Sponsorship Stigma
Chapter 33
33. Jiwoo’s Universe
A cool autumn breeze blew between the two standing across from Jeheon.
Short strands of hair fluttered in the wind.
The sudden gust sent a resonance echoing deep through her chest, as if sweeping across the core of her heart.
“Just say the word. You’re always welcome to stay in Seoul.”
A glint shone in Jeheon’s eyes as he gazed at Yeonjae.
An unreadable smile played around his lips, as though something amused him.
Though she knew it was a throwaway remark without any real weight, Yeonjae felt an odd flutter.
Was it because today had felt unusually long? Because so much had happened?
Just as her thoughts began to spiral deeper—
“I have… no intention of doing that.”
A small voice slipped between Yeonjae’s slightly parted lips.
It was a voice tangled with a sigh.
“Then you’d better hurry.”
Jeheon tilted his chin toward the train station.
“Or you’ll miss your train.”
With those words, Jeheon walked briskly toward the station entrance.
One hand supported Jiwoo’s bottom, while the other cradled the nape of the child’s neck.
Stepping onto the escalator, Yeonjae stood one step above Jeheon and looked down at the two of them.
He couldn't have had any experience holding a child before.
Yet nestled in his arms, Jiwoo looked completely at ease.
So deeply asleep that the descent down the escalator didn’t stir him in the slightest.
It was an unfamiliar sight.
Jiwoo sleeping soundly in someone else’s arms like that.
And for that someone to be Jeheon.
Lately, Jiwoo had grown quite a bit.
Ever since he was a baby, Jiwoo hated being apart from Yeonjae’s arms.
Unless he was asleep, he always wanted to be held by Yeonjae—whether she was eating or going to the bathroom.
Now that he had grown, she could no longer carry him like she used to.
She had known that her physical limits as a mother would catch up to her eventually.
Seeing Jiwoo cradled in Jeheon’s arms made those limits hit home.
A child who felt so heavy to Yeonjae was held effortlessly by Jeheon.
‘That’s something I won’t be able to give him going forward.’
Today, once again, Yeonjae felt the absence of the child’s father.
She had felt it countless times over the past five years, but it had never struck her with such vivid clarity.
Overwhelmed by a strange mix of emotions, Yeonjae lowered the hand resting near her chest.
When they first met again at the recital, an awkward tension had hung between them.
Yet as time passed, that uncomfortable air seemed to gradually thin out.
Stepping off the escalator, the train waiting on the platform came into view.
Less than five minutes remained until departure. Checking the seat number on Yeonjae’s ticket, Jeheon boarded the train.
Passing through the automatic doors revealed rows of seats stretching along both sides.
The car was already packed with passengers settled into their places.
Jeheon set Jiwoo down in the very front row, by the window seat.
The boy did not wake, even as he was placed in the seat.
He mumbled something softly in his sleep before drifting right back under.
“Jung Jiwoo really doesn't wake up once, does he?”
Straightening his slightly rumpled dress shirt, Jeheon drew himself up from where he had been bending over.
Then, feeling warm, he unfastened his cufflinks and rolled his sleeves up to his forearms.
“Jiwoo sleeps deeply. Once he’s out, he rarely wakes up.”
“Good. Just like a kid should.”
At the announcement that the train would depart soon, Jeheon turned around.
Yeonjae set her luggage down in the seat beside Jiwoo and followed after Jeheon.
A train attendant boarded. Just as Jeheon took a step toward the exit stairs—
“Goo Jeheon-ssi.”
Pausing midway through his descent, Jeheon turned halfway around.
“Thank you. For getting the tickets… and for carrying the sleeping Jiwoo all the way here.”
Yeonjae looked up, and her eyes locked with Jeheon’s. It was a gaze so direct it was almost overwhelming.
At first, Yeonjae used to love that look that held only her.
The only moments she could have him entirely to herself. When he looked at her, it felt as though she were his whole world, and she had loved that.
Ever since their reunion at the preschool, however, that gaze had felt burdensome.
It felt as though he could see right through her inner thoughts, making it hard to meet his eyes.
So she had avoided his gaze, but right now, she was fine.
Whether that was because she had let her guard down, or because she was simply exhausted from the long day, she wasn't sure.
“Jiwoo was so happy today. Thanks to you, he made great memories.”
It had been far more ordinary of a day than she had feared, and the child had smiled and been joyful all day long.
Since Jeheon had made this day possible, she wanted to express her gratitude.
The man, who had been watching her quietly, parted his lips.
“How was it for you?”
It wasn't a difficult question, yet Yeonjae found herself at a loss for words.
Ever since Jiwoo was born, Yeonjae had never considered herself.
Had there ever been a time when her own day mattered? Her life revolved entirely around her child.
With that single, casual question he tossed out, the events of today stacked neatly in her mind.
Seoul for the first time in five years.
Visiting department stores and cafés she used to frequent when she lived here.
Playing the piano in front of an audience again after such a long time—together with Jiwoo.
Recalling her past memories as a pianist for a fleeting moment while watching the recital, and becoming a proud mother to her child.
Even if there had been a near-crisis at the restaurant.
“It wasn't bad, I suppose.”
It hadn't been a bad day for Yeonjae either. Unlike how it had begun, weighed down by endless worries and anxieties.
“So it was good, then.”
Jeheon easily summed up her layered reflection on the day.
“That’s not quite what I meant.”
“It amounts to the same thing.”
A faint, helpless smile touched Yeonjae’s lips.
Watching her quietly, Jeheon spoke once more.
“Zepkin said that if Jiwoo doesn't have a teacher, he’d like to introduce one.”
“A teacher? Why?”
Her eyes rounded at the unexpected news.
There was no reason for a famous pianist like Zepkin to take an interest in Jiwoo.
“You said you didn't want Jiwoo learning from my mother. So I asked Zepkin to find someone.”
“……”
“My mother has no connection to Zepkin, so you don't have to worry.”
Yeonjae fidgeted with her tightly clasped hands.
Seeing Jeheon speak with such unwavering sincerity in his steady gaze, his earnestness reached her.
Perhaps that was why, strangely, she didn't feel the same resistance as before.
Whether it was because Jiwoo wanted to join the foundation so desperately,
or because she had finally entered a stage of resignation after Jeheon’s persistent overtures, she couldn't tell.
“…I’m not sure. I know it’s a wonderful opportunity, but I’m still worried.”
Just thinking about Myunghee made her shrink back in fear; the terror remained unchanged.
She couldn't be certain if joining the foundation was truly all right.
The abuse had stemmed from Myunghee.
If there was no point of contact with her, just as he said, maybe it would be fine.
She couldn't keep hiding behind vague words to explain her aversion to the foundation forever.
As if finally making up her mind, Yeonjae’s lips, which had been trembling for a long while, slowly parted.
“Actually… I was scolded severely by the Director. Very harshly……. I was humiliated, and hi—…”
She couldn't bring herself to say she was beaten, so Yeonjae snapped her mouth shut.
At her silence, Jeheon’s brows twitched slightly, and he climbed back up the steps he had just descended.
Before long, their eyes met at level height.
As the distance closed, their locked gazes intertwined even deeper.
Expecting him to look shocked, Yeonjae found Jeheon’s eyes surprisingly calm.
“Jung Yeonjae. The foundation you were at and the foundation Jiwoo will belong to are different.”
Countless people brushed past the train.
Even amidst the clamor of trains arriving and departing, Jeheon’s voice rang crystal clear.
“My mother has no place in Jiwoo’s world.”
A voice as resolute as his steady gaze struck a chord in Yeonjae’s heart.
“I promise you that.”
Her lips trembled, unable to close.
As the moment stretched between them, the voice of the attendant approaching from behind reached their ears.
“Excuse me, sir, our train needs to depart now.”
Jeheon’s gaze pulled away from Yeonjae. Following the attendant’s guidance, he stepped off the train.
The train doors slid shut, and the carriage quickly gained momentum, starting to move.
Yeonjae belatedly looked out the window. Thinking he would have walked away by now, she saw Jeheon still standing right where he had disembarked, watching the train.
‘Can I really trust him?’
He was unmistakably different from his past self, who had despised her unconditionally as a lowborn sponsored student.
The man she had reunited with did not push Yeonjae away indiscriminately—at least not now.
At times, he was even so considerate it made her wonder why he was doing all this.
Perhaps that was why hope kept trying to take root deep within her heart.
If it was a foundation where Jeheon was present, maybe things would be different.
‘Maybe…’
Maybe this man could protect Jiwoo.
* * *
Returning to her seat, she found the child asleep, leaning against the window.
Unlike Jiwoo, who was fast asleep in dreamland, Yeonjae couldn't sleep all the way until they reached Daejeon.
Alternating between looking at the sleeping Jiwoo and staring blankly into empty space, she found that they had arrived in Daejeon before she knew it.
“Jiwoo. We have to get off now, we’re in Daejeon.”
“Mm? Daejeon?”
Rubbing his eyes as he woke, Jiwoo’s eyes widened at the sight of Daejeon Station outside the window.
Gathering their bags, she took the child’s hand and stepped off the train.
There, she ran into Hyekyung and Seoha stepping out from the adjacent carriage.
“Jiwoo’s mom, we’ll head out first! We had so much fun today.”
“Daddy came to pick Seoha up, you know!”
“You should say goodbye first, Seoha.”
“Goodbye, Auntie! Bye-bye!”
Seoha and Hyekyung hurried off toward the escalator with quick steps.
Once the chatty mother and daughter disappeared, silence settled over the surroundings.
Hearing that Seoha’s dad had come to pick her up, Yeonjae felt slightly self-conscious on Jiwoo’s behalf and gently guided his hand.
“Jiwoo, isn’t it amazing that you closed your eyes and opened them to find we’re in Daejeon?”
Jiwoo looked up intently at Yeonjae, then nodded.
“Yeah, it’s amazing. But Seoul was nice.”
Regret lingered on Jiwoo’s face as he mumbled his response.
Though they had left for Seoul early in the morning and returned late at night, it seemed it hadn't been enough for him.
“What did Jiwoo like the most today?”
At Yeonjae’s question, Jiwoo fell deep into thought. So much so that he even stopped walking.
Looking down at him, Yeonjae offered a soft smile.
“Was it Zepkin’s performance after all?”
The idol of a five-year-old.
He had loved it so much that he couldn't take his eyes off the stage the entire time, so that was probably the answer.
Jiwoo looked up and met Yeonjae’s eyes.
Then, he slowly shook his head at her.
“Playing the piano with Mommy.”
At the child’s quiet words, Yeonjae’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Jiwoo liked that the very most. I want to play again!”
The child smiled, his eyes curving into lovely crescents.
Pure affection without a single trace of pretense washed over her, making Yeonjae’s chest tickle with warmth.
Enough to make the tip of her nose sting with impending tears.
Could there ever be anyone else who needed and loved her this much?
The saying that a child’s universe is their mother suddenly crossed her mind.
Jiwoo’s universe was Yeonjae.
Not the piano, and not Zepkin.
