Come Back

He was sitting at the table with director Kang Woo-hyun, the production company CEO, and the executive producer, engaging in a serious conversation. People at the other tables were also whispering among themselves, lowering their voices as they discussed the events that had just unfolded.

“What the… Is it true that Choi Hong-seo was really a sponsor, like Senior Seo Jun-young said?”

Park Dong-ha mumbled to himself, staring intensely at Lee Hae-sung, who was sitting at the farthest table.

“When Senior Seo Jun-young said that, I didn’t believe it, but after today, it’s undeniable, right? If it wasn’t true, there’s no way he’d be acting like this.”

Park Dong-ha seemed to want Choi Hong-seo to agree, but hearing him refer to her as a sponsor made Choi Hong-seo suddenly feel angry. She wanted to say something, but opening her mouth felt impossible. Instead, she twisted the napkin in her hand, her teeth gritting as she silently endured.

“What’s the basis for calling her a sponsor?”

Instead, a cold, incredulous voice was heard—Kim Yi-jeong’s.

“When a chaebol meets a celebrity, the first thing people think of is that they must be in a sponsor relationship. Isn’t that a bit too much?”

“Ah… That’s not what I was talking about with actress Kim Yi-jeong…”

Park Dong-ha stammered, busy trying to explain himself, but Kim Yi-jeong didn’t show any sign of loosening her stern expression.

“When one side has wealth and power, it’s natural to think it’s a relationship based on that. So, to avoid being suspected of meeting for money, should we all only date people with the same financial status, like our parents’ wealth and our individual salaries being exactly the same?”

It seemed there was a reason why Kim Yi-jeong was so obviously displeased. When you touch a wound, anyone loses their rationality. However, Choi Hong-seo didn’t have the time to think about that. She couldn’t even hear their conversation anymore; her state was deteriorating too much.

It’ll be fine. I made it through last time until Yong-jae arrived. If I just find a quiet spot, I’ll be able to calm down enough to slip away without causing a scene.

As if on cue, the lights dimmed, signaling that the movie was about to begin. The opening title of the film appeared on the screen shortly afterward. Choi Hong-seo waited for a little while and then quietly stood up from her chair. Park Dong-ha and Kim Yi-jeong glanced up at her, but the dim lighting helped conceal their expressions.

She approached one of the hired staff members, who was stationed to assist the guests with their meals, and asked for the location of the restroom. Luckily, there was a restroom on the rooftop as well.

As soon as the bathroom door was locked, she collapsed onto the floor, barely able to hold herself up. She clung to the toilet and threw up the little food she had eaten. The floor, the walls, the ceiling—all of it seemed to melt away like a Salvador Dalí painting. Every pore in her body seemed to be sweating out everything, as if it were squeezing the moisture out.

*“Choi Hong-seo was a very important person to me.”*

It was a vague expression, but at the same time, it carried a lot of meaning. In front of someone like Yoon Hye-an, he had defined Choi Hong-seo’s significance in such a way—without overdoing it, but also without being overly cautious.

*“But now, I can’t meet her anymore. The process and reasons for why we can no longer meet are so painful and anger-inducing that I can’t even put it into words… Do you understand?”*

If someone were to lose a precious person through such a process and reason, wouldn’t they become sensitive? Wouldn’t anyone be unable to live with a clear mind? How much more time and energy would it take to recover?

And even if a period comes when it looks like someone has recovered on the outside, can that really be called true recovery?

At the time, it seemed like the only decision in front of me.

I had been deceiving myself, convincing myself that there was hope, that I could endure, but I had long since surpassed my limits. I realized that for all this time, my feet had been dangling in thin air.

And so… I wanted to let everything go. I thought that if I just let go, everything—the terrifying past and the equally terrifying things that would happen in the future—would disappear. I made the wrong decision in a state of panic where rational thought was impossible.

In the place where I had left, a few people I held dear were suffering, bearing my absence along with their pain. It was as if I had been brought back to this world just to witness that.

I could see how Lee Hae-sung, who hadn’t been able to let go of Choi Hong-seo in a world without her, was living. It felt like I was wandering in the afterlife, watching his suffering.

No, it wasn’t just a feeling. My soul was truly wandering in this world.

He couldn’t see Choi Hong-seo. And if he couldn’t see her, then I might as well not exist at all.

This surreal experience was clearly a punishment and a retribution.

After vomiting even the clear liquid, Choi Hong-seo grabbed the edge of the sink and barely managed to get up. She splashed cold water on her face, pouring it on in a rush. Yet, it didn’t help. Her consciousness was being dragged away somewhere uncontrollably. It felt as though someone had shoved their hand deep inside her, yanking out the very core that kept her body standing.

Her neck snapped, and she collapsed to the floor.

Lying on the cold tile floor with her cheek pressed against it, Choi Hong-seo faintly realized something.

Was it because remembering the intense emotions and memories of her time as Choi Hong-seo was causing her body to reject it? In the mortuary, in Director Kang’s reception room, and today… Was that why it had happened?

She was terrified of losing consciousness. The fear that when she opened her eyes again, everything she had experienced, seeing him as Yoon Hye-an, might vanish. Or that she might never wake up again. She feared returning to a state where she drifted aimlessly without a voice or form, outside of time and space.

As her eyes, which had been straining to stay open, finally began to close, she genuinely wished for one thing:

Even if I receive a harsher punishment, please let me remain here, where I can see him.

—

The only sound in the hospital room was the faint hum of the air purifier. Outside the window, light rain was falling in the thick darkness.

The room’s layout, separated into a living area and the hospital space, and the furniture and lighting, were designed to be comfortable, giving it a more hotel-like atmosphere rather than feeling like a hospital. Next to the living room, there was also a kitchen, allowing the staff to prepare meals tailored to the VIPs and their guardians.

From the 19th-floor VIP ward, the view of Seoul was completely submerged in darkness.

There hadn’t been any news of rain, had there? That’s why the outdoor event had been planned.

As dark as the outside was, the glass window served as a mirror reflecting the lit hospital room. Looking through the window, Lee Hae-sung, who had been staring at the patient lying in the bed, let out a deep sigh and turned around.

Returning to the chair near the bed, Lee Hae-sung quietly gazed down at the face of the patient. The patient was sleeping, having received a fever-reducing injection. Due to dehydration from the fever, IV fluids were being administered through the back of their hand.

Yet, the sweat remained. Wet strands of hair clung to their forehead and temples.

The crossed legs and arms firmly pressed across their chest still reflected Lee Hae-sung’s exclusionary feelings toward the man in front of them.

But why was that?

Just like before, I couldn’t send this man off in an ambulance. I couldn’t do it.

In the awkward atmosphere, the movie screening was ongoing when a stir began around the table with the youngest actors—Park Dong-ha, Kim Yi-jeong, and Yoon Hye-an. It had been 30 minutes since Yoon Hye-an went to the bathroom and hadn’t returned. When they went to check, they found the door locked from the inside and there was no response when they knocked.

The event was immediately halted.

On the chair where Yoon Hye-an had been sitting, only a napkin remained. It was so tightly crumpled that it was covered in deep folds.

Lee Hae-sung instructed the guests to wait at the table and ordered the staff to open the door.

The moment he found Yoon Hye-an collapsed on the floor, the things recorded in Manager Kang’s report—the various heinous acts—did not cross his mind.

“I will never say anything bad about the vice president.”

The same words Choi Hong-seo had said, with that firm and resolute expression. That was all that came to mind.

To ensure that other guests wouldn’t see, Lee Hae-sung quietly had Yoon Hye-an moved downstairs, following shortly behind.

Yoon Hye-an, limp and hot to the touch, was carried by a strong attendant. Just being near him felt like the air was thick with heat.

“We need to take him to the hospital right away, instead of waiting for the ambulance.”

Whether it was Manager Kang or the attendant carrying Yoon Hye-an, someone’s report made Lee Hae-sung nod in agreement. He followed them all the way to the underground parking garage.

Once in the SUV, after reclining the seat and almost lying the patient down, Lee Hae-sung stood still by the open back door, fastening the seatbelt.

“Vice President, you need to step back so we can leave.”

At the urgent voice, Lee Hae-sung didn’t step back, but instead climbed into the vehicle. It wasn’t a decision made after any rational process—it was an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment choice.

He had contacted the hospital to prepare the VIP ward and instructed that the patient be taken directly to the 19th floor, bypassing the emergency room. The attending physician in charge of the VIP ward immediately began treatment.

The attending physician, who had promised to report back in detail, hadn’t returned after 30 minutes. As Lee Hae-sung was considering asking the attendant in the living room to check the situation, the attending physician finally arrived at the hospital room.