Chapter 10
“…I see.”
Yoon-ah felt hollow. She slumped back against the driver’s seat. Then the senior Do-hyun’s words from the welcome party came back clearly:
“Don’t like it? You sucked your doctor husband dry, then divorced to hunt younger guys at college, right?”
He had obviously read the divorce article, the social posts, and even the nasty comments. Using private bits the ex-husband had shared to build his “good family man” image, people invented any reason they wanted for the divorce:
“He said he fell for her at first sight when he was a public doctor. Guess she used his face and dumped him. A country girl bit a Seoul nerd who only knows studying.”
“Eight-year age gap means she was mid-20s. No kids—she wanted her own life. She couldn’t win a lawsuit, so she buttered him up for a settlement. Guess that ‘high-school grad brain’ worked overtime.”
Most comments were like that. It hurt so much it felt like her chest would tear—but to get the biggest possible settlement, she had to keep quiet as agreed. As a high-school-grad adoptee trying to stand on her own, she needed that money.
Because of one leaked wedding photo, some café customers sometimes recognized her and whispered. She had expected more people might find out someday—no “digital undertaker” can erase everything.
“…So that’s why everyone has been avoiding me.”
She hadn’t expected rumors to spread within a week of entering school. She’d thought the distance was about her age. She looked up at Seo-yeon and asked, tense:
“Then… did you talk to me because you pitied me? Or just out of curiosity?”
“What do you take me for?” Seo-yeon snorted. “Nansan looks big only to Gusan folks—it’s the same small world. My family runs motels. You think I haven’t seen the worst in people?”
“…”
“People who don’t know you just want something to gossip about. Their lives are boring. I wanted to pull you out of that mess—and you turned out sharp. ‘Daughter of Chungnam’? That makes you basically my big sis.”
“Big sis.” The words felt strange and warm. After years of living with a “family” that wasn’t, and a husband she’d have been better off without, she’d been utterly alone. The kindness pricked her eyes with tears—old pain mixing with relief.
“I’m sorry… sniff…”
“Hey, why are you crying? He’s the pig. Want me to expose that doctor jerk for you?”
No one had ever gotten angry on her behalf like this. It felt both refreshing and grateful. Tears rolled as Yoon-ah laughed.
Seo-yeon yanked tissues from the glove box and handed them over. Yoon-ah dabbed both eyes.
“Please… keep this to yourself, okay?”
“I got it. People’s mouths are cruel. You don’t need more of that.”
“Thank you.”
They got out, stacked boxes on a folding cart, grabbed the suitcase, and headed to the elevator.
“Are you really not dropping Understanding Korean Traditional Architecture?”
Gitae slurped from a to-go cup, walking beside Young-won.
Young-won only nodded.
Gitae sighed and shifted a paper bag to his other hand. “Well, it’s you. But for someone like me, going up against seasoned seniors in a report-only class? I’d get wrecked. If not for that, it’s the best elective.”
Truth be told, Young-won worried about that too. That’s why he’d rushed to the café late at night—to tell Yoon-ah before all the slots were gone. For her situation, it really was the best fit. He’d forgotten to mention he himself was taking it; he figured he’d tell her later.
As usual, Gitae chattered; Young-won nodded now and then. They reached the officetel complex.
“Let’s hurry. The burgers will get cold…”
“…Ha…”
Gitae had shown up to turn Young-won’s living room into a PlayStation den—just like he’d “warned.” After that middle-finger text, he’d threatened to tell Yoon-ah about the swapped mentee slips unless he got the gaming invite. Young-won gave in, muttering, “You won’t meet girls if you game all weekend.” (Not that he tried to date on weekends either.)
They hit the elevator button. The car was stuck in the basement a long time.
“At this rate we’ll fossilize…”
Finally it rose. The doors opened—and the car was stuffed with boxes. Two women were scrambling to make space.
“Sorry—so many boxes…”
“… …”
Gitae’s eyes went wide. Young-won also froze. Pressed flat against the wall, the woman turned—and he spoke:
“…Boss.”
Yoon-ah turned her head from the wall, eyes big and round. “Young-won? What are you doing here?”
“…Waiting to go up. I live here.”
“You live—oh—oh!”
The doors started closing. Flustered, Yoon-ah tried to turn, but there was no room. Seo-yeon was struggling too.
“My arm can’t reach—ayoo…!”
The doors shut. Gitae jabbed the button too late; the car was already moving. He let go, half-delighted.
“After seeing that, we can’t just pretend we didn’t, right?”
“….”
Young-won dragged a hand through his hair, looking conflicted.
“I’m sorry… the table’s too small…”
Yoon-ah looked apologetic. The four of them sat on the floor with take-out containers—the two-seat table could never fit four, and there was only one chair.
“It’s fine, Boss. Eating on the floor is the moving-day rule,” Gitae said, grinning, cradling his malatang. “Your place has the same neat charm as its owner.”
“You can just call me Yoon-ah, the junior. I get that Young-won knew me before school, but I’m not your boss, Gitae…”
“If my words keep you up at night, I’ll switch to ‘Noona Yoon-ah’—”
“Enough,” Young-won cut him off, not even looking over, focused on fishing noodles from his bowl.
Seo-yeon glanced at him and smirked. “Doesn’t that taste bland, senior? This shop’s noodle soup is basically water.”
“…Why are you suddenly using dialect? Are you from Chungcheong?” Gitae’s eyes bulged. A minute ago she sounded like a Seoul local; now she was pure hometown.
“Yep. Chungnam. Anyway, looks like we won’t need to ‘set the table’ anymore,” she said, chuckling to herself—clearly amused by some plan of her own.
