So Much for Hope

"Who keeps throwing cigarette butts in the flowerbed? Just wait till I catch them!"

It was the exact moment Seol-hee stepped out of the villa's entrance on her way to her interview. Of all days, she had to run into the first-floor landlady, who seemed in an exceptionally foul mood.

"Oh, hello."

The woman was shouting her head off as she swept discarded cigarette butts into a clear plastic bag with a pair of wooden chopsticks, and their eyes met at precisely the wrong moment.

Fearing sparks might fly, Seol-hee offered a quick bow and tried to slip away, but the woman called after her.

"Seol-hee?"

"Yes?"

The landlady looked her up and down, taking in the suit.

"An interview?"

"Ah, yes..."

She shrank as if standing before a panel of interviewers. The landlady strode over and set the plastic bag and chopsticks down on the ground.

What was this about? Had Seol-hee done something wrong? Her shoulders hunched instinctively.

From beneath her immaculately pinned hair—not a single strand out of place—the landlady drew out a bobby pin. Then, with rough, work-worn hands, she gathered Seol-hee's fallen hair, swept it behind her ear, and fixed it snugly in place.

"There. Go on now."

Watching the woman calmly pick her things back up and return to poking through the flowerbed, Seol-hee turned to leave—then walked back over to her instead.

"Th-thank you."

The landlady straightened from her bent posture.

"For the bobby pin? Don't think you can keep it. Bring it back."

"And, well... there's something else, too."

Seol-hee offered her thanks for what her father had told her the night before.

"The part of the jeonse deposit you returned early for us."

"Oh, that. What's there to thank me for? It was always your father's money—I just gave it back. No need to make a fuss."

As if to say she found it tiresome, the woman turned back to her task with renewed focus.

Easy to say, perhaps—but bending the terms of a contract for someone else's sake was never a small kindness.

Then, beneath the stem of an azalea, a discarded cigarette butt caught Seol-hee's eye. She quickly reached out, picked it up, and dropped it into the bag the landlady was holding.

The woman's eyes went wide.

Seol-hee gave a quiet bow without another word and turned to go. As she jogged down the alley, the landlady's booming voice rang out behind her.

"Good luck with your interview!"

Seol-hee turned back for one more bow, then quickened her pace.

Seol-hee's face was reflected in the bus window as she rode toward the interview site. She had sprinted with everything she had, terrified of missing her bus, and the section the landlady had pinned held firm without a wobble. The problem was the crown of her head. Her fingertips, smoothing down the stray hairs escaping there, had gone stiff with nerves.

Whew. I'm shaking.

Over the past two weeks, the plan had rolled forward step by step. Her father had scheduled his surgery date at Naum Hospital. Now, all she needed was to get into the Shinwol Foundation, and she could take the next step.

Seol-hee pulled out her phone and checked it. She had met Dong-chan the day after the wedding, when he'd shown up at her door. Since then—nothing.

He's not the kind of man to give up after one visit.

Blocking her from jobs and part-time work outright was unlikely to be the end of it.

What's he scheming, I wonder.

She told herself not to get ahead of her own anxiety. She knew the future, so circumstances would tilt in her favor—but a changed future meant new variables, and those she had to account for too.

The bus rode on for a long while. She got off at her stop.

The silver-gray building of the Shinwol Foundation was as colossal as its reputation. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Let's do this."

The waiting room was packed with people.

That many competitors?

There was nothing to do but give it her best shot. As she waited, she pressed her trembling fingertips together and took deep breath, after deep breath. And with every candidate who disappeared into the interview room, with every person remaining in the waiting room dwindling away, her nerves climbed toward a peak.

"Woo Seol-hee?"

"Yes!"

Seated before the panel, Seol-hee gathered herself. I came back from the dead. An interview like this is nothing. She hypnotized herself into calm, and fortunately the questions came just as she'd expected—she answered without a single stumble, as if she'd never trembled at all.

Was this a sign that things were about to go her way? Somehow, she could feel hope stirring.

A few days later.

The chairman's office at the Shinwol Foundation.

Yi-hyuk drummed his index finger heavily against the mahogany desk. His eyes, fixed on the tablet screen, hadn't moved in several minutes.

His secretary watched his mood and kept silent.

It was a trivial report. The final list of hires from the new-employee recruitment they'd recently held had come through—and then a wrinkle had appeared: one additional resignation had opened up a slot. All that was needed was a simple decision: pluck a rejected candidate who'd narrowly missed the cut, or post a separate new announcement.

So why had the chairman's silence stretched on so long?

Woo Seol-hee.

The secretary's gaze dropped to the name on the résumé he had been glaring at for minutes on end. If he chose by score among the rejected candidates, she would be the one hired.

Why are you—of all people—at the Shinwol Foundation...

He had murmured those words moments ago while reviewing her résumé, and then simply frozen. A dizzying tension—the sense that nothing, not even an inch ahead, could be predicted—was written across his face.

After much deliberation, the secretary ventured carefully.

"Chairman, is she... someone you know?"

"This time..."

"..."

"Post a new announcement."

The conclusion he reached after that long, long deliberation was, surprisingly, simple. But on the back of the hand that had crumpled around the finger that had been tapping the desk all along, the veins stood out taut.

The secretary pretended not to notice and nodded.

"...I'll pass that along to HR."

Leaning back in his chair, staring at the tablet, his face soon crumpled as if he were about to weep. Long after the secretary opened the door and left, the sight of that man on the verge of collapse lingered in their field of vision.

"Hope, my foot."

Seol-hee stared blankly at her phone screen.

Rejected.

No matter how many times she checked, the result didn't change. Her heart plummeted with a dull thud, and her head went cold as if someone had dumped ice water down the back of her neck.

"Ha..."

Whoever said the life of a regressor was easy needed a talking-to.

"Why couldn't I get the most important cheat code—the one that gets me a job?!"

She hadn't assumed she'd pass unconditionally, but seeing the rejection in black and white made it feel crushing all the same. She replayed every moment of the interview—her expressions, her answers to the questions, even her posture—but nothing about them seemed to have been a problem.

Seol-hee flopped onto the bed. She didn't even have the strength to sit upright. The blow had landed harder than she'd expected.

"What do I do now?"

No answer came. She stared blankly up at the checkered wallpaper of her ceiling as if it might hold one.

Bzzz—

Just then, a notification lit up her phone. She shot upright at the flicker of hope—could it be a late acceptance?

As she read the message, a faint crease formed between her brows.

What kind of random text was this?

Then a call came through. The number was unfamiliar—one she'd never seen before. Seol-hee pressed the answer button carefully.

"Hel...lo?"

A brief silence passed before a low, level voice came through the phone.

Seol-hee's eyes flew wide open.

That's right—the shoes!

Only at the sound of the man's voice did she remember the heels tucked away in her shoe cabinet.

"Hello. I hadn't heard from you, so... I thought you'd forgotten."

"I wouldn't. They're a pair I'm rather fond of."

"Any later and I almost would have sold them on... on a secondhand site."

The secondhand marketplace apps that, ten years from now, nearly every person in the country would use had not yet taken hold of the world.

At her short reply, the quiet sound of the man's laughter drifted through the phone.

"That would have been a disaster. Could I... come by and pick them up now?"

Seol-hee hesitated. It was nighttime. And meeting a man she'd only seen once before didn't exactly appeal.

"Or if not, we could meet another—"

Her deliberation lasted only a moment before she answered straight away.

"Now works."

It would be fine somewhere with plenty of foot traffic, wouldn't it? More than anything, keeping his shoes sitting in her cabinet any longer just felt wrong.

"I'll be driving, so I'll come to wherever you are."

Seol-hee gave him a location near the Intersection Cafe & Florist, where she'd met Dong-chan. The sound of a navigation system being operated carried faintly through the phone.

"Twenty minutes, then. See you soon."

"Yes, see you then."

Click—

Hanging up, Seol-hee grabbed only her wallet and phone and left her room.

"Dad, I'm running to the convenience store!"

"I'll come with you. It's dangerous at night."

"I'm fine, the whole way there is lit up. Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Back soon!"

Seol-hee glanced sideways at her father, glued to his television drama, as she paused by the shoe cabinet. He was completely absorbed in The Women of the Moon, the drama currently airing to huge popularity.

Doesn't the female lead die at the end of that one?

Watching him keep dabbing at his eyes as he watched worried her.

He's going to be a wreck when the finale comes.

Seol-hee slipped the shoes from the cabinet into a paper bag and hurried out of the house.

The air had changed noticeably, morning and evening both. The season had turned far enough that her thin windbreaker and short shorts looked downright chilly.

It was perfect weather for a stroll, but her heart still weighed as heavy as if a stone had been laid on it. The sting of failing the interview wouldn't fade.

Seol-hee stopped by the convenience store to soothe the bitterness in her mouth. She bought a fistful of apple-flavored candy bars, unwrapped one, popped it in her mouth, and headed for the meeting spot.

The moment the sweetness touched her tongue, a strange laugh bubbled up. Just walking down the street sucking on candy like this—it felt like freedom.

"Something I couldn't even have imagined, back then."

Dignity aside, Dong-chan and In-ok had almost never let her leave the house alone. They'd watched her like hawks, forever worried she might bolt. She'd only learned why on the edge of death.

The distance wasn't far, so she took her time walking. With each step, the sense of release seemed to lift her mood a little.

She drew near the meeting place. Leaning against a black sedan parked at the edge of the road, the man was waiting for her.