PBWY - 17

“Jaden.” 

“What?” 

“Look over there. That guy.” 

Several years ago, on a street in Manhattan. 

The man known as Jaden Hayes to the world and Min Jeong-Hoon to his mother glanced to the left at Chang-Kyung’s words. Below a wall covered in yellow graffiti, a Korean man and woman were seen arguing. 

“What about him?” 

Jeong-Hoon lazily asked, referring to the man as “that guy.” Having grown up in the U.S., English came more naturally to him than Korean. 

Chang-Kyung shook his head and responded with a mix of frustration and profanity. 

“That’s Jeong Yeon-Joon, the guy who used to cling to my girlfriend. He got caught by the RA while using weed and got kicked out of the dorms.” 

“Aah.” 

Jeong-Hoon gave a vague reply and bit into his candy indifferently. Though his response indicated disinterest, Chang-Kyung continued to glare at Yeon-Joon, who was now arguing with Yoon-Hee. 

“The last time, I don’t know how he managed to get invited, but he showed up at Karen’s birthday party, and I hated him from the moment I saw him.” 

Korean-American students and international students rarely crossed paths, so Jeong-Hoon didn’t pay much attention to Yeon-Joon, an international student. Besides, Jeong-Hoon had already graduated, so he cared even less about college students. 

However, the fact that this Yeon-Joon had dared to cling to Chang-Kyung’s girlfriend made him glance over one more time. 

“Piece of trash.” 

Chang-Kyung muttered under his breath. 

After graduating from college, Jeong-Hoon had been living off his late mother’s inheritance, leading a somewhat aimless life. Was this Jeong Yeon-Joon truly worse than him? With a faint smile, Jeong-Hoon walked ahead. 

“Let’s go.” 

As Jeong-Hoon sauntered forward, Chang-Kyung followed behind, muttering curses. 

Chang-Kyung was the type to dote on every girlfriend he dated, treating them like his own body. So while Jeong-Hoon could intellectually understand why Chang-Kyung was so upset with Jeong Yeon-Joon, he couldn’t emotionally relate. 

Jeong-Hoon wasn’t someone who easily formed attachments to others, whether friends or lovers, so he couldn’t empathize with those kinds of feelings. 

Melting the candy on his tongue, Jeong-Hoon turned his head again with an indifferent expression. He noticed a girl wearing glasses tugging at the sleeve of the man named Yeon-Joon. 

“Mom said she’d call for a video chat later. If you don’t answer, I’m the one who gets in trouble!” 

“So what? If Mom’s so scary, then you answer it! Why did you follow me here and nag?” 

“Do you think I wanted to come? Mom told me to keep an eye on you, so I had to!” 

As the Korean words seeped into his ears, Jeong-Hoon quietly observed Yoon-Hee. Her hair was tightly tied up high, and strands fell gracefully over her pale nape. Without realizing it, his gaze lingered. She looked ready to grab the guy’s hair if she had to. The skinny girl seemed surprisingly strong as she clung to Yeon-Joon’s sleeve, swinging him around. It was oddly amusing. 

Beside him, Chang-Kyung sneered. 

“Mom, mom. What a mess between the mama’s boy and the PhD student.” 

The mama’s boy was Jeong Yeon-Joon, the international student. The PhD student must have been the bespectacled girl who was dragging him around. 

‘She’s kind of cute for a PhD student.’ Jeong-Hoon unconsciously smirked but quickly wiped the expression off his face. 

It had been a fleeting encounter, one he hadn’t thought about again until their paths crossed once more by chance. 

###

Lying languidly on the sofa reading a book, Jeong-Hoon eventually tossed it onto the table with a thud. Lighting up a joint, he casually pushed the window open with his foot where the sofa met the wall. 

Bright sunlight poured in. Narrowing his eyes slightly against the glare, he stared blankly as the pale smoke dissolved into the air.

The anniversary of my mother’s death is approaching soon. 

Jeong-Hoon slowly rubbed his temples and carelessly put out the marijuana. His head was starting to throb. Whenever he thought of his mother’s face, it always gave him a headache. 

With a deep sigh, he sank deeper into the sofa. 

His mother had passed away three years ago. 

Who could have imagined that the once radiant daughter of a wealthy family would end up drowning in alcohol and drugs after meeting some useless artist, only to die alone? And leaving her only son behind in America, no less. 

“If only I hadn’t given birth to someone like you!” 

Her voice, screaming in desperation during her lifetime, echoed in his mind again. 

On ordinary days, his mother had been as bright and cheerful as a flower, but when she was drunk, she was anything but. She would lash out with verbal abuse, regretting ever giving birth to him, blaming him for ruining her life, and sometimes even raising her hand against him. The days she spent sober were far outnumbered by the days she was drunk. 

When did his mother turn into a monster? It probably started when his father left her for another woman—right around the time Jeong-Hoon had just entered school. 

The once tidy house fell into disarray, bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. The smell of alcohol permeated every corner of their home, disrupting their daily lives. Even now, Jeong-Hoon could still vividly recall that suffocating stench—it clung stubbornly to his memory, an unshakable trauma. 

After his father left, there were months filled with tears, months of fading away. And afterward, she began abusing her young son. 

It was abuse, plain and simple. 

Whenever she became violent, Jeong-Hoon would escape into swimming. He feared showing up with bruises on his body. Every time her voice grew louder, he would shut the windows tightly, clinging to her arms, trying to cover her mouth with his small hands. He would desperately cling to her, pleading through tears: 

“Mom, please… please stop.” 

He was terrified that she might be taken away for domestic violence. He was scared of losing the only family he had left. Despite her hatred toward him, he loved her too much to let go. 

Even after sharing laughter over meals together, just a few hours later, she would come to him while he slept, whispering in a drunken slur: 

“Don’t stay by my side with a face that looks like him. Just go and die.” 

She would tear into his heart with cruel words, but when she sobered up, she would pull him into her arms and cry: 

“I’m sorry, Mommy was wrong…” 

Love is such a strange thing. Even amidst one-sided violence, Jeong-Hoon couldn’t let go of his feelings for his mother. He endured it all, thinking it was all because of the alcohol. It was those rare moments when she would occasionally say something between bursts of resentment and anger: 

“But, my baby. Mommy will always love you.” 

That soft, gentle phrase would make him smile even as he cried. 

Looking back now, perhaps her words weren’t so much an expression of love for him as they were confessions born out of guilt. Maybe it was more of a promise to herself: I still love my son. 

Holding his mother close, Jeong-Hoon could only murmur quietly toward her dried-up affection: 

“I love you too, Mom.” 

He chased after the fleeting scraps of love she tossed his way like shadows, unable to give up on his mother’s affection, desperately following after it. 

Then, around the time he turned sixteen, it suddenly hit him. 

“Damn you! I wish you’d just disappear!” 

As he listened to her harsh words slurred through half-closed eyes and pretty lips, he finally realized the obvious truth: this relationship, where they only hurt each other, wasn’t normal. 

Though the constant barrage of insults had become routine, and he no longer felt wounded by them, a sudden question began to gnaw at him. 

And then one day, seeing his mother with needle marks and blue bruises on her arms from using cocaine, Jeong-Hoon became certain of it: his mother and he were bound by a terrible, hateful karmic tie. 

That day, for the first time, he cursed at his mother. Why did you even give birth to me if this is how it’s going to be? Why didn’t you just leave with Dad instead of staying here? 

After that, it was hell. They exchanged vicious curses, tearing each other apart. And then there was the look on his mother’s face—tears welling up in her eyes, glaring at him as if to ask, “Are you betraying me too?” 

It was unbearable.

But in the end, Jeong-Hoon couldn’t bring himself to abandon his mother. He still loved her too much. Love, for him, was just that—unbelievably foolish and astonishingly futile. It was the most worthless and insignificant thing in the world. 

And because of that, he couldn’t love anyone else. Having never truly received love, he had no way to give it back. That’s why he always felt lonely, as if the world around him was utterly empty. 

Jeong-Hoon stared silently at the window. A thin wisp of smoke was still rising from the half-extinguished marijuana joint. 

Watching his mother’s struggles, he had once vowed never to touch drugs, even out of curiosity. He kept that promise until adulthood, all the way through college. Even though marijuana was as common as cigarettes here, and despite peer pressure, he had resisted trying it. 

The first time he touched marijuana was a month after his mother’s death. 

After entering university, Jeong-Hoon moved into the dorms. Being away from his emotionally draining mother was a relief, but he still worried she might make a reckless decision in a drunken stupor, so he visited her every week. 

And every time, they fought. 

He thought about committing her to a psychiatric hospital, thinking it might make things easier. But instead, he coldly muttered to her, who screamed that he should just die: 

“You’re the one who should die. If I were you, I would’ve died long before living like this.” 

He dumped the scattered bottles of alcohol into the trash and left. 

Everything disgusted him. It felt like holding onto garbage he couldn’t throw away or keep. 

Though he had told his mother to die, he wondered if maybe he should die instead—it might make everything easier. With that thought, he sat by the dark waters of the Hudson River, staring blankly. 

A week later, when he returned home and opened the door, he was met with his mother’s lifeless body. 

They said it was due to a brain concussion, likely caused by her falling in the bathroom while drunk. No one had seen her die, and no one could have stopped it. 

Still, Jeong-Hoon blamed himself. 

“You’re the one who should die. If I were you, I would’ve died long before living like this.” 

He bit his lips until they bled, unable to take back those final words he had hurled at her. It felt as if he had driven her to her death, and guilt and pain weighed heavily on his shoulders as he bowed his head. 

Ironically, no tears came. Throughout the funeral, he remained emotionless, watching over her final moments. When his uncle, whom he barely knew, collapsed and sobbed on the floor, it felt like watching someone else’s drama. His sense of reality had completely vanished. 

After the funeral, life went on as if nothing had changed. He attended classes, ate meals, and slept. 

Then one day, when Chang-Kyung came back reeking of marijuana, Jeong-Hoon held out his hand. 

“Let me try that.” 

“What? Weed? I thought you said you’d never do this stuff.” 

Despite his words, Chang-Kyung gently placed the joint between Jeong-Hoon’s lips and lit it without a word. He understood that beneath Jeong-Hoon’s seemingly calm exterior raged an unrelenting storm of emotions. 

“It’s not much different from a cigarette,” Jeong-Hoon thought as he took a drag. 

He was just curious. What was the big deal about this? Why had his mother smoked it? Would it make her happy? 

It wasn’t anything special. No hallucinations of dinosaurs or elephants destroying houses, no voices of his mother whispering to him. He only felt drowsy and his body grew heavy. 

After that, he occasionally smoked marijuana—only when thoughts of his mother surfaced. Though marijuana was as common as cigarettes in New York, he had never touched it until after she passed away. 

Shaking off his reverie, Jeong-Hoon opened his eyes again. 

His body felt like it was melting into the sofa, and his vision blurred. Sunlight poured in through the bright windows, but the world seemed gray and lifeless. 

As he slowly closed and reopened his eyes, the sound of the door opening reached his ears. 

There was only one person who would barge in without warning. Knowing who it was, Jeong-Hoon didn’t even bother to turn his head. 

Soon, a sigh-like voice came from behind him. 

“Guk-Hyun is out.” 

It was Jeong-Hoon’s uncle, Min Yo-Seop, the vice president of a famous company. After dismissing his secretary, he stood there with a deeply furrowed brow, staring at Jeong-Hoon, who didn’t even glance his way. Surveying the empty house devoid of any warmth or signs of life, he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Man, this place is giving me ghost vibes.” 

“Well, instead of a ghost, here’s Uncle.” 

Jeong-Hoon finally stirred slowly, rising from the couch. He shuffled lazily to the fridge and cracked open a bottle of mineral water. 

“Want some water, Uncle?” 

Before Min Yo-Seop could even respond, Jeong-Hoon had already started drinking. Yo-Seop let out a dry laugh, shaking his head in disbelief, then asked with sudden seriousness: 

“You do know your sister’s death anniversary is coming up soon, right?” 

“I figured since you’re here. You don’t visit unless it’s about Mom.” 

He knew. He knew all too well. The haze of marijuana smoke clinging around the windows wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for his mother’s anniversary. But he didn’t want to dwell on it. It was tiresome. 

A flicker of anger surfaced in Yo-Seop’s eyes. 

“How long are you going to keep living like this?” 

“What do you mean, ‘living like this’?” 

Jeong-Hoon tossed the half-empty water bottle into the sink and turned to face Yo-Seop. 

“You graduated college just fine—how long are you going to live like that? Huh? Doing nothing, just leeching off your mom’s money.” 

“There’s so much of it, I couldn’t spend it all even if I tried.” 

Surprisingly, his mother had been the daughter of a prominent corporate family. Falling into ruin from such a background wasn’t easy—it must’ve taken something drastic, like eloping with a man her family disapproved of and cutting ties entirely. The price she paid for that rebellion was harsh. 

Two years ago, after his maternal grandfather—the chairman of a major corporation—passed away, an enormous inheritance was transferred to Jeong-Hoon. It was likely out of guilt for having abandoned his daughter in a foreign land. 

Though they’d always lived comfortably, the scale of wealth expanded absurdly after that. Along with it came lectures from his uncle, much like today’s. 

This uncle, whom Jeong-Hoon met for the first time as an adult, seemed to carry a complex mix of emotions. Sometimes he appeared to pity Jeong-Hoon, other times mourn his sister’s death, or perhaps wrestle with his own guilt. On some days, he radiated unconscious anger. 

Today, it was anger. 

Yo-Seop strode over to the window and flung it wide open, likely to air out the lingering smell of marijuana. 

“How long are you going to rot away on drugs!” 

“I’m not rotting,” Jeong-Hoon replied with a slow smirk. 

It was true—he despised addiction and hadn’t fallen prey to it. But Yo-Seop didn’t believe him, nor did Jeong-Hoon feel any obligation to convince him otherwise. 

“I’ll arrange a position for you if you come back to Korea after finishing your master’s degree.” 

“Hmm… sounds troublesome.” 

Leaning casually against the table, Jeong-Hoon answered indifferently. He had no intention of leaving the U.S., where he’d grown up, nor did he feel compelled to struggle through life. After his mother’s death, everything felt tedious. 

A hint of disdain flickered in Yo-Seop’s eyes. 

To him, his nephew Jeong-Hoon was nothing but trash—a druggie wasting away on substances, squandering the fortune his mother left behind, a good-for-nothing with no future in sight. Someone who could drop dead at any moment without raising eyebrows. And yet, despite all that, Jeong-Hoon kept haunting his thoughts. 

The reason Yo-Seop couldn’t let go of Jeong-Hoon was simple: he was the only bloodline left by his sister. It was affection for a painful, broken connection. 

“I heard you got into another fight recently.” 

“Oh… word travels fast, huh?” 

It was just a minor disturbance at a party. While Chang-Kyung had stepped away, some scumbag had been making crude jokes about his girlfriend, so Jeong-Hoon had roughed him up a bit. If the same situation arose again, he’d probably do the exact same thing.

Staring at Yo-Seop, who looked at him with disdain, Jeong-Hoon simply laughed. 

To be honest, Jeong-Hoon harbored more resentment than gratitude toward his uncle, Yo-Seop. Back when he was a child—during those painful years when it felt like it was just him and his mother in the world, when he couldn’t do anything to help—Jeong-Hoon often wondered: if only his mother’s family had reached out to her once, maybe… just maybe, she could have lived an ordinary life. 

It was a futile thought, but his aimless resentment occasionally turned toward Yo-Seop. Even though he knew that all Yo-Seop had done was turn a blind eye, that bitterness lingered, always tilting their relationship slightly off-kilter. 

“The kid you beat up? He’s the son of the CEO of Sanho Group.” 

“I know.” 

“You knew and still…!” 

Overcome with frustration, Yo-Seop let out an exasperated sigh before collapsing onto the sofa, as if his legs had given out. 

“It was hard to cover this one up.” 

“You didn’t have to bother covering it for me.” 

“If I hadn’t!” 

Yo-Seop shot back up, shouting. Clenching his fists, he glared at Jeong-Hoon, bloodshot eyes blazing. 

“If I hadn’t, your mom—!” 

Yo-Seop cut himself off mid-sentence and turned his head away. 

For a fleeting moment, malice filled Jeong-Hoon’s eyes. It was obvious what his uncle had been about to say: Are you trying to end up like your mom? That’s what he wanted to say. Yet, when his sister—Jeong-Hoon’s mother—had been drowning in despair, abusing herself and her own son, Yo-Seop hadn’t shown an ounce of concern. 

Mockingly fiddling with an orange on the table, Jeong-Hoon sneered: 

“What? Are you afraid I’ll end up like your trash of a sister?” 

“…You little bastard!” 

Slap! Yo-Seop lunged forward and struck Jeong-Hoon across the cheek. Still, Jeong-Hoon merely chuckled, brushing his reddened cheek with his hand. 

“She was trash, so how could her son possibly turn out fine? If you were so worried about that, why didn’t you care before she died? Isn’t it a bit hypocritical to start now?” 

“You…!” 

“Honestly, if I ended up dead like Mom, wouldn’t that make you feel better? Too bad for you.” 

After that, punches rained down on Jeong-Hoon like a storm. But they weren’t aimed at him so much as they were Yo-Seop’s way of lashing out at his own guilt. 

Jeong-Hoon didn’t resist. He simply stood there, silently enduring the blows. Despite being taller and physically stronger, he made no move to defend himself. 

His mother had always said her life was like a cesspool, yet after her death, people still mourned her. Like his uncle, who now beat him while cursing her name. And like Jeong-Hoon himself, who bore the punishment in silence. 

But Jeong-Hoon? There was no one for him. Nothing. His world was empty. The one person who had been his everything—his mother—was gone. 

He wasn’t the type to wallow in self-pity, but for some reason, emotions welled up inside him. Maybe it was the few drags of marijuana. Or maybe it was the looming anniversary of his mother’s death. 

After enduring the beating for a while, Yo-Seop eventually exhausted himself and stumbled back. Only then did Jeong-Hoon wipe away the blood trickling from his nose. Without another word, he walked out of the house. He had hoped that getting beaten up would bring some relief, but instead, he felt even more suffocated. 

With a swollen face, he staggered through the streets of Manhattan until he wandered into an unfamiliar alley and collapsed against a wall. Sliding down, he sat there blankly, his back resting against the cold surface. He didn’t know where to go. There was nowhere to go. 

He sat there for a long time. No one ventured deep into the deserted alley. It felt like he could just stay there forever. After all, no one would come looking for him. Who would bother with someone like him? 

It was around sunset when a clear voice called out from above. 

A long shadow stretched down the alley as someone approached and offered a hand. 

“Are you drunk? Should I call someone for you? Or do you want to go to the hospital?” 

Jeong-Hoon lifted his head, intending to mutter something about minding their own business. And then he saw her. 

A girl wearing glasses, staring at him intently. The same girl who had clung to the sleeve of a man named Jeong Yeon-Joon, yelling at him. The one who had strangely lingered in his mind. 

Caught off guard by the bizarre coincidence, Jeong-Hoon stared at her in surprise before quickly wiping all emotion from his face.

“No, I think I’d rather have a glass of brandy.” 

The girl left shortly after his response—whether out of disappointment or disinterest, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter anyway. He had always been alone; what significance could a stranger who briefly appeared and disappeared hold for him? 

Unexpectedly, though, the smell of coffee wafted over about ten minutes later. When he looked up, there she was again. Not only that, but she fearlessly reached out to a stranger sprawled on the street, offering to apply ointment to his wounds. 

Her warm hands carefully wiped away the blood and gently rubbed in the ointment. Each touch sent an electric current through his skin. His heart pounded, and he bit his lip, averting his gaze. It felt as if tiny sparks were igniting wherever her fingers brushed against him. 

After finishing with the ointment, she tucked it back into her pocket and deliberately crouched down in front of him. Then, handing him the coffee, she said, “Drink this instead of alcohol.” 

When he asked if she pitied him, she gave a faint smile and replied: 

“It’s not pity. I just gave it to you because I’m lonely.” 

“…” 

“But you look lonely too.” 

He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but before he could, he already understood. 

Behind her glasses, her eyes were wet with tears. Though she had wiped away the droplets, her lashes still glistened with moisture. Her eyes and nose were red, and she sat there quietly crying. 

And yet… 

And yet, who was pitying whom? 

Jeong-Hoon stared blankly at the traces of her tears until she suddenly smiled softly. He quickly lowered his head again. 

For some reason, his chest began to ache—not quite pain, but more like something inside him had malfunctioned, pounding wildly in a way it never had before. He couldn’t identify the emotion. 

It was the first time he had seen such clear, transparent eyes up close. 

Almost petulantly, he muttered while sipping the coffee: 

“This is cheap coffee...” 

The girl simply smiled quietly and then left. Watching her retreating figure, he felt an inexplicable urge to call her back—but barely managed to suppress it. 

Why should I? Why would I stop her? 

Little did he know that years later, he would become utterly desperate trying to catch up to her disappearing silhouette. 

After that day, thoughts of her kept creeping into his mind. Her gaze lingered in his thoughts, refusing to leave. 

In that moment when he had felt utterly alone in the world, she had appeared like a secret gift, etching herself into his memory. The scent of coffee from that day continued to linger at the tip of his nose. 

He wanted to ask her: 

Why are you lonely? Why did you reach out to me that day? Who exactly are you? 

As these questions began to form, curiosity about her grew. Through Chang-Kyung, he found out where she and her brother lived, and he started wandering around near her language institute. 

Without understanding why, he orbited the area like a satellite, circling endlessly. Sitting in a nearby café, he quietly observed Yoon-Hee—watching her chatter as she walked to the institute, struggling to carry groceries home. 

Every now and then, without realizing it, the corners of his lips would lift into a small smile. She didn’t know him, yet he felt as if he knew her. He found himself ridiculous. 

Though he told himself he should stop, his eyes kept drifting back to her. 

That’s why— 

“Why don’t you invite that Jeong Yeon-Joon guy to the next party?” he casually remarked to Chang-Kyung. 

When Chang-Kyung protested, waving his hands and insisting that Jeong Yeon-Joon wasn’t the type to fit in, Jeong-Hoon chuckled and said: 

“Tell him to bring his younger sister along.”

“…Ah. …Hey… So, it was you?” 

Was a friend still just a friend? Chang-Kyung had understood Jeong-Hoon’s vague words perfectly and soon grinned knowingly, nodding his head. “What? Is that your type? Some random guesswork?” he teased, but Jeong-Hoon didn’t bother denying it. He simply stayed quiet. 

And then the day of the party arrived. 

### 

“When are you leaving?” Yeon-Joon kicked the corner of Yoon-Hee’s suitcase by the window as he asked. 

“In three days.” 

“Good. Go. Please, just go already.” 

“I want to leave too, trust me.” 

Yoon-Hee replied indifferently as she continued washing dishes. 

It was three days before her departure back to Korea. By now, she was utterly sick of the U.S., especially New York. For some people, this place might be filled with happy memories, but for her, it was nothing more than a place where she spent all day running errands for her brother. 

She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. 

“Yoon-Hee, why don’t you go to the U.S.? Take a short language course or something for a few months. While you’re there, keep an eye on your brother. I haven’t been able to sleep lately because of Yeon-Joon,” her mother had casually said one day. 

Her son, living alone in the U.S., indulging in drugs, women, and reckless behavior, was evidently a source of great concern. 

Though they called it a “short-term language program,” it was obvious from the start that she was just being sent to act as her brother’s caretaker. At first, she had refused. But when her mother threatened to cut off her allowance and told her to earn her own money if she didn’t comply, Yoon-Hee had no choice but to give in. 

She had already felt guilty about losing her full scholarship last semester and having to ask her mother for tuition. The thought of working part-time to cover her expenses—and risking losing her scholarship again—was unbearable. Asking her mother for help once more was out of the question, so she reluctantly came to the U.S. 

After finishing the dishes, she stretched out on the couch. Lying on her stomach, she began memorizing English vocabulary. In the middle of it, Yeon-Joon, who was picking out clothes, spoke up. 

“Hey, let’s go somewhere today.” 

“Where? To eat dinner?” 

“Why would I eat dinner with you?” 

“I don’t want to either.” 

How could every word out of his mouth be so irritating? She glared at him briefly before lowering her gaze again. Yeon-Joon sat down on the couch and spoke again. 

“There’s a party tonight with some people I know. You need to come too.” 

“Why me?” 

“I don’t know. Just… somehow, I can only go if you come too.” 

“What kind of nonsense is that…? I’m not going.” 

Parties were the last thing she wanted to attend, especially if her brother was involved. 

If it were a gathering with friends from her language institute, like making tteokbokki together, maybe she’d consider it. But parties filled with international students or Korean-Americans always made her uncomfortable. 

“Hurry up and get ready. Put on some makeup so you don’t embarrass me. You really have to come to this one.” 

“I said I don’t want to. My head hurts from the smell of marijuana at those places.” 

“Ugh, seriously, you have to come. Opportunities to mingle with these kinds of people don’t come often. If I make connections and things work out, you’ll benefit from it too, right?” 

“…” 

Not even bothering to respond, she ignored him. Irritated, Yeon-Joon started kicking her leg lightly. 

“A lot of rich kids will be there. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a guy and change your life.” 

“I’m not interested.” 

“At least pretend to care! If someone like you wants to succeed, you need to find a good man to marry.”

Fuming at his words, Yoon-Hee shot up from her seat. How could he so perfectly turn her emotions upside down with every single thing he said? 

“I’ll succeed on my own, so don’t worry about me! And why would I even go to some party full of the super-rich like you described? All those people do is waste money and do drugs!” 

“What’s it to you?! Are you my mom now?” 

Yoon-Hee glared at Yeon-Joon, seething. He was right—she had no business interfering in his life. Still, worry and anger boiled inside her over his reckless lifestyle. 

It wasn’t that she thought he shouldn’t mingle because their “social standings” didn’t match. She didn’t care who he associated with. But watching him burn through money while hanging out with people whose spending habits were completely different from his felt irresponsible to her. 

Yeon-Joon abruptly stood up, irritated, and shouted: 

“I’m trying to take you somewhere fun, and this is the thanks I get?!” 

“I never asked you to take me anywhere.” 

“Exactly! You didn’t ask. And here I am, trying to do something nice for my poor, uptight little sister, and I’m the idiot.” 

“…” 

Yoon-Hee glared at Yeon-Joon with eyes red from rising frustration. 

“Did you ever have a boyfriend? No, right? Who would even date someone like you? Even I wouldn’t want to. You’re so stuck-up… You really are pitiful.” 

Yoon-Hee gripped the vocabulary notebook in her hand tightly. 

Who was the reason she lived such a suffocating life? Who made her always stay in the shadows? Who forced her to fly all the way here just to cook, wash clothes, and clean up after him? 

“How dare you call me pitiful?! Do you know how much I suffer because of you?!” 

“Is this my fault? I offered to take you to a party, and you refused! You kicked away an opportunity I gave you, and now you’re blaming me?” 

Unable to hold back any longer, Yoon-Hee hurled the notebook at Yeon-Joon’s chest. Between her ragged breaths, sobs began to slip through. 

“Fine! I’ll go! I’ll go to the stupid party! Are you happy now?!” 

It was an impulsive outburst fueled by pent-up resentment. All the frustration she’d been holding in exploded at once. 

Fine. Her brother could spend money recklessly without a care in the world—why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t she have fun too? Why did she have to live so constrained? Why? 

Am I not capable of doing the same? 

The unfairness of it all brought tears to her eyes. 

She thought parties were just about blasting music, drinking alcohol, and having fun. 

But this party her brother dragged her to was different. Though it was on the outskirts, they had rented out an entire mansion, and there was even a chef grilling meat by the pool. 

Her brother hadn’t been exaggerating when he said rich kids would be there—it truly felt like stepping into another world. As soon as they arrived, Yeon-Joon ditched her and disappeared somewhere, leaving Yoon-Hee aimlessly wandering near the pool area. 

Looking around, half the crowd seemed to be foreigners, and the other half were Korean-Americans. While many appeared to be Korean, all she heard was English. 

She had come to the party boldly intending to enjoy herself, to let loose for once. But now, standing there alone, it seemed impossible. Maybe people really couldn’t change. 

Pushing through the crowd, she wandered around the poolside, sipping on cocktails. She’d probably had about six by now, along with a shot of some kind of liquor. 

Maybe it was because she wasn’t used to alcohol, but as she savored the burning sensation sliding down her throat, her vision began to blur. 

Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto a bench in the garden near the pool. Holding a blue cocktail glass, she gazed up at the sky. The stars were barely visible. As dizziness overwhelmed her and she closed her eyes, the distant sounds of music and laughter swirled around her like waves. 

How long had she been sitting there? Suddenly, a voice broke through the haze. 

“Hey. What are you doing here all alone?” 

It was a deep, pleasant voice that carried the warmth of freshly brewed coffee. 

Struggling to lift her heavy eyelids, she focused on the figure in front of her. A stranger sat across from her, leaning casually with his chin resting on his hand, staring at her intently. He looked Korean, but since he spoke to her in English, he likely wasn’t fluent in Korean. 

They say alcohol makes everyone look more attractive—was that why? Through her hazy vision, even a quick glance revealed a dazzlingly handsome man who seemed unreal. 

Yoon-Hee blinked slowly, entranced as she stared at him.

The playful smile he wore exuded the characteristic ease and confidence of “people like him”—someone who had spent his life looking down on others from above. 

Yoon-Hee’s gaze slowly drifted downward. 

His eyes, revealed beneath long lashes, were breathtakingly beautiful but carried a shadowy, half-twisted depth. She took in his flawlessly smooth cheeks and the elegant jawline that connected to his ear. His lips curved into a smile, yet for some reason, they seemed faintly cold. 

The lines of his firm muscles flowing from his shoulders to his arms were strikingly attractive, and the tattoo covering his left shoulder and arm added an edge. 

He was handsome, but there was no mistaking the rebellious air about him. At a glance, he clearly wasn’t someone she’d fit in with. 

The man tilted his head slightly and smiled. 

“Don’t you know me?” 

Jeong-Hoon had noticed her as soon as someone emerged by the pool. He recognized her immediately—the awkward way she stood, glancing around like a grazing animal: Jeong Yoon-Hee. 

She had actually come. To be honest, he hadn’t expected her to. Perhaps that’s why, now that she was right before his eyes, he began to feel strangely suffocated. The alcohol made his heart race slightly, so he snatched the marijuana Chang-Kyung had been smoking and lazily placed it between his lips. His pounding heart calmed somewhat. 

Lying languidly on a sunbed, exhaling smoke, Jeong-Hoon observed Jeong Yoon-Hee. She wandered around the pool, its surface glowing bluish under the night lights, accepting every drink offered to her. Her cheeks gradually flushed redder. 

Shouldn’t someone stop her from drinking so much…? Finally, Jeong-Hoon rose from his seat. 

“Where are you going, Jaden?” 

“To charm the PhD student.” 

Chuckling as if joking, Jeong-Hoon started walking. 

As he approached the garden where she had entered, his heart raced as if broken, and he desperately craved another hit of marijuana. Though he had never been addicted, his hands trembled as if he were. It was strange—this reaction felt less like the drug and more like it was because of her. He tried hard to deny it to himself. 

Sitting in front of Yoon-Hee, lost in thought, he realized she didn’t even notice him. She must have been quite drunk. 

“Hey. What are you doing here alone?” 

After staring at her face, holding a glass of alcohol with her eyes closed, he finally spoke. Only then did her eyelids slowly lift. Neither too close nor too far apart, they sat across from each other, their gazes meeting over the table. 

Jeong-Hoon gently raised the corners of his lips. Yes, those eyes—it was definitely them. Even though she was drunk, they still sparkled clearly, just as they had when she first spoke to him. 

Despite his greeting, Yoon-Hee didn’t respond. She simply stared at him with a blank expression. 

Smiling, Jeong-Hoon tried again. 

“Don’t you recognize me?” 

His question came out unusually soft. He doubted she would remember their first encounter since he hadn’t exactly looked presentable, but they had crossed paths a few times on the street. 

On some days, they had even bumped into each other. Once, while searching for her after she suddenly disappeared, she had popped out of an alley unexpectedly. 

Yoon-Hee dropped her phone and fell, and Jeong-Hoon had helped her up with a flustered expression. But she had only thanked him briefly before turning away without even looking at his face. 

Still, he wondered—might she remember him? 

Jeong-Hoon asked again. 

“You really don’t know me?” 

Yoon-Hee let out a faint laugh, her face half-drunken. 

“Should I know you? Why? Are you so amazing and cool?” 

Her tone was sharp, as if aiming to attack him. Yet Jeong-Hoon didn’t wipe the smile off his face. Instead, he leaned his chin on his hand, intrigued, his eyes twinkling. 

“Why are you being sarcastic?” 

“…Sorry. I’ve been in a bad mood. I’m drunk… and things haven’t been great lately… Sigh. Anyway, sorry. That was just me venting.” 

“Hmm.”

With a soft sigh, Yoon-Hee offered an apology. 

“Anyway, I don’t know you.” 

Jeong-Hoon wasn’t bothered by her earlier sarcastic attitude, but the fact that she claimed not to recognize him left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

How could she not remember after they’d crossed paths so many times? 

I’ve been watching you from afar this whole time, so why don’t you know me? You were so kind to me that day, and now you’re acting like this—why are you putting up these thorns? 

Between their silence, the pounding music reverberated around them. The sound of splashing from the pool in the distance suggested some people had started swimming. 

Would she be kind to him again if he lay there beaten like before? With an absurd thought crossing his mind, Jeong-Hoon shot her a piercing gaze, as if trying to see through her. 

Yoon-Hee turned her head away to avoid his stare. 

At that point, Jeong-Hoon’s mood hit rock bottom. A strange sense of betrayal welled up inside him. He felt foolish for being upset over her not recognizing him when he had been circling her like a stalker. He didn’t even understand his own emotions. 

He smirked—a malicious smile he often wore. 

“You don’t remember? Maybe your memory isn’t very good?” 

Jeong-Hoon wasn’t exactly polite, gentle, or kind to begin with. But strangely, he had acted softer around her. Now, however, he had fully reverted to his usual self. 

Yoon-Hee blinked at his mocking words and then stood up abruptly. She figured engaging with him would only exhaust her further. 

Jeong-Hoon lazily trailed behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, walking half a step behind with a slouch. He teased her lightly: 

“Watch your step. Are you so drunk you can’t see the ground properly?” 

“…” 

“If you go any deeper, coyotes might show up. Are you sure you’re okay? Is that a cocktail glass in your hand or a shotgun?” 

Jeong-Hoon followed her as she wandered aimlessly among the dense trees and flowers. 

Leaning her wobbly body against a tree, Yoon-Hee glared at him. His grinning face was unbearably irritating. 

“Stop following me. Why are you doing this to me?” 

“I’m interested.” 

His casual response made Yoon-Hee laugh in disbelief. 

“Interested? There must be plenty of people who’d follow you around because they like you. So why me?” 

She had come here determined to let loose, to live recklessly for once, and yet here she was, aimlessly wandering near the pool and getting lost in the flower beds—this was Jeong Yoon-Hee, her pitiful self. 

Someone as flashy as him wouldn’t find her interesting or amusing. She was just another boring, stuck-up person living a dull life, the kind her brother would mock. 

Jeong-Hoon tilted his head and answered casually: 

“I’ve always wanted to sleep with a bespectacled girl like you.” 

Yoon-Hee was speechless. How could he say something so cheap and vulgar without hesitation? It felt like she was seeing the dirty truth beneath the polished exterior of the type of person her brother so desperately wanted to impress. 

“…You piece of trash.” 

Yoon-Hee shot him a look of contempt, which he met with a crooked smile. 

His relaxed smile, as if her reaction didn’t matter at all, twisted her insides even more. 

“Do people like you always make things this easy? What’s so easy for you feels impossible for me.” 

The words slipped out of Yoon-Hee’s mouth—whether they were directed at him or at her own circumstances, she couldn’t tell. 

Jeong-Hoon shrugged and grinned mischievously. 

“What’s so hard about it? Just have a quick roll in the hay with me.” 

Jeong-Hoon hungrily devoured her parted lips, roughly pushing his tongue into her mouth. He greedily swallowed every trace of her breath, leaving nothing behind.

Though she was the one who had been drunk, it felt as if he were the one more intoxicated. 

He wanted to ask her slowly, “Who are you that you won’t leave my mind?” 

But before he knew it, Jeong-Hoon was on top of Yoon-Hee, panting like a dog. The excitement coursing through him and the heated impulse were almost impossible to control. 

The softness of her skin under his hands, the tightness gripping him inside—it all clouded his mind completely. 

“Damn… What kind of spell did you cast on me?” 

As he thrust into her roughly, Jeong-Hoon came inside her. With his condom-covered erection pushed fully in, he released his semen deep inside her, grinding against her contracting warmth. 

It felt like waves of satisfaction and arousal were crashing over him, boiling his brain. 

Then, he pulled her close and fell asleep, but when he woke up the next morning, she was gone. Instead of her warm presence, only cold emptiness remained. A single $10 bill was left on the table. 

Reaching out for where she had been, he clenched his teeth in frustration and anger. 

I thought I had finally reached you… 

Was it because this was his first experience of loss? Or was it because he hadn’t been able to convey his feelings or truly connect with her? He couldn’t steady himself. 

Jeong-Hoon crumpled the bill and threw it to the floor, muttering lowly: 

“So you just ran away like that…” 

It was the first time someone hadn’t gone as he wished. 

But even then, he wasn’t too anxious. After all, he knew who she was and where she lived. 

However, after swallowing his anger for a week and finally calming down, when he went to her place and waited for days at a nearby café, hoping to see her again—but never did—he eventually learned that Yoon-Hee had returned to Korea. 

With a voice laced with anger and lingering regret, he muttered darkly: 

“Damn, what a piece of shit…” 

It was utterly absurd. Just when he thought he’d soon meet her again, she slipped away like smoke. All that was left was stubbornness, regret, and an overwhelming sense of futility. 

“I tried to treat you kindly. I wanted to take things slow, and you pull this crap on me? How dare you stab me in the back and disappear?” 

Standing at the spot where she used to pass by, he panted heavily before finally spitting out another curse. 

In truth, his regret far outweighed his anger, though he could never admit it at the time. Unable to control himself, he called his uncle, Min Yo-Seop. 

“Uncle, I’m going to Korea.” 

That’s when it began—the precarious relay race to catch the person he had let slip away. 

### 

A few years later, after completing his master’s program in the U.S. and returning to Korea, everything about him had changed—his behavior, appearance, and even the way he spoke. 

Right after graduation, he worked for a few months at the U.S. branch. He didn’t slack off because he had a goal. His attitude seemed to please his uncle, who remarked joyfully that Jeong-Hoon had finally come to his senses. 

Using his superficial American work experience as leverage, Jeong-Hoon was appointed as the team leader of the planning department and transferred to Korea. 

Of course, his uncle had initially pushed openly for higher positions like director or division head, but Jeong-Hoon declined. It wasn’t because he wanted to climb the ladder step by step. 

No, it was because he needed to go to the planning team where Yoon-Hee was. 

She had joined the second planning team of the group company. When he first learned of this, he felt a thrill unlike any other. Wasn’t this an incredible coincidence? Even the most dramatic plot twists in dramas wouldn’t be this perfect. 

At that moment, Jeong-Hoon found himself absurdly contemplating whether fate actually existed. 

The night before meeting his team members in Korea, Jeong-Hoon smoked marijuana for the first time in years to calm himself, sinking deep into his chair. 

What expression will you have when we meet again? Will you be surprised? Yes, very surprised. Maybe you’ll pretend not to recognize me. 

In truth, her reaction didn’t matter. As long as he could face her again.

With that anticipation, Jeong-Hoon stayed up all night. 

But. 

“Hello, I’m Min Jeong-Hoon. Nice to meet you.” 

When he shook hands with Jeong Yoon-Hee, he couldn’t help but realize: 

“Nice to meet you too, Team Leader. I’m Yoon-Hee Jeong. Please take care of me.” 

Her bright smile and firm handshake revealed nothing but polite professionalism in her eyes. The shocking truth hit him—she had completely forgotten about him. 

Jeong-Hoon couldn’t let go of her hand, staring blankly into her eyes. Only when she called out to him with a cheerful “Team Leader?” did he finally release her hand. He had no choice but to let go again. 

A hollow laugh escaped him. 

For years, he had drawn her in his mind, chased her in his thoughts, and perhaps even eagerly anticipated the day they would meet again. But what he got in return was nothing more than her courteous intimacy toward her new “Team Leader.” 

If she had hated him, it might not have felt as devastating. He couldn’t believe—or rather, didn’t want to believe—that he meant nothing to her. 

What he wanted to deny even more was the affectionate attention and kindness she began showing him afterward. 

How could she show warmth toward this version of him when she had erased and forgotten the past so completely? Why did she look at him now with admiration and fondness? 

When Jeong-Hoon realized that her gaze held the emotion of unrequited love—for him—it was too much. Eventually, he extended his hand. 

“I booked a suite. The night view there is the best.” 

Anger surged within him. Just as she had treated him as if he were nothing, he wanted to treat her the same way—casually, indifferently. He wondered how long it would take for her to figure out who he really was. 

Like a boy experiencing his first love, his feelings for Yoon-Hee remained childish and foolish. 

That was how it began. 

Though he had initially proposed a casual sexual relationship, somehow, without realizing it, he had pulled her into the center of his life. 

On Christmas Eve—the second time they spent the night together after that night in New York—he was utterly overwhelmed. 

His hands trembled as he undressed her. Though he wasn’t drunk, the room spun before his eyes, and his head felt dizzy. Burying his face in the nape of her neck, he inhaled her scent, trembling with an excitement that left him lightheaded. 

Outwardly calm, inwardly he was already imagining her naked, tossing her around on the bed, and roughly pushing himself into her. Violently burying himself inside her, he came hard, filling her completely. 

After such a frenzied encounter, he forced himself to cool down by stepping under a cold shower. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

What welled up inside him was unmistakably satisfaction—a joy that coursed from the tips of his hair to the ends of his toes. 

And just like the $10 bill she had left behind years ago, he placed a single card on the bedside table and left. 

“You’ll soon find out how shitty it feels to be left alone.” 

But strangely, instead of feeling triumphant, a bitter aftertaste lingered. He didn’t understand why—not then. 

Back then, he was a fool who didn’t even realize which direction his heart was heading in. 

### 

After that, it became harder for him to keep his composure. 

He grew obsessed with her every move—whom she was with, where she was, everything. When she wasn’t by his side, he grew anxious; when he couldn’t see her, he became angry. 

She was supposed to be just a sex partner—a temporary arrangement born out of petty revenge and mild curiosity. But even thinking about her being with another man made him seethe with uncontrollable rage. 

Jeong Yoon-Hee. From the moment he first met her, his heart had never moved according to his will. 

It disgusted him. He convinced himself that these feelings stemmed from possessiveness, denying his emotions over and over again. 

He had been certain that he held the upper hand in their relationship. Yet there he was, postponing appointments and rushing to her whenever she said she wanted to see him. 

It felt like a dog wagging its tail and running to its master—but strangely, he didn’t feel bad about it at all. In fact, he felt deeply satisfied knowing that she wanted to see him.

In the end, he let her into his home, convincing himself it was just an impulsive act. Yet, whenever he discovered traces of her around the house, he caught himself smiling faintly without realizing it. 

Even then, he remained deluded. 

This was merely satisfaction, he told himself. He had deceived her exactly as he had planned, so this feeling was nothing more than the fulfillment of that scheme. 

But the more time he spent with her, the more curious he became. 

“When will you finally remember me?” 

At the same time, a growing unease began to take root within him. 

“But… what happens when Yoon-Hee remembers me?” 

A sudden thought crossed his mind. Maybe things could stay like this forever. There was no need to remind her of the past. If she liked him for who he was now, maybe they could continue like this indefinitely. 

Though he believed their relationship was precarious, with an expiration date looming, he had never once imagined its end—or rather, he couldn’t imagine it. She had become such a natural part of his life that the idea of separation never even crossed his mind as a possibility. 

After days of solitary contemplation, he reached a clean conclusion. 

“Yes, it’s better to leave things as they are.” 

What he was doing wasn’t some trivial romance, he reminded himself. It was driven by childish spite—a retaliation for how she had ignored him, how she had erased him from her memory. He couldn’t forget that. 

But there was no need to explicitly reveal his revenge to her. He could silently toy with her from the shadows. Convincing himself of this, he justified his irrational behavior to himself. 

He avoided mentioning the word “America.” He stopped asking cryptic questions like, “Don’t you recognize me?” 

He even decided to remove his tattoo. If she liked him for who he was now, there was no reason to keep any trace of his past self visible. 

So when he unexpectedly ran into Park Chang-Kyung at the traditional Korean restaurant, he was thrown into a moment of panic. 

Park Chang-Kyung—he knew Jeong Yoon-Hee. What if he recognized her on the spot? What if he brought up their shared history in America and spilled the truth? What if she eventually uncovered his true identity? 

Unprepared for such an unpredictable situation, he panicked. In his anxiety, he impulsively hid Yoon-Hee away, sharply drawing a line with Chang-Kyung, warning him not to meddle. 

Yet, all the while, he kept chanting to himself like a spell: 

“This is just revenge. A simple game. My uncontrollable feelings are only because Jeong Yoon-Hee wronged me. That’s all.” 

He didn’t understand what this unfamiliar emotion was. Unable to grasp it, he grew restless, struggling desperately not to fall deeper for her. 

Because he had to deceive himself, he became harsher, crueler. Unable to accept his own feelings, he always bristled with thorns, pricking her with them. Unable to tolerate how her gaze, her actions, her words shook him, he ended up tearing apart her heart instead. 

The inexperienced man, learning love for the first time, only knew how to wield it recklessly—he didn’t know how to cherish it tenderly. 

And so, he repeated his foolishness, unaware that those thorns would sharpen into blades, eventually piercing his own heart. 

But in the end, he had no choice but to admit it. 

What he thought was obsession—it was love. What he thought was revenge—it was love. Though he had intended to deceive and manipulate her, it was he who suffered when she was hurt. 

Terrified of stepping into the realm of genuine feelings, he had tried to deny them. But ultimately, he had to admit it—he had fallen deeply. 

However, by the time he realized his own heart, everything had already gone awry. 

“Team Leader, I like everything about you. Every single thing—I like it all.” 

Jeong Yoon-Hee, who had confessed her feelings for him. 

“I love you, Team Leader. So please don’t treat me cruelly like you did today.” 

Yoon-Hee, who had professed her love for him. 

“And now… I don’t like you anymore, Team Leader. I don’t love you.” 

And finally, his love—turning away from him.

It was only after losing Yoon-Hee that Jeong-Hoon finally realized, like a fool, the truth. Only after she had turned away from him, only after she had left him, did he come to understand everything. Rolling in the abyss of heart-wrenching despair, shedding tears of blood, he was forced to painfully admit it: 

That it had always been love. That there had never been anything but love. 

From the moment they first met to the moment she walked away, he had loved her so desperately, with all his heart. 

So desperately that he would have clung to her feet and begged pathetically. So desperately that even if his pride were trampled into the mud, it wouldn’t have mattered.