🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter – 12
The Longest Day.
“I’m… still not sure.”
Eun-hee answered, recalling the man who had hurled cruel words without hesitation yet somehow managed to sound gentle when they parted.
Mi-jung nodded slowly. Eun-hee thought the violet scarf around the woman’s neck suited her well.
The director once told Eun-hee that Mi-jung had weak bronchial tubes and always needed something around her neck. With her natural sense of style, no one would have guessed it until they were told.
“I see. Well, I suppose you’ll find out little by little. But… I’m sorry to say this…”
“…”
“You don’t have that much time, do you, Ms. Sa Eun-hee?”
Eun-hee’s fingers curled faintly. It was true — the down payment she’d received wasn’t enough to pay off her debts.
She didn’t regret sharing her financial situation with Mi-jung; transparency made their work more efficient.
With an even voice, she replied,
“Please arrange opportunities for me to meet Prosecutor Cha often. That way, I might be able to speed things up a little…”
Mi-jung nodded as if she understood. She fell silent for a moment, then, as though making up her mind, wrinkled her nose.
Her face hardened slightly as she unlocked her phone. Then came a title that made Eun-hee’s eyes widen.
“Chairman—!”
Mi-jung’s voice was sweet and affectionate. From the other end came a warm, welcoming tone.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, sir. Should I call back later, Grandfather?”
Mi-jung cooed into the phone, speaking to Chairman Cha Man-dae with playful charm.
“Thank you so much, Chairman.”
Ending the call, Mi-jung shrugged her shoulders with a satisfied smile.
Eun-hee had assumed she was calling Cha Young-hoon, but no — it was the chairman himself. She was quietly astonished by Mi-jung’s boldness and easy manner.
The woman’s pretty face glowed with self-satisfaction as she asked,
“Will this do?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Eun-hee bowed her head.
From that moment, a new duty was assigned to her:
Each morning, she was to stop by the hotel, pick up a lunchbox, and deliver it to him.
Mi-jung explained that meeting in the daytime would seem more natural than at night.
“I understand,” Eun-hee replied.
And so, another plan began.
The gray building rose sharply into the sky — featureless, with no pattern or decoration.
Eun-hee stood under a small gazebo beside it.
Her eyes traced the rows of dark, hawk-like windows embedded in the rectangular structure.
She imagined Cha Young-hoon inside, buried under piles of investigation files.
His weary face came to mind — the bloodshot eyes, the irritable gesture of tugging at his tie as if everything annoyed him.
He was said to work overtime constantly. Chairman Cha himself had agreed readily to Mi-jung’s “lunch delivery” idea, claiming Young-hoon often skipped meals.
Now, with the chairman’s insistence, the man would at least show up a few times — out of obligation if nothing else.
Officially, Eun-hee’s role was to deliver his lunch.
Mi-jung had told the chairman she would prepare the meals herself, but it was merely an excuse to bring Eun-hee and Young-hoon face to face.
“Haa…”
Eun-hee exhaled, trembling slightly.
She looked down. The cream-colored blouse and peach skirt she wore were from Mi-jung’s favorite boutique.
They looked far too expensive for someone like her — another thing she’d have to get used to.
She brushed at imaginary dust on her skirt, trying to mask her nervousness.
Ten minutes until the appointed time.
Time crawled. She fiddled with the paper bag’s handles so much they were beginning to fray.
“Still, the herbal tonic feels a bit much…”
She glanced at the translucent plastic pouch inside the bag and pursed her lips.
He’d always seemed exhausted, yes — but he was a man with a strong, athletic build.
If he had majored in sports, she thought, he might have worn the national emblem by now.
Imagining such a man sipping herbal medicine made her chuckle softly.
She checked the time again.
Noon. Finally.
Her lips tightened at the thought of seeing Cha Young-hoon soon.
From the building’s main entrance, a flood of people poured out — a woman talking intensely on the phone, a man running, his tie flapping behind him.
Eun-hee imagined Young-hoon among them, fighting through another frantic day.
He’s probably too busy to come on time, she thought.
Ten more minutes passed.
A crimson leaf spun down from the sky and landed gently on the toe of her beige shoes.
She tapped her foot, sending it fluttering to the ground, then rolled the stem back and forth absently.
12:30.
She couldn’t ask why he was late — or complain. All she could do was wait.
He was an incomprehensible man.
He must think Mi-jung is the one waiting for him.
After all, she was his fiancée.
Even if Mi-jung wanted to break off the engagement, surely his feelings were different.
But to stand up your fiancée on the very first day… especially when your grandfather arranged the meeting?
The memory of that night’s party — his face darkened by lust — flashed across her mind.
“Haa…”
A chill ran through her.
A sharp gust of wind brushed her cheek and vanished.
She checked the time again. 1 p.m.
Slipping her heel out of one shoe, she flexed her toes.
Impatiently, she looked again at her phone screen.
2:00.
By the time the clock read 4:00, she realized he was never coming.
How foolish she had been to believe he’d keep his promise, at least on the first day.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips.
Then the sadness swelled, heavy as rainwater in a mountain stream.
She drew a deep breath of the cool air.
Tilting her chin upward, her tear-stung eyes met the vast blue sky. It spun like a blue top above her.
Today, she thought, would be the longest day of her life.
“Hey, she was standing there again today.”
Young-hoon lifted his head from the mountain of papers.
The voices from the hallway drifted through the open door. As he rolled his neck, a crackling sound echoed in the air, like gears locking into place.
“She’s got some serious perseverance, that one. You know she’s even got a nickname now? The Statue of Waiting — Central District Prosecutor’s Office edition.”
He figured someone must be protesting again — this place was full of people with grievances.
“Oh, already a nickname? But you forgot a word. The beautiful Statue of Waiting.”
“Come on, sir, you know you can’t say things like that these days. Not polite.”
Young-hoon pressed his temples with both hands.
He stared again at the glowing white screen before him — a financial statement from Nexus Resource International, an overseas resource-development company founded two years ago.
There had been reports of suspicious fund movements, and he was digging into it.
“I’m telling you, women in the office are going crazy over her — calling her an idol or something. But still… she’s weird. Doesn’t hold a picket or anything.”
Young-hoon clicked the “X” in the corner of the file to close it.
“Yeah, probably not a protest.”
“If it’s not a protest, then who’s she waiting for like that? …A lover, maybe?”
Young-hoon leaned back in his chair, sinking deep into it.
