Kwon Juhan. 22 years old at the time.

He was enrolled in the Western Painting department of a fairly reputable art university — not quite elite, but well-regarded. Yet after falling hard and late for the Sex Pistols, he began neglecting his studies, clung to his guitar, and eventually joined an underground punk band. He had left home and was now living and sleeping in the band's rehearsal studio.

The reason he left home was not because his parents opposed his band activities. They had already changed course early on — when it became clear that Juhan had no interest in studying, they pivoted in middle school, enrolling him in a well-known art cram school, tracking down skilled instructors, and pushing him through private lessons until he achieved their goal of getting him into a four-year university in Seoul.

His father had once smashed two guitars, and his mother had cut off his allowance — so it wasn't as though they had never pushed back against his band life. But none of that was the decisive reason why Juhan, who had once had everything handed to him, ended up sleeping on a rehearsal room sofa.

As long as he graduated from college, his parents would have been more or less satisfied, no matter whether he played guitar or did anything else. But even parents who had nearly given up on their uncooperative son could not accept one thing — that their son was gay with what they saw as perverted tastes.

During his time at the art cram school, a teacher he had dated for about a year continued stalking him for several years, even through his mandatory military service. When Juhan repeatedly rejected proposals to get back together, that person retaliated by setting out to destroy his life.

They sent his parents everything they had painstakingly accumulated through years of stalking.

From Juhan's perspective, it was evidence of stalking. From his parents' perspective, it was proof that their son was gay — and not just that, but gay with disturbing sexual preferences that most people would find unacceptable.

It included photos from when they were dating, pictures of him in intimate physical contact with one-night partners at clubs, and even screenshots of extremely private dirty talk exchanged during their relationship.

"Your son is a perverted homosexual who enjoys penetrating men nearly twice his age and taunting them with obscene words until they cry. I am a person whose life was ruined because of your son. Please ensure proper guidance at home so that there will be no more victims."

Along with that note.

It was true that Juhan was drawn to listless, timid men in their late thirties, and that he found excitement in watching them come apart — weeping uncontrollably at pleasures that crossed every line they'd ever known, triggered by the provocation of their own sexual shame. But who exactly was claiming whose life had been ruined?

Was he not the one who had given that person release and salvation by fulfilling desires they had suppressed for years without any outlet?

It was rich, coming from someone who had once been more enthusiastic about that dynamic than anyone.

Formally, Juhan had walked out of the house on his own two feet. In reality, it amounted to being disowned.

His mother vomited without even making it to the bathroom, collapsing right there on the sofa. His father — who had never once laid a hand on him despite having smashed his guitars twice — lost his reason and beat Juhan indiscriminately.

Juhan shouted that consensual sex between people with the same sexual preferences was not wrong, that even parents had no right to interfere in their children's sex lives. But in the end, he stopped. In truth, he understood their shock.

Even if they had seen photos and dirty talk of their son with an opposite-sex partner, it would have been shocking. But seeing photos of their son with an older man of the same sex — it wasn't unreasonable for any parent to feel as if the sky had collapsed.

Even when he said, "I'm still the same son you raised," their eyes were filled with contempt and fury. Being in the same house felt like hell. It was better to put distance between them until they could collect themselves and look at the situation with clearer eyes.

To afford a place to live, he was working three part-time jobs a day, but since they were all hastily found positions, the pay was poor relative to the intensity of the labor.

Every night, stretched out in discomfort on a sofa with torn cushions — something someone had thrown out during a move — Juhan thought to himself.

Right. It's not exactly easy to find another guy who'd look down at someone nearly twice his age and say "why is my man so naughty? Still can't hold it at your age?" — and mean it. Who'd work him over so completely he didn't know whether to cry from shame or pleasure. Of course the want built up with nowhere to go. Of course he was furious when it got cut off.

But understanding why someone does a thing and forgiving them for it are two different matters entirely. And if that bastard thought Kwon Juhan was the forgiving type — he had badly misjudged his audience.

Juhan had changed his number several times to escape the stalking. The last time he changed it, the stalker sent him a masturbation video as a "congratulations on your new phone" gift via messenger. Juhan simply deleted the message and blocked the account.

The man had shown up at every band performance. He had also waited in front of Juhan's place on multiple occasions, kneeling down and crying, begging to get back together. But it wasn't love. From the beginning, it had simply been mutual indulgence — and that person had only failed to find another partner who could satisfy him the way Juhan did.

He'll get over it eventually. Leaving it alone had been a mistake. Juhan had assumed that someone so timid and introverted couldn't possibly escalate things too far — but that had been his miscalculation.

A timid person would never swing a blade at someone else's life like that. That man had simply been a gloomy, cowardly bastard. Being dark and twisted on his own could be forgiven — but cowardice was not something Juhan could overlook.

For about a month, staring at the mold stains on the rehearsal room ceiling, Juhan spent every night thinking about how to get revenge in a way that would truly satisfy his anger.

Right. Nothing else matters. I just need relief. I need to burn through my rage completely — pour all of that intensity onto that bastard until I can finally sleep at night. And to do that, Juhan — who had once had everything handed to him — was prepared to live the rest of his life branded as a criminal. That, to him, was the spirit of punk.

The day his first paycheck arrived in his account, Juhan went straight to his usual vintage shop.

It was a store that sold rare punk-style items not commonly found in the country. He had finally come to pick up the pair of combat boots he had been eyeing. He intended to wear them when he carried out his revenge.

"Hyung, what are you talking about? I told you I was going to buy those!"

"Sorry... but you know we're not exactly running a business with plenty of spare cash. You reserved them and didn't show up for a whole month. When someone else came wanting to buy them, I couldn't just turn them away — who knows when another buyer would show up. I had no choice. Try to understand."

Hearing that the boots he had specifically told them not to sell to anyone else — because he would buy them as soon as his paycheck came in — had been sold just five minutes earlier, Juhan felt crushed. It even made him restless, as if his revenge had been put on hold.

"I seriously survived for a whole month on cup noodles and onigiri just thinking about those boots!"

"We've got other great boots in stock. It doesn't have to be those, right?"

"To me, those aren't just shoes! Hyung, do you know who bought them? Could you at least tell me?"

"Uh... well..."

The shop owner scratched his uneven stubble with his index finger, eyes darting around. Juhan leaned forward over the counter as if he might climb over it.

"What is it? You know, don't you? Please tell me! I'll pay extra — no, I'll beg if I have to, just to get them back!"

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. A light, gentle touch — almost ticklish, like a playful tease.

"How much extra are you willing to pay?"

"......"

When he turned around, a small-framed woman was looking up at him. Her jet-black bob, cut sharply as if with a blade, and the sunglasses she wore indoors in the middle of winter were striking. She wasn't particularly tall, but the heels of her lace-up boots brought her lips level with the tip of Juhan's nose.

From head to toe — from the piercings running through her eyebrows and cheeks to her tartan-check coat — she was punk itself.

Her style's killer. Even in that situation, Juhan couldn't help but admire her.

"You're the one who bought them?"

The woman nodded.

"What? They won't even fit you! Just hand them over to me, yeah?"

"Do people only buy shoes to wear them? Don't act like a beginner."

As Juhan pushed forward, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Nuna — hyung — please. I'm begging you, sell them to me. I've endured an extreme month just thinking about getting those boots. To me right now, they aren't just shoes. They're a symbol of a promise I made to myself."

Her gaze, as if measuring the sincerity of his desperation, studied him slowly and carefully from behind her sunglasses.

"Why? What happened?"

"My life got completely ruined because of some son of a bitch. I made a promise to myself that I'd go deal with that bastard once I got these boots."

She lowered her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and looked at him directly. Her large eyes, lined with heavy smoky makeup, were unusually sharp.

"I want to study aesthetics — art theory — and become a curator in Europe. But my parents want me to go to an education college and become a teacher — dress how they say, go to the academies they choose, hang out with the friends they pick. Like my well-behaved younger sibling who does exactly what they're told. But I secretly applied to the Department of Aesthetics at XX University and got in. Then they said they wouldn't pay my tuition unless I enrolled in education. After everything I went through to get into that university, I couldn't even attend. I moved out and I'm stuck in a shoebox goshiwon. Even so, I tried to build experience in something I love — but at the gallery I work more than fifteen hours a day and still only get passion pay. There are people lining up to work for that little, and I could get fired at any moment."

Unable to grasp the intent behind the sudden flood of personal disclosure, Juhan narrowed his eyes. Is this a misery competition? Winner gets the boots?

"So? You had it worse than me?"

Without missing a beat, Juhan answered.

"Outing."

"......"

She stared at him in silence for a moment. Then she crossed her arms and asked the next question.

"......The target?"

"My parents."

"......The perpetrator?"

"My ex. The art cram school instructor I dated in high school. 37 at the time. 41 now."

Her entire face twisted into a frown.

"What kind of taste is that?"

"I know my taste is trash. But that bastard is the one who exposed it to my parents."

"Yeah. He really is a son of a bitch."

"Right? I'm going to put these on and drag him straight into the gutter. I'll make sure he can never pull that shit again — even if I end up getting dragged to the police myself. I can't stand being in debt to anyone. So just give me the boots."

"Let's go."

She fixed her sunglasses and walked past him toward the exit.

"Where? What about the boots? You just said he's a son of a bitch!"

Juhan shouted as he followed. When she opened the door, the cold winter air rushed in as if it had been waiting.

"Do you think that counts as revenge? An eye for an eye. If you're going to be socially destroyed, you repay it with social destruction."

· · · · ·

Being in Hongdae didn't guarantee good business. Even on a Saturday evening, there were only two or three tables of customers inside the bar. The table closest to the entrance seemed to be occupied by the owner's acquaintances.

The interior wasn't particularly stylish, but it had a comfortable and distinctive atmosphere. The music was well curated at a moderate volume, and the drinks were inexpensive — and yet, Juhan hyung and Yuni nuna explained, the place didn't get many customers. It simply didn't photograph well.

It had already been two weeks since I helped with the VIP opening of Phantom's new exhibition.

For a few days afterward, it felt like my feet were barely touching the ground, as if I'd briefly stepped into another world. But as I stayed busy juggling work at the moving company and helping out at the Teacher's house, the sense of unreality slowly settled back into place. Golden Alphas, paintings worth ten million won apiece, champagne parties with delicate finger foods almost too beautiful to eat — even the feeling that such a world truly existed somewhere was growing faint.

I had received a message from Yuni nuna through the Teacher on Wednesday. I hadn't expected the invitation — but I was glad for it.

After finishing the moving job, I stopped by home to shower and hurried to the meeting spot. By the time I was on my way, the weather had already grown warm enough that a light sheen of sweat formed on my forehead — the season quietly turning toward early summer.

The woman and man I met outside were much more familiar than I expected — and before long, "Yuni-ssi" and "Juhan-ssi" had simply become "Yuni nuna" and "Juhan hyung."

With plates of fries topped with melted cheddar cheese and glasses of draft beer in front of us, Juhan hyung was retracing memories from three years ago.

One of the two cats kept at the bar jumped up onto the empty chair beside him. It was a long-haired Persian, very affectionate toward people. As he stroked its back, he continued his story.

"After that, we went to a nearby café and I laid everything out in detail — the whole history with that bastard, from start to present. That alone took about two hours. Baek Yuni's questions were so thorough and composed, I felt like I'd come to a lawyer's office to sue the guy."

Because the two of them had such similar styles and seemed so comfortable with each other, I had assumed they must have known each other long before working together at Phantom — but that wasn't the case at all.

Together they mapped out several revenge scenarios, weighed them carefully, and chose one. They took the same materials the stalker had sent to Juhan's parents and delivered them, intact, to the director of the academy where he worked.

"In the late afternoon, when the director came in, one of that bastard's regular duties was to bring the director the day's mail and report on the academy's situation. The stalking materials he sent to my parents — the proof of everything he'd done — ended up being delivered straight into his boss's hands by his own doing. I can only imagine him sitting in front of his superior, trembling while his boss stared at those message screenshots where he'd begged his former student — nearly twenty years his junior — to treat him like a dog in bed again... all while still trying to act dignified and talk about student enrollment rates...."

He paused for a moment, then smiled softly and rubbed his cheek against the cat he was holding.

It wasn't hard to imagine how the director — an ordinary middle-aged man who likely had no tolerance for so much as two men holding hands — would have reacted to the contents of that envelope.

"He dug his own grave. If those materials had come to my house, I would have been the one outed. If they went to his house, he would have been the one outed. We chose the company over the home. The blade you swing at someone else can turn back on you. Thanks to Baek Yuni, I learned that very clearly."

"It must have been quite an enlightening Monday morning for him too."

Yuni nuna leaned her elbows on the table and drank her beer as she said it.

"If you make someone cry, you should be made to bleed in return. No matter how long it takes, no matter what it costs me, even if my whole life gets buried in the process — my creed is that I never let anyone who messes with me off easily."

Then he pressed his nose against the cat's and his voice went completely soft. "That's right, Cushion..."

I was curious about what had happened to the stalker afterward, but I could more or less guess. If a man in his forties had been outed that way at his workplace, the aftermath wasn't hard to imagine. His family might have been shocked enough to cut ties and keep things quiet — but society would not be so forgiving.

"Are you feeling sorry for that guy?"

Juhan hyung's guess was wrong.

I had simply been thinking about how cleanly an incident with such a clear target of revenge and resentment could be resolved. I shook my head.

"I think it was a clean ending."

"You're colder than you look."

As he said that, Juhan hyung grinned. For a moment, that mischievous, villainous smile reminded me of Phantom's Director.

We each ordered another round of beer. They were on their third, and I was on my second.

"That's the beginning of Baek Yuni and me. If it weren't for her, I probably would have gone straight to that guy, lost my temper, and ended up with a real criminal record. My parents would never have paid any settlement money back then. Well — not that the situation's much different even now."

Juhan hyung wiped beer foam from his lips, his expression a little sour.

"But as it turned out, Baek Yuni had already left all that gallery suffering behind — that was ancient history. By then she was already pulling a solid salary at Phantom and doing well for herself. She was worked to the bone because they were so short-staffed, but the shoebox goshiwon was long behind her."

"When Phantom was growing so fast back then, they were desperate for staff — otherwise I probably wouldn't have let you interview there. Funny how things work out...."

In the meantime, other tables had cleared out, and only the owner's acquaintances near the entrance and the three of us remained in the bar. They seemed to be involved in some kind of bet, because a sudden cheer and a disappointed groan erupted at the same moment. The cat must have been startled by the noise — it perked up its ears and burrowed further into Juhan hyung's arms.

I looked down at Juhan hyung's lean hand as he gently stroked the cat, and took a couple of sips of beer. After coming to Seoul, I'd come to know the particular comfort and reward of a beer after a long day's work — but today's beer had a different taste from usual.

Returning to the starting point of the story, I asked the one thing I'd been wondering about through the whole revenge tale.

"What happened to the boots?"

"The boots? Ah... those boots."

Juhan hyung grinned and suddenly lifted his right leg higher than the table, showing it off. Startled by the sudden movement, the cat quickly jumped down from the chair and disappeared toward the back of the bar.

"I'm not someone who goes back on their word."

Yuni nuna raised her glass in a toast.

Three glasses clinked together over the now-cold fries. I didn't know exactly what we were celebrating, but it felt like a toast marking something real.

"So, Ihyeon-ah — would you like to work at Phantom officially?"

"Pardon?"

As if shaking off the weight of everything he'd just told us, Juhan hyung downed more than half his beer and set the glass down with a solid thunk before suddenly bringing up the topic. A sigh from Yuni nuna drifted over from beside me.

"Is tacking 'so' onto the front of something supposed to make it okay? I told you I'd bring it up and to leave it to me — and I knew this would happen."

"Why? Wasn't it natural? I was explaining how I met you and ended up working at Phantom. How is it unnatural to then ask if he'd like to work here too?"

"Let's just drop it."

Juhan hyung raised his eyebrows and pulled down the corners of his mouth with a wounded expression. Instead, Yuni nuna began speaking in her usual quick, composed tone.

"The work at Phantom is tough, but the compensation and benefits are about as good as it gets in the industry. Most galleries actually have worse working conditions than Phantom. Galleries our size typically run with a single staff member. As the gallery has grown, we've always added staff when needed — and it looks like it's time to hire someone new again. We want you to work with us."

"First of all... I'm really grateful for the offer. It means a lot that you see me that way. But I don't have much experience, so I'm not sure how useful I'd actually be...."

The offer was unexpected — and yet genuinely welcome. But I also doubted whether I could contribute much as an employee in a professional space like a gallery.

"Actually... Manager Han suggested I try working as a live-in helper."

"Live-in?"

"Yes. I haven't made a final decision yet, but I think that's probably how it'll turn out."

The Teacher had brought up the live-in arrangement that same Wednesday.

After relaying that Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung wanted to meet me, the Teacher drove me home and offered the live-in position. It was likely made with my situation in mind — the Teacher didn't particularly deny that either. Ultimately, it came down to a choice between relying on Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, or relying on the Teacher.

"Then that works out even better! If you move into Manager Han's place, you could do the helper work and still work at Phantom!"

"Hey — if Ihyeon works at Phantom, he'll be commuting every day and working overtime. How is he supposed to manage live-in helper duties on top of that? Do you think housework is that easy?"

"I'm a single guy who does his own laundry and takes out the food waste on time, thank you. Baek Yuni... your true colors are showing."

Despite Yuni nuna's scolding, Juhan hyung was smiling broadly for some reason. A sly smile he wasn't bothering to hide.

"What."

"You're just jealous because Ihyeon is going to move into Manager Han's place."

Yuni nuna stared at Juhan hyung in silence for a moment, then shook her head.

"I should have just let him go to jail back then."

The suggestion that I might formally work at Phantom stirred something genuine in me. The moving company job and the helper work at the Teacher's house suited my temperament well enough, and they made me feel at ease — but there was no excitement in either. Those were jobs that made me crawl deeper into myself, and that was precisely why I could find comfort in them.

But Phantom... that was less certain.

It was like being pulled out of the damp sand on a beach where I had been curled up, and suddenly placed upright on the surface of wavering waves — unpredictable bursts of stimulation with nowhere to brace.

I knew, in some form, that it was time for me to make a choice. I couldn't keep sleeping behind a sliding door while a loving couple lay on the other side, or throwing myself into manual labor simply because it helped empty my head.

"Bringing in another person doesn't automatically reduce the workload. Depending on who it is, it can even increase it — and if personalities clash, it just becomes stressful. That's why we've been putting off hiring someone. But I think I could work comfortably with you, so I'm bringing it up. Just think about it. If it sounds okay, tell us — or you can say something to Manager Han."

I was genuinely happy about their offer. I had long since put down my brush, but working surrounded by paintings felt like it could be a wonderful substitute.

But there was another reason I couldn't simply reach out and take the hand they were honestly extending.

"The Director... he won't be very happy about me joining, will he?"

"Like or dislike doesn't come into it. He's just someone helping temporarily." — The indifference still sat somewhere in my chest.

"Don't worry about that at all. That man has had his share of ups and downs in life, so he doesn't trust people easily — but honestly, he's on your side. He's a Golden Alpha, so he trusts his instincts completely. If he disliked you, he wouldn't have let you into Phantom in the first place. And if he really disliked you, why would he have asked Manager Han so many questions about you?"

"......"

Seeing my stiff expression — perhaps mistaking it for displeasure — Juhan hyung made an 'oops' face and quickly corrected himself.

"Ah, not interrogating exactly... He seemed to be asking whether you had studied fine arts, something like that. What you said to Inwu ssaem about the artwork that day became a topic of conversation between us for a while. Don't take it the wrong way. I was there when he asked, and it definitely wasn't coming from a place of suspicion — he was just curious."

I wasn't upset. For a moment something stirred — like a wave lifting beneath my feet — but it wasn't displeasure. I tried hard to explain that, even knowing it probably didn't show easily on my face. I wanted my sincerity to reach them.

"Even if you don't end up working at Phantom, let's still see each other like this sometimes. Baek Yuni seems to like you — which is rare enough."

"Probably just because he's handsome."

"You were practically singing about recruiting him every time you saw the Director, and now you're acting all tsundere. You'll just have to get used to him, Ihyeon-ah."

That day, I drank three glasses of beer for the first time. After hearing about everything they'd each been through, both of them felt closer and more comfortable than before — and something restless in me kept pushing the glass back to my lips faster than usual.

On the stairs leading home, I had to stop twice to rest. Sitting there and looking out at the Seoul night view, I no longer saw the squid fishing boats I used to picture from the harbor.

· · · · ·

Almond cereal, a one-liter carton of milk, a pack of plain yogurt, and finally cranberry juice — I placed them into the basket and was heading toward the register when I noticed the Korean melons were already out.

You could eat watermelon in the dead of winter and tangerines in the height of summer, but the melons sitting on the green nonwoven fabric-covered stand were, despite being brought out a little early, undeniably seasonal fruit.

I picked one up and held it under my nose. The fragrance was pleasantly sweet. If I peeled it, cut it into easy-to-eat pieces, and left it in the refrigerator, it would be convenient to take out whenever.

Grocery shopping wasn't officially part of my duties at the Teacher's house, but I knew that if I didn't buy things like this, the eating situation at home would get even more chaotic. So about once a week, I restocked juice, milk, fruit, cereal, and bread. I wanted to cook something simple if I could, but all I knew how to make were instant ramen and fried eggs.

These days, delivery food was convenient enough that I was told grocery shopping wasn't necessary — but it seemed the Teacher still ate what I bought, perhaps out of consideration for the effort. She was already paying me generously for work that wasn't particularly difficult, so I wanted to be of more help in whatever small ways I could.

After picking up a few sandwiches and pieces of bread from the bakery across from the checkout counter, I stepped outside into the intense sunlight. I shielded my eyes with my hand for a moment to adjust, then started walking.

The Teacher's place was a luxury apartment with a view of the Han River, but it was a small complex made up of only two buildings, so there was no commercial area inside. The complex next door had a small row of shops, but it only contained a small supermarket — so I usually did my grocery shopping at a large mart about a ten-minute walk away and walked to work from there.

"Seo Ihyeon!"

I was just entering the alley that led straight from the crosswalk to the apartment when someone called my name. I turned reflexively toward the sound and saw the Teacher smiling at me from the passenger seat of a sleek white SUV. I smiled back instinctively and started walking toward the car — but over the Teacher's shoulder, I caught sight of the person in the driver's seat.

Phantom's Director.

Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, my chest gave an involuntary jolt.

"I told you, you don't need to carry groceries. It's heavy."

"It's not much."

"Get in. Let's go up together."

While I hesitated, another car was trying to enter the alley. It didn't feel like the kind of situation where I could politely decline, so I climbed into the back seat. The moment I closed the door, the car slid smoothly through the alley toward the Han River side where the apartment stood.

"I had a minor fender-bender on my way to work this morning. Left the car at the repair shop — they said it'll take about a week. Thanks to that, I'm heading home in Director Liu's car."

"An... accident?"

At my raised voice, the Teacher turned around and gave me a gentle smile, as if to reassure me.

"Oh, yes. Just a minor collision. I'm fine."

"What do you mean minor? There's no such thing as a small accident and a big one. I know it wasn't Manager Han's fault this time — but how many times has this happened already? Try thinking about what it's like for the person who has to keep getting calls every few months saying there was another accident."

I hadn't even had a moving job scheduled today, so I'd left earlier than usual — and I'd already been wondering why the Teacher was heading home so early. But even if uninjured, the fact that there had been an accident... I couldn't help but agree with the Director this time.

To hide my trembling hands and calm myself down, I pulled the eco bag I was using as a grocery bag up onto my lap and held it tightly.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for worrying you."

"I keep telling you your driving style is too aggressive."

"Director Liu, can you stop scolding me and get back to talking about Shushu? Please?"

The Teacher tried to quickly change the topic, but the Director seemed genuinely angry. It was an emotional tone I had never heard from him before.

"If you don't want to be lectured, then change your driving style. And if you can't change the habit, I'll assign you a driver."

"Do you expect me to ride around with a driver when you drive yourself? What would people say?"

"What does it matter what people say? If something happens to Manager Han, do you think those people will take responsibility for Phantom in their place?"

"Ihyeon-ah, you heard what Director Liu just said, right? This is what they call being a tsundere, isn't it?"

The Teacher turned to look at me in the back seat and asked. It wasn't really a question seeking genuine agreement.

"If you're just worried that I might get hurt, then just say so. Don't make excuses and bring Phantom into it."

Trying to lighten the mood, the Teacher kept speaking in a casual, joking tone as the Director gently turned the steering wheel toward the entrance of the apartment's underground parking. As he did, his voice — which had been a half-tone higher than usual — dropped back down into its natural low register.

"If you know that well, then just be careful."

It was a voice laced with a sigh that sounded like it could dissolve at any moment. Anyone could tell his concern was not just ordinary nagging.

The Teacher didn't turn around this time, but even from the partial profile visible to me, I could tell there was a smile there — one tinged with both apology and gratitude.

The indifferent, somewhat careless attitude he showed toward the man in the passenger seat. The businesslike politeness he used toward clients at the party. And the hostility he had shown toward me, an outsider.

That was all I had known of him. I thought he was a playful, warm boss to the Phantom staff — but I had never imagined he could be someone who worried about others in such an anxious voice, in a way that almost felt overprotective.

But then, that's how it is. Unless he literally had blue blood flowing through his veins the color of his eyes, even someone who seemed incapable of caring too deeply about anyone would lose their composure when it came to someone they treasured. That was only human.

When we arrived at the underground parking lot, the air felt stifling. No one else seemed to think anything of it — but I was bothered that I had missed the moment to greet the Director properly.

When I got out of the back seat and walked toward the front of the car, our eyes met for the first time. I said, "Hello," in a quiet voice, and he gave a slight nod.

For someone who had allegedly asked the Teacher questions about me, those pale blue eyes still showed not the slightest interest in my direction.

To him, I was just a temporary worker who had helped out at Phantom for a short time and would soon be gone — and now, a live-in housekeeper at the Teacher's home. Unless someone was especially warm or sociable, there was no reason to go out of one's way to offer kind words or a smile to someone like that.

Courtesy-driven politeness, the barrage of questions disguised as social niceties — those were exactly the kinds of things that made me uncomfortable. So there was no reason for me to feel slighted by his indifference.

As soon as we arrived home, the two of them began discussing work at the dining table, and I started on my own tasks.

To give them room to talk comfortably, I began with the four rooms and two bathrooms first.

From the fragments of conversation that drifted in whenever I passed by, I gathered that a solo exhibition by one of Phantom's in-house artists was being planned. The Director, who had visited the artist's studio earlier that day to check on progress, seemed intent on moving the exhibition schedule forward as quickly as possible.

A different kind of excitement from his worry over the Teacher's aggressive driving habits came through in his voice.

If I had heard correctly, the artist's name was "Shushu." Every time his low voice — slightly husky, as though scraped by thorns — pronounced that sweetly-sounding word, it produced a strange texture in my mind. Like a record suddenly skipping at a particular track. Or like watching a large man bend down to hug a poodle and shower it with kisses.

It might sound like a mismatch — but it wasn't the unpleasant, frowning kind. If anything, it was unfamiliar and newly intriguing.

Shushu. What kind of paintings would an artist with that name create? It was probably not his real name, but I found myself curious.

"Are you really planning to let him move in?"

While cleaning the bathroom off the living room, I paused with the scrub brush in hand and heard his voice drift through the tiled wall. Not loud enough to catch every syllable clearly, but enough to roughly follow the conversation.

"It's not confirmed yet, but it looks like it'll happen. It took a lot of persuading."

"Calling it a live-in helper is just sugarcoating it. It's basically living under the same roof as a complete stranger."

"A complete stranger? I told you, he's someone I used to teach."

"Oh, from ten years ago?"

"Do you really have to put it that way right now? I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

"How can you bring a man into your home when you don't know what might happen? Even someone who looks completely normal can change at any time."

"Then I should start by kicking Director Liu out. You're a man too."

"Am I the same as that guy? To Manager Han?"

If he wasn't the same as me, then what exactly was he to the Teacher?

I understood the concern about a precious person potentially living under the same roof as someone who wasn't family. It was, perhaps, a natural and reasonable worry. But as the person who had become the cause of that concern, it was hard to say the conversation felt particularly pleasant.

"I know you're worried, but I've already thought everything through. I don't want Ihyeon hearing this, so if you really don't want to see me get angry, let's stop."

He stopped there for the moment. The topic shifted back to the artist named Shushu. The Director wanted to hold the exhibition as soon as possible, while the Teacher hesitated, saying the schedule was too tight. The conversation went on like that.

Because I turned the shower lever to rinse off the soap suds, I couldn't hear anything after that.

The Teacher rarely used the living room bathroom, so there wasn't much to clean — but for some reason it felt uncomfortable to go back out, and I lingered longer than usual. Thanks to that, the bathroom ended up spotless and shining.

After finishing the living room, kitchen, and dining area, I reached for my bag from the sofa — but just then the Teacher pushed back from the dining table, as if the discussion had concluded, and walked over.

"Ihyeon-ah, if you don't have a shift at the moving company next Saturday, could you help out at Phantom that day?"

"I'm free next Saturday."

"The closing day for the exhibition you helped open last time is that Saturday. But the next exhibition schedule has been moved up considerably... Our Director over there apparently can't wait any longer and wants to open it as soon as possible."

It seemed his insistence on rushing Shushu's exhibition had won out.

"I'm fine with that..."

I found myself looking at him — leaning loosely back in his dining chair, coffee in hand. I had done it without even realizing it.

Sensing the direction of my gaze, the Teacher glanced back at him once, then placed both hands on my shoulders.

"Why are you looking at Director Liu? I'm the one asking you."

From over the Teacher's shoulder, the Director set down his cup and stood up from his seat.

"Of course. The real power at Phantom is Manager Han." He picked up the summer jacket draped over the adjacent chair, checked the wristwatch beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves, and quickly took another sip of coffee while standing.

"Kun, give Ihyeon a ride on your way out."

"Oh, no — I'm really fine."

He glanced at me briefly, then shifted his gaze back to the Teacher.

"He says he's fine."

"It's on your way. Just give him a ride."

He silently looked down at me for a moment, then turned toward the front door.

"Let's go."

"I'm really fine. There's a bus."

"Manager Han wants it this way. So let's just do that."

His tone made it clear he wasn't offering out of any real willingness — just trying to get the minor hassle over with as quickly as possible.

"Don't mind him. Just get in the car and go."

The Teacher murmured this while giving my shoulders a couple of light pats. I offered an awkward smile. It seemed the Teacher perceived my discomfort toward the Director as significantly less than it actually was. The Director had already put on his shoes and opened the front door, waiting, while I crouched down to tie the laces of my Converse.

In the elevator, he asked where I lived. When I mentioned the neighborhood name along with the large church that served as a landmark across from the steep staircase leading up to my place, he responded with a quiet "Mm," as if he recognized it.

"I heard you used to study painting under Manager Han."

That was his first remark after we got into the car and left the apartment complex.

"Yes. When I was very young."

"How young is 'very young'?"

"From fourth grade in elementary school for about a year."

While waiting for the right moment to turn right onto the main road, he asked if he could smoke. I nodded, and he rummaged through the jacket he'd loosely thrown over the armrest, took out a cigarette, and put it between his lips. In the meantime, a car pulled up behind us and briefly honked. With the cigarette still between his lips, he turned the steering wheel and entered the road — taking out his own lighter instead of the car's built-in one to light it. Most of the smoke drifted out through the half-open window.

"I heard you didn't study art formally. Do you still paint now?"

"I... these days, no."

I had already known from Juhan hyung that the Director had asked the Teacher about me — but I didn't think she would have told him everything. The Teacher wasn't the type to casually reveal details about someone else's past beyond a certain point, and my current situation was closer to that of someone in hiding anyway.

Was he asking me this out of politeness now? At our third meeting? He didn't seem like the type to go to such lengths just to avoid the awkwardness of a confined space.

As I let my gaze drift meaninglessly out the window at the passing scenery, he exhaled a breath of cigarette smoke and spoke again.

"Manager Han was the one who suggested you work there as a live-in arrangement, correct?"

This was the real point.

"I'll be honest with you."

"......"

"Even if you had some connection when you were young, it was only brief — and you've both lived separate lives since then. At this point, you're essentially strangers. For someone like that to move into the house and live together... from my perspective, I'm concerned."

The brief pause in the middle of his words wasn't him hesitating out of consideration for my feelings. It was simply the gap created while he took a drag from his cigarette.

"Manager Han trusts and favors you quite a lot, so I don't think my words will carry much weight with her. That's why I'm asking you directly."

The distance from the Teacher's place to mine wasn't far by car, even if it took some time by public transit. The roads, just past rush hour, were still congested, and the car stopped at a red light heading straight toward the War Memorial area.

He rested both hands on the upper part of the steering wheel, leaning his upper body forward slightly, and turned to look at me. I held his gaze without looking away. The cigarette in his left hand looked as though it might brush against my hair.

"Quietly. Peacefully. I hope your life here stays that way. Do we understand each other, Seo Ihyeon-ssi?"

In that moment, the man who had seemed like the very symbol of a refined, elegant world — a Golden Alpha who looked as though he had never once touched dirt or dust — suddenly looked like someone from the underworld, someone who wouldn't hesitate to resort to threats or backroom schemes to get what he wanted. More convincing, even, than the private investigation agency director who had helped us get burner phones and find a place to rent.

As I had sensed on the very first day, he was someone who, for the sake of those precious to him, paid no mind whatsoever to the feelings of those outside that circle. He wasn't considering my feelings at all — nor whether his rude behavior might make me dislike or despise him. It simply didn't matter to him if I did.

The light turned green and the car started moving again. As we turned off into a side road before the Namsan Tunnel and climbed the winding uphill streets, I simply stared at his profile and made no effort to hide it.

It was a gaze that could not easily go unnoticed — yet he showed no discomfort and paid it no mind at all.

What was I supposed to say? "Yes, I understand. I won't do anything to Manager Han"?

Making a promise like that — about something I had never intended to do in the first place — felt strange. Such a promise would feel like an admission that I might have been a threat to the Teacher, and I didn't want that.

It was already surprising enough that he knew my name. I had never imagined I would hear it from him in a context like this.

Just as I pulled my gaze away from his calm, focused profile, his phone rang. He glanced down at the softly vibrating phone in the cupholder, checked the caller ID, clicked his tongue as if annoyed, and answered.

"Yeah... I stopped by.... No, not now... I'm driving."

My understanding of his relationships was likely only a very small fragment of the whole — but judging from his dismissive tone, it sounded like the man from the passenger seat at the VIP opening, or someone similar.

Whatever the caller said, he paused briefly and glanced toward me.

"Nobody. I'll be there on time, so hang up."

"Part-timer."

"Am I the same as that guy?"

"Nobody."

His words, the ones that had been directed at me, linked together in my head like episodes in a series. And as expected, even after ending the call, there was no explanation or apology for having turned a clearly present person into "nobody."

Up ahead, the large church — far too grand in scale for this neighborhood — had come into view.

"You can stop there. In front of the stairs."

As the car began to slow, I unfastened my seatbelt. He stopped a little past the bus stop.

"I have a question."

"For me?"

"Did you really act like this with Juhan hyung too?"

His brows furrowed, eyebrows drawing closer together. He looked as though he genuinely didn't understand what I was referring to. Maybe it's the kind of thing where the one who gets hit never forgets, but the one who hits easily does. Juhan hyung had apparently even contemplated scratching his car and running.

I could now perfectly understand what Juhan hyung had meant when he said he felt like this person would chase him to the ends of the earth for revenge. I had just received something very close to a threat from him — a man who, in that moment, looked exactly like the boss of a dark underworld.

"Please don't worry about Manager Han."

He rested his left arm on the steering wheel and turned his upper body toward me, looking at me with the expression of someone who had been stopped on the road by a stranger and forced to listen to nonsense.

"I like men."

I don't know why I said that. Men or otherwise — I'd never been in a relationship, never liked anyone.

But the moment I saw his expression shift — not just his eyebrows, but the pupils beneath them twitching — I knew I had hit the mark. I had only wanted to see him flustered.

"Well then, thank you for the ride."

I bowed slightly, grabbed my bag, and got out of the car. As I climbed the stairs, I wanted to look back several times — but each time, I gripped the strap of my bag more tightly and stopped myself.

If I couldn't leave a mark on him, I at least wanted to rattle him. He was a rock as hard as a diamond — and even if all I'd thrown was a raw egg, it still landed.

· · · · ·

"What are you drawing?"

I stopped the hand that had been scribbling lines across the notebook Morae nuna had torn open for me — using a cheap three-color ballpoint pen — red, blue, and black all in one barrel — and looked up. She smiled down at me.

"Nothing. My hand was just bored."

The background — which looked like waves, or flames, or maybe a whirlpool — was dizzying even to my own eyes.

"Drink up. I'm buying — to celebrate my study abroad."

She slid a large fruit punch toward me — served in the generously-sized signature cup of "What Happened in Bali" — then moved to the seat beside me and sat down. I left the cup on the table and bent my head to sip through the straw, looking up at her. Study abroad?

"In the neighborhood, apparently I've gone abroad. More precisely — that I'm in Seoul preparing to study abroad."

Drinking too much of the cold beverage at once made my brow and nose sting sharply, and I squinted.

I had heard she'd contacted a private investigator sometime last week to find out what was happening after we left, and it seemed today she'd gotten a report.

"What about me and hyung?"

"The funny thing is, it wasn't just Yeehan and me who disappeared — it was the three of us, and the adults apparently find that somewhat of a relief. The story now is that I'm in Seoul preparing for school, and that you and Yeehan rushed off to Yeongdeok because a good opportunity to earn money came up. That's the current version. They're framing it as if our family deliberately kept us separated."

So they could frame it that way. Then again, before we ran, "Mr. Lim" had been building tension as though something was about to happen at any moment. Though in reality, Morae nuna had been the one to strike first.

"Even so, who would believe that? Even if it were true, most people would rather write their own little story, spread it around, and convince themselves it's the hidden truth. They know no one actually believes it — but I can't fathom why that hollow pride still matters so much to them...."

She trailed off on the last words, leaning loosely against the back of the bench.

"If they come looking for us, they'll remember what I wrote in that letter — that we'd rather jump into the Han River. That's what's keeping them from moving rashly right now. But they're definitely not going to give up."

Morae nuna brought the cup to her lips — skipping the straw — and took a few long, cool swallows of the peach punch, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and added one more thing.

"We need to leave as fast as possible before that happens."

I first met Morae nuna when she was in her final year of high school, at the height of her conflict with her parents over college. Her parents just wanted her to attend any nearby university — even a mediocre one would do, as long as she went. She was so thoroughly ignoring them it was hard to even call it a conflict.

According to hyung, she had actually been an excellent student up through her first and second year of middle school. But because she already knew all too well what her parents expected of her, she began deliberately acting out — as if laying the groundwork for her future freedom in advance.

She intentionally ruined her grades and chose to become a problem student. Her curfew got later and later. She decorated her room with posters of bizarre, low-budget B-movies that made her look delinquent in her parents' eyes, and her clothing became loose and careless. Skipping classes to go surfing became routine.

In that way, she had gone from a daughter her parents were proud of — one who could excel at anything — to the youngest child they simply hoped would stay out of serious trouble.

Her parents believed it was teenage rebellion born from confusion over her Alpha designation — but from start to finish, it had all been her own deliberate choice.

"I'll be with the people I want to be with, and I'll be where I want to be. In the end, I was always going to live on my own terms anyway — so giving my parents false hope by acting like a model student feels like something neither side should have to go through. It's better they start understanding now. That I have no intention of living the life they want for me."

That was what Morae nuna had said — but even when she turned twenty-four, her parents still could not accept it. They refused to acknowledge what she wanted or what kind of happiness she was seeking, insisting she was still too young to make the right long-term decisions for herself.

Morae nuna had no interest in elite universities or so-called "good jobs" with high salaries. She also had no intention of taking a place in any of her father's various businesses, which generated tens of billions in annual revenue.

What she wanted was peace. A simple life filled with the things she loved — warm laughter, gratitude, staying true to herself day by day.

Waves, warm weather, and Seo Yeehan. A bottle of beer and a surfboard. A paperback of her favorite book. That was all she needed. She was someone who didn't need much to be happy — and that itself was a kind of gift.

Among the things the investigator had reported, one was about home.

"He says he's doing fine, same as always."

"Yeah... thank you."

Morae nuna, who had been quietly watching the tip of my pen, smiled and reached out to gently ruffle my hair. Then she let her hand drop, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and leaned her temple against the other side of my shoulder.

We sat side by side facing the front of the café. The folding front windows were fully open, and through the green leaves of the plants decorating the café, the street was visible outside. A relaxed, foreign melody played softly on a ukulele, and at the table closest to the alley, a group of three or four people around my age kept laughing without pause. It felt peaceful.

If Yeehan hyung and Morae nuna ever opened a café on some southern island, it would probably feel like this.

Open to anyone passing by. Not necessarily sleek or trendy, but filled with the owner's taste and life exactly as it was. A place with nothing forced about it — where on slow days, you could grab your board and run straight into the ocean right out front.

Seoul was not the final destination of their escape. From here, they could always end up returning to where they started. Thanks to Morae nuna's letter and the agency's reputation, they had bought themselves some time — but it wasn't safe yet.

The two of them would need to leave soon for somewhere with warm weather and waves. That had long been their dream. Since they were much younger, they had belonged only to each other, and seeing the world through one another had always felt the most natural and comfortable way to live. This escape was only one step along the path toward that dream.

And that was probably the main reason I had decided to move into the Teacher's house.

If I couldn't decide on my own path, they probably wouldn't be able to leave easily even after all their preparations were complete. And maybe, in the end, they would even suggest that I come with them again. That was likely.

We had come this far together — but I couldn't keep living as a footnote to their story, deferring every choice of direction to them in the same way. Even if I ended up leaving with them, it couldn't be simply because I didn't know what else to do. I knew that much clearly.

It was something I had resolved on that rainy dawn — the night I stepped out through the gate with Yeehan hyung, leaving behind my father, who made no move to stop us.

Juhan hyung, who had been outed through the most degrading means and was effectively cut off by his family — having his most private and intimate self fully exposed to his parents in a way I could barely begin to imagine. Yuni nuna, who had fought her way to finally take one difficult step toward her dream, only to have it crushed by none other than her own parents — though I hadn't heard all the details. And Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, the people closest to me — all of them were paying a cruel price for choices that had harmed no one.

I was not the only one who had been toyed with, thrown aside, and wounded by the senseless spite that life sometimes shows — regardless of my own will.

Even Phantom's Director — who looked as though he could pull whatever he wanted toward him with a simple flick of his finger — must have endured insults like "Satan" or "a man who sells paintings with his body" while clawing his way to where he stood now.

An attack that suddenly intrudes upon a life.

Whether to overcome it, to be dragged down and sink beneath its weight, or to accept it as part of oneself — like an eleventh finger, or a large growth on one's side. Now it was time for me to decide my own stance as well.

As far as I knew, Morae nuna, Yeehan hyung, Yuni nuna, and Juhan hyung were people who fought back against that kind of attack. Their methods and approaches differed, but they were alike in one thing — I couldn't find on any of their faces the dark marks that a hard tackle leaves behind.

But the texture of Phantom's Director was different from theirs.

From something Juhan hyung had casually let slip, I could tell he wasn't a prince who had only ever known glittering success. So perhaps he hadn't overcome life's attacks at all — but had simply absorbed them, the way someone bitten by a zombie quietly becomes one.

He often looked at me with a sharp, wary gaze — but at other times he would treat me as though I were so insignificant that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't possibly harm anyone. As though I weren't even worth acknowledging.

Each time his careless gaze or offhand words landed on me, whatever stirred in my chest wasn't sharp enough to be defiance — but it wasn't soft enough to be mere hurt feelings either.

Originally, I had always been the type to simply turn away when someone cursed at me or got angry. Had I been wrong about who I was?

"Nuna, did I used to like strange things?"

Perhaps someone else would know a side of me that I had misunderstood or overlooked. I asked Morae nuna while continuing to fill the page more densely with my scribbles.

"You are a bit like that, aren't you?"

"Me?"

At the unexpected answer, I reflexively repeated the question. Morae nuna lifted her head from my shoulder and looked at my face.

"You know how your favorite Crayon Shin-chan character is Maengu — the slow one. Not many people pick him. And your shirts — you always wear stripes. Short sleeves in summer, long sleeves in winter, but always stripes. You're subtly unusual. People who draw tend to be a little strange anyway."

"It's been ages since I drew anything..."

"Ah... so you're not drawing right now, you're just writing things down, then?"

Her accurate observation made me feel self-conscious. I pressed my lips together, smiled, and looked away. This is just doodling....

"Then... does that mean I'm the type who likes being bullied?"

"Where are you hearing these things? Are you talking about masochism?"

"What? Who taught you a word like that?"

Hyung, who had come out of the kitchen carrying a plate of nasi goreng, frowned at the word.

Since tomorrow was the day I was moving into the Teacher's house, Morae nuna and hyung had called me out to "What Happened in Bali" for a small farewell. It felt strange to have a proper send-off when I wasn't quitting a job or transferring schools — but even if I pretended not to read too much into it, I felt the same quiet reluctance about this parting.

Hyung looked like he might storm out immediately to find whoever had taught me a word like "masochist" and grab them by the collar.

"What's wrong with teaching someone that? We're all adults. Whatever people do with someone they mutually agree with, in private — that's their own personal freedom."

That was Morae nuna's defense.

No matter how much Morae nuna and hyung thought of me as some rare species cut off from the world, I was old enough to have picked up words like "sadist" or "masochist" just from overhearing things here and there, without anyone needing to explain them to me.

Taking the spoon hyung handed me, I pressed Morae nuna to continue.

"So, nuna... am I like that?"

I couldn't really expect an objective answer from hyung anyway.

"Hmm. It's not that you enjoy being bullied — I think you're just the type who doesn't particularly react to it. There's not much reward in picking on you because you never give a satisfying response."

I agreed with Morae nuna's assessment. Up until now, I had lived thinking of myself as someone relatively dull, almost numb. Or at least — someone who had been worn into that shape.

But my recent reactions were unfamiliar even to me.

"I like men."

That brazen statement — something I never would have said until recently — was almost a provocation.

"Why? Does it feel thrilling when someone bothers you?"

Morae nuna leaned forward, elbows on the table, just as I was about to take a bite. Her face was full of mischief and curiosity.

"No... it's not like that."

There were times it stung, like being poked under a fingernail with a needle — but it was different from a thrill. It was closer to the feeling of your whole body jolting upward when you go over a speed bump without slowing down. And sometimes there would be a childish, petty spite rising in me — a desire to take his hand and poke him back under the nail with that same needle point.

Just as his attitude toward me was inconsistent, I found it difficult to trace my own reactions to a single clear cause.

Overcome by hunger, I had no energy left to think. I began eating quickly while Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung sorted through the day's receipts beside me.

The owner — who saved up from running the place and then flew to the actual Bali to surf — had left last week. For the time being, Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung were running things.

By the time I had nearly finished my plate, hyung spoke, his voice a little softer than before.

"Even if you end up living somewhere else, come visit. Here, and home too."

"Of course. I'll come so often it'll get annoying. If not here, where else am I going to vent?"

"Funny. You're not even that talkative."

Yeehan hyung laughed lightly and teased me, and I smiled back in agreement.

"At least once a week — mandatory visits. Got it? And you have to send me at least one text every day."

This time it was Morae nuna's demand. I knew it wasn't really about her — it was said out of concern that I might feel lonely. When I nodded firmly, she smiled.

That day we had samgyeopsal and soju at "What Happened in Bali," then went home and kept drinking. A small indulgence — the first since coming to Seoul. It was also the first time I had drunk past tipsy all the way to actually drunk.

I found out the next morning, from Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung, that I apparently become unusually agreeable and smiley when drunk. Yeehan hyung even claimed I had kissed Morae nuna on the cheek — and on that rare occasion, invoking his rights as her boyfriend, kicked me in the rear with his knee.

It wasn't much of a proper move-out, but since it was the day I was changing residences, I had left the day free from the moving company. After we all ate breakfast together, I packed everything into one backpack, and the three of us left the house and parted ways at the bus stop. I headed south toward the Teacher's house; Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung headed west to work at "What Happened in Bali."

The rooftop room and "What Happened in Bali" were both close enough that I could visit anytime I wanted — but from now on, they would be places I had to make a conscious decision to go to.

As I boarded the bus and watched the scenery recede, I felt something strange in the knowledge that I was moving somewhere alone, separated from Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung. It didn't feel like moving at all. It felt like setting off on a trip. A very long one.