NLFSD Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Jiwoon wound the ivory muffler once more around his neck, lowering his head. It smelled faintly of Seo Taecheon and was so warm.

Even standing in the middle of a street, tears threatened to fall. But Jiwoon shook his head violently to collect himself. I mustn’t waver. Better to be remembered as shameless and cruel — it’ll hurt Taecheon less that way.

He renewed his resolve and stepped forward.

But… where do I go now?

Having stormed out, he realized he had nowhere. Remaining near the company was impossible, so he hopped on the first random bus he saw. His phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket, but he ignored it.

After ten stops, he found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Perfect — he got off. The streets were strange, lonely.

Ahead was a café. Timidly he opened the door. Despite the early hour, lights glowed warmly and a young woman stood behind the counter. Perhaps because it was cold outside, the glow radiated even warmer inside. He felt pulled in, almost unconsciously moving his feet.

A bell chimed as he entered. The aroma of coffee enveloped him — strikingly similar to the beans Taecheon brewed at home. Instantly, memories of peaceful mornings with him flooded back. Taecheon’s presence had always included coffee. Now, imagining himself erased from those mornings, Jiwoon’s chest ached unbearably.

“Welcome. Orders here.”

“Ah… yes.”

“What would you like?”

A vast menu loomed over her shoulder. Normally he’d pick anything, but today he hesitated. How many more chances will I have to drink coffee in this lifetime? Suddenly, each cup felt sacred.

“What’s the best here?”

“Our recommendations? Based on sales, café mocha. The hot version is popular these days.”

“Then I’ll have that.”

“Yes.”

Instinctively, he pulled out Taecheon’s card — then froze. Hastily put it back, chose his own.

Fool. If I used that, Taecheon could trace me. No. We’re over.

“Here’s your coffee.”

“Thank you.”

He sat, chin in his hands, staring blankly. What now? My clothes, belongings, all left at our “honeymoon home.” But… why would a man with only months left need belongings? I’ll just spend my savings and that’s all.

Work? Who cared. After making such a scene resigning, word would already reach Taecheon. He’d be shocked. Jiwoon rubbed his sleeve over wet eyes.

As he sniffled, the barista approached with tissues.

“Here… please, take these.”

Napkins and wet wipes — silent comfort. The kindness broke him. Tears cascaded anew.

The world can be this gentle… so why must I leave it?

“Thank you… thank you.”

Snotty, blubbering, he wiped his face. Crying exhausted him — then hunger growled in his belly.

“…Hungry, even now.”

The irony struck him as pathetic yet absurd. But there was an old saying: “The ghost who dies full is more beautiful than the ghost who dies hungry.” If he had to die, at least with a full stomach. He stood.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Have a good day!”

Outside, the wind howled, tossing his hair, slicing exposed skin. Every step numbed hands and feet.

Thankfully, not far ahead was a restaurant — ppyeo‑haejanggukⁱ specialty. His favorite dish. He entered. Staff ushered him in.

“Welcome.”

“One haejangguk, please.”

“This way.”

Within minutes a boiling bowl arrived. But instead of savory comfort, the aroma turned his stomach. Just one sip sent nausea roiling.

What’s wrong? Did this place lose its touch? No… it’s not just bad. It feels inhuman, inedible.

He forced a few spoonfuls before setting it down, chewing plain rice, washing with cool water.

So soon? Is this what the doctor meant — sudden deterioration without warning?

Fear seized him. Tears pricked, hands shook.

Am I really dying? Will I waste away, unable to eat, shriveling to nothing?

“Does it not suit you? You’ve barely touched it.” The staff member, a bit annoyed, refilled his water.

“My stomach’s been weak lately… excuse me.”

Offering a weak smile, Jiwoon lowered his gaze. Surrounded by food he couldn’t swallow was torture itself. He fled.

Meanwhile, Seo Taecheon sat in the back seat of his car, pressing redial for the 31st time, hearing the same mechanical voice:

— The number you are calling cannot be reached. Please try again later.

“Damn.”

The repetition rattled his skull with rage. Driving himself would be madness; his fury guaranteed an accident. He had called Kim, his chauffeur, to take him home.

“Faster, please, Mr. Kim.”

“Yes, young master.”

He ripped loose his tie, shoved back his hair. His half‑deranged reflection glared back from the window.

At 9:10 that morning, the news had struck — Lee Jiwoon had submitted resignation and stormed out. Secretary Kim Minji told him. Taecheon had raced to Marketing Team 1, but Jiwoon was gone. His phone off.

“What happened?” he demanded.

But no one answered clearly, not even Song.

“We… honestly don’t know.”

“He just left? Without a word? Without direction?”

“Yes… sir.”

The words crushed him like a collapsing cavern. Since then he had spun, anchorless at sea. Where? Why? He knew nothing.

At last he reasoned: Jiwoon wouldn’t stay near the office… the house was his only hope.

“We’ve arrived, sir.”

Head splitting, he leapt from the car, tore open the gate, strode across the garden, thundered through the front door. The house was silent — terrifying.

He checked every room, each trembling hand on doorknobs: no sight in the bedroom, nor the bathroom, nor the kitchen.

Finally he reached the small spare room where Jiwoon kept some belongings. But everything was still there. Not even a suitcase missing.

He’s gone with nothing. Just… vanished.

The house looked identical to morning when they’d left — but then his roving eyes froze.

In the living room, conspicuous, sat a single object: the AI Sookryeo‑Doongyi.

Footnotes:

1. Ppyeo Haejangguk (뼈해장국): A traditional Korean hangover soup made with pork spine, potatoes, and perilla leaves. Heavy, hearty, hot with chili, beloved as “soul food.” Here its rejection underscores Jiwoon’s illness onset.