The next day.
Having succumbed to the pressure from her younger sister—who, over the course of two years and four months, had turned into an absolute taskmaster—Yu-yeon sent the text message to Choi Hyeon-myeong and quietly waited for four in the afternoon.
She was told to apologize, so apologize she would.
She had no choice.
The grace Choi Hyeon-myeong had shown her was simply impossible to dismiss.
During the two years and four months she spent in a coma, Yu-yeon had consistently received the finest medical care, all under his patronage.
Highly skilled caregivers licensed in physical therapy took turns mobilizing her joints several times a day to prevent contractures and promote circulation. The hospital steadily administered electrical stimulation therapy to slow the rate of muscle atrophy. They also gave their utmost attention to nutritional management through intravenous feeds.
Beyond this, Choi Hyeon-myeong provided countless forms of support so that Yu-yeon might regain consciousness as soon as possible.
After completing various tests, the doctor shared these hopeful prospects with an immensely satisfied look, his face suggesting a medical paper was already writing itself in his head.
Yu-yeon still felt as if she hadn’t woken from her dream. Everything happening around her felt surreal—and Choi Hyeon-myeong’s appearance most of all.
Everything that man had done for her seemed explicable only as love—or squandering money just because he could.
If not burning through cash, then love.
That was why none of it made sense.
Even if he had fallen for her two years and four months ago, could someone stay this devoted over a single passing infatuation? Not when her own boyfriend, whom she had supported for three and a half years, had run off?
‘Wait, maybe having that much money makes it possible?’
Could he have sponsored her the way people volunteer, like helping the less fortunate?
Was it just burning money after all?
Whatever the case, once she learned what had happened over those two years and four months, she felt ashamed and guilty for screaming at him.
‘Why did he have to come by so early in the first place? He should have visited after I heard the whole story…’
Chastened, Yu-yeon gave serious thought to how best to offer a polite apology.
In truth, with every breath she took, she could not help remembering Choi Hyeon-myeong’s generosity. Yesterday, merely lifting her head had been an ordeal, but today faint strength gathered in her neck, and she could twitch her fingers. While moving her arms freely was still out of reach, leaving her without the strength to lift a spoon, simply leaning back against the bed at a thirty-degree angle without collapsing was immense progress.
So she had to thank him. And then she had to ask—why he had shown her such kindness.
In a way, it was a relief to have something to occupy her mind.
Whenever she lay still and idle, thoughts of her father completely consumed her. It felt as though he might push the door open at any second, asking with a booming laugh why she was still lying around like this. She had to accept that he was no longer here, yet the mere thought of accepting it brought an easy wave of emptiness and helplessness.
She could hardly have endured it otherwise, so having something else to think about was the only reason she held together.
Time moved quickly, and soon four in the afternoon arrived.
Around 4:01, accompanied by a brief knock, the door swung open and Choi Hyeon-myeong walked in.
Recognizing him, the caregiver greeted him warmly first, and Hyeon-myeong bowed with polite deference in return.
He was a man whose towering height and imposing build made a perfectly spacious hospital room look like a cramped attic.
Taking the hint, the caregiver tactfully stepped aside and slipped out of the room.
Amid the silence, Hyeon-myeong took measured strides, rounding the bed to step deeper into the room.
‘Why come all the way over here when you have that whole open room?’
Yu-yeon was displeased with his movement, but she could not let her irritation show.
Yu-yeon greeted him in a meek, fading voice.
In the span of two years and four months, Choi Hyeon-myeong had risen from Director to Executive Director. When she addressed him by his new title to show she was aware of the change, a faint smile touched his lips.
With the arrogant expression of someone who already held every advantage, he crossed his arms.
‘Ah… I really don’t want to get involved with him…’
The memory of how he had been two years and four months ago lingered in Yu-yeon’s mind, making her hesitate at every word.
Hyeon-myeong let out a soft snort and took a seat. Yu-yeon faced him earnestly.
“…”
His lips curved into an enigmatic smile.
With each quiet breath he drew, the fabric of his dress shirt pulled taut beneath his suit, accentuating his solid chest.
Though he was merely breathing with ease, it felt bizarrely like a practiced temptation, which irritated Yu-yeon. As a result, it took her a moment to deliver the words she had prepared.
“…”
Apparently satisfied enough with her apology, Hyeon-myeong uncrossed his arms.
Unable to hold back any longer, Yu-yeon let her true feelings show.
Choi Hyeon-myeong’s expression turned solemn, as if he understood how she felt.
It seemed he, too, had come with words prepared.
His low, subdued voice weighed heavily enough to stifle Yu-yeon’s breath.
“…”
Yu-yeon could not comprehend what Hyeon-myeong was saying right away, only blinking in response.
“…”
Optimum Path was a program Yu-yeon had developed entirely on her own two years and four months ago. It was a sophisticated analytical system that achieved route optimization, something the industry at the time had considered unfeasible.
That fell into another company’s hands? How?
She could not make sense of his assertion at all.
Hyeon-myeong took out his phone and held it out before Yu-yeon’s eyes.
A few photos slid calmly across the phone’s screen. They were screen captures showing a system UI and implementation methods that looked remarkably similar to Optimum Path.
‘Even so, just because I made a great program doesn’t mean someone else couldn’t have had a similar idea…’
Despite the evidence Hyeon-myeong showed her, Yu-yeon could not easily accept his certainty.
Then, at the next photo Hyeon-myeong offered, Yu-yeon’s expression faltered. It was a screenshot of code.
A developer’s code shares similarities with a novelist’s sentences. Even with the same subject, code steeped in a developer’s experience and philosophy takes the form of distinctly different text.
Her personal coding style did not appear in the captured lines, but the continuous code preserved the exact logic of Optimum Path.
It was as if someone had copied and pasted her code, then deliberately stripped away only her stylistic habits—indentations, variable naming conventions, and commenting quirks.
Yu-yeon’s thoughts grew tangled.
She had never handed the source code over to any company. She had always been meticulous about security, so barring someone hacking into her email, that information could not have fallen into anyone else's hands.
The man continued his explanation. His low voice, resonant enough to shake the earth, gently grounded Yu-yeon’s unsettled mind.
Calmly, Hyeon-myeong set the final photograph before Yu-yeon. It was a patent certificate issued by the Korean Intellectual Property Office.
After reading its contents, Yu-yeon remained speechless for a long time.
[Title of Invention: Automated Optimal Movement Route Suggestion System for Reducing Travel Time
Patentee: Sim Pyeong-ho
Inventor: Do Yong-tae]
Only then did she remember handing Do Yong-tae the USB drive containing the program's original files.