SEOUL For three months, Seon-woo had scoured the internet in vain, chasing the faintest traces of Orange Juice.
He rearranged her searching in every possible combination, navigating search engines and social media with a growing sense of frustration.
Once, he had believed the internet held all the answers.
Now, it felt more like a library whom the pages had been torn away from his books.
Seon-woo woke reluctantly, shuffling to the kitchen.
Breakfast has become less a meal and more a compulsory ritual.
Beyond his window, the city embraced the Christmas season— snow-dusted streets, twinkling lights adorned the streets with red, green and gold decorations.
Normally, this time of year would be his busiest as a publisher, with books sold copiously as gifts.
But this year, the Christmas enthusiasm was barely registered.
The excitement that gripped everyone else seemed immune to him, untouched.
He raised his coffee to his lips and grimaced.
Even its familiar bitterness no longer appealed to him.
‘It’s already Christmas…’ he muttered, the words dissolving into the emptiness of his apartment.
With a sigh, he moved toward his plants, reaching for the small watering can.
His fingers traced the edges of their yellowing leaves—dry and brittle.
His gaze lingered on his bonsai, the once-vibrant green now fading.
A whisper of a smile ghosted across his lips as he spoke softly to the tiny trees.
‘Are you struggling too, huh?’ His fingers delicately touched a branch, as if offering silent comfort.
‘What should I do?’ he murmured, almost to himself.
‘Should I do something?
Take a trip?’ A pause.
‘Italy, maybe?’ … BCN 10,000 km away Sara moved through the construction site bustling space with practiced ease, her sharp gaze scanning every corner, every unfinished detail, with the workers working on the last specifics.
The construction manager approached, wiping sweat from his brow.
‘We’ll be finished here in a month,’ he said in Spanish, his voice laced with both pride and exhaustion.
‘Have we decided on our next assignment?’ Sara didn’t slow her stride.
‘I won’t be done in a month,’ she replied firmly.
‘I’ll stay until the project is officially handed over to the clients.
The team will move on to the gym construction, and I’ll join as much as possible.’ The manager nodded, folding his arms.
‘It’s a big project—five floors just for the gym.’ Sara exhaled, rubbing her temples.
‘Yes.
At least the clients there aren’t as demanding as the ones here.’ A flicker of annoyance crossed her face.
The manager studied her for a moment.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, concern slipping into his tone.
She faltered before offering a small, tired smile.
‘Just hungry, I think.
I’ll have something to eat and head back to the office.
See you tomorrow.’ With that, she stepped away from the site, pulling out her phone as she walked.
She dialed Kil, he was always available for last minute appointments.
She switched to Korean the moment he picked up.
‘Hey, I’m leaving work now.
Have you eaten yet?
Want to grab a meal together?’ She listened to his response, nodding absently as she unlocked her bike.
‘I’ve got my bike.
Okay, I’ll meet you halfway.
See you there in twenty minutes?’ A pause, then a smile.
‘Perfect.’ The streets of Barcelona stretched before her.
She pedaled forward, the salty wind electrified her hair.
But as the minutes passed fatigue clung to her legs, each push of the pedals grew heavier.
She had covered several kilometers, her breathing growing shallow, her vision blurring at the edges.
The restaurant was near.
She could see it now.
Kil probably stood already by the entrance.
She needed to go just a little further.
And then—her body failed her.
Her bike wobbled beneath her.
Her limbs went slack, her vision blurred at the edges.
Before she could cry out, the pavement rushed toward her, and her body crumpled under the weight of exhaustion.
A ripple of emotion spreads through the street, around her.
Murmurs, footsteps, people gathering.
Kil, standing outside the restaurant, noticed the disturbance.
Something was wrong.
He stepped forward, then ran.
His breath caught in his throat, as he took in the small crowd forming around someone on the ground.
Then he saw her.
‘What happened?’ he shouted, sprinting toward her.
His hands shook as he crouched beside her.
Her face was pale, her body unmoving.
He fumbled for his phone, dialing emergency services.
‘Good morning, there’s an unconscious woman here.
She collapsed.
We’re in front of—’ He quickly relayed the location.
‘Okay… thank you.’ Nearby, a truck driver, his hands raised in protest, shook his head.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said hastily, his voice laced with guilt not yet earned.
‘I didn’t even touch her.’ Kil turned sharply.
‘What do you mean you didn’t touch her?
She’s lying on the ground!’ The truck driver gestured toward the bike, still intact.
‘Look, her bike isn’t damaged.
I saw her swerving.
Maybe she’s drunk.’ Kil’s jaw tightened.
‘What are you saying?
She hadn’t even eaten.’ A woman from the crowd chimed in.
‘It’s true, he didn’t touch her.
She just… collapsed.’ The wail of sirens cut through the streets.
Paramedics rushed there, expertly assessing Sara before lifting her onto a stretcher.
Kil climbed into the ambulance without hesitation, his pulse hammering in his ears as they sped toward the hospital.
… SEOUL Kim Nari stepped carefully through the Hospital’s hallway.
At the far end, she saw Eu-jin, his voice controlled as he addressed one of his researcher, which Choi Eu-jin had told her about.
The Hospital Director, slightly aloof, observed them from a corner, deep in conversation with a doctor.
‘Perfect!
Reply by email today,’ Eu-jin instructed.
‘The Swedish don’t like to wait’.
Wi Hae-yeon nodded and vanished into the waiting elevator.
Nari, spotting Wi Hae-yeon leaving, approached him.
Eu-jin smiled warmly.
‘Hello!
Have you been waiting long?’ Nari shook her head.
‘No, just over five minutes.’ ‘Shall we go eat?’ ‘Yeah,’ Nari replied gently.
Right then, the Hospital Director approached them, his presence was commanding but casual.
‘Eu-jin!
Kim Nari!’ he called out, his voice carrying down the hallway.
They had met a few times before, and Nari had left a good impression on him: a quiet Korean girl.
‘Good morning’ Nari greeted him politely.
‘We’re heading out to eat.
Care to join us?’ Eu-jin extended the invitation with an air of obligation rather than sincerity.
The Director smiled but shook his head.
‘I’d love to, but I have a meeting.
Have you made a decision about the project with the Swedish?’ Eu-jin’s response was cryptic.
‘Yeah.’ The Director’s eyes narrowed slightly, an edge of provocation in his voice.
‘Don’t let yourself be swayed,’ he warned, pausing before adding, ‘Kim Nari, your friend chose a woman for an important project simply because she’s a woman and attractive.’ He was trying to stir her jealousy, and he wasn’t subtle about it.
Nari didn’t miss a beat.
‘I don’t think Eu-jin’s decision was based on gender or appearance.
It seems that she’s likely the most qualified on the subject.’ The Director, sensing a challenge, smirked to Eu-jin.
‘Seems like you’re influenced by your friend…’ Nari stood her ground.
‘I didn’t influence him.’ The Director tilted his head, as if considering whether to push further.
Instead, he offered a grand statement: ‘Here, we take great care of our female staff.
We stand for equal pay between men and women.’ Nari’s response came swiftly.
‘That’s commendable, but equal pay alone isn’t enough!
To truly bridge the wage gap, we need to recognize women’s value in leadership roles.’ At this, the Director let out a short, dry laugh, the kind that belonged to men who had long decided the world was better exactly as it was, without changes.
‘I’m leaving,’ he declared, turning away with exaggerated resignation.
‘You two are too progressive for me.’ His footsteps echoed down the hallway, disappearing into the intricate hospital hallways.
As the Director faded down the hall, Eu-jin glanced at Nari, his tone full of admiration.
‘Kim Nari, you’ve been impeccable’.
… BCN Sara stirred, her eyelids heavy, her mind foggy as she registered the unfamiliar ceiling above her.
A sharp jolt of awareness shot through her as she realized she was being wheeled down a hallway, fluorescent lights flashing overhead.
‘Hey,’ she mumbled.
‘Where are they taking me?
I’m fine…’ Beside her, Kil walked briskly, His face, usually composed and indifferent, was drawn with a concern that did not suit him.
‘You fainted while riding your bike.
You really think you’re okay?’ His voice was edged with worry.
‘I called your father—he’s on his way.’ Sara groaned, rubbing her temple.
‘I’m not staying in the hospital just for fainting.’ The words came out more defiant than she intended, but the thought of being trapped in a hospital sent a sensation of unease through her.
Since her mother died she really didn’t like hospitals.
Kil exhaled sharply.
‘Sara, you haven’t been yourself for months.’ His tone softened, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it.
‘They’ll run some tests, and if everything checks out, they’ll send you home.’ ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ she said, as if that alone should be enough to free her from this place.
‘Nobody likes them,’ Kil countered.
‘Don’t be so stubborn.’ Sara let out a sigh, surrendering in resignation.
‘Fine!
I’ll do it,’ she conceded.
‘But you didn’t need to worry my father.’ Kil didn’t reply.
He simply walked beside her as the hospital swallowed them both in its maze of corridors.
Sara lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to ignore the creeping thought that maybe Kil was right.
… SEOUL The pojangmacha stood at the end of a quiet alley, its plastic flaps billowing with the ghosts of a thousand client’s conversations.
The air was thick with the scent of sizzling pieces of meat and the sharp tang of soju.
At a rickety table, four figures sat, their words weaving laughter’s and debates.
Jang Sang-in poured another round, watching the liquid catch the glow of the overhead bulb.
‘We could move to another spot,’ he suggested.
‘It’s not too late.’ Nari leaned forward.
‘Yes, let’s go.
It’s early enough.
Maybe we’ll finally find someone for my brother.
He’s turning into a grumpy bachelor.’ Across from her, Seon-woo let out a theatrical sigh.
‘Grumpy?’ he echoed, setting down his glass with deliberate slowness, feigning offense.
‘No.
Selective.’ Eu-jin smirked, twirling his empty glass between his fingers.
‘Based on what criteria?’ Seon-woo leaned back, stretching his legs under the unbalanced table.
‘I just don’t want an ignorant companion.
I want someone who shares my interests.
If she’s only into Instagram gossip, she’s out.’ Eu-jin chuckled, shaking his head.
‘But you can’t know all this when you first meet someone.’ ‘True,’ Seon-woo admitted.
‘That’s why I subtly test them.’ Seon-woo had drunk far more than he should have, and this time the alcohol was supposed to make him talk more than usual.
Sang-in, already amused, propped his elbows on the table.
‘How?’ Seon-woo’s eyes glinted.
‘First, I casually drop a reference—say, Marcel Proust.
Most girls think it’s a French face cream.’ Nari rolled her eyes.
‘You’re such a snob.’ Sang-in shrugged.
‘Well, beyond knowing he was a French writer, I’m lost.’ ‘That would be enough,’ Seon-woo conceded.
‘But I push it further.
Maybe my standard is too high…
so I lower it.
From Europe, I shift to America, move forward in time—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Salinger.
If she recognizes one, we’re off to a decent start.’ Eu-jin burst out laughing.
‘I’m loving this.
You’re quite the snob.’ Nari sighed.
‘I keep telling you, my brother prefers books over people.’ ‘Then I move to Asia,’ Seon-woo pressed on, undeterred, with the boldness of someone teetering on the edge of intoxication.
‘No excuses about distance here.
Just name three Asian writers—doesn’t even have to be Korean.’ Sang-in whistled.
‘You’re relentless.
It’s like an exam on a date.’ ‘It’s off-putting!’ Nari scoffed.
‘Don’t you see how elitist this is?’ Seon-woo shrugged.
‘Elitist?
Maybe.
But books are free in public libraries.
Anyone who wants to learn can.
I find it far more elitist that people are judged by their wealth.
Society’s motto today seems to be: ‘The more money, the better life, and you might even be a better person.’ Now, that is true elitism.
Having culture—or not having it—shouldn’t be considered elitist.’ Sang-in swirled the last of his soju.
‘Looking at it that way…
I almost agree.’ ‘It still sounds snobbish to me,’ Nari muttered, shaking her head.
Eu-jin leaned in.
‘Have you considered you might be missing out on some good people?’ A flicker of hesitation crossed Seon-woo’s face.
He looked at his half-empty glass, fingers tracing the rim.
‘Yes, I’ve thought about it,’ he admitted after a beat.
‘But is it so wrong to want both?’ Sang-in laughed, clapping him on the back.
‘My friend, you’ll be single for a long time.’ Nari stood, stretching.
‘If we want another round, we should go now.
Otherwise, Yu Kil Chun here will bid us goodnight.’ But Seon-woo’s mind had already drifted elsewhere, recalling when that girl, Orange Juice, had mentioned that the taste of soup transported writer Jeong to his memories, much like Marcel Proust.
He remembered how she’d said it casually, with no hesitation or pretense, as if Proust were as ordinary a subject as the weather.
Across from him, writer Jeong had smiled knowingly at her remark.
Seon-woo blinked, sadly snapping back to the present, the chatter of the pojangmacha rushing back to him.