NLFSD Chapter 120

Chapter 120 – Call My Name IF Extra 4

At the time of the accident, Seo Taecheon was on his way to a business trip. The roads were clear in the late morning, even after entering Gangbuk, so traffic flowed freely; Driver Kim picked up speed.

Taecheon pulled out his phone. Re‑reading the messages he had just exchanged with Jiwoon made him chuckle. Nothing weighty, but endlessly endearing — the way a simple check‑in could tickle the heart. However he tried to suppress it, the corners of his mouth kept lifting.

Pocketing the phone, he reached for his tablet to review meeting materials. It was a routine session, but better to give the documents one more look. He glanced around for the tablet, bent toward his bag — and at that instant, a massive shock slammed the car.

The vehicle lurched; everything inside rattled madly. Before he could speak, searing pain exploded in his head and his consciousness dropped.

When he came to, he saw a large truck and the destroyed trunk of the car ahead. A four‑car pileup. His car had been the last of the four. He would learn later that he and Driver Kim had been lucky to be pulled out with no major injuries — the airbag and seatbelt had saved them; everyone called it a miracle they were so lightly hurt.

He was rushed to the hospital for emergency care and tests. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries. He had slammed his head against the frame, bruised his cheekbone, and had a headache. The doctor said they should observe him a bit longer for possible concussion symptoms.

“I’m sorry, Director. If only I’d been more careful…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Driver. It was unavoidable — and the perpetrator was drunk.”

“Even so, if I’d braked a split‑second sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s alright — we have our arms and legs. There’s no need to feel guilty.”

He clapped the driver’s shoulder to console him, but Driver Kim couldn’t raise his head.

“Assistant Lee will be terribly worried… What if he’s panic‑stricken by the news.”

Assistant Lee? I’m the one in the accident — why mention someone I don’t know?

Rubbing his jaw, he tried to summon a “Jiwoon,” but no one came to mind — no colleague, friend, senior, or junior with that name.

“Who is Assistant Lee?”

“Shall I call him, or should we have Secretary Park pass the news?”

“No — I mean the name you just said.”

“Assistant Lee Jiwoon.”

“…Who is that?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Who is he?”

Driver Kim’s face went pale as if he’d seen a ghost. Taecheon could not make sense of it.

Secretary Park arrived quickly on hearing the report. Relieved to learn the Director was largely unharmed, his heart promptly plunged again.

“Secretary Park. Who on earth is this ‘Assistant Lee’?”

Driver Kim looked as baffled as he felt. Sensing something wrong, Park hurried to the medical staff.

When they said they needed brain imaging, Taecheon balked — then balked harder when told it wasn’t about concussion or hemorrhage but about memory loss.

They told him this “Lee Jiwoon” was his spouse — a male Omega. Impossible. He’d been an ardent lifelong bachelor.

But the doctor kept asking, Do you truly not remember?

They ran a battery of tests. He recalled today’s date, every company fact, key personnel like Driver Kim and Secretary Park, the day’s schedule, even client details — all perfectly.

There was only one blank shard: everything about his spouse, Lee Jiwoon. As if Jiwoon had never existed in this world, as if they had never met, he could not retrieve him.

He asked Park to show proof. Park, who had attended the wedding, produced a photo.

Hardly “plain” — an outdoor wedding, a crowd of guests, even his parents clapping. Next to a beaming Seo Taecheon stood a stranger — an Omega nestled in his arms, smiling radiant and objectively beautiful, yet a stranger nonetheless.

Brown hair, brown eyes — drooping eye‑tails that gave a pure, gentle impression. In the photo, Taecheon wore a fit to burst expression, as if that Jiwoon were unbearably dear.

As far as his memory went, in thirty years he had never made such a face.

Lee Jiwoon.

He sounded the unfamiliar name and strained to conjure anything. But it was like staring at a sheet of black paper — nothing. The more he heard the name, the more his head throbbed.

Even when, later that day, this “Lee Jiwoon” pushed open the room door, nothing changed.

I do not know that person.

And now he says there’s a child. Without proof, how could he believe it? The fleeing, slender figure looked fragile, but there was nothing he could do.

After sending Secretary Park and Driver Kim away, he sat alone on the bed, thoughts circling. Jiwoon’s retreating back stuck in his mind like a splinter under a nail.

He had no appetite, left the hospital dinner untouched. After simple care for the facial bruise, he agreed to another MRI in the morning and lay down early — but the face that kept rising would not let him sleep.

He had built his life on logic as the absolute measure. If his close circle wasn’t conspiring to lie, then Jiwoon was indeed his Omega. Yet it didn’t land. Above all, he had vowed lifelong bachelorhood — and yet he had married. Even that alone defied belief.

Uneasy, he rose to walk the hall — when a small knock came. Expecting a nurse, he called:

“Yes, come in.”

But the one who entered was Jiwoon. Gone and now returned — hair mussed, eyelids reddened.

“…What is it?”

Coldly put. Jiwoon stood a beat, then stepped in quietly.

“Taecheon, I came to talk.”

He spoke with no confidence; his voice was hoarse, eyes swollen from a bout of crying.

“Very well. Come sit here.”

He had no memory, but since they were legally married, he needed to hear him out. He brightened the room and gestured to the sofa. Jiwoon walked carefully and sat. He was silent a moment — mustering courage.

In the end, Jiwoon spoke first — a deep breath in, out, then a whisper.

“The doctor explained… that you don’t remember me at all.”

“Yes. That’s true. I have no memory of marrying you.”

He cut in; Jiwoon bit his lip.

“No — let me be precise. I do not know you.”

At that, Jiwoon lifted his head and pressed back, eyes sharpened though puffed.

“How can that be. We have time together — you and I.”

His voice broke, shook.

“Is this a lie? A con?”

“You’re calling me a con artist?”

It was hard enough that he didn’t remember — he never imagined being treated like a fraud.

“It’s true. We are truly married.”

He fell silent. He needed specifics.

“Let’s assume so for now. When did we begin seeing each other?”