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Join the Server“The difference between humans and beasts is just that one thing. Humans have reason—the ability to suppress impulses.”
From the TV, which was casting a bright light across the spacious living room, a man who looked like a professor was passionately speaking as a panelist.
“What do I mean by that? If we are born as humans, we shouldn’t leave everything to impulse—instinct. We are born with reason, so shouldn’t we make use of it?”
Jitae, who had been sprawled lazily on the sofa, slowly turned his head.
Coincidentally, the broadcast caught his attention.
“Of course, this is very difficult. But I believe we must constantly strive to act rationally.”
As the other panelists nodded and applauded in agreement, the living room lights suddenly flicked on brightly.
“Hey, at least turn on the lights when you live. What are you, some child of darkness?”
With a remark that sounded like something an older science teacher would say upon entering a classroom, Sunhyeok walked into Jitae’s house.
“Uncle, does that make me a beast instead of a human?”
“What nonsense are you talking? Just look at the state you’re in.”
Clicking his tongue as he looked at Jitae sprawled out, Sunhyeok sighed.
After hearing that Jitae had collapsed, he had cleared his urgent schedule as much as possible and came to see him.
“What did the hospital say?”
“The usual reason.”
Even with just that, Sunhyeok seemed to understand and didn’t press further.
“They said your filming schedule got pushed back because you collapsed. You know what that means, right? It means you should rest properly and recover quickly.”
Jitae lazily rolled his eyes to look at him.
“From the looks of it, you haven’t even been eating properly.”
Letting out deep sighs, Sunhyeok muttered about how old he was and how he was still like a grown child as he headed into the kitchen.
“Uncle, tomato.”
Grumbling, Sunhyeok opened the fridge and quickly took out ingredients—spaghetti, bacon, and tomato sauce.
Soon, with practiced hands, he made a delicious-looking tomato spaghetti in no time.
Without being called, Jitae staggered over and sat at the table.
“It feels like what you made back then tasted better….”
“Is that something you say to the person who cooked for you? Back then, you were at the age where everything tasted good.”
Sunhyeok filled a cup with water and placed it in front of him.
Back when Jitae lived in New York, Sunhyeok had been there too.
Instead of Jitae’s mother, who wasn’t interested in household matters, it had been Sunhyeok who took care of him and made sure he ate.
“But how did you come here? Aren’t you busy these days?”
“Very busy. Thanks to you, I might end up sitting on a pile of money. Look at me benefiting from my nephew.”
Sunhyeok laughed heartily.
Though he joked like that, he was already a famous producer.
It wasn’t that previous seasons had failed—it was just that season 4 was overwhelmingly successful.
Besides, he wasn’t particularly interested in money or fame.
“That’s not because of me. It’s because of Woojoo.”
“You played a big part too. If you hadn’t come to persuade me to cast you in the show, do you think something like this would’ve come out?”
Jitae only gave a faint smile and weakly picked at his noodles.
“Everything turned out so well, so what’s your problem now?”
Sunhyeok asked as he sat across from him.
In truth, he already had a rough idea.
“It’s because of Kang Woojoo, right?”
At the mention of that name, Jitae’s head dropped even lower, like a ripening grain bending down.
As expected. It would’ve been stranger if it wasn’t.
He had been the one to step in and stop their intense fight just a day before filming ended.
After the friendly match, Jitae suddenly said he felt sick and wanted to leave early, so Sunhyeok took him back to the accommodation.
As his uncle, he knew it was a lie, but didn’t press him, thinking time would resolve things.
But when a writer later mentioned that something felt off about Woojoo’s mood, Sunhyeok had a gut feeling.
That something serious might happen that day.
Even though he didn’t know the exact reason for their fight, he had done his best to reassure the staff that it was nothing serious.
“You still haven’t made up? You two are even working together.”
He had assumed that two grown men in their late twenties would sort things out themselves.
“I don’t know.”
“Jitae, I wasn’t going to ask, but what exactly happened? Tell me.”
When he heard Jitae had collapsed, Sunhyeok had already suspected it might be related to Woojoo.
Jitae had been happy throughout filming—if he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging nonstop.
But now, seeing him like this after filming ended and even ending up in the hospital, suspicion turned into certainty.
“Sometimes, you feel better once you let things out. You don’t have any friends anyway.”
“You really want to pick a fight with your only nephew?”
“I’m saying I’ll listen, if you’re okay with that.”
After hesitating briefly, Jitae finally let everything out, as if emptying a plate clean.
He talked about how Woojoo had been curious about his past, especially why he quit volleyball, and about the fight the day before—what led to it and what they said.
“I already knew this, but Jitae… you really just grew physically.”
That was Sunhyeok’s first reaction.
“I know. That’s probably why Woojoo called me pathetic.”
“You still don’t have the courage to tell him everything?”
Jitae clenched his hand under the table.
It wasn’t even something that required grand courage, nor was Woojoo directly involved.
To others, it might seem trivial—something in the past that should be easy to talk about.
Jitae knew that too.
Yet for some reason, revealing that fragment of his past wasn’t easy.
“To be honest, I agree with what Kang Woojoo said.”
Leaning back, Sunhyeok continued.
“That you’re the one still trapped in the past. I know better than anyone that it’s an unerasable wound for you. I understand why it’s hard to talk about.”
His voice spread calmly through the room.
“But Jitae… are you going to keep living like that?”
“It’s not even something pleasant to hear. Even if I tell him, it won’t make Woojoo feel good.”
It was Jitae’s own wound—his own lack.
Sharing it meant asking someone else to understand and feel the same pain.
That was one of the reasons he couldn’t easily speak about it to Woojoo.
“Because you like him, you only want to show your good side? Something like that?”
Jitae didn’t deny it.
Sunhyeok smirked and flicked his forehead.
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you like someone, you show them everything—even what’s inside you. Especially if that’s what they want. Your feelings for Woojoo are genuine, right?”
Jitae quickly nodded.
“Then act honestly in line with those feelings. Showing everything doesn’t guarantee things will go well. But hiding everything and only showing one side won’t work either.”
“You really are an adult, uncle.”
“Of course. I’ve lived longer than you.”
Sunhyeok slowly walked into the living room and picked up the remote from the coffee table.
“No matter how much humans are born with reason, they’re still imperfect.”
He pressed the power button.
The program Jitae had been watching—about human rationality—disappeared into darkness.
“That’s why people live by holding each other together.”
Living while supporting each other.
Jitae understood the words, but they didn’t fully resonate.
He had never seen such a relationship before.
Even his own parents—his closest family—hadn’t been whole.
“Think carefully and decide. Like I always say, the choice is yours.”
“Right….”
At that moment, Jitae muttered as if something had just come to mind.
“What?”
“But I already confessed to Woojoo first.”
“…….”
Sunhyeok looked at him like, what kind of idiot are you?
“I—I couldn’t help it. There was a reason.”
Jitae had always been bothered by Dongha’s presence.
People of the same kind recognize each other.
He knew what kind of gaze Dongha had when looking at Woojoo.
That day, on the way home after being discharged, Dongha’s call filled him with anxiety.
The uneasy tone, the trembling voice, and Woojoo saying Dongha rarely asked to meet privately.
In that moment, Jitae felt like he had to hold onto Woojoo.
If things continued like this, someone else might end up by Woojoo’s side.
The thought alone made him lose all reason.
By the time he came to his senses, his uncontrollable feelings had already poured out.
Like a runaway horse, once the lock was broken, everything spilled out at once.
“…I’m really the worst.”
“Yeah. You are.”
Sunhyeok agreed deeply, delivering a sharp blow of truth as he looked at Jitae collapsed over the table.
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