MHD - 32

Chapter 32: The Fall of Paradise  

After entering her home, Hee-soo retrieved a phone from her drawer. It was the one Jae-hyuk had given her some time ago. 

She had left it untouched since receiving it, so the battery was completely drained. Finding the correct charger, she plugged it in and sat beside it. 

A red light blinked intermittently, and after a few minutes, the device powered on. With the charger still connected, Hee-soo unlocked the phone. 

On the home screen, which contained only a few basic apps, she opened the contacts list. There was only one name saved: 

Jae-hyuk 

While waiting for the phone to charge enough for a call, Hee-soo absentmindedly stared at Jae-hyuk’s name on the screen, fiddling with the device. 

“…Later, tell Jae-hyuk that I came and apologized properly.” 

The image of Dong-hwan, trembling yet earnestly pleading as he left, resurfaced in her mind. 

What could Jae-hyuk possibly have said to make someone like him—an unruly troublemaker—apologize so sincerely? Each unanswered question weighed heavily on her. 

She had thought she wouldn’t need this kind of help anymore, but once again, she felt indebted to Jae-hyuk. 

Suddenly, a distant memory surfaced in Hee-soo’s mind. 

It was when Jae-hyuk had intervened upon learning that she was being bullied by other members of the ballet troupe. 

How a mere high school student like Jae-hyuk had obtained their personal information remained unclear. However, after meeting with him, several ringleaders either quit the ballet company or came to apologize to her, promising never to do such things again. 

Some parents of those who quit confronted Director Yeon Ji-sun, and eventually, the matter reached Chairman Jung Chul’s ears. As punishment, Jae-hyuk was severely beaten by his father. 

According to Kim Po-dak, the chairman had been furious enough to nearly kill his son that day. 

It wasn’t until a week later that Hee-soo finally saw Jae-hyuk, his face still swollen. 

“Why did you do all that? I was fine.” 

Her heart ached at the sight of the lingering bruises on his face. To her question, he replied: 

“I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt. But don’t worry about me.” 

Even then, despite his contradictory words, Jae-hyuk had looked directly into her eyes. 

“…Ah.” 

Reflecting on those days brought a deep sigh from Hee-soo. Her heart swayed uncontrollably as memories of the past Jae-hyuk—steadfast and unwavering in his gaze—came flooding back. 

Amidst the bittersweet nostalgia, a sharp pang of sorrow struck her tongue. 

She thought of the present-day Jae-hyuk, who had asked for time apart. 

‘…I can’t figure out Lee Jae-hyuk.’ 

Sighing, Hee-soo glanced at the phone. It had charged enough for at least one call. She picked it up. 

[“Hello.”] 

The ringtone didn’t last long before Jae-hyuk’s familiar yet distant voice came through—a voice she hadn’t heard in years. 

For a moment, Hee-soo hesitated over how to begin. It had been ten years since they last spoke on the phone. 

“It’s me. Hee-soo.” 

[“Yeah, I know.”] 

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to say.” 

Hee-soo got straight to the point. 

[“Did you receive the apology?”] 

“Yes,” she replied, recalling Dong-hwan’s desperate plea just before leaving. 

“‘Make sure to mention… politely… that I said all this.’ Got it?” 

Remembering Dong-hwan’s kneeling form and his final request, she emphasized it without fail. 

“He received your message politely.” 

[“Good to hear. Now, shouldn’t you give me an answer?”] 

“An answer?” 

[“To my proposal.”] 

Ah. In this situation, rejection felt impossible. 

As she hesitated, a brief silence stretched between them. 

[“You must already know the extent of what I can do. I’ve shown you plenty of proof. Do you still doubt its effectiveness?”] 

“Doubt?” 

[“Are you reconsidering whether my help will truly benefit you?”] 

“…No, it’s not that.” 

Hee-soo exhaled softly. 

Feeling indebted, she struggled to find the words to refuse. She felt trapped within the framework Jae-hyuk had set up. 

“I’m grateful for what you did with Baek Dong-hwan. But I don’t need anyone else’s help to make my comeback. Actually, I’ve already recorded everything they’ve done to me…”

[“Surely, you didn’t think a simple recording would be enough to take down someone like Baek Dong-hwan.”] 

“I’m saying I can handle things on my own. I don’t want to succeed that way.” 

[“Seo Hee-soo.”] 

Jae-hyuk called her name as if to stop her. After a brief silence, Hee-soo opened her mouth. If Jae-hyuk wasn’t going to back down easily, she had no choice but to go along with his wishes—for now. 

“…Still, I should repay what I owe.” 

[“How do you plan to repay me?”] 

“I’ll do as Lee Jae-hyuk wants. I’ll… give you the time to move on from me.” 

Wasn’t this what she had longed for? For Jae-hyuk to forget her, and for her to forget him. But why did it feel so suffocating to say it out loud? It felt as though her breath was being squeezed out of her lungs. 

“…I’ll give you the time to let go of me.” 

[“Good. That’s the right decision.”] 

Jae-hyuk’s calm response pierced her chest like a sharp needle. 

[“Now that I’ve heard your answer, I’ll hang up. I’ll send you the details about the time and place later.”] 

Click. The call ended abruptly, the sound cutting through the air like a cold blade. 

This must be how someone preparing for separation behaves. 

His suddenly distant tone left her feeling inexplicably empty. Yet, just yesterday, she had been the one struggling to push him away. 

That’s it. This is done. 

Hee-soo gently placed her hand over her chest, which threatened to overflow with unnecessary thoughts. 

Yes, I’ll give him time. Time to realize he has no reason to hold onto lingering feelings for someone like me. 

“Haa…” 

She hadn’t turned on the lights after coming home, so the room remained dark. The faint glow of the night seeped in through the balcony, casting rippling shadows across the living room wall. 

An apparition of Jae-hyuk appeared before her, speaking softly. 

“Are the terms unsatisfactory? Is there an amount you’re aiming for?” 

No, it’s not that. 

“Do I really need to refuse help when it’s offered? Isn’t this an easy shortcut?” 

I don’t need shortcuts. 

“You’re being stubborn. You’ll regret this.” 

I won’t regret it. I don’t want to do commercials like Kang Lim anyway. 

Hee-soo buried her face between her knees and exhaled a long sigh. 

It was one of those days where everything felt like it was falling apart. 

The air inside the house felt unusually heavy tonight. She opened the fridge, grabbed a can of beer, took a sip, and headed to the living room. 

Plopping down on the floor in front of the sofa, she absentmindedly sipped at the beer. 

After finishing the can, Hee-soo picked up the remote and turned on the TV. She searched for one of her old movies: 

The Fall of Paradise. 

It was the film that had launched her acting career and brought her into the spotlight. 

Pressing play, the screen lit up with footage of her younger self at the height of her fame. With an indifferent expression, Hee-soo watched her past self unfold on the screen. 

As the movie reached its climax, the character she portrayed began to sob uncontrollably. 

A young unwed mother who had lost her child, believing the baby was still hiding somewhere in the house, cried out desperately. 

[“Baby, my baby. Where are you? Mommy’s home now. Are you hiding somewhere?”] 

Convinced her child hadn’t truly died, the protagonist searched every corner of the house with a playful smile—until reality hit her, and she collapsed into tears. 

This scene had been the emotional peak of the film, earning widespread acclaim from audiences. It was also the performance that won her the Best Actress award that year. 

On-screen, Seo Hee-soo appeared utterly devastated, wailing without restraint. 

Hee-soo watched herself with dry, emotionless eyes, tipping the last few drops of beer into her mouth before setting the empty can on the table. 

Staring blankly at the screen, she muttered under her breath: 

“You cry well.” 

It was her past self crying instead of her present self. 

While others claimed they couldn’t watch this scene without shedding tears, Hee-soo herself had watched it during the premiere with little emotion, observing her on-screen self dispassionately. 

“Seo Hee-soo, the talented actress.” 

That was the label attached to her after this film, but she knew better. In The Fall of Paradise, she hadn’t acted at all. 

Every moment in the story mirrored her own life—or rather, what had happened to her. 

Director Kang Jae-min, known for shooting films without detailed scripts, only provided the actors with their characters’ backstories and current situations. 

He encouraged them to immerse themselves fully in their roles and filmed scenes spontaneously, capturing raw emotions as they arose.

Hee-soo hadn’t known the exact plot of the movie she was acting in until after it was completed. It wasn’t until the premiere that she finally watched it from beginning to end. 

She was astonished. 

Though she had never revealed her inner self, the film Kang Jae-min had created unfolded as if it already knew every detail of her past. 

It was a strange feeling—realizing that the story everyone now knew through the movie mirrored events from her own life, events only she remembered. 

At the climax of the film, the screening room filled with the sound of sobbing. Hee-soo seemed to be the only one not crying. 

It was fascinating. 

Strangers who didn’t know her shed tears willingly for the character she portrayed on screen. 

It felt surreal. 

Their sobs seemed to whisper to her: 

It’s okay to cry. This is truly heartbreaking. You can grieve for as long as you need. What you went through was painful. 

The collective weeping of strangers felt like a balm to the scars of her unspoken past, as though something inside her was slowly healing. 

That day, Hee-soo didn’t shed a single tear throughout the entire film, yet she felt as though she had cried her heart out and found solace. 

So, on days when her chest felt heavy and she wanted to cry, she would play The Fall of Paradise. 

On-screen, the version of Seo Hee-soo who had cried freely in front of the camera would appear and cry on her behalf. Watching those scenes, she thought of the people who had cried for her character. 

“Thank you.” 

Eventually, the movie ended, and the credits rolled by. Even after the screen turned black, Hee-soo continued to stare blankly at it for a long while. 

“Reject me. Slap me and push me away. Tell me you forgot someone like me long ago and insult me for even coming near.” 

Even without raising his voice, Jae-hyuk’s low tone carried a desperate, anguished quality, as if he were wailing. 

Whenever she recalled the way his eyes had looked at her—bloodshot, as though shedding tears of pain—her heart ached as if pierced by something sharp. 

“Haa…” 

Hee-soo tilted her head back, closed her eyes slowly, and stared at the ceiling. Despite being utterly exhausted, sleep eluded her. 

Sitting there aimlessly, she eventually forced herself to stand, staggering slightly. After drinking every last can of beer from the fridge, she finally managed to drift off. 

Praying that tonight she wouldn’t dream at all, Hee-soo burrowed deep into her blankets.