Chapter 8.5

“Seven hundred billion?”  

She couldn’t fathom how he came up with such an absurd calculation.  

“The opportunity cost of the Shinhwa Construction merger is exactly 721.9 billion won. I’m here on a date with you instead of securing that deal.”  

How many zeros are in 700 billion? It was an astronomical figure.  

“I get what you’re saying, but isn’t 700 billion a bit much?”  

For some reason, she felt like she was being swindled by Kim Seon-dal selling Han River water.  

He suddenly closed his laptop with a snap.  

“I won’t work anymore. Let’s have a proper date. I’m investing 721.9 billion won in you, so stop comparing me to those other guys from dramas.”  

Eun-sol quickly reopened the laptop and placed it back in front of him.  

“A date worth 721 billion is too overwhelming, so I’ll pass. But instead, can I ask you one thing?”  

“What is it?”  

“If you were to be reborn in your next life….”  

It was a question so simple that even a seven-year-old could answer it.  

“If you could only choose one—Kim Eun-sol’s husband or the CEO of Sowon Construction….”  

She knew how much he valued his work and how many people relied on him for their livelihoods.  

Even if he continued to be busy in the future, she didn’t mind. Still, she wanted at least a token answer.  

“So, which one would you choose?”  

Why was I feeling nervous over something so trivial? 

She anxiously smashed the cheesecake with her fork as she waited for his response.  

“The CEO of Sowon Construction.”

The unwavering speed and decisiveness—it was such a typical response from Kwon Jeong-hyeok.  

“That’s too much.”  

Eun-sol stabbed her cake with a fork.  

“In my next life, I’ll be reborn as the CEO of Sowon Construction again, and I’ll make you, Kim Eun-sol, my personal secretary and marry her. No resigning. I’ll see you during the day, at night, and every hour of the day.”  

She couldn’t hide the corners of her lips lifting again.  

“You’re dreaming too big. Are you planning to overwork someone? If you try to do both, you won’t live out your lifespan.”  

She took a bite of the cake she had stabbed earlier. It was undeniably soft, with a rich cheese flavor, but she couldn’t taste anything. That was because her mood right now was far more satisfying than the cheesecake.  

Before she knew it, he was focusing on his work again. Various financial graphs reflected off the screen of his laptop, casting faint shadows across his face.  

Eun-sol focused on him.  

721.9 billion. She couldn’t fully grasp how large that amount of money was, but one thing was certain.  

The man in front of her was more captivating than 721.9 billion.  

* * *

…Why did I go to Songdo of all places?  

There were countless spots for a night drive or a late-night date that weren’t Songdo. Even knowing that, his body had somehow been drawn there, as if bewitched.  

And after visiting Songdo, it began—like suffering from a fever that had been waiting to strike—that dream. A happy moment with his mother in Songdo.  

It wasn’t exactly a nightmare, as it was his only memory with his mother.  

But it wasn’t a cherished memory either, as the same scenes replayed endlessly in his dreams, tormenting him.  

It felt like being trapped in an infinite loop, one that wouldn’t end until he found the answer.  

“Ah….”  

A warm hand touched his forehead. Soon, the small hand withdrew, and lips replaced it.  

Even without opening his eyes to confirm, he knew it was Eun-sol.  

Eun-sol’s lips were as soft as milk foam, delicate enough to disappear with a single breath.  

That’s why his heart ached. Whether he held on or let go, it felt like she would vanish either way.  

Eun-sol’s voice was gentle and calm.  

“Nurse Yu-rim told me that when you don’t have a thermometer, you can tell if someone has a fever by placing your lips on their forehead instead of using your hand. It’s not perfectly accurate, but if you’ve shared forehead kisses often enough, you can tell if the person has a fever or not.”  

He opened his eyes. He saw Eun-sol’s worried expression.  

“…Do I have a fever?”  

“It seems like you have a fever. We’d need a thermometer to know for sure, but I don’t know where it is. And of all days, today happens to be when all the staff are on leave.”  

After their date in Songdo, all the staff had returned to their duties.  

However, the structure of their work schedule had been changed. Instead of taking turns for rest, every Saturday was now designated as a day off for all staff. It was a decision made so that the couple could have at least one peaceful day alone together on weekends.  

“I think it’s probably in the first-aid kit in the pantry room. Let me go find the thermometer.”  

As Eun-sol tried to get up, he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She fell awkwardly onto the bed sheets, trapped in his embrace.  

“Don’t go. Just stay here.”  

Jeong-hyeok held his breath. He didn’t want the faint trace of her scent mixed with his own breath to dissipate.  

He rubbed his lips against her forehead. The moderate warmth, the ticklish feeling from her stray hairs, and the soft contours of her forehead felt oddly unfamiliar today.  

And so, impulsively, nonsense escaped his lips.  

“…Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?”  

It was a purely impulsive question. He really must have been burning up. After all, he was the kind of man who had plenty of things he’d rather avoid answering, even if she did ask.  

“Well… not really.”  

Eun-sol had never asked him anything. Not even once since Chu Seo-jin had come and gone.  

Whatever the question might have been, there were surely things she was curious about. Yet, she had never asked.  

Instead, she had held him in her arms and comforted him. It always began with him pulling her into an embrace, but at some point, he would find himself being held by her.  

He had come to realize that there was a subtle difference between holding someone and being held by them.  

“…I don’t really have anything to ask you, Jeong-hyeok. Should I?”  

Her response, questioning him in return, made his throat burn.  

“No. You don’t.”  

So don’t ask me anything in the future either. Don’t go anywhere.  

He pulled her waist closer. The awkward way she had been leaning into his arms shifted as she adjusted her position, settling more comfortably into his embrace. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing softly.  

It was as if they had been born this way—as if they were two pieces of a sculpture perfectly designed to fit together from the start. It was a posture that felt both comfortable and secure.  

Like being submerged in deep water, he felt drowsy. Jeong-hyeok drifted back to sleep. That dream began again.  

A memory from his childhood, of a moment in Songdo with his mother.  

When he was in the lower grades of elementary school, he often went to Songdo with his mother. Back then, Songdo had an amusement park.  

On one side of the amusement park, there were many restaurants. His mother always went to the mussel soup restaurant located at the very end and always sat by the window.  

In front of the restaurant was the sea. When the tide receded, a rough and vast field of large rocks beneath the water would be revealed.  

As a child, he would run and play on the rocks. Occasionally, he would be struck with sudden fear.  

What if his mother had suddenly run away? What if she had disappeared?  

In a panic, he would look toward the restaurant, and his mother would always be there, sitting in her seat, watching him.  

When he stood on the highest rock and waved at her, his mother would wave back in response. That made him happy. It was one of the rare moments when he felt a connection with her.  

However, his mother never touched the mussel soup.  

“Mom, why do you always come to this restaurant?”  

Even as a child, he had been curious.  

“This restaurant’s mussel soup isn’t very good, but from this seat, I can see you playing the best, Jeong-hyeok.”  

Those words made him so happy. It gave him energy he didn’t have before. So, he jumped from one rock to another even more eagerly—just so his mother could see him.  

But at some point, the visits to Songdo with his mother stopped. His mother, who had been quiet to begin with, almost entirely stopped speaking.  

Eventually, even his own name started to feel unfamiliar. No one called his name except during roll call at school.  

And so, he turned 18. On the day before he was set to leave for the United States for his studies, his mother suggested they visit Songdo, for the first time in a long while.  

“They say this place is going to disappear soon. Not enough people come here anymore.”  

His mother seemed deeply regretful. At that time, the Songdo amusement park was undergoing rapid transformation as the sea was reclaimed for an international city development project.  

The amusement park was gone, and Songdo was no longer a fun place for him.  

His mother, noticing his boredom, pulled him into her arms. This kind of physical affection was so rare that Jeong-hyeok was taken aback.  

“I never got the chance to hold you. And now, my boy has grown up so much.”  

Though his mother held him, it felt more like she was the one being embraced. And he realized something—despite not having held her for such a long time, his mother had grown so thin.  

“Songdo smells a bit like my hometown. So, whenever I missed home but couldn’t go there, I came here instead.”  

He had never known that there was such a reason behind their outings to Songdo.  

“But now, even this place is disappearing. I don’t know where to go anymore.”  

His mother’s expression was forlorn. Somehow, she seemed like she wanted to explain the reason, like someone confessing their sins.  

But he didn’t ask why she couldn’t go back to her hometown. There wasn’t any particular reason for his silence—he was simply that indifferent as a son.  

He just assumed that the long distance would be too burdensome for his mother, who often suffered from frequent vomiting due to the medication she was taking.  

The next day, he went to Incheon Airport to leave for the United States. His mother’s expression continued to weigh on his mind. An inexplicable sense of unease wrapped tightly around his heart.  

Right before reaching the departure gate, he turned back and went home. He wanted to ask the question he hadn’t been able to ask the day before.  

Why couldn’t my mother go to her hometown…?!  

But when he opened her bedroom door, he realized it was a question he would never be able to ask.  

All that awaited him was his mother, lying cold and blue on the bed, and an empty sleeping pill bottle discarded beside her.  

He held his mother’s funeral. The funeral hall was quiet. No one sobbed uncontrollably.  

It was as if everyone had expected this to happen at some point. They all remained composed. No one had the right to wail. Everyone had been mere bystanders to her death.  

His father couldn’t even endure the three-day funeral period. Leaving only the mourning band behind, his father stormed out.  

His uncle, drunk on alcohol, was furious.  

“That bastard—whether my brother-in-law or a piece of trash! He ran off to meet that woman again. I heard she’s dying from some terminal illness, too! He’s been obsessed with his first love his whole life, abandoning his wife and son like they didn’t exist!”  

It wasn’t surprising. His father had always been like that. His father was simply maintaining his relentless consistency, even in the face of his mother’s death.  

What shook him more than his father’s actions were the scenes from other funerals he glimpsed at the hall.  

Families embracing and crying together, grieving together. 

Other families mourned the passing of their loved ones by crying together and comforting one another.  

It was a cultural shock that made his head throb.  

Until then, he had thought such things only happened in dramas or movies, as scripted scenes.  

They returned home after the funeral procession, held without his father.  

The house hadn’t changed at all. It was still desolate, still silent. The only difference was that the mother who had endured that silence alongside him was now gone.  

And it was only then that he realized:  

He had been trying to escape from this silence alone.  

Using the convenient excuse of studying abroad in the United States, he had abandoned his mother.  

His mother had simply run out of strength to endure any longer.  

Perhaps it wasn’t his father who had driven her to death—it might have been him.  

His heart felt as though it was splitting apart, and his mind was overcome with despair. Yet, no tears came.  

Quietly, he entered his mother’s room. He wanted to organize her belongings himself.  

Instead of shedding tears he couldn’t cry, he took out all the family photos from the album. He began cutting out the man called “father” with scissors.  

The fragile construct called “family” was as thin as the paper of those photos. The moment his mother died, there was no longer any reason to continue it.  

Then, he noticed an old photo, folded about a third of the way. It was a picture of his mother and father during their school days, wearing their high school uniforms.  

When he unfolded the folded portion, he realized it wasn’t just a photo of two people—it was a photo of three.  

The woman in the folded section was wearing the same uniform as his mother and father.  

He instinctively understood.  

She was his father’s first love.  

The first love that cast a suffocating shadow over the family and stole the breath of its members.  

But he learned for the first time that this first love had also been his mother’s friend.  

Could this woman have been part of the reason my mother couldn’t return to her hometown?  

“Jeong-hyeok! Jeong-hyeok?!”  

Eun-sol’s voice pulled him out of a clumsy nightmare.  

“Are you really okay?”  

Jeong-hyeok woke up from the dream.  

A worried, pale, and beautiful face came into view. It was a face that looked exactly like the woman in the old photo.