445: Chapter 498 Oh Oh

Winter in Su-won was a bit colder than in Seoul, but the sunlight was pleasant. Inside Jieun's family home, the heating was turned up high, and a thin layer of mist clung to the window glass. A few shriveled fruits still hung from the persimmon tree in the yard, swaying gently in the cold wind like little unpicked lanterns. Lee Ji-hoon sat on the sofa with his legs crossed and elbows on his knees, an orange in his hand. He pressed his thumb into the peel, and with a soft pop, the skin split open. The juice splashed onto his fingertips, cool and carrying a sweet, fresh scent. He peeled the orange skin into a perfect flower and set it on the coffee table. It was a beautiful flower with even petals and an intact center. His gaze, however, wasn't on the orange; it was on the kitchen.

The kitchen door was half-open, letting out a warm yellow light. Lee Tima stood at the counter, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing her fair forearms. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, and an apron was tied around her waist in a crooked bow. She was chopping green onions; the knife rose and fell with incredible speed, the rhythmic 'thud-thud-thud' sounding even and crisp, like an uncomposed piece of percussion music. Each segment was cut to roughly the same length. Lee Mama stood beside her washing radishes, the sound of the peeler scraping against the skin making a rustling noise. Lee Grandma was at the stove stirring a pot, the aroma of soybean paste soup wafting out and mixing with the scent of green onions. The three of them were squeezed into the decently sized kitchen, each busy with their own tasks, their mouths just as active as their hands.

“Aigoo, how is our Tima so amazing?” Lee Mama’s voice drifted out of the kitchen, filled with the kind of admiration a mother-in-law has when she finds her son-in-law more and more pleasing to the eye. Lee Tima didn’t stop chopping, but she smiled, the grin spreading from the corners of her mouth, across her cheeks, and reaching her eyes. “Oma—” she called out in a sweet, syrupy voice that came naturally to her, “When I lived with Jieun Unnie, I made breakfast, lunch, and dinner!” The knife paused on the cutting board for a split second as her voice rose half a pitch. “Sometimes Jieun Unnie wanted cake in the middle of the night, and I’d help make that too!” She swept the chopped onions into a bowl and turned to grab a carrot. “Things like this are too easy for me.”

Sitting on the sofa, Lee Ji-hoon stuffed a segment of the orange into his mouth. As he chewed, the expression on his face grew increasingly stiff. He shook his head like a wobbling tumbler toy caught in the wind. 'Silly child, that heartless Lee Ji-eun is just using you!' the voice in his head shouted urgently. 'During those days you lived at her place, you thought you were taking care of her, but she was actually just enjoying free maid service. That "Jieun Unnie" who wanted cake at three in the morning was simply too lazy to make it herself. All she had to do was act cute and say, "Tima, I want cake," and you’d crawl out of bed like a wound-up toy, get dressed, put on an apron, and busy yourself in the kitchen for over an hour. And her? She’d lie in bed waiting for the cake to be ready, eat two pieces, wipe her mouth, say, "Tima, the cake you made is the best," and then roll over to go back to sleep. While you were washing the molds, wiping the counters, and cleaning up the mess, she was already having her second meal in her dreams.'

Lee Ji-hoon shook his head again, the stiffness at the corners of his mouth turning into helplessness. 'You’re no pushover either.' Wasn't that sentence a subtle way of snitching? "Jieun Unnie wanted cake in the middle of the night and I’d help make that too"—what a beautifully phrased statement. On the surface, she was praising her own diligence and capability, but in reality, she was filing a complaint. She was telling Lee Mama and Lee Grandma that their daughter/granddaughter didn't sleep at three in the morning and even bossed someone around to make her cake. Wasn't that a bit much? Thinking of this, Lee Ji-hoon’s helplessness turned into schadenfreude. 'Jieun, oh Jieun, you’ve finally met your match. How does it feel to be backstabbed by your own sworn younger sister?'

Lee Tima, of course, had no idea what Lee Ji-hoon was thinking. She was still busy in the kitchen, her knife rising and falling with a brisk, powerful 'thud-thud-thud' rhythm. Lee Grandma put the lid on the pot and turned to look at Lee Tima’s back, her eyes full of affection. She reached out and patted Lee Tima’s shoulder. “Aigoo, our Tima is so capable, much better than a certain Young Master of ours.” There was no need to name names; everyone knew who that “certain Young Master” was. Lee Ji-hoon’s hand stopped mid-peel, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Lee Papa came downstairs wearing deep gray loungewear, his hair a bit messy, likely having just woken up from a nap. He walked into the kitchen, first glancing at the steaming soybean paste soup, then at Lee Tima chopping carrots, and finally at Lee Ji-hoon slumped on the sofa. “Ji-hoon, you should help your mother and grandmother once in a while! Always lying on the sofa playing with your phone?” His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried the weight of “I am very dissatisfied with you.”

Lee Ji-hoon opened his mouth, but the retort—'There’s a real lazy pig named Lee Ji-eun upstairs; at least I got up early'—swirled on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back down. Saying it would only get him scolded worse because she was the daughter, the star, the “pride of the family.” What was he? He was just “the son who spends all day lying on the sofa playing with his phone.” He stuffed an orange segment into his mouth and chewed, the juice exploding on his tongue. 'Shit, there’s a real lazy pig upstairs; at least I got up early.'

Lee Ji-hoon pulled back his thoughts and leaned against the sofa, staring at the ceiling and letting out a long, low sigh. He wondered how all this had started. Three years ago, his sister Lee Ji-eun suddenly told the family she had taken in a sworn sister. Same surname, same name—also called Lee Ji-eun. How did his parents react back then? Oma said, “Jieun, when did you meet such a child?” Grandma said, “Same name and surname, it’s fate.” Papa said, “Bring her home to visit when you have time.” And his sister really did bring her back. That little girl named Lee Tima, when she first came to the house, was wearing a white dress with her hair down and a sweet smile on her face. She bowed to his parents, bowed to his grandmother, and bowed to him, then sweetly called out, “Oppa.”

What was Lee Ji-hoon feeling then? He had reached out his hand with a chuckle. “Hello, I’m Lee Ji-hoon.” She reached out her hand too; it was small, soft, and cool, like a piece of rice cake fresh from the fridge. “Hello, Oppa. My name is Lee Ji-eun, stage name Tiamat. Oppa can just call me Tima, Lee Tima.”

Lee Ji-hoon couldn't see his own expression at the time, but he knew it must have been a sight. That smile plastered on his face, corners turned up, eyes squinted—it was like a fake smile held on by glue, liable to fall off at any moment. His face was probably as stiff as a piece of ancient frozen pork from the deepest part of the freezer, the kind you couldn't even cut with a knife. He turned that thought over in his mind repeatedly. 'One heartless Lee Ji-eun has already suppressed me for so many years. Now there’s another Lee Ji-eun—no, now there are two! Two!' Just the name made a chill run down his spine. 'Jieun, Jieun, Jieun—she calls you Oppa, but do you really dare to answer? If you dare to answer, she’ll dare to call you that. Once you answer, you're finished. Because no one named "Lee Ji-eun" is easy to deal with. My sister is one, and this younger sister is another.'

He had stumbled across that video online. The sole witness to the incident where Karina stole the pig's head—the girl counting down on her fingers with a wicked smile on her face—was Lee Tima. He was all too familiar with that smile. When his sister was little, she had that exact same smile every time before she did something bad. The curve of the mouth was just right, the light in her eyes was cunning and lively, and her whole being radiated an aura of “I’m going to cause trouble but you won’t catch me.” 'White-cut-black.' Those three words surfaced in his mind. White on the outside, black on the inside. Looking obedient, cute, and sensible, while the little calculator in her head ran faster than anyone's. His sister was like that, and this younger sister was too.

Lee Ji-hoon pulled his thoughts back once more, his gaze falling on the kitchen again. Lee Tima was pouring the chopped carrots into the pot; with a splash, the golden-yellow carrot chunks tumbled into the soup. She stirred it with a spoon, scooped a little soup, blew on it, and held it to Lee Grandma’s lips. “Grandma, taste the seasoning.”

Lee Grandma took a sip, and her eyes lit up. “Aigoo, the flavor is perfect! Our Tima is truly a genius!” Her tone was exactly the same as when she praised Lee Ji-eun.

Lee Ji-hoon looked down at the little flower made of orange peel in his hand; the petals were starting to dry. He peeled the petals off one by one and lined them up on the coffee table. He thought to himself that from today on, the weather in this house was going to change again.

Finally, there was movement upstairs.

It wasn't a light, cautious footstep, but the slow, dragging 'patter-patter' of slippers that said, “I’m awake but I don’t want anyone to think I’m in a hurry.” It traveled from one end of the hallway to the other, from the top of the stairs to the living room. Lee Ji-hoon stuffed that orange segment into his mouth and chewed, the sweet and sour juice bursting on his tongue. The corner of his mouth curled—not in a smile, but into something deeper and more meaningful, a mix of schadenfreude and the anticipation of “your day has finally come.”

She’s here. Lee Ji-eun. Feel my pain.

In his mind, images of himself being bombarded by his mother, grandmother, and father over the past few days surfaced. “Why are you as lazy as a pig, just like your sister?” “Aigoo, our Tima is so capable, much better than a certain Young Master of ours.” “Ji-hoon, you should help your mother and grandmother once in a while! Always lying on the sofa playing with your phone?” Those words were like knives stabbing into his heart one by one, each strike accurately hitting his most vulnerable spots. He had been stabbed for so many days, compared for so many days, and looked down upon for so many days. Now, the culprit had finally appeared. The “sister” who made him look bad, the “role model” who made him be disliked, the “reference point” that got him scolded—Lee Ji-eun, you’ve finally come down. He wanted to see if his mother and grandmother would hold her to the same standard. He wanted to hear if they would say, “Jieun, why are you up so late?” or “Jieun, why aren’t you helping your mother and grandmother?” or “Jieun, why are you like a pig?” Lee Ji-hoon swallowed the orange and shoved another segment into his mouth.

The sound of footsteps came from the stairs, getting closer and closer. Everyone in the living room looked up at that moment—Lee Papa moved his gaze from his phone screen, Lee Mama poked her head out from the kitchen door, Lee Grandma turned from the stove, and Lee Tima’s knife stopped. Lee Ji-eun appeared at the turn of the stairs.

Her hair was a mess, as if she had just crawled out of bed and hadn't had time to comb it. A few strands stuck up, forming a strange arc on top of her head. She wore no makeup, and her skin looked almost transparently pale in the morning light, with faint dark circles under her eyes—the marks of staying up late. She was wearing oversized pink pajamas with cartoon rabbits printed on them, the collar slanted to reveal half of her collarbone. On her feet were plush rabbit slippers, their ears drooping.

Watching the scene, Lee Ji-hoon’s schadenfreude deepened. “Morning.” When that single word came out of her mouth, her voice was still raspy. It sounded like she had a mouthful of water she hadn't swallowed, or like her vocal cords hadn't fully opened yet after waking. It wasn't loud or soft, cold or warm; it was like she was saying, “The weather is nice today.”

Lee Tima bounded up from her chair. The movement was so fast it was as if the chair had springs. She set the half-cut piece of tofu on the cutting board, turned to the microwave, and pulled it open as steam billowed out, blurring her face. She walked out carrying a tray with a glass of milk, a plate of bread, and a plate with a sandwich cut into neat triangles. She walked to the dining table and set the tray down—the milk glass in the top right, the bread plate in the middle, the sandwich plate on the left, and the utensils in the bottom right. The order and distance of the knife, fork, and spoon were all just right.

“Unnie! Good morning!” Her voice was crisp, her eyes and mouth curving into a smile, her whole being radiating the aura of “I am the most obedient younger sister.” “This is today’s breakfast! Milk, bread, and—” She pointed at the sandwich, her voice carrying a hint of a child seeking praise. “The sandwich I made!”

Lee Ji-eun walked down the stairs, each step very slow. She walked to the table and looked down at the plate of sandwiches, silent for a moment. The silence was brief, lasting only as long as a single breath. “Mm, not bad.” Her voice was still that flat tone that said, “I’m being perfunctory but I won’t let you see it.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, and Lee Tima immediately pushed the milk glass closer to her hand. Lee Ji-eun picked up the milk and took a sip, a white milk mustache clinging to her upper lip, which she licked away with the tip of her tongue.

Lee Mama walked out of the kitchen, her apron still damp. She held the half-washed radish in her hand, the peeler still hanging from her finger. Seeing Lee Ji-eun sitting at the table eating breakfast, her brow furrowed. “Jieun, you’re up! Why is your hair such a mess!” There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, but it was different from the disapproval she showed Lee Ji-hoon—for Lee Ji-hoon, it was “Why are you so lazy?”; for Lee Ji-eun, it was “Why are you so cute?” Lee Ji-eun reached up to touch her hair, pressing down on the stray strands with her fingers, but they didn't stay down. “Mm, didn't comb it.”

Lee Grandma also walked out of the kitchen, spatula still in hand. She walked over to Lee Ji-eun’s side and looked down at Lee Ji-eun’s bare face. “Jieun-ah, did you sleep well last night?” Her voice was full of affection. Lee Ji-eun took a bite of the sandwich, chewed twice, and swallowed. “It was fine, it was fine.” Her tone was quick and dismissive.

Lee Ji-hoon sat on the sofa, the orange segment held to his mouth forgotten. 'This isn't right. Aren't they supposed to attack her for sleeping in? Aren't they supposed to say she’s "like a pig"? Aren't they supposed to compare her to Lee Tima?' The look Lee Mama gave Lee Ji-eun was one of doting on “my daughter is so cute”; the look Lee Grandma gave Lee Ji-eun was one of pride in “my granddaughter is so beautiful.” No one said she was lazy, no one said she was out of line, and no one compared her to Lee Tima.

Shit. Why is the treatment so different? He had been scolded for days, like a monkey in a cage being toured around. Lee Ji-eun was being praised, pampered, and held in the palm of their hands. 'Unfair.' Those two words echoed in his mind.

His gaze moved from Lee Ji-eun to Lee Tima. She was turning toward the kitchen. Her back looked particularly thin in the morning light. Then he saw it—the smile on Lee Tima's face vanished the moment she turned around. It didn't fade; it disappeared instantly, as if someone had pressed a delete key on her face. The curve of her lips went from "curved" to "flat," and the light in her eyes went from "on" to "off." That expression was one he had never seen before—exhaustion, resentment, and a feeling of being unable to escape. Like a bird caged for too long that had forgotten how to fly, looking at the sky outside with empty eyes.

Lee Ji-hoon's heart suddenly skipped a few beats. It wasn't love; it was shock. He had seen Lee Tima's smile—sweet, soft, marshmallow-like—in the kitchen, at the dining table, and when they first met. But those smiles were for the elders and for Lee Ji-eun. When no one was looking at her, this was what her face looked like. This expression clearly belonged to someone who had been exploited for too long, accustomed to it yet unable to truly let go. Exploited by Lee Ji-eun, ordered around by Lee Ji-eun, treated as a free nanny by Lee Ji-eun. Waking up first every morning to make breakfast, sandwiches, and warm milk. Going to bed last every night to write scripts, research materials, and organize schedules. If Lee Ji-eun said, "Tima, I want cake," she would make cake. If Lee Ji-eun said, "Tima, is the script for episode thirty-five finished?" she would write the script. She never refused, never complained. At least, not in front of Lee Ji-eun.

Lee Ji-hoon raised an eyebrow. It was a brief moment, a light sound, and he suddenly felt this house was much more interesting than he had imagined. The older sister was White-cut-black, and the younger sister was too. With two White-cut-blacks living together, who could out-cut whom?

Lee Ji-eun had finished half her milk and two pieces of her sandwich. With a bit of mayonnaise on the corner of her mouth, she wiped it with a tissue. Suddenly remembering something, she looked up at Lee Tima. "Hey, Tima, is the script for episode thirty-five finished?"

Her voice was neither high nor low, every word as clear as if carved in stone.

Lee Tima was washing dishes in the kitchen. Her back stiffened the moment she heard that question. The stiffening was slight, so small that it wouldn't be noticed if one weren't staring. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and turned around. A smile was back on her face, the same sweet, soft, marshmallow-like smile she had shown the elders. But Lee Ji-hoon saw it—beneath that smile was a thin shell, held up by something, ready to crack at any moment.

"It's finished, Unnie."

Lee Ji-eun tapped her fingers twice on the table. "Mhm, I'll check it later."

Lee Tima maintained her smile, the curve of her lips just right, the angle of her eyes perfect. But her gaze, the moment those words fell, seemed stung by something—the trace of that sting vanished quickly. "Yes, Unnie." That "yes" was also very steady.

Lee Ji-hoon looked at Lee Tima's forced smile and sighed. Truly a heartless woman. His voice rumbled from deep in his throat, very soft, like a self-mutter. No one in the living room heard it, except—Lee Ji-eun's ear twitched slightly. She turned her head in his direction. "What did you say?" Her voice was neither high nor low, carrying a hint of "I heard you, but I want to hear you say it again."

Lee Ji-hoon's smile looked as if it had been pinched into place by hand, the curve of his lips just right, his eyes squinting. "Nothing. I said—Noona is very beautiful even without dressing up." His voice was sweet and syrupy.

Lee Ji-eun looked at him, those eyes that always held a smile now like two bottomless wells. A moment of silence followed, then she nodded. "Mhm." She took a sip from her milk glass, moved her gaze from his face, and looked out at the yard. The persimmon tree swayed gently in the wind, its last few shriveled fruits hanging like unclaimed lanterns.

Lee Ji-hoon looked down at the orange segment in his hand, juice seeping through his fingers, sticky. He quietly let out a breath. Lee Ji-eun didn't press further or expose him.

The early morning passed quietly like this. The sunlight outside turned from gray to bright, the persimmon tree in the yard swayed in the wind, and occasionally a fruit would drop from the branch, hitting the ground with a thud. Lee Ji-hoon stuffed the last orange segment into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

This breakfast was much more interesting than he had expected.

The winter sun shone diagonally through the window, spreading a warm golden glow across the living room floor. The heating was on full blast, and a thin layer of mist condensed on the windowpane, blurring the persimmon tree in the yard into a hazy silhouette. The living room was very quiet, save for the sound of pages turning—not soft, cautious turning, but the kind where the reader is fully immersed, fingers impatient to know what happens on the next page.

Lee Ji-eun sat cross-legged on the sofa, a thick script spread across her knees. The cover was white, printed with two large black characters—"white horse." She had been in this position for a long time, long enough for the coffee beside her to go from hot to cool, then to completely cold, and for the sunlight outside to move from the left to the right. Her hair was still a mess, unbrushed since waking up, a few strands hanging over her forehead and swaying slightly as she bowed her head. She hadn't changed clothes, still wearing that oversized white T-shirt with a loose neckline that exposed a section of her collarbone. She wore no makeup, her lips were a bit dry, but her eyes were bright—not the "just woke up" kind of bright, but the kind that comes from seeing something that makes the heart race.

Her hand was writing something in the margins of the script—her handwriting was messy, every stroke carrying a sense of urgency. She stopped from time to time to re-read a certain passage, then let out a low "Mhm—" as if savoring something delicious.

Episode thirty-seven. Luo An was forced to leave Seoul to lie low, standing alone in the rain at the Busan pier. Behind her were her pursuers; before her was the sea. She didn't look back. She jumped into the ocean. Reading this, Lee Ji-eun's lips parted slightly. She tapped the script twice, the corners of her mouth curving up—not a smile, but an exclamation of "This is so damn well-written."

Episode forty-two. Luo An returned from abroad and began a frantic revenge against those who had betrayed her. Not by killing them, but by letting them live while losing everything—their company, house, family, and dignity. Lee Ji-eun's finger lightly traced the words "frantic revenge." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air entered through her nose, passed through her throat and trachea, reached her chest, and then spread to her limbs. The image surfaced in her mind—Luo An standing on the top floor of a Gangnam office building, overlooking all of Seoul. Those people knelt before her, begging for mercy. She didn't look down; she just looked at the gray sky in the distance. That description made her empathize, deeply. She already had a strong desire for power, fame, and wealth, an obsession of "what I want must be mine" that had been etched into her bones since her debut in her teens. This desire wasn't learned; it was innate, one of the reasons she became who she was.

But what she was more obsessed with wasn't success itself, but the process of achieving it—the awkward, uncomfortable feeling of having to submit to others when one lacks the power. The endurance of "I can't touch you now, but I'll remember every debt from today," the gritting of teeth while thinking "just you wait," the frustration of being forced forward by the times, forced to bow, forced to compromise, forced to survive in the cracks. Reading this, Lee Ji-eun would tense up, her shoulders hunching slightly, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. She wasn't just reading a script; she was revisiting her own adolescence. In those years, she too had bowed her head, compromised, and been looked down upon countless times.

Then came the part that drove her most wild—the frantic revenge after success. She had re-read the few episodes after Luo An's return many times. Every time she read the passages where Luo An trampled those people one by one, she couldn't help but let out a laugh that made one's skin crawl. Not a "hehe" chuckle or a "haha" laugh—it was a "hee-hee-hee-hee" kind of laugh, squeezed from deep in her throat, carrying a sense of long-suppressed release.

Now, she had reached that part again. Episode forty-four, Luo An sat in her office, the person who had once betrayed her kneeling before her. That person was begging for mercy. Luo An didn't look at him, only flipped through documents with her head down. "You thought I would die in Busan back then." She turned a page. "It seems I've disappointed you."

Lee Ji-eun's mouth slowly widened. "Hee-hee-hee-hee—" The laughter spilled from her throat, echoing in the quiet living room. It wasn't loud, but every syllable carried an chilling undertone. It wasn't the laugh of a madman, but the laugh of "I've finally waited for this day."

Lee Ji-hoon sat at the other end of the sofa, holding a cup of cold coffee. He had noticed that laughter since she reached episode thirty-seven. He looked up at Lee Ji-eun, then looked back down. After a while, he looked up at her again. Her fingers moved quickly across the script, her eyes bright like two ignited stars, her lips slightly parted, and the curve of her mouth had changed from "satisfaction" to "greed." That expression was one he had seen many times on TV—the expression Lee Ji-eun's characters wore when they achieved victory. But those were acted. This was real. He twitched his lips; what a terrifying woman. He repeated this phrase in his mind several times, took a sip of coffee, which was now completely cold, the bitterness exploding on his tongue, making him frown. He put the cup back on the coffee table. What a terrifying woman, he thought again.

"Oppa! Let's add each other on Kakao!"

The voice was sweet and sugary, drifting from the other end of the living room like a piece of candy being bitten into, the juice splashing out with a sweetness that made one's teeth ache. Lee Ji-hoon snapped out of his "what a terrifying woman" thoughts and looked up—Lee Tima had run out from the kitchen at some point, her apron still on, the crooked bow still hanging at her waist. She was holding her phone, the screen lit up, and the KakaoTalk add friend interface was already open. A few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and were stuck to her forehead, likely blown by the wind from running so fast. Her cheeks were rosy, not from shyness, but from the heat of working in the kitchen.

Lee Ji-hoon looked at her well-behaved face, those sparkling eyes, and that slightly upturned mouth. Those thoughts of "evil smiles" and "White-cut-black" flashed through his mind so quickly they seemed as if they had never existed. He smiled, reached out to take her phone, and typed his number into the input box. "Sure." When those words left his mouth, they carried a tenderness he hadn't even noticed. He handed the phone back to her; she took it, looked down for a second to confirm the add was successful, then looked up and gave him a sweet smile. "Thanks, Oppa!" That "Oppa" was crisp and bright, like a piece of candy being bitten into, and then she turned and ran back to the kitchen. The apron strings swayed behind her, and her ponytail bounced.

Lee Ji-hoon leaned against the back of the sofa, watching her silhouette disappear into the kitchen doorway. The aroma of soybean paste soup drifted out, mixed with the scent of green onions and a faint, indefinable fragrance from Lee Tima—perhaps shampoo, perhaps laundry detergent, or perhaps her own scent. The corner of his mouth curved into a very slight arc. "Actually—" his voice was very soft, "Tima is quite cute." As those words left his mouth, he thought of those previous notions of "evil smiles" and "White-cut-black," and the curve of his mouth widened slightly. Maybe those were all true; maybe she really was like her sister, white on the surface but black inside. But so what? She would taste the soup for Grandma, chop vegetables for Mom, pour coffee for him, and get up in the early hours to make cake for her sister. Her smile would vanish after she turned away, showing that expression of exhaustion and resentment yet unable to escape, but she never complained, never said no. She was still that well-behaved, sensible, and pitiable little girl. He picked up his coffee cup and took another sip; it was still cold, still bitter, but this time he didn't frown.

Upstairs, Lee Ji-eun was still reading the script. She had reached episode forty-six, the scene between Luo An and Su-won. Su-won discovered that Luo An was a woman; in that dimly lit apartment, the two stood face to face. Su-won said, "You're a woman," and Luo An didn't answer. Su-won cried, saying, "I've never been kept by a man." Luo An remained silent. Lee Ji-eun's finger paused at the edge of the page. She didn't laugh, didn't "hee-hee," but just read quietly, finished the page, and turned to the next.

In the kitchen, Mother Lee was washing vegetables, Grandma was serving soup, and Lee Tima was chopping green onions. The thud-thud-thud sound was even and crisp, like a piece of uncomposed percussion. A very slight curve hung on her lips. It wasn't the sweet smile for the camera, nor the well-behaved one for the elders, but a solitary, relaxed smile that didn't need a disguise. What she didn't know was that the phone in her apron pocket lit up. Lee Ji-hoon had sent a message—"Good work. I'll help you wash the dishes later." She looked down at the line of text, and the curve of her lips widened a bit. She didn't reply, tucked the phone back into her pocket, and continued chopping onions.

The winter afternoon slipped away quietly like this. The soybean paste soup continued to bubble on the stove, the script pages continued to turn one by one, and the coffee on the coffee table continued to cool bit by bit. The sunlight shone through the window, slowly moving across the living room floor.