MELTM Chapter 1 Part 3

Seventeen years old.

In April, a month after the new semester had begun, Seo Jeong-in transferred in—and she was, by her very presence, the topic of burning interest. A few former classmates who’d graduated from the same foundation middle school whispered that Jeong-in, who was supposed to have gone abroad to study, had returned, and that something serious must have gone wrong at Donghwan Group.

But that same month, news broke that Donghwan Group had donated two billion won to the school foundation under the banner of social contribution. Thanks to that, the rumors about Jeong-in—once on everyone’s lips—settled down within two weeks. A handful of gossip-hungry students kept chattering, but for something that had briefly dominated the entire school, it died down unusually fast.

By contrast, the rumors about Lee-young flared slowly and meticulously. Lee-young had moved in to coincide with the high school entrance ceremony, which made her feel even more like an outsider than Jeong-in, who transferred in April. What started as casual “You’re new here” inquiries quickly turned into intrusive background checks, and Lee-young’s curt responses gave birth to all sorts of rumors. The illegitimate child of a famous chaebol family. The hidden daughter of a queen of the entertainment underworld. As imaginations grew wilder by the day, the idea that she was merely the daughter of some tacky nouveau riche family began to sound less believable than anything else.

Things calmed down somewhat after her mother, Mi-suk, appeared at a parents’ meeting—but to the kids who’d already decided to exclude Lee-young, the truth wasn’t all that important. In fact, Lee-young herself thought her circumstances weren’t all that different from those rumors, so with both her own acquiescence and others’ judgment, her position as an outsider became fixed.

The first time Lee-young saw Seo Jeong-in’s name was on the bulletin board in the first-floor lobby. At the very top of the sheet listing April mock exam rankings and student numbers side by side was Jeong-in’s name. Lee-young was more used to hearing “Donghwan Group’s only daughter” or “that Donghwan girl” than Jeong-in’s actual name. And she wasn’t alone—most of the student body was the same.

Seo Jeong-in rarely spoke to anyone beyond the tiny handful she studied with, so the number of people who could casually call her by name was just as limited.

“Why’s Donghwan here today? You see her in the cafeteria and everything.”

“Seriously. Isn’t she eating with the principal or something?”

“No, I heard she usually goes out and eats somewhere else.”

The excited chatter from the table nearby was enough to make even Lee-young—quietly eating—lift her head.

“Oh, right. The Donghwan study group has an open spot.”

“Someone get kicked out?”

“Yeah. Choi Bit-na. Her dad’s company went bankrupt, and she has been struggling ever since. Some say she quit on her own, though. Who knows?”

Not far from Lee-young’s seat, at a diagonal table, Jeong-in focused on her meal, save for the occasional slight furrow of her brow.

She doesn’t look that cold.

Lee-young thought that as she chewed her melon, she stopped herself. You couldn’t know what someone was really like on the inside. Not just in grades—Jeong-in occupied the very top among them all. Lee-young, on the other hand, was somewhere far below.

In the neighborhood where Lee-young used to live, high schoolers crowded into PC cafés and comic book shops, picking fights over nothing. Since coming here, she hadn’t seen anything like that even once.

And Seo Jeong-in’s face—so unmistakably refined—looked like someone born precious. Unlike Lee-young.

What bad thing has she ever even done in her life?

Study hard and get docked points for buying bread?

Only managing to come up with that, Lee-young let out a quiet, deflated laugh, like air escaping a balloon.

She lowered her head to pick up another piece of melon, then raised it again as she brought her chopsticks to her mouth. It was then—her gaze slipping away and then back—that it happened.

Jeong-in, who had just set her utensils down, looked as though she was about to stand. A few people around her had already left, and it was naturally Jeong-in’s turn to follow.

But their eyes met by chance—and held.

There was no mistaking it for her looking at someone else. Jeong-in’s gaze was directed squarely at Lee-young. A look that should have been broken at the right moment missed its timing, lingering far too long.

Faced with eyes that revealed nothing, Lee-young found herself unable to look away, as if pinned in place. This situation, unfolding without warning—this moment itself—could rightly be called an accident.

Jeong-in had just tucked her neatly styled hair behind her ear when someone called her from behind. She turned her head, and the carefully smoothed hair fell forward again.

“…Ah.”

At the same time, Lee-young bit down on her tongue, and an involuntary sound of pain slipped from her mouth. She frowned at the sharp, tingling sensation and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. She forced herself to swallow the melon she hadn’t fully chewed, swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth several more times, and only then lowered her hand.

When she looked up again, the seat Jeong-in had been in was already empty.

How much Jeong-in had seen—whether she’d witnessed that ridiculous moment of her biting her tongue and wincing—Lee-young had no way of knowing.

What Lee-young knew about Jeong-in didn’t come solely from school rumors. Mi-suk took a keen interest in Lee-young’s school life, and among all subjects, she was most deeply interested in “that Donghwan girl.”

It wasn’t something that could be called an unqualified virtue, but Mi-suk’s tenacity was something even Lee-young acknowledged. Wearing her signature smile of knowing nothing at all, Mi-suk would have planted herself firmly at parents’ meetings and figured out exactly who held the most power there.

Mi-suk’s survival philosophy was simple. When she learned that Lee-young sometimes came home having lost her shoes, or that months after moving, she still didn’t have friends she hung out with, Mi-suk’s solution was always the same: stand on the side of the strong, and you won’t lose.

Lee-young returned safely once again to the two-story house she still couldn’t get used to. Mi-suk grabbed her before she could head to her room and forced her down onto the living room sofa. The leather under her palm felt unexpectedly soft.

“What was her name again? Donghwan’s only daughter…”

“Seo Jeong-in.”

“Right. Have you gotten close to her?”

Even after being told the name, Mi-suk stubbornly continued to call her Donghwan’s daughter, that Donghwan girl. Hearing it even at home made Lee-young feel a little sick of it. If she felt this way as a complete stranger, how unbearable must it be for the person herself?

“Have you gotten close? Huh?”

Close?

Today had been the first time she’d even really seen her face.

“She’s not in my class.”

“Even if she’s not, you’re in the special class too. What’s she like? Is she nice?”

“I don’t know. Today was the first time I even saw her.”

Lee-young trailed off. She realized too late she’d said too much—something unnecessary.

“You saw her? Where? Did you say hello?”

Opposite Mi-suk’s brightening face, Lee-young scrunched her expression as hard as she could. She blamed herself for the obvious slip, but there was no taking it back.

“I didn’t say hello. I’m tired. I’ve got tutoring, too.”

“Next time, try greeting her first. It’d be nice if you got close. Make a good impression, bring her home, and all that. Okay?”

Mi-suk stuffed her nagging into the back of Lee-young’s head all the way until she disappeared down the hall. Once she finally made it to her room, Lee-young dropped her bag and flopped face down onto the bed.

Lee-young was certain Mi-suk would think differently if she ever saw Jeong-in in person. Seo Jeong-in wasn’t someone you could get close to just because you wanted to. Rumor had it she cut down unnecessary kindness around her without hesitation. The reason people tolerated her merciless rejection of others’ goodwill was simple: because it was Seo Jeong-in.

Make a good impression, my ass.

She’d be lucky if she didn’t look ridiculous.

Thinking about the likelihood of Mi-suk’s inflated dreams coming true, Lee-young turned her head away.

Sickened by such a shallow line of questioning, Lee-young suddenly thought that today’s incident—judging someone’s face on her own whim—was punishment. Or maybe she’d been scolded for stealing glances at someone precious. With a self-mocking thought, Lee-young clicked her tongue lightly. For no reason at all, the spot where she’d bitten her tongue earlier began to throb again.

Maybe it had actually been wounded.

+++

What Mi-suk’s wish had seemed to be—nothing more than a swollen, fanciful dream—took an unexpected turn before long.

In the winter of Lee-young’s seventeenth year, Mi-suk screamed, Do you want to watch your mother die? Lee-young slapped Mi-suk’s arm away and screamed back just as fiercely. Mi-suk never stayed with one man for long, and this was the last season—Lee-young’s last season—when she still couldn’t bring herself to give up on her mother.

That was the night Mi-suk crept home on tiptoe, well past midnight. Lee-young begged her—Let’s stop this. Let’s just live together, the two of us. Mi-suk snapped back that if that was what she wanted, then she should live alone. Just looking at Mi-suk’s hands, clenched tight as if she wanted to grab Lee-young anywhere she could, it was obvious she didn’t mean it. But Lee-young was seventeen, and seventeen was old enough to have every right to be hurt.

Lee-young shoved Mi-suk away, sprinted barefoot across the lawn, and ran straight out onto the cold asphalt road.

Mi-suk didn’t chase her.

Of course, she didn’t. Mi-suk was drunk on the fantasy of being a rich man’s wife—so drunk she’d even scrubbed her foul mouth clean, to the point she didn’t even curse the way she used to.

Nothing seemed capable of stopping Lee-young as she planted her bare feet on the filthy ground without hesitation. But because it was winter, she didn’t even make it two blocks before regretting not throwing on more clothes.

If she’d had the presence of mind to dress, she wouldn’t have stormed out like this in the first place. Winter wasn’t kind. Lee-young glanced down at her school uniform skirt. Past two in the morning, the residential neighborhood was pitch-black except for the scattered pools of streetlight.

She hadn’t run with a destination in mind. She simply followed the road. The closest jjimjilbang was more than an hour away on foot. She didn’t have the nerve to go that far, yet even knowing she had nowhere to go, her head kept turning, searching.

As she looked around, Lee-young narrowed her eyes at a straight, upright silhouette.

It was leaning at an angle against a wall near a streetlamp, half swallowed by darkness.

…Should I go back?

The hesitation lasted only a moment. She kept walking.

At a glance, the figure looked small, and this was a neighborhood where every wall had CCTV—two cameras at the least, five at the most. That flimsy logic was enough for her to keep going. And maybe—if it was someone kind—she could borrow a little money. Hope even swelled in her chest. She was in a school uniform, after all. If she swallowed her pride and asked, it might actually work.

But the closer she got, the faster her steps became—until she stopped dead.

She’d been walking, wondering how much she could ask for on top of a few polite pleasantries, and the reality in front of her threw her off.

Just as Lee-young recognized the other person, it seemed the other person recognized her.

In a quiet alley in the dead of night, faced with each other’s presence—something neither had ever imagined—both of them stayed still for a long time.

Lee-young was the first to move. As she approached again, Jeong-in shifted too, tapping cigarette ash off with a light flick.

Even staring at the cigarette in Jeong-in’s hand, Lee-young couldn’t quite process the fact that Seo Jeong-in smoked. For months, the “bad thing” Lee-young had tried to imagine Jeong-in doing had been… smoking. It felt oddly empty.

Jeong-in flicked her eyes at Lee-young, as if asking what she wanted. Lee-young tried to say something—anything. A greeting felt like pretending they were close, so she decided to skip it.

“I’ve got a situation,” she began.

Lee-young wriggled her toes inside her stockings. Her feet, left out in the cold too long, were already going numb.

“Thirty thousand won.”

She spoke the line like some petty delinquent. A brief silence. In that stillness, Lee-young had the selfish thought: It’s not even that much.

“Just lend me thirty thousand won.”

Without breaking eye contact, Jeong-in exhaled cigarette smoke in a long stream. The smell, already thick in the air, deepened.

“I don’t have it.”

The answer, delivered after a pause, was enough to drain Lee-young instantly. At this point, saying it once or saying it twice didn’t make the situation any more humiliating, so she opened her mouth again.

“I’ll pay you back at school.”

“I really don’t have it. Just cards.”

Same answer as before—except this time her voice carried weight, as if insisting on the truth.

Lee-young couldn’t hide her disappointment.

The bewilderment she’d felt at recognizing Jeong-in had only lasted until she confirmed the face. Now it was simply that she wanted thirty thousand won.

It felt like she’d lost thirty thousand won she’d never even been promised.

If they hadn’t run into each other, her feet would’ve kept moving, but now, treacherously, they seemed glued to the ground.

The cold that had felt bearable until a moment ago turned into something bone-deep, like she was standing in a frozen room. Her whole body shivered.

Jeong-in flicked ash to the ground. The ember-red tip scattered with the ash, carried off by the wind.

“What do you need thirty thousand for?”

Jeong-in’s voice rang low. It struck Lee-young as unexpectedly low.

Of course, Lee-young knew perfectly well that they weren’t close enough for her to have any “expectations” at all—but the sense of surprise was still clear.

“I thought I’d go to a jjimjilbang or something.”

“In a school uniform, at this hour? How are you getting in?”

“Ah.”

The point hadn’t even occurred to her. Lee-young blinked. When she hurriedly added that she could go to a restaurant instead, the reply came back sharp.

“You’ll get reported. You’re in a uniform.”

“Ah.”

That either hadn’t crossed her mind. Again.

Each time she was corrected, it was like she gained a new realization. Lee-young turned to look behind her.

She thought about wanting to leave her mother multiple times a day, but today wasn’t supposed to be that day. She’d stormed out in anger, yes, but she’d fully meant to go back.

Still… she didn’t want to go back this fast.

She stared blankly at the road she’d come from.

“…I could let you.”

An unexpected voice said something unexpected.

She’s consistent, at least.

Lee-young reflexively looked back. Jeong-in dropped her cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the toe of her shoe. Even after the ember vanished without a trace, Jeong-in didn’t lift her head. A beat later, Lee-young realized Jeong-in’s gaze was on her feet.

“If it’s a place to sleep, I can let you.”

Jeong-in flicked her eyes toward the wall beside them.

A neighborhood famous for being full of money. The most famous rich house in a neighborhood full of rich houses.

Her mother’s words came back to her: You live in the same neighborhood—make neighborhood friends.

“If you don’t need it, then forget it.”

“No. I need it.”

There was no hesitation. She’d been ready to talk to a stranger—so compared to that, this was almost excessive good fortune.

With no reason to refuse, Lee-young hurried after Jeong-in through the large iron gate.

She stepped onto the neatly kept lawn, followed across the garden, and only after passing halfway did she notice the stepping stones under Jeong-in’s feet. Unlike the damp grass, the stones were smooth enough to gleam even at night—and, surprisingly, warm beneath her soles.

“You might not be able to come in.”

“If you’d have to push yourself because of me, then never mind.”

Lee-young stopped and waited for Jeong-in’s answer. Noticing, Jeong-in stopped too and turned back.

“It’s not that.”

Jeong-in paused mid-sentence, frowning as she irritably pulled hair stuck to her face away. Her lips twitched, as if choosing words.

“It’s just… not my call.”

“Your parents don’t like you bringing friends home?”

At a question anyone might ask, Jeong-in let out a loud scoff. The fact that emotion finally surfaced in her previously calm voice made Lee-young stare at her without meaning to.

“Who knows. You’re the first person who’s ever made it this far.”

“Really?”

Jeong-in said it as if it were nothing, and Lee-young responded just as calmly—but the words lingered in her head for a long time.

“And I usually live alone. Except for the staff.”

For a minor living alone, this house was too big, wasn’t it? Lee-young followed Jeong-in with that presumptuous worry—only to stop not long after.

“Do you… have a shaman—”

Do you have a shaman living here?

She swallowed the question once, knowing how rude it sounded.

She could overlook the talisman stuck by the front door of the main house. But after going down the corridor and reaching the living room, it no longer felt like something she could just brush off. Talismans hung in long lines, the way laundry hung on a clothesline—far beyond the level of someone who “kind of believed in superstition.”

“Are you asking if there’s a shaman?”

Because Jeong-in pulled out the exact words Lee-young had swallowed, Lee-young stiffened.

“There isn’t one living here. They come sometimes. And it’s not shaman. It’s mudang—no, musok-in.”

Grandpa hates the word shaman.

Jeong-in muttered as if it didn’t matter whether Lee-young heard or not.

Across the living room entrance, a line stretched with talismans dangling from it.

Jeong-in bent first, lifting the line and holding it so Lee-young could pass under.

“You can still go back, if you want.”

Toward Lee-young, who still wasn’t moving, Jeong-in spoke flatly, as if saying do whatever you want. With talismans supposedly meant to drive out bad luck hanging everywhere, the atmosphere was eerie enough that it felt like it would be more believable if ghosts were swarming in the place.

“It’s not that…”

If she let herself get shoved back out onto the street at midnight just because she was creeped out, then she really wasn’t Chae Mi-suk’s daughter.

With that self-mocking thought, Lee-young flicked her eyes down at her feet.

“It’s just… I’m too dirty to step onto the carpet.”

Before Lee-young even finished speaking, Jeong-in turned back down the corridor they’d come from, opened the shoe cabinet, and returned holding a pair of indoor slippers from the corner.

Lee-young, who’d come in having heard plenty about how cold and heartless “that Donghwan girl” was, stared down at the slippers placed in front of her feet.

“You’re not like the rumors.”

“What do they say?”

“Just… that you’re cold. That you’ve got no warmth.”

Half of what she’d heard was that Jeong-in was arrogant about her family connections, unpleasant, rotten, or both—but since she was the one receiving help right now, Lee-young couldn’t exactly repeat it word for word. She softened it as much as she could.

“You are like the rumors.”

“Do I have rumors too?”

Lee-young asked back as she slipped into the slippers. Seeing that, Jeong-in led the way again.

“First year, Class 2. Son Lee-young’s a total psycho.”

Jeong-in answered easily, opening a door at the back of the living room. The blunt phrasing—without even the courtesy of softening it—made Lee-young feel wronged.

“Why?”

She asked even though she already half knew. Not finding anywhere else that seemed appropriate to sit, she pointed at the bed. At Jeong-in’s nod, she sat down.

“I don’t know. That’s just what I heard.”

“You said you think I’m like the rumors.”

“Well, I saw you bolt out barefoot in the middle of the night, so… isn’t it possible?”

It was annoyingly plausible. Lee-young accepted it without protest.

If Mom knew, she’d grab the back of her neck and collapse.

Lee-young laughed emptily. Mi-suk didn’t seem to know yet, but if rumors got around that she’d been running barefoot down the street, who knew what would happen next.

“Are you going to spread rumors? About me walking around barefoot.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t. I won’t spread rumors either.”

“About what?”

“That a shaman comes in and out of your house.”

Jeong-in’s face went stiff in an instant. She lifted one eyebrow. Her prominent brow bone cast a crooked shadow.

“I told you—it’s not shaman. It’s musok-in.”

“Same difference.”

At Lee-young’s reply, Jeong-in’s face, which had tightened, loosened immediately. She let out a short laugh—again, like air escaping a balloon—and the corner of her mouth lifted strangely.

It was odd. Even with that lifted corner, Lee-young didn’t think Jeong-in was really smiling.

“You’ve got a reputation for being a psycho. Who’s going to believe anything you say?”

“Is that so?”

“If you want to spread it, go ahead. The rumor won’t spread anyway.”

Jeong-in’s low voice added weight to the firm finality of her tone.

Lee-young thought she should say, I won’t spread anything, but the resolve stopped at thought. In the blink of an eye—less than the time it took to blink—fatigue smeared across Jeong-in’s face, and Lee-young’s attention was stolen by it.

In that tiny moment, it felt as if she’d stolen a glance at someone else’s diary.

“Sleep. And leave on your own before dawn.”

Lee-young missed her chance to speak. Jeong-in turned away without a trace of reluctance.

The motion looked like she was about to leave Lee-young behind completely. Panicking, Lee-young blurted out.

“What about you?”

Jeong-in stopped, turned her head halfway, and looked back at her. The deliberate silence made Lee-young ask again.

“Where do you sleep?”

“Why? It’s not like you’re asking because you want to sleep together.”

“I could. I’m fine with that. I can sleep on the floor.”

Jeong-in didn’t answer. She left the room.

Even without hearing the reply, Lee-young felt like she could read the answer from Jeong-in’s expression.

She didn’t have to look that serious about it.

Lee-young patted the bedspread with her hand, as if fussing with the bedding for no reason.

The next day, just as Jeong-in had said, Lee-young left the house early before dawn—with thirty thousand won clenched in her hand, taken from where it had been neatly placed on the desk.

Now that she’d solved the problem of where to sleep, she stood there for a long time with the no-longer-needed money in front of her.

Ignoring kindness was rude, after all.

At the time, that thought was sincere.

She’d been helped—so she couldn’t possibly add rudeness on top of it. She told herself it couldn’t be helped.

Ten days passed, and Lee-young was not called the crazy barefoot bitch. Likewise, not a single rumor surfaced about the talismans or the eerie paintings she’d seen in Jeong-in’s house. That night was treated as if it had never happened.

But from some point on, Lee-young joined Jeong-in’s study group. They ate lunch together. They walked home together.

It happened—just like that—like something that simply had to happen.