Change (2)
Around the time Han Dohyeon first began teaching Cheon Seo-hui.
At that same hour, Choi Yeonjeong was elsewhere.
"So, how's the teaching gig treating you?"
Yeonjeong twirled pasta around her fork and nodded at the question from Kang Inha, the head of her agency.
"It's fine. Watching the kids work hard — not half bad, honestly."
Inha had been working with Yeonjeong for twelve years now. Back when Yeonjeong first returned, Inha had witnessed her raw skill by chance and thrown every ounce of her sales pitch into landing her. She was one of the few close older sisters Yeonjeong had ever kept — a woman who, then as now, preferred her connections shallow and wide.
"That so?"
Inha nodded along, then suddenly leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"And how are things with him?"
"…"
Yeonjeong flicked a glance sideways. Inha wore the eager expression of a girl hanging on every word of a friend's crush story.
"Same as always."
With that indifferent reply, Yeonjeong looked away and popped the neatly wound pasta into her mouth.
Privately, she considered her current relationship with Dohyeon just right. Closer than friends, a little too distant for lovers. Nearer than family, yet still with corners left unexplored. Seventeen years of unrequited love, and yet if she calculated the odds of marrying him, she could confidently say hers were higher than anyone else's.
Hell, if she put her mind to it, she could snatch him up tomorrow. She simply hadn't, because she believed the timing wasn't right yet.
If you were going to eat something, wasn't it better to wait until it had fattened up nice and plump?
And more than anything…
She had no desire to swallow the whole thing with a nest of harmful parasites still clinging to it.
So she held her breath and waited for the right moment. And when the waiting grew unbearable, she sometimes stole a taste behind the owner's back.
"Tsk tsk. You really are something else."
Inha, however, saw things differently.
"Keep this up and you'll end up like me — never married for the rest of your life, you little brat."
A gold-miss staring down her forties, Inha believed you seized every opportunity the moment it appeared. From her perspective — knowing none of the finer details — Yeonjeong's endless composure looked nothing short of maddening.
"You know your eggs age right along with you, right? Freeze them while you're still young, I'm telling you."
Yeonjeong let it all go in one ear and out the other.
"Is there… something wrong with him?"
"Unnie."
Yeonjeong shot her a sharp look, answered that he was perfectly fine, and reached for her wine glass.
And then—
"That's it. I've had enough."
Inha's face turned resolute as she launched into a serious proposal.
"This unnie is going to help you out."
"…Help me with what."
Yeonjeong sipped her wine, already certain this was more nonsense.
"Look, if you're not going to marry him right away, you at least need to mark your territory properly!"
"I already have."
"And who knows that?"
"…What?"
"Who's supposed to know you've claimed him as yours?"
"…That's…"
"Even you have to admit that doesn't quite cut it, right?"
Born into a gold-spoon family, Inha had been shoved aside by her older brothers and inherited nothing but a tiny entertainment company that existed in name only. Now she ran one of the industry's top agencies. Turning Choi Yeonjeong — once merely a skilled, beautiful explorer — into a genuine top-tier celebrity had been entirely her handiwork.
"Yeonjeong."
Inha spoke as both a close older sister and the head of her agency.
"Let's do a project together."
Cheon Seo-hui Training, Day One.
The first lesson wrapped up quickly. Unfortunately, there simply wasn't much time to spare — someone was waiting for me at home, after all.
"Good work."
"…"
Cheon Seo-hui, who had spent nearly two hours twisting her body every which way, shot me a silent, resentful look. She hadn't said a word, but the expression screamed What kind of training is this supposed to be?
I found myself realizing, all over again, that even her glare was cute.
"Starting tomorrow, do one full set of stretches every morning the moment you wake up. That's how you get used to it fast."
"…Haa…"
"And your answer is?"
"…Understood."
Satisfied by her obedient reply, I smiled and told her to go wash up while I packed my things.
"It's late, so I'll drive you home."
"…I can take the subway."
"At this hour… you'd probably have to stand the whole way. You okay with that?"
"…"
For a split second, Cheon Seo-hui's face scrunched ever so slightly. She must have pictured herself crammed into a sea of bodies.
A private car beats the subway any day.
People took taxis no matter how expensive they were for a reason — convenience. Knowing that full well, I asked her again.
"So what's it going to be?"
"…I'll wash up and come out."
As if there had ever been any real question.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm…"
I waited in the parking garage, humming under my breath, until—
"…I'm here."
Cheon Seo-hui appeared, already changed into casual clothes.
"Hm? That was pretty qui—"
I turned without thinking and froze mid-motion.
Her short, curly hair still held a faint dampness, as if she'd only half-dried it. A clean, makeup-free face that radiated pure innocence. Fine so far.
The problem was everything below.
A tight short-sleeved T-shirt that shamelessly emphasized the provocative shape of her chest and a waist so slim it looked like one hand could span it. Black shorts so thin and skimpy they might as well have been clearance-rack leftovers from some neighborhood mart. Long, healthy legs ending in flip-flops dangling from pretty toes.
Even for late summer…
It was far too revealing.
"…What is it?"
Noticing my stare, Cheon Seo-hui took a half-step back and folded her arms as if to cover herself.
Crap.
I hastily averted my eyes, trying to hide how thoroughly I'd been gawking.
"…You could've fully dried your hair, you know."
"I'll do that starting tomorrow."
The crisis did not end there.
Cheon Seo-hui was a girl who understood that riding shotgun was proper etiquette when accepting a ride. What she didn't seem to grasp was that she could also become a distraction to the driver.
"The seatbelt…"
"…It's back there."
"I can't find it."
Fumbling around in a car she'd never ridden in before, she searched for the belt for a long while before frowning and shooting me a look that asked what she was supposed to do.
Do I have to buckle it for her?
I nearly stretched across to find it myself — then realized with absolute certainty that an accidental collision with those jutting mountain peaks was inevitable, and settled for giving her more precise directions instead.
"…Ah."
This time she found it quickly, pulled the strap out, and clicked it into place successfully.
Whoa.
The black belt now cut straight across the middle of those white peaks, presenting a vista so breathtaking my mind went blank.
C-Calm down, Han Dohyeon! Do not acknowledge it!
It felt like being hit with a mental assault from some succubus.
"Hmm-hmm-hmm…"
Sitting in the passenger seat and gazing out the window, Cheon Seo-hui snuck a glance at the driver's side.
Han Dohyeon was humming a cheerful little tune as he drove, looking thoroughly pleased about something.
"…"
Seo-hui found herself thinking back to the weekend she'd met him.
To the day he'd shown up in her neighborhood unannounced and begged her to meet him just once.
Truthfully, Seo-hui hadn't had the slightest intention of seeing Dohyeon then. From the moment she'd decided to drop out, reversing course had never been an option. She'd known full well he'd just pile on the same predictable arguments and try to talk her out of it, so she'd planned to block him on messenger entirely.
…At first, anyway.
For some reason, she never actually blocked his contact. She just kept putting it off — Ugh, whatever, I'll do it later — every single time. And yet whenever a message from Dohyeon arrived, she read every last one without fail.
Maybe deep down she'd wanted him to keep trying a little longer. Or maybe those were simply the only messages that ever came to a phone she could barely afford the cheapest plan for.
Days of reading and ignoring, reading and ignoring — until one afternoon, on her way to the neighborhood mart.
That guy…
She'd spotted him by chance through the café window where he always waited. Sitting there endlessly, staring blankly outside.
Looking up at him, Seo-hui had thought:
How desperate do you have to be to come all the way out here on a weekend just to ask for a meeting?
So she changed direction and walked into the café.
—Huh!?
The first time they faced each other, she'd thought he was completely different from the impression he gave in class. During lessons he always carried a calm, oddly rigid air.
—W-Want to sit down first?
But face to face, he was a whole different person.
—Girls seem to like this kind of thing. What do you think?
Unexpectedly delicate in some ways.
—I came to stop you from leaving. I've seen what you can do. You've got real talent. I mean it.
And bold enough in others that it almost felt rude.
—But listen… if you drop out like this, that's the end for you. No question.
It hadn't made her angry or uncomfortable, exactly. She just hated how easily she got drawn in the longer they talked.
In every way, he was the complete opposite of someone as guarded as Seo-hui.
"?"
While Seo-hui was lost in the memory of that first meeting, Dohyeon sensed her gaze and glanced over at the passenger seat.
"Something on your mind?"
Their eyes met, and Seo-hui flinched, looking away before she could stop herself. She wasn't normally the type who couldn't hold eye contact — and yet somehow, with Dohyeon, it was hard.
"…It's nothing."
"…?"
They crossed the darkened city and arrived in her neighborhood. Climbing out of the car, Seo-hui stared blankly at the heavy paper bag that had somehow ended up in her hand.
A savory smell of oil wafted from the bag, printed with the logo of a chicken place called Pia Chicken.
—Don't you dare go around skipping meals.
Dohyeon had figured out her plan to skip dinner, ordered it on his own, and forced it into her hands. Never mind that she didn't even like chicken.
"Ah, right."
Unaware of that particular detail, Dohyeon started to say goodbye through the passenger window, then paused to ask her something.
"You coming to class tomorrow?"
Seo-hui, already a week into her absence, had no intention of showing up at the Academy. She was dropping out anyway — going would be meaningless.
"Come if you can."
Even so, Dohyeon urged her to attend.
"I don't know about the rest, but the food's decent at least."
The Academy cafeteria served dinner as a baseline. In other words: just show up and eat a proper meal on time.
"…I'll think about it."
And then Dohyeon was gone.
Seo-hui trudged up the sloping alley toward home. She'd walked this street her whole life, yet today it felt strangely short.
"…I'm home."
The empty greeting echoed softly through the vacant house. She tossed her bag roughly onto the cluttered entryway floor, set the chicken Dohyeon had bought on the sink counter, and peeled off her clothes in a heap.
I should just go straight to sleep.
Maybe it was all the things she didn't normally do — she felt especially tired today and meant to turn in early. But then—
"…"
The smell of oil seeping from the bag kept drifting through the whole house, clinging to the tip of her nose. Her stomach, empty all day, let out a protesting gurgle.
…Just a taste.
Seo-hui dragged over the wooden tray she'd shoved aside and set out the food. How long had it been — almost two years?
Back when her gambling-addict father would win money, he'd bring home cold packaged chicken and make her eat it instead of a real meal. This was the first time she'd bought chicken since that last time.
She remembered it precisely, because that same day her drunk father had slapped her across the face.
"…"
She carefully picked up the warm drumstick sitting on top. Swallowing at the savory smell, Seo-hui parted her lips and took a bite.
Then, eyes round, she chewed with focused little movements of her mouth.
…It's not bad?
Maybe because it was still warm.
Surprisingly, it wasn't bad at all.