The sound of footsteps echoed on the polished floor of the building's lobby. A woman, Jeong, stood poised and professionally dressed in a light grey blazer with black trim, a large pale blue handbag clutched in her hands. Her expression was composed, yet a flicker of surprise crossed her face as she addressed the person standing opposite her.
"...Jeong," the other person—a young man with distinctive white hair and an intense gaze—began, the name a soft exhalation of breath.
Jeong straightened slightly, her posture stiffening. Her voice was cool, bordering on accusatory. "What are you doing here?"
The young man didn't answer her question directly. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and he leaned in slightly. A tension crackled between them, thick with unsaid things. He was focused on something much deeper than a chance meeting.
"Why did you say that?" his voice was low, demanding. The panel shifted to a close-up of their feet, a white sneaker next to black, knee-high boots, highlighting the distance and difference between them.
The question hung in the air, a loaded accusation. It forced the conversation back to a painful subject—the death of Eunmil.
The young man continued, his memory casting him back to an earlier conversation. "But when we first met, you said that Eunmil died by suicide."
He paused, letting the conflicting narratives sink in, his eyes darting to the woman's reaction. He remembered the official version, the one that seemed too convenient, too neat.
"...The news reported that Eunmil died from a heart attack." His brow furrowed with confusion and suspicion. "An early death…"
A sudden, strange feeling had overcome him recently, an unshakable instinct. The young man looked down, a profound sadness mixing with the determination in his eyes.
"For a moment, I had a hunch that Eunmil was somewhere around me."
He looked back up, his face serious, his focus now solely on the woman in front of him. The name Eunmil felt heavy on his tongue as he finally posed the question that had been eating at him.
"Do you…" his voice lowered again, drawing out the suspense, "...know Eunmil?"
The woman with the long, dark hair listened, her wide eyes reflecting shock and sudden apprehension.
"Or…" she thought, her internal thoughts surfacing in a moment of panic, "I!" She barely caught herself, her heart pounding at the sudden slip.
Just then, a different figure entered the scene, addressing the woman.
"Jeong."
The professional woman turned her attention back to the confrontation, regaining her composure quickly. Her gaze hardened as she asked another, more pointed question.
"Why did you change your number?"
The young man shrugged off the minor detail. "It only took a little bit searching to find out."
She stood there, small but resolute, holding her bag.
"It just happened when I got a new phone." He countered, trying to dismiss the matter.
She remained unconvinced. "What do you keep changing it for?"
The woman's earlier shock had transformed into a wary resilience. The mystery of Eunmil's death, the suspicion around Jeong, and the evasiveness of the young man's answers wove into a tight knot of intrigue, demanding resolution.
The white-haired young man, Yuhan Eun, offered a professional, charming smile to the woman in the grey blazer.
"Nice to meet you," he said, his tone smooth and confident. "I'm Myeong's manager, Yuhan Eun."
The woman, who had been in an intense confrontation just moments before, now appeared composed. A pleasant, yet calculating, smile touched her lips.
"Ah, nice to meet you, Yuhan," she replied, returning his handshake. "I'm Myeong's little sister, Jeong."
This revelation caught Yuhan off-guard. His polite smile faltered momentarily, replaced by a flash of surprise. Jeong noticed this and her smile broadened, a hint of smugness in her eyes.
"I see Myeong has an impressive younger sister."
Jeong reached into her handbag and smoothly produced a business card, presenting it to him. "Here's my card."
Yuhan took the card. Printed on it, under the name of Forever Law Firm, were the details: Attorney Jeong Yu. He looked up, giving her a more genuine, appreciative smile this time. "I'll remember that."
The exchange was cordial, but the air around Jeong remained sharp and confident. "I can find everything out anyway," she remarked casually, her eyes holding a challenging glint as they met Yuhan's.
A momentary awkwardness descended as the new dynamic of their relationship was established: a famous figure's protective, lawyer-sister meeting the manager.
Yuhan glanced over his shoulder at I (the woman he manages). "By the way, Myeong…"
He then turned back to Jeong and, with a quick shift in demeanor, his voice took on a teasing, almost accusatory tone, hinting at their previous, less formal relationship. "Did you get a new man?"
The sudden, non-sequitur question was met with a dramatic outburst of shock from I.
"WHAT?!"
Jeong looked taken aback, stammering slightly as she searched for a calm reply. "...Oh, yes… well…"
Yuhan chuckled, a playful dismissal in his manner. He bowed slightly to Jeong to indicate his departure. "Then I'll let you two talk… I'll be going now."
With Yuhan gone, I was left alone with her little sister, the lawyer. I looked at Jeong, who stepped close and put a hand on her shoulder, the gesture both caring and subtly possessive.
"...Myeong." Jeong's voice was warm now, the attorney facade softened by sisterly concern. "If anything happens, you can give me a call anytime."
The implication was clear: I am here to protect you, but I also know everything.
The encounter was a sudden, unwelcome disruption. I stood rigid as Jeong, my younger sister, an attorney dressed in a sharp grey blazer, addressed me, her composure almost maddening.
"...Jeong," I muttered, my voice tight.
Jeong held her large handbag closer, her expression shifting from surprise to a cool wariness. "What are you doing here?"
The man standing beside me—the white-haired man whose presence had caused this tension—spoke, demanding an answer to a deeper mystery. "Why did you say that?" he challenged.
He was referencing the death of Eunmil, a subject that always felt like an exposed nerve. He reminded me of the conflicting reports. "But when we first met, you said that Eunmil died by suicide."
He pointed out the discrepancy, his eyes troubled. "...The news reported that Eunmil died from a heart attack. An early death..."
He paused, a flicker of something unsettling in his gaze. "For a moment, I had a hunch that Eunmil was somewhere around me."
He looked at Jeong, his question heavy with suspicion. "Do you... know Eunmil?"
The silence was broken by Jeong turning to me, her attention shifting from the deceased to my current circumstances. "Why did you change your number?" she pressed, not waiting for my answer to the man's questions.
The man shrugged, dismissing the effort Jeong must have gone through to find me. "It only took a little bit of searching to find out."
I defensively countered her implicit accusation of evasion. "It just happened when I got a new phone."
Jeong narrowed her eyes. "What do you keep changing it for?"
At that moment, the white-haired man smoothly intervened, offering his hand to Jeong. "Nice to meet you. I'm Myeong's manager, Yuhan Eun."
"Ah, nice to meet you, Yuhan," Jeong replied, regaining her professional attorney smile. "I'm Myeong's little sister, Jeong."
Yuhan took the card she offered. "I see Myeong has an impressive younger sister."
Jeong met his gaze, her smile unwavering. "I can find everything out anyway."
Yuhan glanced at me. "By the way, Myeong…" He turned back to Jeong and dropped a bombshell with a teasing grin. "Did you get a new man?"
"WHAT?!" I practically shouted, utterly shocked by his bold question.
Jeong simply gave a soft smile. "...Oh, yes... well…"
Yuhan gave a slight bow to Jeong and excused himself, leaving us alone. "Then I'll let you two talk... I'll be going now."
"That's your manager?" Jeong asked as we watched him walk away.
I looked at him, surprised by the skepticism in her tone. "I thought he was a celebrity," I muttered.
Jeong chuckled, a sharp edge to her humor. "Must be nice to hang around him." Her voice lowered, becoming more pointed. "There's really nothing going on between you two?"
I looked down, feeling exposed by her persistent prying. "Okay..."
Jeong then delivered a final blow, mixing concern with a cutting critique of my life choices. "He's better than that dirty, unshaven man you're with…"
I was left stunned, but before I could react, her expression softened slightly as she changed the subject. "Oh. Dad wanted to see you."
"NO. What did you track me down here for?" I snapped, the tension finally boiling over.
Jeong merely sighed, her disappointment feigned. "Aw, that's too bad. You can say hello and have a meal together. It's been too long."
I recoiled at the suggestion. "I'll probably get indigestion."
Jeong smiled sweetly, mentioning a looming family event. "It's his 60th birthday soon." She gave me a severe look, her tone becoming stern and demanding. "Then take a digestive beforehand. Don't wear anything cheap or tacky... and try not to reek of cigarettes."
She put her attorney card into my hand. "Save my number."
The Interrogation
The cold street held the tension between us. I stood, my back straight, facing my younger sister, Jeong, and the peculiar, white-haired man, Yuhan.
"...Jeong," I greeted her flatly.
Jeong, clutching her expensive handbag, immediately turned to the man and challenged him. "What are you doing here?"
The man ignored her question, his own eyes burning with focus. "Why did you say that?" he demanded, the question directed back at Jeong.
He referred to the confusing circumstances surrounding the death of a person named Eunmil. "But when we first met, you said that Eunmil died by suicide... The news reported that Eunmil died from a heart attack. An early death..." He paused, lost in thought, then confessed a strange feeling that had haunted him. "For a moment, I had a hunch that Eunmil was somewhere around me."
He looked directly at Jeong, the question a quiet accusation. "Do you... know Eunmil?"
Before Jeong could properly answer, she shifted the blame and the focus back to me. "Why did you change your number?" she asked, her voice sharp.
I tried to keep my temper. "It just happened when I got a new phone."
She didn't believe me for a second. "What do you keep changing it for?"
The tension only broke when Yuhan introduced himself as my manager, and then, after an aggressive but playful exchange about my personal life, he left.
The Summons
As Jeong drove away in her expensive car, having just delivered a string of condescending instructions for my upcoming visit home—including snide remarks about my clothes and the man I was with—I felt a familiar, bitter resentment rise.
She had handed me her attorney business card. "Save my number. I'll come pick you up."
I stared at the black card in my hand, my jaw clenching. I hated her easy assumption of control. My fingers curled, and with a grunt of pure frustration, I crumpled the card into a tight, useless ball.
"F*ck," I cursed under my breath, my entire body rejecting the obligation to return to that house.
The Gathering
A short time later, against my better judgment, I found myself walking into the lavish family home. The atmosphere inside was heavy, thick with forced civility and old wounds.
My father, a stern man in a vest and tie, looked up at me as I entered the room. "Your father's been curious about how you'd been..." someone commented.
Another relative, perhaps an aunt or cousin, offered a superficial pleasantry, looking around at the small group. "It's so nice to have the family gathered together."
I remained silent, taking a seat. My sister, Jeong, leaned in with a sickly sweet smile, placing a reassuring, false pat on my shoulder.
"I'm glad you're here, Myeong." she said, addressing the room, "Myeong came all this way to celebrate your 60th birthday."
My father frowned, his expression hardening. "Celebrate? I already feel like I'll have indigestion," he muttered, sending a sharp, disapproving glance my way.
I looked at him, feeling the familiar prickle of rejection. Why is she here? my face seemed to ask.
Jeong turned back to me, her tone chastising. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. You should have taken a digestive medicine beforehand."
I managed a tight, false smile, determined not to let her win this round. "I already ate."
The long-standing conflict, the family tension, and the unspoken disappointments hung in the air, guaranteeing a very difficult birthday celebration.
The Unspoken Scrutiny
The family gathering was suffocating. Every breath felt scrutinized, every movement judged. I sat rigidly on the expensive living room sofa, enduring the silent disapproval that was always louder than any shout. The conflict over Eunmil's death—the conflicting reports of suicide versus heart attack, and the white-haired man's suspicion that she was still somewhere around—felt like a distant echo, replaced by the immediate, hostile reality of my father's gaze.
My sister, Jeong, had done her job perfectly. She had delivered me to the execution.
My father, the embodiment of cold judgment, finally spoke, his voice measured but carrying the weight of ultimate disappointment.
"I called you here because I couldn't stand to see the way you're conducting yourself out there."
I tried to push back, keeping my own voice level despite the turmoil churning in my stomach. "...What's wrong with it?"
He tossed a newspaper or a magazine onto the mahogany table between us. I flinched, recognizing the headline—a lurid article with a photo of me and the man I was seeing, titled, "Never-before-seen photo from Eunmil's posthumous exhibition MUSE ON revealed! Who is 明's man?"
My father pointed to the image, his hand outstretched, a heavy gold ring glinting under the chandelier light. "What are you doing with this photographer or whatever he is?" he spat out the word 'photographer' as if it were filth.
The silence I offered was my only defense, but it only fueled his fury.
"You moved out because you said you wanted to act, but here you are caught up in a vulgar scandal, all over the media. Is this the dream you wanted to pursue so badly?"
His words were sharp, calculated. Everything he was saying cut me like ice daggers.
The Attack on Ambition
He leaned forward, his face a mask of disappointment. "This path you're on, it doesn't work out on hard work and talent alone." He tapped the magazine page, the sound echoing ominously. "...It's just part of the process."
The sheer cynicism of his statement—that fame was only a process of vulgar transactions—was crushing.
"This is why I told you to choose a career that would reward hard work. How long do you think you can buy people's attention on looks and youth?"
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had to defend the one thing I had left, my ambition.
"...I don't think acting is a job that's dependent on looks alone," I countered, trying to sound reasonable, but my voice trembled slightly.
He seized on my words instantly. "So you're saying that you don't have to rely on your looks for what you're doing right now?"
He was twisting my defense into an admission of guilt. He had successfully cornered me. I looked away, the cold logic of his attack freezing my passion.
The cold daggers in my heart extinguished whatever passion that was starting to burn. I was back where I started: judged, inadequate, and desperately wanting to escape the gilded cage of my family's expectations.
The Encounter and the Accusations
The polished floor of the lobby felt cold beneath my feet. My composure shattered the moment Jeong, my younger sister and an attorney, appeared, facing the white-haired man who was asking questions I couldn't answer.
"Do you... know Eunmil?" the man asked, pressing Jeong about the conflicting reports of Eunmil's death—suicide versus a heart attack. He felt a lingering presence. "For a moment, I had a hunch that Eunmil was somewhere around me."
The tension was immediate, but Jeong, ever the lawyer, pivoted the attack to me. "Why did you change your number?"
"It just happened when I got a new phone," I defended, but her look suggested she didn't believe the simple excuse.
The white-haired man, Yuhan Eun, smoothly stepped in, introducing himself as my manager. Jeong returned the favor, presenting her business card. "I'm Myeong's little sister, Jeong. I can find everything out anyway," she stated, making the threat clear.
Before leaving, Yuhan delivered a playful jab: "Did you get a new man?" I shouted in shock. Jeong simply smiled vaguely and said, "...Oh, yes... well..."
When he was gone, Jeong's professionalism vanished, replaced by a cutting sisterly scorn. "That's your manager? I thought he was a celebrity," she scoffed. "Must be nice to hang around him. There's really nothing going on between you two?" She ended the conversation with a final, brutal insult: "He's better than that dirty, unshaven man you're with..."
Then came the obligation: "Oh. Dad wanted to see you."
"NO. What did you track me down here for?" I snapped.
She smiled condescendingly, reminding me of his upcoming 60th birthday. "You can say hello and have a meal together. It's been too long." When I complained I'd get indigestion, she instructed me to "Then take a digestive beforehand. Don't wear anything cheap or tacky... and try not to reek of cigarettes." She placed her firm's card in my hand. "Save my number. I'll come pick you up."
I watched her expensive car vroom away, then crumpled her card in my fist. "F*ck," I muttered, the curse a desperate release.
The Family Gathering and the Final Word
The luxurious family house, the setting for my father's 60th birthday, was a suffocating cage. I sat at the dining table, surrounded by relatives.
"Your father's been curious about how you'd been..." a voice murmured.
"It's so nice to have the family gathered together," another relative commented, the sentiment sounding hollow.
Jeong draped an arm around my shoulder, a false gesture of affection. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that. Myeong came all this way to celebrate your 60th birthday."
My father glared at me, his lip curled. "Celebrate? I already feel like I'll have indigestion," he said, before chiding me for not having taken a digestive beforehand. I forced a quiet retort. "I already ate."
Then came the devastating advice, a clear dismissal of my chosen path. "Look into marriage prospects. It's not too late."
I looked away, despair washing over me. No matter how hard I try to wrap myself in fancy packaging, my father can always see right through it. They wanted me to be someone I wasn't, to be completed into a sensible, acceptable package to everyone. I hated that. I hated that he could break me down with words that were all true.
I wanted to take that kind of practical advice, the perception of so-called adults, and smash them into pieces to show them all. I clenched my fist under the table. But I didn't have any kind of strength... that would turn the tables.
His rejection of my dreams, his insistence that becoming the person they wanted is actually the real path I'm supposed to be on, was too much.
The cold daggers in my heart extinguished whatever passion that was starting to burn.
Like the first time I left home, there was nothing I could say...
so I just ran out.
The Interrogation and the Business Card
I was outside, trying to navigate the complex social landscape of my life, when I was intercepted. My younger sister, Jeong, an attorney, stood facing the white-haired man, Yuhan Eun, my so-called manager.
Jeong looked at me, her face shifting from coldness to concern. "...Jeong..." I began, my voice flat.
"What are you doing here?" she countered, before the man cut in, demanding an answer about the death of Eunmil.
"Why did you say that?" he pressed, confused by the conflicting reports. "But when we first met, you said that Eunmil died by suicide. ...The news reported that Eunmil died from a heart attack. An early death...". He admitted a strange feeling: "For a moment, I had a hunch that Eunmil was somewhere around me." He looked at my sister, his eyes searching. "Do you... know Eunmil?".
Jeong ignored the depth of his question, shifting the scrutiny to me. "Why did you change your number?".
"It just happened when I got a new phone," I insisted, even though I knew she didn't believe me. She scoffed, "What do you keep changing it for?"
Yuhan stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Myeong's manager, Yuhan Eun. I see Myeong has an impressive younger sister."
Jeong returned the handshake and presented her own card. "Ah, nice to meet you, Yuhan. I'm Myeong's little sister, Jeong." Her smile was sharp. "I can find everything out anyway."
As Yuhan prepared to leave, he glanced back at Jeong. "By the way, Myeong... Did you get a new man?" I exploded: "WHAT?!" My sister simply gave a vague, sweet smile. "...Oh, yes... well...".
After he bowed and walked away, Jeong's facade dropped. "That's your manager? I thought he was a celebrity. Must be nice to hang around him. There's really nothing going on between you two?" She finished with a brutal insult: "He's better than that dirty, unshaven man you're with..."
Then came the summons. "Oh. Dad wanted to see you." I rebelled. "NO. What did you track me down here for?" She smiled brightly. "Aw, that's too bad. You can say hello and have a meal together. It's been too long. It's his 60th birthday soon." She instructed me to "Then take a digestive beforehand. Don't wear anything cheap or tacky... and try not to reek of cigarettes." She pressed her card into my hand. "Save my number. I'll come pick you up."
I watched her car disappear. My hand clenched, crumpling the business card. "F*ck."
The Judgment
I arrived at the house, a lavish prison. The atmosphere was thick with false pleasantries. "Your father's been curious about how you'd been..."
Jeong, playing the doting daughter, patted my shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Myeong. Myeong came all this way to celebrate your 60th birthday." My father, the patriarch, merely sneered. "Celebrate? I already feel like I'll have indigestion."
The conversation quickly turned into an attack on my career choice. He tossed down a magazine detailing the scandal with my current photographer, calling it a "vulgar scandal."
"This path you're on, it doesn't work out on hard work and talent alone. ...It's just part of the process." He continued his crushing critique. "How long do you think you can buy peoples' attention on looks and youth?"
"...I don't think acting is a job that's dependent on looks alone," I tried to argue, but he silenced me. He offered his final, disdainful advice: "Look into marriage prospects. It's not too late."
His words cut deep. "Everything he was saying cut me like ice daggers." I realized that no matter how hard I try to wrap myself in fancy packaging, my father can always see right through it. I hated that he was breaking me down with words that were all true. I hated the idea that becoming someone I'm not... is actually the real path I'm supposed to be on.
I clenched my fist. I wanted to take that kind of practical advice, the perception of so-called adults... and smash them into pieces to show them all. "But I didn't have any kind of strength... that would turn the tables."
The cold daggers in my heart extinguished whatever passion that was starting to burn. Like the first time I left home, there was nothing I could say... so I just ran out.
The Call
Outside, the cold night air hit my face. My instinct took over, and like a habit, I called the number I always called.
"Can you come to the subway station? Sorry to call so late--" I managed to whisper into the phone.
The voice that answered wasn't the one I was expecting. It was a voice that sounded familiar, but shouldn't have. The person on the other end of the line was the dirty, unshaven man I was with.