Chapter 10
The suggestion was simple, but Doa couldn’t respond immediately.
Enduring pain was second nature to her.
She had long grown accustomed to pretending that everything was fine, even when her body ached, fearing that [Ihwado-ga] might discard her if she appeared weak. To imagine someone taking care of her felt like a luxury beyond reach—a solitary life of drifting, like pollen scattered by the wind.
If it hadn’t been for Eunja, who had held her all the way to the end, she would have wandered through life without ever putting down roots.
Not everyone in [Ihwado-ga] was on Doa’s side.
“Still, isn’t Yeona the real bloodline? Doa doesn’t even know which line she’s from. What if she’s the child of a murderer? Then the honor of Ihwado-ga would go straight to the ground.”
“Yeona isn’t fit for it anyway. She’s always drifting outside, like her parents did. That’s why the master gives her affection even though she’s an orphan.”
Hearing such words, a pang of guilt sometimes gnawed at Doa.
She worried that her existence might taint [Ihwado-ga]’s honor.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Really, I’m fine…”
The phrase was so ingrained in her that no one could know it meant the opposite.
“Let’s check the swelling first.”
His large hand moved cautiously toward her ankle.
Too slow to dodge, Doa felt his fingertips brush her ankle bone. The man’s expression immediately turned serious.
“It’s quite swollen. There’s a lot of heat, too. How did you even walk like this?”
He grabbed the cold pack he had brought and pressed it gently against her ankle. The cool sensation made her toes curl reflexively.
“The cold pack is something Mr. Judoa should apply first, not me.”
“……”
Feeling emotions toward someone she’d only met a day ago was unfamiliar territory. Perhaps it was the longing of an orphan starved for affection, as her younger sister Yeona once mocked.
“The boys in the neighborhood say that orphans are the easiest. They’re starved for affection, so they fall quickly if shown a little kindness. Even Seongju oppa was like that.”
Seongju had been the second son of the village head, working as a local doctor. An elder by just a year, he had confessed his feelings to Doa back in school. He had a striking appearance and a brilliant mind, making him popular among classmates. Unlike Doa, who remained in [Ihwado-ga], Seongju pursued medical studies in Seoul. Yeona, meanwhile, stayed in touch and bragged about him every time she visited.
“Seongju oppa bought me something delicious in Gangnam. Want to see the photos?”
“I don’t care, Yeona.”
“Liar. You liked him, pretending not to out of jealousy.”
But it wasn’t like that at all. Doa had no time or luxury for such feelings. Rejecting Seongju’s confession and ignoring the affections of others had been a necessity. Love was for children like Yeona, who had grown up receiving it. Doa had learned only loyalty and patience. The affection taught by Eunja was precious but occasionally left her lonely. She had numbed herself to it, deciding that such gentle attentions could be avoided entirely.
“I’ll handle it myself, so don’t worry anymore.”
To Doa, ignoring was the best way to avoid further pain. Better to remain untouched than to hope and then be hurt.
“I feel a bit uncomfortable in this situation.”
“Ah, I see. Sorry about that.”
Kwonha stepped back, conceding to Doa’s icy composure. Folding his hands, he spoke calmly.
“I guess I unintentionally crossed a line. It’s almost like you got hurt because of me.”
“……”
“Honestly, I’ve been worried about your ankle the whole time.”
Looking into his eyes, Doa felt an instinct to avoid him. The lingering warmth of her ankle seemed to burn anew.
“Then rest.”
Doa rose from her seat, stepping down the stone. A few paces ahead, the man’s gentle farewell followed her.
“Good night, Mr. Judoa.”
A shiver pricked the pit of her stomach—perhaps sharper than the pain in her swollen ankle.
Night had fallen completely.
Kwonha, still awake, carefully exited [Ihwado-ga]. Sleep eluded him, and he remembered the cigarette he hadn’t smoked all day.
He considered smoking inside, but a female voice stopped him:
—Please refrain from smoking, perfume, or other scents. They can mix with the yeast and affect the aroma.
So he scaled the wall instead. Outside, the night offered a view unlike any in Seoul. The sounds of insects chirping filled the air, adding a strange charm. He had been gone barely two hours.
“What a peculiar village.”
As he walked, Kwonha placed a cigarette between his lips. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply; the acrid smoke stung his throat. He exhaled, the white fumes dissipating into the night. Surprisingly, the cigarette didn’t taste as expected. Looking up at the sky, filled with stars, he was reminded of the subtle fragrance and the calm, observing eyes that had handed him disinfectant earlier.
He looked down at the earth and felt a pang of self-mockery.
“Damn it… stars.”
The stars were innocent, yet the curse of desire slipped from his lips. It was absurd, craving a woman he’d known for less than a day. The thought that such longing could surface so quickly unsettled him.
“This is awkward.”
He muttered, forcing a weak smile, rubbing his eyebrows with idle fingers. Leaning against a dim streetlamp, he knew continuing along the path would lead to the orchard in full bloom.
“Hoo—.”
Trying to calm himself, Kwonha took a deep breath. His phone buzzed. A quick glance at the screen brought a mischievous smile to his face. The secretary had been delayed in reporting. With a finger between his index and middle, he touched the call button.
“Yes, Chairman.”
[Yes, Ihwado-ga has taken a room in the annex.]
“You’ve already heard?”
Kwonha’s tone carried a sense of ease, though it could be mistaken for arrogance. Chairman Kang did not allow that to slide. In a stern voice, he reminded him:
[This is just the beginning. Don’t let pride get to you until you master the brewing method.]
“Not that I fail often. Despite the chaos my uncle and aunt caused, I managed it.”
Entering [Ihwado-ga] had been relatively smooth, but Kwonha resembled the chairman more than anyone in the family. No sign of intimidation could be seen. Knowing his grandson’s nature, the chairman warned again:
[Master Choi Eunja is not someone to be underestimated. She may already see right through you.]
Kwonha’s instincts flared. Something was stirring.
“By the way, Chairman, do you two know each other?”
[…….]
“It’s strange. They resemble each other, and Master Choi allowed me in without background checks… it feels… odd.”
On the night wind, pear petals drifted to his feet. He clenched a handful of white petals and muttered coldly.
“What… is this, really?”
Hoping desperately that his suspicions were wrong, just this once.
