WOP Ch 1.3

As expected, the office was completely empty, with not even a skeleton crew remaining. This had to be a big story. He made a mental note to check the news later. As he stepped further inside, he muttered to himself,  

“Sunbae?”  

No response. Only the soft rustling of papers stirred by the air conditioning filled the silence, as if whispering secrets. The cold air dried his lips.  

Ha Joyoon stared at the blank computer screens before scanning the office once more. Nothing. Usually, at least a few people stayed behind, even during breaking news. For everyone to be gone like this… It must have been a serious incident.  

“They even left all their documents behind….”  

Absent-mindedly, he touched the edge of a stack of papers on the desk, then pulled out his phone to check the time.  

“Oh… What?”  

A look of distress spread across his pale face. He was two hours late for his appointment. He had known time had passed, but not this much. It was an inexcusable lapse in judgment.  

“Ah….”  

Ha Joyoon recalled his appointment and let out a short sigh. His acquaintance was not the kind of person to be forgiving. Even someone as indifferent to others as Ha Joyoon had always found that man particularly cold and difficult.  

I should call him.  

It seemed unlikely they’d meet today. He’d have to properly apologize and reschedule. Just as he turned to leave—  

“You sneak into an empty office, and now you plan to sneak out too?”  

A low, distinct voice resonated through the room, cutting through the silence. The words were polite, but the underlying chill was unmistakable. It was a familiar tone.  

Turning his head, Ha Joyoon saw a tall figure leaning casually against the doorway, dressed in a sharp suit. His sleek, well-groomed appearance and piercing eyes carried an air of arrogance, reinforcing the rumors of his countless romantic entanglements.  

Shin Kwonjoo.  

One of TPA’s most renowned journalists, a man whose name was attached to countless “firsts,” and Ha Joyoon’s former Sunbae.  

Even though Ha Joyoon had known he was back in Korea, he hadn’t expected to run into him here. As he stood there awkwardly, Shin Kwonjoo’s eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. The crisp sound of his shoes echoed across the floor as he approached, bringing with him a rush of cold air.  

“You’ve crumpled all these documents, too.”  

Looking down, Ha Joyoon realized he had unconsciously pressed his hand against the papers, leaving them wrinkled. He frowned slightly, troubled.  

“And you’re not looking too great.”  

The man murmured the words absently, brushing aside Ha Joyoon’s hand to retrieve the documents and placing them neatly on the desk. The whole scene felt oddly surreal. The fact that Shin Kwonjoo was even here at all.  

After a long pause, Ha Joyoon’s dry lips slowly parted.  

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize no one was here….”  

“The entire office relocated due to an internal matter.”  

That explained everything. Ha Joyoon gave a small nod of understanding.  

“When did you return to Korea?”  

Though they had attended the same department, Ha Joyoon had only worked under Shin Kwonjoo for about six months during his internship at TPA’s headquarters. Their professional relationship had ended when Shin Kwonjoo transferred overseas. Even on his last day, he had given Ha Joyoon no notice of his departure. Since then, they had never spoken personally.  

He had heard rumors that Shin Kwonjoo had later become the youngest-ever editor-in-chief, but that was the extent of it.  

Theirs had been a strictly professional relationship—nothing more, nothing less.  

That was why Ha Junghye’s words, saying that Shin Kwonjoo had helped her a great deal, had come as a surprise.  

“Half a year ago. But shouldn’t you be saying something else first?”  

“…What?” 

The gaze fixed on him without a hint of warmth made Shin Kwonjoo scoff quietly as he tapped his wristwatch. His eyes glinted sharply.  

Only then did Ha Joyoon recall the mistake he had forgotten, and he rubbed his cheek with an awkward expression.  

“Ah, ah… That’s not it. I’m sorry….”  

At some point, Shin Kwonjoo had approached and perched lightly on a nearby desk. The man’s nose was smooth as he looked down at the documents. The figure before him carried a refined air of experience. While in the past he had exuded a rougher aura, now he seemed better suited to a well-tailored custom suit.  

“I’ve never waited for someone before when I wasn’t even the one to suggest meeting first.”  

“I’m sorry.”  

“I appreciate that you don’t bother making excuses, but promises are meant to be kept.”  

Shin Kwonjoo spoke mercilessly, his eyebrows twitching slightly. His demeanor may have changed, but his sharpness remained the same. The awkward atmosphere made Ha Joyoon hesitate for words, but soon, his lips pressed firmly together in silence.  

Joyoon was never one for words. His thoughts were often too complex to articulate easily, and when he did speak, his sentences were frequently fragmented. Because of his lack of verbal fluency, he often chose silence, though many misinterpreted it as arrogance. He was aware that his personality often led to misunderstandings, but he never did much to correct them. He had been so shocked during his reunion with Taejung that he had barely managed to say a single word.  

It was Shin Kwonjoo who broke the awkward silence first.  

“You’re still the same—just staring without saying a word.”  

“……”  

“And still making people uncomfortable by not reacting at all.”  

Uncomfortable? Of all the words, that was perhaps the most ill-fitting to describe this man.  

Ha Joyoon swallowed cautiously and gazed at him in silence.  

As if he had read every thought in Joyoon’s head just from his expression, Shin Kwonjoo’s eyes narrowed slightly. With a short scoff, he asked,  

“What, did you think I’d never experience discomfort in my entire life?”  

“It’s not that… I apologize. I often cause misunderstandings because I’m not good with words.”  

“I know.”  

Noting the clear disinterest in his tone, Joyoon hurriedly moved on to the main point.  

“…I heard from my sister. That you helped a lot….”  

It was a carefully chosen statement, but somehow, it felt slightly off. As if this kind of misunderstanding was nothing new, Shin Kwonjoo simply shook his head.  

“Not really.”  

“……”  

“Did you ask to meet just to say thank you? Not that you even kept that promise.”  

“I’m sor—”  

“If that’s all, don’t bother. We happened to get in touch by chance, and I just answered the questions she asked because they were things I could answer. I didn’t actually go out of my way to do anything. Anything else you want to say?”  

His response was as cold and precise as a blade. Had his sister exaggerated in excitement over their reunion? Ha Joyoon glanced at him, feeling slightly embarrassed.  

His expression was indifferent, showing no concern for Joyoon’s emotions.  

Just as in the past, exchanging pleasantries with each other felt unnatural. The indifference stung a little, but rather than dealing with unnecessary emotions, it was easier to keep things strictly business.  

Ha Joyoon ran a hand over the back of his neck and bowed his head.  

“Still, my family found great comfort. Thank you. I thought it was only right to meet you in person to express my gratitude, which is why I reached out. But I ended up breaking that promise. I should have left the office right away, but I got lost in thought for a moment… I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”  

“Alright.”  

Shin Kwonjoo only gave a slight nod, his face showing no interest.  

“If that’s all, you can go.”  

“…I’m sorry.”  

As Joyoon hesitated, about to turn away, Shin Kwonjoo spoke again.  

“Kang Taejung. That friend of yours, right?”  

At the mention of that painful name, Ha Joyoon froze.  

Just the sound of it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he had barely managed to hold together.  

Meanwhile, the man who had thrown the name into the air remained indifferent, focused on the documents in front of him.  

“How do you…”  

“He’s been looking for you—desperately, in fact. It’s unusual for someone to go that far for a ‘friend.’ He was persistent, almost annoyingly so. You should reach out to him first. Not that he’s been as active lately.”  

Shin Kwonjoo’s casual remark sent Joyoon’s emotions skyrocketing before plunging them into a deep abyss.  

No matter how many times he faced it, the pain felt unfamiliar each time.  

Feeling a dull ache, he touched the area around his heart and stared wordlessly at the floor.  

His emotions crumbled like fallen leaves.  

He thought of the five years Taejung had spent searching for him, clinging to strangers because Joyoon was nowhere to be found.  

The waiting, the anger, the despair, the hope, the sorrow—until, finally, resignation set in.  

How had you endured all that time?  

“…Hey.”  

The voice calling out carried a hint of bewilderment.  

“Are you… crying?”  

At the question, Ha Joyoon blinked slowly.  

His whole body felt heavy, and even breathing was difficult.  

For some reason, Shin Kwonjoo’s face looked distorted. Was his mind failing him?  

As he pondered, he finally realized—his cheeks were wet.  

He touched his face. Moisture clung to his fingertips.  

It was only then that Ha Joyoon understood.  

He was crying.  

After blinking a few more times, the blurred image of Shin Kwonjoo sharpened.  

Gone was the cold detachment from before. Now, his expression was painted with clear discomfort.  

Joyoon couldn’t bear to face his weakened state.  

He pressed a hand to his forehead, bowing his head.  

His nose was completely blocked.  

“I’m sorry. I’ll come back to greet you properly next time.”  

Shin Kwonjoo, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes slightly in displeasure.  

Their gazes met briefly. A sharp energy pierced through him.  

Even in the past, it had been an odd sensation.  

His voice carried undisguised irritation.  

“I don’t know what about this conversation made you react this way, but… Did I say something wrong?”  

“No. It’s just… I’m in an unstable state.”  

“I heard you were unconscious for years. I suppose you really have changed.”

“…….”

“Is it because you’re hurt?”

Despite his sharply raised eyebrows, there was a genuine curiosity in Shin Kwonjoo’s tone. Ha Joyoon, in the midst of crying, couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. Thanks to that, the stiffness in his gaze softened.

“It’s not that.”

“Then why?”

“…….”

That person… I don’t remember him being this talkative.

Even in this situation, the continuation of their conversation felt absurd to Joyoon. Perhaps disliking the way he was being stared at, Shin Kwonjoo furrowed his brows and muttered.

“You looked like a corpse, but I guess you’re fine.”

This time, Joyoon truly had no words left.

“Well, whatever.”

As if he had lost interest, Shin Kwonjoo averted his gaze. To him, Ha Joyoon was nothing more than a complete stranger, and his cold stare made no attempt to hide that fact. There was no warmth to be found—just a thoroughly indifferent heart.

“I have another appointment, so let’s wrap this up.”

The man gathered the documents, laptop, and briefcase placed on his desk, then gestured toward Ha Joyoon. A clear dismissal, leaving no room for argument. Hurry up. With that short command, Shin Kwonjoo strode toward the exit.

“What are you doing? Come on.”

“Y-Yes!”

The sudden pace caught Ha Joyoon off guard, and he quickly followed behind.

A memory from the past surfaced in his mind. He recalled how he used to follow behind the ever-busy Shin Kwonjoo, eager to learn even one more thing from him. But now, that past passion and determination felt like a distant, blurry dream.

As memories faded, did emotions also dissolve just as easily?

His fingers curled into a tight fist.

Would he have to keep justifying Kang Taejung’s changed heart like this, one piece at a time, until he accepted it completely?

The overwhelming pain forced Ha Joyoon to shut his eyes tightly.

“This week is busy.”

“Huh?”

The abrupt statement made Joyoon stop in his tracks. Checking his schedule on his phone, Shin Kwonjoo continued.

“I’ll contact you next week, so make sure to keep the appointment. Normally, Ha Joyoon, you’d be out immediately, but judging by your current state, you seem a bit slow-witted.”

“…….”

“I’ll let it slide this once. Bring your memory card when you come.”

“My memory card?”

Caught off guard, Joyoon repeated the words. Shin Kwonjoo, lighting a cigarette, answered,

“The camera you’ve left to rot for five years, Ha Joyoon. I need to see the photos.”

His words oscillated between formal and informal speech, stamped with an unmistakable air of arrogance and authority. Ha Joyoon hesitated before trailing off.

“Why…?”

“You have no use for it anyway, do you?”

“I… I haven’t resigned. I plan to return.”

At his dejected yet resolute response, Shin Kwonjoo’s expression relaxed slightly. Click. The sound of the lighter sparked, followed by a swirl of smoke. A blatant smirk curled at his lips.

“You do have some sense of loyalty, but you’re overdoing it. It’s amusing. It wasn’t my request, so don’t get the wrong idea. Boyle asked me. He must have found it difficult to tell a sick person to send photos right away. Instead, he asked me to have you select the best cuts.”

“Oh… I see.”

At the mention of his familiar superior’s name, Joyoon finally grasped the situation. Damian Boyle—his direct supervisor and team editor. When Boyle called a few days ago, Joyoon had taken it purely as a casual check-in, never considering that work was involved. Realizing he had misread the situation, embarrassment crept up on him.

In the midst of awkward silence and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, the two reached the building’s exit. At the crossroads where they were about to part, Shin Kwonjoo stubbed out his cigarette and asked,

“Did you bring a car?”

“No…”

“Then let’s just go our separate ways from here. See you next week.”

“Okay.”

Despite his polite words, there was no warmth in his expression. And at that moment, ironically, Ha Joyoon fully realized—there was not a single shred of personal sentiment toward him in Shin Kwonjoo’s gaze.

“We happened to reconnect by chance, and I only answered what I could when you asked. That’s all.”

What he had said before—no more, no less—was the absolute truth.

“I’ll say this again. Be on time next week. There won’t be a second chance.”

Without waiting for a reply, Shin Kwonjoo turned around and walked away without hesitation. Ha Joyoon silently watched his broad, purposeful strides as he moved toward his destination.

A strong, disciplined back. The kind that belonged to someone who would never, under any circumstances, stop and turn around for him. It was something Joyoon could understand instinctively, without anyone having to explain.

Ironically, in the cold indifference and disregard of Shin Kwonjoo, Joyoon felt the emptiness left by someone who had once genuinely cared for and cherished him. His face twisted in barely concealed agony.

Taejung-ah…

The name of someone who could no longer answer scattered emptily into the air above the street. Overwhelmed by unbearable longing, tears began to fall.

Unable to withstand the fierce wave of yearning, Joyoon shook his head frantically.

I miss you. Nothing else came to mind. Not resentment, not blame, not even disappointment—only the sheer, aching thought of wanting to see him again. And in that moment, he realized something anew.

He had no confidence in his ability to live without Taejung.

❄️️

[Sorry, Yoon. It wasn’t easy to bring up the photos right away.]

[No, it’s completely understandable. I’m meeting him next week, so I’ll hand over the memory card then.]

After undergoing continuous tests since the morning, his body was utterly exhausted. Ha Joyoon let out a small yawn and glanced around. The hospital lobby was bustling with all kinds of people—visitors in casual clothes, inpatients in hospital gowns, each moving about their own business.

[He’ll do the initial review, so don’t stress about it too much. Just focus on your treatment first. This is exactly what special medical leave is for.]

[I’m just grateful my resignation hasn’t been processed yet.]

[Come on, Yoon. We’re not that heartless. You know that, right? Once you’re back, we’ll talk everything through properly. For now, just focus on getting better.]

“Ha Joyoon, Ha Joyoon, please proceed to Consultation Room 1.”

Hearing the nurse call his name for his appointment, Ha Joyoon hesitantly got up.

[I will. Ah, Boyle, sorry—I have to go now.]

[Alright. We’ll discuss your return date again soon.]

[Okay, talk to you later.]

After exchanging a brief farewell, he ended the call and began walking behind the nurse. The distinct scent of the hospital brushed past his nose—a peculiar smell that lingered on the boundary between life and death. A sudden sense of déjà vu surfaced, prompting Ha Joyoon to quietly trace his memories. As he navigated through the twists and turns of his past, he finally recognized the source of the familiarity.  

The scent resembled the gunpowder that had filled his nostrils just before he collapsed from a gunshot wound. It carried the remnants of war. As the line between reality and dreams blurred, a familiar voice pulled him back to consciousness.  

“The test results aren’t all in yet. Today, I’ll go over some of them first, and the rest will be available at your next appointment.”  

The nurse who had led him to the consultation room added this explanation. Ha Joyoon nodded weakly. As he stepped inside, he saw the doctor reviewing a series of medical scans.  

“Please, have a seat.”  

The doctor’s voice, dulled by the monotony of seeing dozens of patients a day, was devoid of warmth. Perhaps, in that same flat tone, he would soon deliver something significant. Like a robot pressing a button. A truly tragic reality.  

As his thoughts drifted aimlessly, Ha Joyoon took his assigned seat. He watched as the doctor handed over a few documents and charts to the nurse, issuing instructions in a detached manner. The scene was monotonous, and as boredom crept in, he turned his head away.  

“Ha Joyoon?”  

A voice called out his name with familiarity, making him instinctively tilt his head toward it.  

“It’s really you, Ha Joyoon, right?”  

Hearing the question repeated, Joyoon finally took a closer look at the speaker’s face, and a short exclamation slipped from his lips.  

“Oh…!”  

“Yeah, man. So you do remember? We were in the same class back in high school.”  

The man dismissed the nurse with a glance, tossed the scans onto the chart, and moved in closer. Seizing the moment, Joyoon glanced at the name embroidered on the doctor’s coat. Im Dohyun. A name that felt both familiar and distant.  

“Wow, I can’t believe this. Running into you here.”  

As if it had never crossed his mind that Joyoon wouldn’t recognize him, the man sat across from him, his expression filled with genuine surprise.  

“How long has it been? When I saw your name, I thought it might be someone else with the same name, but the moment I saw your face, I was shocked.”  

“…It’s been a while.”