IT - 36

36. Sweet Illusions

It was Monday, and Tae-ha was away. Yet Ji-soo still felt sleep-deprived and exhausted. Even across the ocean, he remained Cha Tae-ha—complaining about her late response, dissatisfied with just hearing her voice, and eventually demanding a video call.

It was just past midnight. Ji-soo considered applying makeup before grabbing her phone.

Tae-ha’s plea to see her face gradually moved from her neck down to her chest and lower.

<-Turn the camera slightly to the side; I can’t see anything.>

<I absolutely refuse. Please, don’t ask me to do this.>

Her flustered tone only fueled his amusement. What he truly wanted wasn’t her naked body but her pleading expression. He craved her varied reactions—soft skin to bury his nose in, her scent to inhale deeply, and those tender lips to nibble on.

<-Then should I show you what I’m doing? Someone needs to watch for excitement.>

Fortunately, someone arrived to escort Tae-ha for his next appointment, sparing him from performing an unpatriotic act in front of his phone. However, suppressed desires always found their way back.

In the morning, Tae-ha called again, bombarding Ji-soo with lewd curses from the moment she left her house until she reached the office. His nagging began with questioning why she insisted on staying at that dysfunctional place instead of the studio apartment.

Despite his relentless scolding, Ji-soo didn’t hang up or snap back. She simply listened quietly.

She knew he waited for her to lose her temper, and besides, his soft, low voice—even when criticizing—was pleasant to hear, like listening to an elegant performance.

Just before entering the company lobby, Ji-soo redirected her steps to the outdoor café on the first floor, still closed for business. It was where she’d had that conversation with her mother, which Tae-ha overheard.

“I just arrived at the office. I’ll hang up now.”

-Is that all you have to say to me? No sweet words like ‘hurry back’ or ‘I miss you’? You know plenty of affectionate expressions.

Ji-soo looked up at the people bustling through the quiet morning streets.

Such words were for ordinary passersby or lovers deeply in love—not for them. How could she describe their relationship? A period already marked the end of their story.

“I have a lot to do today. I’m heading in. Have a good day, Director.”

Ji-soo politely ended the call. Being with Tae-ha always reminded her of that day—the impulsive proposal for a temporary arrangement after he called to check in.

Even now, Ji-soo didn’t understand why she did it then, but she knew she’d make the same choice again if given the chance. It was a mutually beneficial relationship—allowing Tae-ha to soar higher while she managed her unrequited feelings without burdening him.

Yet, the more nights they spent together, the more her heart leaned toward him. Despite knowing their future was nonexistent, her instincts and consciousness gravitated toward him like inertia. Perhaps that’s why she showed such awkward resistance even after falling into his arms, aware she shouldn’t.

After pushing each other to exhaustion as if there were no tomorrow, Tae-ha promised her the next encounter—as if sensing her subconscious practice of saying goodbye every time.

He noticed the foods she enjoyed and suggested dining at specialized restaurants. He mentioned booking performances or exhibitions that caught her fleeting interest. Like when he asked about gifts during this trip, Ji-soo dared to dream of their next moments together.

Thus, she indulged in sweet illusions. After all, things belonging to others always seemed bigger and tastier.

As she turned toward the lobby, resolving to gather her scattered emotions once Tae-ha returned, a familiar figure stood out among the sea of monochrome-clad people. It was Eun-ho. Thanks to the department merger, Eun-ho had been promoted from team leader to head of the PR Planning Division, reducing awkward encounters with Ji-soo.

Their interactions during the twice-weekly meetings on Mondays and Fridays were purely professional and brief. Even Hee-kyung, who once knew the kind and smiling Eun-ho, wondered if he had become someone else entirely.

<He seems so different. What happened? Didn’t you used to be close with Team Leader Kang?>

When Hee-kyung asked, Ji-soo quietly averted her gaze, unable to respond. Aware of her role in Eun-ho’s transformation, she could only observe him from afar like everyone else.

Their eyes met in the empty air as Ji-soo stood alone at the outdoor café. Eun-ho paused his calm stride toward the office at the lobby entrance. After a brief, dazed look, he bowed slightly.

Ji-soo, meeting her direct superior Eun-ho after two months, slowly resumed her steps inside.

---

“A recent historical miniseries became a massive hit, earning both popularity and critical acclaim. Thanks to that, Kang Yoo-ri gained a sophisticated and composed image, making her an excellent choice as the main promotional model for our cultural projects. What do you think, Director?”

Promotions Team Leader Jin Hyunjung asked, and all eyes in the conference room turned to Eun-ho. However, upon receiving the microphone, Eun-ho focused instead on the clumsily wrapped bandage around Ji-soo’s finger.

Was it a cut? A burn? Various possibilities crossed his mind as someone tapped lightly on his desk.

“Ah, yes. Let’s proceed with that. Since her contract period as our concept model hasn’t expired, we can handle the cultural project as an additional agreement.”

Once Eun-ho issued his directive, someone across the table presented the next agenda item. Ji-soo listened attentively, jotting down detailed notes in her notebook, her half-torn bandage clinging loosely to her finger.

“The feeling of being treated like baggage is inevitable, isn’t it?”

After the Monday morning weekly meeting, Ji-soo headed to the rooftop garden with Hee-kyung. Since the Media Production Department merged into the PR Division, the two often shared complaints and worries. Though officially part of the PR Division, they independently handled media production tasks and participated in PR work.

“Surely, they don’t mean for us to leave voluntarily, right?”

“No way.”

“In the past, we’d cozy up to Director Kang Eun-ho over drinks, asking about internal matters. Now, it’s too awkward to even strike up a conversation.”

Ji-soo fiddled with her injured finger, which she hurt over the weekend while moving equipment and books at the office.

“Or maybe, Team Leader, should we arrange a gathering under the guise of old times? Could it backfire?”

Ji-soo chuckled awkwardly. While Eun-ho wouldn’t intentionally embarrass or obstruct them, facing each other remained uncomfortable for both parties.

“Huh? That looks painful. What happened to your finger, Team Leader?”

“Yesterday, while tidying up the studio. Sacrificed my body, you know.”

“Oh, please. Where does Team Leader have flesh to sacrifice?”

Ji-soo giggled first, prompting Hee-kyung to smile brightly. Amid their cheerful laughter, the earlier subject of discussion appeared. Come to think of it, Eun-ho was the one who proposed and created this rooftop garden, introducing it to Ji-soo.

Noticing Eun-ho’s softened demeanor compared to the meeting, Hee-kyung cautiously decided to execute their plan.

“Director, you must be busy these days, right?”

This week, with Cha Tae-ha out of town, was perfect for scheduling. Internal reports and media analyses predicted significant outcomes from Tae-ha’s negotiations for Taesung Group, meaning a deluge of work awaited him upon return.

“Go ahead.”

His previously warm expression suddenly turned curt, causing Hee-kyung to hesitate. Sensing it might be better not to proceed, Ji-soo gently tugged on Hee-kyung’s arm.

“Do you remember ‘Teumteumi,’ the restaurant near the office where the three of us used to go? Team Leader Ji-soo’s favorite spot.”

Memories of Ji-soo, though painfully erased, lingered like deep scars. Recalling her radiant smile there, Eun-ho nodded.

“They’ve started serving Segok Makgeolli. Whenever you’re free, we’ll treat you. How about it?”

Eun-ho glanced at Ji-soo, standing silently beside Hee-kyung, as if asking if she agreed.

“While we’re on the topic, how about tonight at 7?”

Eun-ho readily confirmed the appointment before leaving the rooftop garden. Once his figure disappeared completely, Hee-kyung remarked that she couldn’t understand why he came in the first place.

During lunchtime, Ji-soo headed to the studio. With increased PR responsibilities, the studio’s usage had diminished. Except for Ji-soo, who occasionally broadcasted during lunch breaks.

It was a space for handling reduced production tasks. Checking equipment setups and cleaning the recording booth kept her busy, nearing completion.

As she opened the studio door, movement inside the recording booth caught her eye. Though only his torso was visible due to his height, recognizing him wasn’t difficult.

Inside, Eun-ho straightened up, having sensed her presence, and looked at Ji-soo. Avoiding her gaze, he loosened his tie as he exited the booth.

“Why is Han Ji-soo doing all this physical labor alone? You should’ve requested assistance.”

His disapproving glance landed on her clumsily bandaged finger.

“I almost finished. Slowly, I can manage alone. I came to wrap things up, but thank you.”

“True. Ji-soo excels at organizing—people and things alike. I forgot momentarily, given how much you’ve endured.”