Don't Hurt Others for Your Own Happiness
"You're banned from the internet for a while. Got it?"
"......"
"Yu-yeong."
"What? Are Yu-won's fans going to come kill me?"
At Yu-yeong's listless mutter, Seul-a, gripping the steering wheel, heaved a deep sigh.
Who could have guessed that the hat Yu-yeong had been wearing—the very one that had gotten her into this mess—was a luxury item gifted by one of Yu-won's most famous fans?
And because someone had inevitably snapped photos and spread them everywhere, Yu-yeong had been recast overnight as a lunatic who'd strutted through a hotel lobby flaunting a hat her boyfriend had received as fan tribute.
"Yu-yeong."
"I'm not dating him. I only met him to—"
She tried to stammer out her excuses, but the words never made it to the end.
Yes, she'd gone into the hotel with him, but she hadn't slept with him—who on earth was going to believe that?
I wasn't interested in that idol, we weren't dating, I didn't put that hat on on purpose—would anyone believe her even if she said all of that?
Even to herself, it sounded like a story no one could possibly believe.
"...I'm losing my mind."
Murmuring those words, Yu-yeong pressed her forehead against the car window. The cold touch of the glass only made her head ache worse.
When her mind had cleared, Yu-yeong had been genuinely happy. It was a feeling like—everything was finally going to be okay, you know?
But that fleeting sense of liberation hadn't lasted even a full day. By the next morning, it had been wiped away entirely by the scandal articles.
These weren't sloppy internet tabloids; they came from famous entertainment newspapers, and they were viciously sensational, as if the outlets had made up their minds to bury her for good.
The articles droned on at length about the ruinous influence Yu-yeong's sordid private life would have on the students who idolized her as their role model.
"Am I their teacher or something?"
She said it flippantly, but Yu-yeong knew perfectly well that her very existence wasn't exactly the best example for young students.
And yet, it was unfair.
It hadn't been her.
That wasn't who she was.
It felt like shouting words no one would ever believe, alone, into empty air.
"Unnie."
"Yeah? You tired? Just hang in there a little longer. We'll be home soon. The Paju set is great except for the distance—"
"I'm sorry."
At that single apology, Seul-a's words stopped dead.
"Yu-yeong."
"I'm really sorry."
"Sorry for what? There are actresses out there who are ten times worse than you, and they're a dime a dozen. You know that."
"......"
"I like you."
She meant it. Working with Yu-yeong was never exactly easy, but at least her heart was never weary afterward.
In an industry crawling with divas who made you nervous just to breathe in their presence, Yu-yeong was one of the gentlest actresses you could count on one hand.
If anything, she was so hopeless at throwing her weight around that Seul-a sometimes wished the girl would grow just a little bit of a temper.
"I mean it. I'm genuinely glad I took you on."
"...Thank you."
Yu-yeong said that while gazing out the window, then spoke again.
"Unnie."
"Yeah."
"Not home... let's go to Yangpyeong."
"You want to see your grandmother?"
"Yes... please."
At Yu-yeong's words, Seul-a silently turned the car around.
Having lost her parents as a child and been raised entirely by her grandmother, Yu-yeong loved that woman more than anyone else in the world.
Hospitalized in a nursing home from the infirmities of old age, she was Yu-yeong's only family—the one hill she could lean on when everything else gave way.
"I miss her so much..."
Murmuring the words, Yu-yeong pictured her grandmother's face. When Yu-yeong first announced she wanted to become a celebrity, and again when she finally did, it was her grandmother who had rejoined for her, wholeheartedly and without reservation.
To Yu-yeong, her grandmother was one of the reasons she was alive—the single wellspring of strength that kept her going through a life this hard.
"Grandma!"
Arriving at the hospital, Yu-yeong pushed open the door to the private room where her grandmother stayed.
The best private room in a facility famous for its excellent care and kind staff—that room belonged to Yu-yeong's grandmother, Jeong-in.
Jeong-in, sitting propped up in bed working on her knitting, looked up at Yu-yeong stepping into the room and broke into a wide, radiant smile.
"Our puppy!"
Jeong-in was smiling as warmly as anyone could ask, but she couldn't quite hide the faint shadow that had settled over her face. Yu-yeong darted across the room and threw herself into her grandmother's arms—then flinched, shoulders jerking, when she saw the darkness rooted there.
Seeing Jeong-in used to be the purest happiness she knew. But as the years passed, every look at her grandmother's face had come wrapped in guilt.
Because Yu-yeong knew all too well that her own brokenness had become her grandmother's wound.
"Grandma, is something wrong?"
Yu-yeong asked, gently stroking Jeong-in's cheek.
Even though she knew full well it was her own scandal weighing on the old woman, Yu-yeong pretended not to know, asking like a child too young to understand. At least in front of her grandmother, she wanted to be a child without a single worry.
"Grandma?"
"Wrong? What could be wrong? Seeing our little puppy just makes me happy, that's all."
At Jeong-in's tender words, Yu-yeong forced a smile while feeling, with terrible clarity, that it wasn't the truth.
Becoming the sole source of worry for a beloved family member was never a pleasant thing.
"Grandma, you see..."
The moment Yu-yeong opened her mouth, Jeong-in reached out and took her hand affectionately.
So much love welled up from the touch of those fingers that Yu-yeong bit her lip without meaning to.
"Our puppy, Yeong-ah..."
"Yes, Grandma."
"Your grandma here, as long as you're happy, everything's fine."
"......"
"What matters is that our granddaughter is happy. You understand?"
"...Yes."
"But, my baby..."
Jeong-in tenderly caressed Yu-yeong's cheek. Somehow, that touch stung and ached worse than any brutal lashing ever could.
"Don't hurt others just so you can be happy... you hear?"
It would be better if you just hit me.
The moment she heard those words, Yu-yeong thought exactly that. If her grandmother had struck her instead, it would have been a mercy.
Unable to bring herself to harshly blame the granddaughter she loved, Jeong-in had only asked her not to hurt others—and it was that gentleness that broke Yu-yeong's heart.
"Grandma, Grandma..."
It wasn't me, Grandma.
Grandma, it really wasn't me. I'm not some girl who plays around with men, I didn't steal anyone else's boyfriend, I— I—
"Grandma, I..."
Yu-yeong knew how badly Jeong-in had suffered in the past because of her. Possession was one thing, but a granddaughter who saw ghosts pained the old woman so much that she had once hired a shaman, even scribbled talismans for her.
And even then, Jeong-in had lamented over and over that it was all because they were poor—that if they'd had money, they could have held a proper exorcism rite for her.
That's not it.
Watching Jeong-in weep and blame her own poverty, Yu-yeong had never spoken of seeing ghosts again. Possession, least of all.
If she told her the truth, Jeong-in would inevitably call those things her own fault too.
So Yu-yeong wanted to say it: that she was being controlled by spirits, that unknown beings seized her body and tormented her.
I'm innocent, Grandma. I'm so unfairly accused it's driving me insane. She wanted to say those words more than anything.
"I know, I know... But Yu-yeong, my puppy..."
In a situation like this, the words Jeong-in could say and the words Yu-yeong could say had, in the end, all been decided in advance.
Yu-yeong had no wish to pile more weight onto her grandmother's already aching chest with words she couldn't even believe herself.
Yu-yeong buried herself in her grandmother's arms and cried for a long, long while, repeating over and over that she was sorry.
I'm sorry I was born like this, Grandma. I'm sorry I'm this kind of granddaughter. I'm sorry— it's my fault. I did wrong.
By the time Yu-yeong slipped out of her grandmother's hospital room, it was already past nine at night. As though every other patient had gone to sleep, the hospital corridor was unnaturally, excessively quiet.
Tears still clung to Yu-yeong's eyes. If anyone saw her crying here... another malicious rumor would surely spread—that Yu-yeong was putting on a show to buy the public's sympathy. And still, the tears kept coming, spilling over and refusing to stop.
Wiping away the falling tears, Yu-yeong failed to notice that the air surrounding her had changed from a moment ago.
"Why are you crying?"
Someone spoke to her as she walked down the corridor in tears. When Yu-yeong's head snapped up at the voice, at the far edge of her vision she saw a little girl swinging her small feet from the windowsill at the end of the hallway.
The girl in the yellow dress looked about six years old, her hair braided into two pigtails. Yu-yeong had never seen her face before.
"Miss, why are you crying?"
At the girl's repeated question, Yu-yeong shook her head, drawn toward the child as if spellbound.
There was no human warmth in that hospital corridor—only a thick, bleak chill pressed down over everything—but Yu-yeong didn't know it.
"No, no... I'm not crying, it's just..."
"You're famous, aren't you, Miss?"
"......"
"You are, aren't you?"
At the girl's bright, ringing question, Yu-yeong nodded, dabbing her wet cheeks with her sleeve.
"Yeah..."
"I know you, Miss."
"Really?"
At Yu-yeong's counter-question, the girl nodded her head vigorously.
Every time the child bobbed her head, her two braids swung back and forth, and it was so endearing that Yu-yeong couldn't take her eyes off her.
"Don't cry. If you cry, your pretty face gets all messed up."
At the oddly grown-up remark, Yu-yeong couldn't help letting out a small burst of laughter.
The girl, with her delicate, striking features, was staring intently at Yu-yeong.
"But what are you doing here? It's really late..."
"I came to see my grandma!"
"Really? Is she asleep? If you're out of your room at this hour, your parents must be worried sick."
"It's fine!"
Even as the girl answered that it was fine, she kept staring at Yu-yeong without blinking.
That gaze, relentlessly taking in every inch of her face as if searching for confirmation of something, was far too... adult for a child.
"Miss."
"Yes?"
"You're pretty when you smile."
At those words, Yu-yeong's eyes widened, and she looked at the child again. Somehow, that compliment—that she was pretty when she smiled—felt like a surprisingly real comfort.
"Thank you... and you're pretty too. But you shouldn't be wandering around this late instead of sleeping. Good children go to bed early. That's how you grow up tall and strong."
At her words of thanks, the girl broke into a beaming smile and hopped down from the windowsill. Yu-yeong lunged to catch her, but the child just waved her hand as if to say she was fine.