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# Chapter 70: The Weight of That Question
“Aren’t you searching for something?”
Lee Sujin’s question hung in the air like an arrow someone had fired. It pierced through Minjun’s chest, but no blood came immediately. At first, there was no pain at all. Only shock. The shock of something burrowing into his core.
Minjun didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because he didn’t know the answer to that question himself.
Lee Sujin seemed to read his silence. She turned back toward the desk, but didn’t sit. Instead, she leaned against its edge—the posture of a teacher before students. Authority maintained without being displayed.
“Want to know why I cast you?”
She asked. This time, unlike the previous question, it was a genuine one. A question that didn’t expect an answer. As if she’d already decided to tell the story.
“I have an eye for actors. Twenty years in this industry taught me that. With that eye, I see most rookie actors want something. The desire to become famous. The greed to make money. Or the thirst to be loved by someone. Those things glitter in their eyes. Like advertisements.”
Lee Sujin looked at Minjun. There was something in her gaze. Curiosity. Like a scientist observing cells under a microscope.
“But you were different. Nothing glittered in your eyes. That captured mine. Why? I wanted to know the reason.”
Minjun looked at his own hands. His fingers were trembling. Slightly. Very slightly. But trembling.
“You lost something already. You’re only in your twenties, but you looked like someone who’d lost everything. And that was exactly what I was looking for. As an actor, you might be ordinary. But as a human, you were special. Because you were already dead.”
Silence. Those words slowly settled in the air. Already dead. Minjun turned that sentence over in his mind. He was dead? Then what were these actions he was doing now? Breathing? Heartbeat? Thinking?
“I needed an actor like that. For our drama. Because the story we’re dealing with was exactly that. Death. Loss. And someone still searching for something within it. You could play that perfectly. No—you’re not playing it. You’re already living it.”
Minjun’s mouth opened. As if someone had pushed his jaw down. But no words came out. There were no words to say.
“And I was planning to use you.”
Lee Sujin continued. Like she was confessing. In a serious voice.
“Why did I do that? That’s a question I should answer. But I still don’t know. Maybe, like you, I’m searching for something too.”
She turned back to the window. Looking down at Gangnam’s night view again. The night view hadn’t changed. The same lights. The same streets. The same people.
“What do you think about your relationship with Junho?”
Lee Sujin asked suddenly. The topic seemed to waver, but Minjun could tell it was connected. Everything was connected. By threads. By lines. Like a spider’s web.
“It’s… complicated.”
Minjun said.
“Complicated. Yes. Everything is complicated. When what we want and what we need are different. When the person we love and the person we fear are the same. That’s when it’s most complicated.”
Lee Sujin had her hand against the window. The glass must have been cold. But her expression showed no reaction.
“Junho is a good senior. Really. I know it, the company knows it, everyone knows it. But he’s hiding something. You didn’t notice?”
“What?”
“His fear. That fear is being expressed through you. In other words, he’s trying to save himself by taking care of you. Is that love? No. It’s a desire for salvation. And the desire for salvation is very dangerous.”
Minjun’s fingers trembled more. Lee Sujin’s words seemed right. And that made him more afraid. Because when someone else speaks aloud what you already know, it stops being a suspicion and becomes reality.
“But I want to ask you. Do you love Junho? Or do you just want confirmation that you’re not alone?”
Lee Sujin turned from the window and looked at Minjun. Her eyes were still dark. But now there was something different in them. Sympathy perhaps. Or understanding. Or just observation.
Minjun thought about that question. Did he love Junho? Was it good to hear his voice? Did his existence make his nights bearable? If so, was that love?
But at the same time, did he want Junho? Could he express his feelings? Or did he just want to be someone’s object of salvation?
“I don’t know.”
Minjun finally said. His voice was very small. As if he couldn’t hear it himself.
“Yes. That’s the honest answer. I don’t know. That alone is enough. Because most people claim certainty even when they don’t know.”
Lee Sujin turned back toward the desk. This time she sat in the chair. Across from Minjun.
“I have one piece of advice for you. Right now, you’ve lost many things, you’re afraid of many things, and you want many things. When these three operate simultaneously, people make wrong choices. So I’m going to give you time.”
“Time?”
“Yes. Netflix filming starts in a month. During that month, you need to be honest with yourself. What do you want? What are you afraid of? What have you already lost? And can you accept it?”
Minjun looked at the water glass on the desk. An empty glass. A glass no one had drunk from.
“And you need to be honest with Junho too. If he has the desire to save you, you must accept it, but at the same time refuse it. You need to know that you’re the only person who can save yourself. No one else can save you. All they can do is be beside you.”
Lee Sujin’s words ended. And after that, only silence remained.
Minjun stood up. The chair slid back. There was a sound. But it wasn’t the sound from Episode 69. This was quieter. As if someone was trying to stop his footsteps.
“Thank you.”
Minjun said. At the door.
“Don’t go. It’s not even midnight yet.”
Lee Sujin said.
Minjun turned around again.
“You can spend the night here. This office has a sofa. There’s a café downstairs. You can spend this night with yourself. You can look in a mirror, look out the window, or not look at anything at all. But you’re not alone. I’m in this building, the night view is downstairs, and someone is waiting for you.”
“Who?”
“That’s an answer you need to find.”
Minjun walked toward the sofa. The leather sofa in Lee Sujin’s office. Black. It looked like someone’s lap. He lay down on it. In an uncomfortable position. But he lay down.
And Lee Sujin returned to her work. She turned on her screen. Started reading something. Click. Click. That sound became the background music of the night.
Minjun looked at the ceiling. It was white. A pure white with nothing. And that white looked like his heart. Empty. Completely empty. But that emptiness felt like possibility. Like someone could paint a picture on it.
His phone rang. 12:07 AM. The caller was Junho.
Minjun didn’t answer. But he heard it. The ringtone rang and stopped. And a few seconds later, a text message came through.
“You okay? What did Sujin tell you? Of course, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just… want to know where you are.”
Minjun read the message. Once. Twice. Three times.
And he wrote back.
“I’m at Sujin’s office. I’m okay. I’m thinking about something.”
Before pressing send, Minjun read the text one more time. There was no lie in it. He really was okay. No, he wasn’t okay. But knowing that he wasn’t okay was different from before.
Send.
And a few seconds later, a reply came.
“Got it. Anytime. Remember I’m here.”
Minjun read that message and closed his eyes. The white of the ceiling turned to darkness.
And within that darkness, something slowly began to take shape. It wasn’t clear yet. But something was definitely there. Change. Or possibility. Or just that tomorrow would come.
Lee Sujin’s clicking continued. 12:15 AM. And as Minjun listened to that sound, he realized for the first time that he was spending time in the same space as someone, and he wasn’t alone.
Whether that was love, salvation, or just togetherness, he still couldn’t say.
But it was enough.
The night continued to flow. Gangnam’s night view changing while staying the same. Someone was sleeping, someone was awake, someone was wavering in between.
Minjun was in that wavering too.
And that alone had become proof that he was alive.
# Sounds of the Night
11:47 PM
“You can look in a mirror, look out the window, or not look at anything at all.”
Lee Sujin’s voice was still soft. As if she wasn’t persuading someone, but simply stating facts. Minjun examined his hands as he listened. His fingertips were trembling faintly. When had it started? This trembling.
“But you’re not alone.”
That statement struck. Like an arrow. Minjun blinked. Not being alone. How many times had he heard that? His mom said “we’re here for you,” Junho said “I’m here,” and even the psychiatrist had handed him a pamphlet that said “you’re not alone.” But words and reality are different. At 11:47 PM, on the 27th floor of some building in Gangnam, Minjun was still alone.
Or was he different now?
“I’m in this building, the night view is downstairs, and someone is waiting for you.”
Downstairs. Minjun repeated that word. It kept coming back to him. What was downstairs? A Gangnam night. Neon lights. Taxis. Drunk people. And places where his life didn’t exist. There was no Minjun there. There were only people who weren’t looking for him.
“Who?”
Minjun asked. His voice was small. Almost a whisper. He was amazed that his own voice could be this small. No, not amazed. Sad.
“That’s an answer you need to find.”
Lee Sujin didn’t answer. Or rather, she did answer, but it wasn’t an answer. Words like a maze. Words like a mirror. His thrown question coming straight back. Minjun sighed. That sigh dispersed through the office space. Warm breath meeting cold air would have created faint mist at the point of contact. No one sees it, but it definitely happens.
11:52 PM
Minjun walked toward the sofa. He heard his footsteps on the floor. The neatly organized office floor. Probably cleaned this morning. His feet were dirtying it. Minjun paused at that thought, but Lee Sujin continued her work as if she didn’t mind.
Lee Sujin’s sofa. Black leather sofa. Minjun examined it closely. The texture of leather. What would it feel like to touch it? Cold and hard, or soft and yielding? He carefully placed one hand on the sofa’s backrest. It was warm. That surprised him. That an object could be warm. That it could hold someone’s warmth.
He lay down. In an uncomfortable position.
The leather sofa was colder than expected. The surface that was warm at first revealed its cold depth the moment his weight pressed down on it. Like sadness hidden behind someone’s smile. Minjun buried himself deeper into the sofa. He stretched his left arm over the side. His fingers brushed the sofa’s edge. Sensation. Reality. Proof that he was here.
He looked at the ceiling.
It was white. Pure white with nothing. The common white of an office ceiling. But why did it look so deep? Minjun stared at that white. He had the illusion of looking into an infinite universe. Like he’d be sucked into that whiteness.
‘Empty.’
He heard his own thought. His inner voice. He couldn’t tell if it was his or belonged to someone else living inside him.
‘Empty ceiling. Empty heart. Empty future.’
But wait.
Is emptiness bad? Thinking about it again, isn’t emptiness possibility? A blank canvas. An empty page. Someone could paint on it. Write on it. Color it.
He could paint on it too.
Minjun closed and opened his eyes. The ceiling was still white. Unchanged. But his gaze had changed. From despair to hope. From meaninglessness to the possibility of meaning.
Was this what changed? Was this transformation?
12:07 AM
Click. Click. Click.
Lee Sujin’s mouse clicks echoed regularly. The background music of night. The office’s requiem. Minjun thought as he listened. What did that sound mean? Part of someone’s life. Work. Responsibility. Or habit. And within that rhythmic sound was clear evidence that time was flowing.
Time flows. Continuously.
Then his phone rang.
Minjun startled. A phone call at 12:07 AM. It shattered the assumption that no one would call at this hour. He looked at the screen.
Junho.
His friend. No, not just a friend, but one of the few remaining connections in his life. Minjun stared at the screen for a while. The screen’s light would have illuminated his face. A pale face. An anxious expression. Yes, that’s how he’d look.
He didn’t answer.
It took less than half a second to make that decision. He had nothing to say. Or rather, he had so much to say he couldn’t say anything. The ringtone rang and stopped. Silence returned. In that silence, Minjun felt guilt for rejecting something. For rejecting Junho’s voice. For rejecting Junho’s concern. Then who was he? Someone who rejects people. Someone who makes the distance between himself and others grow wider.
No. It’s different now. Lee Sujin said “you’re not alone.”
Was that right?
A few seconds later, a text message came. A notification window appeared on the screen.
“You okay? What did Sujin tell you? Of course, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I just… want to know where you are.”
Minjun read that message. Once. Following each character. Twice. Trying to grasp the meaning. Three times. Trying to feel the emotion.
‘I just want to know where you are.’
This phrase kept repeating. Why? Why did it matter where he was? Wasn’t he already a disappeared person? No. Junho was still looking for him. What did that mean?
Minjun started writing a text.
“I’m at Sujin’s office. I’m okay. I’m thinking about something.”
His fingers tapped the screen. Consonants. Vowels. Words. Sentences. The act of expressing himself through language. This was also connection. Connection with someone.
Before pressing send, Minjun read the text one more time.
‘I’m okay.’
It’s a lie. He’s not okay. There’s no way he’s okay lying on a sofa at midnight, staring at a ceiling in a Gangnam building. But this lie is different from his previous lies. Before, he lied without knowing it. Like breathing. Automatically. But this lie is conscious. A lie to protect Junho. A lie so Junho wouldn’t worry anymore.
Then is this also a form of love?
‘I’m thinking about something.’
This isn’t a lie. He really is thinking about something. While looking at the ceiling. While listening to Lee Sujin’s clicking. While reading Junho’s message.
Send.
His finger pressed the screen. The sending sound played. The text flew through the night’s darkness to Junho. Riding signals. Through the flow of data.
A few seconds later, a reply came. Fast. Junho was holding his phone. Waiting for him.
“Got it. Anytime. Remember I’m here.”
Minjun read that message and closed his eyes.
12:15 AM
The white of the ceiling turned to darkness. As his eyes closed.
Within that darkness, something slowly began to take shape. It wasn’t clear yet. Like the early morning sky. Neither black nor blue, but something in between.
‘Change.’
What was it? How could he know if he had changed? Nothing had changed yet. He was still the same person with the same body. Still the same worries, the same fears, the same loneliness.
But.
He heard Lee Sujin’s voice. “You’re not alone.”
He read Junho’s text. “Remember I’m here.”
And now, lying on an unfamiliar sofa in an unfamiliar office, he felt like he belonged somewhere. A weak feeling, but. An undeniable feeling.
The will to survive. Or the will to connect.
12:47 AM
An hour passed.
Minjun didn’t move from the sofa. Or rather, he couldn’t move. Strangely, he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay in this position. Watching the ceiling. Listening to Lee Sujin’s clicking.
Lee Sujin never interrupted him. If he wanted to go to the bathroom, he went. If he wanted water, he drank. Except for “someone is waiting for you,” she didn’t force anything.
Then who was waiting for him?
Junho? When did Junho start waiting for him? Probably from the beginning. From the moment he started changing. When he started speaking less, avoiding eye contact, continuously drifting further from the world.
Junho waited.
And now, Minjun felt that waiting.
Minjun moved his fingers. Brushed the sofa’s surface. The texture of leather. Cold and soft. He found proof that he was really here in the sensation of his fingertips.
Lee Sujin murmured something. It seemed like she was on a phone call. No, was she talking to him?
“Do you need anything?”
Minjun shook his head. “No,” he said out loud. His voice echoed through the office. His first voice in hours. Small but present.
“Then rest easy.”
Lee Sujin returned to her work. But something had changed. Now there were two breaths in this office. Two existences. Two flows of time.
Minjun closed and opened his eyes. Repeatedly. As if confirming that he was really awake.
1:23 AM
“Are you going to tell me?”
Lee Sujin asked. Suddenly. Minjun was startled.
“Tell you what?”
“Who’s waiting for you.”
Minjun thought for a long time. He looked at the ceiling. Tried to find the answer in that whiteness.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Lee Sujin let out a laugh. Light and warm. As if she wasn’t mocking him, just laughing because she was happy.
“Then search. Slowly.”
‘I’ll search.’
Minjun looked inside himself. What was there? Despair? Emptiness? No. Something different. Something small, weak, almost fading. But definitely there.
The will to survive. Or the will to connect.
2:47 AM
The night deepened.
Minjun got up from the sofa and sat. His body was stiff. But he got up. He went to the window.
Downstairs. Gangnam’s night view. Still bright. Even past 2 AM, there were lights on the streets. Someone’s life continued. Even at 2 AM. And he was part of it.
“What are you doing now?”
Lee Sujin asked.
“Looking at the night.”
“Do you like it?”
Minjun thought. Did he like it? No. But it was necessary. This night. This time. This space. Lee Sujin’s…