom seemed half worried, half curious. I didn’t want to worry her further.

“I’m not a middle schooler anymore. There’s no need to annoy me to get me to talk,” I said.

Mom chuckled. “You knew?”

“Someone told me.”

“Who?”

“Someone at school. They said that when you’re annoyed, you want to talk the most. They also said that when they were in middle school, they wouldn’t speak to their mom unless it was just to say, ‘Leave me alone.’”

It felt awkward to refer to Dongju as “someone at school.”

Mom seemed briefly surprised by the mention.

“Do you see this person often?” she asked.

She sounded nonchalant, but I could tell it was forced.

I answer dryly, “Not often.”

“Hmm. Are you close?”

“Not really.”

Mom’s lips curled up.

I wanted to tell her something more pleasing. It almost sounded like bragging.

“That person… was doing something. So I stayed quiet so that I wouldn’t bother him. He actually thanked me for it. He appreciated that I didn’t make a sound so he wouldn’t get distracted. He said there aren’t many who would be that considerate for just one person.”

I felt a bit embarrassed after speaking and lightly blew on Mom’s nails.

Mom’s response was enthusiastic. “That kid really understands. Yeah, there’s no one like you. Usually, when people are considerate, they do it to be seen, to be thanked, and ideally, to be recognized. But you, you do your best even for just one person without any show. That’s really special.”

Her words sped up as she spoke, and a flutter of excitement tickled my stomach.

“Oh, really?” I said nonchalantly.

“Wow, that friend of yours really appreciates it. That’s no small thing. Most people would overlook it, think not much of it. There aren’t many who would go out of their way to say thank you for something like that.”

I nodded.

Now I understood why Dongju felt different from everyone else.

***

Squeak.

Dongju Choi was here.

I felt a faint smile forming for no apparent reason. Maybe it was because he seemed amusing, or maybe it was his quirky vibe. I had this feeling he’d crack a pointless joke or say something absurd. Was that why I was already chuckling to myself?

Dongju was looking at his phone. He usually didn’t spend much time on it, but today he seemed so absorbed that he didn’t notice my arrival.

I was tempted to pull a prank on him. I imagined he’d tease me back playfully. For a moment, I thought it would be fun to share a lighthearted moment like that with him. But I hesitated, feeling awkward about starting something I hadn’t done before.

I looked down at Dongju’s slippers to arrange them, but they were already neatly placed. He’d never taken off his slippers like that before. Had he arranged them himself knowing I would care?

I sat down. I took out a lunch box from my bag, removed the kimbap, and placed it in a paper cup. I initially put only two pieces, but after a moment, I added two more.

I extended my arm. But… before I even fully stretched out, the paper cup was snatched away. I replayed the sensation I had just felt in my hand.

He’d never taken it like that before. Was he preoccupied with something and just swiped it without paying much attention? Maybe he was having a bad day. Or was he just really hungry?

I wondered if I was being too sensitive. To think so long about such a minor thing… But an uncomfortable feeling lingered. It was hard to ignore.

I fiddled with my fingers.

“…”

“…”

Dongju was unusually quiet today.

Was I overly attentive? It had never been this quiet before… Did this silence have anything to do with him crying last time?

Dongju’s face was obscured, which only added to my frustration. I decided to feign needing something from the cabinet and turned around.

“…”

“…”

Dongju avoided my gaze. I tensed up. Trying to appear casual, I stood up and walked over to the cabinet. My head felt like it was buzzing.

Why did he avoid my eyes? I was sure I hadn’t imagined it. Was it just a coincidence? Yet today, not a single word was spoken, and earlier, with the kimbap… It didn’t seem like all coincidences…

A foreboding feeling settled over me like a damp fog. I needed to return to my seat.

As I turned around, I wondered if I should look at him again. Would we make eye contact this time? Would that help me figure out if his avoiding my gaze earlier was just a coincidence? But what if he looked away again? I stood in front of the cabinet for a moment.

No, it had to be a coincidence. I was probably just worrying too much. There was no reason for Dongju to behave like that.

I wanted to shake off this ominous feeling quickly. I turned back and looked at him. Dongju was peering into a bag of almonds.

I kept watching him as he fiddled with the bag, pulling out an almond, then replacing it, grabbing a peanut, then putting it back as well. It seemed like he was deliberately waiting for me to look away.

I returned to my seat, feeling a cold wave crash into my heart. I couldn’t understand what I had just seen. Why was he avoiding me? What had I done wrong?

I tried to gauge the atmosphere in the office, attempting to sense any feelings or attitudes Dongju might have toward me. Was he really avoiding me? Did he feel disappointment or discomfort toward me, or had I perhaps misunderstood? Maybe I misinterpreted something… I searched for clues to all these possibilities.

But still, I couldn’t be certain of anything.

It was hard to accept that he was deliberately avoiding me. Even though I had seen it with my own eyes, it still felt like I might have gotten it wrong. I couldn’t settle on a conclusion without concrete evidence.

I paused to think, unsure of what to do next.

Then, I opened a window.

The cold air of midwinter rushed in, instantly chilling the office to match the frigid temperatures outside. I clasped my right hand with my left, then switched hands.

“…”

“…”

Time seemed to slow.

Dongju said nothing.

He was usually quick to complain about the cold. If the window was left open even a little too long, he would start grumbling.

My nails dug into my palm. It felt like a frost was forming from the bottom of my heart.

I waited a bit longer.

It might not be cold yet, I thought over and over, probably for a full minute.

Maybe he thinks I’ll close it myself—also for a full minute.

Should I just wait a bit longer? Just one more minute…

As it began to feel pathetic to keep counting the minutes, I closed the window.

“Check this out. This website sells soft peaches for 100 won more than firm ones.”

“Huh, you’re right. Never noticed that before.”

“See, that’s capitalism for you. Price becomes the be-all and end-all, you know? We start thinking expensive means better quality. So now we’ve got ourselves believing soft peaches taste better just ‘cause they cost more.”

“Oh, come on. That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

“What, you don’t buy it? Careful now, disagree with me and we might just spark a political debate right here.”

“Soft peaches are way better!” Jiwoo exclaimed at the video she was watching on her phone. “That juicy sweetness dripping down your chin? Nothing beats it.”

Byung-jun, peering over her shoulder, nodded eagerly. “Totally agree. Soft peaches all the way.”

Jiwoo turned to him, her eyebrows raised. “Yeah? You think so too?”

A flush crept up Byung-jun’s neck as he rushed to affirm, “Absolutely. I mean, who even likes firm peaches? Might as well munch on a radish. Or hey, why not throw some firm peaches in with your beef stew?”

Jiwoo burst out laughing. “Right? What’s the point?”

From her perch on the corner of the sofa, Hansol’s quiet voice drifted over. “I like firm peaches.”

Jiwoo’s head whipped around, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Seriously? No way. What’s so great about them?”

Hansol shrugged, not looking up from her phone. “They’re crunchier.”

“You eat peaches for the crunch?” Jiwoo gaped at her.

Hyunsoo, sitting next to Byung-jun, piped up. “Peaches should be firm. Hansol’s got the right idea.”

Byung-jun leaned in, muttering under his breath, “Look who’s trying to impress her…”

Hyunsoo elbowed him, mouthing back, “Look who’s talking.” The guys around them snickered.

Oblivious to their exchange, Jiwoo declared, “Huh, more firm peach fans than I thought. Let’s put it to a vote.”

As Jiwoo called for hands, the boys exchanged knowing glances. One spoke up, “Soft peaches for me.”

Another chimed in, “Uh… firm peaches, I guess.”

Byung-jun’s lips twitched into a grin. “Well, would you look at that? We’re tied 3-3.”

Jiwoo’s jaw dropped. “No way. Soft peaches aren’t winning?”

Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the far corner. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she sing-songed, “Noeul, what about you? You’re not one of those firm peach weirdos, right? There’s no way.”

Without glancing up from his laptop, Noeul replied, “Firm peaches for me.”

The room erupted in a chorus of excited chatter and laughter. “4-3! Firm peaches take the crown!” someone crowed.

Jiwoo blinked, her gaze fixed on Noeul. If he noticed her staring, he didn’t show it, his expression blank as he focused on his screen. Slowly, the smile slipped from Jiwoo’s face.

***

Hansol was already settled in the back corner when Noeul entered the empty lecture hall. Their eyes met briefly before Noeul quickly averted his gaze, taking his seat.

Damn it, he thought. I should’ve just said hello like nothing happened. Now it’s weird to turn back, but staying quiet makes it seem like we had some big falling out.

He was still wrestling with how to salvage the situation when Hansol’s voice broke the silence. “You’re here early.”

Relieved, Noeul turned. “Had some free time. You?”

“Same.”

Noeul nodded, about to face forward again when he hesitated. “Listen, about yesterday… I’m sorry. I was dealing with some stuff.”

“What? Oh, that.” Hansol waved her hand dismissively. “Forgot all about it. Don’t sweat it, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” She turned back to her phone.

Noeul knew better. Someone as perceptive as Hansol couldn’t have truly forgotten. Her casual dismissal only twisted the knife of guilt deeper. She probably knew how much he had berated himself after what he said as well; that was probably why she was acting so nonchalant.

Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, Hansol looked up. “What was going on with you yesterday, anyway?”

“It wasn’t much, really. I was in a mood and you caught the brunt of it.”

“If you get stressed, what hope is there for the rest of us mere mortals?”

Noeul let out a weak chuckle, but her words hit home. Trying to lighten the mood, he quipped, “Right, because one of us has to have it together, inside and out.”

He shook his head with exaggerated self-deprecation, but Hansol didn’t crack a smile.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I’ve been wondering about something.”

Noeul’s stomach tightened. “Oh? What’s that?”

“If I weren’t pretty, would you still want to be friends with me?”

Noeul looked away, unable to meet her piercing gaze. She had always been able to see right through him.

When someone begins to hate themselves, life becomes an uphill battle. Yet, most people find a way to soften the blow. Instead of outright hatred for their flaws, they shift toward a kind of self-pity.

They don’t hate themselves for being weak; they feel sorry for their ailing body and mind. They don’t despise their obsessive tendencies; they pity the neglected child within. They don’t loathe their dishonesty; they sympathize with the self that sees no other choice but to lie.

This makes life a little less painful. But scratch beneath the surface, and you’ll find this pity isn’t as noble as it seems.

Noeul pitied himself for being unattractive. He was convinced that his life was fundamentally different from those blessed with good looks. Yet, ironically, he shunned other unattractive people, fearing association with them would diminish his own worth in others’ eyes. In private, he’d lament his fate: Poor, unloved me. Pathetic.

Hansol had seen right through him, and Noeul knew it.

What should he say? He had a well-rehearsed response ready, one that would paint him in a favorable light. But something stirred within him, urging him to be honest with Hansol. He sensed that any attempt to dodge the truth would be pointless. This realization pushed Noeul to speak candidly. He’d spent far too long being dishonest—with others, with himself. Maybe, just this once, he could speak freely without worrying how his words would be received.

“I probably wouldn’t have,” he admitted quietly.

Hansol looked at him for a moment, then nodded as if she understood.

“I guess that’s why I was curious,” Noeul continued. “I wouldn’t want to be friends with me if I were someone else. So why would you?”

Hansol gazed out the window, contemplating. “I’m not sure exactly… but maybe I wanted to prove that exceptions exist. To you, and to myself.”

“Why would you need to prove that? You don’t need to do that. It’s something only people like me would want to prove.”

“I don’t know…” Hansol hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Is it because a world with exceptions is preferable? Like, there may be no truly beautiful world, but parents always strive to show their children the world in the best light possible. While it was a harsh world for me, I hope it won’t be for someone else…”

Noeul couldn’t fully grasp what she meant, but her words left a deep ache in his chest.

Trying to mask his emotions, he let out a small laugh. “Am I like your kid or something?”

Hansol chuckled awkwardly. Noeul wanted to ask why she felt the need to prove this exception to him, of all people. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

Just then, the door to the lecture hall creaked open. Both Noeul and Hansol turned to see who it was.

Jiwoo entered the room, pausing as she noticed the two of them sitting together.

***

Jiwoo broke the silence. “You guys got here early. Did you come together?”

“No, we just ran into each other,” Hansol replied.

“Right.”

Jiwoo’s gaze flicked to Noeul, who had suddenly become very interested in his laptop and notes.

As she made her way to a seat by the wall, Jiwoo commented, “I thought I’d be the first one here. It’s still twenty minutes till class starts.”

Noeul remained silent, flipping through his notes.

Hansol spoke up, “I came early to kill some awkward time. So did he.”

“Oh, I see,” Jiwoo said, settling into her seat.

A knot of frustration began to form in her stomach. When she’d walked in, Noeul had been turned around, clearly mid-conversation with Hansol. But the moment Jiwoo appeared, he’d spun back around, busying himself with his materials as if class were about to start any second.

Shouldn’t there have been some casual conversation? Even just a “Hey, you’re early too”? That’s what normal people would do. Why was Noeul acting like they were strangers, or worse, like he was upset with her?

Even earlier, in the lounge, something had felt off. During the peach debate, Jiwoo had expected one of Noeul’s typical quips. Something like, “Who eats soft peaches and lets juice drip everywhere?” or “If you’re eating soft peaches, why even bother having teeth? Might as well yank ‘em out.”

But instead, his response had been cold, almost distant.

Just a few days ago, at drinks, Noeul had assured her that he didn’t dislike her. So why did it feel like he was putting up a wall now? Was she overthinking things? Was this just how Noeul usually was? But he hadn’t acted this way with the others, nor when they first met.

The uncertainty was driving Jiwoo from frustration to outright irritation.

“Noeul, do you want to see Dead Man 2 with Joonki and me this weekend?” she asked.

Noeul shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m already seeing it with someone else.”

“Oh… with who?”

“…Hyun—”

But before Noeul could finish, Hansol interjected, “With me.”

“Oh…”

Jiwoo nodded, turning back to face the front.

What was going on? Noeul had clearly been about to say Hyunsoo’s name before Hansol jumped in, claiming she was the one going with him. As if she was covering for him.

Was going to the movies with Jiwoo something Noeul wanted to avoid? Did Noeul tell Hansol he didn’t like her, and that’s why Hansol was helping him out? Why? What had Jiwoo done?

Jiwoo bit her lip, a wave of hurt and frustration washing over her.

If I’ve done something wrong, why won’t he just tell me? Why’s he being so passive-aggressive? Or does he just not want to be friends with me anymore? Is it because I’m too outgoing? I guess Hansol’s quieter and more mysterious… But we knew each other first. We used to have fun together. Is he just ditching me now that he’s found someone he clicks with better? Even if that’s the case, is it fair to just shut me out like this?

Determined not to be sidelined, Jiwoo felt a surge of defiance.

It’s not like I haven’t had people dislike me before, but I’ve always won them over. Noeul will be no different.

Jiwoo turned toward Noeul and Hansol and said brightly, “Great! The four of us should go together.”

Jieun led the way to their seats, chattering about the movie. Hyerim trailed behind Yoonwoo, who ended up between them.

“I envy you, Yoonwoo. I wish I could watch it again for the first time,” Jieun said as she pulled out a small white handkerchief and waved it around. “By the way, it’s okay to cry. Men don’t have to hold back tears these days.”

She had been making a fuss like this since they met, eagerly explaining why the movie was a masterpiece and excited about Yoonwoo’s reaction, all without spoiling anything.

As she talked, Yoonwoo couldn’t help but smile. Bet the producers would be pleased with the promo.

“It’s good,” Hyerim interjected, “but Jieun’s a bit dramatic. She still cried on her ninth watch.”

“Hyerim’s emotions are as dry as a desert. Don’t you get how emotionally moving it is?”

“Um… Anyway,” Yoonwoo said, “thanks for organizing the tickets. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

Yoonwoo had no expectations. He planned to say he liked it regardless. The children in the theater made him wonder if Jieun had childlike tastes. He kept picturing her sipping an Oreo shake.

When the commercials ended and the title Inside Out lit up the screen, he suddenly remembered this was the same movie Rabbit had gone to see alone.

As the movie ended, Yoonwoo felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Yoonwoo, are you okay?” Hyerim asked as she handed him a tissue. “Here, use this.”

Jieun sniffled loudly. “See? Hyerim, you’re cold-blooded.”

“I get Yoonwoo, but Unni, why are you crying so much? This is your tenth watch!”

Jieun’s tears had already soaked her handkerchief, and Yoonwoo had already used Hyerim’s tissue to wipe his eyes, so they quickly headed to the restroom. He felt embarrassed as the children who watched with them stared at their reddened eyes.

Inside Out portrayed Riley’s emotions as personified characters guiding her through a move to a new city. When an incident scattered her core memories, her sadness and rebelliousness intensified, leading her to run away.

As her emotions struggled to recover these memories, they inadvertently sacrificed her childhood innocence in the process. However, they made a profound discovery: joy and sadness were inextricably linked in her happiest recollections. A memory of losing a hockey game revealed the comfort found in the support of family and teammates, transforming disappointment into resilience.

The film concluded with Riley’s relieved parents finding her, emphasizing that true happiness lay in sharing life’s struggles with loved ones.

This message struck a painful chord with Yoonwoo. He remembered clearly the day in second grade when he learned that other children received gifts and enjoyed time with their parents on Christmas. Filled with hope, he approached his dad, asking if they could go out somewhere together. His dad’s response, however, was as cold as the December air outside.

“Isn’t Christmas Jesus’s birthday? It’s not yours. Can’t you see I’m on my way out? Why do you think I go through all this trouble every day? What’s the point of having a kid if he’s not considerate? Good grief…”

But young Yoonwoo, in his childish naivety, had believed he deserved his parents’ affection, just as other children seemed to enjoy theirs. He thought that if he cried, threw a tantrum, and ran away, something would change.

It was a White Christmas. Snowflakes fell thickly from the sky, and children happily chatted with their parents or friends as they headed off to festive destinations. Yoonwoo stood alone in the corner of the playground, watching enviously as other families passed by.

He remembered scenes from TV shows where parents desperately searched for runaway children, eventually reuniting with them in tears. Clinging to this hope, he waited eagerly, imagining his mom or dad finding him, apologizing, and spending a joyful Christmas together.

As time passed, his legs ached, his stomach growled, and the cold seeped through his clothes. He longed for anyone to notice him, even a kidnapper. But in his poor neighborhood, no one spared a glance at a child lurking in a playground corner.

After all, why would a child with a home be loitering in a playground on Christmas? Even a kidnapper didn’t need him. As he sat there, the snow pelting down, Yoonwoo felt he was worth less than the crumbling snowman beside him.

As the sun set, he eventually gave up and went home, only to be greeted not by angry or apologetic parents, but by silence.

On the dining table, there was a note that read:

If you throw a tantrum, you get nothing. Go outside and play a little. Here’s some money to buy yourself a hamburger.

A 10,000-won note lay next to the message.

At that moment, Yoonwoo understood that the happiness allowed in his life would be just like that 10,000-won note on the table.

Wandering outside in the cold, longing for a distant happiness that would never come, was worse than eating a hamburger alone in a dark but comfortable silence.

From that day on, he knew the best method was to not look at others’ happiness.

***

It was too early for dinner, so they ended up at a café.

“So, Yoonwoo, what did you think of the movie?” Hyerim asked.

Yoonwoo wasn’t sure how to answer. He mostly felt embarrassed as it had taken him longer than Jieun to stop crying.

“See, Hyerim? That’s how you should react,” Jieun said. “Right, Yoonwoo?”

Yoonwoo shook his head awkwardly. “Well, isn’t it different for everyone?”

“Ah, I don’t get it,” Hyerim sighed. “Which part makes you cry? It’s moving, but I don’t feel a thing.”

“Alright, Hyerim, you’re out. Yoonwoo and I will talk, just the two of us.”

“Unni!”

“You know, I start bawling every time that pink elephant guy disappears. What about you, Yoonwoo?”

“Um… I just…”

Yoonwoo’s mind drifted to his second-grade self, wandering snowy streets on Christmas. Through windows, he glimpsed other families’ joy—rich food, new toys. But those scenes weren’t for him. Even on his birthday, he only got extra pocket money.

The movie screen felt like a large window to him. Inside that window were scenes of happy families and even a boy who had a crush on Riley at the end. Yoonwoo couldn’t help but wonder what the meaning of the movie was.

Was it to show me all the things I never had and probably never will?

By Yoonwoo’s standards, the movie could only be a masterpiece if it ended with a murderer or a demon showing up.

“Just? What?”

“I envied Riley,” Yoonwoo admitted.

“Really? Why?”

He envied everything about her. That snowy day, had his parents hoped he’d never return? Why was the house empty that evening? Were they enjoying their freedom from him at a restaurant? He only sought happiness from them, but he knew that to his parents, he was an obstacle to their happiness.

“I mean, having parents who look for you all day… What am I saying?” He gave a short, embarrassed laugh before quickly changing the subject. “What should we do for dinner?”

He sensed that he might have dampened the mood, but Hyerim and Jieun understood the meaning of his words. Yoonwoo’s envy of Riley having parents searching all day for their lost child meant he probably grew up with parents who wouldn’t look for him.

“I thought it was strange that a person like Riley would wander around looking so lonely.”

Jieun, who had seen the same movie ten times, immediately understood Yoonwoo more from his reaction to the film. The emotional impact of the movie was typically formed through a connection with the character of Riley.

Viewers typically empathized with her, seeing themselves in her struggle to adapt to change. By evaluating their own memories, the audience could appreciate the mix of joy and sorrow, and the people around them.

But what about Yoonwoo? He hadn’t felt empathy for the main character as he watched the movie. But maybe envy wasn’t the whole story either. Yoonwoo couldn’t find even a sliver of his own experiences on screen. So, from the beginning to the end of the movie, he felt disconnected from Riley’s struggles and could only look on in envy as her family welcomed her back.

Yoonwoo wasn’t usually moved to tears by emotion. His tears when the credits rolled had been out of sadness from his exclusion from such experiences.

Unbeknownst to him, Jieun had a rocky relationship with her father since childhood, so she understood Yoonwoo’s reaction. Glancing at him, she said, “Man, this calls for a drink, doesn’t it?”

“Unni, no more drinking! Please!” Hyerim protested.

“Noona, we have class tomorrow morning,” Yonwoo added.

“I have a class first period, too.”

Hyerim shook her head. “Wow.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“What do you mean? Unni, I think you have a drinking problem.”

“I didn’t drink during the day, so shouldn’t I partake at night? Isn’t that okay?”

“Unni, how are your grades? How often have you attended your first-period classes since the semester started?”

“Ugh, trust you to use that against me.”

“So, what should we eat?” Hyerim said. She looked at Yoonwoo. “Is there something you’re craving?”

“I’m not sure.”

Yoonwoo wanted to go home. He felt embarrassed about crying in front of Hyerim and Jieun, and despite Rabbit giving him money, he had no intention of spending it and wanted to minimize his expenses.

“Do you guys want to come to my place?” Jieun suggested.

“Huh? Isn’t your place a mess? I thought you said you had laundry all over the place?”

“I cleaned up before I left. I still have rice left from this morning in the rice cooker. I’ll make us curry.”

“You can cook?” Hyerim asked with a shocked expression.

“Hyerim.”

“Yeah?”

“People who drink alone at home have to be good at cooking. Do you know why?”

“Because they need side dishes?”

“You got it!” Jieun exclaimed. After Hyerim shrugged, Jieun continued, “I’ve watched tons of Jong-won Park’s cooking shows. Have you heard of milk curry?”

“How about you, Yoonwoo? Wanna join?” Hyerim asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude, especially since… you know… you’re a woman living alone. Maybe I should just…”

“Yoonwoo,” Jieun cut in firmly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to all the trouble of cooking for you, and you’re trying to run off home? What’s with that? A woman, huh? Do you see me as a woman? Is that how you’ve been looking at me?”

“Right. Sorry. What should I bring?”

“What? You don’t see me as a woman? Yoonwoo, are you treating me like a kid because I’m short?” Jieun asked in a sulky tone.

Yoonwoo was at a loss.

“Unni, stop teasing him and let’s go. Do we need to get anything?”

“I have lots of leftovers. I keep getting delivery food, so they’re about to go bad. Especially the onions. Anyway, let’s finish it off today.”

“Were you planning to bring us to your place for dinner from the start? You never tidy up.”

“No, I thought we’d go out for drinks and head home. But I figured you’d stop me from drinking, so this is my backup plan.”

“You know I won’t let you drink at home either, right?” Hyerim said, raising an eyebrow.

“What? It’s my house, Hyerim. I’ll share some vodka with you. Let’s have a few drinks. Okay? Or maybe tequila? Or would you prefer Chinese liquor?”

“How many types of alcohol do you have? I’m worried about your health. You need to have more sober days.”

“Hmph. But as soon as you leave…”

“Exactly. I should keep your alcohol at my house. I’ll give you one bottle a month.”

“As soon as you leave, I’m going to wash up and go to bed early. I was…” Jieun trailed off as they arrived at her apartment building.

After entering Jieun’s unit, Yoonwoo was surprised by three things. First, by the fact that Jieun lived alone in quite a spacious apartment. Second, by the mountain of empty liquor bottles tucked away in a corner, and third, by the various types of alcohol in the fridge and cabinets.

“Noona, your place is nice, but why are you collecting these empty bottles?” Yoonwoo asked, eyeing the trash.

“I just haven’t thrown them out.”

“Unni, what’s all this? There wasn’t even half of this last time I was here. Is it all hard liquor?”

“Yeah. That low percentage stuff just doesn’t do it for me lately. But it’s not all hard liquor. There’s Chinese liquor, too. That one there is famous, it’s called Moutai.”

“Where did you get the money for all this?”

“I hit the jackpot with some stocks I was playing with using my allowance, but since the initial capital was small, it only amounted to enough for buying liquor.”

“So you spent it all on alcohol?” Hyerim asked with a shocked expression.

“No, I still have some left.”

“Wow. What do we do with you?”

“What do you mean? The only way to reduce drinking is to drink! So, shall we?”

Instead of responding to Jieun, Hyerim quietly took out her smartphone and started taking photos of the apartment.

“Hyerim, why the hell are you taking photos?”

“I’m going to send them to your parents.”

“Ha, as if. You don’t even have their number,” Jieun replied smugly.

When Hyerim said nothing, Jieun continued, “You don’t, right? Hyerim?”

“Isn’t your dad’s name Taejoon Yoo?”

“What? How do you know that? Hyerim! You wouldn’t, right? Hyerim?”

But Hyerim didn’t respond.

“Maybe I should just leave the blanket here.”

Dahye took off her shoes again today, only to lie down in the entrance and gaze at the ceiling. Every day was a continuous cycle of overwork. Her calves were swollen, and even the slightest touch caused sharp pain.

There was a clear reason why she pushed herself to the limit every day. The results were right in front of her. Even though every day was tough, as long as there was a sense of accomplishment at the end, it didn’t matter. She was living exactly as she had said she would, before joining Hanban Bank, back when she was preparing for the exams. She told herself, if she could just get into Hanban Bank, she would give everything, literally everything, to the bank.

“There’s really no one quite like Dahye,” her colleagues always said.

And those efforts came back as results, continually increasing her reputation. Dahye was well aware of these facts, so she pushed herself every day. She nodded as reassuring herself.

“This is how it should be.”

If she continued to live like this, naturally her life would get back on track, and she would be able to build a solid footing at work. But most importantly, Dahye was no longer the eternal second best.

She scoffed to herself. “Why am I thinking about him anyway?”

Dahye jolted upright in the entrance. Dowon’s face, the face of the top student in school, kept flickering before her eyes. When she woke up and went to work in the morning, when she arrived and threw herself into her tasks, on her way home, and even in her dreams, Dowon’s face appeared.

Those bloodshot eyes glared viciously into hers, but then they lowered, his voice apologizing and saying it was nothing—that he was sorry—before deflating again.

“…It’s because I have a soft heart.”

She thought of the sound Dowon’s fist made when it hit the counter, the aggressive look she had never seen cross his face. All of it left a deep impression because it was something she, with her soft heart, had experienced for the first time. Dahye got up and headed to the bathroom.

She soaked a cotton pad with makeup remover and placed it on both eyes to get rid of her makeup. The oily substance blurred her vision.

Yet Dowon’s face continued to swim before her, as if it was stuck to the back of her eyelids.

It was uncomfortable. It was interfering with her daily life. That guy was never helpful, even when he wasn’t here.

After finishing her shower, she found a missed call on the phone she’d left on the sofa. It was Yoonah, her old classmate who had joined her once, to humiliate Dowon at the convenience store.

She wrapped her wet hair up in a towel, sat down casually on the sofa, and called back.

“Yoonah, did you call earlier? Sorry, I was in the shower.”

“Oh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Did you hear?” Yoonah’s excited voice crackled through the speaker. “I heard from a couple of my friends that Dowon Lee’s family totally went broke.”

Yoonah’s delighted tone was irritating. As Dahye’s brow furrowed, she considered how lucky it was that Yoonah couldn’t see her.

“What are you talking about? Broke how?”

“Dowon’s dad ran off with all their money. Apparently, one of the people he borrowed money from is Junseok Kang’s dad. Dowon’s dad seriously borrowed from everyone and bolted. You know, Junseok and Dowon weren’t actually that close, but their dads were good friends.”

Dahye vaguely remembered this information. Although the two classmates were distant, she seemed to remember them occasionally asking about each other’s fathers. It didn’t matter, that wasn’t the issue at hand.

Dowon’s family is broke? Was that why he apologized last time, saying he was having a hard time?

“Are you sure about this? Did it happen recently?”

“Yeah, yeah, very recently. Since Junseok is talking about it himself, it must be true. Hey, karma really is a bitch. He’s finally paying for the way he acted in high school.”

Is this really karma? Did Dowon do something so wrong that he deserves being driven to this edge?

Hearing Yoona’s thrilled voice made her angry, not just annoyed.

Is Yoonah even human? Even if he had some issues during high school, how can a person get excited over someone’s life being ruined like this?

“How can you say—”

Dahye was about to snap back at Yoonah, but stopped herself.

I did this.

She had no right to say anything to Yoonah. Dahye had committed greater sins. She had thrown kindling at Dowon’s suffering. No, she even poured gasoline on it, wanting the flames to burn even higher.

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

“…It’s nothing. Wow. That family…”

She lay down on the sofa and thrashed out with her legs. She kicked the sofa and furiously punched the cushion lying next to her.

Yoonah was mumbling something animatedly, but Dahye couldn’t hear it. She let out a silent scream and clutched her hair in frustration.

Fuck. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. If your life was this messed up, you should’ve said something!

Her heart felt unbearably heavy, its weight nudging her towards insanity. Hadn’t she practically pushed Dowon to the edge? A sense of unease settled deep in her stomach. The image of Dowon’s face, still lingering in her mind, looked even sadder than usual.

“Yoonah, can you pass a message on to Dowon?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s just that if he’s that struggling… You know, he should tell…”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.”

Yoonah paused for a moment.

“Who else could possibly be in touch with Dowon besides you? It’s been ages since anyone’s heard from him. If anyone might be able to contact him, it would be Junseok.”

“Really?”

Damn it, he’d rather take a call from Junseok Kang than pick up my calls. I’ve been completely blocked.

Dahye held back another urge to shout at Yoona.

“Still… If you talk to him, let me know.”

***

“Surgery? Now?”

A few days ago, Mom had been discharged, saying she wouldn’t stay in the hospital long because it was expensive. Maybe she knew Dowon was working day and night like crazy, so she kept it a secret.

But just a brief stay for tests wasn’t going to improve her symptoms. Mom had also been working like mad, only to collapse and end up in the emergency room. That day, they admitted her immediately, saying she needed surgery right away.

“She is critically ill. She needs to be hospitalized and have surgery as soon as possible. Let the insurance company handle it for now.”

There’ll still be some money we need to pay upfront before the insurance even kicks in. All my cards are blocked, and right now, the money…

Dowon broke into a cold sweat, racking his brain. During the day, he worked on construction sites, and at night, he unloaded packages for overnight delivery—anything that required physical labor. But despite everything, he hadn’t managed to save much.

On top of that, being a day laborer meant he couldn’t even ask for money in advance. Actually, even if it were a salaried job, requesting money in advance would have been out of the question.

My mother is seriously ill, could I get an advance on my paycheck? What a miserable, old-fashioned tale of hardship.

Dowon felt himself sinking even as he stood upright, even as he heard his mother’s words urging him to stop. It was as if there were a swamp right under his feet. Nothing else could explain this overwhelming sense of despair rising up to his throat.

“I can do it. They say you need to be admitted today?”

Mom answered hesitantly. It seemed there was a little time. He ended the call saying he understood.

“Hana…”

He needed about 3 million won. If he asked Hana to lend him money…

“She’d come with her kidney in a bag of ice. That’s just the kind of person she is.”

Did she even have money? He couldn’t ask that of Hana, someone who was just holed up at home and running out of savings. If she knew he needed help, she’d happily part with an organ or two. He couldn’t risk that.

“Then…”

There was no one but Hana. No one he could bring this up to. Dowon slumped down and let out a hollow laugh. There wasn’t even time for this. He had to rest for just an hour or two and then go right back to work. There was no time to wallow in self-pity. Dowon started searching through his phone, digging up old friends.

“…Hello? Uh, how have you been?”

He’d lost all sense of shame, calling contact after contact, begging for money.

“I’m so sorry. She really needs the surgery…

He even reached out to friends whose names he probably wouldn’t have remembered if they weren’t saved in his phone. He contacted teachers who used to like him. But in the end, he only managed to get about 400,000 in total.

Two friends lent him 200,000 won each, saying they didn’t have much money right now. The teachers who had liked Dowon so much in his high school years and who’d said they would definitely treat him to a meal sometime, not one of them answered his calls.

“…200,000 won.”

Dowon’s relationships with others were worth exactly 200,000 won. Considering the way he had acted, he thought even that was generous. So he couldn’t be disappointed.

“Boss, this is Dowon Lee who used to work closing shifts…”

He had even reached out to the convenience store owner of the place he used to work. But of course, what came back through the speaker was a stream of curses.

“Are you out of your mind? Fuck, making excuses about your mom. I knew it from the moment a Seoyeon University graduate started working here. You’re gambling, aren’t you?”

He was clearly still furious about Dowon suddenly quitting after saying he would work there for a long time. Dowon couldn’t help but wish it was just gambling debt.

Then he could resolve it by hanging himself, or ending his life after having his liver and kidneys taken out. In fact, that was the end he longed for.

Borrowing money, then working like mad to pay it back; taking care of his mother, who might need hospitalization and surgery at any moment; and paying off his father’s debts until he returned to the tidied mess he’d created.

If these were the only goals he had left for his future, Dowon just wanted to blame everything on his own faults and kill himself.

“Is this all my fault?”

Was it a sin to be born to the wrong parents? Dowon felt like he was about to lose his mind. He could just leave and be done with it. Leaving his mother, stuck in a hospital room, waiting for a husband and son who would never come back.

Sometimes he thought that maybe it wasn’t his father, but his mother who was choking him. He knew he was looking for the wrong person to turn his arrows on.

Despite knowing this, sometimes his mother’s missed calls were scarier and more unpleasant than anything else. If he had no mother, he could cut his father out of his life. It was wrong to think that way, he knew..

How much has Mom sacrificed for me? Even now, she’s sacrificing for me. How can I wish she didn’t exist? I should be working to save money no matter what the circumstances. But. But. From the beginning…

If only Mom.......

“Crazy bastard.”

Dowon slapped himself, but the strike did nothing to dispel the fog in his mind.

Should I just gamble? Should I borrow money from a loan shark? Can’t I just just pay the hospital bill now and then return the money when the insurance processes?

Will the insurance even process? Do we even have insurance? Either way, if money’s coming soon, isn’t it okay to just borrow some?

Do I even need a liver or both kidneys? Can’t I just sell them and deal with a bit of physical discomfort?

He was tired now. Tired of handling someone else’s karma and running on no sleep.

At this point, he would lick the ground if someone gave him money to do it. His brain obviously wasn’t processing things correctly.

If he took a short rest, ate some food, and thought about it again, a sharper and superior solution might come to mind. But for now, only dangerous thoughts came up.

The only idea he had was to sell everything the black market would take, and become an empty body without a single organ left.

“…Dahye Yoon.”

He found Dahye’s number saved in his contacts. A slightly crazed smile split Dowon’s face, looking at that number he had never once dialed. No, he cried looking at it. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t even tell what expression he was making anymore.

“Crazy bastard, crazy bastard… Absolutely not…”

He grabbed his head and slumped down. He wanted to wail out loud, but it seemed he had long forgotten how to do that too. His face grew damp with tears. He really had hit rock bottom. Surely a loan shark was a better option.

But then, how would he be any different from his father?

“…Fuck…”

Dowon bit down on his tongue, hoping the pain would bring him to his senses. The taste of blood flooded his mouth as he pressed the call button.

“…D—Da—Dahye. Dahye…”

There was no voice from the other end of the phone.

“I’m sorry but… Please, could you lend me some money—”

As soon as he choked the words out, sobs burst from his chest like a broken pipe.

“Please, please help me…”

He cried for a long time clinging onto the phone. There was no response from Dahye’s side.

Darkness is the friend of mice and spiders. As Ed opened the warehouse door, a dense web greeted him.

That’s good, he thought. I can stay here undetected.

“Unbelievable! Yug, bring the Saint the best quilt and pillow you can find!”

After shouting to Yug, Kurzina turned to Ed.

“Saint, please wait a moment. I’ll sweep up the dust and remove the cobwebs.”

Ed shook his head, stopping Yug from running back to the manor.

“Forget it. You two go back. The servants might be out looking for you.”

Ed had spent his life sleeping in the Barus Swamp. A spider web didn’t bother him, but Kurzina couldn’t help feeling sad about leaving him.

“I’ll be back after the sun sets, and if you need anything, just ask. I have access to most places within the clan.”

“Then I need you to fetch me a curved sword. I’d like it to be about… this long.”

Ed stretched his arms, remembering the sword he had used as Bosha. The Black Fang’s swordsmanship specialized in slashing movements, requiring a curved sword. The descendants of Ygraine, isolated in Kaldura, had no access to the weapon of his choice.

“Yes!”

Kurzina beamed like a child receiving a birthday present. All her life, Kurzina had worshipped the Goddess Lutea, but being asked for a favor by her reincarnation was more gratifying than any gift.

Ed left Yug and Kurzina and trudged into the warehouse. The warehouse door closed behind him, and Ed was alone with Aruru. He sat on the floor, and Aruru whispered in his ear, his voice small and cautious.

“Scion of the Witch, is what you said true? Ygraine is not a witch, but a saint? And you are also a reincarnation of Lutea? Or was it just a lie, a prank on the kids?”

“It’s all true, except that I’m not the reincarnation of Lutea.”

“In that case, what about Laotou? Laotou, the Queen of Spiders, is she not an ally of the witch?”

“Nonsense. Laotou was one of the first beings created by the Goddess Lutea. Together with Ygraine, they drove back the witch’s forces.”

“Then,” Aruru’s voice trembled. “Then, my mother worshipped…”

“Apostles.”

“That’s right!”

Aruru jumped down from Ed’s shoulder and began running around in circles.

“I’m a fool! Why didn’t I notice such a simple fact before now? My mother was good and kind. There’s no way she would have sided with a witch! She didn’t gnaw on spellbooks or serve the witch’s minions! My mother served the one who deserved to be served!”

Aruru’s voice echoed through the warehouse. It was loud for a rat and held a strange resonance. The room brightened. It wasn’t the light from the cramped window. It was Aruru.

Ed was surprised. He had never heard of a rat using Magick, but Aruru was definitely wrapped in a blue aura that shimmered like the surface of a lake.

“What is your purpose, scion of a witch? No! Of a saint! You said you would attend the Festival of Saints to bring down the false ones and restore my mother’s honor. What will you do after that?”

Ed locked eyes with Aruru.

“I will fight all the lies in the world.”

When Aruru heard that, he circled Ed three times, looked at the ceiling, and shouted.

“Did you hear that, rats? Did you hear that, spiders? Do you hear, my stigmatized friends?”

Rats squealed from every corner of the warehouse, and shadows flitted through the stacks. A closer look revealed a swarm of squirming spiders.

“Those who have tainted our parents and souls with falsehood! Will we just leave them be? Will we just dig our graves and end our lives? We are the army of the Apostle Laotou! Though we live in darkness, our souls shine with the light of the Goddess Lutea!”

Ed noticed that Aruru was suddenly wearing a Magick crest, and his voice had Magick in it. He had seen someone use a Magick crest like this when he was Bosha. During the rebellion in the Ur Empire, the leader of the rebels had said:

“Cowards who have forgotten their pride go out into the darkness! Those who have not forgotten who they are come out into the light! Those with burning hearts, we will be an army against falsehood with the children of saints!”

As Aruru finished speaking, a spectacular scene unfolded. Things lurking in the shadows crawled out into the light. It was a sight that would have stunned the faint of heart—hundreds of rats, each as big as Aruru or bigger, thousands of spiders, large and small. Aruru stood before them all and turned to look at Ed.

“Descendant of the Saint, as long as you stand against falsehood, we will be your strength, but the moment you turn your back on the truth, we will become your enemies. You will not be able to walk comfortably through the darkness. Our descendants will visit you in your coffins and defile your tombstones and graves!”

With the thousands of rats and spiders behind him, Aruru was intimidating, but Ed was unmoved. He would not make the choice Aruru feared; he would not betray Lutea and Ygraine. Ed placed a hand on the center of her chest.

“I swear by Assyria, the first life created by the Goddess Lutea and the Goddess of truth.”

A blue dagger appeared in the center of Ed’s chest. It was the dagger of Assyria, visible only to those who swore an oath to the Goddess.

“When I, Edulis Le Fay, betray Lutea and side with the false, my heart, gallbladder, and intestines will be pierced through, and I will be food for rats and spiders. Assyria, see what I, Edulis, have sworn is fulfilled!”

Assyria’s dagger plunged into Ed’s heart. Aruru leaped to his feet. The spiders and rats stamped their feet in place as a substitute for a shout.

“Very well, descendant of the saint, we are all on your side now, so do as you will with our hands and feet!”

“Two things, then.”

“What?! Ask us anything!”

“Don’t call me the descendant of a saint. Call me Ed. I don’t like being called a saint. People who call themselves saints are usually looking for something.”

“Okay, Ed. What’s the second thing?”

Ed looked around at the scurrying rats and spiders.

“Keep your friends quiet. I’m going to get some sleep.”

***

“You must think of my name before yours. Otherwise, you won’t be able to call me.”

A strange scene had surfaced in Ed’s mind. There was a girl in the middle of nowhere. Her silver hair was down to her waist. She was so small, yet strangely, she looked down at Ed.

Who does she resemble?

Ed tried to think. It was strange. He felt like he was alone in the middle of the Casbah desert. He felt a deep thirst that an oasis wouldn’t even quench. Suddenly, Ed understood. Somehow, he knew this was what the girl was feeling.

“Edulis! Ed!”

“I told you to be quiet,” Ed mumbled groggily, dragged from his dream.

He opened his eyes. Fading sunlight streamed through the narrow window.

“You should be grateful! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have awakened! I called you two hundred times, but there was no response!”

“That can’t be right.”

“Not only that, your body was glowing white the whole time, just like before!”

Ed raised an eyebrow and examined his body. Outwardly, nothing seemed to have changed. But it was strange. A lot more time had passed than he realized.

“Did I fall asleep?”

Ed closed his eyes and contemplated the Magick coursing through his body. Then he realized something was wrong.

What’s this?

Ygraine’s Magick, the tiny fragment he’d finally managed to control, was gone. And that wasn’t the only thing.

“Has your Magick changed?” asked Aruru. “Did it change color?”

Magick changing color was unheard of. Like a fingerprint, the unique pattern through which Magick flows is unchangeable. But Ed’s Magick had indeed changed, not only in how it flowed but also in its hue. It was as if he had become a different person overnight.

“Aruru, you said my body was glowing. How long has it been like that?”

“Since about an hour ago?”

Magick was handled differently depending on its nature—it’s like water turning into fire. The Magick’s pattern and color change suggested this new Magick might not suit Ed.

What if all my work refining my Magick was for nothing?

Ed focused all his attention now on the Magick. It was strange. It flowed through his body much smoother and more naturally than the Magick he had been cultivating. It was almost as though it was designed purely for him.

What’s happened? Ed wondered.

He didn’t have time to ponder as a harsh voice was heard outside the window.

“Why are you so late?”

“I’m sorry. I had to run an errand. I went to the Lunar Mansion to deliver something to Lord Tariq.”

Ed recognized the second voice. It was Enri, the boy he’d traveled with on the wagon from Kaldura.

“That’s your excuse? Do you think I don’t have work to do? You’ve taken away my rest time!”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Ed stood and looked out the window. Enri was bowing before a woman in a maid’s outfit, and behind her, four silver-haired children stood and watched. They each held a black, lumpy loaf of bread in their hands.

The woman in the maid’s outfit had protruding cheeks and a face full of freckles. Her tone was fierce. Enri, on the other hand, had a delicate and pretty face, but his hunched expression made him look quite miserable.

“It’s not enough to give you cursed things something to eat! You’re taking up my time! People like you should be punished!”

The maid threw the bread she held to the ground and stomped on it.

Enri stared at the crumbled bread in disbelief. Ed didn’t know how much bread Enri was rationed daily, but it was obviously not enough, or he wouldn’t look so desperate.

“Ha! Now put your face on the ground like a pig and lick it off!”

Aruru, perched on Ed’s shoulder, shook in anger as he watched the scene.

“What a shitty world! To treat the descendants of Lutea like that!”

Ed watched in silence.

“Ed, are you going to let that happen? Laotou’s army can move at any time!”

If Ed had a temper, he’d storm out and wreak havoc. But he said nothing.

“Ed? What’s wrong?”

Aruru was confused. A single teardrop had formed in the corner of Ed’s eye.

A familiar emotion overtook Ed, and thoughts raced through his mind.

Why would she do that? Why would she hate someone like that, trample on them, curse them? Humans weren’t born that way!

“Edulis?”

Ed’s body shimmered with Magick. It grew more and more vibrant, emanating outwards from Ed, until it poured out through the window and ran down like rainwater, pooling around the area where the maid had trampled the bread. The Magick wrapped around the muddy, dirty pieces of squashed bread and gathered them together until they floated into the air and formed a single mass, making the loaf whole again. It was like time rewinding.

Steam rose around the loaf as though it was freshly baked. Enri’s eyes widened, and he took the loaf into his hands.

The maid screamed at the sight.

“Witch, witch, witch! He’s bewitching me!"

She almost tripped over backward in her haste to get away from the scene and back to the manor.

“Do we really need to go this far?”

At Hoyeong’s words, Gion stopped in his tracks.

“What do you mean?”

Gion’s eyes smarted from the ash being blown by the wind. The swirling dust hovered in the air and appeared to contain traces of someone’s essence, existence, and spirit.

Hoyeong quietly observed the drifting presence of death and continued speaking: “Juya has already lost so much. You are the one who intended to kill the Seventh Chime, even at the cost of deceiving Juya. One who knows love well knows resentment just as well. Are you ready to bear the burden of such resentment?”

“I hoped you would feel what I felt, and I spent a hundred years doing so.”

Because of genuine love, another, aside from Juya, nursed a deep-seated resentment. Rohwa’s words, reciting her animosity, suddenly crossed his mind.

From a distance, he could see Juya’s slumped figure.

She lived with resentment, too…

Is that really what mattered now? Gion was ready to bear any karmic retribution.

“Are you prepared for what I’ve mentioned?” Hoyeong’s question dispersed into the air, unanswered, like dust. He nodded bitterly. “Because I’m prepared.”

“Alright.”

Gion resumed his halted steps. Beneath his feet, the ash yielded with fragile ease, crumbling into nothingness. It was light—too quickly shattered—yet this ethereal weightlessness lent an unexpected weight to his stride. But the sensation of burnt material scraping under his shoe felt chilling.

Juya once said, “There might be something better than love you’ll discover someday. But it’s not valuable enough that I’d prefer to live knowing it.”

Gion looked at his shoes, now dirty with the powdery residue of burnt substances. The things Juya dearly loved clung to him like dust and wouldn’t shake off.

His steps were heavy, far from light. They naturally slowed down. But still. Gion didn’t just stand there motionless but quickened his pace and moved towards the Seventh Chime. Despite the oppressive sensation, he kept himself upright.

“No need for greetings,” Gion said.

But despite Gion’s words, the Seventh Chime didn’t take his eyes off Juya.

“Do you think you can kill me?” the Seventh Chime said faintly. It sounded like he was talking to Gion—or could it have been to Juya?

“Juya,” the Seventh Chime said. “What are you relying on, bringing such a man before me? Someone swayed by deceit without even possessing the Crystal of Light? Have you forgotten? I am the Seventh Chime. I am not just a young demon whimpering for life while covered with wounds.”

Only with those words did the Seventh Chime finally direct his attention toward Gion. A murderous intent arose in his dry eyes, a smirk on his lips. “This is a fool who can’t control his own power. But I can eliminate even a phoenix from its tribe—”

The Seventh Chime’s words were cut short.

“You talk too much,” Gion said, drawing his sword from its sheath. The blade’s motion caused ripples to form in the puddle.

The Seventh Chime unsheathed his sword in a heartbeat and charged at Gion.

The clashing of their blades filled the air with whistling and metallic clanking.

The truth was undeniable. The demon Gion had mistakenly slain, believing it to be the Seventh Chime, was significantly weaker. Even a single exchange of blows made it clear: it was going to be a brutal duel. As Gion swung his sword, the recoil threw back both him and the Seventh Chime.

As the mixture of ash and water soaked their shoes, Gion quickly leaped towards the Seventh Chime. “I thought you’d be more prepared than this,” Gion shouted.

With a speed hard to follow with the eyes, the Seventh Chime fiercely swung his sword. Gion instinctively dodged the attack, but not before the attacker drew a fresh wound on his arm. The injury would undoubtedly have been on his throat if he had been even slightly slower.

The ash swirled even before gathering into a pool, causing the ground beneath them to undergo a remarkable transformation, becoming soggy and treacherous. The suspended dust added a deceptive weight to every step, making each movement a struggle against the entangling swamp.

With his black aura infused with the energy of water, the Seventh Chime relentlessly charged at his rival, wielding his sword ferociously. This moment was the culmination of six years of strenuous training—if Gion hadn't experienced those times, that blade would have torn him apart.

Both rivals bore wounds, their blood flowing ceaselessly and gathering in the puddle, creating ripples that were carried away by the wind. Gripping their sword hilts, they endured the relentless barrage of attacks, leaving no room to register the pain.

The splashing water slipped the opponents’ footing, causing their bodies to wobble.

“Why aren’t you using the White Qi?”

Contrary to the Seventh Chime’s sword, which flickered with darkness, Gion’s blade was merely swirling with a grey hue.

The puddle turned murky as their blood mixed with it. The water’s surface began to rise while the black aura surrounding the Seventh Chime’s blade grew even darker. Despite this, Gion did not transform. He continued to slash, stab, and swing relentlessly, acquiring more wounds across his body, yet there was no trace of the White Qi.

He had bled so much that his vision was blurring.

“Gion. Three inches below. Look.”

Amidst the clanging symphony of their duel, these softly uttered words resonated with a chill more piercing than any blade. The Seventh Chime momentarily turned his head down at Juya.

Sitting quietly above the puddle, Juya looked up at them.

“Juya?”

Gion’s blade precisely struck the area Juya had mentioned—between the ribs.

“Ugh…”

As the blade slipped into his side, the Seventh Chime coughed up blood. Staggering, he retreated while facing his enemy.

One step. Two steps. He took five steps back.

“Five steps back, and there’s an opening in the left thigh,” Juya said precisely.

The Seventh Chime tried to steady his wavering stance, but it was too late. In a breath, Gion bridged the gap, driving his sword into the Seventh Chime’s thigh.

“Juya, you’re to blame!” the Seventh Chime shouted, looking resentfully at Juya. They knew each other too well. Being so close for so long made it impossible not to know each other thoroughly. That meant they also knew each other’s vulnerabilities best.

The Seventh Chime’s attention remained on Juya. His resentful outcry echoed through the western hills. “How dare you!”

Juya remained motionless, her unwavering gaze fixed on the Seventh Chime. He stood alone, guarding his position above the blood-filled puddle, just like that fateful day when he was abandoned in the burning tribe. Gritting his teeth with enough force to draw blood, a surge of hatred and bewilderment fueled the Seventh Chime’s resolve. He momentarily shifted his blade, intending to lunge at Juya, but abruptly redirected his attack towards Gion.

The Seventh Chime’s blade grew fiery, brimming with resentment and confusion. While he attacked Gion, he didn't direct his emotions—his resentment—toward Gion. Who was its true target? Perhaps Juya—or maybe even himself, the Seventh Chime.

Ignoring the bitterness of the Seventh Chime, Gion aimed for a vital spot. Despite being undoubtedly weakened, the Seventh Chime remained standing. Unaware of the agony he was enduring, the Seventh Chime’s strikes became even more forceful despite the fatal wound.

With a crunching sound, Gion’s collarbone shattered. The Seventh Chime’s blade coldly grazed the neck, leaving a burning sensation on the shoulder. Also, Gion’s ankle, twisted for too long, throbbed with the vivid feeling of torn muscles.

After getting soaked, Juya got up and looked intently at the Seventh Chime and his wound, saying, “That’s the Seventh Chime’s deadly point.”

***

Teetering on the precipice between life and death, the Seventh Chime lay, each cough a struggle, as blood flecked his lips. Drenched and defeated, the form of the Seventh Chime sprawled in the shallow water.

Juya stepped over the water, mingled with the Seventh Chime’s blood, and approached him. With empty eyes focused solely on him, Juya gazed down at his impending end.

Silence.

It was a chilling silence directed at Juya. The Seventh Chime said, “I’ll let you end it with your own hands.”

Gion handed the sword, dripping with the Seventh Chime’s blood, to Juya. She immediately understood the implication of Gion’s gesture. She said to Gion, “You are truly cruel. I know what you’re implying. If I don’t kill this man with my own hands, I will become a human on the side of the demons.”

A human who loved a demon. A human adversary of humans.

To reclaim his place as the chieftain of the five guardian tribes, to evade the scorn of both humans and demons, the Seventh Chime’s demise had to be by Juya’s hand. Because Juya’s love had caused the death of the Phoenix tribe members and the hiding populace, this was the last opportunity for Juya to return to a time before loving the Seventh Chime.

Gion held out the sword without withdrawing, adding, “The choice is yours.” After that, he said nothing more. He just waited for Juya’s response.

“How much time has passed?” Juya asked as she grabbed Gion’s sword. The Seventh Chime’s eyes blinked faintly. She asked, “Does it hurt?”

Juya didn’t plunge the long sword into the Seventh Chime’s body but placed it beside her knee. She then asked, “Do you hate me now?” But the Seventh Chime remained silent.

Juya continued, “Can I be selfish just this once?” Without waiting for a response, Juya cradled the lifeless Seventh Chime in her arms.

Despite the open wounds and cut flesh bleeding in the water, the Seventh Chime did not resist Juya’s touch. Even as the blood mixed with pus covered Juya’s skin, she held the Seventh Chime even tighter. “Talking to you always hurts my heart. Even when I smile, I hold back what I truly want to say. I questioned whether I should feel happy. I feel like you would suffer less if you stopped breathing now, but I still want to talk, just a little longer. Perhaps I’m being selfish.”

Like someone desperately trying to hold onto a fleeting moment, Juya poured out countless words filled with anxiety. After all, this might be her last opportunity to speak with the one she loved.

“I’m sorry. The day I first saw you, I should have just treated you and sent you back. My superficial sympathy trapped you and entangled you with me…”

She started with an apology.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? A lot, I’m sure. I asked him not to use the White Qi. It hastens our parting, leaving us no time for conversation... That’s why I wanted to talk. We can hold each other in our gazes this way.”

Her words morphed into a heartfelt confession.

“Why did you do it? Why did you make me burn everything precious with my own hands? Was it necessary? Because I abandoned you? What does that even mean? It was you who left me.”

She poured out her bottomless resentments.

“No, that’s not it. It can’t be. How can I abandon what I never possessed? It wasn’t petty possession. It was true love. It was just you and I. It was us.”

As Juya whispered to him for a long time, her love and resentment became tightly entwined. She harbored bitterness towards the Seventh Chime, the demons, the White Flower Kingdom, the world, and even the gods. Eventually, her anger turned inward, directed at herself.

As Juya held him closer, she called the Seventh Chime by his true name, Gon. Demons were nameless, but she continued to murmur his real name.

Gon clung to Juya’s body. Desperately, she tried to stem the blood flow with her hands, determined not to let even one more drop of it fall to the ground. The stench of death seeped into Juya’s senses, more potent and nauseating than she had anticipated, but she refused to leave Gon’s side.

After Juya could say no more, the Seventh Chime finally spoke.

“I hate you.” Gon, having taken in every name Juya murmured, said it clearly, even while coughing up blood. “If there’s a next life, I hope never to encounter you again.”

Juya knew what love was, and Gon couldn’t be unaware of the true meaning hidden in those words.

Gon expressed, “Regretfully, seeing your face as the last face of my life is something I will carry with me forever. I sincerely hope that you will carry on living after my passing. However, if there is a next life, I do not wish to cross paths with you again.”

Gion understood these sentiments all too well, as he had spoken those very words to Rohwa in his final moments.

A brief silence hung in the air, yet Juya remained steadfast, refusing to let go of Gon. With a nod, she softly uttered, “Nevertheless, I will continue to stand by your side.”

It was a cold and chilling atmosphere. The damp darkness seemed to tug at Rohwa, drawing her further into its clutches. Surprisingly, it wasn’t particularly painful, but rather, it made her feel slightly…

“…sleepy.”

Rohwa blinked, trying to adjust to the shadow she had conjured around her. As time passed, she gradually grew numb to the discomfort, finding solace in burying her face within the encompassing black aura.

“What was it like back then?”

A hundred years ago, she also liked the shadows.

“Rohwa, come sit here.”

Just recalling the shadows brought back memories of resting under the shade of a tree with Gion.

Rohwa closed her eyes for a fleeting moment. What’s the point of dwelling on old memories alone? She just wanted to fall asleep quietly, without feeling the passage of time.

Rohwa slowly opened her eyes. “… Huh?”

A thin light beam pierced through the darkness, breaking the veil of shadows. Rohwa quickly sat up, causing the shadow to disperse. To her surprise, she discovered herself still sitting by the pond where she had fallen asleep.

Gion’s figure appeared above the water. “It’s late at night. You could have come when it was bright tomorrow.”

Gion knelt silently, presenting a blackened metal badge hanging on a charred string as proof of his capture. However, Rohwa remained expressionless, seemingly indifferent to the situation, like someone observing an apple falling from a tree. But when Rohwa caught sight of the moon’s reflection in the pond, a crack appeared in her emotionless facade.

“You did your deed at impressive speed, didn’t you?” she chuckled.

Being in the shadows, she had lost track of time, but the unchanging shape of the moon revealed the truth. Gion had managed to capture the Seventh Chime in just one night.

In front of Rohwa, he took lives effortlessly for the glory of the White Flower Kingdom. He then isolated the young princess and burdened her with the responsibility of governing the kingdom.

Now, with the glory of White Flower Kingdom in Gion’s hands, he returned, tenaciously clinging to life.

“Why go to such lengths?”

Did he know his flesh was torn and his blood was flowing? It was clear he came straight to White Dragon Castle without seeking any treatment.

Rohwa stood up and picked up the badge. The charred aura of fire belonged to Juya.

“You…” Rohwa, fully awake now, opened her eyes wide. “Did you use Juya to capture the Seventh Chime?”

Gion said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

The corners of Rohwa’s mouth trembled slightly as they rose. “You’re quite something, aren’t you?”

“I’ve captured the Seventh Chime.” With his head bowed, Gion just recited the commands he had carried out.

But Rohwa only looked at the scorched marks on the badge. “How is Juya?”

What is love, anyway? Juya never said such things. She just embraced Gon, gradually turning to ash and disappearing. The pus hardened and turned dark, and the warmth vanished from the tattered flesh. Juya just sat there quietly, continually stroking Gon’s hair. By the time the sun set, Gon had completely dissipated. Juya sat there for a long time, quietly watching Gon’s remnants scatter in the air.

The night sky grew bitterly cold, casting a dark veil over the devastated tribe. Bathed in the gentle glow of the crescent moon, Juya remained seated, engulfed in the lingering scent of death left by Gon. Despite the wetness and chill that penetrated her bones, she showed no signs of shivering, her vacant gaze fixed ahead. Standing beside her, Gion was motionless.

“Thank you,” a single phrase shattered the silence that had engulfed them for hours.

Upon hearing those words, Gion couldn’t help but inhale sharply. “The expression of someone who has just taken the life of a loved one,” he uttered.

Juya rose to her feet, swaying but managing to stay upright. Her eyes, swollen from tears, held a glimmer of determination as she locked her gaze with Gion.

Gion’s face was pale, and the flow of blood had halted. His skin was cut up in places, much like the blade of his sword. His lips had turned purple, and he maintained a silence that said much in the absence of sound. The eerie figure stood, covered in the dark traces of the bloody battle.

Juya observed carefully, then said, “It’s not that I don’t hate you. I just feel the need to thank you for allowing me a final farewell.”

That one who knows love also knows resentment. However, as Juya stood steadfastly, it was clear that love could even overshadow that resentment.

She responded as if understanding Gion’s thoughts. “I told you I was valuable.”

Gion didn’t respond.

“This is what love should be.”

Juya, holding Gon’s scent, handed something over. With a clinking sound, a badge fell into Gion’s hand.

Her fingertips, which briefly brushed past, trembled faintly, but her voice was firm. “Go to the princess.”

Juya placed the badge, filled with memories of Gon and Jooya, in Gion’s hand. “There’s a place in Buksan where you can stay.”

Gion had prepared a place for Juya to stay through Hoyeong. It was impossible for her to live in the devastated tribal land, which had turned to ruins.

But Juya shook her head. “I will stay here.”

She looked at the desolate tribal land, even in the moonlight. “I burnt it, so it’s only right that I restore it.”

There were no mentions of the Seventh Chime, Gon, Gion, or resentment in her words. There was only Juya.

Gion believed Juya was completely broken. But no matter how shattered, a certain solidity remained. Juya was like a blade that didn’t lose its strength when broken.

“Is everything over now?” Juya asked.

“Yes.”

Without brushing off whatever clung to her body, Juya continued on her way. “Let’s not cross paths again. Take care.”

Carrying everything inside her, Juya ventured deeper into the tribal land.

Gion and Hoyeong remained silent until her figure disappeared.

To Rohwa, Juya sparked her curiosity about love, an intriguing question that expanded her worldview. However, Rohwa also broke Juya’s heart.

Gion had finished telling his story about Juya. Rohwa, silent and lost in thought, stared at the rippling pond without saying a word. She chewed on her lip, ran her hands through her hair, and slowly opened and closed her eyes. Finally, with a detached expression, she murmured emptily, “We have truly committed many sins...”

Memories flashed before her, each prompting those words. She couldn’t disregard any of them. They violently pulled her back into the past, vivid and almost cruel.

Gion’s voice broke through the haze, returning Rohwa to the present. “Nothing will happen,” he said. His words seemed comforting, but his expression was chillingly cold.

The contradiction between his words and his expression snapped Rohwa back to reality. Was it even appropriate to use ‘we’ in this situation? There was no longer a ‘we’—just Rohwa, Gion, and Juya. They were individuals, nothing more.

Looking down at Gion who was still kneeling, Rohwa said, “It’s late. Stay at White Dragon Castle tonight.”

Walking past Gion behind, Rohwa added, “I’ll have something to show you in the morning.”

***

“Did you say that nothing will happen?” Rohwa asked Gion as they stood on the desolate White Flower Path in the morning sun within the walls of White Dragon Castle. “Take a good look around. Then tell me, can you still claim that nothing will happen?”

The scene rendered Gion speechless before them. The sunlight illuminated the landscape, making it sparkle. Despite the tranquility, many people were going about their daily activities within White Dragon Castle—sweeping the courtyard, tending to the garden, enjoying the serene pond, and drawing water from the well.

“Did we really have to go this far?” Gion’s expression hardened, even though the sight was undeniably beautiful. These were all people Gion knew. The peaceful scene unfolded, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of discord. The lifespan of a human is fleeting, barely lasting a hundred years. However, here they were, over a hundred years later, the same individuals Gion had seen a century ago, standing at White Dragon Castle as if time had stood still. Unaffected by age, they defied the natural order of human existence.

In other words, they were not human. If that were the case, then there was only one possible explanation.

“There must have been a reason for going to such lengths. Was there no other way than turning humans into demons?”

Gion’s jet-black hair fell over his face, concealing his expression. However, Rohwa, observing Gion’s profile, spoke up, saying, “Gion, speak louder. You claimed that nothing significant would happen. Do you even realize the consequences of your reckless words?”

Despite his hidden expression, Gion’s darkness was no match for Rohwa’s scrutiny.

“Such feeble consolation can only stem from ignorance,” Rohwa asserted.

Gion hung his head wearily.

Stepping closer to him, Rohwa continued. “Now, how will you respond? Will you choke me with your heavy hand, just like when you first woke up? Even if you do, witnessing those furious black eyes wouldn’t be so bad.”

Gion raised his head slowly, his face emerging from the shadows. Bright sunlight illuminated Rohwa’s red eyes, causing her to furrow her brow. Rohwa couldn’t help but release a hollow laugh.

“You must have put in a great deal of effort,” Gion muttered in a low voice. His eyes were no longer clouded but clear and detached, as if devoid of any emotions, accepting the situation objectively.

“Do you even find it pointless to be angry with me?” Rohwa questioned.

“Does anger change anything?” Gion’s tone lacked any trace of anger.

Rohwa understood his meaning: Holding negative emotions towards the enemy did not benefit them. The enemy was nothing more than an adversary to be faced and confronted.

Gion’s past words flashed through Rohwa’s mind.

“Do you think you should treat me solely as an enemy for their sake? Is assessing the situation objectively without getting angry your way of honoring them?”

While keeping his head turned towards them, Gion glanced at Rohwa from the corner of his eyes. “It’s just one more thing to do. When it’s time to restore the White Flower Kingdom to its rightful place, it will also be time to put them back where they belong.”

After a moment of silence, Rohwa kept her frown intact as she gazed at the sunlight without closing her eyes. She casually turned away from the light, appearing uninterested.

“Now that you’ve seen everything, it’s time to move,” she said nonchalantly.

Wind carried the darkness while a faint light flickered within it. That speck of illumination penetrated Gion’s soul, causing a searing sensation in the pit of his stomach. His insides twisted, forcing him to involuntarily bend over. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and breathing became difficult, his head pounding. Despite all this, Gion stood his ground with unwavering determination.

“There are six more left. Bring the next one,” came the command.

Rohwa swiftly disappeared into the shadows, leaving no trace behind. Gion stood in silence, observing the people within the White Dragon Castle.

Enduring the excruciating pain in his core, Gion focused on absorbing the fragment of light. However, that was not what mattered most. He needed to take it all in, ensuring they would never be forgotten. While glory and downfall were considered opposites, Gion understood that his downfall was essential to the White Flower Kingdom’s glory. Hollow and false glory was unnecessary.

In his pursuit of restoring the White Flower Kingdom, Gion understood the importance of recalling this scene whenever exhaustion took hold. He made a point of always keeping it in his mind. As he approached the people, Gion observed how his shadow elongated and flickered in the sunlight.

“It has been quite some time,” Gion spoke, breaking the silence. His words caused the shadow to swiftly disappear. “I purposely waited since you appeared lost in thought… Were you aware of my presence?”

“How could I ever forget your existence?” came the response.

“I assumed you were responsible for this as well, so I expected to find you here,” he stated.

In return, a woman with tightly bound, purple hair smiled.

Doa, the leader of the Black Tribe, stood before him, resembling her appearance from a century ago.

Junwoo was staring straight at Junho Gil.

Look at this guy, Jaemin thought. He hadn’t seen this coming at all.

Junho Gil had been brought in to put pressure on the boy as a sort of test. Any actor would have felt nervous in the presence of such a top-tier talent.

For Junwoo, a newbie who had barely started his acting career, to boldly request a scene with an actor of Junho’s caliber was nothing short of audacious. Normally, a rookie would be over the moon just to have someone like Junho observe his audition.

Is it sheer youthful courage?

Junho Gil, caught by Junwoo’s steady gaze, seemed taken aback.

The actor had earned a handsome sum just from being signed to NK Entertainment. Plus, he was an artist with a strong sense of pride in his craft. He wasn’t the type to just launch into a scene on someone’s whim. His pickness about choosing his projects was legendary, and he would spend a long time researching the character before even thinking about agreeing to the role. The idea of him taking orders from a kid he’d just met was far-fetched.

Jaemin figured that a direct rejection from Junwoo Gil would only lead to embarrassment for the kid. He thought it best to gently steer him away from potential disappointment.

“I think that might be awkward for—”

“Let’s give it a try.”

What was that?

Junho Gil’s expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Do you have another script, Mr. Choi?”

What is going on? Does he really want to be this kid’s scene partner? Right here, right now?

Jaemin was speechless. He dug out another script in silent disbelief. He was about to witness something truly rare.

What on earth did Junho find in the script?

This would mark the first time Jaemin saw Junho perform outside of a film set. Junwoo and Junho, positioned across from one another, flipped open the script to Scene 36. It was a conversation between two characters who had swapped bodies.

“What the hell is going on, Mr. Ha? Don’t just stand there, do something.”

The atmosphere in the conference room shifted with the very first line out of Junho Gil’s mouth. His tone perfectly conveyed a 40-year-old man’s voice with an underlying hint of a middle schooler’s soul.

They don’t call him the best for nothing, Jaemin thought, nodding his head.

“Why’re you taking it out on me? As if I would know!” Junwoo shot back, his tone fiery. “At least you look younger. What about me? And what’s with this outfit? You have a funny sense of fashion.”

“F-Funny? Argh, we don’t have time to be arguing over clothes. Do you not understand what trouble we’re in?”

Had he misheard? Junho could’ve sworn he heard a subtle change. As the boy spoke, there was a slight echo of the middle schooler’s tone that Junho himself had just portrayed.

Just two lines in, and the boy had already tuned into Junho’s character and adjusted his voice to match. It was a nuance Jaemin Choi couldn’t possibly overlook.

With any less skilled actor than Junho Gil, this detail might have gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, he continued with his lines.

“Why are you pinning this on me? How is this my fault?”

“So, you’re saying it’s my fault? Listen, you’d better not do anything stupid with my body. Just stay put. Don’t do anything… Got it?”

Junwoo’s finger pointed at Junho, quivering slightly. His face was a mix of determination and nervousness. He looked hyper-aware of his surroundings, his voice dropping to a whisper toward the end, as if wary of being overhead.

The confusion of waking up in someone else’s body, not knowing where to begin unraveling the situation, was palpable. Yet, in their eyes, Jaemin could see the concern about what lay ahead and the turmoil within the kid’s mind.

It was in the nuances—the direction of his gaze, the slight shifts in his posture that either bridged or widened the gap between him and his counterpart as he delivered his lines. Despite Junho’s skilled portrayal, pinpointing the exact source of the odd sensation eluded him.

It was to be expected. The kid remained motionless, seemingly unaware of the dynamic he was creating with every element around him. Jaemin’s reaction was also part of this intricate dance.

Sweat ran down his back. His confidence waned. The idea that a simple script could wield such influence over him, with no rehearsal, was unfathomable.

Junho gathered his focus.

“So, what are we going to do? Aren’t teachers supposed to have all the answers?” Junho said.

“I don’t know either! This is driving me crazy, seriously.”

Confusion, anxiety, disappointment, frustration, injustice, irritation—these emotions surged in a scene that, on the surface, seemed unremarkable. Yet, for Junwoo, this exchange was exhilarating.

This really is different.

As Junwoo took the lead, a sense of momentum starting to build, Junho Gil kept pace. Junwoo, too, focused more intently.

Junho noticed how Junwoo instinctively matched his tones as he delivered his lines. It was more reflex than conscious effort. Their exchange lasted several minutes, blurring the lines of who was leading and who was following.

It wasn’t just about the acting itself but about maintaining the integrity of all the elements that fused seamlessly into the scene.

Despite years of honing his craft, Junho Gil came to a realization—he hadn’t mastered it completely. Had Junwoo chosen to stand out deliberately, Junho’s performance might have been overshadowed.

Junho mulled over the kid’s earlier comments about the blend of noise and dialogue. Indeed, achieving such a feat seemed unattainable here. He hadn’t been talking big.

Where exactly had this kid come from anyway?

“I’ll stop there,” Junwoo announced, his character’s empty expression vanishing instantly.

For the first time, Junwoo thought he had made the right choice by coming here. This experience was unlike anything he had encountered in his solo performances in the theater. He also felt more intrigued about Junho Gil.

“That was fun. Thank you,” Junwoo said, bowing his head sincerely.

I should be the thankful one, Junho thought to himself.

He was still processing the entire scene, feeling a deep respect that dwarfed the fresh excitement Junwoo felt. Being so profoundly moved by someone as young as Junwoo was new for him.

Junho’s heart raced. In his fifteen years of acting, he had never experienced such emotions, even with renowned co-stars on set. He felt it was a shame that they could only perform a short skit in a conference room.

I wonder what working with this kid would be like?

This was something bigger than uncovering a raw talent he wanted to polish. Junho Gil found his confidence dropping. Truth be told, he doubted his ability to guide this prodigy.

The truth was, despite Junwoo’s limited experience and fame, Junho found himself wanting to learn from him.

Regaining his composure, Junho replied, “I enjoyed it too. I probably won’t forget today.”

Although the scene had ended, the two couldn’t take their eyes off each other. A subtle tension filled the conference room.

Jaemin Choi, who had been lost in thought, suddenly became anxious.

Seeing the kid’s talent up close only fueled his ambition. Witnessing the undeniable chemistry between Junwoo and a star like Junho—achieved in such a brief scene—didn’t just demonstrate stellar acting ability, but it also spoke of great things to come for his career.

And it was clear from the kid’s demeanor that he was interested.

Jaemin saw his opening to jump in. “Impressive. You’ve exceeded my expectations. Now, about the contract—”

“You did that on purpose, right? In the second line?” Junho interjected, cutting off Jaemin mid-sentence.

“Yes, I made a few changes,” Junwoo replied.

Jaemin’s eyes darted between them. It was like the two actors were the only people in the conference room, and the director wasn’t on their radar at all.

“If this were the actual scene, you would’ve done that gesture differently, wouldn’t you?” Junho probed further.

“Right. The camera only captures up to the shoulders in that scene. But I just matched my gaze to the current context. The original script says I should be looking up.”

The two actors’ eyes were lit up with interest.

Jaemin couldn’t help but feel momentarily sidelined.

“Uh, excuse me, but…”

The kid seemed utterly unconcerned with things like contracts. He still had his eyes fixed on Junho.

“Do you happen to do theater?” Junwoo asked.

***

Entering the conference room, Mansik was surprised.

That’s Junho Gil.

Jaemin Choi had disappeared somewhere, and in his place sat an actor Mansik had only seen on TV.

The theater owner had been secretly listening at the door, catching snippets of what sounded like a scene being performed. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine Junho Gil himself would be inside.

I knew I made the right decision bringing him here.

But Junho’s expression puzzled him. Seated across from Mansik, the actor looked lost in thought. His arms were crossed, and he wore a deep scowl on his face. Despite his demeanor, he still exuded an aura of a star.

Mansik, who had no idea what had happened inside, began to panic. There was no way the actor would’ve been dissatisfied with Junwoo.

Maybe he’s angry at the kid’s attitude.

“You’re in the theater business, right?” Junho suddenly asked Mansik.

“Yes, I run a small theater in the countryside.”

“How many upcoming performances are you planning?”

“Could I ask why you want to know?”

“Is there any chance I could get involved?”

Mansik’s eyes widened. “You mean, at my theater?”

The thought of Junho Gil, a celebrated actor, wanting to perform in his modest venue left Mansik speechless. Was he hearing this right?

From Mansik’s side, it was undoubtedly an excellent offer. However…

“What are your conditions?” Mansik asked. “It’s a generous offer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to match your pay. We’ve had to cancel many performances recently, so attendance has really dropped.”

“Money isn’t my concern. I suppose I’m just being… greedy.”

Greedy?

He wasn’t talking about Mansik’s theater; he was talking about the kid.

I knew it.

Mansik finally understood the reason behind Junho’s expression. The actor was feeling the same thing Mansik had felt upon seeing Junwoo in action.

Junho Gil’s proposal went beyond just surprising for Mansik. However, there was something even bigger on his mind.

“Did you talk to him?” Mansik asked.

“Yes, we just finished talking, actually.”

It had been worth bringing the kid all the way here. To Mansik, the journey had already paid off, not just in the potential partnership with Junho Gil but in cementing Junwoo’s commitment to acting.

“If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk to him as well.”

Despite maintaining a casual demeanor, Mansik’s heart was racing. The kid and Junho Gil on the same stage—it was a thrilling yet unpredictable prospect.

Suddenly, Junho asked a pointed question.

“Has the kid only been active there? Honestly, it’s hard to believe he’s affiliated with a theater like that. No offense intended, of course.”

Mansik wasn’t offended; the actor sounded genuinely curious.

Fair enough. I wouldn’t believe it either.

The theater owner chose his words carefully. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘active.’ And to be honest, I don’t know everything about him. He’s self-taught from reading books and scripts and such, but I can’t tell what he’s picking up from them.”

Just from reading? Is that really it? Junho couldn’t believe it. Then again, the kid’s talent hadn’t seemed like the type that had come from just studying.

Junho found himself lost in thought once more.

“It’s pure, innate talent,” Mansik went on. “There’s no point asking me or the kid to explain.”

For some reason, Mansik felt a sense of accomplishment. Moreover, he knew the kid had much more to offer, things above and beyond what these NK folks were aware of. In his opinion, judging the kid’s ability based on one short skit seemed hasty.

“Anyway, I look forward to working together,” Mansik said.

The two shook hands.

***

Junwoo looked up at the large screen in the lobby. Various clips of NK Entertainment’s talents played one after another.

He felt a sense of change coming his way.

Straight after one play, he had acted opposite Junho Gil. These set of coincidences had kindled a growing ambition within him.

“There you are.”

Junwoo turned around to find Jaemin Choi standing there. The director was smiling, but there was a hint of resignation in his expression. He knew that Junwoo had no intention of signing with an entertainment agency.

Honestly, Jaemin couldn’t understand it. Why would someone turn their back on South Korea’s top agency for some rural theater?

He hesitated for a moment, expecting a glimmer of hope. “Hmm. Are you really not interested? These kinds of opportunities don’t come around often.”

Junwoo knew that Jaemin was sincere. But the thing was, he was reluctant to tie himself to a company that didn’t understand a single word he said. The kind of responsibilities he would have under such an agency were clear. He yearned for more than just acting gigs.

“I’m sorry.”

There was firm resolve in Junwoo’s apology.

Jaemin eventually shook his head, acknowledging defeat. There was no point in pressing further; it felt like he was trying to corner a stubborn child who wouldn’t budge.

“I’ve never felt this disappointed before,” Jaemin admitted. “Well, if you ever need help with a performance or change your mind later, my door is always open.”

Junwoo accepted the business card Jaemin handed to him.

“Please, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Agh, this place is great, but the mosquitoes…” Daeun smacked one that landed on her bag. “Oh, got one.”

When she lifted her hand, the squashed mosquito left a bloody smear. She flicked its corpse away with her finger, leaving a trail across the bag like a skid mark. She didn’t seem to care.

Taking a sip of soju, she said, “That’s definitely my blood. No wonder it was itching.”

“That bag costs 13 million won,” said Yeomyung.

“Huh? What does?”

“Your bag.”

Daeun stared at it with disbelief, as if suddenly realizing it wasn’t really hers—like raising a child only to find out they belonged to someone else.

She glanced back at Yeomyung. “When I bought it, it wasn’t even 10 million. The price has gone up since then.”

Noticing Yeomyung’s expression, she raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seriously think I was carrying around a 13 million won bag, did you?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Daeun chuckled. “Then what’s that mosquito’s life worth? About 1.5 million?”

Yeomyung didn’t laugh. He took a sip of the soju Daeun had given him, feeling like he was just postponing his misfortune.

He’d just heard troubling news about his life spiraling further. A normal person would be thinking about damage control, or if they were smarter, how to turn it into an opportunity.

But Yeomyung was only delaying it. Meeting Daeun, avoiding thoughts about his problems, pushing his misfortune off until tomorrow. At least today wouldn’t get any worse. Tomorrow’s problems could wait for tomorrow.

The more miserable a person is, the shorter they can delay their problems. For someone like Yeomyung, living such a fleeting life, a few hours was the best he could manage.

That’s why miserable people think only in the short term. They live one day at a time. Thinking any further ahead leads only to hopelessness.

“So, why did you change your mind?” Daeun asked. “I didn’t ask over the phone in case you changed it again.”

“I just didn’t want to think.”

“Then you should talk more. Talking helps keep other thoughts at bay.”

“What should I talk about?”

“Tell me about your first love. And I want all the details.”

Yeomyung thought about the unfamiliar concept, one that seemed distant from his life.

He finally said, “When I was in high school, I needed to buy a summer gym uniform. But I didn’t have any money, so I just wore the winter one. There was this girl in class who came in wearing what looked like the summer uniform, but something was off. The other kids noticed too. She was wearing something similar, but it wasn’t the real thing. She must have found a look-alike because she couldn’t afford the actual one.” He paused. “The other kids laughed at her. She clenched her teeth, pretending she couldn’t hear them. I think I felt something for her.”

Yeomyung looked at Daeun.

She blinked. “She was your first love?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sympathy, not love.”

“Is it different?”

Daeun tilted her head. “Kind of similar, I guess… You care, you want to help…”

Yeomyung figured that was good enough. He didn’t need to know any deeper meanings or specific distinctions.

“Aren’t you curious about me?” Daeun asked. “Like my first love?”

“You’re not curious, huh.”

After a moment, Yeomyung asked, “Your life is a mess too, isn’t it?”

A cold expression crossed Daeun’s face. “Of course,” she answered, her voice cracking.

“Then why are you always so cheerful? Are you just pretending?”

“Should I not be?” Daeun asked. “Should I just cry, then? Walk around looking miserable all the time? I still have to sell sandwiches.”

“But you’re not selling sandwiches right now.”

“Even if I’m not…” She paused. “It’s frustrating, you know. Everyone else laughs and smiles. If I’m the only one looking miserable, what’s the point? Just because life is crap doesn’t mean you can’t smile. You just smile to make it feel a little less unfair.”

“Does it really make it feel less unfair?”

“It does for me. Plus, if I look sad, the happy people feel even happier. ‘Oh, she’s miserable. Good thing I’m happy.’ That makes me even more annoyed. So I smile out of spite.”

Is that so? Yeomyung wondered. Would he feel a little less bitter if he smiled too?

“But you, Yeomyung… you shouldn’t smile. It wouldn’t suit you.”

Yeomyung lifted the corners of his mouth slightly, attempting a smile. Even in his imagination, it felt wrong.

Daeun burst out laughing. “Hahaha! Ah! Wow, it really doesn’t suit you. You look like a psychopath from a horror movie.”

Yeomyung’s face returned to neutral.

How could someone say he looked like a psychopath so casually?

After her laughter subsided, Daeun asked, “You’re not upset, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re a funny person.”

Yeomyung felt like he was in the eye of a storm. The typhoon would hit soon. He wondered if he should be sitting here in such an urgent situation. It felt foolish to wait, knowing what was coming. And yet, he couldn’t help but think, What else can I do?

He didn’t want his time with Daeun to end. Not because he was particularly happy, but because he wasn’t particularly miserable either. He thought it would be nice to die just sitting here, talking nonsense and catching mosquitoes.

“If life got even worse than it is now, what would you do?” he asked.

“Worse than now? Hmm…”

“Even if you thought about it from a cosmic perspective… and it still felt awful?”

“Then I guess I’d die.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why? You think I couldn’t do it? Do you think I’m just saying that?” Daeun smiled slyly. “You’re right. I’m just saying it. Who’d actually want to die? It’s scary.”

She shuddered dramatically, and Yeomyung quietly watched her.

***

“Yeomyung.”

As he was about to get into a taxi, Yeomyung turned at his dad’s voice.

“You know I’m always grateful, right?”

Would Yeomyung have felt better if his dad hadn’t said that?

“I’ll be back,” he replied, and got into the taxi.

As they pulled away, his grandmother muttered, “Why on earth do we need a taxi for this? It’s such a waste of money going back and forth. No matter what I say, your father won’t listen. He’s always telling me to just sit still… Why don’t you talk to him? Tell him not to send me to the hospital, huh? Yeomyung?”

He didn’t want to hear a word, let alone hear his grandmother call his name. That voice, cracked and dry, calling out “Yeomyung,” always stirred something in his chest.

“Ah, these old folks…” the taxi driver muttered under his breath.

He said it softly enough so she couldn’t hear, but he knew Yeomyung would.

Yeomyung remained silent. The taxi stopped at the hospital, and he helped his grandmother inside.

The hospital was crowded, especially with old people. Why had medical science advanced so much? Why were lives that should have ended long ago being kept alive so persistently? How many children brought their parents here, secretly wishing they would pass away soon?

The hospital was vast. From getting a ticket to tests to doctor visits and more tests—it was no place an elderly person could navigate alone.

His grandmother collapsed into a chair outside the consultation room, wobbling even with Yeomyung’s support.

“Why are there so many tests? Go here, go there… That last one, they put me in some dark, black thing, and I couldn’t breathe, like I was being suffocated… Don’t make me do that again.”

She spoke as if Yeomyung had personally arranged her MRI.

“Eh?” she pressed, wanting confirmation.

Yeomyung didn’t respond. He couldn’t promise there wouldn’t be more tests, but mostly, he just didn’t want to answer.

When his dad wasn’t around, or when no one was looking, Yeomyung often ignored his grandmother.

What did it matter, ignoring someone who saw him as neither good nor bad? Words from a grandmother who was soon to die, words that didn’t affect anyone, words no one really listened to…

“Ma’am, is your grandson a doctor? How should he know?”

Yeomyung turned toward the voice.

“Why wouldn’t he know?” his grandmother grumbled. “If I say I don’t want to, then I don’t want to.”

“You have to know what’s wrong to treat it. You need tests to figure that out. How can they treat you without doing tests? What kind of crap is that?”

It was Daeun.

His grandmother wheezed out a laugh like a boiling kettle. “Oh, what kind of young lady says ‘crap’?”

“Well, why can’t a young lady say crap?”

Daeun and Yeomyung’s eyes met.

He turned away without a word.

Where had she come from, and why was she suddenly acting so virtuous? Did she like him? Was she trying to make a good impression?

Yeomyung found people like her ridiculous. It wasn’t hard being kind to an old woman you’d only meet once. Even he could do that, pretending to be kind, boosting his self-esteem by thinking, I’m such a good person. I’m being a companion to this elderly lady.

But could she care for her for life? Could she always keep that cheerful face?

When strangers act overly kind, it strains the relationship between the elderly and their caretakers. The elderly think strangers are better than family, while the children, feeling guilty, grow colder toward their parents.

“Chunnyeo Park? Is Chunnyeo Park here?” a nurse called out, scanning the waiting room.

“It’s time to go in,” Yeomyung told his grandmother.

“Is it already?”

“Yes.”

He helped her stand.

Was Daeun feeling proud now? Did she think she’d shown Yeomyung what a good person she was, how unaffected she was by witnessing his misfortune?

Yeomyung didn’t like the idea of Daeun feeling proud.

Was it because her goodness made him feel worse about himself? Was that why he wouldn’t acknowledge it? Was he annoyed that Daeun could live cheerfully despite having a similarly miserable life?

Without looking at her, Yeomyung followed his grandmother into the consultation room.

Sunday had been an undeniably enjoyable day for Yoonwoo. Watching a movie and cooking curry with Hyerim and Jieun created a memory unlike any other.

They shared the meal they’d prepared and washed dishes together—a scene of family life Yoonwoo had only witnessed on TV. He’d eaten with his parents before, but those times felt like three separate individuals merely occupying the same space.

“So, Tofu, how was it today?” Rabbit asked.

“The senior I mentioned organized for us to watch Inside Out together.”

“Oh really? It’s a masterpiece. But hasn’t it been out of theaters for a while?”

“A place near school was showing it again.”

“How was it? Did you enjoy it?”

“I cried. It was pretty embarrassing…”

“Don’t worry. Parents take their kids to Pixar movies and end up crying themselves.”

“I guess. Oh, that reminds me—I didn’t use much of the money you gave me. I’ll return it.”

Yoonwoo had only bought ice cream for Hyerim and Jieun and a coffee for himself. Returning the money to Rabbit seemed right.

“Tofu,” Rabbit said firmly. “No more talk about returning the money, okay? Or I’ll get upset.”

“Um…”

“You’ll probably see these people again. Keep it as spare cash.”

“Do you think I’ll meet up with them again?”

“Why not? It sounds like at least one of them likes you. They’ll probably want to hang out again.”

“It’s not like that. I hardly talked, and I looked ridiculous crying. They probably think I’m boring and regret inviting me.”

“Tofu, you’re not boring at all. You’re fun.”

Yoonwoo sighed. “You’re just being nice.”

“So, those people aren’t nice?”

“No, that’s not it. I guess I don’t know.”

“It feels like you’re trying too hard to see things negatively.”

“It’s safer that way.”

“Safer?” Rabbit asked. “In what way?”

“If I start expecting days like today again, and then it doesn’t turn out that way…”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then it’s much worse. It’s easier to have no expectations.”

“But things don’t always turn out like you imagine, do they?”

“No. Usually, things turn out worse than I imagine.”

“I think this time might be different.”

“I’d rather just think of today as a one-off,” Yoonwoo said. “Tomorrow, I’ll go back to eating salads and canned tuna alone.”

“Well, if everything turns out worse than you imagine, then I’ll come and hang out with you, Tofu.”

Rabbit’s words were comforting, yet the thought of meeting her in person was daunting. What if reality disappointed him? What if she suddenly vanished without a word? Life had a habit of falling short of expectations.

The only thing I can look forward to in life is not dying alone. But what if Rabbit abandons me?

Unlike Rabbit, Yoonwoo wasn’t seeking a death companion. Yet her presence had planted a stubborn seed of hope. Life had been torturous, but the prospect of companionship at the end offered solace. Try as he might to uproot it, anxiety bloomed alongside that hope.

“Thanks. By the way, Rabbit, there’s something I want to discuss.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe you should cut back on drinking. I’m worried about you.”

Rabbit’s laughter crackled through the phone. “Is that all? I’ll try. Don’t worry.”

I should try to persuade Rabbit to drink less, even if I can’t control her as strictly as Hyerim did today with Jieun. It’s important we stay healthy while we’re still alive.

***

The next morning, as Principles of Economics class wrapped up, the first assignment scores were revealed. Yoonwoo and Hyerim scored eleven out of ten from earning bonus points for exceptional work.

“Wow, you solved this alone and got bonus points!” Hyerim exclaimed. “Seems we’re the only ones.”

“It was just a calculation problem,” Yoonwoo explained. “The solution seemed too simple, so I wrote it three different ways, and I guess that’s why she gave us extra points.”

“No wonder the problem looked familiar, but your solution process was strange. Something about Lagrangian or something…”

“It’s nothing special. It’s the same answer, after all.”

“I feel like I’m riding on your coattails too much. I want to do something for you, too.” Hyerim furrowed her brow and said, “I know, I’ll buy you lunch!”

“Don’t do that. It’s only the first round, and the assignment scores aren’t worth much anyway. And you already bought me coffee and macarons last time.”

Yoonwoo knew receiving gifts twice for the same effort wasn’t right.

“I’m about to have lunch with Jieun. Would you like to join us? I’ll buy you coffee after.”

“Thanks, but I have salad I ordered earlier left in the fridge. I’d better finish it before it goes bad.”

“Oh, okay.”

He could have also used such a convenient excuse last week, but Hyerim’s friend had canceled, so he felt leaving her to eat alone wasn’t an option. At the time, he had decided that Hyerim eating by herself was worse than him tossing a 2,700-won salad into the trash. But now, it was different. Hyerim already had plans with Jieun. They’d have fun without him.

It had only been days since they’d started speaking casually. Despite the possibility of remaining mere college acquaintances, Hyerim kept trying to get closer to Yoonwoo.

This scared him. Not because he thought she had ill intentions but because he had thoroughly enjoyed spending the weekend with Hyerim and Jieun. What scared him was the fact that he was happy.

During Contemporary Management class, Yoonwoo’s mind wandered. He recalled reading about bipolar disorder patients being at higher risk of suicide than those with depression. Depression felt like being crushed on the ocean floor, immobilized by pressure. Yet that pressure offered a strange comfort.

I understand that feeling of comfort at the bottom of the deep sea. It’s okay because I’m going to die anyway. It’s okay if people hate me. Everything ends with death.

Bipolar disorder, however, was like a flying fish—soaring above the surface, then plunging back to the depths. The rapid pressure changes caused unbearable mental anguish, sometimes leading to suicide.

Yoonwoo had accepted death, but he couldn’t bear a torturous life. That’s why he couldn’t lift his head or aim for the surface.

Even the great weekend was turning gray in his mind. Why had he chosen Kiki’s Delivery Service as his favorite? Wouldn’t that make him seem weird? Why let Jieun pay for drinks? Had her expression been off? Maybe she was annoyed at cutting the night short due to his low alcohol tolerance.

Why did I make that stupid comment that I was jealous of Riley? They both went silent right after that. And why did I offer to chop the ingredients for the curry when I’ve never done that before? I was so clumsy that Hyerim and Jieun eventually told me to sit.

Maybe he was the only one who enjoyed it. Without him there, the two of them might have had more fun. No, he was sure they would have. He must have been an obstacle to the fun they deserved to have.

The fact that Hyerim had been the one to invite him for drinks and Jieun had booked the movie tickets wasn’t reassuring to him. Because they had initiated the plans, they had probably been more polite to him, even if he was boring or ruining the mood.

So, he had to act like everything was normal. He shouldn’t change his attitude toward them. Nothing in Yoonwoo’s life had changed.

At the end of the Contemporary Management class, he woke suddenly from a short nap and looked around.

Hyerim smiled. “Where are you off to now, Yoonwoo? Gym? Library? I have some free time now if you—”

“I need to go to the laundromat. Coin laundry.”

“Oh? You don’t use the one at home?”

“The one at my place isn’t very good. I was supposed to do it yesterday, but I forgot.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. See you later, Hyerim.”

“Wait a minute!”

“Yes?”

“Do you have salad for dinner, too?”

“Yes.”

“Alone? Every day?”

“Um, yeah.”

He had wondered why she was asking, but it seemed she had stopped him only to confirm that he was a loner.

That stings a bit.

“But last week, you ate street food with me, right?” Hyerim said. “And on Saturday and Sunday, you ate with Jieun Unni and me. So, you don’t always have to eat salad, right?”

Why was she so interested in his eating habits? Was she planning to order a salad for lunch, too?

“The salad I had left over is about to go bad,” he said with a shrug. “So I need to finish it quickly.”

“What if you get sick from it? You should throw it away, Yoonwoo!”

“It seems fine to eat. And I don’t have enough money, so it would be annoying if I had to throw it away.”

“Then listen, if you have to throw away that salad because of me, let me buy you dinner. How about that?”

“That’s okay, Hyerim. Thanks to you, I got to eat tteokbokki and had a fun weekend. It’s wrong to say I have to throw away the salad because of you.”

Yoonwoo knew blaming Hyerim and asking her to buy a meal would be considered antisocial.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me,” Yoonwoo said firmly. “Last time, I ate something a week past its expiration, and nothing bad happened.”

Hyerim was the kind of person who paid attention to others in the most minute detail. Offering to buy lunch for a small extra credit assignment and then offering dinner because of Yoonwoo’s expired salad showed her considerate personality. Indeed, true popularity wasn’t just about being attractive or good-looking. People who were genuinely respected never missed the little gestures of thoughtfulness.

“See you Wednesday, Hyerim.”

Hyerim gave a hesitant smile and fluttered her lips before waving slightly at Yoonwoo.

***

“Tofu… So you rejected that girl’s offer to eat just because of a salad? We got our nicknames wrong. You’re the Rabbit, not me.”

Yoonwoo sat on his bed, folding laundry while listening to Rabbit through his earphones. Many used indoor clothes racks as both dryer and hanger to avoid folding. But Yoonwoo’s room was too small for a drying rack, so he had to fold and put away his clothes neatly.

He liked organizing his clothes, anyway.

“What about the 50,000 won I gave you? Wasn’t it for situations like this?”

“It was from you, Rabbit, so I can’t just waste it.”

“Then when exactly are you supposed to use it? I meant for you to eat well. Now look at you. I was wrong, I should’ve sent 500,000 won. Then maybe you’d spend it. Should I send more now?”

“No, absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“What will you live on, Rabbit?”

“Tofu! Why do you always think I don’t have money? I’ll just transfer it to your account right now. Even if you don’t eat with someone, treat yourself to something, like chicken.”

“If you send that money, Rabbit, I won’t eat a thing until I can return it.”

“Are you that dramatic? We’ve agreed to die together anyway, and my money will be meaningless by then, right? Can’t we just share the money and enjoy life, eating nice things?”

“What does it matter what I eat if I’m going to die anyway? More than that, I don’t want to feel indebted when I talk to you.”

“Debt? It’s a gift, Tofu.”

“Even if you say it’s a gift, Rabbit, it feels uncomfortable because I can’t do the same thing for you. I don’t want to have that kind of relationship.”

To Yoonwoo, even gifts were debts that he had to eventually repay.

“So, you’re not using that money because you think of it as a debt?” Rabbit asked.

“That’s why I’d like you to take it back.”

“I think…” Rabbit paused and sighed. “Tofu, you’re so difficult sometimes.”

“What’s so difficult?”

“Winning you over. It’s like hitting a wall every day.”

“Ah, come on.”

Such a statement assumed that there was someone who wanted to win his heart. So far, there had been no takers. The price of a product with no demand was zero. That was why Yoonwoo had removed that product from the shelf long ago.

“Jeongwon, you’re drinking too fast. Slow down.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

Jihoon was resting his chin in his hand and watching Jeongwon, matching her pace. Jeongwon avoided his gaze and drank, unable to properly respond to his teasing behavior.

“The combo you recommended is really good. Do you order this every time you come here?”

“You come here all the time and never tried this?” Jeongwon asked, surprised.

“It feels like ordering that would get me teased.”

“You should have ordered it prepared for the teasing,” Jeongwon said wisely. “Once they try it, no one can say anything. This is always the first thing they sell out of here.”

As Jeongwon inhaled the fruit salad mixed into her punch, Jihoon laughed and nodded his approval.

Jihoon was very gentle, and he was the type to keep the conversation flowing, even if Jeongwon wasn’t pulling her weight. She could understand why his popularity hadn’t declined despite news of the fight spreading to every corner of campus.

He’s a decent person… I guess I was too quick to judge him based on what I heard.

Jeongwon felt guilty; she had made assumptions about him—all because of school gossip—without trying to properly talk to Jihoon. She also felt sorry for having been somewhat cold to him until now.

Jeongwon drank in silence.

“Jeongwon, I have something to tell you,” Jihoon said carefully.

He was surveying her face for a reaction. She lowered the glass from her lips, slightly surprised by the sudden change in tone.

“Yes?”

“Can we talk quietly, just the two of us? You know how things get twisted into wild rumors when others hear.”

Jihoon made a show of glancing around them. Indeed, one had to be careful with their words at bars near the school. Both Jihoon and Eunho ended up in their current predicament as a direct result of their disagreement occurring at a nearby bar.

When Jeongwon hesitated to answer, Jihoon clinked his glass against hers and said, “The rumors… Have you actually heard what really happened?”

“Uh… No.” Jeongwon shifted uncomfortably.

Jihoon deeply sighed and lowered his head. “I thought so…” He then slowly raised his head, met her eyes. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to discuss it. People are gossiping about you, so you should know. Let me explain myself.”

“Um… Okay.”

“And I have something else to say too, ” Jihoon whispered. His voice was so soft that only Jeongwon could hear him.

Right, I should hear what happened.

Although she thought it might be better not to know, her morbid curiosity wanted to know what exactly Eunho had been saying. What he’d said that made Jihoon hit him.

…Wait, what else does he have to say?

Jeongwon was extremely uncomfortable. She had no idea what the “something else” could be. No, actually, she had an idea. What kind of thing couldn’t be said at a bar near school, and needed to be said quietly, just the two of them?

Is—Is he going to tell me that he’s interested in me? A real confession of interest? Then… No, I can just reject him after I learn about what happened.

After thinking for a moment, Jeongwon nodded slightly. Jihoon gathered his things and stood up.

“Then I’ll pay. Let’s move somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“People might misunderstand if they hear. I’m really sick of gossip right now.”

Seeing Jihoon’s worried face, Jeongwon’s heart softened. Of course, he must have known all the different versions circulating through the school, being as popular as he was.

“Can we just go outside for now?” he asked. “Behind the building, where people smoke. We can talk there.”

Jeongwon briefly envisioned the place he was referring to, and slowly nodded. It was literally just a wide open alley. It seemed safe enough.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Jeongwon stood up, steeling herself for whatever she was about to hear.

***

“Damn, why won’t this work?” Eunho muttered, glaring at the screen. Every attack he made seemed to flawlessly miss the monster. He couldn’t focus.

“Ah, sorry. Ugh, why is this happening… Is it my keyboard? I think it’s broken.”

Eunho tried to force himself to focus as he made excuses about the keyboard. He slapped both his cheeks and stared at the screen.

“Damn it, Graze. I just respawned. How am I supposed to get back there, seriously!”

“Ahhh, sorry, sorry. Why is this happening? I really think my keyboard is broken.”

Missing the target and respawning at the first section meant it took a whole 3 minutes to reach the boss room. The healer, who had already respawned twice, started grinding their teeth.

“…I’m sorry. Should I go change my keyboard?” Eunho cautiously tested the waters, but the healer gave no response. Eunho felt like the frustration would kill him. Normally, this would have been an easy boss. If he could just land his hits, the boss would die immediately. But today he kept losing focus. Every time he saw the boss monster, Jihoon popping into his mind.

“Damn, it’s not even love, what is this…”

It wasn’t love. Jihoon kept coming to mind because of Jeongwon. Ever since he learned what kind of person Jihoon was, he kept thinking about Jeongwon being with the guy. Right now, there was a healer with a kind and pretty voice spending time with him, so why was he worried about Jeongwon of all people? Eunho was angry at himself for being so frustrating. Just as he made the keyboard excuse to catch his breath, the healer spoke.

“Ah, shit. I joined the party thinking your accuracy was good, but you’re just some shitty newbie that rolled in here.”

Eunho blinked slowly. That was not the healer’s voice. It was a deep, male voice.

“…Healer? Where did the healer go? Why are you in our Yes-Code room?”

“Yiu fucking told me to trust you. What about all those items I used to revive you? Give them back, you dick!”

The healer… was a catfish.

Did he have some kind of cyber target on his back? In his overwhelming shock, Eunho quickly pressed the tower button with his toe.

“You fucking bastard, I used up all my dungeon entries today, fuck! Give me my dungeon reset potion. Give it!”

After about 10 seconds, the voice chat ended along with the tower shutdown. Eunho buried his face in the keyboard.

I should just quit gaming, fuck… This is all…

Everything that had been going wrong since he started gaming was all because of Jeongwon.

He quit Gun Tales because of Ruby, and now he’d lost his focus on the new game, Tales Story, because of Jeongwon, which ended up revealing the healer’s true identity. It might have been better not knowing.

Jeongwon Yoo, Jeongwon. Was Jeongwon doing okay? As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Eunho lifted his head and slapped his cheeks.

“She’s an adult too, damn it. She can handle it. She’s been doing fine on her own all this time, right?”

Even as he tried to argue with himself, his jiggling legs gave him away. The desk was trembling with their rapid movement.

“Al—Alcohol. Right. I want to drink. Damn, I need to forget even if it means soaking myself in alcohol.”

Eunho thought his throat was burning because of the catfish incident, and that he needed alcohol to forget said catfish incident. It absolutely wasn’t because he was worried about Jeongwon. She wasn’t the reason, it was just because he was desperately craving alcohol.

He pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Hey, Seokjun. Come out… Where did you say Jeongwon drinks? No, damn it. It’s because their fruit salad punch is fucking delicious.”

***

“So they were recruiting a college entrance exam tutor and he said he’d do it. He’s obviously just trying to meet young women. So Jeongah…”

Eunho nodded absently.

“Hey, Eunho. Are you listening to me?” Seokjun said, waving a hand in front of Eunho’s face.

“I’m listening. Jeongah got younger and is starting college entrance exams again?” Eunho said vaguely.

“What the hell, how does that even make sense?”

He called Seokjun to the bar where Jeongwon was supposedly drinking. They ordered the famous fruit salad punch and some alcohol, but somehow the drink wouldn’t go down Eunho’s throat.

“Hey, Seokjun. But is that…”

“That what?”

“That… you know.”

“Dried pollack? You seriously have an unhealthy obsession with dried pollack. We’re not ordering it today.”

“No, damn it. I mean people. That—That person.”

“Jisoo? I heard Jisoo quit this place and works at Haengarae now. Remember how Jisoo would add dried squid on top of the dried pollack?”

“Forget Haengarae and dried squid and whatever, fuck, Jeong—Is Jeongwon drinking here?”

No matter how much he looked, he couldn’t spot Jeongwon. When Eunho probed him, Seokjun groaned as he’d known all along what Eunho had been up to.

“Just be honest, why do you care?.”

“It’s not—I need to get something from her. She owes me.”

“Really?” Seokjun said skeptically. “She doesn’t even look at you these days.”

“That’s that and debt is debt. Anyway, where is she?”

“How would I know? Probably went for round two with that upperclassman. This isn’t really a place for round two drinks. All the portions are huge so it’s too expensive.”

As soon as he heard that, Eunho’s legs started bouncing again. Anxiety thrummed through his nervous system.

“So that’s why Jeongah said that,” Seokjun continued, as if there had been no interruption. “Being an entrance exam tutor is also a service job. We’re going to test who can handle the exam students best.”

“Jeongwon was really hilarious when she worked at the amusement park,” Eunho said absently.

Seokjun scratched his ear. “Huh?”

Eunho was anxious enough to go crazy. He knew too well that Jeongwon could handle herself. She was an adult, and given that her major had lots of men around, he thought she’d have a decent eye for men.

But conversely, because there were many men around, there was also a chance she had romantic fantasies about “different men.” Because there were so many rough guys around, she might fall for a different kind of man, like Jihoon, who was handsome and pretended to be gentle.

Fuck, making me nervous…

Eunho wondered how much blame he had to shoulder, since he had helped her choose nice clothes, resulting in trash like Jihoon becoming attracted to her. What if she got hurt?

Guilt came crawling up.

Eunho knew what people said about Jihoon. He knew Jihoon was a shit person. Only Eunho knew exactly what Jihoon had said that night, and how he thought about Jeongwon.

Eunho had to tell Jeongwon about it.

Fuck…

He clutched his head. He should have told her the truth. Even if Jeongwon ignored him and viewed him as a cockroach under her boot, he could have at least warned her to be careful of that bastard.

No, why should I?

Jeongwon cut Eunho off first. She got angry at Eunho and turned away. He wasn’t obligated to watch out for someone who hated him, right?

But, even though it was Jeongwon, could she overcome a man’s strength, especially if he was also a martial arts expert? What if something bad happened? Eunho’s head was spinning from the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, right. Amusement park,” Seokjun went on. “That’s exactly the service job standard. So that moron, Minseok, suddenly started waving his hands like crazy, acting like an amusement park worker—”

“I laughed so hard when I heard she applied for the doll shop but got dropped to food and beverages and had to carry around syrup.”

“Fuck, are you even listening to me?” Seokjun slammed the table in anger, and Eunho jumped up. “What’s your problem, man?”

“I’m leaving,” Eunho said shortly.

“What? Where are you going?”

Without responding, Eunho left Seokjun sitting, slackjawed, at their table. He planned to search every single bar, but then again, this was around a university area, and young people loved nothing more than drinking.

“Fuck, why are there so many bars?!”

He ran around, going from bar to bar, even throwing off the denim jacket he’d worn. He searched every bar and even restaurants.

“Hey, you dropped your jacket!” someone yelled.

“Keep it!” Eunho called back.

“What am I supposed to do with this crap?”

After a few more minutes of frantic searching, Eunho stopped abruptly.

“The back of that head…”

A familiar back was in the distance, in the alley behind the bar, in that alley where no one was around. What was Jihoon trying to do to Jeongwon, taking her to such a dark place?

“Jeongwon Yoo!” Eunho shouted.

As soon as he saw Jeongwon’s back, Eunho sprinted in her direction. Even when he stumbled and had throw his hands to the ground to stop himself from face-planting, he leapt back up and kept going.

“You—You—You—”

Jeongwon whipped around, alarm on her face, and yelled back, “Wh—what?!”

Eunho ignored the flinch in Jeongwon’s shoulders as he neared, and looked her up and down. Without thinking about how embarrassing it was to have run here for Jeongwon, or how to explain himself, Eunho examined every inch of Jeongwon.

Her clothes and hair were disheveled, and her face was completely red. Eunho felt a surge of emotion. If he had come a bit faster, this wouldn’t have happened.

Eunho bit the inside of his cheek and asked, “Are—Are… Are…”

“Are…?”

“Why did you come out here with him!” he finally choked out. “If you’d just met men properly, fuck! I told you to watch yourself!”

Eunho suddenly closed his mouth, putting a halt to the flood of misplaced rage. He saw a fallen man behind Jeongwon.

It was Jihoon, face-down on a garbage bag.

“You… did watch yourself,” he said, staring down at the motionless man.

It seemed Jeongwon had won the fight. He appeared to simply be knocked out, having fallen on garbage rather than asphalt.

Jeongwon was top of the class in both academics and practicals, fuck.

Jeongwon really was the best in her class. In every way. Eunho’s wild search was finally catching up with him, and he felt himself sag slightly.

“Why are you here?” Jeongwon asked, suspicion coloring her voice. “How did you know where I was?”

“That—that’s—”

Should he tell the truth and say he came because he was worried about her? As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Eunho bit his tongue. The stinging pain brought him back to his senses.

“Move.” Eunho pushed Jeongwon aside. He crouched down beside Jihoon and tapped his cheek. He raised his head and glanced around. “No one’s here right?”

“No, no one. Now answer my question; why did you come?”

“Good.”

Eunho slapped Jihoon’s cheek hard, channeling all his convoluted emotions into the strike.

“Jihoon, wake up,” he crooned in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Hey, Jeongwon. How could you do this to someone? Are you some kind of beast? You just knock people down if they annoy you?” The faux concern was thick in his tone.

“I couldn’t knock you down,” she pointed out.

“Ji—Jihoon. Wake up! Are you okay?”

Eunho slapped Jihoon’s cheeks a few more times, with great satisfaction, until Jeongwon stopped him.

There was no one else in the west stairway. Noon sunlight streamed in through a nearby window, where Yoonmin stood in front of Haein. Yoonmin was a few centimeters taller than Haein, putting his eye level just above hers. Haein couldn’t bring herself to lift her gaze to meet his eyes. Instead, she dropped her head just enough to stare at his chest.

How long had it been since they faced each other like this? At first, she would avoid Yoonmin whenever he tried to approach her. Then, in more recent days, Yoonmin had become the one to flee whenever she approached. Had Haein really not seen Yoonmin up close in two years?

He’d changed since the last time. Her eyes lingered on his Adam’s apple, then swept across his visibly firm chest. He used to be so skinny…

“Haein.”

There was no trace of hatred or anger in Yoonmin’s voice, lighting a tiny flame of hope within her. Maybe one day, Yoonmin would say her name with warmth or affection, the way he had before.

Yoonmin’s left hand reached up, dragging his fingers through his hair. He always did that when he was feeling awkward. Haein’s heart was thrumming now. It felt harder to pull air into her lungs. She placed a hand on her chest to try and steady herself.

Yes, Yoonmin was always like this. He would say things like, “The world is trash, and so are people,” and claim there was nothing of value in the world. But Haein knew better than anyone that, despite his words, Yoonmin had a kind soul and a warm, fragile heart. In fact, she might have been the only one who knew.

Haein’s gaze drifted to Yoonmin’s lips. Until a moment ago, she had been trapped in despair, lost in a world that seemed utterly worthless. Meaningless conversations, pointless pleasantries, holding back what she wanted to say, and saying things she didn’t want to…

But now, Yoonmin was going to save her, just as he did before. Yoonmin was going to say, “I’ll give you one more chance.” And Haein would swear to never abandon him like she had so foolishly done two years back. Then, starting tomorrow, would she be able to eat lunch with him again? Would she be able to walk home with him? Would they laugh secretly together at their own lame jokes, like before?

If that happened, Haein would not squander her second shot with Yoonmin. She’d give him all the birthday presents she’d missed, buy him delicious snacks every day, and invite him over for dinner like she used to.

In the brief moment before Yoonmin opened his mouth, Haein had already planned out a million ways to repent for her sins. But the words that came from Yoonmin’s lips were not what Haein had imagined.

“Uh… um… Don’t worry too much about what Jiyoo said yesterday,” he mumbled.

Haein blinked at him. “What?”

“You seem a bit down today,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “So I thought maybe it was because of those messages she sent you. Jiyoo can be kind of harsh, but she’s not as bad as she seems. She’s a good person underneath. Anyway, don’t take it to heart.”

Haein was unable to speak for a moment, then managed to say, “…Oh…”

She stared blankly at Yoonmin’s face, waiting for him to say more. When Yoonmin finally spoke again, he said awkwardly, “Was that it? If not, then… whatever.”

Yoonmin scratched the back of his head again, not meeting her gaze. Haein felt like she’d been struck by a hammer. Every letter of the phrase, “Jiyoo can be kind of harsh, but she’s not as bad as she seems. She’s a good person underneath,” was a needle to her heart. From Yoonmin’s perspective, the world was trash, and people were trash, but Jiyoo was a “good person.” So what was she to Yoonmin? At the very least, not a “good person.”

Was that all he had to say? Not to take Jiyoo’s words to heart? For Haein, Jiyoo’s words themselves weren’t all that shocking. She knew she deserved each and every one of them. What shocked her was how close Jiyoo seemed to be to Yoonmin. Haein was not prepared to learn that she had been replaced.

“Anyway, you’ve finally made the friends you wanted, so don’t shut down like this,” Yoonmin said. “You’ll end up alone if you give everyone the cold shoulder.”

Haein was speechless.

“You’ve worked so hard to build these relationships, so take care of them,” he went on. “Even the best friends can only handle so much mistreatment.”

With that, Yoonmin started to turn away. Haein realized that this was all Yoonmin had to say. Her stomach churned and her head began to spin. She thought she might throw up. Really? That’s seriously it? Haein reached out and snagged Yoonmin’s sleeve.

“W—wait.”

He paused and looked back at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“Um…”

Haein couldn’t seem to get the words out. She knew what she wanted to say, but the idea of speaking them out loud made her face burn with shame. She was far more pathetic than Jiyoo claimed.

But she had to say it. She couldn’t go on like this. She felt like she was suffocating. At some point, the classroom had begun to feel like an aquarium. The water was rising, but there was nowhere to escape.

“You know…”

In truth, she wanted to look pitiful. She wanted to silently say to Yoonmin, “Look, I’m so hurt,” “I’m so sad,” “I’m in so much pain,” by sitting there without talking to her friends, without taking out her books during class, and just staring at the ground. She thought that if she did, kind-hearted and soft Yoonmin might give in and talk to her.

Haein felt nauseous at her own cowardice. But now, there seemed to be no other choice. With her face contorted and tears welling up, she gripped Yoonmin’s arm tighter and spoke.

“You really can’t forgive me?”

Yoonmin froze. He fully turned around and looked at Haein’s face.

Please… Don’t I look pitiful now?

Yoonmin watched her silently. To Haein, it was an eternity. She felt like a criminal awaiting the judge’s verdict.

“Do you really need my forgiveness? After all this time?” he said at last.

Haein chewed her lip before responding, “I do.”

More than anything in the world…

“Alright… If that’s the case… let’s just say all is forgiven.”

Haein’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

For a moment, she nearly shouted in triumph. Forgiven? Really? After I made your life hell for two years, you can forgive me just like that? Thank you, Yoonmin, thank you so much. I’ll never betray you again, no matter what.

“Yeah. I won’t hate you or curse you anymore. I was getting sick of it anyway. Let’s just move on with our lives and not think about it anymore.”

…Wait a minute.

“What do you mean, ‘not think about it anymore?’ ”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he said with a shrug. “You live your life, and I’ll live mine. Let’s stop making things so uncomfortable. Just forget about what Jiyoo said to you.”

No, that’s not what I want.

“No, that’s not it, Yoonmin,” she protested. “Can’t we… go back to how we used to be? Be friends again…”

“Go back? Why?”

Yoonmin wasn’t being sarcastic. He looked genuinely puzzled.

“Why? Because…”

“You said you were having way more fun hanging out with your other friends, right? It sure looked like you were to me.”

“No. When I was with you…”

“After two years, you’ve changed your mind? Why, all of a sudden?” His voice grew suspicious.

“That’s…”

“You know what, it’s fine. Don’t bother. It wouldn’t change much anyway.”

Yoonmin took a deep breath and continued. “I’m sorry, Haein. Even if I forgive you, I don’t want to be your friend again.”

***

They had just started high school, newly minted 10th graders. One morning, the students had to take a random survey. Maybe it was a directive from the Ministry of Education or something. No one seemed to know, but the survey had a lot of questions, and it took way longer than anyone thought to fill it out.

The teacher had something urgent to attend to, so as he rushed out of the classroom, he said, “Haein, could you collect the survey sheets for me? Put them on my desk by lunchtime.”

But that day was a disaster. Maybe it was because there were a lot of classes to move between, maybe it was because someone was late handing in their survey, or maybe it was because there was a pop quiz. Whatever the reason, Haein ended up losing the surveys. She had no idea where she dropped them. The teacher was furious.

“What are you going to do about it? The Ministry of Education sent those in a package, and we can’t reprint them! How could you lose them? They need to be sent back today! Haein Ju, you have been unbelievably careless. Find them by the end of the day, or you will not like what happens next.”

Haein returned to the classroom in tears and told her classmates what she had done. Their first reaction was:

“Wait, does that mean we have to do that stupid survey again?”

Haein told them no, but that she had to find them by the end of the day. The kids said it was unfortunate, and that was that. Maybe if Jian had been there, she would have helped, but Jian was absent from school due to a competition for some kickboxing or Muay Thai thing.

Her second closest friend, Soyul, just said, “People lose things sometimes. Why’s the teacher being so harsh? Screw it. Just let the school fix it.”

Not a single person helped Haein. Soyul probably genuinely believed it wasn’t a big deal. The other kids might have thought so, too. But the teacher had made it very clear that it was going to become a big deal if she didn’t fix her mistake. In the end, Haein had to search the classroom and hallways alone.

Haein didn’t eat lunch and her friends ate without her. She wandered around, on the verge of tears, during break time. Her friends laughed, talking about the latest viral YouTube memes. Occasionally, they’d say things like, “Hey, Haein, what are you doing? You’re still looking for those surveys?”

Of course, no one was obligated to help her. It was Haein’s mistake, her responsibility. Everyone had their own issues to worry about. It was natural, but…

As she rummaged through the dusty space behind the lockers, Haein could no longer ignore a certain truth; she had placed too much faith in her friendships. Real friendships weren’t like the ones in cartoons or dramas, where people relied on each other and overcame obstacles together.

Friendships were fleeting, especially in middle and high school, where group dynamics were essential. Most friendships were built on messy, trivial feelings. The desire not to be isolated in the classroom, the fear of being at the bottom of the social hierarchy, or the need to reaffirm one’s status within the group—those were the reasons kids became friends.

Teens spent all their time clustered together, chatting and making each other laugh. That was the core of friendship. Were the other kids’ relationships different? At least for Haein, hers were always superficial. She wasn’t fun, nor was she someone her friends could rely on.

The reason Haein’s classmates had approached her to begin with was because she was pretty. She was a kind of trophy. Being close to Haein made them feel higher up in the classroom’s pecking order. No one knew what kind of person Haein truly was, and no one cared to find out. It didn’t matter.

All this time, Haein had been deceiving herself, telling herself that she had cool friends and that they shared a wonderful bond. She couldn’t bear the truth. If those friendships were nothing special, then it meant she had betrayed Yoonmin for something insignificant.

But now… she had no choice but to admit it.

After the break following sixth period, Haein returned to the classroom without having found the surveys. That’s when the girl sitting in front of her turned to face her.

“Haein, be careful. Yoonmin Seo was snooping around your desk earlier. He might have done something weird.”

Weird…?

Haein craned her neck to check inside her desk drawer.

There it was. The envelope containing the surveys.

There was a smudge of dirt on the paper. The sight made Haein realize what had happened.

I must have dropped it out the window while changing during gym class.

Haein turned to look at Yoonmin.

He was gazing out the window, pretending not to notice her eyes on him.

There was mud on Yoonmin’s elbow.

***

Class ended. Yoonmin’s mind was a cacophony of thoughts. He looked out the window, but Jiyoo hadn’t arrived at the school gate yet. He checked his phone and saw a message saying the end-of-day announcements might run late.

Should I go get some corndogs with Jiyoo?

That’s when it happened.

“Haein, how are you feeling?” Jian’s voice carried easily across the classroom. “We’re going to karaoke before studying, wanna come?”

“No,” Haein declined.

It shouldn’t matter to Yoonmin why Haein was refusing Jian’s invitation. He packed his backpack and stood up. Just as he was about to leave the classroom, though, he stopped at Haein’s next words.

“I’m not hanging out with you guys anymore.”

Dongju walked into the security office with a sense of dread. It was like stepping into a cage with a wild animal. Sure, Woogi’s actions were usually predictable. The real issue was Dongju’s own reactions to her.

He mentally prepared himself: No unnecessary remarks, keep the friendliness in check, don’t give her any reasons to worry. He couldn’t afford another mishap like last time. If it happened again, he’d have to avoid coming here altogether.

With a tense hand, Dongju opened the door, took off his slippers neatly, and walked in. He chose a corner seat, his gaze catching Woogi’s back. Dongju shifted his chair to face the wall and pulled a soju glass from his pocket.

He felt like a cautious herbivore, sidestepping potential dangers one by one. This way, he thought, nothing should go wrong, and he might actually get through this peacefully.

Then Woogi moved, rustling something. Dongju’s head whipped around.

What was she up to now? Dongju watched her like a hawk, his body tensed.

Crunch, crunch.

A series of small, hard crunching sounds came from Woogi.

She was eating almonds.

The tension momentarily whooshed out of Dongju like air from a taut balloon. Woogi was just snacking.

But the relief twisted into something—a deflated, odd feeling. Dongju puzzled over this unexpected flicker of emotion.

Crunch, crunch.

She’s really enjoying them, Dongju thought, annoyance creeping in. How could Woogi eat those almonds so nonchalantly? They weren’t just any almonds; they were his almonds. How could she just pick them up and pop them in her mouth? Had she given any thought to who they belonged to, what had happened with him last time, or what he had said?

Dongju stared, half-expecting the crunching to stop, for Woogi to pause, to show some sign of acknowledgment.

Crunch, crunch.

But nothing changed. Woogi was as indifferent as ever. It seemed impossible for her to remain so unchanged.

Dongju’s confusion grew. Whether it was Professor Hwang or the guard, they showed concern even at the faintest whiff of alcohol on him. Did Woogi not care at all, even though she had seen him defeated, drinking and crying?

Dongju spun a lie so naturally that he almost believed it himself. Deep down, he didn’t truly view the warnings against drinking as expressions of concern. Yet, to question Woogi’s apparent indifference, he framed it differently in his mind—making it seem as though she was the outlier who didn’t worry about him like everyone else did.

The nagging question, “Why doesn’t she care?” circled in his head.

Did his tears mean nothing to her? Was he just another face in the crowd to her, just another person who drank too much and then left?

Disturbed by these thoughts, Dongju turned his back to block Woogi from his view. He took a swig of soju, trying to drown the troublesome question.

He reassured himself, Actually, it’d be weirder if she openly showed that she cared. Normally, you’re supposed to act like you didn’t see anything, like nothing ever happened. That’s probably what she’s doing—keeping her distance and not letting on.

In truth, there was little reason to think this way. But then again, why not? Dongju’s usually rational mind strayed down a winding path.

***

The office ceiling looked hazy as Dongju slowly woke from his sleep. Laying his arm across his forehead, he turned his head toward the window where Woogi was quietly typing away.

This moment always got to him—the ‘why’ moment. Why would she bother to type so quietly next to someone who had drunkenly passed out? Seeing Woogi like this, so unguarded, filled him with regret.

Dongju placed his hand on his chest and lay there for a while, his gaze fixed on Woogi’s back. It felt like he was still in a dream as he watched her.

Woogi didn’t look back. She seemed to know whether he was asleep or awake without having to look. She must hear the rustling, he thought, but such a sound was easy to miss unless one was really listening. If Woogi noticed such soft noises, did that mean part of her was always tuned in to him? His heartbeat thumped against the palm on his chest.

Dongju felt his body and thoughts spiraling out of control. How far would this go? Fear washed over him like a wave crashing from his chest to his throat.

He sat up abruptly.

A sudden thought dispelled the remnants of sleep: Would Woogi act the same way with anyone else? Was it only because he was the one here, in this office, that she showed any concern? If he left and someone else took his place, would she treat them the same?

His gaze fell.

Something inside was withering. Dongju chastised himself for feeling so weak and pathetic. Why did it matter? It was only natural to be treated like everyone else. Why should Woogi treat him any differently? Why did such an obvious thing make his mood plummet?

Dongju tried to shake off the discomfort by dismissing the emotions swirling within him. As before, if he just ignored these feelings, they would eventually stop affecting him.

He took a deep breath and steadied his mind.

Just like before… nonchalantly…

Dongju picked up his phone and disconnected it from the speaker.

As the song stopped, Woogi reached for her phone.

A beep echoed from the speaker, followed by the intro of a new song.

“…”

Dongju’s eyes flickered.

The song was “Flower Dance.”

It was a favorite of his that he’d played several times. He double-checked his phone—it was definitely disconnected. Turning his gaze to Woogi, he realized the music was coming from her phone.

His eyes locked on her. Did she know this song and choose to play it? Did she remember it was his favorite, that he had played it before? Or was it merely a coincidence? Did she really not know its significance?

The thoughts Dongju had just managed to calm roiled within him again. It almost felt like she was toying with him. His heart, parched for signs of connection, soaked up “Flower Dance” completely. His once-subdued thoughts now surged uncontrollably.

Would she do this for anyone else? Would she remember and play their favorite songs? Was this a generic gesture of kindness she offered universally?

Dongju was inclined to think it wasn’t. Music reflects personal taste, which is inherently intimate. One would have to be familiar with someone to engage with their musical preferences, which meant having at least some interest in them.

As he stared at Woogi’s back, a question came to mind.

Am I different from you? Do you wonder about my reasons for drinking, what happened that day? Are you concerned but just pretending not to be?

Dongju watched her until the song ended.

***

His pocket vibrated.

Dongju took out his phone. The screen showed an unknown number. He hesitated before answering.

“Hello?”

“…”

“Who is this?”

“…”

No response came from the other end.

Human intuition works in strange ways. Sometimes, a certain conviction rushes in for no reason.

Dongju felt a chilling certainty about who was on the line.

As the silence lingered, Dongju’s face hardened. Enough time had passed that, under normal circumstances, he would have hung up, assuming it was a wrong number.

Then, a familiar voice finally broke the silence.

“Dongju…”