NLFSD Chapter 80

Chapter 80

I was only thinking about my own feelings — and not about Taecheon’s. He must actually cherish me far more than I realized. If something happens to me… it will wound him deeply.

Jiwoon had already lived through that kind of loss; he could imagine its pain all too vividly.

It was still vivid as if it happened yesterday. The searing ache in his chest, bitter tears flooding his face endlessly. When his grandparents passed away, the young Jiwoon had become the chief mourner at their funeral, bowing to visitors. Most of the guests, distant relatives and townsfolk, murmured not about the old couple’s death, but about the pitiful child left behind.

“Already lost his parents so young, now even his grandparents. Now he’s utterly alone… How painful it must be. But this is something Jiwoon himself must endure.”

He had understood even then. Family — those who embraced him unconditionally, who loved without cost — were the greatest comfort while alive, but became merciless grief upon passing.

No. I can’t allow Taecheon to feel the same agony I did.

If he truly wished to spare Taecheon, there was only one path: he had to leave. He had to fly far away, without even letting Taecheon know what had befallen him.

Unknowing of Jiwoon’s inner resolution, Seo Taecheon simply finished his breakfast.

“Jiwoon. Could you leave for work now? I have to head out early for the meeting scheduled yesterday.”

“Ah, I think I’ll go in later. Making breakfast spent my energy — I’d like to rest a little.”

“I’d like to go together, but I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll just take the bus, it’s no problem. You focus on work.”

“Then, wait.”

Before stepping out, Taecheon went back to the dressing room and retrieved a scarf. A soft oat‑toned muffler, warm and elegant, which he draped around Jiwoon’s neck.

“This will keep you warm. Today’s cold — wear it.”

“How can I ever thank you.”

“No need. A kiss will do.”

He touched Jiwoon’s lips lightly. But in Jiwoon’s chest it stabbed like a knife. To think this could be their last kiss — it was dizzying.

“I wish you’d take the car, but I’ll see you at the office then.”

“Yes. See you later.”

As the door closed and Taecheon’s back disappeared, Jiwoon squeezed his eyes shut. The moment the latch clicked, his tears finally flowed.

This parting scene… might be their real last. That was his reality.

Jiwoon kept his scarf tight and took the bus. Terminal or not, he still had to work. For him, today was a day he had to go into the office — not to actually work, but to put his affairs in order. For months he had quietly prepared a handover file, just in case, as if buying a lottery ticket for freedom. How bitter it was, how strangely relieving to have it now.

He clung to the rail, mind lost in thoughts.

Where should I begin wrapping up my life? What do I keep, what do I discard?

At least the message for Taecheon was recorded in the AI Sookryeo‑Doongyi doll. He had left it conspicuously in the living room. Taecheon would surely find it — and, Jiwoon hoped, resent him for it, before forgetting him with time.

And he had also left a letter that morning. No mention of his illness — only that he was sorry, but found the marriage too heavy and was leaving. Please don’t look for me, it said.

No matter what, do not try to find me. I was just an extra who wandered into your life by mistake — now I’m leaving the stage.

As he had recorded it, he broke down sobbing, muffling his mouth with one hand, covering the doll’s head with the other to keep his crying voice out of the tape.

Truth is, your life has been like a movie, and I was cast in a starring role. I thought it was miscasting — but then, to realize we were born to love each other… I can’t imagine greater joy.

[Next stop, Cheongdam Intersection, Cheongdam Intersection.]

The announcement startled him; he nearly missed his stop. Disembarking with the crowd, he looked across — the high glass offices of their company.

It was here that, aided by a stranger’s kindness, he had resolved to enter the hotel group — and soon achieved it. By twist of fate, he had married the very director. After all the turmoil, they had found happiness together. But now… it was time to leave. To let go of everything that wasn’t his.

Drawing a long breath, he marched toward the building.

The office, however, was still ruled by Song Team Leader, ready to torment him anew.

“Wow, the junior gets to stroll in later than the team leader, what a fine company this is!”

His sarcasm was obvious. But Jiwoon ignored it, booting up his PC. Calmly, he opened the intranet, loaded the HR form, and began typing. Only the staccato of his keyboard broke the silence.

“So you don’t even answer?”

“Team Leader Song. I’ve submitted an e‑approval request; please authorize.”

“Approval? I didn’t give any work yet.”

“It’s not work — it’s a personnel matter.”

“…What personnel matter?”

“I’ve submitted my resignation.”

“…What?”

Song’s exclamation cut the air. Heads turned — Min the deputy manager, Manager Kim, peers all stared.

“What did you just say — resignation?! Wait— Assistant Lee!”

Min shot up from her chair. She darted looks between Song and Jiwoon. Everyone knew Song had harassed Jiwoon mercilessly — wasn’t this the inevitable outcome, the junior driven out by bullying?

Song too realized they would think so. He had indeed tormented him these last weeks… but to hand in resignation? This was too dangerous.

Panic brewed. If upper management believed he had driven out a subordinate, his name was ruined. Worse, if someone filed directly with the Disciplinary Committee, the Director himself might haul him in.

“C‑calm down, Jiwoon. Maybe… maybe misunderstandings piled up. Sit, let’s talk.”

“This isn’t heat of the moment. For reference, handover documents are all organized neatly on my PC. Current projects are uploaded to the shared drive. I apologize for leaving them unfinished.”

“No, what I mean is — just sit, we can—”

Trying to backpedal, Song scrambled to appear conciliatory. But Jiwoon’s voice was unwavering.

“No matter what you say, my decision stands. I request your approval.”

“What’s happening in Marketing Team 1?”

The department head popped up over the partition, sensing tension. Jiwoon bowed politely to him, then to Min.

“Thank you for everything. I’ll decline any further conversations. Please process my resignation.”

He had less than a year left; there was no time to waste in the office. And above all — he had to break away from Seo Taecheon.

“Goodbye.”

Striding out, he ignored the murmurs swelling behind him.

“Assistant Lee!”

Min ran out, grasping his wrist.

“Why are you doing this?”

“…Deputy.”

Since the first day of entry, she had cared for him. He felt guilty to say farewell like this. But revealing truth could reach Taecheon’s ears — impossible.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. I’ll contact you later.”

“Promise you will. Anytime. Okay?”

She clasped both his hands. Her worried gaze crushed his heart.

“I will.”

He nodded, then stepped into the elevator.

Outside, the winter wind bit harsh against his skin, like claws.

Footnotes:

1. 상주 (sangju): In Korean funerals, the chief mourner — typically the closest surviving family member, often a son or grandson — who greets guests.