Love Camp Episode 18

"Who asked you to do that? Why do things nobody asked for and get everyone talking? Do you even know what the staff are saying about us right now?"

Seokjun answered only with tightly pressed lips. That arrogant silence—neither denial nor excuse—only fanned Minju's anger hotter.

"I know making a fool of people is your specialty, but this is going too far. If I was supposed to be grateful, then I'm sorry to disappoint. So from now on, stay out of my business."

Minju poured the words out like a storm, then drew a ragged breath. Her boiling anger wouldn't settle—so much that she'd forgotten the camera filming them from far away.

Beyond the fog, Seokjun's gaze sank deep. Like someone standing silently under a pouring rain, he stayed quiet for a long while before finally murmuring in a low voice.

"...Is that really something worth getting so angry about?"

"What did you say?"

"You seemed to be in a difficult spot, so I wanted to help. It didn't have to be you, Seo Minju—I'd have done the same for anyone in that situation."

Seokjun continued in an even tone. It was a detached voice, without a trace of emotional turmoil.

"By the time I came back from the parking lot, it seemed you no longer needed it, so I didn't give it to you. And I simply forgot the jacket. I didn't realize my actions would disgust you this much."

Sweeping back his wet hair, Seokjun added in a voice gone low and quiet. On the surface he seemed calm, but at the edge of his words lingered a hurt as sharp as a honed thorn.

"I'll be careful from now on. Whether you're in trouble, Seo Minju, or trembling in danger."

"..."

"I'll stay out of your way as you wish, so don't just stand there—go inside and settle your stomach. You look terrible."

Without giving Minju a chance to retort, Seokjun brushed right past her.

His back, disappearing into the fog, was as proud as ever, but the words he'd just spat out caught in Minju's chest like thorns.

He'd said he would stay out of her business—so why, all the way to the very end, was he checking her complexion and telling her to go inside?

Whether from the hangover or the strange sense of defeat she'd just suffered, Minju's stomach began to churn again.

In that moment, over the blurred fog, the raw night air of a day long ago settled over her like a second skin.

The low voice pressed down on her chest like an auditory hallucination. For an instant, with the illusion that the ground was giving way beneath her feet, Minju's senses plunged headlong into the past.

The smell of raw night air. The heavy footsteps that had doggedly pursued her up the library hill late at night. In a terror that made her fingertips go numb, what Minju had clung to was the red ember of a cigarette blinking at the corner of the building.

When the man following her stumbled to a stop, Minju remembers that dry vibration sounding above her head. It carried neither threat nor anger, yet that chilling low register made her hold her breath just to hear it.

The man's jawline, faintly revealed under the streetlight, and his coldly sunken eyes were chillingly like the back of the man who had just vanished into the fog.

[I'd have done the same for anyone in that situation.]

Seokjun's indifferent reply collided with the fragments of the past and lodged itself sharply in her mind.

Back then, just like now—was it simply that he'd helped because it was a situation 'anyone' could face?

Minju's heart wavered with a strange sense of defeat. There was a time she'd mistaken his actions for lingering attachment.

That ten years ago there must have been circumstances that forced him to leave without a word—and that was why he'd appeared before her again now. Perhaps she had wanted to believe that.

But the look in his eyes just now had been unbearably dry.

'No need to ask after all.'

Minju swallowed the bitter conclusion lingering in her mouth.

The resolve she'd once made—to find out, no matter what, the real reason he'd abandoned her and left ten years ago—crumbled in an instant like a sandcastle.

What was the point of asking now? The moment she asked, it would only prove that she alone was still tethered to the past, trembling with lingering feelings.

She didn't want to earn his misunderstanding, nor have her worthless inner heart exposed.

She only had to become a thorough stranger—the way he wanted. No, the way she had wanted.

Having stared for a long while into the fog where Seokjun had disappeared, Minju turned her heavy steps toward the lodging. Rain was coming—the muggy air clung stickily to her skin.

Forcing down the nausea and unpleasantness welling up from inside her, she walked on—and saw a silhouette standing before the entrance. It was Sangho.

Even at this early hour, he was impeccably dressed without a wrinkle out of place; he must be an early riser by nature.

'Just like anyone else.'

Having unconsciously thought of Seokjun, Minju quickly shook her head to shake off the afterimage. She didn't want to be thinking of that man in front of Sangho.

Just then, sensing her presence, Sangho turned his head. When he spotted Minju through the fog, the corners of his eyes curved in a soft arc.

"Minju, where have you been?"

"Oh, I just stepped out to the common living room for a bit... Were you waiting for me?"

"Yes. You drank a lot of wine yesterday, so I figured you'd have a rough morning. I brought you this."

Inside the small pouch Sangho held out were hangover relief drinks and some simple jellies.

"You went to the convenience store early in the morning again because of me? You really didn't have to..."

"No, I packed these at home in advance, just in case."

Sangho's answer was plain, but sincerity for Minju was folded inside it. It was the exact opposite of Seokjun's words—that his kindness was fair and equal to everyone.

"...Thank you. I'll drink them well. But what do I do, receiving things from you every single time?"

From the warm citron tea he'd given her when she fell into the lake, to the cardigan he'd handed her last night, to the hangover remedy in her hand now—Sangho's kindness kept stacking up, while she had given him nothing in return.

When Minju trailed off, looking truly sorry, Sangho instead studied her face carefully and asked, tentative.

"Does this bother you a lot? Me doing this?"

"No. It's not that it bothers me—it's just that I have nothing to give you in return, and I feel bad about it."

"You have nothing to feel bad about. I give because I want to."

When Minju nodded as if to say she understood, Sangho finally seemed relieved and broke into a wide smile.

Perhaps it was thanks to that handsome smile—the humid fog that had wrapped damply around her felt as if it had lifted, just a little.

The rain that had been falling since morning grew heavier past noon. Tap-tap-tap—along with the rain drumming on the windows, a tension-filled filming began.

Across the large table in the center of the lobby, intricate paper puzzle pieces depicting local heritage sites lay scattered in dizzying disarray.

"Everyone, fate is like a puzzle. The pieces are all different shapes, but when they meet their one and only match, they finally interlock perfectly."

Holding the microphone, the Love Coach added with an enigmatic smile, addressing the contestants.

"Today's puzzle mission is an individual competition. To one male and one female contestant—each the first to complete their puzzle—I will award a Date Ticket, granting a date with the partner of your choice."

At the words a date with the partner of your choice, the contestants' eyes flashed all at once.

"When you finish, press the chime bell in front of you. Now—begin!"

Before the Love Coach's signal had even finished falling, Minju dumped the pieces from the box onto the table, bit her lip hard, and focused on the board.

She couldn't shake the guilt of only ever receiving from Sangho, who looked after her so attentively. This time, at least, she was determined to take first place and gift him a wonderful date with her own hands.

But perhaps because her heart was racing, every puzzle piece before her looked identical. The similar saturation of the colors only made it more confusing.

'Is it just me?'

Anxious, she stole a glance up—the other contestants seemed to be in similar straits. All of them, lips bitten or brows deeply furrowed, were sorting through their pieces, clearly finding nothing easy.

In that suffocating competition, only Seokjun was different. He was cold and fast to the point of being mechanical. Ten years ago or now, when Seokjun set his sights on a goal, he was never swayed by emotion.

Ding!

The sharp chime of a bell shattered the silence.