DSWM 01

Episode 1

Just before heading up to the director’s office, Yeoreum had seen a navy couple.
Maybe that was why—she blinked hard, stiff and tense, and looked ahead again.

There he was.
The one she had longed for, missed so desperately—Suha, right before her eyes.

A shiver coursed through her body, tense from nerves before the meeting.
She covered her mouth tightly, afraid she might let out a sob, and stepped closer.

The director was leaning back in a chair, feet up on the desk, eyes closed, arms crossed—resting as if he hadn’t just been greeted a moment ago.

“Right. Ryu Yeoreum, is it? Nice to meet you.”

The words were polite, but the tone was utterly flat, without a shred of welcome.
As though her presence was nothing more than an annoying fly disturbing a beast’s nap.

Still, Yeoreum stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief.

It wasn’t an illusion. Even the voice was the same.

The thick lashes, the full lips, the languid low tone that resembled Suha’s voice when he had just woken up—all of it was identical.

Like a woman possessed, Yeoreum moved toward him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Hah.”

At the sound of that cold voice and his opening eyes, the tears she had been holding back burst free with a sigh.

Six years ago, she had wished for nothing more than for Suha to open his eyes and look at her like this.

Even looking at his face with eyes closed had been enough to remind her of Suha—because her last memory of him was in a hospital bed, unconscious.

Back then, she had clutched his hand, begging him to open his eyes, sobbing until her throat went raw.

But in the end, he betrayed her prayers and left her behind.

Now, the man before her seemed as though Suha had returned from the dead.

His overall impression was gentle and neat, yet the strong lines of his neck and the well-built physique emphasized his masculinity.

From the thick brows drawn like brushstrokes, to the tall, shadow-casting nose, Suha’s strikingly balanced features had always drawn attention wherever he went.

Even in uniform, walking down the street, he had constantly been approached with offers to become a celebrity.

Yeoreum stared at the man who looked not just similar, but exactly the same.

He was Suha’s doppelgänger.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The man frowned, yanking her wrist down sharply.

She stumbled forward, pulled right to his face, and only then realized—her hand was on his cheek, her tears falling.

Her trapped hand trembled violently. Seated, he looked up at her, unshaken, his eyes cool, almost disdainful.

“Didn’t you hear me? I asked what you’re doing.”

His words drifted past her ears, faint, as if from far away.

Displeasure, even disbelief, clouded his face.

Her dazed mind slowly cleared. She had to explain, had to say something—but her eyes remained locked on his. The tears wouldn’t stop.

“Unbelievable.”

With a scoff, he let go. The force sent her stumbling backward.

The voice and the face were Suha’s—but the expression, the way he treated her, was unbearably cold.
Colder than she had ever seen, even at their first meeting.

The chill in the room struck her like cold water. Her pulse pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.
His merciless gaze suffocated her, left her throat tight. She finally forced out words.

“…I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

“Didn’t you just say you’re here as my interpreter? Who exactly did you mistake me for?”

The cruel gaze fell to the nameplate on his desk.

‘Onjo Foods Chief Operating Officer (COO) — Gi Hyunjae.’

That brief glance said everything.

Yeoreum lowered her head, afraid her tears would burst again if she met his eyes.

Even knowing Suha was dead, she had clung to a foolish hope—what if he had lived, somehow, in secret?
That fragile hope shattered, leaving only pain.

“I… I was terribly rude—”

“Enough. Leave.”

Before she could finish, Hyunjae cut her off.

She bowed quickly and turned, rushing out.

But as she closed the door, she collided head-on with the secretary, who had just arrived with refreshments.

“Ah—!”
“Oh my, are you all right?”

The secretary, holding a tray, was unharmed. But Yeoreum’s blouse and pants were soaked, scalded by the hot tea.

The liquid trickled from her shoulder down her arm, burning her hand.

“Wait here, I’ll get wet wipes!”
“No, it’s fine.”
“But it must be burning—”
“It barely touched me. Don’t worry. I’ll be on my way.”

She forced a small smile.

“What happened?”

Myeongjun, belatedly aware of the commotion, asked.

The secretary shook her head, baffled.
“Well… the interpreter just now. She looked like she’d been crying.”
“Crying?”
“Obviously. The director must’ve said something again.”

By the time Myeongjun turned toward where she’d been, Yeoreum had already vanished down the corridor.

Back at the company café, Yeoreum sat blankly.

She immediately checked the photos of Suha and the recordings of their old calls.

But today, the voice she had always clung to felt strangely foreign.

More than the warmth of memory, it was Hyunjae’s sharp gaze that replayed in her mind.

No matter how she thought about it, it made no sense.

How could anyone but Suha have that face, that voice?
Not even identical twins could be so exact.

With a sigh, she typed “Gi Hyunjae” into a portal search bar.

Profiles and articles popped up at once.

As expected, everything was different from Suha—except the face.

Hyunjae was two years older, had studied abroad from a young age, graduating from both undergraduate and graduate programs at Columbia.
Like many children of conglomerates, he had lived a life of comfort.

Recently, he had appeared briefly in Onjo Foods’ official video channel, sparking headlines.

In the articles’ photos, Hyunjae was cooking with his family, wearing a black apron over a white shirt.
Helping his younger sister, watched proudly by his parents—the very picture of harmony.

But Suha had told Yeoreum he’d lost his family young.
That he’d grown used to being alone. That his choice to become a soldier was partly because in the military, everyone lived apart from family anyway.

She had once wept, pitying him for it.

If Suha had been the son of a conglomerate family, he never would have chosen such a path.
In that case, they never would have met at all.

Yeoreum frowned at Hyunjae’s smiling face in the photo. It was too much like Suha’s.

This assignment was impossible.

She hadn’t even started working yet, and her first impression with Hyunjae was ruined.
If she claimed personal reasons and withdrew, the company would surely accept it.

And for a large corporation, finding another contract interpreter would be easy.

Resolute, she opened her phone to call HR. But on the screen, an all-too-familiar name appeared—her son Ye-gyeom’s kindergarten teacher.

A chill of dread crept up from her toes. She checked the time.

At this hour, Ye-gyeom should be in afternoon activities. For the teacher to call now—

The phone vibrated urgently in her hand, feeding her fear.

Swallowing hard, she answered.

“Hello?”

—“Mother, this is Ye-gyeom’s teacher. You need to come to the hospital immediately.”

“You need to come to the hospital immediately.”