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Chapter 40
He stepped into the study, and with a faint motion, brushed away the smile that had crept to his lips.
“Artificial respiration.”
He hadn’t expected her to remember that—let alone use it as an excuse and openly say such a thing.
[Why did you put it in?]
The flesh of his own body he had pushed into her, betraying reason and giving in to impulse.
“……”
And just recalling it made his body heat up, as though it had been waiting, dragging him back to that moment.
The subtle taste of their tongues entwined had brushed not just his senses but something deeper.
In that instant when one human could truly taste another, Yoon-jae had almost lost consciousness to the flavor of her lips, which seemed to touch his very core.
Had she not been out of breath—had she not struggled—he might have forgotten about the world outside and simply devoured her.
That kiss with her had been dizzying to that extent.
A stimulation beyond all stimulation.
A thrill unlike anything he had ever known.
Something he had neither imagined nor expected, and yet it happened—no, he had made it happen. The event etched itself into him.
A perfect, implicit intention.
Though fully aware of the chaos his choice would bring, Yoon-jae had gone through with it anyway. And now, he was facing the aftermath no less than she was.
“Phew…”
And it was the most troublesome kind of aftermath—the instinctive reaction of his own body.
He had acted calm, but in truth, he was shaken.
Yet at the same time, his mind was tangled with other thoughts.
“Today.”
She had clearly said “today.”
A word one could easily overlook, but Yoon-jae never missed such clues.
For someone to suddenly collapse without external injury—the cause could not be simple. And the most likely reason for her condition now was…
‘Family.’
The shackles that had bound her from the very start.
[I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.]
That was the first time her water-soaked eyes had shone with life.
Ae-jeong had asked nothing in return for his proposal. Only when he told her he would provide what she needed did she finally admit she needed money.
She seemed… broken.
There had been no change since that first meeting, when she had bitten her nails until they bled.
And when he gave her a large sum of money, Ae-jeong had immediately handed it all over to her family. The same must have been true for the half she received after the marriage.
Beyond that, he had not looked too deeply into her circumstances.
After all, knowing more about her misfortune wouldn’t change anything—and it wasn’t his place to interfere.
But now…
Though he had long forgotten, perhaps something had gone wrong again with her estranged family.
[It suddenly felt like someone was choking me. I couldn’t breathe, and I was scared. That’s all.]
If she had suddenly experienced shortness of breath, that sensation was indeed possible.
The important part was to discover why.
It felt as if someone had been choking her throat.
“Choking…”
As Yoon-jae absentmindedly flipped through the books, lost in thought, his hand stopped.
“Like choking.”
Repeating it in his head, a strange déjà vu shot through him.
And then he remembered.
[That Go Woo-ri who died on the plane yesterday.]
[Some psycho strangled her to death, and when I opened my eyes, I was in this body. Can you believe something like this could happen in this world?]
After collapsing at the wedding hall and waking up, she had spouted those absurd words.
Nonsense, he had thought—surely a symptom of head trauma.
[You don’t believe me, do you? I don’t believe it either—who would?]
That ridiculous conversation, which had ended in hollow laughter, suddenly resurfaced.
Had he been influenced by her nonsense? Yoon-jae let out a short, derisive laugh at his own absurd thought.
“Crazy.”
A harsh verdict on a ludicrous fantasy—something he wouldn’t have entertained even as a child.
“…And due to this sudden misfortune, the stock price has also been fluctuating wildly. Experts express concern over Ha-seong Apparel’s next quarterly performance…”
The news droned on busily, and we adjusted our glasses indifferently.
“The biggest reason for the stock’s volatility, analysts say, lies in Vice President Go Young-hoon’s recent business proposal, which failed to inspire confidence. Continuous sell-offs have followed as shareholder trust weakened…”
As the coverage continued, someone commented:
“Even such a big company can suddenly falter like that, huh.”
“They keep getting hit with bad news. Did you hear? Their daughter died not long ago.”
“Oh my, really? How?”
“They said it was some accident or something. Anyway, it was all over the news.”
“Oh dear… To lose a daughter and then have the company suffer, too. How tragic.”
Listening quietly to the kindly women chatting, we finally interjected:
“Don’t worry. They say even when the rich go bankrupt, it lasts for three generations.”
The women paused at our sudden remark, then nodded.
“I suppose so. You’re right. Why should we worry about the rich anyway?”
“Exactly. My son’s just loafing around after graduation—that’s more of a mess to me.”
“Didn’t you say he got a job?”
“No, that good-for-nothing…”
As their conversation quickly shifted, the news broadcast ended as well.
We crossed our legs, expressionless.
‘Yes, it’s someone else’s business.’
Even seeing Ha-seong Apparel’s reputation collapse and its projects being withdrawn—clear signs of the void left by “Go Woo-ri”—meant nothing.
We had long since detached ourselves. Our part was done, and we had planned to leave anyway. But who would’ve thought the cracks would show so visibly.
For a brief moment, Mr. Go Kyung-chul came to mind, but we simply shrugged.
‘It’s over, after all.’
This was what it meant to have no attachment left. Whatever lingering emotions might have been there at the charnel house, the father-daughter bond had been too thin.
“Ms. Joo Ae-jeong.”
And as if to interrupt our wandering thoughts, someone called her name.
We turned toward the voice in the bustling hospital lobby.
A man in a white coat was approaching—handsome, intellectual in appearance.
Neuropsychiatry – Jang Joo-ho
He was a doctor who had been quite close with Ha Yoon-jae, and we knew he had met Ae-jeong for counseling a few times as well.
Though it was our first time meeting him, we bowed politely, as though we already knew him.
“It’s been a while. How have you been?”
With a friendly smile, Joo-ho extended his hand. We nodded lightly.
“Thanks to you. And thank you for your help.”
The “help” referred to the LASIK surgery scheduled for today.
The reservation Yoon-jae had offered to arrange had actually been expedited through Joo-ho’s connections.
“Think nothing of it. You’re my sister-in-law, after all.”
At his half-joking address, we let out a small laugh.
“I wonder if Ha Yoon-jae would agree with that.”
At our relaxed reply, his eyes flickered briefly before settling.
Gesturing toward his office, Joo-ho said,
“Let’s head upstairs and wait. The surgeon will be free soon.”
We followed without objection.
“But why the sudden decision to get LASIK? I thought you said wearing glasses made you feel more comfortable.”
Turning the conversation smoothly, he smiled when our gaze met his.
Perhaps it was just him—or perhaps doctors were like this—but he gave off a particularly kind aura.
And that was when we realized.
‘This is a consultation.’
So that was why he had wanted to meet before the surgery—an excuse for a sort of counseling.
Maybe that was also why Yoon-jae had chosen Mi-gang Hospital in particular.
Feigning ignorance of the flow, we answered,
“It felt inconvenient. And… I wanted to see with new eyes.”
“…New eyes?”
Joo-ho repeated, puzzled by the unusual reply. We responded with a smooth smile.
‘Different.’
Even in such a short exchange, he could clearly understand what Yoon-jae had once said—just from that composed, serene smile.
[Like a different person.]
Not something that could be dismissed as mere defense mechanism—rather, a very complex stage.
As they waited for the slow elevator, Joo-ho spoke.
“I heard you visited the charnel house.”
“Yes.”
“Did it help?”
“Very much so. I learned something for certain.”
With calm assurance, she replied,
“It’s easier if you let go.”
Giving up usually carried a negative meaning, but this was different.
What was already done—what could not be undone—the best way forward was simply to move on.
But Joo-ho seemed to take her words differently.
“Yoon-jae?”
“…What?”
“All this time… you mean giving up on him?”
He trailed off, flustered, staring into her eyes.
Her clear gaze, however, showed only incomprehension.
“……”
Ding.
The elevator arrived just then.
“Never mind. Let’s go up.”
Leaving only that cryptic remark, Joo-ho stepped into the elevator and gestured for her to follow.
‘Why bring up Ha Yoon-jae here?’
What connection did giving up have with Yoon-jae?
The sudden mention of his name left an unpleasant aftertaste, and we stared at him, but Joo-ho merely gestured again for us to enter.
‘Birds of a feather, I guess.’
For someone like Ha Yoon-jae to keep this man as a close acquaintance, he must have been no less unusual himself.
Still, we let the conversation drift away, stepping into the elevator at last.
