The Best of Tomorrow-Chapter 3.4

□ ■ □

“Rookie.”

Before I could even answer, a tape landed on my desk with a thud.

“Take this to the general programming room.”

I picked it up and said, “Okay,” but the person who gave it to me was already walking away.

What was it Mom used to say at times like this? Damn?

I remembered how she’d get progressively angrier whenever she drove, eventually rolling down the window and screaming at other cars. I thought of that as I stepped out of the building.

After delivering the tape to the general programming room, I realized I hadn’t had a sip of water since lunch. I headed toward the vending machine at the end of the hallway.

The leftover change in my pocket clinked as I walked, all from running little errands throughout the day.

I inserted a coin into the slot. It dropped straight into the coin return tray.

What the hell?

I pulled it out of the return and tried again.

Again, it clattered into the tray.

Now stubborn, I picked it up and inserted it one more time.

No surprise—it spat it back out.

“What the hell is wrong with this thing?”

I smacked the vending machine a couple times, hard enough to make it clack.

I’m thirsty. I gave you money. Dispense a drink.

Crouching, I picked up the coin it had ejected and placed it in my palm—

only to feel a shadow fall over me. Someone was standing behind me.

I looked up mid-squat.

The person behind me tapped their card against the reader on the machine. The drink selection panel lit up.

...Oh. You.

My eyes met Seon-jae’s.

Wasn’t the broadcasting station supposed to be huge? How was this even happening?

I quickly lowered my gaze.

Scooting sideways, I stood up and turned my back to him, scowling with the coins still clutched in my hand.

Then his voice stopped me.

“Excuse me.”

Was he talking to me?

I glanced back.

Seon-jae was looking at me.

“Yes?”

He pointed at the coin return.

“You didn’t take your change.”

“Ah, that... it’s not mine...”

I turned to leave, but my pocket jingled with a rattle of coins—loud and undeniable.

Almost like they were shouting, That’s our friend in there! Our comrade!

“I think it is yours.”

I lowered my head and walked back to collect the leftover coins.

Seon-jae stood quietly beside me, watching.

Then he took a step closer, crossed his arms, and leaned against the vending machine.

He openly stared at me, like a shopkeeper catching a thief stealing extra rations in a place where you’re only allowed one can per person.

Just as I retrieved the final coin, Seon-jae spoke.

“What were you trying to get?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t pick anything.”

He looked down at the coins in my hand.

I stood up.

Looking at his cold face, I lowered my head and pointed at the sikhye can.

Even as I extended my finger, I thought, What the hell am I doing right now?

It was absurd.

Seon-jae tapped his card and pressed the sikhye button.

He took the can and handed it to me.

I stared at his hand for a moment, then cautiously reached out and accepted it.

But even after I grabbed the can, Seon-jae didn’t let go.

It wasn’t like I could yank it away—I hadn’t even paid for it.

But I couldn’t put it back either.

I looked up at him.

Baek In-hyeok had said Seon-jae probably didn’t remember me.

Seon-jae slowly looked over my face.

Then he let go and walked away.

The coldness of the can seeped into my palm.

It felt just like the lingering warmth of Seon-jae’s gaze—sharp, brief, and chilling.

I looked down at the top of the can where his fingers had touched.

The word sikhye blurred before my eyes.

I thought I might cry. I widened my eyes and tilted my head back.

Now I wasn’t just sad. I was bitter.

A desperate urge surged through me—to tell Seon-jae everything.

Why I acted the way I did.

What misunderstanding he might be carrying.

But to explain it all, I’d have to talk about his death.

Even if he believed me, I didn’t want to say those things.

It felt better to remain as a bad memory in his mind than to plant the knowledge that his life had been altered.

I lowered my head and looked in the direction he had walked.

My goal was always just one thing, I reminded myself.

I clutched the can tightly in my hand.

Something told me I wouldn’t be drinking it.

□ ■ □

A modest dinner gathering had been arranged.

Although it was called a company dinner, it was just me and Shim Won-jun.

“We should at least welcome the new team member,” he’d said.

Yang Ji-woon PD had told him, “Then head over to the black pork place out front and grab us a table.”

And now, an hour had passed.

Shim Won-jun, who seemed to be a lightweight, had a flushed face and was struggling to pick up garlic with his chopsticks.

“Im Sol-ssi, this is life. Nothing ever goes the way you want it to.”

With a sigh, he gave up on the chopsticks and used his fingers to place the garlic on a lettuce leaf.

As he stuffed the wrap in his mouth, he mumbled, “It’s so unfair. Life is so unfair.”

Something in his words stirred the sorrow I’d been suppressing all this time.

Like it was ready to break out wearing a headband that read Righteous Anger.

“I know, right?”

I filled my empty shot glass with soju.

Shim Won-jun went, “Oh, oh,” and snatched the bottle from my hands.

I said I was fine and held out the glass, and he poured.

“To more unfair things to come. Let’s survive them together.”

He raised his glass.

I nodded with tears welling in my eyes.

Seeing that, he nodded even harder, clearly pleased.

We clinked glasses and drank.

The soju was bitter—nothing sweet about it.

I grimaced.

“When are the PDs... showing up...”

His voice trailed off as he slumped forward onto the table.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I shook his shoulder.

His head stayed down, unmoving, only his body swaying with my efforts.

This can’t happen. I’m drunk too.

I forced my heavy eyelids open and called his name again.

If Shim Won-jun didn’t get up, and the others never showed up—

I’d be the one responsible for getting him home.

“No, no, no,” I muttered, shaking him harder.

He mumbled something in response.

I leaned closer. “What? What did you say?”

He lifted a hand and waved it vaguely.

Leave me alone for a bit—that’s what it probably meant.

So I let go of his shoulder.

“Nothing really goes your way, huh...”

I sighed and poured myself another drink.

As I set the bottle down, my phone vibrated.

I pulled it out and saw the caller ID: PD Kim Myeong-hyeok.

I wrangled my scattered thoughts together and answered.

“Yes, PD-nim.”

— “You’re still there, right?”

“Yes. Still holding down the fort.”

— “Can I ask you for a favor?”

□ ■ □

I quietly shut the dormitory room door.

I’d expected the favor to be work-related,

but it was just a delivery—to drop off something at the network’s overnight dorm.

PD Kim patted my shoulder, saying he didn’t want to run into a certain person,

and that he wouldn’t be able to make it to the black pork place due to overtime.

He said we’d reschedule the gathering.

Which meant: after this errand, I was free to go home.

And also meant I was in charge of getting Shim Won-jun back safely.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be my welcome dinner...”

I staggered down the hall, tipsy.

On one wall, a photo was displayed.

I didn’t know why there was a photo of Potato Pancakes hanging here,

but when I saw Seon-jae’s face, I stopped walking.

I stared at it, then reached up and poked his face with a finger.

Then I traced along his jawline.

“Seon-jae.”

I outlined his brows, his lips.

“Stay healthy. Always.”

I looked at his smiling face for a moment, then turned away.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but my chest felt heavy.

I should buy Yeomyeong or something and make Shim Won-jun drink it,

I thought, turning the corner.

That’s when I saw two men standing by the elevator.

One was broad-shouldered, the other tall and lean.

As I took a few steps closer and saw their faces, I froze.

Oh god. Oh no.

I spun around in a panic and ducked behind the corner. It was Baek In-hyeok and the manager of Potato Pancakes.

They weren’t actively promoting at the moment, but they were regular guests on a radio show.

Was that today?

I lingered behind the wall, peeking out to check if they’d gone.

“This elevator is damn slow.”

That was Baek In-hyeok’s voice.

Well, you’re damn slow to leave, too.

What do I do now?

I turned and headed for the emergency stairwell.

Standing around near the elevator was too risky—what if I ran into Seon-jae?

I opened the door to the emergency stairs.

It led into a small, roughly one-pyeong (about 3.3 square meters) space, with another door inside.

As I stepped forward in the dark, a motion sensor flicked on the overhead light.

I reached for the handle of the final door—

and something yanked out with a pop.

My elbow shot past my waist, and my hand jerked to my hip.

I ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) looked down.

It was the round door handle.

Its long neck had snapped off clean from the door.

“What the—?!”

I stared at it in disbelief, then tried to shove it back into place—

but it wouldn’t go in. Something was stuck.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I bent down to inspect the hole,

but at that moment the hallway door burst open.

Startled, I turned my head.

I hadn’t even gotten out—I just opened the door and the handle fell off.

But now I looked like some vandal who broke company property.

“Uh...”

A low voice slipped from my parted lips.

Still half-crouched, I straightened up and hid the broken handle behind my back.

Is this really happening?

I bit down hard on my lip, on the verge of tears.

Still holding the handle, I tried pushing the door with my palm.

But the heavy door stood like a wall.

I kicked it in frustration—

a loud thud, but no give.

I pressed my forehead to the door, grimacing.

I seriously want to cry.

The door Seon-jae had come through shut behind him.

The light went out.

Pitch-black silence swallowed the room.

I held my breath, afraid even my breathing might be too loud—

but my heart was pounding so hard from the alcohol, I couldn’t keep still.

Seon-jae took a step closer.

The light flicked back on, chasing away the dark.

Like outside the Chinese restaurant that one time, I shifted to the side, pressing myself against the wall.

I was trying to make room for him to pass—

but I still had the handle in my hand.

What do I do? Cry for real?

Seon-jae stared at the door without a handle.

The flat, blank face of the door looked so hopeless that tears welled up in my eyes.

Why did I always end up facing Seon-jae in moments like this?

I felt pitiful.

I shoved the handle into my pocket and turned toward the hallway—

but he grabbed my wrist.

My head turned reflexively. Our eyes met.

“Im Sol.”

He said my name.

And just like that, as if he’d fired a starting gun, my tears fell.

“Did you drink?”

I nodded slowly, head bowed.

My hair slipped forward and half-covered my face.

I hated this—

being caught like this, being unable to get away from moments like this,

being the one who always ended up crying.

Seon-jae reached through my hair, his fingers pushing the strands aside like curtains.

As the tears dropped from my tightly shut eyes,

he let go, and my hair fell limply back into place.

“Give it.”

I didn’t understand what he meant,

so I cautiously raised my tear-streaked face.

Seon-jae held out his hand, palm up.

“The handle you broke off. You can’t just take it and walk off.”

I looked down.

The door handle was sticking out of my pocket.

I pulled it out and placed it on his open palm.

Seon-jae fit the handle back into the door,

lining it up and pushing it in.

Click.

It slid into place.

He would probably open that door and leave through the emergency stairwell.

And I—

I’d stay here. Neither here nor there.

I fidgeted with my now-empty hands and lowered my head.

Why did I always feel like I had to bow my head like a criminal around him?

Seon-jae turned the handle and opened the door.

But he didn’t leave.

I looked up.

He was standing there, holding the door handle—

and watching me.

My tearful eyes met his, filled with some unreadable emotion.

“Why are you crying?”

I tried not to.

But I couldn’t stop.

My lips trembled hard.

I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked down again.

I hoped Seon-jae would assume it was because the door handle broke after I drunkenly pulled on it.

“The handle... broke...”

Still holding the handle, Seon-jae suddenly stepped back into the room and closed the door.

“Look at me.”

I hastily rubbed my face dry and looked up.

Seon-jae scanned my face,

and then locked eyes with me again.

Being this close, face to face—

my heart felt like it would explode.

“You know who I am.”

“...”

“Then why did you pretend you didn’t?”

“...I thought you didn’t remember me.”

My throat was tight.

When I met his dark, burning gaze,

I saw the Seon-jae from the snowy past,

standing in front of me again.

He gave a bitter smile.

“So if I hadn’t called your name first,

you were just going to pretend to be a stranger forever?”

“...”

“And now you cry like this?

What am I supposed to do with that?”

I had no answer.

I bit my lip hard.

There were things I wanted to say—

but none that I could say.

There was nothing I could explain to Seon-jae.

As his eyes bore into mine, he continued.

“I got my hopes up for nothing.”

“...”

“If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be this mad at you right now.”

I clamped my mouth shut and lowered my eyes.

Tears blurred my vision again.

The room fell quiet.

Then came the buzz of a phone vibrating.

Seon-jae took his out and checked the screen.

He looked like he was about to leave.

Panic rushed through me.

I impulsively reached out and grabbed his arm.

He turned, staring at me with a cold expression.

“...What were you hoping for?”

He looked straight at me.

Said nothing.

Then quietly pulled his arm free.

His expression looked... a little sad.

“I waited for you—

someone I didn’t even know if I’d ever meet again.”

He turned his back to me and opened the door.

Just before stepping through, he added:

“But I guess you weren’t waiting.

You never meant to meet me again.”

The door closed.

I was left alone.

My heart wasn’t just racing—it felt like it was shattering.

My thoughts couldn’t keep up.

What... what did he mean by that?

I stayed frozen, trying to process Seon-jae’s words.

The streaks of tears on my cheeks dried slowly.

<To be continued in Volume 2 of The Best of Tomorrow>

* * *

(1) Referenced using encyclopedia sources

(2) Definitions sourced from the National Institute of Korean Language

* * *