I'm Not a Bodhisattva Fan
"I'll take care of the dishes."
"I can do them, though..."
"You cooked us a proper meal. The least we can do is clean up. Hand them over."
They confiscated the rubber gloves. I'd been about to start on the cleanup, but they kept herding me back, and back again, until I found myself driven all the way to my room.
Whatever. If they told me to rest, I was going to rest.
"Sweet."
Truth be told, I wasn't exactly thrilled about doing dishes either. Setting the table was fine. It was the wreckage afterward that always felt like a chore. If they wanted to take over, I wasn't about to complain.
So now what?
Maybe I'd watch some baseball. As it happened, a game had only just gotten underway.
I pulled up America TV and tapped into my favorites.
A brief loading screen, and then the game filled the display.
"Huh? What the—"
Bases loaded. Nobody out.
Runners stood on every bag, and not a single out had gone up on the board. Nothing particularly surprising about that. If you were an Eagles fan, you saw this kind of thing all the time.
But the uniforms on those runners were orange.
Orange!
It was the Eagles who had the bases loaded with nobody out. And they were doing it against a pitcher sitting on a 2.58 ERA.
This was not a situation you saw every day. This was a miracle. This was genuinely, legitimately astonishing.
What came next was even more astonishing.
Crack!
The cleanup hitter took the pitcher's splitter and met it with an artist's touch. The ball shot toward the hole at third — and vanished straight into a glove. The third baseman stepped on the bag and fired to second. The second baseman threw on to first.
Leave it to the Eagles to pull off something that difficult.
I switched off my phone and hurled it at the ceiling.
Is this even baseball? Forget it. Screw the lot of you.
Baseball was not good for one's peace of mind. I lay on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. After watching that godforsaken display, I felt like I was going to lose it.
Once enough time had passed and I'd calmed down, I picked up the phone and checked the game again. The bottom of the first was over. Top of the second. It was 0–0. Amazingly, they had gotten through the inning without giving up a run.
Right. The other team had just gotten lucky. Triple plays didn't happen every day — you needed the heavens themselves to intervene. If anything, you could argue that the Eagles' bats had been ferocious enough to load the bases in the first place.
So I watched the top of the second with a flicker of hope.
Grounder right at the second baseman. Fly out to right. Strikeout. The entire inning was over in exactly four minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Three up, three down.
"Aw, hell."
So much for hope. This was why you never watched an Eagles game with expectations. The instant you dared to hope, they repaid you — with supernatural timing — with the most boneheaded baseball imaginable. You had to watch with your mind completely empty. If they gave up runs, you shrugged. If they scored, you took that and were grateful. That was the only way to keep your blood pressure down.
That was the mindset every Eagles fan was supposed to cultivate. And that was why Eagles fans were called Bodhisattvas.
I renewed my vows as an Eagles fan and kept watching.
Kim Minjeong, the Eagles' pitcher, took the mound. Her ponytail streamed through the hole in her cap as she fired the ball.
Pop!
Walk. Off to an uneasy start.
Crack—!
A single. First and second, nobody out.
Crack—
Fly out to left, but the runner on second tagged up. Now first and third.
I watched the next at-bat with my heart in my throat. A flat, lifeless breaking ball drifted toward the heart of the zone.
Crack—!
And by some stroke of luck, the ball caught the upper half of a bat the hitter had swung with everything she had, and dropped straight into the first baseman's glove. While the runner on first flailed, caught going the wrong way, the first baseman stepped on the bag for the double play.
The batter scowled and trudged back to the dugout. She'd guessed right — but the breaking ball hadn't broken as much as she'd expected, so she couldn't square it up. The pitch had been read, and yet the Eagles escaped a scoring threat because the breaker had been too flat to hit well. That irony.
That was the Eagles, through and through.
I was right in the middle of locking in on the game when someone knocked.
Knock-knock.
"Yes!"
"Beomjun. It's Manager Gwak Hyeona. May I come in?"
I sat up and answered.
"Come in!"
The door opened, and Manager Gwak Hyeona stepped inside. Dark brown hair in waves. Black dolphin shorts and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. She'd clearly changed into something comfortable. I caught a glimpse of a black bra through the white fabric and dropped my eyes for a second.
She got a little too comfortable.
"May I sit?"
Gwak Hyeona pointed to the chair off to one side.
"Yes. Please, sit."
"Thank you."
She sat down with a polite little bow. I wondered when I'd ever see a different expression on her face. That constant poker face made her genuinely hard to deal with.
"Dinner was delicious."
"Thank you."
"We're the ones who should be thanking you. It's been a long time since we had a real meal."
I couldn't tell if she actually meant it. She said she was grateful without a single change in her expression, so the feeling just... didn't come through. Then again, if I asked whether she really meant it, I'd probably get hit. Not with a fist — with her eyes. And that would hurt more.
"Ah. Yes, ma'am."
So I just nodded.
Gwak Hyeona pressed on without missing a beat.
"How was today?"
"Today...?"
"Yes. You've been living in a house full of women for a week now. Nothing that's been making you uncomfortable?"
I thought about it for a moment, then answered.
"Not really, I don't think..."
"Really?"
"Yes. Ah! There is one thing."
"Oh? What is it?"
For a split second, Gwak Hyeona's eyes lit up. Was I imagining it, or had the corner of her mouth twitched upward? The unfamiliar expression made me shrink back.
"Ah, well. There aren't enough cooking utensils, so it's hard to, uh, cook...?"
The more I talked, the more her face settled back into that blank mask, and my voice got smaller and smaller. Had I said something wrong? Was she upset because I'd criticized their kitchen? She didn't seem like the type. I shut my mouth and watched her carefully. I didn't think I'd said anything wrong, but I felt guilty anyway.
"Whatever's missing, we'll buy it tomorrow. Yeram will take care of it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Gwak Hyeona had slipped right back into professional mode. I nodded at her even, matter-of-fact tone.
"......"
"......"
And that was the end of the conversation. I snuck glances at Gwak Hyeona, who was just sitting there staring at me in silence. If she had something to say, she should say it. Sitting there with her mouth shut, just looking at me — it was weird.
I needed to watch the game.
Amazingly, it was 1–1 through six innings. While the Bears' pitcher had been attacking the zone with sharp, efficient stuff, the Eagles had been grinding it out, barely holding on. Exhibit A: the Bears' pitcher, Stock, was at sixty-eight pitches. Kim Minjeong was at ninety-eight. She'd probably been pulled by now. I was dying to know what the score was.
"Was there anything else you needed?"
An Eagles fan can only take so much. I looked Gwak Hyeona dead in the eye.
If you're done, get out. I have a game to watch. You can be as scary as you want — you are not getting between me and baseball.
She held my gaze, then slowly opened her mouth.
"No. I just came to ask if you were uncomfortable with anything."
So she was done, then. So why wasn't she getting up? Why was she still just sitting there? Her inexplicable behavior was starting to make me genuinely uncomfortable.
"Then perhaps you should—"
"I've been on my feet all day, so my legs hurt. Would it be all right if I sat for a bit before I go?"
Oh. That was it? Then she should have said so from the start. Why sit there in total silence and make a person uncomfortable?
"Sure. Then I'll just do my own thing."
"Please, make yourself comfortable. Pretend I'm not even here."
Gwak Hyeona leaned back against the chair, like she fully intended to settle in and rest. Were her legs really that bad? Bad enough that she couldn't even walk the short distance to her own room?
The thought crossed my mind, but the house was big. It was possible. She'd been on her feet all day for the shoot — her calves were probably swollen. I'd done my share of ruck marches. I knew that feeling. The desperate need to sit down somewhere, anywhere. Even a few steps required a real act of will. Unlike Choi Yeram or me, the filming staff had been walking around all day. Of course her legs hurt.
"Would you like to lie down? I'll take the chair."
"No, sitting is plenty."
No, it wasn't. If she stayed sitting, the blood wouldn't circulate properly and she wouldn't recover. Worried, I stood up.
"Lie down. I'll sit."
"No, I'm really fine."
"Well, I'm not fine with it. You've been standing all day. At least lie down while you're here."
I gestured for her to lie down. When she still didn't get up, I took her by the hand and pulled.
"Wha— no, I'm really okay—"
Gwak Hyeona came along without any resistance at all. I guided her onto the bed.
"Rest as long as you need, then go."
"Ah... yes. Thank you."
She thanked me with a flustered look on her face. It was the first real change of expression I'd seen from her since this morning, when she'd been looking at Choi Yeram like the woman was a lost cause.
"Anyway. I need to watch the game."
"Baseball...?"
I grabbed my phone and sat in the chair. I turned my back to her — rest easy, don't mind me — and switched on the screen.
"Augh, come on."
They were losing. Still, only two runs. Totally reversible. I propped my phone on the desk and prayed.
Please. Just take the lead.
What is going on?
Lying on the bed, Gwak Hyeona stared at Park Beomjun's back.
He was different. Different from ordinary men.
Men were territorial. They got wary when someone encroached on their space. The moment this room had been given to Park Beomjun, it had become his territory, and he ought to have been on guard against any interloper who refused to leave. Gwak Hyeona had been trying to read him through that. An invader who wouldn't leave his "territory," using sore legs as an excuse. How would he react when she made him uncomfortable?
Gwak Hyeona was a manager. She had to get a read on people, even if it meant doing things like this. That was how she protected Choi Yeram. The fact that Yeram had grown this far without a single scandal was thanks to efforts like these — that meticulousness, down to vetting the character of a collab partner. It was also the reason Choi Yeram, Nellka, had filmed We Got Married content more than once and was still single.
"Ah, come on!"
And that was the Park Beomjun that Gwak Hyeona was watching now — the one getting annoyed at a baseball game. He'd clicked his tongue, then glanced back at her, as if checking whether he'd disturbed her rest. When she waved that she was fine, he went right back to watching.
What on earth is he?
He was a type of man she'd never encountered before. His territory had been invaded, the interloper had stretched out her legs — and Park Beomjun had given up the bed. He'd been worried about her sore legs and told her to lie down and rest easy. Thanks to that, she was resting comfortably. She just couldn't understand it. How could anyone be like that? How could he be kind to someone as expressionless and emotionally opaque as her?
"A hit! Yes!"
Gwak Hyeona had dealt with plenty of men in her time. She could not, for the life of her, understand the one sitting there watching baseball like none of this was strange at all.