Episode 51
19 December 2025, Friday. Late afternoon. Village Gotan-ri near Chuncheon, little hillside street off Chunhwa-ro, Jeong's family home.
After dinner, two of Mi-yeon's father's neighbors stopped by.
Park Cheol-soo came first—a slightly overweight, bald man with a permanently cheerful face, loud laughter, and the relaxed confidence of someone who had never learned to take life too seriously. He had been Jung-guk's childhood friend for as long as anyone could remember.
With him was Lee Seong-ho, thin, polite, already retired, the kind of man who spoke little but always listened carefully. Where Cheol-soo filled a room with noise, Seong-ho balanced it with quiet presence.
Without wasting time on greetings, they spread a thick blanket on the floor. Jung-guk reached into the cupboard and pulled out a worn deck of hwatu cards, the edges softened by decades of use, the bright flowers and animals faded but still vivid.
Within minutes, the room filled with sound.
Cards slapped against the floor.
"Five points!"
"Go!"
"Ya—again?!"
Park Cheol-soo slapped his thigh dramatically.
"Lee-ssi! You're cheating again!"
Lee Seong-ho protested calmly, adjusting his glasses.
"I'm not cheating, Cheol-soo! If you don't know how to play, don't sit at the table!"
Jung-guk laughed loudly at their bickering and called toward the kitchen.
"Bo-ra! Bring us some barley tea already! We're embarrassing ourselves in front of guests!"
Her voice came back sharp and familiar.
"I'm bringing it, I'm bringing it!
What kind of bad luck brings you all here tonight? Honestly… why don't you play outside? My head is already pounding."
As if on cue, the front door opened again.
Baek Hye-yeong and Kim Jeong-hee stepped inside—the wives of Cheol-soo and Seong-ho. They carried a bag of mandarins and a box with a neatly wrapped pie.
Cheol-soo froze the moment he saw his wife.
"Jeong-hee?! What are you doing here? Didn't you say you were going to see a friend?"
She crossed her arms instantly.
"I did go to a friend, you idiot. Bo-ra is my friend. But what are you doing here? You said you were going out to get some medicine!"
Cheol-soo sputtered for half a second, then recovered with theatrical confidence.
"Well—yes! Exactly! I came here for medicine! Don't you know how good Bo-ra's barley tea is? One cup and my digestion starts working perfectly!"
He gestured grandly at his stomach.
Jeong-hee stared at him in disbelief.
"What nonsense are you talking about?! Have some shame! Too bad Bo-ra's tea doesn't help your brain work!"
Laughter exploded across the room.
Hye-yeong smiled warmly and called toward the kitchen.
"Bo-ra! Bo-ra! We brought mandarins and pie! Come sit with us—let's eat together."
A little later, all six of them sat around the low table. Rice with vegetables and chicken was passed around, the pie cut into generous slices, barley tea poured again and again.
The conversation flowed easily—half memories, half complaints, all familiar.
Cheol-soo spoke between bites, turning to Jung-guk.
"I was clearing snow today and saw your Mi-yeon walking down the street with a foreigner. Tall, light hair. That his car parked in your yard?"
Jung-guk rolled his eyes, though his tone stayed good-natured.
"He's her friend. They study together. He asked to rent a room for the holidays. Do you really need to know everything, Cheol-soo? You're worse than my wife—such a gossip."
Seong-ho spoke up quietly, chewing his pie.
"Just a friend?"
"Just a friend," Jung-guk replied, sharper than he intended. "What's so strange about that?"
Jeong-hee waved her hand dismissively, a knowing smile on her lips.
"Oh, please, Jung-guk. Who are you trying to fool? I've known Mi-yeon since she was in diapers. She wouldn't bring just a friend into her home. Something's going on. Careful—next thing you know, that northern prince will carry your pretty daughter off to his forests."
Jung-guk snorted and took a long sip of tea, unsure how to answer.
"Oh, stop it… really…"
Bo-ra spoke more gently.
"Well, he seems to be a good boy. Polite. He tries."
Hye-yeong's eyes lit up.
"Oh? Did he eat the kimchi?"
Bo-ra answered with unmistakable pride.
"Of course he did. A whole spoonful. Even forced himself to say 'very tasty'—while turning red like a sunset. I was worried he might faint."
Everyone laughed again, the kind of laughter that came easily among people who had shared decades of life, arguments, seasons, and meals.
Outside, the village lay quiet under the cold of coming evening. Inside, the house was warm—filled with voices, teasing, and the comfortable chaos of old friendships.
19 December 2025, Friday. Early evening. Gangwon-do, Elysian Gangchon Ski Resort, shuttle bus stop.
Mi-yeon and Den stood side by side, waiting for the shuttle bus to the Baegyangnitrain station. Tired. Pleasantly sore. Quietly satisfied with the day. Breath visible in the cold air.
A few other passengers waited too, skis lined up beside them.
In front of them, a small drama unfolded.
A boy of about four or five stamped his boots against the frozen ground, arms crossed, face red with stubborn fury. His young mother hovered beside him, mortified, trying everything she could think of.
"Eun-woo, it's getting late," she pleaded softly. "The slope is closing soon. We'll come back another day."
The boy shook his head violently.
"I don't want to go home! I want to sled again!"
She crouched down, lowering her voice.
"If we go now, I'll buy pastries for tea. Chocolate ones."
"No!" Eun-woo yelled, on the verge of tears. "I want the hill!"
People nearby pretended not to stare, though everyone was listening.
Finally, the mother sighed, visibly running out of options, and said in a firm voice:
"Kim Eun-woo. If you keep behaving like this, you'll anger Sansin. He'll come down from the mountains on a white tiger and punish you."
The boy froze for a second. Fear flickered across his face—but pride won.
"That's just a fairytale!" he said loudly. "Sansin doesn't come into the city! And the police would catch him anyway!"
Mi-yeon barely had time to blink.
Den, without a word, subtly tugged the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand, dipped the fabric into a patch of loose snow, and straightened up.
Mi-yeon's thoughts exploded all at once.
Oh no. What is he doing now…?
Den stepped closer to the boy and lowered himself to meet Eun-woo at eye level. His expression turned solemn—almost philosophical.
"You know," Den said quietly, "when I was little, I thought the same thing. And I was very wrong."
Eun-woo stared.
"I didn't listen to my mother either," Den continued. "I played outside late, made noise, complained. One night, I was so loud that I woke Sansin."
The boy's eyes widened.
"And I saw him come down from the mountains."
Eun-woo swallowed.
"…On a tiger?" he whispered.
Den paused, pretending to be genuinely puzzled.
"A tiger?" He shook his head. "No, no. That's a city rumor. Sansin doesn't ride tigers."
He leaned in slightly.
"He came on a great white deer."
The bus stop had gone very quiet.
"And he was very strict," Den went on. "I was terrified. He said, 'You are a noisy, disobedient boy, Seok Do-nis. So I will punish you. You will become a winterman.'"
"A… winterman?" Eun-woo whispered.
Mi-yeon noticed then that the boy's mother, and several other people at the stop, were listening just as closely as the child.
Den nodded gravely.
"Yes. A winterman. Cursed by cold. When I was little, I had black hair and warm brown eyes. But Sansin touched my heart. My hair turned white forever, my eyes became the color of ice. I am always cold now. Even in summer.
I can't eat ice cream anymore. I'm always freezing."
He looked at Eun-woo seriously.
"So you should be careful. Or you might become like me."
The boy stared at him, stunned.
"Are you… really that cold?" he asked.
Den nodded.
"I can't get warm. And when I touch things, snow remains."
He lifted his hand slowly.
"Look."
He pretended to brush the boy's hair—but in reality, he touched only with the snow-damp sleeve.
Eun-woo instinctively reached up, felt the cold flakes in his hair—and gasped.
Eyes wide, he grabbed his mother's hand and pressed against her.
"Mommy… I'm sorry. Let's go home. Now."
The mother blinked, then nodded quickly, relief flooding her face.
"Thank you… winterman-nim," she said softly, bowing her head to Den. "Really."
Den nodded politely and returned to his place, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. Around them, a few people smiled quietly, pretending they had seen absolutely nothing.
Mi-yeon stared at him, bursting with curiosity.
"…What was that?" she whispered. "And why a deer?"
Den shrugged, smiling.
"I don't know the names of many animals in Korean," he said lightly. "Deer was the first one that came to mind."
Mi-yeon bit her lip to keep from laughing as the bus finally appeared at the end of the road.
23 December 2025, Tuesday. Noon. Village Gotan-ri near Chuncheon, little hillside street off Chunhwa-ro, Jeong's family home.
Den parked the UAZ in the yard and opened the trunk. Mi-yeon and Su-ha climbed out of the car.
Su-ha, completely unstoppable, followed her sister like a shadow, words spilling without pause about the romance manhwa she had been reading these days.
"And can you imagine," she said, waving her hands dramatically, "I thought she was a villain, but she was actually protecting his secret the whole time! It's so romantic!"
Mi-yeon took grocery bags out of the trunk and sighed.
"Su-ha, stop talking for a second. Take the bags and help carry them inside."
"Mhm," Su-ha answered automatically, grabbing a bag without losing momentum.
"I just can't believe how strong she is! Everyone attacks her, blames her, and she knows she's innocent, but she endures it all! She's so strong! I could never do that. I cried so much when I realized the truth! Did you cry too, Unni? Did you?"
They went into the house.
Den closed the trunk and noticed Jung-guk in the yard, methodically chopping firewood for the bathhouse. He handled the axe with calm precision, splitting logs cleanly in one or two strikes, always straight down the middle. A respectable pile of firewood had already formed beside him.
Den approached.
"May I help with something, Abeonim?"
Jung-guk stopped, studied him for a few seconds, then handed him the axe handle-first.
"Good. Help. I'll stack the wood in the shed and start the stove for the bath."
Den took the axe—and felt a flicker of panic. He had expected to be asked to carry logs, maybe stack them. Not this.
That didn't go as planned, he thought, staring at the axe.
He was expecting that he would be asked to gather firewood, carry it to the shed, maybe something else.
Wrong assumption.
His own father had made sure he learned useful skills growing up—fighting, dancing, fixing—he was comfortable with most things some guys could be afraid of but chopping firewood in Moscow had never been a priority.
Den replayed Jung-guk's movements in his head. Took a breath. Set a log on the stump. Raised the axe. Swung.
The log fell over.
He lowered the axe.
Set it again.
Swung again.
The log fell.
Den grimaced. This time, he tried a different approach—tapping the axe lightly into the wood, then lifting the axe together with the log and slamming it down onto the stump, hoping the impact would split it.
Instead, the axe got stuck firmly in the middle of the log.
By then, Jung-guk had come back from the shed with the first load of firewood and was watching the scene, standing next to the shed's corner with a faintly amused expression.
Bo-ra passed by with a basin of freshly washed laundry. She followed her husband's gaze, stopped, and clicked her tongue.
"Jeong Jung-guk, what are you doing? Why are you making him suffer?
"What did I do?" he protested. "He offered to help. So, he is helping.
Bo-ra smirked.
"At this rate, we won't be bathing tonight. Stop torturing him and give him a task he can actually handle."
She walked away to hang the laundry on the line.
Jung-guk sighed and stepped closer to Den.
Den looked embarrassed and genuinely upset. Jung-guk patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't be discouraged. I'm helpless at many things too. I'll chop, you carry. We'll finish faster."
Den nodded and immediately began stacking the logs and carrying them to the shed with visible determination.
By midday, Jung-guk was already lighting the bathhouse stove so everything would be ready by evening.
He went inside and stopped short.
Den was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Su-ha's laptop on his knees. Su-ha hovered behind him, her eyes shining at the screen.
"That's amazing! We were going to take it in for repairs!"
She turned toward her father, practically bouncing.
"Dad! Dad! Oppa-Den fixed my laptop! You said only a repair shop could do it! And he said we can call him Den—like his friends do! He is my friend now. Isn't that great?"
Jung-guk smiled. He met Den's eyes and gave a short, approving nod.
23 December 2025, Tuesday. Late evening. Yuna's rented room.
Yuna sat on the floor beside her bed, knees drawn tightly to her chest.
Her face was empty.
Not numb — just distant, as if she had stepped a pace outside her own body. As if the world had moved somewhere else and forgotten to take her with it.
With slow, disbelieving fingers, she opened the chat again and reread the messages from the man who, only half an hour ago, had been her entire world.
Oppa: Did you take the photos in bed like I asked?
Yuna: No… I'm sorry. It's too much. I can't do that.
Oppa: Think carefully. This is your last chance. If you don't, I'm not coming. I'm tired of your whims.
Yuna: No, I'm sorry, I really can't. I tried. Why are you being so cruel?
Oppa: Fine. Then we're done. Send me 200,000 won by Monday.
Yuna: What? Why would you ask for that?
Oppa: You refused me yourself. Now you're just a way to make money. Send the money, or I'll upload all the photos you sent me to your university's forum. I'm sure your classmates would be curious what kind of underwear you like and how you look without it.
Yuna: How can you say that? How can you do this to me? You said you loved me.
Oppa: Your fault. 200,000 by Monday. Or the money, or the photos I want. Choose. Oppa: And don't try to block me or tell anyone, or I will upload everything.
Yuna threw the phone away as if it had burned her palm.
She slowly tipped onto her side and curled in on herself on the floor, making herself small, as if that could somehow reduce the pain. Quiet sobs began to break free—thin, uneven, almost apologetic.
Shock tangled with hurt. Love collapsed into betrayal. The words replayed in her head, over and over, refusing to soften or fade.
Her world didn't explode loudly.
It simply fell apart—silently—leaving her alone in the dim half-light of her room, wrapped in a suffocating despair she didn't know how to escape.