At that moment, Hyeon-myeong hurriedly reached out to stop her. Yu-yeon pulled back, leaving a prominent set of tooth marks in the bun, and bit off only half of what she had originally intended. As a result, her first mouthful had yielded nothing of the sweet red bean paste—she had merely torn away a piece of the outer crust.
To eat red bean bread and miss the filling entirely!
That was an insult to the bun itself, so Yu-yeon parted her lips again. But his scolding beat her to it.
Good grief. He was an even worse nag than her father.
He even began counting along with the rhythm of her chewing.
Desperate to reach the red bean filling as quickly as possible, Yu-yeon nibbled at frantic speed with her front teeth.
Watching her try to cut corners, he couldn’t maintain the count and burst into laughter.
Too focused to join in his amusement, Yu-yeon made her second advance.
Chomp. At last, a mouthful of sweet red bean paste filled her mouth.
Yes. This was the taste.
His counting was no longer necessary. Wearing a look of pure bliss, Yu-yeon took her time savoring what was inside her mouth. Chewing it felt like a waste, so she let it melt over the tip of her tongue instead.
Watching her in silence, Hyeon-myeong stepped back and took a seat by the table.
Four hours after her breakdown over OpenAI, peace had finally returned.
Yu-yeon mumbled around a mouthful when the round bun was down to its halfway mark.
No, I don’t. Not in the slightest.
The AI told me what to do.
Deciding it was best to keep that to himself, Hyeon-myeong rested his chin on one hand and covered his mouth. Looking at her lips moving as she chewed, and the round puff of her stuffed cheek, he had an urge to give it a playful bite.
Jeong-yeon, who had left school early to visit the hospital, spotted the caregiver Seo Ji-sook hovering in the hallway outside the room and walked up to her.
“…”
Ah…
A warm, motherly smile graced Seo Ji-sook’s kind face.
Jeong-yeon fell into step beside the caregiver with the suggestion. After a brief hesitation, Ji-sook nodded.
It was the first time the two of them had walked through the park together. Despite it being so close, they hadn't shared a single walk there over the past two years.
It was also their first time being together with light, unburdened hearts.
Taking in the brilliant rows of blooming trees stretching from the park entrance, Ji-sook let out a soft exclamation.
It was a spring blooming for everyone.
Even though I tried to save it, it’s already gone…
I want another one…
Having chewed every last bite thoroughly, Yu-yeon stared down at the empty plastic wrapper and sighed.
It had taken ten whole minutes just to eat a single bun smaller than her palm.
A treat like this used to take a minute flat to wolf down and digest.
Having sat quietly without doing a single thing the entire time she ate, he asked.
The man seemed to possess both the leniency of a counselor and the sternness of a drill sergeant. His cool gaze—signaling that 'one more' was out of the question—nipped the tiny sprout of her greed right in the bud.
Come to think of it, he had brought only a single bun from the very start.
A man who played so hard to get even over taking a single photo had traded his precious time just to bring her a single pastry.
Treated with such generous hospitality, she resolved that even if she ended up with an upset stomach today, she wouldn’t lay the blame on him.
With an adequate rush of sugar in her veins, the world looked curiously different. Even the shock the AI had dealt her felt a little easier to bear.
Where a vague sorrow once sat, acceptance of technological change and determination for the future now took root.
It’ll be tough, but I’ll take it one step at a time. Having plenty of hurdles to clear isn’t a bad thing. Each one I overcome will feel that much more rewarding.
Thinking positively, Yu-yeon calmly organized her upcoming tasks in her head. In the midst of that, Optimum Path drifted back to the front of her mind.
In an instant, the atmosphere turned chilly.
Hyeon-myeong asked, his gaze sharpening all at once.
As if the scene had abruptly shifted genres, his expression had completely changed, making her falter.
Yu-yeon babbled out an answer without even understanding why she was making excuses. Yet Hyeon-myeong’s narrowed, disapproving eyes remained fixed on her.
“So, if he had an unavoidable circumstance, you’d forgive him? It's already happened; do you really think Do Yong-tae will tell you the truth?”
Do Yong-tae would try to bury the truth. He would make desperate excuses.
Everything Hyeon-myeong refrained from saying was packed into his needle-sharp glare. Yu-yeon bit her lip.
“…”
Driven into a corner and defending herself, a sudden surge of grievance welled up in Yu-yeon's eyes.
It was completely baffling, too.
Who does this man think he is? I'm not the kind of person to shrink back like this in front of anyone.
I’m the victim here. And what’s with that look, like he despises Do Yong-tae even more than I do?
When Yu-yeon fired back without backing down, Hyeon-myeong’s eyes narrowed in displeasure.
Why bring the red bean bun into this?!
Yu-yeon's jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. But that brought an abrupt end to their argument. She had already accepted and eaten the bun, and she couldn’t spit it back up, leaving her without a comeback.
Ugh, so unfair.
This was why bribes were so dangerous.
Hyeon-myeong lectured her coolly, pressing a glass of water into her hand.
Pouting, Yu-yeon drank the water. After draining the glass and letting out a deep sigh, she spoke again.
Taking the glass from her hand, Hyeon-myeong gave a nod, silently telling her to go ahead.
“…”
Yu-yeon wanted to pursue what Choi Hyeon-myeong had brought up during his last visit.
He had said it casually, and seemed not to have paid it any further mind since, but Yu-yeon couldn’t help turning it over in her head.
Why had this man helped her for so long? The unresolved question had been weighing on her mind the entire time.
And so, she felt she needed to address it at least once.
If Yu-yeon's hunch was correct, he was the kind of person who shouldered several times more responsibility than what his actions called for.
Having tossed out the question, Yu-yeon carefully studied Hyeon-myeong’s expression. There was no dramatic shift, but she could tell that the faint smile he always wore had vanished.
Do you feel guilty because you met me on the day of my accident?
Do you feel indebted in some way because you couldn’t hold on to me a little longer?
Are you blaming yourself for failing to properly stop Do Yong-tae from stealing my program in time?
If so, you really are far too kind.
It seemed she had struck a nerve. His face, which had seemed quietly lost in thought, twisted almost imperceptibly.
Yu-yeon softened her expression, hoping it would put him more at ease.
After that, he remained frozen in that posture for a long time. The silence stretched out unexpectedly. Just as Yu-yeon resolved to say something to break it, his quiet voice broke the still air.
“…”
Yu-yeon nodded hastily. Hyeon-myeong rose from his seat and strode toward the door.
Yu-yeon called after his broad back. Hyeon-myeong paused for a moment before moving forward again and opening the door.