Body

Yeon-jae put away the mugs that had come out of the dishwasher. When she turned her head, the clock was already ticking toward two. The battlefield of the lunch rush had passed, and closing time was drawing near.

She opened the handbag she'd left beneath the counter. For a moment she simply looked at the small paper bag inside, then fidgeted with it. Over that envelope, the morning's events rose unbidden.

Even after the call ended, the voice lingered in Yeon-jae's ear for a long while. She had assumed he was shuttling back and forth between Seoul and Daejeon. She hadn't known he was staying in Daejeon altogether.

Wait at the café in the hotel, the address they'd given her. As the appointed hour drew closer, her mouth went dry.

Having straightened up the counter, Yeon-jae headed for the roasting room. The roasting that had begun after the lunch rush had filled the café with the smell of beans; even with the door closed, the scent that brushed her nose was thick and clinging.

"Manager, are you finished roasting?"

Yeon-jae knocked, then opened the door.

"Yeah. All done now."

"..."

"Last time we sent out a bulk order, so we were running low. Took longer than usual."

The manager was in the middle of tidying up, brushing off the surfaces around her. Je-heon's face rose before Yeon-jae's eyes, and an awkward smile crossed her lips. Ever since that day, bean orders from Seoul had been coming in steadily. From the manager's point of view it was a bump in sales, and she was pleased. Everyone was winning. The only one left uncomfortable in the arrangement was Yeon-jae.

Ever since she had heard Ji-woo say he liked Je-heon, a quietly settled unease had been growing in volume. She meant to apologize for the misunderstanding—for the careless words she had thrown at him. Sorry for assuming he had put Ji-woo up to it. And before Je-heon could tangle himself any more deeply into her life and Ji-woo's, she meant to put a clean end to this connection. That was why she had resolved to go see him today.

"I'll take care of the cleanup."

Yeon-jae stepped forward and took what the manager had been holding.

"You sure? I was struggling a bit today anyway—there was more than usual."

"I'll handle it, so please rest."

"See, this is why it's always you, Yeon-jae. You're worth ten people."

The manager looked at her and smiled, bright and easy. Now that they were face to face, the words did not come readily, and a brief hesitation found her.

"Manager, could I ask you for a small favor?"

"Hm? What is it?"

The moment Yeon-jae ventured it, the manager spun around.

"I was wondering if I could roast a small batch of beans."

"Oh, come on—I got my hopes up. This is the first time you've ever asked me for something."

A look of delighted surprise rose on her face at once.

"Is that even a favor? Go for it. The machine's already on, so fire it up."

At the manager's easy generosity, Yeon-jae smiled faintly. The bright energy was contagious; looking at the manager's grin, Yeon-jae's own mood lifted in spite of herself.

"Then I'll finish up quickly."

Yeon-jae set the small bag she had brought down on the table. She had come in early, so the math worked out—she could finish this before her shift began. Finish it fast, then get to work. Already it felt as though half the problem had been solved, and her heart was considerably lighter.

"So what kind of beans are these? Did you find something good?"

In all her time working at the café, Yeon-jae had never once asked to roast anything for herself. Curious about the change, the manager came over to the table, her eyes bright with interest.

"Going for a blend?"

"Yes. Brazil Cerrado, Costa Rica Tarrazú, and India Kaapi Royale."

"Hmm."

The manager's gaze landed on Yeon-jae, so direct it was almost uncomfortable. Yeon-jae could already picture what was coming, and she quietly averted her eyes.

"Who's it for?"

"Who else would it be."

Yeon-jae's hands, working the roasting machine, faltered. Then they moved again, as if nothing had happened. Even as she stared at the beans, she could feel the gaze lingering on her from the side.

"They're mine."

The answer came out with feigned innocence, and the manager's eyes narrowed to threads. As if she had already guessed before hearing a word, an intrigued smile spread across her mouth.

"This isn't your taste, Yeon-jae."

The manager shook the empty bean bag at her. The mischievous look that met hers seemed to say, Go ahead. Try to lie.

"Yeon-jae, how long have we known each other?"

"..."

"Macadamia, almond notes. Not a speck of acidity to be found. No way you'd drink this."

She came over and linked her arm through Yeon-jae's.

"I knew it. That handsome guy from before, right?"

Struck speechless, Yeon-jae blinked. She couldn't bring herself to say no, so she merely smiled.

Beyond the glass, the view filled Yeon-jae's sight. The sky that had been bright only a little while ago was beginning to burn red with sunset. She turned her gaze, and it fell on the glass sitting on the table. The coffee cup was empty now. Melted ice had pooled into a shallow puddle at the bottom.

"He's late."

The secretary had said he would arrive before four, so she had waited in the lounge on the first floor of the hotel where Je-heon was staying. She had taken off her afternoon shift on purpose to come. Two hours had passed since she had sent the message that she had arrived. She looked down at her phone; the clock on the screen was drawing close to five.

Just a little longer, she had told herself, just a little longer—and now it was nearly time to pick Ji-woo up from kindergarten. She had wanted to see his face and talk. Today, it seemed, was not the day.

Well. It was only that they had been running into each other with strange frequency in Daejeon. Originally, he had been someone you couldn't meet without an appointment. Old memories stirred, unbidden.

Yeon-jae, who had been tapping at her phone as if lost in thought, rose from her seat. She had things to say to Je-heon, but she couldn't make Ji-woo wait any longer. With no other choice, she left the café and walked toward the front desk.

"Shall I help you check in?"

"Ah, no. Would you be able to hold something and pass it along for me?"

Yeon-jae offered an awkward smile to the staff member who had greeted her so kindly.

"I was hoping to give it to him in person, but it seems he's running late."

"Of course. May I have the recipient's name?"

Yeon-jae set a small shopping bag on the desk.

"Gu Je-heon."

Saying his name left her with a peculiar feeling. In the five years since she had come down to Daejeon, she had never had occasion to speak it. She had believed they would never meet again—that she would never have to put that name in her mouth.

"Please give it to him when he comes to pick it up."

A life overturned in an instant. She no longer knew how any of it would unfold.

Coming out of the lobby, Yeon-jae stopped walking. She opened her messages and found Je-heon's number. Two numbers still sat at the top of the screen. Out of habit she nearly pressed the familiar one, then stopped, and opened a compose window on the other. She left a brief message and slipped the phone into her handbag.

"I should've just done this from the start."

A smile brushed the corner of Yeon-jae's mouth. Perhaps because she had made up her mind, even retracing the way she had come felt strangely freeing. Her steps were light as she walked, pondering what to eat with Ji-woo.

The sedan carrying Je-heon pulled up in front of the hotel. As he entered the lobby, Seong-jae, having handed the car off to valet, caught up with him. Seong-jae glanced at Je-heon, who had just ended a call. He had been on the phone the entire way down from Seoul, making it hard to get a single word in.

As they stepped into the lobby, Seong-jae glanced toward the lounge café on the first floor, then turned at Je-heon's call.

"The house?"

"I went through everything while you were away, sir. No new talismans had been brought in."

The image of Myeong-hee rose in his mind—on the phone with Hyeonwol-dang, the last time they had visited Cheongdam-dong. Hyeonwol-dang and talismans came as a set. He still couldn't forget the crawl of his skin when he had first found the pillow stuffed with a talisman under the bed.

Myeong-hee had always been pathologically obsessed with shamanism, but after Je-heon's accident she had grown even more relentless. She slipped strange objects into the Samseong-dong house at every opportunity; he had long since had his fill. Even coming down to Daejeon on business, that had been what weighed on him most.

"None? That's a relief. Still, keep a close watch until the trip is over."

Only then did the rigidity leave Je-heon's face. While he had been away from Seoul, Seong-jae had taken it upon himself to hire a cleaning company. They had pulled out every piece of furniture and concluded the place was clean.

"She hides them so well. Sometimes Chief Joo seems less like a secretary and more like a professional."

Apparently the way he had invoked Chief Joo that day—and the way he had acted—had come as quite a shock to her. It was the first time he had refused so unequivocally.

"Right. How did that go? Are there other candidates?"

"I've been looking around, asking around, but children as gifted as Ji-woo aren't exactly common."

Seong-jae went on, looking troubled. It wasn't the first time Je-heon had considered giving up on Ji-woo because of Yeon-jae, who foamed at the mouth at the mere mention of the foundation. The world was overflowing with underprivileged children. If they looked, surely there had to be another child as exceptional as Jeong Ji-woo.

The day he had gone to the trouble of arranging support from the city of Daejeon, only to have her round on him, accusing him of having lied—anger had surged up in Je-heon. He wasn't the type to be swept up by emotion, and yet the irritation that came flooding in had been hard to contain.

Had five years completely overhauled her personality? He hated that even when Yeon-jae kept behaving in ways that defied all common sense, he found himself going to her, calling her, doing something.

The foundation. Yes, the foundation was an important gateway for the succession. But Ji-woo wasn't the only resource, was he. That was why he had told them to find other candidates.

"I don't think we'll find a child as special as Ji-woo."

Je-heon waved a hand, saying he understood. If Ji-woo was the best option, there was no helping it. The only way forward was to make Jeong Yeon-jae yield.

"Sir, there's something else I should tell you."

"What is it?"

"I didn't have a chance to pass this on earlier, but Jeong Yeon-jae contacted us this morning. She said she wanted to see you today. She sent a message as well."

Seong-jae glanced down at his wristwatch. The Seoul schedule had run late, and they had come straight down afterward—and it was still past eight.

"I told her you'd arrive around four. It seems she waited and then left."

Je-heon, who had been walking toward the elevator, stopped dead.

"Jeong Yeon-jae did?"

He pulled his phone from inside his jacket. The lock screen gave way and the display brightened at once. After a moment of tapping at it, he looked at Seong-jae.

"There's nothing."

Je-heon showed him the empty inbox. No contact at all—not even a reply to the messages he himself had sent. Then, as if something had struck him as odd, he pulled another phone from his pocket. The business phone.

When he lit the screen, two messages were sitting right there. As he read through them, a hollow, incredulous laugh caught at the corner of his mouth. He had texted and called from his personal phone—and Jeong Yeon-jae's reply had come to the business number.

"She's drawing a line."

Could a person change this much? The Jeong Yeon-jae he knew would have liked him—she'd never been one to turn him down. A strange feeling washing over him, Je-heon brushed the corner of his mouth.

"Got it. Seong-jae, you head home."

"Yes, sir. I'll try to set up another meeting with Ms. Jeong Yeon-jae. You've worked hard. Please rest."

Seong-jae withdrew with a clean, no-frills farewell. Waiting for the elevator, Je-heon opened the phone he had been fidgeting with again.

The part about leaving something only then caught his eye. The elevator arrived and the doors opened. After a day of being run ragged, his muscles were screaming at him to go up and rest. He paused, then turned around.

It was irritating. She wouldn't meet him when he asked, spent every hour of the day avoiding him, and now she wanted to see him?

His long legs carried him without hesitation to the front desk.

"Is there a package left under the name Gu Je-heon?"

Je-heon took the shopping bag the staff member held out. What could possibly be so important that she'd go around inconveniencing people. Carrying the small bag, he headed back toward the elevator.

Ordinarily he wouldn't have bothered turning around to go get it. He wouldn't have, if it weren't Jeong Yeon-jae. A faint, mocking smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the shopping bag. No—if it weren't Jeong Yeon-jae, there wouldn't even have been anyone to leave him something like this in the first place.

He opened the shopping bag, neatly sealed with tape. His nose twitched. From inside a plain ziplock bag came a deep, rich aroma of roast. When he opened it and saw the finely ground beans, his brow furrowed deeply.

Kilimanjaro was the coffee Je-heon usually drank. In fact, given how violently he disliked acidity, it was one of the few beans he could stand.

The elevator doors opened at the suite. He was supposed to get off, but Je-heon stood there motionless. After standing like that for a long while, he let out a low laugh.

"Jeong Yeon-jae. That's just like you. After all that insisting it wasn't so."

He lifted the shopping bag in one hand, one corner of his mouth curling up.

She was the woman who had been in love with him for a good ten years. As if a habit like that would simply disappear. Thinking that, Je-heon walked toward the room, his steps uncommonly light.