NLFSD Chapter 114

Chapter 114 – Extra Episode 14

As dark thoughts surged, Seo Taecheon tried to steady himself with deep breaths. But inside, the burn did not cease. He waited without eating or drinking, not even aware of hunger.

The time the nurse had hinted at passed, yet nothing stirred beyond the doors. “In Surgery” still glowed. Had something gone wrong, or was it mere delay? Just as anxiety began to crest, his parents arrived.

“Taecheon.”

His father and mother had only recently reconciled. They appeared arm‑in‑arm, tender as newlyweds.

“Mother. Father.”

“The surgery’s still on, then.”

“Yes. It seems we’ll need to wait longer.”

“Then drink this, at least.”

His father handed him a beverage.

“Thank you.”

On closer look, it wasn’t an ordinary drink — an extra‑strong stimulant.

“How is it? Hurts, doesn’t it?” his father asked.

“Yes. It hurts a lot.”

“Good. You’re not the one delivering — so at least you should suffer in spirit. Otherwise Jiwoon’s sense of injustice would be too much.”

Mother scolded him briskly.

“You’re right. I’ll suffer thoroughly.”

He cracked the bottle and downed it in one go; clarity sharpened — and with it, worry and fear, more vivid than ever. Their parental “lesson” was so deep as to defy comprehension.

“Guardian of Lee Jiwoon?”

A surgical nurse stepped into the hall, calling out. Taecheon leapt up and ran to her.

“That’s me — I’m the husband. How is it? The mother? The baby? Are they alright? They’re safe, right?”

“Please be calm. There were no issues. The surgery went well.”

When she smiled lightly, his body slackened all at once. For the dazed man, she added gentle detail.

“Mr. Lee woke slowly from anesthesia. That varies by body — nothing abnormal. You can see him in the ward shortly.”

“Ah… truly, thank you. Thank you so much.”

He exhaled in relief — but the news wasn’t over.

“A boy, 2.8 kilos. Very healthy.”

His eyes flew open.

Mango was no longer a fetus — he was a baby boy now, and someone who would belong to Taecheon’s family forever. So it was for Jiwoon as well.

Mango was the bond between them and the proof that they had loved — writing no eraser could remove.

“Taecheon, are you crying?”

“Tsk — I understand that heart,” said Chairman Seo, loosening his tie and handing it over.

“There’s no tissue — use this.”

“…Thank you.”

He cried until the tie was soaked. When he raised his head, his face was cleaner than ever — a new steel and strength, different from before, would soon gird him.

In the ward, the reunion was a riot of tenderness. At Jiwoon’s feet, Taecheon knelt, swearing that he’d suffered and that he would spare him pain forevermore. Jiwoon sniffled, gazing at him.

After a flurry of praise and marveling over each other, at last it was time to meet Mango. The nursery called to say they could come see him briefly. Even if it was through glass, the first sight stopped their breath — a newborn, yet wrapped in a glow of cuteness and mystery beyond imagining.

“Mango… so this is what you look like.”

“He’s just like you. I didn’t give birth — I made a copy.”

For a newborn, the face was startlingly defined and handsome: thick brows, sun‑touched skin evoking Taecheon. The tiny body wriggled, but the expression held a strange dignity and seriousness — that, too, resembled him.

“A baby with a T‑zone?”

“When he grows, he’ll be a heart‑stopper, since he takes after you.”

“He has your features too. Those lips are all Jiwoon.”

In the baby, each saw the other’s face — the one they loved and always carried within them, now appearing anew.

Jiwoon’s chest swelled; words fled. He remembered his grandparents — the way they had gazed at him and said, “You have half your mother, half your father.” In him, they had seen the children who left too early.

He understood that feeling too late — and tears poured out.

“Jiwoon.”

“…Taecheon.”

Strong arms wrapped his shoulders. Without words, Taecheon held him as he cried and cried.

Silently, Jiwoon made a vow: never to forget for even a moment how precious his beloved — and the child who resembled him — truly were.

The postpartum care center was far more luxurious — and even more comfortable — than he’d imagined. Professionals offered massage, yoga, meditation, and counseling; the mothers tended their infants in a pleasant environment.

But the part that captivated Jiwoon was elsewhere: the lavish meals.

Three different menus a day, ever‑changing; a high‑end assortment of fruit on unlimited offer; and if he named a dessert he wanted, they would provide it.

Whatever this place costs, it’s worth it.

He didn’t miss a single meal and recovered quickly as a result.

Whenever he could, Seo Taecheon came to visit. He took daily photos of Mango, never deleting even the similar ones. His parents often asked for updates.

Is the baby doing well?

We sent photos yesterday, didn’t we? In under 24 hours there will be no big changes.

He replied curtly while forwarding dozens from the Today’s Mango collection.

“But calling him Mango forever feels wrong. I think it’s time to choose a name.”

Cradling the baby, patting gently, Jiwoon broached it.

“You’re right. So, how shall we choose?”

“I’m not gifted at naming… so I’d love to hear your and Mother and Father’s thoughts. If we put heads together, a good one will come.”

“Fair point. I’ll inform them.”

Two days later, a family meeting convened by messenger. The four would present name candidates and their meanings in turn.

Seo Hyeong‑ho:

I’ll begin. How about Cheon‑won? I asked a naming master I know — the meaning is wonderful. Cheon as in sky, won as in desire: a child the heavens desire.

Silence fell in the chat. With the family name Seo, “Seo Cheon‑won” could be misheard as “four thousand won.”

Father, the meaning is excellent, but I don’t think it suits our surname. Thank you for your effort and the master’s counsel.

Blocked cleanly, the Chairman sent a peeved emoji.

Choi Yeong‑hee:

I think a modern feeling is best — something that works abroad too, not an old‑fashioned mold. How about William? My colleague’s son in the US — meaning “resolute warrior.” I want Mango to grow strong.

The meaning is admirable and fits these global times, but using it domestically may be inconvenient. When the child goes abroad, it would be a fine English name to add.

Jiwoon:

I agree. We can use it when he starts English kindergarten.

Seo Hyeong‑ho:

Speaking of which, the kindergarten I reserved long ago called to ask when he’ll start.

Yes. I’ll call them directly.

Seo Hyeong‑ho:

Good.

Next, I’ll present my idea. I’d like him to be cheerful like Jiwoon — so I’m going to follow Jiwoon’s lead.

Choi Yeong‑hee:

That’s not an idea — that’s deferring.

I’ve lost a lot of backbone lately.

Jiwoon:

Um… Truth is, I’ve had a name in mind for a while. Please consider it: Seo U‑yeon.

Seo Hyeong‑ho:

What does it mean?

Jiwoon:

Our meeting was u‑yeon — chance. We didn’t plan to meet, nor were we introduced; and somehow, we married. “Coincidence” holds deep meaning for me. What I want this name to say is that small, serendipitous beginnings can bear great meaning — so keep the heart open and look widely at the world.

Choi Yeong‑hee:

I’m crying. I’m so moved.

Seo Hyeong‑ho:

Our Jiwoon doesn’t need a naming master. Perfect.

I am once again astonished at our Jiwoon’s genius. And I confess — my eyes are brimming too.

Footnotes:

U‑yeon (우연): Korean for “chance” or “coincidence,” used here to capture the couple’s serendipitous meeting as a life philosophy embedded in the child’s name.