Sponsorship Stigma
Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Shattered into Pieces
As she stepped outside, the breeze softly tickled the tip of Yeonjae’s nose.
Yeonjae walked toward the empty playground before coming to a halt.
When she stopped, the footsteps of the man following behind her ceased as well.
“What are you doing right now?”
When Yeonjae turned around, what met her eyes was not Jeheon, but an envelope.
Her gaze slid upward from the brown document envelope.
Instead of answering, Jeheon held the documents out to her.
A scoff formed on Yeonjae’s lips. When she made no move to take it, he pushed the documents forward as if prodding her.
“CEO Gu Jeheon, what on earth are you—”
“You can see for yourself.”
His voice, breaking a long silence, was flat and nonchalant. Just as calm and settled as his dark gaze.
A stark contrast to Yeonjae, whose emotions were steadily rising.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”
“Ha… A conversation?”
Yeonjae wiped a dry hand over her face, a hollow laugh escaping her.
“Never come looking for me again. I don’t have the slightest intention of getting entangled with you.”
The memory of him throwing her out of the Residence five years ago remained vivid.
A man who had dismissed everything she said as sophistry.
The hurtful words he had thrown at her—treating her like a woman dreaming of climbing the social ladder by exploiting him while he had lost his memories—quickly overwhelmed her mind.
After casting her out so coldly, why come back now of all times?
“You told me never to come looking for you again. You said you didn’t want to be entangled with me.”
The voice that parted Yeonjae’s lips was thick with muffled emotion.
The moment she saw Jeheon with Jiwoo, her heart had plummeted.
Fearing that he might have found out about Jiwoo’s existence and come to take her child away.
Myeonghee’s venomous, stinging face flashed before her eyes, abruptly reviving her dread.
She had resolved when she left the Foundation:
She would not harbor even the smallest lingering attachment toward Jeheon, nor cling foolishly to hope any longer.
Because that foolish hope might ultimately shatter the peaceful everyday life she shared with Jiwoo.
She had barely managed to hold herself together and survive—so why was he barging in so casually to shake her world?
Yeonjae swallowed down the surge of rising emotion.
“You know it too, CEO Gu. You make me deeply uncomfortable, and I don’t want to speak with you.”
At Yeonjae’s answer, bristling like a threatened hedgehog, a fleeting thought crossed his eyes.
“You’ve changed a lot.”
Jeheon’s lips, which had remained silent, parted slightly.
“But since I came here today for Jung Jiwoo, what choice do I have?”
Whatever emotion had flickered in his gaze lasted only a moment. As if it had never been there, his eyes settled back into calm indifference.
“I had no idea you were Jiwoo’s mother either. Quite an uncanny coincidence.”
At his brazen reply, the emotion Yeonjae had been holding back flared up in an instant.
“…I know that’s not true.”
Of all people, Gu Jeheon would never have come without looking into it first.
Perhaps Jeheon had stepped up personally precisely because he knew Yeonjae was Jiwoo’s guardian.
“You came because you knew it was me.”
Because Jung Yeonjae had always hung on Gu Jeheon’s every word.
Because she had chased after him so passionately that she would have feigned death if he had told her to die.
In Jeheon’s memory, Yeonjae remained trapped in the days of her unrequited love.
Perhaps he believed that if he showed up and shoved a contract in front of her, she wouldn’t be able to refuse.
“Your instincts are sharp as ever. That’s right. I came knowing it was you, Jung Yeonjae.”
Jeheon, standing a few paces away, began to move.
One step, two steps. As he closed the distance between them, Yeonjae swallowed hard.
“I called you.”
At the word called, Yeonjae’s eyes wavered helplessly.
And before she could even ask, his answer came:
“Five years ago.”
The day she was thrown out of Jeheon’s Residence and received the warning from Myeonghee.
After leaving her letter of resignation and vacating the studio apartment, Yeonjae had changed her phone number immediately.
She had wanted to completely sever all ties with Guil, which would not have been an exaggeration to call her entire life.
The face of Myeonghee when they last met was still vivid in her memory.
A woman whose obsession with having a grandchild bordered on fanaticism.
Once she decided to give birth to Jiwoo, Yeonjae refused to leave behind even the slightest risk factor.
Even as she cleared her contact list and changed her number, she had harbored no shred of expectation that Jeheon would ever call.
She had always believed that if an end ever came to their relationship, he would be the one to end it.
Because Yeonjae was the one who loved more.
Given Jeheon’s cold, incisive nature, she was certain he would walk away without a single backward glance.
‘And yet you called? You did?’
There was so much Yeonjae wanted to ask, but every question merely lingered on the tip of her tongue before dissolving away.
She wondered what would even change by asking now.
“Though I didn’t expect you’d change your number and vanish in the meantime.”
“…….”
“Of course, I’m not here to hash out stale old stories.”
Having closed the distance right up to her feet, the man halted.
Looking down at her, Jeheon’s eyes were transparent, without the slightest impurity. Perhaps that was why his heartless gaze showed through so unfiltered.
“The Foundation wants Jiwoo.”
He held out the envelope to Yeonjae once again.
“A place to live in Seoul, private tutoring, university tuition, study abroad expenses—we intend to support all costs leading up to his debut as a pianist.”
“…….”
“If you want, I’m also willing to support the return of your career as a pianist. You used to love playing the piano too.”
At those last words, Yeonjae’s shoulders flinched. At the mention of the piano, a scene painted itself before her eyes like a picture.
Memories of playing the piano together at the Residence.
Even Jeheon, who detested music, had loved Yeonjae’s playing.
Whenever she played, the man would lean against her waist and bury his face in her side—his breath, his body heat, every single moment was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
Because those were among the few truly happy memories in Yeonjae’s life.
She bit down on her lip.
“Jiwoo will reach the top. The Guil Foundation will make sure of it.”
She stared blankly at Jeheon as he continued speaking words that no longer registered in her ears.
Just as the look in his eyes shifted, perhaps puzzled by her unwavering stare,
Yeonjae inadvertently let slip the question she had been keeping swallowed down inside. It was irresistible.
“…What about your memories?”
A heavy, stifling silence hung between them.
Looking at Yeonjae, Jeheon’s brow furrowed slightly.
At their meeting gazes and the lengthening silence, Yeonjae swallowed a self-derisive laugh.
Even before hearing an answer, she felt as if she had already received it.
She clenched her fists tightly.
Her clenched fists turned pale, her fingernails pressing and digging into her palms.
“Then why are you making this kind of offer?”
As if asking why she was inquiring about something so obvious, his sleek brow twitched.
“You wouldn’t be asking about my personal circumstances. And if you’re asking about Jiwoo, does there need to be a reason?”
“…….”
“I’m simply offering to give wings befitting a genius.”
Yeonjae’s tightly shut lips refused to open.
Stepping closer to the frozen Yeonjae, the man kindly placed the document envelope into her hand.
“It looks like you’re raising the child on your own. Don’t struggle—just accept it. It’s better for you too.”
His gaze, which had swept down Yeonjae, pulled away.
As if his business were finished, Jeheon turned around.
And walking toward the sedan parked along the wall outside the kindergarten, the man paused.
“Ah, and.”
Turning around as if he had forgotten something, he added,
“Answer the phone this time.”
He began walking again.
Watching the man walk away, Yeonjae’s vision blurred.
* * *
Taking a deep breath in and out, Yeonjae opened the door.
And through the opening door of the counseling office, Jiwoo came into view, seated on a chair.
The boy, who seemed to have been talking with the teacher, whipped his head around.
Upon spotting Yeonjae, Jiwoo sprang up from his seat.
“Mom!”
Running over in a single breath, the boy leaped snugly into her arms.
Nuzzling his head against Yeonjae’s chest, the child looked up. His eyes darted about busily, scanning the surroundings.
“Did that mister go?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
A brief hint of disappointment showed on Jiwoo’s face.
Soon returning to normal, however, the child looked up at Yeonjae this time.
After staring intently at her in silence, he asked cautiously,
“Mom, did you cry? Your eyes are red.”
“No. I didn’t cry. Some dust just got into my eyes.”
Yeonjae needlessly rubbed at the tip of her nose.
Even though she had wiped away all her tears before entering, the child seemed to have noticed anyway.
He didn’t need to take after his father in being so perceptive.
Yeonjae pulled the corners of her mouth up as far as she could, giving a wide smile.
“Let’s go home, Jiwoo. Let’s go have a delicious dinner.”
“Pizza?”
“Do you want to eat pizza?”
Nodding repeatedly, Jiwoo reached his hand out to Yeonjae.
“Then we’ll have to pick up pizza on the way.”
“Yeah! Yay!”
Saying goodbye to the teacher, she left the kindergarten with Jiwoo.
Before she knew it, the surrounding buildings were bathed in the dark reddish glow of dusk.
Walking out of the alleyway with Jiwoo, Yeonjae headed toward their parked car.
Jiwoo, who was walking while holding her hand tightly, slowly came to a stop.
“Mom. But, why didn’t you tell me?”
At the small voice, Yeonjae bent her knees to meet Jiwoo at eye level.
Before she could even ask what he meant,
“A pianist is so cool.”
At the voice that came through clearly this time, Yeonjae’s heart gradually tightened.
“I wanted to tell everyone that my mom is cool too.”
Only then did she understand what Jiwoo was trying to say.
“Mom, what is your job?”
“A job?”
“Uh-huh. Teacher told us to ask! She said we’re going to present it tomorrow.”
In the past, it had been hard to answer when the child asked what her job was.
For the past five years, making a living through all kinds of part-time jobs, Yeonjae had no real career to speak of.
Because if it earned money, she did it, whether it was working at a restaurant or anything else.
After she became able to play the piano again, her circumstances improved a little, but that was all.
The title of pianist was too much of a luxury for Yeonjae.
“Jiwoo. Mom isn’t a pianist anymore.”
“Why?”
Pondering the meaning, Jiwoo blinked his eyes.
Just then, a gust of wind blew over where the two were standing.
Jet-black hair fluttering lightly.
The ink-black eyes showing through that hair reflected Yeonjae.
“Because you don’t like the piano?”
The child asked. With eyes that were the exact spitting image of that man’s.
