Chapter 86
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 86
Eun-sam tormented me for three more days before she left.
It was as if she had studied the art of making someone miserable. Just when I’d get used to her way of speaking, she’d bring up the novel. Just when I’d start to forget the novel, she’d bring up something else, shaking my sanity back and forth.
Time and again, Dokyun wanted to beg her to leave, but he couldn't find the courage to say such a thing to her face, which was lit up with excitement as she talked to him. He overcame the urge by swallowing the words that threatened to spill out.
Every day, he would wake up to the thought of having to deal with her, letting out heavy sighs as his blood pressure rose.
That was why he was all the more delighted to see Eun-seol return.
Dokyun left his room early and entered the hospital room. Seeing her sitting on the bed reading a book, he spoke.
“Eun-seol?”
“Yes.”
A low tone. Eyes thick with fatigue.
Confirming that Eun-seol was back, Dokyun felt a bright smile spread across his face as he approached her.
“You were gone for quite a while this time.”
He said it with a hint of resentment, a silent question of why she had been away for so long. Her gaze shifted from the book to him, and she answered.
“She said she wanted to catch up on her manuscript.”
Her tone was nonchalant.
Flinch.
At her words, Dokyun felt the novel he had just begun to erase from his mind surface once more, and his body trembled.
“Ah…”
He had hoped she wouldn’t mention it, but her thoughtless comment had once again reminded him of Eun-sam’s novel. Dokyun’s expression darkened as he finished his sentence.
“…I see.”
“…Right.”
A hesitant reply.
Then, silence began to fill the space.
As the atmosphere grew heavy, Dokyun studied her. He saw her gaze shift back to the book, her expression uneasy as she read.
Sensing something was different from her usual self, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her. He watched as she buried her head even deeper into the book.
No matter how he looked at it, her behavior was suspicious.
As he wondered what she was doing, a realization suddenly flashed through his mind.
She knew!
She knew about the contents of Eun-sam’s novel.
The emotion that followed was betrayal.
Feeling a stinging sense of betrayal well up from deep within his chest, Dokyun narrowed his eyes further and shot a question at her.
“…You knew, didn’t you?”
He didn’t specify what. He felt that just saying the title would bring the contents flooding back into his mind, so he couldn’t bring himself to speak it. Besides, he knew she would understand even if he put it this way; there was no need to elaborate.
Just as Dokyun thought, she flinched at his question, a bitter look washing over her face.
She didn’t open her mouth, but her actions gave him the answer.
Her head burrowed deeper into the book. Her shoulders hunched slightly. The fingertips gripping the book trembled as she squeezed it tighter.
It was certain.
She had seen the contents of Go Eun-sam’s novel and had kept that fact from him.
Resentment surged within Dokyun.
Someone who knew…!
Someone who knew what kind of novel it was had just abandoned him to it? Couldn’t she have at least given him a hint? Couldn’t she have told him to refuse if Eun-sam ever asked him to read it? He glared at her, his mind filled with such thoughts, but she just shot back a fierce look and spoke in a harsh tone.
“What.”
Wince.
Dokyun felt his body shrink back from her intimidating glare. He averted his gaze and changed the subject.
“Ah, it’s nothing…”
It was unfair. And he resented her for it.
He couldn’t understand why he had to be put through this. Moisture welled up in his eyes.
He wanted to lash out in frustration, but the fear etched into his body kept his defiance in check.
Suddenly, the person who had first instilled this fear of that particular glare in him came to mind.
Sung Geun-tae…!
If it weren’t for that bastard, he wouldn’t be cowering like this. He wouldn’t be so intimidated by that look.
Unable to rebel against her, Dokyun vented his resentment by thinking of a figure from his childhood who wasn’t even there.
He kept his head hung low in frustration for a long while, until she let out a deep sigh and finally spoke.
“I couldn’t help it. Writing is that one’s only joy.”
Hearing her words, the question, ‘Then what about her obsession with online forums?’ briefly crossed his mind, but he soon found himself nodding.
Just as Eun-seol said, when Eun-sam was writing, she wore the most joyful expression he had ever seen on her.
Her lips would twitch into a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the screen. She wrote as if she would die from the sheer pleasure of the moment, as if writing was the most fun she could possibly have.
The surprising thing was that when she was writing, Eun-sam didn’t utter a single word. The person who seemed furthest from the very concept of concentration would display a level of focus so intense she wouldn’t notice a fly buzzing in front of her face. That was the first time Dokyun realized she was a person capable of keeping her mouth shut.
Watching her, a question had formed in his mind.
“Is Go Eun-sam a personality that was created because of novels?”
Eun-ah had read all sorts of books since she was very young. He knew this from the books in the library and the diary he had found there.
Furthermore, the one who had made her read those books was her mother—the very person who had shattered her personality.
The clues were limited, but when he factored in Eun-sam’s behavior, he could deduce that the reason for her creation was related to novels.
He organized his thoughts and posed the question.
Seeking confirmation for his theory, he asked the question, and she answered with a small nod.
“Yes.”
A straightforward answer.
Dokyun felt the new information being entered into his mind awaken all his existing knowledge.
His thoughts expanded, inserting the new information on top of the old. The bits of data he had shoved into a corner of his mind began to form a pattern, arranging themselves with a certain regularity. Then, the pieces of information began to fit together, each finding its place like parts of a puzzle.
A puzzle slowly taking shape.
But it wasn't enough. The filled-in portion was a small fraction, not even half of the whole.
He needed more information. He needed a more central piece of information that would make all the distorted fragments click into place.
Dokyun lifted his head and looked at her.
He had to ask.
Just as that thought crossed his mind and he was about to ask his question—
Swish—.
The soft sound of a page turning filled the silent hospital room.
She turned the page, her entire focus on the book.
She wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention.
Dokyun knew what that meant.
It was a refusal. She was not permitting him to ask his question.
In that moment, Dokyun felt a surge of frustration.
She was always like this, never giving more than a minimal answer to questions about the other personalities.
He didn’t know why.
At first, he thought it was to use him, but looking back now, that hypothesis seemed to have little credibility. If she were hiding the truth to manipulate him, she wouldn’t have revealed even a sliver of emotion to him.
She wouldn’t have shown consideration for the other personalities, nor would she have shown him any subtle kindness.
Of course, one could argue that it was all an act to make him let his guard down, but Dokyun thought that was a ridiculous notion. The emotions, saturated with truth, the warmth she had shown him until now—they were not the kind of thing that could be faked with acting.
Even while maintaining such an icy demeanor, she was always a warm person. She was endlessly generous in her giving and endlessly lenient with his mistakes.
What he could say for certain now was that she was absolutely not hostile toward him. If he had to define it, the feelings she held for him were closer to goodwill.
That was why he couldn’t understand why she hid information about the other personalities.
He couldn’t understand what made her remain silent.
He frowned in frustration and looked at her. She glanced at him and muttered under her breath.
“…You don’t need to know yet.”
Yet.
It was an answer that seemed to see right through his thoughts.
Dokyun took a short breath and asked.
“When will you tell me?”
“When you’re ready.”
The reply that came back was, as expected, ambiguous.
Then she went back to focusing on her book.
Dokyun read the firm refusal in her actions and nodded.
He felt that no matter what more he said, she wouldn’t tell him, so he closed his mouth.
Just like before, what followed was silence.
*
It was after the sky had been blanketed in black that he returned home.
Dokyun opened the front door, stepped inside, and let out a deep breath. Had he been wrong to bring it up? The tense atmosphere that had hung in the hospital room all day had been suffocating.
Still.
Dokyun pulled his hand from his pocket and looked at his palm. Resting on it was a key, its round handle prominent.
I got it.
It was the key to the studio.
She always carried it on her person, so he had never even dared to think of taking it. But today, he had taken it, prepared to be caught.
By now, she had probably realized he had stolen the key. Tomorrow, she might question him about it, might even reprimand him.
But even so, he couldn’t give up this key.
He had been watching the situation and steadily gathering clues, but he had now reached his limit.
The clues he had gathered were, at best, peripheral branches. He needed a more fundamental clue, a pillar that could string all the other clues together.
After agonizing over how to find it, he had resolved to open the studio door.
At the very least, given how desperately all the personalities were trying to hide it, there had to be something in there.
He thought of the past.
He had never once achieved a meaningful result when dealing with Go Eun-chae. Before he knew she was one of Eun-ah’s alternate personalities, and even after he knew, he had always lost to her.
Eun-seol had said he was doing well, but her words clearly held the intent of consolation.
He couldn’t just rely on her comforting words and do nothing.
Moreover, it was the same when dealing with Eun-ah and the other personalities. Because he didn’t know them well, his responses were always rash.
Because he didn’t fully understand Eun-ah, he didn’t know how to make her truly happy.
Because he didn’t know what kind of personality Eun-ji was, he had made her hide away and cry alone.
Because he didn’t know what kind of personality Eun-sam was, he couldn’t respond to her actions appropriately.
Because he didn’t know what kind of personality Eun-seol was, he still couldn’t completely understand her.
The fact that she was in the hospital was because of an accident caused by his own ignorance.
Lost in thought as he walked, Dokyun soon found himself in front of the studio, staring at the firmly shut door.
If he opened this door, he would be able to learn more about her. Perhaps he would even find out what Eun-seol was hiding from him.
She had said he wasn’t ready.
Maybe she was right.
To be honest, it would be a lie to say that his desire to open this door right now wasn’t driven by impatience.
Today’s actions had been spurred on by the impatience born from his lack of any real progress, and by the shame he felt for having ignored this door for so long.
Even though he’d had the chance to open this door ever since she was hospitalized, he had looked away. It was because of fear. Because of the flimsy shell of fear.
The fear of the unknown, of a truth he might not be able to handle, had become a shell that hadn’t yet been shed, trapping him inside.
He had decorated this shell with excuses like, ‘It’s a door that won’t open,’ ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ and ‘She must have her reasons,’ wearing them like a fine coat as he turned his eyes from this door.
But no matter how finely he decorated it, a shell was just a shell. It was a remnant of an immature past that had to be cast off in order to move forward.
To get closer to the truth, he had to shed the shell that covered him.
If he kept hiding behind her like this, doing nothing, a moment would come when he would be unable to forgive himself.
It was a baseless intuition, without a speck of evidence, but Dokyun found he couldn’t ignore it.
He steadied his breath again.
A faint tremor ran through his fingertips.
Dokyun realized he was nervous.
“Hoo…”
He let out a long breath, calmed his hand again, and inserted the key he held into the door.