Chapter 1
“You don’t remember me.”
Oh wow, this airtime is crazy.
Ju Muru thought, mid-air.
Ju Muru, 28 years old, a romance web novelist known as Sailor Mook, was currently falling down the emergency stairs of a wedding hall.
Her name literally means “a world without tears” — Ju of the Bongnim Ju clan, Mu as in nothing, and Ru as in tears.
The one who had just pushed her from the top of the stairs was none other than her ex-boyfriend, college classmate, and until eight minutes ago, the groom-to-be — Kim Bongpal, the man she’d been dating for eight years.
Unbelievable. She was about to die at the emergency stairwell of her ex’s wedding.
Muru squeezed her eyes shut. Just as her body shrank, bracing for impact—
Thud.
Thud?
To her surprise, she landed on something firm yet soft — like an imported sofa.
When she opened her eyes, a ridiculously handsome man she’d never seen before in her life was looking down at her.
“Are you okay?!”
Even his lips, asking after her life, were handsome. Slightly tanned skin, a sharp jawline, chiseled features, and a nose so fine it looked like it could cut. The solid support under her back and thighs was definitely his arms.
The polite response to someone asking if you’re okay is “I’m okay.” But instead—
“Wow…”
She could only gasp in admiration. The stranger was just that handsome.
The man who had caught her shouted at Kim Bongpal.
“Are you crazy?!”
Yes, yes he is. He lied about going on a month-long business trip — and is now marrying someone else.
It was amazing how such a long story could be summarized in one line. But Muru couldn’t say it aloud. Her savior just so happened to be incredibly good-looking, and she was still reeling from her ex’s betrayal.
“It’s not what it looks like! It’s not!”
Kim Bongpal didn’t even come down the stairs — just shouted from the top.
“I didn’t mean to push her!”
Wearing his wedding tux with his bangs slicked back, Bongpal began babbling nonsense through sweat-drenched panic.
“I was going to explain! I really was! I didn’t want to hurt you, so I figured I’d tell you after the honeymoon…”
You absolute bastard. That’s not an explanation.
In the stranger’s arms, Muru’s eyes welled with tears.
Muru’s Twitter friend SolarEclipse_2007, a.k.a. “Solar,” had DMed her earlier.
From a link to a wedding invitation a friend had received, Solar had spotted Kim Bongpal’s name and face.
Bongpal had told Muru he’d be out of contact due to an overseas trip. That “trip” turned out to be his honeymoon. Solar’s message had come in at 9:00 AM that Saturday morning.
The wedding was at 11:00 AM.
Throwing on jeans and a jumper, Muru ran to the venue, praying it was all a misunderstanding.
But when she arrived and saw Bongpal smiling and shaking hands with guests, she learned what it meant for the sky to fall on you.
He spotted her, freaked out, and dragged her to the emergency stairs. They bickered back and forth, and when Muru said she’d confirm the truth with his parents — whom she’d met multiple times — he tried to stop her by force.
And pushed her.
Her sneaker-clad foot twisted hard.
…And now, she was in a bridal-carry in some stranger’s arms.
Just then — Bang! — the emergency door burst open and a staff member called out.
“Sir! The ceremony starts in four minutes!”
Kim Bongpal never apologized. He just turned and followed the staff.
Just like that, Ju Muru’s eight-year relationship — from age 20 to 28 — ended.
“Can you stand?”
The man asked gently. Muru didn’t know why he was speaking so casually, but she nodded lightly.
He set her down like she was royalty descending onto new land.
The kind of man you’d only meet if three generations of your family did good deeds.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Muru looked up at him. Tall. Completely unfamiliar.
“…Who are you?”
“Huh?”
The man blinked, surprised. His double-lidded eyes briefly dimmed, then lit up again.
“Ju Muru. You don’t remember me, do you?”
Wait—how does he know my name?
Still blinking, Muru suddenly felt pain in her ankle.
“Ouch…”
“What? Are you hurt?”
Before she could even check, he dropped to one knee. When he touched her ankle, the pain kicked in full force, and Muru limped and sat on the stairs.
He folded his long legs to crouch to her eye level.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head. Their eyes met — he looked at her like he was witnessing the saddest thing on earth.
And then, all the rage she should have directed at Bongpal exploded in this stranger’s direction.
“…I’m not okay.”
“Looks like you twisted it. We need to get you to a hospital.”
“Why are you talking so casually? This is our first meeting.”
That “why” opened the floodgates.
“Why are you talking down to me?”
The next moment, Muru learned what it meant to “snap.”
The man chuckled. That set her off.
“You think I’m pathetic? You think I’m pitiful?!”
She grabbed the front of his shirt — the first time she’d ever grabbed someone’s collar in her life.
He clenched his teeth, trying not to laugh. Muru bawled.
“You must think I’m such a loser! I am a loser! I didn’t even know my boyfriend of eight years was getting married! I’m such an idiot! But who the hell are you to look at me like that?! Waaaaaah!”
The man — still being grabbed by the collar — pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
As Muru sobbed, something soft touched her face.
A plain white cotton handkerchief.
With a gentle and heartbreakingly handsome smile, he wiped her tears.
Muru, letting out hiccups and weird choking sounds, finally quieted down. His touch was kind.
Bongpal — or whatever his name is — hadn’t once been this kind in eight years.
Soon her hiccups stopped, her tears dried. Her clenched fist released his collar.
He pressed the handkerchief into her hand and said:
“Well… it has been a long time.”
What is this guy even talking about?
Still sniffling, Muru wiped her eyes. He was clearly a total stranger. Good-looking, yes. But she had no memory of meeting him before.
“You promised to marry me when we grew up.”
…
…
…?
WHAT did he just say?
As she stood dumbfounded, the guy’s back — as broad as the Americas — appeared before her.
“Come on, hop on.”
The childhood fiancée she didn’t remember was offering her a piggyback ride.
“W-what? Why?”
“Your ankle’s swollen. Come on.”
He waved his long arms impatiently beside his crouched back.
“N-no, wait—ow ow ow.”
“Hurry!”
Later, no matter how much she looked back, Muru had no idea how it happened — but she found herself on that giant back.
“Up we go,” he said, lifting her with ease and grabbing his thick bag.
Then — bang! — the emergency door crashed open again. The same staff member appeared.
“Photographer-nim! The ceremony starts in one minute! Please get inside!”
Photographer?
She noticed his camera bag slung over his shoulder.
So he was the wedding photographer.
She should probably get off him then.
But the man suddenly declared a strike.
“I’m not doing the shoot.”
“What?”
“Tell the groom the photographer ran away to the emergency stairwell. Emphasize emergency stairwell.”
“Sir, what are you talking about—”
What even is this?
The bewildered staff began descending the stairs.
The man carried Muru out of the stairwell — faster than the staff could come down.
On his back, Muru swallowed her secret.
Sorry.
Sorry.
I don’t remember you.
I’ve lost all my memories… from before I turned eleven.
Yes.
I have amnesia.
