A child who looks like me

Seven years ago.

Jiheon’s body, which had been damaged in a traffic accident, was gradually recovering.

During Jiheon’s time in the hospital, people outside were busy with their lives. Despite this, Seungkyu, Eunbi, and Eunyeob frequently visited his hospital room.

While Jiheon felt a bit frustrated not knowing how close he had been with Eunyeob, he didn’t stop the brother and sister from visiting since they were acquainted with his family.

“My mother asked me to help that punk Kim Jingu live his whole life in prison.”

Eunyeob occasionally updated Jiheon about the perpetrator of the hit-and-run accident, Kim Jingu. Youngmi, who had become a lawyer that year, often sought Eunyeob’s help. It seemed Eunyeob, being quite affable, maintained a good relationship while meeting Youngmi’s needs.

However, Jiheon didn’t have strong feelings about the hit-and-run incident. He thought the wrongdoer should be punished appropriately, and he was concerned that being overly harsh might tarnish his father’s reputation in business.

“But a simple drunk hit-and-run charge won’t lead to a heavy sentence. At most, it’ll be a fine or a few months in prison.”

“…”

“To make him serve more than five years, you’d have to be dead, but since you’re recovering just fine…”

Eunyeob cracked a joke and smiled, but then recoiled when he noticed Jiheon’s expression had hardened.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get him at least a year in. He’s a real piece of work. With such solid evidence, he’s still trying to deny everything.”

Eunyeob wrapped up the conversation, keeping an eye on Jiheon’s mood.

.*. *. *. *. *. *.

Although he had gone to bed early, sleep wouldn’t come. Jiheon found himself lost in thought, recalling his conversation with Eunyeob from seven years ago.

Until now, Jiheon had never met Kim Jingu. He hadn’t even been summoned to court. Having lost his memory, he was in no position to provide any testimony and had only heard news from afar about what was happening with Kim Jingu, knowing nothing about him.

He only had a vague understanding of Kim Jingu’s appearance through photos. In fact, he had forgotten about Kim Jingu entirely for years.

The fact that Kim Jingu, a figure long forgotten to Jiheon, still harbored resentment towards Chae Eunbi weighed heavily on his mind.

If he felt any grievance, there must have been excessive investigation involved. And since Eunyeob had fully cooperated in that investigation, there could have been some foul play.

Chae Eunbi was the kind of person who could do that. Youngmi must have despised Kim Jingu, so Eunbi likely tried hard to please her.

Jiheon felt a desire to meet Kim Jingu at least once. He wanted to understand what his grievances were.

However, if it wasn’t just a matter of grievance but rather a ploy to extort money from Eunbi under the pretense of a bad relationship, then Jiheon thought it would be better to keep his distance. This made it difficult for him to decide what to do.

‘Anyway, it’s best to find out where Kim Jingu is for now.’

Jiheon thought he should hire someone to investigate where Kim Jingu was currently living, and he finally drifted off to sleep.

.*. *. *. *. *. *.

The next day.

Jungoh’s phone vibrated every 30 minutes from the morning.

– The marriage registration hasn’t been processed yet.

– Did you get any notification text from the district office? Let me know when it comes.

– I still haven’t received a notification. What’s the problem?

– Is the district office always this slow? Should I go there again?

Worried that Jiheon would annoy her with text messages if she didn’t respond properly, Jungoh sent a reply.

– You saw how crowded the district office was. They must be really busy. Just wait a little.

– How long is a little?

As soon as Jungoh sent her reply, a message came back immediately.

Jung Jiheon. Why don’t you try to work a little more enthusiastically?

It made Jungoh deeply concerned about her future when she realized that the man who was soon to be her husband had no public diligence and only a personal stubbornness.

– You have to wait at least a day or two. All Koreans wait, so try to be patient, okay?

Just as she sent the reply, her phone vibrated again. Annoyed that her boss was bothering her instead of focusing on work, Jungoh stared at her phone.

– Your application for family relationship registration (marriage) has been completed.

Had Jiheon nagged so much that she too became anxious? It was only natural to receive a notification that the marriage registration was completed after having filed it, yet something about that emotionless message made her heart flutter.

She had become Jiheon’s wife.

Jungoh recalled December 31 seven years ago, the day she boarded the train to Gunsan alone. Sitting right next to her was a happy family with a daughter.

Watching them laugh and chat over trivial matters made Jungoh feel melancholic. She cried a lot inside, thinking she would never have such a family.

It had been so cold then. It felt as if winter would never end, but before she knew it, a child was born, happiness was regained, and several years later, she had formed a loving family.

Honestly, she was happier about Yena having a father, but that didn’t lessen her joy at becoming Jiheon’s wife.

It was just a text message that had arrived, and nothing in the world would change, but it felt like a sturdy pillar had been added over her head.

She turned her head slightly. Jiheon had come out into the hallway. Their eyes met from a distance.

The usually cold and indifferent expression that the director wore as a trademark showed a slight flush of color. Someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice, but those who did could easily guess that he was genuinely happy.

Noticing he was approaching without awareness, Jungoh glared at him. Jiheon, having been deterred, walked toward the end of the hallway. Since the matter that worried him had been resolved, he seemed ready to get back to work.

After a while, Deputy Ko Eunju returned to her seat after a meeting and leaned down next to Jungoh to quietly congratulate her.

“Deputy Lee Jungoh. Congratulations.”

“Excuse me?”

“I heard you registered your marriage.”

“Wait, how did you know that…?”

“I heard it from the director.”

“…”

“It seems like you tell everyone you know.”

Of course. Jiheon was not there to work but to brag about this news widely.

The fact that he even told Ko Eunju, who he wasn’t very close to, truly meant that Jiheon was determined to share the news.

Shortly after, Gihoon also came to her desk to offer similar congratulations.

“Deputy, congratulations!”

“Did you hear it from Song Gihoon too?”

“Who told you first? I thought I was the first one to congratulate you.”

Jungoh quietly pointed to Ko Eunju’s desk. Gihoon nodded with a smile and shared the epilogue.

“I was going to gift you a congratulatory bouquet, but the director told me to calm down. He said he’d handle it, so I shouldn’t worry about it.”

“…”

“I was going to give it to you, but the director took the flowers.”

The resignation was evident on Gihoon’s face as he showed her the bouquet he had ordered.

.*. *. *. *. *. *.

Even after the marriage registration, their daily lives did not change much. Jiheon continued to go to Jungoh’s house every morning and evening to spend time with Yena and occasionally stopped by their new home to check on the interior progress.

Though busy with work, their days were very peaceful.

Yena was also spending her days quite busily. The Go tournament was approaching. The Go academy teacher said they would send her to gain experience, and while practicing for matches, Yena’s world broadened significantly.

Now, Yena was able to compete comfortably with her second-grade brother who was also participating in the tournament.

Jiheon’s thoughts became more complex as well. He couldn’t gauge Yena’s potential. For now, he could still play at her level, but a day would come when he would inevitably lose to her.

Professional Go players have their prime years, which tend to start at younger and younger ages. Now, the majority of professional Go players are in their early twenties, meaning they all begin at a very young age.

Children who dream of becoming professional Go players sit at the table, adhering to the rules, even during the tumultuous storms of their lives.

They learn loneliness faster than others and grow up quicker than their peers, missing out on the ordinary joys of childhood while their inner selves mature.

Would Yena choose such a life? Would she say she wants to become a Go player someday?

Yena, I hope you don’t grow up too fast.

“Why do you like Go?”

“Just because.”

Although he asked seriously with a lowered voice, the child’s answer held no weight. But it was the most genuine answer. There’s rarely a big reason behind why someone likes something; it’s simply about attraction.

“It’s just fun.”

“Will it still be fun if you lose at the tournament?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I lose.”

Yena’s confident voice felt like dough being kneaded in Jiheon’s heart. The child’s simplicity, deciding to think about those things when the time came, made Jiheon momentarily set aside his worries and smile.

Suddenly, it was fascinating to think that just a few months ago, I had never contemplated such issues so deeply.

I never imagined that a life once empty and devoid of anything precious could become so vibrantly filled. There could be days when worries about the future and struggles with life feel warm.

In any case, there’s no need to feel anxious about Yena’s future from now on. No matter what she chooses or when she starts, she will do well.

Drrr.

As he looked at the child, the smile that had lingered for a long time faded. Jiheon’s phone vibrated briefly. As he pulled out his phone to check the message, his pupils widened.

– Kim Jin-gu has passed away.

Jiheon had secretly sent someone to keep tabs on Kim Jin-gu’s whereabouts. He had been cautious about approaching him, as he was even willing to face him, but the counselor delivered unexpected news.

Jiheon immediately stepped outside and called the counselor. The counselor answered the phone right away.

[Yes, sir.] “I received your text and contacted you. What happened?”

[Kim Jin-gu stayed in Pohang before moving to Gyeonggi Province. While I was trying to ascertain his whereabouts again, I learned late that he passed away in the early morning hours.] “…What was the cause of death?”

[It seems he fell to his death after drinking at a fishing spot.] “Are you sure?”

[I heard it from the police.] To leave this world in such an empty manner.

After hanging up the phone, Jiheon searched for recent incidents on his phone. There was an article stating that a body of a man in his thirties had been found in a reservoir in Gyeonggi Province. Rather than feeling relieved that the unsettling Kim Jin-gu was gone, a sense of heaviness filled him.

With a dazed heart, Jiheon’s fingers moved to open the email correspondence with the counselor. After three days, his personal email account was piled with spam emails. Among the spam, he saw a familiar name.

‘Kim Jin-gu.’

The sender’s name was Kim Jin-gu. And the subject of the email was ‘Jung Jiheon.’

Jiheon opened the email with a sense of tension. The email contained a single line of text.

– Do you think I wouldn’t know you hired someone to track me?

The email, charged with intense emotion, had an attachment—a three-second video clip. It was a photo taken secretly of a moving black car.

The date of sending was July 26 at 7 PM.

Kim Jin-gu’s estimated time of death was July 27 at 1 AM.

Jiheon suddenly thought that Kim Jin-gu might not have died from an accident after all.