CHAPTER 48…………………..
Supported by Chohee, Dowoon stepped inside the main gate of the Gwang-an residence.
“Wait. Let’s not use the front door—let’s go through the back.”
“The back door?”
“I don’t want to cause a commotion. And your hand, too.”
“My hand?”
Chohee looked down. Her hand was smeared thick with red blood. She had pressed it against his wound to stop the bleeding.
He had lost this much blood.
It didn’t feel real. Biting her lip hard, Chohee forced herself to stay conscious.
If she were to faint here, there would be no one left to support Dowoon.
Fortunately, there were no servants near the back entrance. Keeping their presence as quiet as possible, Chohee helped Dowoon up to the second floor.
As soon as they entered the room, the strength seemed to leave his legs. He grabbed the bed and collapsed onto it.
“Mr. Dowoon!”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are. Stay here for a moment—I’ll call a doctor.”
As she hurried to leave, Dowoon caught her hand. Perhaps it was instinctive; he quickly let go.
“There’s a medical kit in the drawer of my desk in the study. Please bring it.”
“What if you die like this?”
“I won’t die from something like this.”
Chohee bit her lip. It seemed impossible to break his stubborn refusal to go to a hospital. Arguing further would only delay treating his wound.
“Fine. Wait here.”
She seated him on the bed and rushed out, steadying her trembling hands as she hurried down to the study.
She quickly found the box of medical supplies in the desk drawer.
How badly must he have been hurt before, to keep something like this in his desk?
Suppressing her complicated thoughts, she grabbed the box. After filling a basin with cold water in the washroom, she hurried back to the master bedroom.
Dowoon was still sitting where she had left him. But the knife that had been lodged in his side was gone, and he seemed feverish now, breathing heavily.
“Mr. Dowoon—you pulled the knife out?”
Startled, Chohee pressed against his waist to stop the bleeding.
“The box. Give it to me.”
Dowoon opened it. Inside were suturing needles and thread, along with various bottles of medicine.
With practiced hands, he took out several pills, tilted his head back, and swallowed them.
Perhaps the painkillers were working; his breathing gradually steadied.
“That’s enough. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Take care of it? Don’t tell me—”
Was he telling her to leave?
Chohee frowned and shook her head. No matter what he said, she had no intention of going anywhere. She would stay by his side.
“You can’t do this alone. I’ll help.”
Chohee sat beside him. Though she tried to remain calm, her voice trembled.
This really isn’t that serious.
To reassure her, Dowoon spoke.
“It’s fine. It’s easier alone.”
“You won’t go to the hospital, you won’t let the servants come, and now you’re telling me to leave too? Why are you doing this to me?”
Her voice was thick with tears—half anger, half sobbing.
Dowoon couldn’t understand why she seemed so upset.
Seeing the moisture in her eyes, he felt a pang. He hoped she wouldn’t cry at the sight of his blood. Yet contrary to his feelings, cold words slipped from his mouth.
“There’s nothing good for you to see.”
He needed to suture the wound. Sewing flesh together—no matter how strong one’s stomach was—it wasn’t a pleasant sight. He didn’t want her to see it.
“Whether it’s pleasant or not, I’m not leaving.”
But Chohee was firm. Her hands moved toward the buttons of his shirt.
What is she doing?
Unable to grasp her intention, he failed to stop her in time. She began undoing the buttons one by one.
“W-wait.”
It was unexpectedly bold. Though her skin hadn’t touched his, he felt the presence of her fingers gripping the fabric.
Only then did Dowoon come to his senses and catch her hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
But Chohee brushed him aside and continued unbuttoning.
With the third button undone, his chest was revealed.
“Stay still. You need to take off your clothes to treat it!”
“I’ll undress myself.”
“You’re injured—just stay still. I’ll do it.”
Out of context, their exchange could have sounded like something intimate between lovers.
“W-wait—”
But before he could protest again, the final button popped open.
Realizing that he was baring himself before a woman—before Chohee—for the first time, his body grew hot. It wasn’t good for his fever to rise any further.
Yet it seemed he was the only one having such thoughts.
Chohee, clearly frightened, stared at the wound at his waist between the parted shirt.
Her large eyes filled with tears.
Is she crying?
Without thinking, Dowoon raised a hand toward her eyes.
“Ah-choo!”
Just as his hand was about to touch her, Chohee sneezed.
Ah.
Embarrassed, he withdrew his hand.
He thought she was crying—it was only a sneeze.
After all, she had no reason to cry for him. They weren’t truly husband and wife. There was no love between them.
Dowoon gave a bitter smile.
What should I do? It’s deeper than I thought.
She barely held back the tears threatening to spill over.
Forcing out a sneeze was the only way to stop them.
When she pulled back his shirt and saw the wound, she felt devastated.
His flesh was deeply torn, blood soaking through. How could he remain so calm with a wound like this?
It’s because of me.
If she hadn’t pushed him to save Park Jin…
Suppressing her self-blame, Chohee carefully cleaned around the wound. Wiping away the blood wasn’t enough.
“It’s deep. It needs stitches.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You’ll do it yourself?”
Chohee’s eyes widened. Even a paper cut hurt—how could he stitch up a wound this large himself?
“I’ve done it a few times before. This is nothing—”
“A few times?”
“Ah.”
Dowoon gave a dry laugh and shook his head.
“When you do business as a Joseon man, all sorts of things happen. You run into yakuza. Getting stabbed a few times isn’t such a big deal.”
Chohee inhaled sharply. How many times had that happened?
Only then did she really see his bare upper body. Normally she would have looked away in embarrassment at his broad chest and defined abdomen, but now her gaze fell elsewhere.
His body was covered in scars. Slashes and stab marks everywhere—his words hadn’t been an exaggeration.
“Why… why do you have so many scars?”
Without realizing it, she reached out to touch them. Dowoon flinched but did not push her away.
Why push yourself this far?
The independence fighters—why were they all so willing to risk their lives?
Her brother. Shinsil. Dowoon. And Park Jin. Why were they all so blindly devoted?
She couldn’t understand.
Why don’t you take care of yourself?
An uncontrollable anger rose within her.
She wanted to lash out and ask him why.
“…How long do you plan to keep touching me?”
“What?”
Chohee snapped back to her senses. Startled by his scarred body, one hand had been resting on his chest, the other tracing his abdomen.
“Ah!”
She immediately withdrew both hands.
“I—I’m sorry! I was startled—”
“To satisfy your personal desires in front of an injured man. I’m disappointed.”
Her face flushed red, while Dowoon lifted the corner of his lips in a teasing smile.
“You’re joking at a time like this?”
Chohee snapped.
He laughed softly.
“If I can joke, it means I’m fine. So don’t worry.”
“Hearing you talk nonsense like that, maybe you really are fine. Let’s stitch the wound quickly.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
As he reached for the tools, she swiftly snatched them away.
“I may not be good at embroidery, but I’m not so useless that I’d let you stitch yourself up!”
“That’s not it. I just didn’t want to make you do something like this.”
“You got hurt because of me!”
Chohee bit her lip.
“So let me do it. Please.”
Her voice was almost pleading. After a moment, Dowoon reluctantly nodded.
“Alright… I’m in your hands.”
Never in her life had Chohee been so focused. With careful movements, she began stitching his wound, one careful stitch at a time.
Even with the painkillers, it must have hurt. Yet Dowoon didn’t let out a single groan.
Like a man made of steel.
But Chohee knew he was enduring it for her sake.
When she finished, Dowoon finally exhaled in relief.
“For now, get some sleep.”
She placed a hand on his forehead. The fever had lowered somewhat, but he was still hot.
His eyes were losing focus.
“If you sleep well, you’ll feel better.”
She offered a faint reassuring smile.
Soon, his breathing grew steady.
Though he had fallen into a deep sleep, Dowoon slowly opened his eyes at the sound of someone sobbing.
Night had already fallen thick outside.
He must have slept three or four hours. The medicine still left him hazy.
“Mm…”
He turned his gaze toward the source of the sound. Chohee, sitting by the bedside, was crying.
Seeing her filled with tears for the first time, he was startled and reached out—then pulled his hand back.
If she was crying, it had to be a dream.
He let out a faint laugh.
It couldn’t be real. Chohee wouldn’t cry.
Lately, she had appeared in his dreams every night. So this must be another dream.
“…Don’t cry.”
“W-what?”
Chohee stopped crying and looked at him.
“You’re awake?”
“No. This is a dream.”
“…This is a dream?”
“Why are you crying?”
“I was grieving your recklessness and my foolishness.”
She smiled through her tears. It was a forced, sorrowful smile.
He wanted to wipe her tears away. He lifted his hand and gently brushed her tear-stained cheek.
“If this is a dream… may I ask you something?”
“Ask.”
Dowoon swallowed.
This was the only chance to ask a question too embarrassing to voice while fully conscious.
“You… what is your relationship with Park Jin?”
At that, Chohee’s eyes narrowed.
