Chapter 17
The two did not linger at the lookout. Not because the view had lost its beauty, but because one particular stomach refused to suffer in silence.
A loud grrrrk broke the hush, and Gyu In nearly doubled over laughing.
"I guess this time it is your stomach causing an earthquake."
"Shut up."
Eun Wol shot him a glare, but a faint blush had already crept up his cheeks.
Gyu In stretched his arms overhead with an exaggerated groan.
"Come on. I know the perfect place for your stomach."
Eun Wol blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. But the way Gyu In smiled stirred something inside him. It was unfamiliar, that flutter in his chest, but not unpleasant.
So he followed him. They made their way down the trail, past the clearing, toward a narrow fork in the path. They reached a tiny roadside restaurant tucked at the foot of the hill.
The old wooden sign above the entrance read:
[HALMEONI JANG's GINSENG CHICKEN SOUP]
The place looked aged yet well-loved.
Wooden beams darkened by years of steam, a chalkboard menu written in smudged Hangul, and the faint, earthy scent of boiling herbs curling into the morning air.
It smelled like home.
"But it is closed. And it is only seven-thirty in the morning," Eun Wol said, frowning at the shuttered entrance. "I do not think it is opening anytime soon."
Gyu In placed a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling with quiet mischief. He did not stop walking. Instead, he turned down the side of the building, leading them to the back door.
Eun Wol followed, curiosity tightening in his chest, as Gyu In knocked—
a rhythmic pattern on the old wooden frame. Exactly nine times.
"You know the owner, do you not?" he asked.
Gyu In only smiled.
Soon enough, the door let out a soft creak, followed by the slow shuffle of slippers on worn tiles. A woman appeared in the doorway. Her frame was sturdy, her grey hair scraped into a low bun. Her apron was dusted with flour, and she held a wooden ladle as if it were an extension of her arm.
Halmeoni Jang.
She squinted at them through the golden morning light.
"Tch. You again?"
Then her eyes slid to Eun Wol. Measured. Sharp. She looked him over as if inspecting a peach for bruises.
"And who is this one with sadness written all over his face?"
Eun Wol tensed, caught off guard. Gyu In just laughed beside him.
"Halmeoni, you cannot greet people like that."
"I say what I see."
She sniffed, gaze still fixed on Eun Wol.
"He looks like someone who has not had a proper meal or a real laugh in years."
Eun Wol parted his lips, then closed them again. There was no reply that would not taste like salt. Halmeoni stepped aside and waved them in.
"Bringing me trouble first thing in the morning."
But the door stayed open behind them.
Gyu In grinned and leaned in as they passed through the doorway.
"She missed me," he whispered.
*
The warmth hit Eun Wol first.
Not just heat — a memory in disguise.
Ginseng and jujube berries. The faint scent of burnt rice stuck to the bottom of a pot. Old wood and rows of spice jars that crowded every inch of the small kitchen. It wasn't tidy, but it felt alive.
They were led to a tucked-away corner beside the kitchen. The heat clung to his skin. It was not unbearable, just present, like someone quietly watching from the past.
His gaze drifted to a wooden plaque above a dusty shelf:
Soup heals the stomach. But it won't fix what you refuse to swallow.
Before he could linger, Halmeoni Jang reappeared, tray balanced with the ease of someone who had done this all her life. She set it down without fuss: two bowls of white rice, an array of neat banchan, and two steaming bowls of samgyetang — one large, one small enough to offend a grown man.
Gyu In rubbed his hands together. "I missed your soup."
"You miss wasting it, you mean. Sit down before I throw you out."
She turned to Eun Wol, her expression unreadable. "You. Eat. And make sure he does too."
She pointed at the bowls. "Small one's yours," she told Gyu In. "Big one for your friend. Finish it this time, or I'll know."
"I always finish," Gyu In protested.
"Lie again and I'll salt the soup."
Eun Wol caught himself biting back a smile as Gyu In sulked toward his bowl like a child caught cheating on a test. Halmeoni poured their water with unhurried grace.
"You want salt?" she asked, glancing at Eun Wol.
He shook his head. "It's perfect."
She paused, then said almost gently, "Chew slowly. That way you'll actually taste it."
Then she disappeared into the kitchen again.
Eun Wol reached for his spoon, hesitated, then stirred the soup.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
His chest tightened before he could stop it. The taste was supposed to be light, nourishing, comforting. But it hit differently. It clung to his throat, carrying a grief he hadn't made space for in years.
Not since …
He took another sip. This time it sat heavier.
Not in his stomach.
In his heart.
"She used to like this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "On cold days. After a rough schedule. I'd sneak out, buy one, bring it back to the dorm… She'd pretend it was too bitter, but she always finished the whole bowl."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile, almost not.
"I don't even know if she eats properly anymore."
Gyu In stayed silent.
"She's still stuck there," Eun Wol murmured. "Still smiling like everything's fine. Still pretending."
The broth rippled as he set the spoon down, the soft clink barely audible.
"I was supposed to protect her."
For a moment, Gyu In didn't speak. He watched Eun Wol stir the soup again, as if searching for something hidden at the bottom.
Maybe … courage, or an excuse not to keep talking.
Then, quietly, he asked, "Is she still with them?"
Eun Wol froze. The spoon dipped halfway into the broth and stayed there.
"She is," he said at last, his voice rough. "Still under that agency."
Gyu In's jaw tightened, but he hid it behind a slow sip of soup.
"Why haven't you told anyone?"
A dry laugh slipped out of Eun Wol.
"I tried," he said. "Once. Thought someone would believe me." He lowered his gaze to the bowl. "They believed him instead."
Silence settled between them again. Only the faint clatter of pots came from the kitchen, Halmeoni's humming leaking through the door.
"She was barely twenty back then," Eun Wol whispered. "He told her she had to entertain. Just drinks, he said. Just smile, laugh, pour the soju right."
The breath he released shook a little.
"And I wasn't even there. I was at a shoot."
His knuckles whitened around the spoon.
"I only found out because she called me, crying."
Gyu In reached across the table, resting a steady hand over Eun Wol's.
"Thank you for telling me," He said quietly. "No one should carry that alone."
Eun Wol swallowed. The warmth of that hand was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.
He stared into his bowl. The soup had gone cold, untouched.
"I used to hate this," he murmured.
Gyu In glanced at him. "The soup?"
"No… the smell. It reminded me of home. And for a while, I couldn't stand anything that reminded me of it."
His fingers tightened on the spoon, knuckles paling.
"I used to make something like this for her when she was sick."
Outside, rain tapped against the window.
In his mind, the years peeled back:
A boy sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully holding a warm bowl of chicken porridge.
He kept blowing on it, trying to cool it down faster.
On the bed lay a younger girl—Eun Bin—with a pale face and a blocked nose, breathing in uneven gasps.
"I hope it tastes at least edible," he said, awkward but earnest.
Eun Bin let out a rough, coughing laugh.
"Oppa, you're really the best," she croaked, voice hoarse. "You're here with me. That's enough."
The memory faded, taking with it the fragile trace of warmth it carried.
"I know my cooking wasn't the best," Eun Wol murmured as he set the spoon down. "But she would always finish it and praise it."
Gyu In did not speak right away. He reached across the table and, with deliberate casualness, stole one of Eun Wol's side dishes.
"She sounds like someone worth fighting for."
Eun Wol blinked at him.
Gyu In only shrugged. "I'll help you."
Eun Wol looked as if he might protest but for once, he didn't.
"Even if I don't tell you everything?"
"You will tell me what you want," Gyu In replied. "You don't have to hand me your heart all at once, Eun Wol. But I am still going to protect it."
"I don't know how to fix it," Eun Wol admitted, his voice cracking. "I don't know if I can fix it."
"You have me now," Gyu In said, his tone softer. "We'll try together."
Eun Wol finally looked up, meeting Gyu In's eyes for the first time in what felt like forever.
"But how? I tried. It backfired. Really badly."
"Let me be very frank." Gyu In's gaze sharpened. "Would money help? Can I buy out her contract?"
The hand beneath his own trembled. He rubbed his thumb gently over the skin.
"No," Eun Wol whispered. "I want him to get arrested."
A heavier silence pressed in.
Across the table, Gyu In's brows drew together. "Who?"
Eun Wol did not answer at first. He stared down at the soup, fingers loosening, then tightening again around the spoon. When he finally spoke, the name sounded as if it had been lodged somewhere sharp in his throat.
"Lee Dong Yeo."
The name came out flat, but something flickered in Eun Wol's eyes like an old film reel sputtering to life behind his lashes.
"Eun Bin-ah!"
His voice had been frantic that day.
That moment.
"Let's just break the contract. I will pay the penalty. I can find the money. There is always a way."
"Are you hearing yourself, oppa?"
She had screamed it, the words tearing out of her like they had been trapped too long.
Her whole body trembled.
"We cannot escape… I cannot…"
"We can. I am not leaving you behind."
His hands had clamped down on her shoulders, trying to keep her from breaking apart.
But her body kept shaking.
Then she sank to her knees, whispering, over and over, a single word.
"No… no… no…"
He bent down, desperate to catch what she was saying, to hold her together.
"What did you say?"
Her next words came out in a breath so thin it barely reached him.
"They got my photos."
Everything stopped.
After Eun Wol's last words, silence settled between them. Gyu In reached across the table again. This time his hand closed around Eun Wol's, steady and deliberate, fingers squeezing just enough to ground him.
"We will figure this out," he said quietly, his voice low but certain. "I promise."
Eun Wol looked up, eyes searching Gyu In's face.
For the first time in a long while, he let himself believe.
The morning outside remained soft and quiet, the sky only beginning to brighten.