Chapter 27: A Day Off, A Drama, and a Missing Suit

Having finished his preparations for the hike, Seo Yeon-ho made his way to the subway station. He had no desire to ride his scooter on his day off, especially given the parking fees. Ansan Mountain, once known as Muaksan, was also only a forty-minute subway ride from his neighborhood.

Being a weekday afternoon, the subway station was relatively quiet. A few people, dressed in hiking gear, caught his eye, presumably heading to the mountains just like Yeon-ho.

The subway car had plenty of empty seats, yet, as luck would have it, two men in their fifties boarded at the next stop and sat on either side of Yeon-ho. Both immediately engrossed themselves in their phones; one was reading an erotic novel with the font size ridiculously magnified, while the other watched a ‘wreck car’ channel.

Yeon-ho tried his best to avoid looking at either side, but the men simply couldn’t keep still, drawing his gaze inadvertently. They bumped his shoulder, fidgeted with splayed legs, touched their ears and noses, and scratched their heads. Their elbows occasionally nudged Yeon-ho, seemingly without malice.

Feeling as if he were practicing extreme patience, Yeon-ho looked up at the monitor suspended above. Instead of destination information, the screen displayed the day’s top news headlines.

Beneath a video showing a man in his forties, his face stern, receiving camera flashes, a caption appeared. It reported that Kang Se-ho, the second son of Inseong Group Chairman Kang Gyu-jin, had stepped down from his executive director position at Inseong Shopping and was transferred to become the CEO of Inseong Dream Culture, an Inseong Shopping affiliate.

Yeon-ho lowered his gaze, thinking the man’s expression, highlighted by the camera flashes, was as intimidating as a gangster’s. He had averted his eyes from the uninteresting topic, only for them to land, by chance, on the phone of the man beside him.

‘Kang Se-ho of Inseong Group.’

The name and face he had just seen on the monitor reappeared. While it was outside Yeon-ho’s usual interests, the fact that even a ‘wreck car’ channel covered it suggested the Inseong Group story was a hot topic in the business world.

‘This old man also has incredibly large captions. Is he suffering from presbyopia?’

Yeon-ho read the caption, which declared the Inseong Group’s succession battle had officially begun, then closed his eyes. Strangely, once he gave a ‘wreck car’ video even a passing glance, it was difficult to look away, regardless of his interest in the content. That, he mused, was probably how they made their money.

After disembarking from the subway, Yeon-ho climbed to the summit of Ansan Mountain, traversed Muakjae Pass, and completed the full circuit to Inwangsan before finally heading home. He had actually wanted to hike all the way to Bugaksan, but his sister’s nagging reminder not to overexert himself on his day off forced him to reluctantly turn back.

‘I should have gone all the way to Bugaksan.’

Returning home, he showered, took a nap, and then awoke in the evening, regretting his earlier decision immensely. The unfamiliarity of having nothing to do weighed heavily on him.

Since joining Cherry Picker, Yeon-ho had constantly lived against the clock, never learning how to truly relax. As a trainee, he had practically lived in the practice room, striving to elevate his dancing and singing to the level of his peers. After his debut, his schedule was a whirlwind of various events and fan sign sessions across the country.

Lying sprawled on the floor, Yeon-ho clenched and unclenched his fists. He simply couldn’t adjust to doing nothing at all. Eventually, a sense of guilt crept in, making him feel less like he was resting and more like he was idly lounging around, a jobless man.

He was overwhelmed by the urge to grab his helmet and go out for delivery work. However, having promised his sister he would absolutely not work on his days off, he stifled the impulse.

“This won’t do.”

Finding it too difficult to remain still, Yeon-ho stepped outside for a cigarette. The low hum of the outdoor unit greeted him, a sound as familiar as a convenience store’s bell.

As it was dusk, the sky glowed entirely crimson. Yeon-ho gazed across the fiery heavens, inhaling the smoke. Instead of the sharp menthol scent he usually preferred, a dry, earthy taste clung to his mouth.

“I can’t get used to this.”

‘Why did I buy this?’ he wondered, regretting his purchase as he looked down at the cigarette. When Han Tae-young had lent him one, he’d thought the taste was quite pleasant. The chocolate aroma had been sweet enough to more than offset the cigar-like dryness.

Yet, now that he had bought them with his own money and was smoking one, it didn’t taste the same. His throat felt scratchy, and not even a hint of chocolate scent was discernible. The cigarette pack itself carried the chocolate fragrance, but the cigarette yielded none, leaving him feeling utterly swindled.

Forcing himself to finish the unpalatable cigarette, Yeon-ho returned to his room and sat cross-legged against the wall. He tried to recall how he had overcome this same sense of boredom when he was hospitalized after his accident.

Back then, dramas had been Yeon-ho’s sole respite. Just as his mind went blank while climbing a mountain, watching a drama starring Tae-young allowed him to focus entirely on the story.

“Would watching a drama help, like it did back then?”

Yeon-ho picked up his phone, only to feel overwhelmed almost immediately. Perhaps because he rarely watched TV, he felt utterly lost about which drama to choose.

He considered watching *Cold Reading* but quickly dismissed the idea. He knew he wouldn’t be able to properly immerse himself in the drama, constantly checking if its content matched his own memories.

Yeon-ho tapped the corner of his phone idly before searching for *Glass Staircase*, Tae-young’s previous work. There was no particular reason; it was simply the only thing that came to mind at that moment.

Yeon-ho clicked on a clip video directly edited by the broadcasting station. Summarizing an entire drama episode in about twenty minutes, it seemed like something he could watch casually and then easily turn off.

However, the idea that he could easily turn it off proved to be a misconception. *Glass Staircase* demonstrated why it was last year’s most talked-about drama, making it impossible to resist clicking on the next episode.

“Han Tae-young’s acting was good even back then.”

No, the acting he displayed in *Glass Staircase* was significantly superior to his performance in *Cold Reading*. It seemed less like Tae-young’s acting skills had regressed and more like the difference stemmed from the varying quality of the scripts.

‘I don’t understand why there was controversy over the Grand Prize. His acting seems perfectly deserving of an award.’

Yeon-ho paused his binge-watching and searched the portal for “Han Tae-young Grand Prize controversy.” The overwhelming majority of the search results were posts criticizing Tae-young, which instantly made Yeon-ho’s heart clench.

‘I want to leave a rebuttal comment.’

However, he felt he wasn’t yet qualified to post a rebuttal. He hadn’t finished watching *Glass Staircase*, nor had he seen the performance of the actor who shared the award.

‘After I finish *Glass Staircase*, should I watch the drama of the actor who shared the award?’

Today, there wasn’t even enough time to binge-watch *Glass Staircase*. Just as he decided he would watch the drama of the co-awarded actor sometime on a holiday two months from now, a call from Hyo-jun came through.

“Yes, Hyo-jun. What’s up?”

– Are you busy? Why do you sound so flustered?

“Oh, no, I’m not. I was just watching a video.”

– Was our Yeon-ho, by any chance, watching a movie for adults only?

“It’s nothing like that.”

– Come on, kid, you don’t have to hide it from me. It’s fine for an adult to watch some adult content.

It seemed the word “video” had led to a strange misunderstanding.

“It wasn’t adult content; I was watching a hit drama from last year.”

– Hmm, you?

“It’s not some hastily concocted excuse; it’s true.”

As Yeon-ho replied earnestly, a hint of skepticism tinged Hyo-jun’s voice.

– Really?

“Yes. Really.”

Hyo-jun paused for a moment before cautiously asking,

– What possessed you to watch a drama?

Hyo-jun knew that Yeon-ho didn’t watch dramas. He was also aware of the reasons why Yeon-ho had stopped watching them.

“It’s my day off, and after hiking, I just found myself with nothing to do.”

– Oh?

“More importantly, why did you call?”

Yeon-ho quickly changed the subject, sensing no good would come from prolonging this particular conversation.

– Ah, right. That casual suit sample I gave you before, you still have it, don’t you?

“Of course I do.”

– The factory sent the initial batch today, but the quality is different from the sample we used for the shoot, so I wanted to compare them.

It seemed the factory had caused a problem.

“Is there a big difference in quality?”

With a worried expression, Yeon-ho stood up. He needed to find the garment bag Hyo-jun had given him.

‘Where did I put it?’

– The finishing is a complete mess. I bet they outsourced it to some shoddy place. Those bastards. I’m going to meticulously find every single difference from the sample.

“Hyo-jun, should I bring the sample to your home or the office?”

– Why would you bring it? It’s your day off. Just send it by courier.

“It’s precisely because it’s my day off that I’m offering to bring it. If it were a workday, I wouldn’t even suggest it.”

Yeon-ho continued to search for the garment bag as he spoke. He had already rummaged through the same spot four or five times. It wasn’t as if it had grown legs and run away; it had to be somewhere in the house, yet he couldn’t fathom why it was nowhere to be found.

– Still, it’s getting quite late. It’s not urgent, so do whatever’s convenient for you. The factory is closing for three days starting today anyway.

“Understood. I’ll think about what to do and get back to you.”

After hanging up, Yeon-ho ran his hands through his hair in frustration. It seemed the clothes Hyo-jun had given him were not at home after all. His heart pounded wildly at the terrifying thought that he might have lost them.

‘Did I leave it on the bus? No, I definitely had it in my hand when I got off. What did I do that day? Did I not come straight home?’

Yeon-ho rummaged through his calendar and suddenly remembered stopping by Moonlight Flower. He immediately called Owner Yang, but even though business hours weren’t over yet, Owner Yang didn’t answer.

Knowing Owner Yang wouldn’t intentionally ignore his call, Yeon-ho waited for them to call back. However, the anxiety of potentially losing Hyo-jun’s gift was so overwhelming that he couldn’t possibly wait patiently.

Yeon-ho sent a message to Jung-eun, the part-timer at Moonlight Flower, asking if she remembered seeing a garment bag.

[Inside a suit bag? Oh, that was yours, Oppa? I thought it was lost property left by a customer. It should be stored in the backroom.]

Yeon-ho grabbed his helmet and keys, then dashed down the stairs. He felt a profound sense of self-reproach for having lost the garment bag, but the relief of confirming its location, however belatedly, was immense. To exaggerate only slightly, he felt as if he had narrowly escaped death.