Chapter 6: The Only Man Who Refused Me.
978 Words
Min-Hee noticed the second one by mistake.
Not because he stood out.
Because he didn’t try to.
He was at the bookstore two streets away. Not the one Ji-Hoon used. Smaller. Less ordered. The kind of place where books leaned instead of stood.
He was in the middle aisle, turning a page with the ease of someone who actually read what he held.
Not watching.
Not pretending to.
Reading.
Min-Hee paused at the entrance, her gaze settling on him for a moment longer than necessary.
Then she walked in.
The bell above the door rang once. Soft.
He didn’t look up.
She moved past the front shelves, scanning titles without seeing them. When she reached his aisle, she stopped beside him.
“You’re early,” she said.
He turned the page.
“Depends on what you’re measuring.”
His voice carried a lighter tone than Gatsby’s. Not careless. Just less… contained.
Min-Hee reached for a book, opened it, then closed it again.
“You’re not from here either.”
“No.”
“And you’re not pretending to be.”
He glanced at her then.
A brief look. Enough to register. Not enough to linger.
“Should I be?”
“It would make things easier.”
“For you?”
“For everyone.”
He considered that.
Then gave a small, almost amused nod.
“Unlikely.”
Min-Hee studied him more closely now.
“You have a name,” she said.
He closed the book.
“Several.”
“The one you’re using.”
A pause.
Then—
“Romeo.”
Min-Hee’s expression didn’t change.
“That’s worse.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“You kept it anyway.”
He shrugged lightly.
“It was assigned.”
“And you accepted it.”
“I didn’t have a better option.”
Min-Hee placed the book back on the shelf.
“You could have chosen one.”
“That would suggest I care.”
“And you don’t.”
Romeo tilted his head slightly.
“I care about getting things right.”
Min-Hee looked at him.
“And this is right.”
“For now.”
There it was again.
That phrase.
Temporary.
Measured.
Never fixed.
Min-Hee turned away from the shelf.
“How many of you are there?” she asked.
Romeo smiled, just faintly.
“Enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Min-Hee didn’t press further.
She didn’t need to.
Not yet.
Instead, she stepped past him, moving toward the counter.
As she reached the door, she paused.
“Try not to get attached,” she said.
Romeo’s voice followed, calm.
“I won’t.”
A beat.
Then, almost as an afterthought—
“But you might.”
Min-Hee didn’t turn back.
When she returned to the apartment, Ji-Hoon was where she expected him to be.
Same chair. Same book.
He looked up as she entered.
“You found another one.”
Min-Hee set her bag down.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He reads.”
Ji-Hoon closed his book.
“That’s new.”
“He’s not pretending.”
“Also new.”
Min-Hee walked further into the room.
“They’re getting closer.”
Ji-Hoon watched her.
“Or you are.”
Min-Hee stopped.
That wasn’t wrong.
She didn’t respond.
Instead, she moved toward the kitchen, opening a cabinet with more certainty this time.
Familiar now.
Or at least… less unfamiliar.
“You gave them names,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
“Gatsby. Romeo.”
Ji-Hoon leaned back slightly.
“They chose those.”
Min-Hee took out a cup.
“And you allowed it.”
“I didn’t see a reason not to.”
She turned.
“You trust them.”
Ji-Hoon considered that.
“No.”
Min-Hee waited.
“I trust that they’ll do what they were sent to do,” he continued.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
Min-Hee set the cup down.
“And if what they were sent to do becomes a problem?”
Ji-Hoon met her gaze.
“Then it will be dealt with.”
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
Min-Hee studied him for a moment longer.
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“I am.”
She raised an eyebrow slightly.
“That’s what concern looks like?”
“For me.”
Min-Hee let that settle.
Then turned back to the counter.
This time, when she reached for the pan—
She measured the oil.
Carefully.
Not perfect.
Better.
Behind her, Ji-Hoon watched.
He didn’t comment.
Didn’t correct.
Just observed.
The egg cracked cleaner this time.
No shell.
The edges cooked more evenly.
Not flawless.
But controlled.
Min-Hee adjusted the heat.
Waited.
Then flipped it.
It held.
She turned off the stove and placed it on a plate.
For a moment, she looked at it.
Then set it down.
“Improvement,” she said.
Ji-Hoon nodded once.
“Yes.”
She didn’t smile.
But she didn’t look away either.
That night, the messages changed.
Her phone lit up.
Two messages this time.
Movement confirmed.
And beneath it—
Do not engage.
Min-Hee read both.
Once.
Twice.
Then she typed:
Too late.
She sent it.
Across the room, Ji-Hoon’s voice came, quiet.
“You’re going to ignore that.”
Min-Hee didn’t look at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She set the phone down.
“Because they’re already too close.”
Ji-Hoon closed his book.
“And you don’t like that.”
Min-Hee turned slightly.
“No,” she said.
“I don’t.”
Outside, the street remained calm.
But the pattern had shifted.
Closer now.
Tighter.
Less space between observation and action.
And somewhere within that shift—
Something had already begun to move.
Not toward her.
Not away from her.
Just… into place.
Waiting.
- Writer
