Jinx: The Missed Party 🥳🎉

People might have been wondering why I haven’t published anything after the release of episode 78. My silence is linked to my health. I was sick exactly like Joo Jaekyung. I had to remain in bed for a while. But enough about me.

When Doc Dan returned to Team Black, the fighters were so overjoyed that they immediately proposed to celebrate his comeback with a party. (chapter 78) Their noisy excitement — hugs, wishes, smiles, jokes, even talk of meat — gave the impression of a long-awaited reunion. Yet the suggestion was cut short by Jaekyung, who rejected it like this: (chapter 78) In other words, a party was “missed.” At first glance, this might appear to be an exception, a rare moment of denial in a story otherwise filled with shared rituals. Readers might recall the welcome party (chapter 9) in episode 9, the champion’s birthday dinner (chapter 43) in episode 43, the talk of hospital get-togethers (chapter 61), or the festive tone of fighters after director Choi Gilseok’s victory (chapter 52).

But the closer one looks, the clearer the pattern becomes. The missed party is not an isolated accident; it is the rhythm of Jinx itself. Whenever celebration hovers near — a victory, a birthday, a reunion, even a funeral — someone is not present. In addition, the celebration arrives too early, too late, in the wrong place, or in the wrong form. Jaekyung wins titles, but the gym shares the glory while he remains uncelebrated. (chapter 41) Why did they not organize a party in Seoul to celebrate his victory in the States? Dan devotes himself to work, but his departures are marked by silence (chapter 53) rather than farewell. (chapter 1) The few rituals that do occur — a premature birthday cake, a noisy hug, puppies chasing after a car — (chapter 78) always miss their mark, either hollow in substance or unseen by the very people who should be honored.

The title The Missed Party therefore names more than one canceled occasion. It captures the way the two protagonists move through a world where rituals of belonging are constantly distorted or denied. And in a culture where such celebrations carry deep social weight, the absence is all the more striking. The missed party becomes the haunting motif of their lives: recognition always promised, but never truly given.

The Meaning of Parties in Korea

In Korean culture, parties and team dinners (hoesik) hold a strong ritual function: they create bonds, display hierarchy, and confirm belonging within a group. Farewells, birthdays, and victories are all expected occasions for collective recognition. Yet in Jinx, these moments of celebration are strangely absent or hollow. When Jaekyung wins, his fee doubles, but no feast marks his achievement. Instead, the manager presents the “wolf” as his “trophy”. To conclude, others share in the reflected glory while the champion himself remains excluded, a fighter without a banquet. (Chapter 41) And this absence of recognition and respect is mirrored in the physical therapist’s position. He is not surrounded by the fighters and included by the manager. He is standing on the sideline. It was, as though his good work was not recognized . (Chapter 43) Even the “dragon’s” birthday, supposedly a day of personal celebration, is reduced to an awkward dinner at his expense, with a cake arriving a day too early (chapter 43) or gifts from sponsors and fans he never wanted. (Chapter 41) In Germany, it is considered as a bad omen to celebrate a birthday too soon. Rituals that should affirm intimacy instead expose distance and lack of respect.

A striking contrast appears in chapter 52, when the fighters from King of MMA (chapter 52) gather at the very restaurant used for Jaekyung’s birthday. This time the feast is paid for not by him, but by Choi Gilseok — the rival director who had just won money betting against Jaekyung. The excuse for the banquet is twofold: the humiliation of the champion’s tie and the arrival of new members. Yet the sponsor of the event is absent, his presence felt only through the bill he covers. Unlike the wolf, whose victories go unmarked, Choi Gilseok uses food and drink to project power and buy loyalty. Yet, this celebration with the absent director displays not only hypocrisy, but also resent and jealousy due to the selection of the location. The cruel irony is that Jaekyung’s fall is more celebrated than his rise. (Chapter 52)

This cultural backdrop makes the silences and absences in the Korean Manhwa all the more striking. Parties are repeatedly mentioned but rarely materialize, and when they do, they are strangely hollow. In chapter 61, for instance, a nurse suggests inviting the star to their next hospital get-together. (Chapter 61) The excitement is palpable — “loyalty” and celebrity sparkle in their eyes — but what stands out is the way Dan is erased in the process. They do not invite him; they want access to the famous fighter through him. His role is reduced to a conduit, the man who happens to be “close with Mr. Joo.” The irony is brutal: after two months of work in the hospice, Dan has never once been shown attending such gatherings himself. His own belonging is not on the table. He is used as a bridge to someone else’s fame, while his own exhaustion and lowered gaze silently testify to his exclusion.

But wait — is Dan not also responsible for his isolation? At no moment does he try to be close to them. He avoids their chatter, keeps his distance, and carries himself like someone already half absent. Chapter 56 seems to confirm this impression: even approached by one of the nurses, doc Dan uses work to avoid their company. (chapter 56) However, this is just an illusion. What caught my attention is that the nurses wondered themselves why such a skilled therapist would come to a small-town hospital. (chapter 56) They speak about him, as though he had no reason to stay there, as if he were a stranger passing through. Right from the beginning, he was treated unconsciously as temporary, someone whose presence required explanation rather than welcome. Finally, no party was held for him, no ritual of inclusion was offered. His distance and their detachment mirrored each other, producing the silence that would later define his departure. (chapter 78)

The paradox becomes even clearer when we turn to the star himself. Despite his status as champion, he never receives a proper victory celebration. After each match, we never see a celebration. (chapter 5) It ends either in the car or in the locker room. (chapter 15) The high peak of his celebrated victories takes place at the gym where Park Namwook gather the fighters in front of the Emperor congratulating himself for his “good work” and the spectators for belonging to a winning team. (chapter 41) Yet no feast is held for Jaekyung, no toast to his perseverance. The two men at the center of the achievement are left without ritual acknowledgment, while the institution absorbs the honor. They remain a wolf and a hamster without a feast — fighting, winning, but never celebrated for who they are. And now, you understand why the manager could make such a suggestion at the hospital: (chapter 53) For him, the physical therapists were just tools and as such replaceable.

Even Jaekyung’s birthday party in chapter 43 reveals this paradox. (chapter 43) A birthday, especially in Korea, is typically a family-centered celebration, held at home or among close friends. Yet Jaekyung’s “party” takes place in a restaurant, under Yosep’s casual announcement that they would be having a “dinner party.” (chapter 43) The phrasing itself is odd, almost bureaucratic, as though the event were an obligation rather than a gift. Jaekyung himself had to pay the bill, reversing the usual logic of being celebrated. They even started eating before which is actually a huge violation of social norms. The cake appeared the day before his real birthday, an empty gesture more about timing than sincerity. And while fans and sponsors showered him with gifts throughout the month, Jaekyung revealed that he didn’t want any of them. The ritual forms were there — cake, dinner, presents — but the meaning was absent.

But there is another telling absence: Dan himself was left in the dark about the “surprise.” (chapter 43) The fighters never included him in the planning, as if they feared he might leak the secret. In reality, this exclusion only repeated his deeper past: once again, he was not considered part of the group’s inner circle. Had he been told, he might have brought the card and the gift of his own, softening the sting of Jaekyung’s reaction. (chapter 45) By keeping Dan in the dark about the “surprise,” the fighters created another problem. Their silence pushed him to offer his own present on the same day as the gifts from sponsors and fans — exactly the kind of attention Jaekyung resented. He had already said he did not want those presents, and now Dan’s sincere gesture was placed in the same category, indistinguishable from the flood of unwanted offerings. What could have been a private, meaningful moment was absorbed into the hollow ritual of the group. Hence the champion never got to read his card! (chapter 43) In trying to celebrate, the team only ensured that both Jaekyung and Dan felt more isolated than ever. Instead, his silence reinforced the impression that he was peripheral. Unconsciously, Team Black treated him not as one of their own, but as an outsider to be managed. And even within the celebration, another absence was visible: Potato was missing, and no one seemed to notice. (chapter 43) The party did not affirm Jaekyung’s existence, nor Dan’s place beside him. It only reinforced their shared isolation, hidden under the noise of clapping and cheers.

Thus, Jinx presents us with a paradox: in a culture where parties are essential rituals of belonging, both Dan and Jaekyung remain excluded. They are surrounded by the signs of festivity, but the substance is always missing. Their lives are structured not by recognition but by its absence, not by celebration but by silence.

Dan’s Missed Parties

If the star’s parties are hollow, Dan’s are almost nonexistent. The only party where we see him smiling is his birthday, when he was a little boy. (Chapter 11) One might think, this celebration embodies a perfect birthday party. However, observe the absence of friends. It took place during the night too, a sign that his birthday was not celebrated properly. Everything implies his social exclusion. This made me wonder if this memory represents the only birthday party he ever had with Shin Okja. His life is a sequence of departures without ritual, absences without acknowledgment. Each time he leaves a place of work or community, he slips out like a ghost, denied the closure that parties are meant to provide.

At the hospital in Seoul, where he endured the predatory advances of the director, his dismissal was brutal and final. (Chapter 1) He was not only fired but blacklisted, erased from his profession’s networks. No farewell dinner was organized, no colleagues thanked him for his work, no one marked his departure. (Chapter 1) His stay had been so brief as well. Besides, his absence was engineered to be total, as though he had never existed. The very ritual that should have affirmed his contributions instead became a ritual of erasure.

At the gym, the pattern repeated itself. The spray incident turned him first into a scapegoat. Park Namwook yelled, the fighters remained passive, and even Jaekyung rejected his presence. In the space of a few minutes, Dan was ostracized, his innocence ignored. (Chapter 50) Then later the athlete questioned the physical therapist’s actions and told him this (chapter 51) out of fear and pain, the physical therapist thought, he was fired. Once again, he left in silence, unacknowledged. No one stood up for him, no one tried to reintegrate him, no farewell was offered. (Chapter 53) And keep in mind that according to me, in this scene, the manager already knew the truth. So he had a reason to dismiss a farewell party. The absence of ritual here was particularly cruel: Dan had given his skills and energy to the fighters, but his exit marked him only as disposable.

The hospice, where he briefly found genuine warmth, provided no closure either. When he left for Seoul, the staff were shocked, even saddened — but his departure was so sudden that no send-off was possible. (Chapter 78) Their affection was genuine, but the ritual was missing. Dan slipped away in silence, just as he had at the hospital and the gym. In the panel, what caught my attention is the reaction of the director. He is crying while keeping his distance, a sign that he is the one the most affected by doc Dan’s departure. For me, the author is alluding to the director’s regrets. If only he had treated doc Dan better… only too late, he had recognized that he had become accustomed to his presence. Doc Dan had always been a silent but active listener.

This absence of farewell may stretch back to his earliest traumas. If his parents truly died by suicide, it is possible that Dan never attended their funeral. Poverty, shame, and debt may have erased even that ceremony, leaving him with no closure for the loss of his own family. We can use Joo Jaewoong’s funeral as a source of inspiration. (chapter 74) The silence of his grandmother on this point suggests that even the most basic ritual of mourning was denied him.

The pattern becomes symbolic in the death of the puppy. (Chapter 59) Only Dan and the landlord marked the event with a quiet burial. Since no one knew about it, it left the ritual incomplete. For Dan, the small act was meaningful, but its invisibility to the larger community echoed his own life: recognition always hidden, always partial, never public.

Even in moments that looked like parties, Dan was left on the margins. Jaekyung’s birthday party, with its cake and noisy cheer, contained an intimate truth: Jaekyung’s sudden, raw confession, (chapter 43) This was the real heart of the evening, the only moment where ritual turned into intimacy. And yet even this was missed by Potato, who was absent at that crucial moment, lingering elsewhere with Heesung. The party’s form was there, but its essence — the recognition of Jaekyung’s loneliness and Dan’s importance — was overlooked by the two men at its center due to the presence of alcohol.

Thus, Dan’s life is a chain of missed parties. At the hospital, the gym, the hospice, even at funerals, he departs without recognition. And when celebrations do occur, the essential truth is missed — noticed only by those who are absent, while those present look away.

The Puppies’ Party

Nowhere is the irony sharper than in chapter 78, when the puppies run after the departing car. (Chapter 78) To them, departure is not tragedy but play, a noisy farewell parade. Their barking and chasing become a spontaneous party, a joyous ritual of attachment. (Chapter 78) It is pure, instinctive, and alive. And yet, neither Jaekyung nor Dan sees it. Shut in the car, burdened by urgency, contracts, and exhaustion, they miss the little parade given in their honor.

The contrast is devastating. Humans, with their expectations of formal ritual, repeatedly fail to mark Dan’s contributions. They miss every opportunity to acknowledge him. But the animals, in their innocence, succeed where people fail: they celebrate simply because they care. The puppies recognize bonds better than the humans who claim to love him.

What makes this little parade even more striking is that the puppies do not separate between wolf and hamster. Their joy is directed at both men together, at the bond symbolized by the car’s departure. (Chapter 78) In this sense, the puppies achieve what the humans cannot: they recognize attachment without division, gratitude without debt. Their farewell is not tied to work, contracts, or hierarchy, but to presence itself. (Chapter 78) By running after the car, they express loyalty and responsibility, acknowledging the care they have received. It is the only party in Jinx that includes both protagonists as they are — not as worker and champion, not as scapegoat and boss, but as a pair worth celebrating. Finally, they have no idea that the couple plans to return soon, as they have no notion of time. (Chapter 78) Striking is that here, doc Dan is making a promise to Boksoon and her puppies, but the latter have no idea. Therefore imagine this. On the weekend, the moment the car approaches the landlord’s house, the puppies will recognize them and celebrate their return! And this time, both characters will witness this welcome party: (chapter 78) How can doc Dan not be moved and even smile? Why did the champion reject the landlord’s suggestion (taking a puppy)? He had no time… Having a puppy will not just force him to slow down and take his time, but also attract real and genuine attention from the members of Team Black. (Chapter 78) The animals would even change Joo Jaekyung’s behavior and the fighters’ perception of their hyung. (chapter 78)

The Illusory Reset

When Dan returns to the gym, the fighters smother him with hugs and noisy affection. They beg him not to leave again, propose a welcome party, and act as if everything is back to normal. (Chapter 78) But this “reset” is an illusion. Dan is only contracted for two matches. Interesting is that no one is capable of perceiving the truth, as the main lead’s explanation is ambiguous. (Chapter 78) He doesn’t limit the number of matches, only that he will focus on the “wolf”. So for them, his return is not limited in time. Nevertheless, his paleness and dark circles speak louder than their words: he is exhausted, fragile, still haunted.

The fighters, however, do not see his state. (Chapter 78) They are more worried about another possible departure than about his condition, as though his leaving again would be a greater tragedy than his ongoing suffering. This exposes that the members are not totally oblivious and their reunion is not a repetition of the past. On the other hand, warm words and a noisy welcome are enough for them. They take his generosity for granted, just as they always have. Therefore they ask for his magic hands. (Chapter 78) Their celebration is shallow, a ritual meant to restore their own comfort rather than acknowledge his reality.

Here, the cultural weight of parties in Korea sharpens the irony. Gatherings are strongly intertwined with alcohol (chapter 9), and abstaining from drink often means being excluded from group belonging. Yet Dan, on medication, cannot drink. His doctor’s recommendation makes it impossible for him to participate in such “public” rituals. Even the customary sharing of a huge bowl — a symbol of intimacy and unity — must be avoided. For Jaekyung, who once used alcohol to dull his own struggles, (chapter 54) this becomes another reason to refuse such parties: they risk exposing Dan to temptation and harm. Park Namwook, knowing Jaekyung’s history of drinking, has no interest in promoting such events either. (Chapter 78) Hence the latter has no interest to organize a welcome party and even maintain the ritual with the bowl!! What might appear to others as grumpiness or stinginess is in fact a form of protection.

In contrast, Potato embodies another response. (Chapter 78) Having missed Dan most deeply during his absence, he now wishes to spend as much time as possible with his hyung. His longing shows that no party with Heesung and the landlord — no noisy drinking night — (chapter 58) could fill the hole left by Dan’s departure. But his form of attachment is still caught in the ritual of surface-level affection. What Potato craves is real closeness, hence he keeps hugging the physical therapist, (chapter 78) but what he proposes are the same shallow gestures that miss the truth of Dan’s fragility. The chow chow’s words — “Nothing beats seeing you at the gym” — unintentionally reveal this dependence. On the surface, it is a casual expression of joy and longing. Yet beneath it lies another truth: if the hamster were to leave Team Black for good, the gym would eventually lose all its members. From the start of the story, Dan has embodied teamwork. He is the glue that holds the fighters together, not by authority or charisma, but by care. Without him, unity dissolves into rivalry and noise. The irony is that the fighters sense this truth but cannot articulate it. They attempt to celebrate his return with hugs and the promise of a party, as if rituals could substitute for recognition. In reality, what they crave is not the feast but the fragile cohesion that Dan alone brings.

Striking is that Jaekyung’s refusal of the welcome party is linked to his position as director of the gym. It marks a turning point. Indirectly, he rejects the idea by redirecting the fighters’ attention. He points out their indifference toward him. For the first time, the athlete is voicing his dislike openly, he felt excluded. Due to this combination, the athlete doesn’t realize that he rejected the party, as if he refused to participate in hollow rituals that only disguise exhaustion and perpetuate harm. (Chapter 78) It becomes clear that for the athlete, such parties built on illusion can only harm Dan further. To conclude, thanks to his intervention, he protected the hamster from rituals that mistake noise for acceptance and even care. (chapter 9)

Park Namwook’s position within Team Black also sheds light on the dynamic of missed parties. In earlier chapters, he was the one who orchestrated gatherings (chapter 26), or allowed whether welcome parties or surprise celebrations or pre-match meals (chapter 22). These events were never about genuine recognition but about maintaining power and appearances, boosting morale, or reminding the fighters of their dependence on the team structure he managed. The “surprise” birthday party in chapter 43 bore his fingerprints, (chapter 43) yet he stayed conspicuously absent when the cake was presented, only appearing later at the restaurant. (chapter 43) This absence is revealing: Namwook preferred to avoid direct conflict with Jaekyung’s visible displeasure, leaving the awkward burden of paying and performing to the champion himself to Yosep. In other words, his parties were tools of control, not gifts of belonging. By chapter 78, however, the balance has shifted. (chapter 78) Standing in the back, Namwook watches as Dan returns and is embraced by the fighters. He notices a “different vibe” between the two leads, but fails to grasp what it means. Doc Dan is actually free and has the upper hand in their relationship. Hence he can no longer ask this from doc Dan: (chapter 36) Doc Dan should put up with everything. What he cannot admit is that Dan is no longer replaceable. (chapter 78) Once erased, the therapist now belongs; once central, the manager is now the outsider. Namwook is pushed into the very silence he once imposed on others. The irony is sharpened when Jaekyung openly asserts his authority: (chapter 78) With that, the wolf reclaims his rightful place. In other words, by respecting the hamster, the protagonist is learning to protect his own dignity and interests. (chapter 78) Namwook’s illusion of control dissolves, his “decisions” and rituals losing their force. Even the proposed welcome party collapses in an instant when Jaekyung refuses, proving that Namwook no longer directs the rhythm of the team. The missed party is thus his own as well: the final chance to assert authority through ritual slips away before his eyes, leaving him stranded on the margins of the very world he once managed. And in this reversal lies a striking symmetry: the silence that once excluded Dan now excludes Namwook, completing a cycle of poetic justice. What Dan endured in season one (chapter 41), sidelined and voiceless, is now mirrored in the manager’s quiet erasure.

If Dan’s health were to worsen, the most striking reversal might occur: a match could be cancelled not because of the champion, but because of his therapist. Such a possibility would mark a profound shift in the logic of Team Black. In season one, Jaekyung fought regardless of his condition; his insomnia, shoulder injury, foot injury and depression were ignored, never reasons to stop the machine. Dan was expected to keep patching him up in silence while the show went on. But if a fight were cancelled due to Dan’s weakness, it would confirm his irreplaceable place in the system. The team’s future would depend not only on the fists of the champion but on the presence of the man who heals him. For the wolf, this would be more than logistics: it would be a choice of care over profit, proof that he has reclaimed his authority to protect rather than exploit. And for Namwook, such a cancellation would represent his ultimate defeat. A missed party of the grandest kind — a fight night erased from the calendar — would signal the collapse of his management logic. (chapter 69) Yet unlike all the hollow celebrations that came before, this missed event would finally have meaning. It would not be absence through neglect, but absence as recognition: proof that Dan’s life matters more than ritual, profit, or performance.

The Real Parties They Missed

If there was ever a “real” party in Dan’s life, it was the small gathering by the seaside with Heesung, the landlord, and Potato. (chapter 58) A simple evening of drinking and laughter, it gave him a fleeting taste of inclusion outside the world of gyms and hospitals. Yet even this was flawed: Dan’s health made alcohol dangerous, and Jaekyung never knew of the event. For him, it became another missed party, a moment of warmth hidden from his eyes.

The traces of this seaside evening resurface in chapter 78, when Potato joins the fighters to welcome Dan back. Unlike the others, however, he arrives noticeably later. (chapter 78) This delay suggests a split loyalty: while the team is already celebrating, Potato is likely still tied to Heesung, perhaps even speaking to him on the phone. His tardiness betrays how his heart is pulled in two directions — caught between the actor’s orbit and the gym’s renewed center around Dan. Yet the embrace of the fighter, and his tearful reaction at seeing Dan again, show that his real place lies with Team Black. (chapter 78) The return of Dan shifts Potato’s focus: he no longer has to trail after Heesung, but can make his hyung and his own career a priority once more.

And here lies the seed of conflict. In chapter 59, (chapter 59) Potato had made a promise to treat Dan to a meal if he ever returned, squeezing his hand with the sincerity of a puppy. That promise, innocent as it seemed, carried a hidden trap: in Korea, such “treats” almost always involve alcohol. And he could try to recreate the party on the coast. Potato, unaware of Dan’s medical restrictions, may offer him exactly what he must refuse. Only Jaekyung knows the truth of Dan’s fragile health; only he can act as his shield against such misplaced affection. Secondly, Potato possesses pictures of the puppies (chapter 60), which he took on the day one of them died!

What makes this tension more explosive is the role of Heesung. He alone knows that Jaekyung resorted to drinking after Dan’s departure (chapter 58), and his presence ties alcohol directly to the champion’s vulnerability. At the same time, Potato’s loyalty is beginning to shift. He once orbited Heesung like a hidden lover, but Dan’s return rekindles his attachment to the gym and as such will affect his relationship with the gumiho. (chapter 78) The “puppy” now prefers Dan’s company at the gym to the actor’s beck and call. The small seaside party that once united them may become the fault line that divides them: an invitation, a bottle of soju, a clash between past habits and new priorities. For Jaekyung, it will be the ultimate test — not whether he attends the party, but whether he transforms it into something different, a celebration without alcohol, a ritual of care rather than destruction. As you can see, I am expecting the return of the fox Heesung.

And yet, even beyond the noisy welcomes and the hidden seaside gatherings, the theme of absence reaches into the most intimate farewells. When Dan prepares to leave the hospice, he leans toward his grandmother, seeking an embrace, a moment of warmth that could ease the separation. (chapter 78) But she does not return the gesture, as she might believe that he is just holding her straight. Her arms remain still, her body heavy with silence. Instead she talks, urging her grandson to leave the place as quickly as possible. So she doesn’t enjoy this moment. What should have been a small celebration of love — a hug of recognition, a party for two — dissolves into emptiness. Halmoni, who had always claimed to be his anchor, fails to give him the ritual of belonging he craves. The one gesture that could have affirmed their bond is withheld, turning tenderness into yet another missed ceremony.

Hwang Byungchul mirrors this failure in his own way. (chapter 78) Sitting stiffly in his hospital bed, he waves away any possibility of affection. His body language, arms crossed, his words reduced to commands about training, erase the emotional bond that might have connected him to Jaekyung. Where halmoni’s silence is passive, Byungchul’s is active — he refuses intimacy, replacing it with obligation. For both figures, farewell becomes an empty form, stripped of the recognition that makes partings bearable. In these moments, the absence of a hug, the denial of tenderness, is more devastating than the loudest rejection. It is a party that never begins, a rite of passage left unspoken.

This is crucial, because in Korean culture, embraces are rare, and when they occur, they carry profound weight. To hug someone is to cross into genuine intimacy, to declare loyalty and affection without words. The absence of such a gesture from halmoni and the director therefore marks not just emotional distance but outright exclusion. They cannot — or will not — celebrate Dan or Jaekyung as individuals worthy of deep affection. they only know pity, pride or annoyance. Their failure underlines the story’s central rhythm: the rituals that should affirm identity are constantly missed, postponed, or corrupted.

Placed against these failures, the quiet “parties” between Jaekyung and Dan acquire even greater weight. A home-cooked meal,

(chapter 22) (chapter 13) a breakfast in silence (chapter 68), the embraces in the dark (chapter 66) (the wordless recognition of suffering) — these become the true celebrations of Jinx. They lack alcohol, noise, or spectacle, but they carry sincerity. They reveal that belonging can be built not through grand gestures but through repetition, through the transformation of fleeting kindness into ritual. This implies the existence of conscious and choice. And yet, these moments remain fragile. After their return to the penthouse, there is no shared meal, no laughter, only nostalgia and sadness. (chapter 78) Even Jaekyung is troubled by the reminder that Dan’s stay is temporary, as if the very walls of the penthouse resist turning into a home. (chapter 78) In other words, the wolf’s task is no longer to win battles in the ring but to protect these fragile celebrations — to make Dan feel at home, to turn missed hugs into embraces, missed parties into warm meals, missed gestures into habits of care. Only then can the cycle of exclusion be broken. Only then can “The Missed Party” become, at last, a real one.

Conclusion

Both protagonists are marked by missed celebrations. Dan’s life has been a chain of exclusions: fired without farewell, blamed without defense, departing without closure. Even in death — (if we include the theory of his parents’ vanishing), the puppy’s burial — rituals of belonging were denied. Jaekyung, for his part, wins victories without feasts, carrying glory without intimacy.

The fighters and nurses offer illusory parties, mistaking noise for recognition, affection for change. But the true parties are elsewhere: in the puppies’ joyous run, in the hidden rituals of wolf and hamster [the embrace, (chapter 68), the shared meal (chapter 68) and in the landlord’s quiet kindness (chapter 78). For me, it is no coincidence that the senior followed them to the street and waved at them! (chapter 78) He expressed not only his genuine feelings, but also his longing: he hoped to see them soon. He had come to appreciate their presence which is not related to their work. The Missed Party becomes not a single absence, but the haunting rhythm of the entire narrative: recognition always arriving too late, always seen by the wrong eyes. And perhaps the story’s promise lies here — that one day, the real party will finally be held, not in karaoke bars or gym halls, but in the unbreakable bond of two men who learn what true friendship and belonging mean. This means, the more the champion and his fated partner develop new routines, the more it will affect the gym and as such Park Namwook, which can only feel more and more excluded.

PS: If in the next chapter, the night continues, then I can’t shake the feeling that Joo Jaekyung might pat doc Dan’s head and not yank his hair, like he announced it. (chapter 78)

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwa, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Director 🐺 🦉 and Me 🪶 🦆 (part 2)

In the two most recent chapters of Jinx, Kim Dan finds himself caught between two “directors.”: one from the hospice where he works (chapter 70), the other a former “boxing” coach and Jaekyung’s ghostly mentor figure, now terminally ill and confined to a shared room. (chapter 71)These two older men mirror different systems of power: the current director, a seemingly kind authority figure who represents institutional control masked as care; and the former coach, a fallen patriarch whose past decisions shaped Jaekyung’s identity and pain. This part of the essay focuses first on the hospice director, and how his interaction with Kim Dan reveals the young man’s invisible burden and social isolation. In the final section, we will turn to the old coach, now reduced to a ghost in his own story, and explore how the symbolism of owls, coots, and crickets illuminates his emerging relationship with Kim Dan.

A Sick Day or a Day Off?

The hospice director’s words to Kim Dan may seem caring at first glance. He comments on his exhaustion— (chapter 70) his dark circles, his nodding off—and suggests him to take a day off. (Chapter 70) But look closely: he notes that Dan has never used a sick day, and yet deliberately avoids recommending one now. Instead, he offers the less costly alternative: a personal day off, unpaid.

This language shift is strategic. A formal sick day would require the hospice to compensate Dan for rest. By subtly placing the burden back on him—“Why don’t you take better care of yourself?”—the director protects the institution’s budget while maintaining a façade of concern. His framing pathologizes Dan’s exhaustion as a personal failure (chapter 70), not a consequence of institutional neglect or overwork.

The very conversation betrays that Dan’s employment terms are different from those of the full-time staff. Unlike the nurses, who are likely on standard contracts with structured shifts, Dan is spoken to as someone expected to self-manage his workload and well-being. He’s the one deciding when he picks up a shift. (Chapter 70) The director doesn’t say, “We’ll adjust your schedule,” or, “Let me talk to HR.” He simply tells Dan to take a day off (chapter 70), as if the responsibility for that decision—both logistically and financially—rests solely on him. This means that he is working exactly like he did in the past as a waiter or courier: paid by the hour. (Chapter 59) This reinforces the idea that Dan is not covered by the same protections, and that he operates outside the stable framework of regular employment.

Ironically, the director’s comment comes after Kim Dan has already taken a first step toward recovery. (Chapter 70) In episode 66, Jaekyung dragged Dan to Seoul over the weekend (chapter 66) to visit a sleep specialist, where Dan received a diagnosis and first treatment for his “sleepwalking” condition. The two spent the night in Seoul. Upon returning to the seaside town, Jaekyung received a call (chapter 69) and left again the next morning for Seoul in order to meet the CEO, marking a separation between the two after their return.

During this gap, Kim Dan must have returned to work, most likely resuming his afternoon shift. In episode 71, his presence is later noted during both afternoon (chapter 71) and night hours (chapter 71), suggesting his ongoing pattern of overworking. In episode 71, Kim Dan is seen walking alone through the hospice hallway—unaccompanied, unnoticed. This quiet image stands in stark contrast to the earlier scene when, after nearly drowning, he was carried in by Joo Jaekyung and immediately met by a nurse and the hospice director, both actively working together that night. (chapter 60) Back then, his suffering was visible, his crisis institutionalized. Striking is that after that night, the hospital director never asked doc Dan to take a sick leave or to a day off. In fact, it took some time before making such a suggestion. Moreover, as if a single day off would make a huge difference. But now, despite his clear exhaustion and illness, doc Dan moves through the same space in silence (chapter 71) Nothing has changed: no one beside him, no one monitoring him. This comparison exposes the hospice director’s hypocrisy and superficial care.

His loneliness has been institutionalized. That he is left to walk alone, reflects how thoroughly his pain has been folded into the daily background noise of the hospice—a place that is supposed to care, yet chooses to remain passive. Finally, don’t forget that the nurse 1 blamed doc Dan for not taking care of himself properly, because (Chapter 57) his grandmother would worry about him. Yet, during that night, Shin Okja doesn’t seem to be plagued by worries for her own grandson’s health. She sleeps peacefully.

But let’s return our attention to the conversation between the physical therapist and his boss. When did this recommendation take place? The timeline becomes crucial here. We learn that Kim Dan told his landlord he was taking the day off (chapter 70) only after the Seoul trip. This must mean that his conversation with the hospice director—where he was urged to rest—took place between his return from Seoul and the announced day off. We also know that (chapter 69) the champion came back from Seoul in the evening and found footprints near the house, suspecting Dan had wandered to the ocean while drunk. These prints were left that same day (chapter 70), when Kim Dan chased the puppies that had stolen the shoes. Based on the shadows and the position of the sun (chapter 70), I am deducing that this scene took place during the afternoon. I used these images as a contrast, where the author made it clear that these scenes took place in the morning. (Chapter 65) (chapter 57) We can determine the time based on the position of the sun and the shadows.

Thus, it is clear: the director judged Dan as neglectful after he had met the sleep specialist and as such sought medical treatment. (Chapter 70) Thus his reproach is not entirely correct.

Furthermore, observe the vocabulary the man employed in front of his employee. They are all revolving around visual symptoms (dark circles, nodding off) but he does not ask questions. His response is based entirely on appearances—looking instead of examining, noticing instead of investigating. I also noticed that he is using the same expressions than his own staff. (Chapter 57) My idea is that the staff are his eyes and ears. Hence he doesn’t examine the physical therapist closely. He never offers a health check or having him tested. (Chapter 13) But when Kim Dan drops a patient Dan by mistake (chapter 59), the director acts immediately—not because of concern for the elderly man, (chapter 59) but because he fears that the patient’s family might sue the hospice. The elderly man’s condition was formally assessed, documented, and protected. This scene exposes that they can act in an emergency (taking tests). In contrast, Kim Dan—who is visibly unwell—is not offered even a basic check-up. His illness is reduced to tired eyes and missed sleep, framed as personal negligence rather than systemic failure. He is looked at, not truly seen. While the patient is treated as a legal liability, Dan is treated as disposable labor—an expendable worker whose wellbeing doesn’t justify institutional resources. Thus in my opinion, the director of the hospice suggested that doc Dan took a day off in order to ensure that he had done his duty, taking care of his employee.

Another striking detail appears when we notice that the elderly patient (chapter 59) who fell due to Kim Dan’s dissociative state in episode 59 seems to reappear in episodes 70 and 71. (Chapter 70) His distinct appearance—bald with tufts of grey hair—makes him easily recognizable. What stands out this time is not the accident, but the aftermath of it. (Chapter 70) When Kim Dan, again lost in thought, almost bypasses his room, it is this very patient who gently brings him back to reality with the teasing words, “Earth to Doc Dan.” His tone is not accusatory. On the contrary, it’s forgiving—light-hearted even.

This interaction subtly reshapes the narrative of the earlier fall. Rather than harboring resentment, the patient acknowledges Kim Dan’s humanity and affirms his worth with humor and patience. He doesn’t define the physical therapist by his mistakes. This response contrasts sharply with the institutional culture around Dan, where overwork and exhaustion are framed as incompetence and emotional suffering is ignored.

The recurrence of this particular patient also bridges episode 59 with the present, suggesting that we are circling back—this time not just to repeat the past, but to re-examine it. The closer we get to this patient, the closer we move to the emotional core of the narrative: that dignity and recognition are often found not in the powerful, but in those who share space quietly and see clearly. Moreover, this elderly man, like the old coach, becomes another unexpected mirror—reminding both Dan and the viewer that grace can come from unexpected places, and that sometimes, even in a failing system, individuals choose not to perpetuate its cruelty.

2. The Reality of Double Shifts and a Different Contract

Dan’s return to work was not just symbolic—it was physically demanding. Clues throughout the chapters suggest that Dan has been working double shifts. In episode 62, the champion came to the hospice thinking that his morning shift had ended. : (chapter 62) However, the main lead was still working, thus the athlete concluded that he had made a mistake. He probably assumed that he had the afternoon shift. Hence Joo Jaekyung only returned to the landlord’s house at sunset! So during that day, he must have worked for the morning and afternoon shift. Even here, the doctor was suggested to give a special treatment to the star. (Chapter 62) Then in episode 71, we see him working in both afternoon (chapter 71) and night scenes, (chapter 71) always present, never resting. This points to a likely hourly contract with minimal protection. He is not integrated into the regular team of nurses. (Chapter 71) Therefore we see him in company of different nurses. (Chapter 57) He moves between teams, unanchored and isolated. This also explicates why the nurses still have no name. To conclude, his contract implies that Dan is paid by the hour or per shift, without salary-based benefits. I am suspecting, the regular nurses likely operate under different contracts, which could include fixed shifts, team integration, and better protections.

This difference is subtly confirmed in the way the director speaks to him—not as a protected employee, but as a freelancer or temp worker who must self-regulate. The fact that the director doesn’t mention adjusting his workload or seeking support through institutional channels reinforces this. Dan is expected to disappear and reappear without institutional backup, like a shadow on call.

How could this happen? For me, there exist different causes. First, we shouldn’t forget the impact of the incident with the switched spray, doc Dan definitely blamed himself. Thus it undermined his confidence to ask for a higher salary. In addition, in the locker room, the celebrity had made the following reproach. He was obsessed with money, he was greedy. (Chapter 51) Then the main lead was thinking that he was only staying there temporarily. (Chapter 57) Finally, we shouldn’t overlook that his job is strongly intertwined with his grandmother’s situation. He needed to get a job there, hence he couldn’t negotiate his contract. As long as he had a job as physical therapist, he could only be “happy”.

And crucially, he is funding someone else’s comfort.

His grandmother, Shin Okja, lives alone (Chapter 71) in a room designed for six patients—indicated by the six plastic protections outside the door. (Chapter 71) She has her own care taker (chapter 65), while the former coach shares a room with three others and lacks personal care. (Chapter 71) Shin Okja lives like a VIP. Yes, the new version of this situation: (chapter 52) That’s the reason why Mingwa made another allusion to this particular scene (chapter 52) in episode 71: (chapter 71) The members from Team Black visited him not only empty-handed, but didn’t try to cheer him up at all. This shows the rudeness from Park Namwook and the others. But let’s return our attention to the gentle grandmother.

This kind of arrangement requires money—and Kim Dan is paying for it with his body. The overwork, the lack of sleep, the burnout—it all goes to ensure that she is kept comfortable, while he is silently collapsing.

And yet, when the director lectures him about self-care (chapter 70), overlooking the burden doc Dan is going through. No one is asking him about his finances. 

Dan, in contrast, has no one yelling for him. Not even his grandmother advocates on his behalf. Instead, she goes around him and asks Joo Jaekyung for help—ignoring the staff and the institution altogether. (Chapter 65) She even portrays the hospital in a rather negative light. The irony is that she asked someone who was in recovery (chapter 65), and he has now a cold. (Chapter 70) If something were to happen to the physical therapist, who is responsible? This means, there’s no one at the Light of Hope paying attention to doc Dan. It is, as if Dan has no family, and within the hospice structure, no voice. Yet, I saw a change in the following panel. (Chapter 70) For the first time, someone spoke on the physical therapist’s behalf. He should make sure not to be taken advantage of. Secondly, when he pointed out (chapter 70) that the star was staying there because of him, he was already implying that doc Dan had power over the athlete. He should voice his own opinion and thoughts to ensure to protect his own interests. From my point of view, this “former fighter” will definitely side with the young man and protect him.

The conversation between Kim Dan and the hospice director might, at first glance, read as kind-hearted concern. The reality is that the day off allows the institution to appear humane while avoiding any financial or legal responsibility for Dan’s well-being. At the same time, this situation appears to confront Shin Okja with a bitter truth: that even though her grandson became a physical therapist—a role associated with education, skill, and respectability—his social standing hasn’t changed. He still works long hours, earns little, and lives on the margins of the system. His body is as exploited as when she sold vegetables on the street. (Chapter 47) The uniform may be different, but the precarity remains the same. (Chapter 65) This revelation may fuel her decision to send him back to Seoul—not just out of care, but as a reflection of her lifelong obsession with money and upward mobility. Crushed by the burden of the loan and haunted by her own failures, she sees Seoul not only as a place of opportunity but as the only terrain where financial survival is possible. In her logic, professional success is meaningless without wealth, and in the seaside town, doc Dan’s work brings neither. So she urges him to leave—not because she doesn’t care, but because she has equated worth with earning power. Her mindset, forged by debt and despair, blinds her to the emotional and physical toll this cycle continues to take on her grandson.

Blamed for His Own Collapse

In this way, Dan becomes the perfect target for blame. (Chapter 70) Everyone—from the director to the celebrity (chapter 71) to even the grandmother—assumes he is responsible for his condition. They blame him for drinking, for being tired, for looking unwell. But no one looks beyond the surface and investigates the causes. No one is wondering about the financial burden, the trigger for his fears (chapter 71), the emotional isolation, or the systemic overwork that drive him there. Let’s not forget that the young man drank again after hearing that Joo Jaekyung would return to the ring soon. This shows that the incident with the switched spray and its consequences left deep wounds in his heart and soul.

This is the core injustice: Dan is punished for the symptoms of a system that depends on his silence. He is structurally invisible, morally judged, and emotionally abandoned. And he accepts it—because he believes he has no right to ask for more.

A Misread Life: Misinterpretation from All Sides

The tragedy is that no one fully understands Dan’s emotional or physical condition:

  • The hospice director, while not malicious, interprets Dan’s exhaustion as neglect rather than the result of a crushing schedule, sickness and unresolved traumas
  • Joo Jaekyung, still unaware of Dan’s grueling double shifts, wrongly assumes that Dan returns home at the end of the day. (Chapter 71) This explains why, after returning sick, he told Dan not to share the bed that night—he thought Dan was coming home to rest. In reality, Dan was remaining at the hospice for his second shift.
  • Even the former athlete, now living at the hospice, overlooks Dan completely (chapter 71) when his former student takes him to the rooftop, too focused to nagging to Joo Jaekyung. Dan, standing in the hallway, is ignored—another ghost drifting through an institution that doesn’t truly see him. He doesn’t wonder why this young man is working during the night later. (Chapter 71) He even asks him to stay by his side, not noticing his dark circles and paleness.

This lack of recognition is not incidental. It stems from Kim Dan’s quiet, damaging belief that love must be earned through sacrifice. His philosophy confuses devotion with self-erasure, service with affection. 

But being constantly available—emotionally, physically, professionally—without acknowledgment carries a cost. As the article “Being Unconditional Makes You Invisible” explains, this kind of unreciprocated availability leads to silent emotional fatigue, internalized resentment, and, most painfully, a growing disconnection from the self. Dan is always the one listening, giving, enduring. But in doing so, he becomes invisible in the very systems he sustains. His self-esteem quietly erodes under the weight of one-sided expectations. His relationships, especially with the hospice and his grandmother (chapter 53), become lopsided forms of dependency. And his unspoken needs—his own exhaustion, grief, and longing—are never tended to, not even by himself. He is present for everyone, yet no one is truly present for him. That’s the reason why Shin Okja knows nothing about her own grandson’s interests and dreams. (Chapter 65)

The hospice director’s mistake is not his tone, but his timing and framing. He tells Dan to rest after Dan has already taken responsibility for his condition—after he has gone to Seoul, received a diagnosis, and returned to work. The true mistake lies not in what the director says, but in what he doesn’t offer:

  • No formal sick leave
  • No referral to an in-house physician
  • No acknowledgment of Dan’s effort to heal
  • And most importantly, no long-term security—no shift to a better contract or stable position

Instead, Dan receives a moral correction disguised as care. And that is perhaps the most painful form of erasure—when a system offers you compassion only after it has ensured your exhaustion was cost-free.

An Old Coot, a Cricket, and an Owl

In the first part, I had compared the nameless coach to a wolf and ibex. Strangely, in translation, the former coach is called an “old coot” (in English), (chapter 71) or a cricket (in Japanese). (Chapter 71) In German, he would be an “alter Kauz—an eccentric owl. But this metaphor reaches deeper than mere strangeness or aging.

The owl is a nocturnal bird, often linked to solitude, silent observation, and hidden knowledge. In chapter 71, an owl is heard in the seaside town next to the champion’s hostel—an eerie presence that coincides with Kim Dan’s visible exhaustion and isolation. (Chapter 71) The constant appearance of the owl connected with the champion’s house implies that Joo Jaekyung is now connected to this nightbird, as if the latter was his guardian of the night. In addition, in chapter 65, (chapter 65) Dan was found wandering the night in his sleep, pulled by unconscious fears. (Chapter 65) These moments mirror the owl’s behavior: navigating darkness, moving alone, and being misunderstood. Thus, the owl becomes a powerful symbol not only of the former coach but of Kim Dan himself—both are creatures of the night, shaped by what they see and endure in silence. In contrast to the chattering coot, the owl watches and remembers. And perhaps, the presence of both birds suggests that the coach, once a loud and reckless coot, is beginning to see with the quiet eyes of the owl—finally noticing the suffering he once overlooked. Their shared nocturnality ties them together: one hoots and curses, the other drifts wordlessly—but both are left behind by the daylight world.Doc Dan’s nightly behavior made me think of an owl. (Chapter 65) during that night, Joo Jaekyung caught him wandering in sleep outside. In addition, Moreover, I interpret the presence of the owl as an allusion to the presence of the former director in the couple’s life. As you can see, I have already made a parallel between the physical therapist and the nameless coach. These metaphors evoke not only eccentricity but specific traits tied to nocturnal birds and fragile aging.

The coot, (quoted from https://www.oiseaux.net/birds/eurasian.coot.html) though a water bird like the duck, is a poor flyer, often flapping frantically just above the water’s surface. It tends to migrate or travel by night, preferring the cover of darkness to avoid predators. The coot is socially awkward yet persistent—an outsider among graceful birds. In this sense, the coach mirrors the coot: once active, now awkwardly grounded, watching from the margins, no longer able to soar.

Yet the coach’s resemblance to the Eurasian coot extends beyond his weakened condition. This bird stands for versatility, adaptability, or hidden talents, attributes similar to the ibex because of their long slender toes with round lobes of skin on them.

 Coots are noisy and socially awkward birds—notorious for their harsh, repetitive calls that sound more like chiding than song. Unlike the poetic silence often associated with owls, the coot communicates through blunt, raspy cries. This parallels the coach’s incessant chatter and verbal outbursts. Kim Dan even refers to him as a “chatterbox,” a man who yells, curses, and grumbles without reserve. And yet, strangely, Dan is not repulsed. On the contrary—he appears comforted by the company. For perhaps the first time, someone talks to him without judgment or restraint. (Chapter 71) The coach, in asking Dan to stay and keep him company, reveals a loneliness behind the noise—a need for genuine presence, not just a match on TV. And Dan, who so often listens in silence, responds and is interested in his past..

The Eurasian coot, with its stark black plumage and distinctive white frontal shield, is not merely an odd, noisy water bird—it carries deep symbolic resonance. Visually, it evokes the image of yin within Taoist philosophy: the dark feathered body representing shadow, receptivity, and introspection, while the bright beak and forehead suggest presence, guidance, and emergent clarity. This interplay of black and white echoes the taijitu, the yin-yang symbol, where opposing forces coexist, define, and balance each other. In this metaphorical framework, Kim Dan has long embodied yin: passive in appearance, enduring in silence, emotionally responsive, and often eclipsed by the assertive, solar force of Jaekyung—his yang counterpart. The coot, then, becomes an avatar of Kim Dan’s latent feminine principle, one often neglected or undervalued in the harsh masculine domains of fighting, survival, and ambition.

But the coot is not merely passive. Across several Native American traditions, it plays the mythic role of the “earth-diver”—the humble, overlooked creature who succeeds where stronger animals fail. Diving to the bottom of primordial waters, the coot resurfaces with the vital clump of mud that births new land. This act of grounding creation through immersion in emotional depths positions the coot—and by extension, the coach—as a quiet redeemer. If we follow this myth, then the coach, once the yelling coot who flapped at the surface of a hypermasculine world, now dives inward through his illness and regret. And by getting acquainted with Kim Dan, he begins to recover something essential: the knowledge that nurturing, not domination, is what builds real legacy. A side that he has all this time neglected.

Just as the coot in myth brings forth land from formless water, the coach now nudges Kim Dan to settle—to plant roots, recognize his own value, and reimagine his path. This is the deeper function of their encounter: not only to pass on knowledge, but to give Dan permission to claim space, stop drifting, and become whole.

This raw vocality—the coot’s instinct to call out, the coach’s refusal to quiet down— (chapter 71) suggests that communication doesn’t always have to be soft to be sincere. It is precisely the coach’s lack of elegance that makes him relatable to Dan. (Chapter 71) This dynamic becomes especially meaningful when we recall that Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck—a creature often seen as passive or domesticated, gliding over water while paddling furiously underneath. As discussed above, the duck stands for Dan’s silent endurance, his ability to move between unstable emotional terrains without ever making a splash.

In contrast, the coot is noisy and awkward, incapable of flight yet unwilling to be silent. In a world that expects the duck to swim gracefully through silence, the coot becomes a strange, stuttering guide—blunt, awkward, but unmistakably alive.

This is especially interesting because, as previously argued, Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck (chapter 65) a creature that moves between water, land, and air. While he is still learning to navigate the spaces between systems, he too lacks institutional power. If the former coach is a coot, then his narrative function may be to pass on his remaining knowledge to the duck—turning his interactions with the coach and his use of the notebook into an unofficial MMA trainer seminar he once wished to attend (chapter 22).

Like the ibex metaphor used in Part I—creatures tied to rocky isolation and dangerous heights—the coot further enriches the theme of aged survivors perched on the margins of community. But unlike the ibex, the coot may still transmit wisdom before its final flight.

The cricket, (chapter 71) on the other hand, introduces a different symbolic register. Crickets are night creatures, associated with melancholy songs and liminal moments—summer nights, silence interrupted by delicate rhythm. In literature, the cricket is often the last to speak when others fall silent. Beyond eccentricity or noise, this insect also evokes themes of temporality and mortality. It is a creature of the twilight—its song a reminder of fleeting seasons, of warmth that will pass. In many cultures, the cricket’s chirping signals the passage of time, each note a marker of transience. Its presence in literature often accompanies deathbeds, soliloquies, or irreversible turning points. If the coach is a cricket, then he is not merely a grumbler—he is a living metronome, ticking down the last hours of his own life, while reminding those around him—like Kim Dan—that time is limited. And perhaps this is why he talks so much: not to annoy, but to assert his presence before the silence swallows him.

In this light, the coach becomes a kind of dying bell—a cracked oracle whose purpose is not clarity but urgency. His role is to remind Dan that life cannot be deferred forever. Settling down, speaking up, asking for more—these are not things to postpone. The cricket’s metaphor, then, marks the threshold between invisibility and emergence, between survival and meaning. Though overlooked, its chirping suggests persistence and a strange form of endurance. To conclude, if the coach is a cricket, then his voice—grating, unwanted, but steady—becomes a metaphor for what remains when relevance fades. Crickets continue to sing even when ignored, echoing the idea that the coach, however diminished, still has something to say. His grumbling is the residue of meaning in a life otherwise stripped of its stage. And for Kim Dan, who has been rendered voiceless by respectability, the cricket’s harsh cadence may sound like truth.

These metaphors evoke age, eccentricity, and irrelevance. A coot is a harmless, grumpy old man. A cricket sings into the void, unheard. An owl is wise, but solitary and ignored.

These metaphors tell us how others see him: a relic, a burden (chapter 71), a joke. But there’s another side to the owl—the side that watches the night, that sees what others do not. And in this hospice, maybe for the first time, the former coach becomes something more: a witness who is no longer silent. An old man who still has eyes.

And perhaps, in seeing Dan, he finally sees what was lost when he failed to protect Jaekyung. (Chapter 71) The latter didn’t receive proper treatment for his woundsAnd this brings me to my final interpretation, the absence of a physical therapist or doctor in the director’s world and life! His body got broken so many times, indicating that he never had a doctor by his side! . (Chapter 70)He never had a companion or friend in his life, which is also mirrored in the picture.

Together, these two owls—the worker and the watcher—form a quiet alliance of the unseen. One carries the weight of silence. (Chapter 71) The other carries bitterness and the guilt of watching too long without speaking. In this dim hallway of illness and endurance, their connection becomes a muted call for dignity.

And maybe, this time, someone will hear it.


Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwa, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: „What are you 🐺 doing here?“ 🐹 Between Crisis and Opportunity

This essay won’t be a long one, as today two new episodes from Jinx will be released. However, I found three articles from Jennifer Delgado which let me perceive the protagonists’ metamorphosis and the progression of the story.

The Dock as Turning Point

In episode 69 of Jinx, the question (Chapter 69) from the physical therapist is more than a startled greeting — it marks a critical shift in the psychological and emotional trajectory of both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. Standing at the dock, doc Dan, still recovering from his depression and trauma of the switched spray incident, sees the champion not as an invincible athlete, but as someone equally unmoored. He is surprised and confused by such a behavior. Why would he act that way? Hence the author added right after this image: (chapter 69) Striking is that the champion has a similar reaction. He never expected that he had misjudged his fated partner. Both characters are forced to face their own prejudices and bias. (Chapter 69) This moment is less about resolution and more about recognition: two men, shaped by different paths of burnout, collide again — but this time not as patient and caregiver, predator and prey, but as human beings in crisis.

Symbolically, the dock represents more than just a location — it is a threshold between two domains: between land and sea, safety and uncertainty, solitude and reconnection. (Chapter 69) It is a liminal space, a bridge between their former roles and whatever comes next. The fact that this unusual encounter and subtle interrogation happens here underscores the narrative’s shift from repression to potential transformation. It is the space where isolation ends and vulnerability begins — the exact place where emotional disconnection gives way to tentative reattachment. This announces the premises for their true future collaboration.

“It’s No Wonder Burnout Syndrome Hits This Field So Hard”

According to the article Growth Mindset in Healthcare: From Burnout to Breakthrough, burnout manifests not only through exhaustion but through rigid thinking: perfectionism, fear of failure, and fixed self-perception. The article points out that:

This line could describe Kim Dan’s reality perfectly. From taking double shifts (chapter 57) that go unnoticed to dealing with the emotional numbness of detachment, Kim Dan begins to resemble the article’s description of someone silently breaking down. (Chapter 59) Although he didn’t face difficult patients at the hospice (chapter 57), he approaches his work like a robot, emotionally disconnected from those in his care. The burnout is not only shaped by the hospital environment — it’s also deeply tied to his role with Joo Jaekyung. The champion became, in many ways, his most demanding patient (Chapter 14), with unrealistic expectations – chapter 41 (such as pushing for a premature return to the ring), and an emotional climate of pressure and perfectionism f (chapter 45) rom superiors, he fits the article’s description of someone burdened by a toxic professional environment. More importantly, in episode 57, a nurse casually mentions that he might be suffering from burnout. (Chapter 57) This offhand remark reveals that within the medical setting, the symptoms are visible to trained observers. And yet, the insight never reached the “hamster” or the “wolf.”

Dan internalizes his stress, rationalizes it as duty, (chapter 56) and isolates himself emotionally. Therefore he doesn’t engage in a conversation with the nurses. (Chapter 56) No wonder why the readers still don’t know the names of the three “angels in blue”’. Their presence is functional, but remains impersonal. They remain silent observants. (Chapter 57) Likewise, Jaekyung — despite not being in healthcare — he fits the article’s description of someone burdened by a toxic professional environment. (Chapter 27) He operates in an industry with crushing expectations, where performance is equated with survival. (Chapter 29) That’s why he doesn’t allow himself to rest.

Just as Kim Dan avoids emotional engagement with his peers — such as the nurses who sense his exhaustion — Jaekyung mirrors this relational withdrawal in the world of MMA. Other fighters are not allies but threats: in his own words, they are “hyenas”, always circling, waiting to take something from him. (Chapter 29) This worldview isolates him entirely. It’s no surprise, then, that his past with Baek Junmin remains shrouded in mystery (chapter 49), or that in the aftermath of the suspicious match, he blames him (chapter 69) and avoids speaking with Shotgun altogether. Instead of engaging in conversation, he contacts MFC — preferring institutional action over personal interaction.

This reinforces the parallel: both the hamster and the wolf have been conditioned to distrust their environment and the people in it. (Chapter 57) Since people don’t know them, they can not trust their judgement and perception. Both navigate high-stakes worlds that punish vulnerability and reward detachment. And both, when overwhelmed, retreat from human relationships rather than reaching out. They are, in different costumes, performing the same coping script — one that the article identifies as characteristic of fixed mindsets operating under systemic pressure and emotional isolation.

His perfectionism, his emotional suppression, the microstress accumulating from constant physical strain (chapter 19) and relational isolation all echo the article’s diagnosis:

Both men operate in systems where perfection is not just expected, it is demanded (chapter 59) — and any deviation from it is interpreted as personal failure. Here, it’s important that the hospice took advantage from the overworked protagonist. No one paid attention to the double shift. (Naturally, I am not saying that the main lead is blameless either). For Kim Dan, the patient’s fall in episode 59 (chapter 59) and the sabotage incident destroyed his self-perception as “doctor” and “helper”. (Chapter 59) This is reflected in the image where the author zoomed on the “main lead’s” hands or when he is holding the dead puppy. (Chapter 59) The hands have become the symbol of his powerlessness. For the wolf, the tie in his last match is perceived not as resilience, but as loss. (Chapter 51) Neither of them has been taught to see difficulty as an invitation to adapt. They both cling to a fixed mindset — until crisis breaks the pattern.

Rooted Burnout: Identity, Perfectionism, and Selflessness

Kim Dan’s depression and burnout are not caused solely by repressed traumas (Chapter 56) — they are also the result of two compounding forces: the champion’s perfectionism and the doctor’s own fixed mindset. (Chapter 64) This deeper entanglement explains why Dan ultimately rejects the celebrity. (Chapter 60) Though Dan has long suffered from low self-esteem, he has never questioned his sacrificial identity. It is as if he were destined — or conditioned — to care for others without regard for himself. (Chapter 29) He sees selflessness not as a virtue but as a default mode of survival. This explicates why he blames himself for the puppy’s death. Observe how Mingwa implied the relevance of the doctor’s hands while he was holding the poor puppy.  (Chapter 59)

At the same time, his view of work has always been transactional. In episode 1, he sees his first assignment at the hospital as a means to earn money (Chapter 1) — a way to repay debts. And it is the same, when he accepts his contract with the wolf. (Chapter 6) His grandmother reinforces this belief by reducing his worth to his earning capacity. This mindset is plainly illustrated in two key moments. In the first, she expresses her gratitude to the champion, because he gave him “a roof over his head and a salary.” (Chapter 65) These words reveal what truly matters to her: material provision and financial compensation. She does not seem to register the emotional toll the job may be taking on Dan, nor does she question the ethics of the contract or his living conditions. What she values is that her grandson is being paid and housed — signs of visible, quantifiable success.

In the second instance, she tells her “almost grandson” that (chapter 65) Dan has “only lived for her” so far, and that he surely has a “ton of things he wants to accomplish” now. This comment, which at first sounds like encouragement, in fact exposes her own worldview: a life worth living is one centered on achievement, productivity, and external validation. The idea of simply resting, recovering, or living quietly does not even occur to her. When she urges that Dan should go back to Seoul to pursue his “best life,” (Chapter 65) it becomes clear that for her, the capital is more than a location — it is a symbol of success, of competition, of visibility. She cannot imagine a fulfilling life outside that framework, and thus unknowingly erases Dan’s internal world: his trauma, exhaustion, and grief. To conclude, all her ideas are revolving around career, success and wealth. Work, in this logic, is not about pride, passion, or healing — it is about obligation. This began to shift when he started working with Jaekyung and discovers a different kind of validation: (chapter 62) the athlete’s success gave him a sense of purpose. No wonder why he took everything so personally.

But when the champion rejected him in the locker room, even blamed him (chapter 51), this fragile new identity got shattered. Dan loses not just a client or income source — he loses the first glimpse of professional dignity. (Chapter 51) The rejection didn’t just hurt emotionally; it disoriented him existentially. In that light, it is no coincidence that he ends up working at a hospice — a place symbolically linked to endings, quiet resignation, and the final stages of life. (Chapter 56) The hospice marks not just a physical retreat from his past, but a psychological one: a setting that echoes his emotional state. While his body continues to function, his inner life has entered a form of dormancy. His role in this environment reflects how deeply detached he has become — professionally, emotionally, and existentially. The job had become more than money, but now that it’s gone, he can no longer look forward. He feels lonely and rootless. (Chapter 56) His fears, his trauma, and his ingrained selflessness trap him in a state of emotional and professional paralysis.

Rescue as Absolution

The arrival of the champion in the seaside town, asking him to return (chapter 60), functions as a form of emotional absolution, though doc Dan is not aware of it. This job offer is an indirect proof that he is still seen as competent and trustworthy. (Chapter 62) If Jaekyung had not come himself, it would have confirmed Dan’s worst fears: that he was to blame, that he was discarded. The first crack in his fixed mindset comes from this gesture — an external acknowledgment that the so-called “sin” may not have been his at all. This explicates why Kim Dan can give him the cold shoulder and even ignore him. (Chapter 61) It helps him to boost his strength and confidence. From that moment on, he is capable to express his own thoughts and as such criticize the star. (Chapter 64)

From Bewilderment to Presence

But transformation is not linear. By episode 69, Dan is still weighed down by unprocessed guilt and emotional avoidance. (Chapter 69) His stunned reaction — “ (chapter 69) and the subsequent panel of him thinking “…?” (Chapter 69) reflect not openness, but bewilderment and curiosity. He cannot yet process why someone like Joo Jaekyung would show up so dramatically, defying his usual patterns of control and distance. This is not a confrontation, but a moment of interrogation and emotional inversion — Jaekyung is acting unusually, and Dan is quietly observing, almost uncertain whether to trust the shift. That moment marks a subtle but pivotal turn: Dan, no longer collapsed, is present and attentive. And Jaekyung, for the first time, shows emotional transparency rather than dominance. (Chapter 69) Their positions are shifting — slowly, hesitantly — toward mutual recognition.

Meanwhile, the champion is also unraveling — not due to a single catastrophic event, but from sustained microstress, as defined in the article Microstress: The Silent Stress That Accumulates.

The athlete’s burnout stems from the relentless pressure of performance, the perfectionism and the obsession (chapter 69) with the title instilled by his hyung, the constant bodily strain, and his emotional isolation. Most crucially, he interprets his last match — a tie — as a personal failure. For someone with a fixed mindset, a tie is not balance; it’s inadequacy. Therefore it is not surprising that the athlete is not realizing that the outcome of his match has been changed from tie to loss.

At the dock, when the champion turns around and sees Kim Dan standing upright — not collapsed or fleeing — it destabilizes his expectations. (Chapter 69) Dan’s very presence communicates something new: emotional steadiness, however tentative. And for the first time, Jaekyung doesn’t respond with control, but with vulnerability. (Chapter 69) The hug becomes a form of speech — an action that acknowledges fear, relief and desire for connection.

Catharsis or Change?

This is where the article Talking About Emotions Is Not Enough becomes essential. It argues that simply talking about feelings is not transformation; catharsis without action becomes a trap:

Shin Okja illustrates this point vividly. She shares her emotions and fears with the “wolf”, appearing vulnerable and reflective (Chapter 65) — yet she changes nothing. How so? She could have talked to the nurse, and the latter would have brought up the possibility of “burnout”. She frames her grandson as a victim (chapter 65) and herself as helpless, yet her only move is to push him away under the guise of concern (Chapter 65) She never confesses directly to Dan, nor does she take responsibility for her past actions. (Chapter 65) Instead, she subtly enlists the champion as a parental substitute, urging him to care for the “sick” Dan. (Chapter 65) She imagines, pills will work their magic.

She sees in the champion an opportunity to unburden herself and outsource responsibility. But her strategy is not to help Dan become independent — rather, it is to have Jaekyung act as a caretaker, reinforcing the narrative that Dan is weak. Her emotional confession is not accompanied by a willingness to change or empower; it is yet another performance to ensure that others, not herself, do the hard work of care (Chapter 65) and repair.

Her version of catharsis is hollow. She uses emotional language not to empower Dan, but to preserve her own comfort. She remains passive, speaking around Dan instead of to him. In contrast, the champion’s eventual confession to Dan is direct, emotionally honest, and followed by behavioral change. He doesn’t just reveal his emotions — he takes action. He questions his routines and believes, leaves Seoul (chapter 61) , and approaches Dan not as a star reclaiming property, but as a person reaching out.

Practicing the Growth Mindset: Five Dimensions in Action

The article Growth Mindset in Healthcare: From Burnout to Breakthrough outlines five practical strategies that reflect a shift from fixed to growth mindset. Each of these aligns with key moments and changes in both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung — not as traits they naturally possess, but as difficult, earned responses that emerge through crisis.

1. Stay curious and keep learning

This shift begins subtly in episode 69. Kim Dan’s reaction (Chapter 69) signals not disdain or reproach, but curiosity. He no longer responds with total avoidance. The champion’s behavior destabilizes his old script, and for the first time, Dan is asking questions rather than shutting down. Jaekyung, in turn, also shows curiosity by seeking out Dan in person rather than defaulting to control or silence.

2. Focus on progress, not perfection

Jaekyung begins to shed his perfectionist mindset when he acknowledges his own limitations and emotional needs over performance. (Chapter 69) He no longer focuses only on the next fight or media appearance — instead, he chooses emotional repair. Dan also learns to value life over denial. Hence we see him holding bags, certainly containing food. During the episode 69, the incident in the courtyard served as a wake-up call that he could no longer deny his mental illness. After his collapse, he gets back up, and is seen wearing his sports shoes. (Chapter 69) These items indicate the transformation in the doctor’s life. From my point of view, it announces the arrival of sports in his life.

3. View challenges as chances to grow

Both characters are forced to reframe challenges: Dan’s rejection and burnout become moments of reflection (chapter 62), not annihilation. Jaekyung’s emptiness and misery after the tie becomes the emotional opening that allows him to ask for connection, the more the hamster pushes him away.

4. Practice constructive self-talk

We begin to see this shift subtly in Dan’s refusal to collapse into guilt. He begins to set boundaries (chapter 60), stops apologizing constantly, and even expresses irritation or his discomfort. (Chapter 67) Meanwhile, Jaekyung drops his script of invincibility and openly acknowledges his need for Dan. Neither of them says the perfect thing — but they are no longer using self-talk to punish themselves.

5. Be kind to yourself

This final dimension is visible most clearly in their embrace. The celebrity, who once saw human softness as weakness, now offers comfort. (Chapter 68) For him, vulnerability and empathy are no longer rejected, rather embraced and accepted. (Chapter 68) Dan, who once viewed care as something he must earn, (Chapter 69) begins to receive it. It is not a grand declaration, but a quiet shift: you can fail or cause a ruckus, and still be loved. Hence he doesn’t push away the wolf on the dock.

Modeling a Growth Mindset

Thus, I deduce that Jaekyung is becoming what the grandmother could have been: someone who turns vulnerability into connection and growth. And importantly, his growing acceptance of Kim Dan’s vulnerability marks a turning point not only for their relationship, but for his own inner evolution. By caring for someone fragile (chapter 69), the star begins to extend that care inward. Each gesture of empathy toward Dan becomes a step closer to self-compassion. In learning to protect someone else without demanding perfection, the wolf is learning, perhaps for the first time, that he too deserves kindness — not just from others, but from himself. He models what the article calls a true “growth mindset” — one that sees failure not as final, but as a catalyst for relational and emotional evolution.

In the end, the question “What are you doing here?” captures a shared moment of disorientation, but also potential. Neither of them expected such a meeting. But it is precisely in that space — between crisis and opportunity — that transformation begins.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwa, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Other, Hidden Door 🚪 to the Past 🏛️

The composition opens with a visual puzzle: a collage of doors, house numbers, and figures caught mid-motion. At first glance, the images appear disconnected, yet the arrangement and title invite my avid readers to look again. What connects the blue gate in the seaside town, a young man hesitating before a door, and two house number plaques: 7-12 and 33-3? One Jinx-phile on X, @Jaedan4ever, insightfully noted that “7-12” (chapter 65) corresponds to the release of Jinx Chapter 70, which marked the series’ return after a three-month hiatus. This observation is more than clever numerology—it mirrors the manhwa’s deeper message: the past always haunts the present, and at times, it even foreshadows the future. And that’s exactly what I will do in this essay. I propose that the key to understanding the protagonists and characters’ evolving identities lies in the overlooked architectural and administrative details—especially the house numbers, door placements, and legal ownership of space. These seemingly minor visual cues are in fact loaded with meaning, offering insight into how home, memory, and identity are fragmented and reassigned across time and place.

A Mysterious Numbering System: 7-12 vs. 33-3

While the reader focused on 7-12 and the publication of episode 70, something else caught my attention. (chapter 57) The landlord’s house has the number 33-3. Why do two neighboring houses bear such disconnected numbers: 7-12 and 33-3? (chapter 61) For readers unfamiliar with Korea, this looks quite bizarre. In most European and American countries, street addresses follow a linear order; house number 12 would typically be located between 10 and 14. But in Korea, especially in rural areas, many towns use the older jibeon (지번) land-lot numbering system. Here, numbers are based not on street sequence but on the chronological order of land registration and subsequent subdivisions.

At first glance, parcel 7 appears to be registered earlier than parcel 33. Yet there is a twist: the subdivision number attached to 7—namely 12—implies that this plot has been split far more frequently than 33, which is only on its third subdivision. In rural Korea, early subdivisions often indicate inherited land, long-term residency, or family continuity. Later, higher subdivisions tend to signal commercial fragmentation, detachment from familial lineage, and transient habitation—often reflecting rental properties (chapter 62), newer developments, or administrative restructuring rather than deep-rooted inheritance. In this context, a higher subdivision number implies not only later division, but also the erosion of legacy and the weakening of kinship-based territorial claims—an erosion especially poignant in the context of Confucian traditions that once emphasized multi-generational cohabitation and patrilineal inheritance. In classical Korean society, a home was not merely a shelter but a physical emblem of familial continuity, with ancestral rites often performed within the same household across generations. As addresses fragment and land parcels divide, so too does the symbolic structure of the family unit. The once-cohesive ideal of the extended household dissolves into isolated, rented spaces, reflecting not only economic realities but also the fraying of intergenerational bonds and filial authority.

This contrast is reflected in both setting and narrative. Kim Dan lives in house 33-3 with the elderly landlord—a man who is not just a neighbor but likely an old local landholder. (chapter 57) In contrast, the house numbered 7-12, which Jaekyung rents, (chapter 61) has been transformed into a tourist hostel. (chapter 61) Though Jaekyung is a wealthy celebrity, he inhabits a parcel of land that speaks to impermanence and anonymity. Meanwhile, Dan shares space with someone who quietly represents legacy and transparency.

The Blue Gate 7-12

The spatial layout reinforces this: the landlord’s house opens directly onto the street—there is no gate. (chapter 57) This openness reflects a traditional mindset rooted in hospitality and community. By contrast, 7-12 is sealed by a blue metal gate, a clear symbol of privacy, control, and urban values. (chapter 65) But here’s the irony: the gate does not protect the landlord’s legacy from encroachment—it shields the outsider from the town. The presence of the blue gate enclosing 7-12 speaks volumes. In contrast to the landlord’s open home, this barrier reflects the mindset of its builder—the town chief (chapter 62) —who likely anticipated that visitors from the city would prefer privacy. But in attempting to accommodate their expectations, he inadvertently created a symbolic divide. The gate does not just offer seclusion; it enforces a boundary between the guests and the local community. This spatial arrangement, then, subtly underscored the champion’s outsider status. Despite his wealth and fame, he remained separated—literally and figuratively—from the rootedness and communal life that defines the town. This explicates why his direct neighbor didn’t reach out to him right away. He was the last to ask for a favor. (chapter 62) However, this “dynamic” (distinction) began to shift the moment Jaekyung started working for the local residents. (chapter 62) No longer just a “guest” or a “tourist,” he earned their recognition and acceptance through acts of service and humility. (chapter 62) As he helped them with manual tasks—such as lifting goods or assisting the elderly—they started seeing him not as an outsider, but as one of their own. However, it is important to note that these gestures of inclusion occurred while Jaekyung was outside the blue gate (chapter 62) —beyond the formal boundary of the rental property. (chapter 62) In this way, the gate truly functioned as a symbolic threshold: only once he crossed it through action and humility, the community began to approach him. This change in perception was symbolized, when he received vegetables from the townspeople, a traditional gesture of inclusion and local acknowledgment. (chapter 62) Nevertheless, the best sign that he has been accepted by the community is when he received traditional welcome gifts: the toilet paper and detergent. (chapter 69) [For more read Unseen 👀 Savior🦸🏼‍♂️ : The Birth Of Jaegeng (locked)] His physical strength, once used for spectacle and entertainment, now becomes a bridge into the fabric of rural life, exposing his true personality: he is generous and modest. The closed blue gate of the hostel might have marked him as a city dweller at first, (chapter 65) but his actions gradually dissolved that boundary. Therefore it is no coincidence that after the wolf took care of doc Dan during that night (chapter 65), the elderly neighbor chose to open the blue gate shortly after: (chapter 69) Thus I deduce that the blue gate lost its purpose. The champion definitely saw the advantages of the absence of a gate by his neighbor. He could arrive there at any moment (chapter 62) and the landlord never rejected him. In fact, he was always welcome. (chapter 66)

But let’s return to the house numbers and its signification. In this way, 33-3 stands at the crossroads of tradition and change: it is old, but not untouched by rupture. It represents a home that has endured change while maintaining its emotional and social value. This makes it an apt setting for the star and the physical therapist, two individuals who themselves come from fractured emotional lineages—both wounded by broken familial bonds, yet gradually learning to rebuild a form of kinship. That number becomes a silent metaphor for their coexistence: the wolf and the hamster, sharing not blood but space, trust, and now roots.

Father, Son and Ancestor: 33-3

Numerologically, “33” itself can evoke multiple layers of meaning. In some interpretations, 33 is a master number, associated with healing, altruism, and emotional growth. It is also a number of spiritual maturity—hinting at a kind of “final trial” before enlightenment. That fits the evolution of both characters. And the number 3, repeated, might subtly allude to the Christianism (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) or Confucian triad—father, son, and ancestor—or more abstractly, to harmony among heaven, earth, and humanity. With Jaekyung and Dan forming a new domestic unit under the benevolent yet quiet watch of the elderly landlord, we can almost see 33-3 as a broken but reassembled version of the traditional multigenerational household—one not bound by blood, but by mutual recognition and earned care.

Thus, 33-3 becomes more than an address. It’s a compact expression of the characters’ trajectory: from scattered and rootless to housed and healing—not in a perfect family, but in a fragile, evolving one. The wolf’s integration is not based on lineage or history, but on community and contribution.

Another layer to the contrast is the identity of the landlord. While the owner of 7-12 is the town chief—someone with institutional power—he is not necessarily the town’s patriarch. His propriety, 7-12, suggests his roots are more administrative than ancestral. He is in charge, but he does not represent continuity. On the other hand, the landlord of 33-3 is mistaken by Choi Heesung for Dan’s grandfather (chapter 59), and townspeople instinctively report Dan’s behavior to him. (chapter 69) I would like to point out that the kind man said “villagers” and not “villager”, a sign that he was contacted by many people. Such recognition is reserved for those woven into the community’s long memory.

This dynamic becomes even more intriguing when we consider how the wolf might have ended up in house 7-12 in the first place. (chapter 61) Given that the rural address system is based on the older jibeon model—and most GPS systems now rely on the newer road-based address format— it is unlikely that Jaekyung could have located Dan’s home through navigation alone. (chapter 61) That’s the reason why the author included this scene. Even if someone had disclosed Dan’s address, the GPS in Jaekyung’s luxury car would not have been able to guide him there. Like mentioned above, the streets have no names, and the numbering lacks logical sequence. Thus, we have to envision how the Emperor followed Dan on foot, observing where he went. In doing so, he not only located the general vicinity. Afterwards, he must have contacted a local and requested for a vacant house close to 33-3. That’s how he found the “hostel” right next door. (chapter 62) No wonder why the athlete stopped his training for his benefactor, the town chief. His act of renting that space was not just about proximity—it was a quiet, determined form of emotional pursuit, bypassing digital maps in favor of personal presence. Once again, this mirrors the emotional structure of the story: Jaekyung could only find the hamster by leaving behind his car (the older version of episode 69 – chapter 69) and walking through the confusion himself.

Finally, this rural numbering system is placed in relief by an urban counterpart. In episode 1, (chapter 1) we see Dan walking under a blue plaque labeled “24”—the newer, street-based system introduced after 2013. This number, part of Seoul’s revised address format, contrasts sharply with the rural jibeon model. Where 7-12 and 33-3 reflect layered histories and family division, “24” is precise, administrative, and arguably impersonal. The place is no longer connected to family and traditions, rather to migration and anonymity. The juxtaposition between systems emphasizes not only physical distance but emotional dislocation.

Shin Okja’s Childhood Town and Numbers

Yet among all these numbered spaces, one person remains strangely untethered: Shin Okja. (chapter 65) Though she insists this seaside town is where she “grew up,” she never identifies a lot number, street, or ancestral parcel. In a rural system where numbers are more than logistical—they are signs of rootedness and intergenerational presence—her vagueness stands out. Everyone else is connected to a numbered gate, a registry, or a mailbox. She alone floats in narrative space, clinging to emotional claims without material proof: no concrete location is brought up. (chapter 57) The contrast becomes sharper when she refers to Seoul only in generic terms. She never mentions a district, (chapter 65), a person (chapter 56), a neighborhood, or specific location. This lack of detail, especially when juxtaposed with the specificity of the rural jibeon system (where even a subdivision number implies lineage and ownership), exposes her rootlessness. It reinforces the idea that her ties to place are performative rather than grounded. Even her nostalgia for Seoul is flattened (chapter 65) into a symbol of urban superiority—money, prestige, modernity—without anchoring it to a real “home.” In short, she idealizes Seoul the way she romanticizes the countryside—selectively, superficially. At the same time, she is giving the impression that she is erasing her stay in Seoul, as if her past there, too, is unmoored. Because of this observation, I realized why the nurse never questioned the senior’s statement. (chapter 56), though she expressed some doubt. By asking for more details, she imagined that she could touch a sensitive topic, like for example loss of her home etc. Shin Okja‘s inability—or refusal—to locate herself within a concrete building and specific numbered system of belonging hints at a deeper truth: Shin Okja may perform the role of native and guardian (chapter 57), but the land does not affirm her story. In Jinx, numbers are roots, and she is rootless. The more she talks about places, the less we see of her in them. She becomes a woman suspended between two worlds, belonging to neither.

Finally, the narrative suggests with the Emperor’s example, rootedness is not determined by a map or a deed, but by how much responsibility and memory one carries. And so far, the halmoni is not contributing much to the little town. She remains in the confines of the hospice. Hence no one among the inhabitants noticed her so-called return to her hometown.

A Numbered Home in Seoul: Whose Name, Whose Burden?

But since the new system is used in Seoul, I wondered about her address and house number. So what was the house number of Shin Okja`s home in the capital? (chapter 17) As Jinx-lovers can detect, next to the entrance of her apartment, there is no blue house number plate or street name. How is that possible in a metropolis where every residence should be digitally registered? And now, pay attention to the house where the “goddess” and her “puppy” lived. (chapter 1) The building had not only two doors, but also the plaque is placed next to the other door. It is also partially visible in this image: (chapter 1)

This raises a series of subtle but important questions. When we see Kim Dan standing in front of the darker, metal-framed door in episode 11 (chapter 11), we naturally assume he is returning home—entering the same shared space he and his grandmother inhabit. But is that actually the case? A closer look reveals he is using the other entrance. On his right side, we see the electricity meter, the mailbox, and the window—the signs of an inhabited and administratively recognized unit. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. Once again, I am showing the view of the same building from a different perspective, (chapter 57) where the mail box and the electricity meter are. But I have another evidence for this observation. During that night, the hamster got assaulted by Heo Manwook and his minions. (chapter 11) And keep in mind that after getting beaten by the Emperor, anyone could recognize the grandmother’s place from outside due to the broken window. (chapter 19) The moment I made this discovery, I couldn’t help myself wondering why doc Dan would go to the other door and not to the halmoni’s room.

And this thought led me to the following deduction. He had been triggered to go to that place because of the phone call from the redevelopment association. (chapter 11) The voice on the phone reveals something legally crucial (chapter 11): Kim Dan is the last remaining resident in that building. That one line reframes everything. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. 😮 In fact, the building features (chapter 57) only one house number plaque, one mailbox, and one electricity meter. These markers aren’t decorative—they are infrastructural indicators tied to administrative systems. In a city like Seoul, this configuration implies a single legally registered unit. So despite there being two entrances, only one household is formally recognized by the system. And since the resident registration system restricts each individual to a single verifiable address, this means only Kim Dan is recorded as the building’s legitimate occupant. The other door—the one associated with Shin Okja—exists outside the scope of legal recognition. She may live there physically (her belongings are still there), but bureaucratically, she doesn’t exist in that space.

Under the Korean Resident Registration System, every citizen must register their place of residence with the local government. Since 1994, this data has been digitized, allowing all state institutions to access and verify a person’s registered address electronically. This information is not symbolic—it is legally binding. Your registered address determines where you pay taxes, vote, access services, and claim benefits. Moreover, because so many government processes now rely on digital access to this central database, only one person can be officially tied to any residential unit at a time. Crucially, it is also a prerequisite for accessing financial credit. One cannot take out a bank loan or act as a legal guardian without a valid, registered place of residence.

This means that in the past, Shin Okja must have been officially registered at the address. (chapter 5) When the loan shark came to collect the interest of the debts during Kim Dan’s childhood, he went straight to her door (chapter 5) —the door that, at the time, likely bore the blue house number plaque.

However, attentive readers will notice a striking detail: the door seen during this childhood memory opens outward toward the viewer and is positioned closed to the left corner, (chapter 5) the door associated with Kim Dan in later episodes—particularly the one through which the champion entered during the confrontation with the thugs —opens inward and is placed in the corner of the right wall. The interior layouts and door directions don’t match, though the furniture is similar. This strongly suggests that these are two different units within the same building, exactly like I had observed before. The “goddess” and the hamster’s house had two doors and as such two units. (chapter 1)

These architectural clues support a subtle but significant shift: Shin Okja once resided in the main unit, the one connected to the official registration and legal address, in other words her initial flat was there. (chapter 11) At that time, Kim Dan, as a child, must have lived in the other unit, the one without number. She was probably taking care of him. However, at some point, she must have switched the place and moved to the other unit. This would explain why doc Dan (chapter 19) had a recollection of this moment, when he was about to leave this humble dwelling. (chapter 19) His move to the penthouse triggered another “move” from the past. Consequently, I am deducing that this souvenir represents the moment of the grandmother’s arrival and the departure of the hamster’s parent(s) from the other unit. But there’s more to it.

Since people are obliged to get a residency number with 17, I am assuming that the halmoni ceded legal registration to him, once he reached his 17th year. Kim Dan took over the smaller, neighboring room officially, and with it, the burden of formal residency. When she relinquished her official role, the system would have required a transfer of household headship and residency—most likely to Kim Dan. In my opinion, she became listed as household members (세대원, saedaewon). They are fully registered, just not as the head. It is important, because in front of the champion, she acts, as if she is still the head of the household (chapter 65) and Kim Dan the immature child, whereas according to my observations, she is legally dependent on the “hamster”. She is just a household member. As you can see, I detected a contradiction between her words and “hidden actions”, all this triggered because of the closed door. By transferring the address and registration to the physical therapist, she made it possible for him to inherit not just the space, but also the liability. That’s why he’s now the only registered person.

Thus, by the time we see Kim Dan revisiting the building (chapter 11), the name tied to the legal system, to the loan, and to the state’s digital records, is his—not hers. This administrative shift allowed Shin Okja to become legally invisible while Dan remained trapped in a place that was once hers, yet bore no official acknowledgment of her presence.

In short, the building’s physical structure masks a deeper displacement. (chapter 1) What appears to be a modest shared home conceals a painful history of passed-down burdens and reallocated responsibilities. The grandmother’s true door is off to the side, connected physically but separated in symbolic meaning. It has no number, no mailbox, no markers of legal presence. This hidden door is a perfect trompe-l’oeil: it masquerades as the heart of the home, but it’s actually a legally invisible annex. The framing invites the viewer to overlook it, just as the narrative invites us to overlook the grandmother’s evasions. And ironically, the one who stayed—the “last resident”—is also the one who was slowly pushed into the background, into the unnumbered space, into silence. And now, you comprehend why the grandmother asked from him this: (chapter 11) When he says “home,” he is referring not just to a physical place, but also to a legal and emotional placeholder—a registration number that ties him to bureaucratic existence, familial duty, and emotional manipulation. With her promise to return in that home, Shin Okja is essentially demanding he remains the legal anchor—the one who stays behind, the one who remains registered, the one who continues to carry the official burdens, even as she herself fades into invisibility. That’s how she became a “carefree” ghost in the end. It wasn’t just a promise of care, but a submission to being tethered—not to belonging, but to obligation masked as love. The irony is that by remaining legally “present,” Dan was emotionally erased.

To conclude, Kim Dan was not just the last physical inhabitant—he is the last legal one. His mailbox, his electricity meter, his official records—all point to the metal-framed door. (chapter 11) That’s where his address was, until he moved to the penthouse. But that’s where the loan is linked. That’s where the city saw him. And because the resident registration is necessary for work and taxes, Kim Dan had to change his resident number, when he moved to the penthouse or to the seaside town. That’s how I came to the following conclusion: Shin Okja must have known about his stay with the champion in the end.The Korean Resident Registration System is the evidence. This shows how important this scene was in season 1. (chapter 11) (chapter 65) In this panel, her words in English were ambiguous, while in the Korean version, the grandmother exposes that she was well aware that her grandson and the emperor would live together.

Still, he gave Dan a place to live, and even a salary…”
“I’m truly sorry and thankful—what can I say.”

This means that the halmoni must be well aware where her grandson is staying in her “hometown” in the end!!

Don’t forget that in South Korea, when a person enters a hospice or hospital, they must provide a valid registered address for several reasons: Health insurance eligibility (National Health Insurance Service); Billing purposes; Coordination of long-term care or welfare benefits; Resident registration confirmation (especially in hospice care, where end-of-life planning intersects with legal identity). She is legally totally dependent on him, and not just financially. So when she suggests to doc Dan to return to Seoul, she is actually denying the existence of a relationship between the physical therapist (chapter 57) and the landlord from 33-3. In fact, she was indirectly expressing a lack of gratitude toward the elderly man.

This realization, the existence of two units within the same building, subtly destabilizes the commonly accepted idea that Shin Okja is his grandmother. I have to admit that while reading episode 57, doubts (chapter 57) about their parentage came to my mind, especially when she claimed that doc Dan had different roots as hers. However, so far, I could never find an evidence for such a theory and imagined that my mind was simply too creative. Yet, with this new insight her role begins to look less like that of a familial guardian, and more like that of a caretaker, a nanny, or even an intruder—someone who moved in but was never truly rooted in Dan’s legal or emotional household. This theory would explain why the grandmother is not talking about doc Dan’s parents, why she remained passive, when he got stigmatized as orphan. She had every reason to suggest that she was enough for him, he just needed her. (chapter 57) That way, he became attached to her. It’s a startling reversal: the woman who claims maternal authority is (chapter 65), in the eyes of the system, merely lodging in his shadow. She is indeed a ghost. (chapter 22) This architectural division is deeply symbolic. Despite being the dependent, Dan is the one bearing responsibility—both financially and administratively. Shin Okja, on the other hand, manages to live without accountability.

And perhaps it’s no coincidence that the Seoul house (chapter 1) resembles the configuration in the small town. (chapter 57) In both cases, the boy lives next to someone who is older, legally distinct, and spatially close yet administratively separate. However, in the capital, the room with the second door is much smaller, as if doc Dan was the “servant”, though he was the main resident and the household head. In the countryside, this creates a healing bond with a benevolent elder. In the city, it sharpens a sense of entrapment. The echo between the two homes becomes a subtle commentary on the difference between chosen family and imposed family, between true guardianship and the performance of care.

And what did Shin Okja say to the Emperor? (chapter 65) Joo Jaekyung is almost her grandson!! It was, as if she was about to adopt him. Let’s not forget that he embodies all her ideals and dreams: strong, healthy, rich, famous, generous, polite and gentle! And according to my observations, she knows that the athlete owns a flat in Seoul, big enough to take a room mate.

The invisible chain between the door and the sharks

The silent yet stark detail about the two units (chapter 1) also reshapes our perception of Shin Okja. This singular registration setup does more than highlight Dan’s bureaucratic burden—it reframes the nature of the doctor’s relationship with Shin Okja. (chapter 11) But why did she ask him to become the household of this unit in the past? For me, the answer is quite simple. She had already planned that the young boy would take over her debts. One might argue that the debts might have been related to the hamster’s family. Yet I can refute this point. How so?

First, according to my previous observation, Shin Okja was living in the other unit, and the thugs went straight to her flat, the one with the sign on the wall. (chapter 5) They were looking for her and not “doc Dan” or his family. Unfortunately, the little boy was present. Because they were seen together, people assumed that they were together, a family. But like mentioned before, there was a move within the same building. Moreover, as a child, Dan was exposed to violence from the loan sharks. He couldn’t have signed any documents at the time, for a resident registration number is required and the other place is not registered; the grandmother was the official borrower. But later, Heo Manwook declared that Kim Dan is the named debtor. (chapter 16) He even showed the amount Kim Dan owned with his cellphone to the Emperor (chapter 17) That’s how the champion internalized that the hamster was the one with debts. This theory explicates why doc Dan is not blaming his grandmother for the debts in the end, as he signed himself loans. And now, you can imagine what happened in the past. Once he became 17 years old, she asked him to get a resident registration number. With this, he could apply for a loan in order to reimburse the grandmother’s debts. This must be one of her favors from the past: (chapter 53) So far, in season 1, she had made only one (chapter 41) before her request to visit the West Coast. The most plausible explanation is that Shin Okja persuaded him to take over the loan. She likely presented it as a necessary sacrifice, something he could manage given his income as a physical therapist. This explains why the elderly woman is no longer asking about the debts or loan. It is no longer her main concern, she is not the household head either. And don’t forget what the physical therapist thought, when he heard from Kim Miseon the bad prognostic about his grandma. (chapter 5) His words imply that he had done something in the past for her. And that would be to become her guardian and take her debts. This hypothesis explicates why only in episode 11, Doc Dan was comparing the progression of the interests with a snowball system, something unstoppable. (chapter 11) His thoughts reflect a rather late realization that he is trapped in a system and he can not get out of it. In other words, this image oozes a certain innocence. This also explained why Joo Jaekyung had to confront him with reality in front of the hospital. (chapter 18) The location is not random: for the halmoni, such a work place symbolizes respectability, power and money. The problem is that in the hospice, Doc Dan is not well-paid. (chapter 56)

And so, when he returns to that door after the triggering phone call (chapter 11), it isn’t just a physical movement—it’s a re-entry into responsibility and also past. The metal door doesn’t lead into a shared home, but into a legal burden. It is the entrance not to comfort or care, but to debt, disrepair, and abandonment. No wonder why during that night, the hamster had to face Heo Manwook and his minions. (chapter 11) And now, it is time to return our attention to my illustration for the essay: As my avid readers can observe, the panel with the champion facing the blue door comes from episode 69, while the one with doc Dan comes from chapter 11. These scenes are mirroring each other. It is about concern and danger! While in episode 69, the athlete got worried, as he imagined that doc Dan’s life was in danger, in episode 11, the hamster was about to face an old threat: Heo Manwook and his minions! (chapter 11) But back then, he was on his own and no one paid attention to his health. Not even Shin Okja… He was truly abandoned, while the episode 69 exposes the opposite. Society in this little town takes care of people in general.

Striking is that Heo Manwook does not even know about Dan’s profession. When he sees the influx of money (chapter 11), he jumped to the conclusion that Dan was either prostituting himself or laundering funds. Why? It is because he had taken odd jobs, until he got hired by the dragon, Joo Jaekyung, and had such a huge income. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Heo Manwook knew how to use the old lady in order to threaten doc Dan. (chapter 16) Like I wrote in a different analysis, I doubt that the grandma would have signed a loan by Heo Manwook. This reveals how Dan entered the contract in obscurity, without recognition or protection. He did it for Shin Okja’s sake to repay her for her support and “love”. (chapter 65) No wonder why Shin Okja never mentions the loans when speaking to Joo Jaekyung, thus erasing her responsibility. And imagine this: Doc Dan is now living with an elderly man who is a farmer. She might suspect that the senior is trying to take advantage from her “grandsons”. If this is true, then she would just be projecting her own thoughts and fears onto the landlord. Since she connects the city to success and money, I am quite certain that she doesn’t judge farmers in a positive light. For her, doctors or celebrities are much more recommendable persons.

In the following article, the paper’s data underline a social reality: farming in Korea is struggling, and its practitioners—despite their essential role—are economically marginalized. In 2022, average agricultural income per household dropped to just KRW 9.49 million (~US $7,300)—under the 10-million-won mark for the first time in 30 years. Farming households earn only about 20–27% of what they once made, a steep decline from over 50% in the 1990s. Structural issues—aging farmers, small-scale plots, high material costs, and price volatility—have trapped many in long-term economic strain. Far from being a supplement, farming is often no longer a primary income source, pushing many rural households into poverty, with younger generations fleeing to cities. This evolution is reflected in the Korean manhwa. The room of Doc Dan contains traces of a teenager who left the house. (chapter 57) Therefore I am expecting an argument between the halmoni and the inhabitants of 33-3. The landlord embodies the opposite values of Shin Okja.

The Cabinet’s Silence: Misattributed Memory

This layered confusion about the flats extends to the objects within the home, especially the massive mother-of-pearl bridal wardrobe. (chapter 16) Dan repeatedly calls it his grandmother’s and even dreamed of finding a new place that could house it—a gesture that underscores how much he believed she treasured the object, even though she herself never mentions it. But she never once references it, not even when returning from the hospital. The absence of interest is striking. What if the cabinet didn’t belong to her at all? Its size suggests that it predates the division of the house. Besides, according to my observation, she used to live in the other unit and I can not imagine, the halmeoni moving this furniture from one unit to the other. Perhaps it once belonged to Dan’s mother—a remnant of the original household, now misattributed to the woman who unofficially took over.

Dan’s reverence for the cabinet mirrors his longing for stable familial identity. He projects value (chapter 19) onto the object just as he projects loyalty and gratitude onto his guardian. But the silence around the cabinet speaks volumes: it is not treasured by Shin Okja, only by Dan. Much like his name on the loan, or the house number on the door, it could be a misplaced inheritance. At the same time, such an item could serve to identify doc Dan’s true origins, if the Wedding Cabinet belonged to his true family.

The Wolf’s residence: 7-12

In contrast, Jaekyung’s initial intention was to stay in the seaside town only temporarily. (chapter 61) He claimed the move was for recovery and recuperation—a short break from his life in Seoul. Yet Korean law requires anyone staying in a location longer than a month to officially change their resident registration. If he were to do so, this would not just signal a change of address but a severing of administrative ties with Seoul—and by extension, Park Namwook and MFC. (chapter 66) Changing his registration would mean stepping outside of the institution’s control and surveillance.

However, I doubt that the star has ever officially registered his stay. Like Kim Dan before him, he exists in a limited legal space—present but not formally tied. This ambiguity mirrors his emotional state. His real return to Seoul was always conditional—it depended on Dan’s willingness to follow him. (chapter 62) Without Dan, Seoul held no meaning. But if he remains in the town past the statutory threshold, it would imply that he is ready to leave behind the world of contracts and competitions. It would mean he is now rooted—not by career, but by choice. Not by obligation, but by emotional truth.

In this way, the law becomes a mirror: resident registration, typically viewed as bureaucratic red tape, becomes a metaphor for chosen identity. The champion’s choice to return straight to the seaside town displays his psychological transition. He is no longer the man who moved through cities on training schedules. He is beginning to act like someone who stays—and stays for someone. And that someone is Kim Dan.

Conclusion: Opening the Right Door

The titular “hidden door to the past” is not just a visual motif—it is the emotional architecture of Jinx. By attending to overlooked details—address numbers, cabinet placement, financial responsibility, and architectural sleight-of-hand—we can trace the emotional fault lines that run beneath Dan’s quiet suffering and the champion’s slow awakening. The question is no longer just where they live, but who gets to call it home. The essay began with an image collage, but what it truly offers is a blueprint: not of real estate, but of memory, grief, and quiet resilience.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwa, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx/Doctor Frost: Flight 🚪 from Truth 👁️✨🧠, Fight🥊 for Fragile Peace ☮️

In the psychology article “How does confirmation bias push us to make bad decisions in life?”, author Jennifer Delgado analyzes how our minds instinctively defend core beliefs when confronted with contradictory evidence. This defense, she explains, stems from the discomfort of cognitive dissonance—a tension we feel when facts challenge our identity or worldview. To avoid this discomfort, people tend to seek psychological safety over factual accuracy. When destabilizing information arises—especially involving self-concept, loyalty, or trauma—they fall back on defense mechanisms: denial, deflection, aggression, or withdrawal.

This behavior is not purely mental; confronting such dissonant facts activates brain regions linked to physical pain. As a result, the individual unconsciously opts for survival behaviors—either fight (blame, control, projection) or flight (avoidance, submission, denial)—instead of reasoned analysis.

This concept is deeply relevant to the world of Jinx, where characters often mistake emotional avoidance for peace (chapter 47) and denial for strength (chapter 55). Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan (chapter 61), Park Namwook (chapter 69), and Shin Okja (chapter 53) all operate within survival mechanisms shaped by trauma, guilt, and fear. They choose the illusion of control or calm over genuine healing. But as the story unfolds, these strategies begin to unravel. Each character must confront the truth behind their emotional habits, learning that happiness isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the result of confronting it with clarity and purpose.

Joo Jaekyung: When Strength Masks Submission

In his recurring nightmare (chapter 54), Joo Jaekyung is cornered by a faceless, overpowering ghost. He is unable to fight or flee; only obedience and silence remain. (chapter 54) He could only express his pain and resent through the hand. This moment encapsulates the core of his trauma: as a child, he learned to survive through silence and compliance, not resistance. Yet deep down, the resentment festered—toward himself, and toward the abuser. That psychological pain was redirected into becoming a fighter, as if to prove the abuser wrong. (chapter 26) (chapter 14) But ironically, he became exactly what the abuser desired: a powerful, obedient puppet. His fame, discipline, and aggression were not signs of freedom, but evidences of emotional and mental captivity. That’s why the past from the champion is surrounded by darkness and mystery.

This also explains why Jaekyung never learned how to speak to others or negotiate emotionally. (chapter 36) His language was dominance, not dialogue. He didn’t process his emotions through words—he suppressed them, until they erupted in violence or withdrawal. (chapter 34)

But his dynamic with Kim Dan began to disrupt this cycle. Doc Dan, being physically weaker and more emotional, didn’t respond to force like the others. He didn’t fight back with fists. He showed his vulnerability and as such his tears. (chapter 1) And crucially, he didn’t leave right away either despite his embarrassment and fears. (chapter 1) Thus for the first time, Jaekyung had to develop a new strategy in order to meet him again: one that doesn’t rely on intimidation, but on communication. The problem is that since he saw the physical therapist running away after their first session (chapter 1), he knew that he needed to lure him with something: money (chapter 1). Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete played a trick on the phone, though we have to envision that here the celebrity’s thoughts were strongly influenced by his bias and prejudices. He imagined that Doc Dan had made a move on him.

Dan has been teaching him, without lecturing, that flight can be strength. (chapter 5) That retreat doesn’t mean failure—it can be an act of self-preservation. However, the champion experienced that he needed to speak with doc Dan in order to keep him by his side. This lesson became a turning point. Jaekyung started to speak more. (chapter 18) Therefore it is no coincidence that in episode 18, right after the celebrity spoke, Kim Dan’s reply was strongly intertwined with flight: (chapter 18) The denial of kindness from the champion made the doctor uncomfortable, the latter felt the need to leave the penthouse as soon as possible. The lesson for the star was to realize that words are powerful and can affect people. But Joo Jaekyung didn’t grasp it, as he chose to use sex to „submit“ his fated partner. (Chapter 18) Nevertheless, as time passes on, the wolf asks more and more questions. He reacts to emotional discomfort not only with physicality but with hesitation, introspection. He is no longer reacting as the ghost once taught him; he is arguing and as such adapting, growing. Thus we could say, he is less passive.

On the other hand, I noticed that Joo Jaekyung displayed a clear behavioral pattern in season 1: he cornered Dan physically—pinning him onto the bed (chapter 3) or table, in showers (chapter 7), against doors, or walls (chapter 34). On the surface, it may seem like a gesture of dominance or desire, but symbolically, it reflects silencing.

This repetition links back to Jaekyung’s trauma. In his youth, he was trapped between the abuser and a bed or a wall (chapter 54), unable to escape or speak. He was physically and emotionally silenced by someone more powerful. As a result, cornering became his unconscious language of control—a reenactment of power where he was once powerless. It’s not just about physical space; it’s about suppressing the other’s voice so he doesn’t have to face emotional exposure himself. In other words, he never learned how to flee, until he met his new mentor Doc Dan.

That’s why the locker room scene in episode 51 stands out. There, they are no longer pressed into corners. (chapter 51) They stand in the middle of the room—an open space—symbolizing emotional emancipation. When Dan questions the celebrity (chapter 51), the words from doc Dan pierce the champion’s emotional defenses. Thus Joo Jaekyung is destabilized. (chapter 51). The latter tries to reassert control (chapter 51), but this time, when he lashes out, he is the one who leaves. This is cognitive dissonance at work: the fighter cannot reconcile his fear of vulnerability with his emerging need for connection and his perfectionism. So he defaults to a performance of control, even as he runs from it. And while one might mistake this for weakness or regression, it actually displays a progression. First, Jaekyung had finally revealed his thoughts and fears to Dan. (chapter 51) Secondly, he left the place which was a new MO for the fighter. His act of fleeing is no longer an escape from confrontation —it follows a moment of emotional vulnerability. It shows that he had finally dared to speak, even if he wasn’t yet ready to stay and endure the emotional aftermath.

Then in episode 69, Jinx-philes can detect a huge metamorphosis in the star. On the surface, he still appears obedient—he remains largely silent during the tense meeting with Park Namwook and the CEO. (chapter 69) That silence could easily be mistaken for submission, for the same old performance of the compliant athlete. (chapter 69) But that would be a misreading. His silence is no longer a symptom of fear or control. It is a deliberate withholding—a sign that he no longer plays by their emotional rules. He is starting distancing himself from MFC, Park Namwook and the fight-centered identity they crafted for him.

His choice to return to the West Coast might look like a retreat to the schemers. (chapter 69) After all, to those still invested in dominance hierarchies, leaving the capital after a public defeat seems like the behavior of someone who’s been defeated mentally as well. But the truth is the opposite. This “retreat” is actually an act of autonomy. For the first time, Jaekyung is giving himself space—not to run, but to reflect. (chapter 69) He is no longer blindly performing the role of the fighter, nor desperately trying to maintain control over the narrative. (chapter 69) He is beginning to think critically about his past behavior, his future, and the systems that have defined his identity and life.

That’s what makes the embrace at the dock so powerful. It doesn’t take place in a ring, in a hallway, or in a cornered room. It happens in an open space, (chapter 69) with “no audience” (he ignores people), no pressure, no script. And in that openness, he lets go—not just physically, but psychologically. (chapter 69) The hug marks the collapse of his old beliefs: that emotions are weaknesses, that silence is protection, that strength means standing alone. He is no longer trying to dominate Dan or prove anything. He’s not cornering or fleeing. He’s simply staying—with someone, and with himself.

It’s a moment that doesn’t fit the binary of fight or flight. It is something more radical: connection.
It is vulnerability without fear. Stillness without paralysis. Silence without suppression.
In this context, the hug is not just affection—it is emotional rebellion. The sportsman reclaims his body not as a weapon, but as a vessel for intimacy. He reclaims silence not as submission, but as peace. And perhaps for the first time in his life, he doesn’t need to perform. He just is.

That’s why this hug is a fight. Not against Dan. Not against MFC. But against everything that taught him that love and respect must be earned through violence, that silence must come from fear, and that warmth and dependency are weaknesses.

This is the moment he stops surviving and starts living. When Jaekyung embraces Dan without shame, he does not speak—but for the first time, his silence is not imposed. It is chosen. He allows his body to express his emotions differently: longing and affection. He is not voiceless anymore—he simply no longer needs to explain or defend. The hug becomes his first true act of emotional agency. He is not reacting to fear. He is not controlling or escaping. He is staying. That is the fight.

And in this moment, he reclaims what “fight” really means. Not overpowering others. Not performing masculinity. Not obeying trauma. But overcoming his trauma, standing one’s ground for connection, for truth, for love. The hug is his first fight that isn’t about winning—it’s about not running away.

What begins as survival now becomes healing. And how are prejudices dismantled? Through communication. This means that from episode 70 on, the star will talk to doc Dan. Jaekyung, who once avoided words, who let others speak for him, who was branded and silenced by MFC, the entertainment agency and Park Namwook—is now ready to speak for himself. The hug is not the end of that journey (chapter 69), but the door finally opening. He is on his way to reconnect with his true self surrounded by nature and the people who truly respect and love him.

Park Namwook: Delegating Blame to Escape Collapse

Park Namwook relies heavily on both fight (chapter 7) and flight (chapter 52), often using blame as a shield. When crisis strikes, he blames the champion’s temper, relies on Doc Dan (chapter 36), or MFC’s decisions. (chapter 69) He surrounds himself with “assistants” like coach Yosep, Kim Dan or Joo Jaekyung (chapter 25: here the protagonist was replacing Yosep and Park Namwook), hires professionals to manage damage (chapter 47), and hides behind administrative actions. (chapter 66) But he never takes full responsibility. This blame-displacement strategy works—until the champion flees to the West Coast.

Now, Park has no one left to blame but himself. In fact, it was Joo Jaekyung’s very act of fleeing (chapter 66) that cornered the manager. (chapter 66) As long as the champion was nearby, Park Namwook could project blame onto him, framing him as unstable, disobedient, or temperamental. But once „his boy“ vanished from Seoul, the hyung was left exposed. Striking is that he is not seen watching over the training of the remaining members. (chapter 60) (chapter 60), a sign that he is neglecting the other members. The absence of his star fighter removed his most convenient scapegoat, forcing him to face the consequences of his own mismanagement—though he is not yet ready to truly question it and change his mindset, denial, and dependency. This was not just a geographical disappearance—it was a strategic psychological rupture, meant to destabilize Park’s illusion of authority.

And this is where the illusion breaks. He is forced to realize: he is not the real owner of the gym. He needs Joo Jaekyung’s signature for major decisions. He needs the champion’s public image to draw sponsors. When the fighter disappears, the manager’s relevance disappears too. That’s why he pushes for a new match (chapter 69) —not for the protagonist’s career and sake, but as a desperate attempt to re-anchor himself to glory, Joo Jaekyung and MFC. This means that he is choosing avoidance and as such flight. He lets his puppet fight for him.

But this can only backfire. In his mind, he is imagining that with a new fight, everything will return to normality and as such it will be like in the past. But he is overlooking two aspects: (chapter 69) The announcement that MFC will “line up a match” for Joo Jaekyung after the fall competition marks a pivotal moment — not of triumph, but of quiet exclusion. The phrasing itself is telling. The main lead is not invited to compete in the main event. He is not allowed to fight for the title. His role has been reduced to a postscript — a gesture, not a priority. For a fighter who once carried the brand’s identity, this is not simply a delay. It is a symbolic sidelining. In other words, the new champions and the CEO fear the star. (chapter 69) So with this new request, the manager ignores the reality that Jaekyung has been removed from the competitive spotlight. (chapter 69) He continues to speak as though the champion’s future is intact, as if the title is still within reach. But the organization’s actions speak louder: Jaekyung is no longer a contender — he is being gradually abandoned, not promoted. Secondly, Park Namwook assumes that Jaekyung will win the next fight, as if victory is still within his grasp. But this trust is misplaced — not only because the fighter is recovering from surgery, but because the schemers may have already designed this match as a final blow. Another fight right after a surgery, a staged defeat, or a quiet elimination would neatly push Jaekyung out without public controversy. By assigning him a marginal, delayed match, they are not offering redemption — they are orchestrating his exit.

MFC manipulates the manager’s selfishness and uses him as a tool to cover up the previous scandals. They feed him the illusion that he’s still in control, but the fall match is just a distraction—a public reset. I would even add that the manager seems to know that the ranking is not reflecting reality and even that the ranking is manipulated. . (chapter 69) The causal link here is suspect. Rankings in professional fighting aren’t determined solely by inactivity, especially when medical suspension is publicly known. So the manager tries to blame ranking drop on inactivity, but the inactivity isn’t prolonged enough to justify such a steep fall — from 1st to 3rd within 1 month and half. Besides, observe the drop of sweat on his face, a sign of discomfort and as such deception. Moreover, he is hesitating, visible with the points of suspension. indicating his awkwardness and lack of honesty. In addition, he is speaking exactly like MFC (he lost the last match, while it was just a tie) and finally he shouldn’t be employing the expression “it’s been a while”, as barely two months passed since his match with Baek Junmin. In other words, the man is delivering the message from MFC. He becomes a complicit agent, cloaking corporate strategy in soft euphemisms. This signifies, he is no longer acting as the owner of Team Black, though on the surface, it still looks like the man has the title of gym owner. The deeper irony lies in the fact that the true owner of Team Black is Joo Jaekyung. It is his money and name that built the gym’s reputation. It is his popularity, victories, and public image that attracted members, sponsors, and influence. Legally, financially, and symbolically, Jaekyung is the one holding the structure together.

That’s how it dawned on me that the schemers could be deceived too. I think, the CEO from MFC and Choi Gilseok still perceive Joo Jaekyung as “just a fighter” because of Park Namwook’s attitude: an asset, a brand face, a body to manage. (chapter 17) They don’t see him as someone with legal or institutional power. But that’s their fatal blind spot. Since Jaekyung co-owns or outright owns Team Black, this makes him: A partner (or even rival) in MFC’s talent pipeline; an employer and a stakeholder in fighter safety. He has the same position than Choi Gilseok. Therefore as the owner of Team Black, he can sue the gym King of MMA and Choi Gilseok. He can take action against the CEO for negligence, corruption or abuse of authority. (chapter 47) Finally, he can testify not only as a fighter, but as a representative of the institution they tried to exploit. That elevates his voice: from a disposable athlete to a legal opponent with organizational standing.

Worse, if anything goes wrong, Park Namwook is now positioned as the scapegoat and spy. He didn’t reveal certain things to his boss, like for example how his members could never win. This character shows how fight (blame, control) and flight (denial, delegation. omission) are merely two faces of the same cowardice. His false peace rests on borrowed time and power—and it’s collapsing.

Kim Dan: From Submission to Resistance—and Back Again

Kim Dan’s survival mechanism was silence as well. As a child, he learned that speaking up would change nothing. (chapter 57) Secondly, the vanishing of his parents were also swept under the carpet. That’s how he internalized powerlessness. Fleeing (chapter 1), deflecting, and disappearing became natural. With the grandmother, with doctors (chapter 1), with institutions—he obeyed. He accepted his fate as a fatality. But with Jaekyung, a new pattern emerged. Slowly, he began to resist: he set boundaries, raised his voice, argued with his boss, even used physical gestures to assert himself. (chapter 7) For a moment, he was fighting.

But without mutual trust (chapter 51), this resistance could not hold. His boss and client never fully opened up, and so Dan, sensing instability, retreated again. (chapter 53) The brief flicker of agency collapsed. And this reflects a deeper psychological truth: resistance is not sustainable unless it is met with recognition. Otherwise, it begins to feel dangerous. Dan learned how to fight—but he never learned that he was allowed to win. Because deep down, Dan has internalized a belief shaped by trauma and lifelong submission:

Doc Dan has begun to resist, to speak, and even to walk away—but deep down, he still struggles to believe that success, safety, or love are things he’s truly entitled to. He acts, but with hesitation. He asserts himself, but doubts linger. He’s not powerless anymore—but the belief that he must always yield hasn’t fully let go of him either. That’s why he keeps mentioning the debts. (chapter 67) Moreover, in contrast to Season 1, Kim Dan is no longer the invisible caregiver or obedient grandson. Thanks to Joo Jaekyung’s presence—disruptive and painful as it was—he began to form an independent identity (chapter 57), one no longer shaped entirely by duty or guilt. The grandmother, however, is blind to this change. She continues to speak to him as if he’s the same self-sacrificing boy (chapter 65) who followed orders quietly and centered his life around pleasing others. Her suggestion that he “returns to Seoul” assumes he still views that as his place. But Dan refuses.

This refusal is significant. It is not only a rejection of her directive (chapter 57) —it is a rejection of the belief that he exists only to serve. In Season 2, Dan says “no” repeatedly:

  • He refuses Jaekyung’s offer of support. (chapter 60) (chapter 67)
  • He ignores the sleep specialist’s recommendations and denies the seriousness of his condition.
  • He rejects Potato’s suggestion to return to the gym. (chapter 58)
  • He only listens to the nurse, when the latter uses her authority on him. (chapter 57)

Although he is clearly struggling emotionally, there is something new about his detachment: it is not just trauma withdrawal—it is the first fragile assertion of selfhood. For the first time, he is choosing himself, even if that choice leads him into making bad decisions and a quiet depression. He is not clinging to roles that once gave him safety—he is testing the silence between identities.

And this is precisely what the grandmother fails to understand: Dan is no longer a reflection of her expectations. He is trying to become someone who belongs to himself. And her ignorance can be perceived, when she brings up the past. (chapter 65) She uses his past flaws to outline his immaturity and need of guidance. However, she is not taking into consideration the transformation in the doctor due to the recent incidents (switched spray). He is no longer the same than he was 6 months ago or 2 years old. He changed thanks to the athlete and because of unfortunate events (sexual harassment from the hospital director, switched spray). But the halmoni has no idea about such incidents.

And so he, too, begins to confuse avoidance (chapter 61) with peace. He gives in to silence in front of Shin Okja again, not because he believes it is right, but because he believes it is safer. So far, he has not confronted his grandmother’s decisions yet.

The Grandmother: Avoidance Disguised as Selflessness

The grandmother represents the clearest embodiment of the flight response. (chapter 53) Unlike Park Namwook who uses blame and delegation in professional settings, she applies emotional avoidance in private and familial spaces. Much like the manager, she outsources responsibility, asking others to step in (chapter 53) (chapter 65) rather than engaging directly. She avoids difficult conversations, never once asking doc Dan about the nature of his work or why he followed her to the West Coast. (chapter 65) Her silence is not protective—it is evasive.

As someone who is not a fighter by temperament or experience, she avoids confrontation and choices. Hence she asks for help from the champion behind her grandson’s back. This internalized passivity is mirrored in her body: she cannot fight back against cancer. (chapter 5) Her illness becomes a metaphor for her mindset. She relies on external systems: her grandson (chapter 53), doctors (chapter 7), medication, comfort (chapter 21), and other people (nurse, Joo Jaekyung) —to maintain her emotional balance. But as doc Dan himself once observed, she is ultimately on her own in her battle. No system can fight it for her.

This mindset surfaces again when the oncologist, Dr. Kim Miseon, reproaches doc Dan for not visiting his grandmother. The implication is blame. However, this accusation is not entirely grounded: doc Dan had arranged for a nurse to provide care and companionship. (chapter 7) His grandmother was not truly abandoned; she simply equated his physical absence with neglect, ignoring the emotional and financial burden he already carried. Like Park Namwook, she prefers others to carry the discomfort while maintaining a façade of suffering and sacrifice. (chapter 65)

Her passivity is cloaked in martyrdom—”I did everything for you”—yet it deprives doc Dan of emotional reciprocity. In her world, emotional closeness is conditional (chapter 47) , and her narrative of selflessness becomes another form of emotional pressure. She does not yell, she does not accuse directly, but her avoidance is equally powerful in shaping Dan’s self-image as a burden. Doc Dan came to internalize that she suffered because of him. (chapter 5) Hence he made sure to shield her from any pain.

Her return to her hometown and her stay at the hospice reflect a deeper psychological strategy: she is not preparing to die, but attempting to escape death—to feel young again (chapter 65), protected, comforted. Surrounded by nurses, medication, and routine, she finds temporary peace in an environment that simulates safety. The hospice does not cure her illness, but it cushions it. This illusion allows her to smile again, to relax—but only up to a point. Kim Dan’s gradual deterioration (chapter 57) —his visible exhaustion, disconnection, and quiet suffering—becomes a thorn in her eye, a reminder that her peace is not whole. As long as he suffers, she cannot entirely escape the shadow of her own regrets. Sending him away to Seoul represents a new of flight. Out of sight means out of mind. That way the grandmother wouldn‘t have to worry about doc Dan, as he has been entrusted to the athlete.

Survival Mode and Selective Laziness: The Blind Spots of Belief

As explained in Dr. Frost (chapter 163) and supported by the article on confirmation bias, human survival was deeply dependent on mental shortcuts. Biases were not flaws, but adaptive tools — heuristics that helped our ancestors make quick decisions under threat. Faced with a potential predator, they could not afford the luxury of curiosity or debate. Run first, think later. (chapter 163) In this sense, biases were effective precisely because they increased the chance of survival.

This explains why all four characters in Jinx behave irrationally at times — not because they are inherently flawed, but because they are trapped in survival mode. Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan, Park Namwook, and the grandmother all exhibit narrow thinking and emotional rigidity because their nervous systems are wired for defense, not reflection. They are biased — not out of malice, but because their minds are trying to protect them.

For example, Park Namwook began as a cheerful, strategic manager. (chapter 9) But once Joo Jaekyung became the target of criticism and scandals, his fear response activated. (chapter 52) He grew rigid, controlling, and increasingly biased. The infamous slap in the hospital was not a calculated choice — it was the culmination of fear, the eruption of unresolved stress and repressed blame. His mind no longer could no longer hide behind fake understanding; it sought a target.

The article on selective laziness explains how people apply critical thinking unevenly, questioning what threatens them while blindly trusting what confirms their worldview.

The result of this study is visible in Jinx. While, the manager thought that the next match was too soon in episode 41, (chapter 41) he recommends the opposite at the restaurant because the idea comes from the CEO! (chapter 69)

In addition to the earlier exploration of confirmation bias, Jennifer Delgado’s article 5 cognitive biases limit our potential” offers another compelling extension. She explains how biases don’t just distort perception—they actively constrain personal growth. She introduces 5 different cognitive biases and one of them is “Hindsight bias”.

Hindsight bias is the tendency to look back on a decision and reinterpret it as better, wiser, or more inevitable than it actually was. To reduce discomfort or self-doubt, we modify our memory of past motives, downplay any hesitation or contradiction, and reframe our choice as the best one all along. This can be observed in this image: (chapter 65) The grandmother quietly rewrites the past to preserve her emotional comfort. Her statement — “I told him I wanted to see the ocean, but I never imagined he’d end up settling down here” — seems reflective on the surface, but it is a clear case of hindsight bias. She reframes her earlier decision as simple and innocent (as if it was a trip), downplaying the emotional pressure she placed on Kim Dan to follow her. By minimizing her role in shaping his circumstances, she subtly shifts responsibility onto him, as if his decision to stay was entirely his own, disconnected from her influence. This distortion allows her to avoid guilt and maintain the illusion of benevolence. However, if she truly meant, she desired to go on a trip (chapter 53), she should have voiced before that the doctor had misunderstood her. However, she claims that this place is her hometown, and with her request to the champion, she implies that she desires to stay in that little town: (chapter 65) It was her decision to settle down at the hospice.

Even more revealing is her next comment: “I really don’t know what that boy plans to do with his life.” This confession exposes her emotional detachment. Despite being the one who uprooted his life, she has made no effort to understand his goals, his work, or his emotional needs. Her words reflect not only a lack of curiosity, but also a passive disavowal of responsibility. She speaks as if Dan were a stranger, even though she has shaped his life through silent expectation and unspoken control. The peaceful ocean backdrop masks this deeper avoidance. Her worldview remains rooted in survival logic and emotional self-preservation — not genuine connection or growth.

By reinforcing outdated beliefs, we avoid novelty, risk, and the emotional labor required for change.

When we have deep-seated beliefs, we stop questioning them and simply assume they are true. This limits our ability to grow, learn, and discover new perspectives. This insight sheds further light on the characters’ emotional stagnation in Jinx. Park Namwook clings to obsolete narratives about leadership and discipline, failing to acknowledge how the landscape—and Jaekyung—have changed. His insistence on orchestrating a comeback fight is not strategic foresight, but cognitive rigidity disguised as professionalism.

The grandmother is likewise restricted by inherited beliefs: that safety, solitude, and hard work (chapter 65) are the cornerstones of survival. She only has friends, when she needs them (see for example the champion). These assumptions once protected her, but now they prevent her from evolving—from supporting Dan emotionally, from engaging in reciprocal dialogue, and from allowing herself to face death consciously rather than evade it.

Even Joo Jaekyung’s belief that strength equals stoicism prevented him from confronting the truth of his own vulnerability. Only through Kim Dan’s influence did he begin to question this inner script—and once he did, the false foundations began to crumble. He has just started healing emotionally; he is starting questioning the corrupt systems surrounding him, including MFC’s exploitation. This means, the existence of his jinx is vanishing.

This second article reinforces a deeper truth: that healing requires not only confronting pain, but also dismantling the faulty reasoning that keeps us blind. As long as the characters were clinging to biases, they remained paralyzed—unable to process what had happened to them, or recognize the larger forces at play. Hence they could never be happy. But the moment they begin to question themselves and speak honestly with one another, they also begin to see clearly—not just inwardly, but outwardly.

This explains why doc Dan ignored Jaekyung’s advice about medication and health. (chapter 67) His survival bias told him: “Don’t trust a man who once treated you violently.” or “Doctors are ignorant, they don’t know me“. It was easier to discredit the source than to weigh the merit of the message. Likewise, in Season 1, the champion dismissed doc Dan’s medical opinions (chapter 41), trusting instead in MFC and his agency — despite the fact that those institutions are overtly motivated by money. His bias protected his ego, but at the cost of his health and relationships.

Park Namwook falls into the same trap: he considers Jaekyung a “spoiled child” (chapter 7) (chapter 40) who needs to fight to prove himself, yet likely doesn’t treat his own family this way. (chapter 45) His double standard is not conscious hypocrisy — it’s a form of selective laziness. He does not challenge his beliefs because doing so would unravel the identity he’s built as a competent, authoritative manager.

The grandmother also embodies survival-driven bias. She believes that working hard and seeking fame are acts of love and stand for happiness— but she never questions the emotional cost. (chapter 65) She doesn’t help her grandson build friendships (chapter 57) (chapter 65) or a support network. It is not her fault, if she never met doc Dan’s friends in the past while hiding the fact that he had been bullied by his peers. Her request for him to return to Seoul, a place he has no roots, only furthers his habit of isolation. Similarly, when she asked Jaekyung to bring him to Seoul and have him diagnosed, she implicitly discouraged any shared decision-making. Like Park Namwook, she bypassed dialogue in favor of directive control, reinforcing the habit of emotional withdrawal.

As the article states,

But her attitude blocks precisely that — there is no exchange of ideas, no real conversation. Only avoidance wrapped in concern and requests.

This is why neither Jaekyung nor Kim Dan were “thinking properly” earlier in the story. They were not free to. Their brains were in survival mode, stuck in flight or fight, not reflection. But once the champion saw Dan again — saw that he was still there, still himself — his anxiety softened. He began to press MFC for answers. (chapter 67) That shift marks a turning point from survival to conscious thought. The mind cannot reflect when it believes it is under attack. The tragedy is not that these characters are irrational — it’s that they were taught fear before they were taught trust. Thus I come to the following conclusion. As soon as both are curious about each other (chapter 69), they are now free from their bias and prejudices. (chapter 69) They will be able to communicate which will help them to discover the truth about MFC. Yes, their ability to ponder will lead them to unmask the villains and defeat their opponents. By fighting for justice, both will discover true peace of mind. This hardship at the end of season 1 was necessary to reset their heart and mind: what is the true meaning of life? Money? Work? Duty? Sacrifice?… The answer is happiness which is strongly intertwined with love and selflessness.

The topic for the next essay is:

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwa, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: While They Embrace 🫂: The Western Tempest 🌬️🍃🌊

The Announcement of the Storm

In episode 69, the weather report is not just an ambient detail: (chapter 69) it is a harbinger of disruption. A radio broadcast delivers the warning: skies turning cloudy, strong winds forecasted at 20 to 25 meters per second. This is no ordinary breeze. It signals the arrival of a whole gale—powerful enough to topple trees, strip rooftops, and fracture routines.

Its target is not random: the western front. On the other hand, the reporter used the expression “storm warning”, so the wind scale on the coast should be higher and as such bring more damages. Either it is a mistake from the author or a deliberate decision to imply that the tempest could be worse on the coast than predicted, this observation outlines that we should expect destruction in the grandmother’s hometown. To conclude, both geographically and symbolically, this setting becomes the stage for upheaval, emotional exposure, and irreversible transformation. Like an uninvited guest, the gale is not background—it is catalyst and character at once.

But even before Jinx-philes could hear this “terrible” news, Mingwa had already announced the arrival of the storm with this image, (chapter 69) as the champion’s sleek white car raced toward the tunnel, into a sky veiled by darkening clouds. This image foreshadowed the impending tempest not just in weather, but in fate. However, the celebrity didn’t pay too much attention to the warning, lost in thoughts, which is symbolized by the tunnel. The latter represents the protagonist’s ignorance, recklessness and “stubbornness” (he can not forget his loved one, he can not bear to leave his side). He races toward change, still shrouded in his old mindset, while nature prepares to strip away his last remaining believes and illusions.

Material Loss and Emotional Awakening

Striking is that after his meeting with the CEO of MFC, Joo Jaekyung decided to return straight to the little town. (chapter 69) Hence he is still wearing his dark blue shirt, pants and an expensive watch. But more importantly, he is now driving his white sports car. This means before meeting his hyung and the CEO, he went to the penthouse and changed not only his outfit but also his vehicle. He selected the white car, (chapter 69) Since the latter is a high-performance luxury model, it symbolizes wealth, speed, and prestige. That’s how he wanted to appear in front of the CEO. However, now he is going to the place where the storm will be the most violent. Because the star is still dressed in his dark blue shirt and expensive watch, I came to the following interpretation. This is not the champion in training clothes, but a man who now owns time (chapter 69) – it is the first time that we see the champion wearing a watch, marking a shift in his self-perception. (chapter 60) (chapter 61) No longer is he defined by his cellphone or his car, but by a reclaimed sense of agency. (chapter 69) The presence of the watch on his wrist becomes a subtle emblem of regained freedom—he is about to determine his own pace, away from the demands of MFC and Park Namwook. In other words, the western tempest represents a blessing for the athlete, as he is no longer dependent on his cellphone (chapter 38) or his car (chapter 69). Hence the manager can no longer be in touch with him. (chapter 66)

This shift mirrors the storm’s impact: external grandeur (like a fast car) will soon be challenged by a force that does not care for appearances. The car, left parked outdoors near the dock, (chapter 69) or in front of the house (chapter 69) might be damaged or lost to the tempest—a symbolic stripping away of status which reminded me of the way doc Dan treated the halmoni’s Wedding Cabinet. (chapter 53) Both instances symbolize a relinquishing of material attachments (he leaves his huge penthouse for a rented little “hostel”) and a profound shift toward emotional growth. For Jaekyung, the potential loss of his prized possession is not just about property—it marks the beginning of relying on others, accepting vulnerability, and letting go of his rigid, self-reliant identity. Similarly, the doctor’s decision to leave behind the Wedding Cabinet signals a break from the past and a readiness to build something new, no longer defined by inherited burdens or emotional debts. In both cases, possessions lose meaning. With nothing left to prove, the champion accepts vulnerability. He is no longer above asking for help, nor afraid of stillness. And that realization could only emerge under pressure. (chapter 69) He needs Doc Dan, the latter matters so much to him that he can not imagine a life without him. He enjoys this moment, therefore he keeps hugging his “friend and lover”. At the end of episode 69, he no longer pays attention to appearances and his image, therefore he doesn’t mind embracing the physical therapist in front of the crowd.

The Illusion of Safety

The Manhwa repeatedly emphasized the peacefulness of this seaside town. (chapter 57) This initial depiction – of the sparkling blue sea, the gentle rhythm of waves (shaaa), the birds in the sky, the beautiful sunset (chapter 59) and (chapter 58) daily life in slow motion—sets up a stark contrast to the approaching storm. All these images and including the elderly proclaiming , (chapter 65) “It’s a nice little town, isn’t it?”, lulled both the characters and readers into a false sense of permanence. But beauty is ephemeral. Storms, by nature, contradict stability. They sweep away trees, roofs—and with them, pipe dreams.

The grandmother, drawn to the town for its aesthetic charm and warm nostalgia, admired the landscape without realizing the presence of danger next to her. She confessed to Kim Dan her admiration for the ocean due its beauty, but ignored its dangers: the waves, the wind and storms. (chapter 53) That’s why Mingwa zoomed on her gaze, but “cut” her ears, a symbol for her “deafness”. Hence she didn’t hear and feel the wind during her stroll with the champion. (chapter 65) The ocean can also represent a source of misery. Her wish to see the ocean again (chapter 53), bathed in the orange glow of a perfect sunset, reflected her toxic positivity—her tendency to ignore pain and erase any negative memories, including a life marked by hardship in Seoul. It encapsulated her attempt to embellish the past and project into the present (chapter 65) and future, disregarding reality, assuming the ocean/town’s beauty promised tranquility without acknowledging the lurking danger it could also bring. Her nostalgia operates as an emotional escape hatch—a curated fantasy where beauty masks regret. When she speaks of “seeing it one last time,” it is not a celebration of memory, but a quiet refusal to face her past failures and the reality of her present. For her, the coast is a postcard of serenity —a static image of peace and perfection she once clung to in her old home (chapter 17), where the walls were decorated with actual postcards of beaches she had never visited. These were not souvenirs, but illusions—windows into an idealized elsewhere that helped her ignore the hardship around her.

But the truth is harsher: this coastline is not a sanctuary, but a reckoning ground. (chapter 65) The ocean she admired in stillness now roars back with force, revealing that beauty without awareness is blindness. She never questioned the risks of living so close to the sea, nor imagined that its quietude could turn to devastation.

What she failed to grasp is now undeniable: nature has its own rhythm, one that does not bow to sentimentality. The storm, arriving with relentless gusts and shattering winds, becomes a physical embodiment of everything she tried to repress—her suffering, guilt, her dependency (chapter 56), her illusions of control. This is not poetic justice, but poetic truth. She cannot walk. (chapter 65) She cannot escape. The wind howling outside her window will no longer be ambient noise—it is a reminder that she has no dominion here.

Mingwa visually marked this shift in power through the evolving position of her bed. In Seoul, her bed stood far from the window (chapter 47), symbolizing distance from reality. In the hospice, it is placed next to the window (chapter 56) —yet initially hidden by doc Dan and veiled by Venetian blinds, limiting her view and insulating her from the outside world. When the champion first visits, the blinds are gone (chapter 61), revealing trees and the sky—nature encroaching. By her second stroll with Jaekyung, the image of the window reappears (chapter 65), subtly reminding readers of its fragility. Now, as the storm rolls in, the trees outside become potential hazards, and the window that once offered a view might shatter. Should this happen, then it will rupture her illusion of control and all her repressed fears should come to the surface.

This evolution of space is rich with symbolism. It recalls her former home , (chapter 19) where another window—damaged and offering no real view—served as a silent witness to a life steeped in avoidance. In that space, a young Kim Dan sat beside her, answering a phone call. The fact that someone talked to him, not to her, already suggested the grandmother’s emotional detachment—the parent reached out to the boy, not to her. That room, like her present one, was filled with silence—not peace, but repression. She masked that silence with superficial comforts: beach postcards, a television, the illusion of a serene life. Now, the storm returns not just with wind (SHAAA), but with sound—branches breaking, waves crashing, windows shuddering—forcing all she suppressed to the surface.

The tempest breaches the last barrier of her denial. Her nostalgia, her careful staging of death as beauty, her belief in sunsets and serenity—all are ripped open. She who relied on silence and routine is now assaulted by noise and unpredictability. And as nature surges against the thin pane separating her from its chaos, she may realize: the stories she told herself were never shelter. The storm was always coming. This visual evolution suggests that the very boundary between her illusion and reality will be violently breached. (chapter 65) The hospice doctor had predicted more time based on a perceived serenity in her condition, suggesting her body was at peace after halting chemotherapy. (chapter 56) But he misjudged her case for two reasons. First, the file had been tampered: she had received a new treatment. Secondly, he did not know her. What he saw as acceptance was actually a mix of comfort, avoidance and unresolved fear. The gale will expose the limits of both clinical assumptions and self-deception. The woman who once believed she could choose the time and manner of her death now faces nature’s blunt reminder: she is not in control of life and time—nor of anything else.

Trapped by the tempest, she is finally forced into the present. No longer able to rely on routines, expectations, or her grandson’s immediate care, she faces the one thing she has evaded: herself. The illusion of being the caregiver, the elder with wisdom, disintegrates in the face of a reality where she must depend on others—or be left behind. And so, what the storm exposes is not just danger. It exposes that the comfort she claimed to have built (chapter 56) was never truly hers to begin with.

The Town on the Edge facing the Tempest

The little town in Jinx is not just a backdrop (chapter 56) —it is a layered terrain of symbolism and vulnerability. Perched on what appears to be a peninsula (chapter 65) in a bay (chapter 57), the settlement is structured by elevation: the beach and ocean lie at level 0 (chapter 60) ; the docks, roads, and shops follow at level 1 (chapter 62) (chapter 69); and the town proper stretches up with retaining walls (chapter 58) to the hilltop, where the hospice (chapter 59) (Light of Hope) overlook the coast and the landlord’s house (chapter 57) almost stands on the top of the hills. These heights offer a commanding view—but they also expose the buildings to the full brunt of the western tempest.

The hospice, in particular, is framed as the most precarious point, as it is surrounded by trees and facing the ocean (chapter 57). I came to this deduction, as the champion could see the building from the beach, when he rescued doc Dan. (chapter 60) Secondly, the nurses could see the ocean from the window of the hospice. Due to its location, the building becomes the most likely target for falling branches, gale-force winds, and perhaps even landslides. Notice that this town is built on retaining walls, like we can detect in the last image and the following panel: (chapter 69) This is why the hospice, perched high on a hill surrounded by woods, becomes both sanctuary and risk. (chapter 61) Like pointed out before, his name is misleading, for hope implies “rescue”. However, a stay in that place means that their “inhabitants” are all destined to die due to cancer. There’s no real cure there. In other words, the tempest will bring to light its true nature. The hope, just like its comfort, are illusory.

Though the landlord’s house is close to the top of the hills like the hospital, his house is not facing the ocean, (chapter 57) it is turning its back to it. That’s why I developed the theory that the town is built on a peninsula. This means, the storm should reach them first and at his highest peak. On the other hand, the hills could restrain the gusts and affect less the landlord’s house. On the other hand, it is nestled near trees (chapter 57), fields and close to two power masts (chapter 61), so it is quite vulnerable as well. Therefore one might think that the champion’s hostel is similarly exposed to potential outages or structural damage. (chapter 65) Nevertheless, the house is slightly shielded by a high fence and secondly the form of the roof and the absence of high trees and power masts imply that his home is better “prepared” to face such a weather. Moreover, observe that his house (chapter 69) is so built that you don’t need to leave the building in order to “enter” a different room (kitchen, bathroom) contrary to the landlord’s. (chapter 57) The landlord’s hanok, traditional and open in its architecture, offers comfort and warmth under normal conditions—but becomes deeply vulnerable in a storm. Built around a central courtyard, it requires residents to step outside to move between rooms. Such exposure, so harmless in good weather, now turns hazardous. Even getting to the kitchen or another room could risk injury. The doctor, who has been staying there, may no longer be safe.

This architectural vulnerability sets the stage for an unexpected shift: Joo Jaekyung becomes the shelter once again.

Unlike the hanok, Jaekyung’s home is enclosed, protected, and perched farther from the treeline and power masts. It becomes the most stable haven in the storm. The champion—who once embodied force and solitude—now extends care and refuge. If he invites Kim Dan, the landlord, Boksoon and her puppies into his home, it signifies more than kindness. It signals growth. He is no longer just the “Emperor” who takes what he wants. He becomes a real guardian. At the same time, it would help doc Dan to review his perception about his loved one. The champion might have not seen him just as a tool this entire time.

This possibility starkly contrasts with an earlier scene where the celebrity’s home served as a quiet, solitary place while others—Potato, Heesung, and the landlord—danced joyfully under the stars in the hanok’s courtyard. (chapter 58) Back then, Jaekyung was still on the outside of that communal warmth. But with such a prediction, the roles would be reversed. His home would become the beacon of safety, and he would be the one providing it.

Even more, the landlord—observant and unbothered by status—might become the first to voice Jaekyung’s good personality and generosity. He would offer praise not based on fame, but on integrity. Perhaps he’ll simply say, “He’s the kind of man who protects others.” and relate to doc Dan what the champion did in the past (chapter 62) There’s no doubt that the dogs will be invited to his home, as her place is right under a tree and power mast. (chapter 57) The landlord may even encourage the fighter to adopt a puppy from Boksoon’s litter, as he can see the champion’s care and sense of responsibility—not just for himself, but for another life.

Thus, a storm not only destroys; it reconfigures. The champion’s house, once a private retreat, may become the very heart of healing. Though no one is truly safe in front of a tempest, the latter serves as a message from the gods. The geographical truth becomes a narrative truth. The further up they go in elevation, the more isolated they are—and the more their illusions of control and security are tested. While the ones spend time to share their past and worries to others, the other is on her own at the hospice. She has no one by her side to talk to. There’s no doubt that the staff will become more busy due to the storm. Traditions can be exposed as vulnerabilities, like the Korean Hanok, at the same time, the gale helps to create deep bonds. To conclude, the storm, in this light, becomes not just a force of nature, but a force of truth: stripping away façades, toppling routines, and confronting each character with the reality they tried to avoid.

The Storm in Literature

Storms in literature are more than weather. They are moments of rupture, passion, and transformation. They can symbolize:

In Jinx, the western tempest embodies all these layers. It peels back the narrative’s social and emotional veneers. Let me give you an example. Just before the gale hits the little town, the champion exposes his emotions toward his fated partner (chapter 69), when he hugs him. It announces the instant where the champion gave up on controlling his feelings. The gale announces the end of “internal turmoil”. So the moment they are together waiting for the storm to pass, they can do nothing except talking and cooking. Hence we should expect that Joo Jaekyung will expose his mental and emotional struggles to doc Dan (reference to point 1, 2,3,4 and 5), triggered by the offer from the CEO. (chapter 69) Such a confession would push the physical therapist to redefine his relationship with the celebrity: he is indeed his friend, even a close one. And if this takes place, then the doctor could start opening up as well. The tempest reveals fragility, forces new beginnings, and exposes fair-weather allies. (chapter 69) The moment the champion exposes his fears and doubts, doc Dan would prove to the champion that he is no fair-weather ally contrary to Park Namwook, who pushes him back to the ring. The grandmother, so proud of her roots (chapter 57) and wisdom, finds herself outmatched—not by age, but by wind. Her idea of safety is shattered. Like pointed out before, the storm embodies present. So if they come to enjoy this time of respite together, they will realize that this “tragedy” for others represented a “blessing” for them.

Meanwhile, the storm breaks Kim Dan’s dependency cycle. He doesn’t have to rush, to fix, to prove. He is where he needs to be. The champion, too, is cut off from old obligations. Park Namwook cannot track him. He has been “blocked”—not digitally, but karmically. Moreover, if he loses his car, he has to rely on the “old man”, his neighbor. His move will be limited. His immobility would push the manager to “move” which would expose the true nature of their relationship. the manager is in reality dependent on the celebrity. The roles have changed.The champion, like the grandmother, has used routine to mask his suffering: her toxic positivity versus his self-reliant pessimism. So thanks to the storm, the athlete’s perception about life would be switched. His reputation as a fighter would no longer seem relevant. I would even add, the tempest will remove the sportsman’s negativity

They are forced to stay indoors, isolated together, but they can not have sex, for according to my prediction, the two protagonists would be living with the landlord and the animals. The chaos outside contrasts their stillness inside. There’s no gym, no manager, no routines. The sandbag in the courtyard (chapter 69) would be left outside, symbolizing that this “sport” has become less central and vital in the main lead’s life. This is the first true pause in their relationship. Jaekyung, used to immediate gratification and external control, must slow down. And for the first time, he will see what he always overlooked: that meals take effort, that conversation has value, as it can help to get closer to another person. He doesn’t need the grandmother to get “through Kim Dan”. (chapter 65) Finally, if my prediction is correct, then by living with different people in a small place, he will realize the benefits of relying on others. He will discover the joy of having a family, having found a home. The storm creates a space for redefinition.

Five Disrupted Relationships

And so this tempest arrives not as an arbitrary backdrop but as a settlement. It disrupts the emotional architecture of the story—a confrontation, not a solution. The storm demands serenity; it strips away distraction and busyness, leaving space only for meditation. Characters can no longer move as they did before—they must pause, reflect, and reckon with themselves. The power outages, closed roads, and uprooted trees reflect the characters’ inner disruptions, they can no longer avoid certain problems in their own life: death, grief, fear, past, vulnerability, and the need to change. The weather has no concern for hierarchy.

1. Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung

They are forced to remain indoors, potentially together. This is the first real pause in their story. Jaekyung, used to forward motion and clear roles, is confronted with the quiet. Here, he may begin to notice what he once ignored: the care behind every cooked meal, the invisible labor of the doctor, and the need to protect rather than possess. The wind howls outside, but inside, something tender brews.

2. Boksoon and the Puppies:

The small shelter where Boksoon gave birth is near a tree. It is no longer safe. She and her pups must be relocated—an urgent reminder of how quickly new life can be endangered. (chapter 66) Jaekyung, who has never seen the puppies, might discover them now. That discovery mirrors his gradual awareness of fragility and caretaking. For Kim Dan, nurturing the puppies symbolizes reclaiming his capacity for love and responsibility—free from obligation.

3. Shin Okja

Her admiration for the ocean and the town has been steeped in toxic positivity. She longed for a perfect sunset, a beautiful memory to crown her life. But she ignored the storm warnings—both literal and emotional. When she finally faces the tempest, the comfort she clung to shatters.

In Season 1, she summoned Kim Dan whenever she feared death (chapter 21) and needed company. (chapter 21) The doctor would drop everything and rush to her side overlooking his own health. But now, with blocked roads and dangerous winds, Kim Dan cannot come—even if he wants to. He is no longer her servant or safety net. Nature has intervened where he could not set a boundary.

The grandmother must confront her own helplessness. Her seniority no longer grants her power. And if she calls out for her grandson and he does not come, she will be forced to realize: she is on her own. (chapter 5) Doc Dan can not assist her anyway, as he can do nothing against nature.

4. Park Namwook

The storm isolates the manager. Without power, without a car, and without knowledge of Jaekyung’s location, he is rendered irrelevant. The champion’s phone may be off. The line has gone dead—literally and symbolically. The manager, always able to take advantage of the celebrity’s loyalty and sense of responsibility, finds himself “blocked.” (chapter 5) Thus his anxieties should reach a new peak. His grip on the boy he used to control is gone. The storm draws a line between who remains—and who fades.

In Jinx, the western tempest is all of these. It tears through the “good-weather” relationships and reveals what’s real. Therefore it is no coincidence, when Choi Heesung and Potato met doc Dan again, (chapter 58) the ocean was calm and the sky very blue. Both embodied this notion: good-weather friends. Characters who stayed out of convenience or obligation vanish. Those who remain—like the landlord, Boksoon, and eventually Jaekyung (chapter 68)—stand firm.

5. The Landlord

The landlord, in particular, becomes the story’s quiet moral compass. His home, his fan, his calm attitude, and even his absence of curiosity about fame set the standard. When he welcomes Joo Jaekyung, it isn’t out of admiration. It’s decency and a longing for company. (chapter 61) Therefore I perceive him as the eye of the storm. (chapter 69) That’s why he looks at the horizon. From my perspective, he is used to such events, hence when the storm hits the coast, he will be prepared mentally. Thus he could share his experiences and thoughts to the two young men.

Conclusions

Finally, the western tempest stands in direct contrast to the grandmother’s sunset dream. (chapter 53) She imagined a final golden moment—warm, serene, and nostalgic before her death. But instead, she gets gusts and branches crashing down. In that sense, the tempest is her lesson: Humans are not superior to nature. They can not control time, nature and destinies. Moreover, nature does not serve our stories. It tells its own.

The storm, then, is not about destruction. It is about clarity. It forces all façades to fall. And when the winds calm, what remains is not who spoke loudest, but who stayed. In this story, the western tempest does not simply pass. It reshapes everything. Moreover, a storm is not “eternal”. So after the tempest, there’s sunshine—a sign that happiness may finally be within reach for the two protagonists.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: While They Embrace 🫂: The Mysterious Landlord 🏠🐕

As Kim Dan asks his fated partner (chapter 69) and the latter stands stunned in the late-summer breeze, the moment seems suspended in light and silence. The doctor’s words are accompanied by a subtle music: the wind. It whispers through the panel with an audible “WHOOSH,” not covering doc Dan’s voice but giving it resonance. The wind, like words, travels through the air and reaches the celebrity’s ear. It connects characters across distance, marking the invisible line of perception, reaction, and awakening. But behind this charged reunion lies a quiet figure—barely visible, yet unmistakably present: the landlord. In this image, the old man appears only for a second, dressed in a jacket and green cap, almost blending into the night. He does not speak. He does not move. And yet, everything in that scene bears his mark.

The Invitation to Move

From the sneakers on Kim Dan’s feet to the jacket he wears (chapter 69), and the bags of groceries in his hands, traces of the landlord’s influence are everywhere. Whether it was Kim Dan who offered his help or the landlord who extended the invitation, the result was mutual: for the first time, they acted as a community—two individuals sharing the same roof and engaging in reciprocal care. I observed that through this interaction, the doctor was subtly encouraged to behave differently. He was not merely going shopping. That quiet moment served as a turning point—an invitation to rejoin life, to move on, to dress with care, to claim space. While others meddle, accuse, or abandon, the landlord quietly watches, nudges, and supports. He is not the star of the scene, but its breath. He is the breeze before the embrace. The hand behind the rescue.

Shaping the Framework Without Words

From this new angle, I reached the insight: the landlord is not only present at pivotal narrative moments, but he actively shapes the emotional framework of season 2 without ever stepping into the spotlight. I observed that in Chapter 69, while readers may initially focus on the tense conversation between the champion, Park Namwook, and the CEO of MFC, there is another figure in the background—the landlord—who discreetly fades behind the couple: (chapter 69) (chapter 69). His presence is easy to miss, but for attentive readers, it’s striking. He appears not as a passerby, but as the very person who guided Kim Dan toward that precise moment of vulnerability and strength. When contrasted with an earlier panel from the same episode, another layer of meaning emerges: in both scenes, the landlord is positioned in a way that suggests symbolic proximity. However, I made a striking observation: in the first panel, he is actually standing behind the champion and in front of Kim Dan. This creates a visual link between the two protagonists, as the landlord appears quite literally between them. I came to the following conclusion: he functions as a bridge or protective force—he does not slap or yell like the manager, but his stillness conveys safety. While he stands at the champion’s back, he faces Kim Dan, as if preparing the ground for their reunion. (chapter 69) These silent, parallel compositions reveal the landlord’s symbolic position as an enduring guardian: not static, but responsive. Therefore his position shifts constantly, either (chapter 65) in front of the couple, or behind Kim Dan in one scene, behind the champion in another.

The Wind That Adjusts

Seen through the lens of the wind metaphor, I discerned something more: the landlord’s mobility reflects a deeper symbolism. (chapter 57) He is not fixed in place like house, wall or obstacle. This explicates why he is almost seen outdoors, even her. Opening the door means allowing the fresh air to enter the room. (chapter 65) He is like the wind, fluid and unobtrusive, adapting to the needs of the moment. His position is never rigid, therefore in the final panel he seems to have vanished. (chapter 69) At times behind Kim Dan, at others behind the champion, he realigns himself without fanfare. I realized this adaptability speaks to something elemental: the wind’s capacity to bend around others, to support without imposing. Unlike characters who plant themselves firmly in conflict (chapter 46) or authority (chapter 65), the landlord responds to what is needed, not what is expected. His flexibility does not stem from indecision—it is born from humility and care. Another aspect contributing to this perception is his ignorance. However, the latter should not be viewed negatively. Since he doesn’t know the champion’s profession or the doctor’s familial and financial situation, he is not projecting expectations or judgments onto them. Rather than acting out of assumption, he simply observes. This is precisely why he doesn’t come across as arrogant. His lack of knowledge becomes a quiet strength—it allows him to respond with presence, not prejudice. Just as the wind moves through open spaces without imposing form or judgment, his unknowing presence allows room for others to breathe and unfold, free from predefined roles or assumptions. (chapter 65) He does not try to define the protagonists by their past or their titles. He lets them define themselves. While he tried to encourage doc Dan to drink and work less, as time passed on, he came to notice his suffering and accept him with his illness. (chapter 69)

Just as the wind moves around structures and creates waves, his presence bends gently to support without overshadowing. This mirrors his role throughout Jinx season 2: he is a man who creates space rather than fills it, who enables others to find their footing by adjusting his own stance. In this way, his neutrality is not passivity, but grace in motion. In the embrace scene (chapter 65), when the waves rise audibly due to the wind, I observed that the landlord is no longer standing directly behind Kim Dan. And yet, a sandal, sock, and pant leg appear in the corner—suggesting he is still nearby. It seems to have stepped back deliberately, allowing privacy and intimacy to unfold. He remains part of the scene, like a breeze, felt but unseen. Another possibility is that he approached the coast guards and explained the champion’s reaction. If this is true, then In doing so, he would have acted not as an intervening outsider, but as a bridge—discreetly smoothing tensions without casting judgment. True to his role as the wind, he doesn’t speak to dominate, but to ease the air around others. Even in his ignorance, he responds not with assumption but with attentiveness—observing first, and acting only when necessary.

Gaze Toward the Horizon

And yet, one detail caught my attention. In the panel at the dock, the landlord is not looking at the champion. (chapter 69) His gaze is directed straight ahead—detached, not reactive. Under this new light, I gathered that he may not be overlooking the scene but instead quietly attuned to something else entirely—the weather. Since the storm had been announced on the news (chapter 69), it is plausible that the landlord is calmly scanning the horizon, sensing the approach of the tempest. After all, he is a farmer (chapter 62) —his livelihood depends on observing the skies. (chapter 69) This attention to weather is not merely practical, but instinctual, shaping his rhythm of life and reinforcing his elemental bond with the air. As a man attuned to nature and grounded in routine, his awareness of such environmental shifts would come naturally. It is not panic or distraction—it is foresight. This reinforces his alignment with the air: he is always mindful of what is coming.

I initially assumed that the errand to the grocery store was directly tied to the storm forecast announced on the news. In such cases, villagers often prepare in advance, buying supplies before conditions worsen. Yet upon closer examination, the atmosphere among the townspeople doesn’t reflect growing panic or haste. (chapter 69) They are murmuring, yes, but their attention is absorbed by the incident at the shore. This led me to reconsider: perhaps the purchase was not consciously connected to the weather after all. And yet, one man quietly stood apart from the crowd—the landlord, his silence and gaze directed not toward the commotion, but toward the open horizon.

This single detail speaks volumes. Unlike others, the landlord does not rely on media reports or buzzing gossip. Notice that he was the last one hearing about the champion’s generosity in the town. (chapter 62) He is a farmer—a man who reads the sky, the wind, and the rhythm of the land. Hence I am inclined to think that his awareness of the approaching storm stems not from a broadcast but from instinct. The wind carries signs, and he is attuned to them. It is even possible that while talking with the coast guards, he learned more about the forecast—not through digital alerts, but through human connection.

In this light, his decision to bring Kim Dan along acquires a new depth. Whether or not the storm was their explicit concern, the moment becomes symbolic: an act of movement, preparation, and subtle care. Once again, he does not push Kim Dan forward but opens the way gently. He creates a path that the doctor can walk—if he chooses to. As with the wind, his influence is neither loud nor commanding. It is felt through presence, not pressure.

Moreover, because of his silent behavior, I could only come to the conclusion that he was not the one recognizing the celebrity’s car parked by the dock. Rather, it must have been Kim Dan himself who noticed the vehicle, then he paid attention to the crowd forming nearby, or the emergency headlights—much like the champion had earlier. This is significant, as it reinforces the landlord’s role as someone who does not act on behalf of others—he simply prepares the space for choice to unfold. And since the two nurses (chapter 69) had already been shown earlier together in the crowd, I suspect that one of them might informed Kim Dan about the incident and the champion’s presence. This would align with the narrative’s kaleidoscopic structure, where certain scenes are reflected in different timelines.

The Hand Fan: A Symbol of Breath

And now, you are probably how I came to associate the landlord with the wind. Earlier in Chapter 66, we encounter one of the most symbolic moments involving the landlord: (chapter 66) the image of him gently fanning himself while sitting in his yard. I detected something immediately intimate and ancient in this gesture. A hand fan, in many East Asian cultures, denotes calm authority, self-discipline, and silence. I interpreted this scene as more than casual: the landlord becomes an embodiment of wind—present, refreshing, yet invisible. A man who can create movement without pressure. It is striking that in a story driven by action, fists, and fame, the one character who moves the plot forward with the least noise is this old man.

Upon closer inspection, I observed that the fan bears printed text and the number “365.” (chapter 66) Under this new light, it dawned on me that the fan was most likely handed out by a local institution—perhaps even the hospice Light of Hope, during a public health campaign or examination event. This means that he is taking good care of himself. One might argue with this interpretation, yet there exists another evidence for this perception. (Chapter 62) He is constantly wearing the green cap, a sign that he knows about the danger of the sun. This stands in opposition to the grandmother who would sell her vegetables without any hat. (chapter 57) These types of fans are typically distributed by hospitals or clinics: practical items with subtle promotional intent. But once in the landlord’s hands, it takes on symbolic weight. The number “365” does not simply represent a calendar year; it represents consistency, time, and the daily rhythm of care.

Strikingly, this fan aligns with the landlord’s quiet guardianship. Just as the fan moderates air and temperature, the landlord moderates the emotional climate of the household.

What’s more, I noticed the fan (chapter 66) is visually divided into six colored columns—blue, green, and orange tones recurring in a harmonious pattern. These colors stand in sharp contrast to the dominant black-and-white or blue-and-red palette of the main couple’s visual identity. This exposes that the landlord is portrayed as a multicolored figure: layered, grounded, and richly nuanced in ways that neither protagonist yet fully embodies. This explains why he is often seen wearing different shades: beige, (chapter 57), white, (chapter 66) gray, (chapter 58), green, (chapter 62), orange (chapter 61) and brown. Yet, his clothes tend to lean toward brown hues, evoking earth and soil—symbols of rootedness and stability.

I came to an additional realization: the landlord doesn’t just enrich the emotional palette of Jinx—he restores the protagonists’ connection to Earth. His presence is grounding. He draws them out of sterile hospital rooms, detached penthouses, and fabricated spotlights, and into the soil-rich air of a small town. He is the one who invites breath, hunger, walking, sleeping—the ordinary rhythms of life that nourish the body and soul. By surrounding himself with the colors of the land—brown, orange, moss green—he reminds the doctor and the champion of a world that does not demand, but simply exists. A world where one can finally pause, take root, and rest.

Rather than simply standing apart, the landlord infuses the narrative with gentle warmth and vibrancy. His colorful presence offers more than emotional flexibility—it introduces a spectrum of life into the protagonists’ otherwise muted and high-contrast world. Previously dominated by blue and red, their visual universe begins to shift through his influence. Under this new light, I realized that he doesn’t just symbolize emotional depth—he brings light and color into their shadows, inviting them to rejoin the world of sensation and groundedness. Consequently, his quiet mission is to help them land back on Earth, to discover rest and a home. Like fresh air through a long-sealed room, his presence is not overwhelming—it simply makes it possible to breathe again.

(chapter 62)

The six-part division also struck me as potentially symbolic. Since the fan appears for the first time in Episode 66, I came to the following conclusion: the six segments may represent his quiet integration into their bond. My idea is that he will not just remain a bystander, but emerge as a surrogate parent figure—not by blood, but by presence. Like a mother, he nourishes, guides, and trusts, yet without smothering or restraining. His care is rhythmical, like breath. His colors are inclusive. His fan—a calendar, a compass, a quiet lullaby. I deduced that he doesn’t simply carry the fan—he embodies what it represents: routine, protection, and the kind of stability Kim Dan has long been denied. The fan becomes an extension of his role: to circulate—not intervene, to cool—not confront.

Air Against Hot Air

Before moving further, a linguistic and symbolic insight struck me: (chapter 65) words and wind share the same pathway—the ear. We do not see them; we hear or feel them. Just like the wind, the landlord’s influence often goes unnoticed unless we attune ourselves. Interestingly, in the English version of Jinx, he refers to Joo Jaekyung as “son” (chapter 69) and Kim Dan as “sonny” (chapter 57) or (chapter 69) “boy.” These terms of address, gentle and familial, contrast sharply with the control and emotional neglect shown by figures like the grandmother or Park Namwook. Because those characters views the main leads as “immature (chapter 65) and irresponsible (chapter 52), they use their “youth and seniority” to assert dominance or demand loyalty and obedience. On the other hand, the landlord positions himself as a silent guardian, perceiving the protagonists as children in need of warmth and care, not correction. (chapter 62) His words, like the breeze, are few and soft—but when spoken, they carry weight. This brings me to a broader observation. I detected that the hand fan becomes a symbol of breath itself (chapter 66) —the very thing Kim Dan is consistently deprived of. (chapter 59) Whether it’s due to panic, malnutrition, exhaustion, or psychological collapse, suffocation is one of the defining sensations of Kim Dan’s arc. In this context, the landlord, with his unassuming fan and grounded demeanor, emerges as a breath of fresh air—the very opposite of the heiße Luft, or “hot air,” surrounding the champion’s fabricated scandals and media distortions. (chapter 52)

Under this perspective, the fan’s soft FLAP (chapter 66) becomes almost therapeutic. It doesn’t try to rescue Kim Dan like the champion does. It doesn’t dramatize. It simply cools. It shifts the air around a suffocating figure, making room for recovery. Thus I deduce that the fan is not only a symbol of time, but also of space—space to breathe, space to reflect. The landlord does not speak of the past or demand a future; he offers 365 days of presence, through silence and small gestures.

Wind Before the Storm

Striking is the relationship between the wind and the storm, and how this elemental dynamic deepens the landlord’s symbolic role. When Joo Jaekyung hears at the dock in Chapter 69 about the incident with the drunk man, (chapter 69) (chapter 69) the atmosphere grows heavier—not from external scandal, but from inner turmoil. Then Kim Dan’s puzzled reaction, (chapter 69) strikes like a gust. (chapter 69) The scene becomes emotionally charged, echoing classic storm symbolism: emotional intensity, uncertainty, and the prospect of sudden change.

Under this new light, I came to the following conclusion: what we witness is not chaos imposed by others, but a moment of crisis—of emotional confrontation and potential transformation. And yet, before this private storm could break, I observed that the landlord was quietly present. (chapter 69) He helped Kim Dan get dressed, leave the house, and carry groceries. He didn’t push him into the storm—he gave him the freedom to walk into it on his own terms.

That is the striking contrast. The storm represents the turning point, the fear of change, the weight of the past catching up. The landlord, as wind, offers the one thing Kim Dan lacked until now: air, movement, and choice. He doesn’t command. He prepares. He trusts. And in doing so, he gives Kim Dan room to decide—whether to run or stay, to speak or remain silent.

Following this exploration of wind and storm, I noticed another compelling pattern tied to sound and clarity. In the very panel where the champion realizes Kim Dan is safe (chapter 69) —his face filled with shock and disbelief—the Webtoonist added the sound effect “WHOOSH.” Under this new light, I interpreted this as more than background ambiance. It marks a pivotal turning point, as if the wind itself had cut through the fog in Joo Jaekyung’s mind, sweeping away his spiraling fear and clearing space for truth. This sudden shift in emotional atmosphere visually alters him too. Hence it is not surprising that he looks visibly younger. Not broken, but stripped of his burdens. As if the wind blew away the years of pressure, fears and rage.

Strikingly, this is not the first time the gust is heard. Earlier, when Kim Dan first spots the champion on the dock, the same onomatopoeia—“WHOOSH” (chapter 69) —carries the weight of their emotional storm! That very night, I noticed, both Kim Dan (chapter 69) and Joo Jaekyung experienced an emotional shift. The wind, though announcing the coming storm, swept through their minds and cleared away emotional fog. Thus, I deduced that the wind in these scenes becomes a narrative force of mental clarity, awakening, and emotional release. (chapter 69) While there is no sunlight or calm skies, it opened a path for both characters to see clearly. That’s how I realized that Kim Dan’s enlightenment was not recognition, but humility! His dawning awareness that he never truly knew the champion, captured poignantly in his question (chapter 69) and the visual emphasis on the punctuation mark in a separate panel. (chapter 69) This means that the moment the champion embraced him, the doctor must have sensed that the champion’s worries and care were genuine. (chapter 67) Doc Dan got finally his answer to this question. Joo JAekyung is more a man of action than of pretty words. So awakening and flourishing are not something that occurs behind glass or sealed doors. It is born in the open, amidst uncertainty and confrontation. And under this new light, I reached a final insight: growth in Jinx does not happen behind closed doors or sealed windows. It happens in the open, where storms rage and air can finally circulate. (chapter 59) The landlord doesn’t shelter people from pain or storms. He makes sure they’re equipped to face them. And once they do, the wind is no longer a threat, but a form of grace. And now, you comprehend why the death of the puppy has not been discovered by the athlete yet. For the landlord, death is something natural and inevitable, and since doc Dan has been working at the hospice, I am quite certain that the old man imagined that doc Dan was well-equipped to deal with this situation. He must have been envisaging that Doc Dan was accustomed to it. The problem is that he doesn’t know the protagonist’s past and family.

Furthermore, linking this moment back to the storm and grace works thematically: the same wind that opens hearts also shakes foundations. The landlord’s silence and discretion, typically virtues, can now be understood as both protective and fallible, making him even more human. His trust, while generous, risks overlooking the complex layers of grief that Kim Dan carries. What is seen as strength might actually mask deep vulnerability. In this light, the landlord’s role as wind is also a lesson in perception—he adapts, but cannot always see the storms others keep within.

A Man Without Judgment

In a world where Kim Dan has long been deprived of agency—where he’s been pushed, controlled, bought, and silenced—the landlord brings something revolutionary in its simplicity: freedom and care without pressure. His wind does not knock doors down. It opens windows.

Even after the incident with the drunk doctor takes place —when others might rush to assign blame or cast doc Dan as victim—the landlord remains silent. As Joo Jaekyung walks away into the night (chapter 69), no words of condemnation are spoken. Unlike Heesung (chapter 58), who plays the victim while hiding his own culpability, the landlord does not engage in gossip or vilification. His silence isn’t ignorance—it is grace. (chapter 52) He is the antithesis of the media’s “heiße Luft”—that German phrase meaning nothing but hot air. The landlord is not heat, not noise, but wind—cool, steady, and clear. He represents a rare truth in Jinx: the quiet man who watches, helps, and leaves judgment to the wind.

Standing Behind Kim Dan

And perhaps most strikingly, I deduced that it is this elemental quality—his alignment with air—that makes him essential to the story. He is not the hero, nor the villain. He is just a human, someone who opens the door after someone else unlocks it. He is the one who tells Kim Dan to give Boksoon her food (chapter 57), who lets her roam, who trusts without demanding. He is not a rescuer by force; he is a current that carries the exhausted to shore. Though he is disconnected from the social media (chapter 58) and from media (chapter 62) in general, he is actually the one who can connect to others the best. (chapter 58) No wonder why the actor asked doc Dan to greet the “old man”. (chapter 59) He felt so comfortable around him.

While others stir scandal or are obsessed with success and money, the landlord flaps a hand fan (chapter 66) and remains seated. Since he mentions it is the weekend, it is clear that he has no intention to work during the weekend. This explains why he is not wearing his usual green-and-white cap. This subtle detail reinforces his connection to nature’s rhythms—he is not a workaholic (chapter 57), but someone who understands the balance between labor and rest. He may not have a name, but he has a function. And sometimes, in storytelling, function is identity enough.

Because the old man was seen behind doc Dan’s back on the dock (chapter 69), I noticed a striking visual parallel in Kim Dan’s story: the recurring image of his back. (chapter 56) In Episode 56, we see him resting in front of the window. This moment suggests not only emotional vulnerability but also isolation. There is no one behind him, no one shielding him from the coldness of the world. Later, when he watches the sunset, disconnected from his senses, unable to hear the waves or feel the breeze, (chapter 59) there’s only one poor sun umbrella in front of him and a wall far behind him. His back is turned to the world, wrapped in solitude and silence. That’s how I was reminded of his childhood. There, the grandmother often stood beside him (chapter 47) (chapter 47) (chapter 65) but not behind. Thus the landlord’s placement (chapter 69) speaks of quiet support. It implies that the old man has his back now. He neither pushes nor pulls—he simply follows, allowing Kim Dan to move forward at his own pace.

The absence of a visual of someone positioned behind Kim Dan (chapter 49) explains why he got abandoned in the locker room. It gains even more poignancy when viewed against his past. In Episode 47, while the grandmother was carrying him on her back, Kim Dan’s back is left unprotected. (chapter 47) Her proximity is visible, yet it lacks the symbolic protection associated with standing at someone’s back.

A particularly revealing moment occurs when young Kim Dan cries after being bullied at school. (chapter 57) The grandmother embraces him and taps his back gently while saying, “You still have me.” At first glance, this gesture may seem supportive. Yet, under this new light, I came to the following conclusion: her touch is more reflexive than instinctive. It soothes, but it doesn’t protect. It calms, but it does not empower. It is not a shield—it is a silencer. Her physical gestures, though present, lacked the emotional resonance necessary to foster true security. This interpretation gets validated, when you include her second “action”: (chapter 57) The moment she offered him a snack, she distanced herself from him. Now, she is standing by his side.

That is why the photograph of young Kim Dan sitting on her lap is so striking. (chapter 65) It becomes the exception—the rare moment where she appears to have his back. But photographs can be deceptive. They capture posed perfection, not lived reality. And as we trace Kim Dan’s emotional journey, we begin to understand that this illusion of maternal protection was not enough to sustain him.

By contrast, both the landlord and the champion now represent figures of genuine, if imperfect, support. They don’t just stand behind him (chapter 61) —they give him the air, time, and space to grow. (chapter 62) Their presence—especially the landlord’s—is the embodiment of silent guardianship. (chapter 69) His consistent yet unobtrusive presence stands in opposition to the grandmother’s inconsistent gestures. One acted out care; the other lives it.

This distinction matters. It redefines what it means to have someone behind you—not merely as a backdrop, but as a source of strength. And this quiet, enduring presence is what finally begins to heal the fractures left behind by superficial affection.This moment echoes his childhood, marked by emotional distance and a lack of support, as seen in his memories with his grandmother. (chapter 19) (chapter 47) (chapter 47) (chapter 47) Despite the rare instance of closeness captured in a photo, most scenes depict Kim Dan standing next to his grandmother, and he is the one supporting her.

I came to the following conclusion: the emphasis on his back is not random. It is a visual metaphor for abandonment and vulnerability. Therefore it is no coincidence that in the yard, doc Dan got hurt on his back, when the champion threw him onto the ground. (chapter 69) This gesture, though seemingly violent, reveals something deeper—it forced Kim Dan to feel what he had been missing all along: there were people around him, he was not alone. I would even add, someone was finally standing behind him. (chapter 69) In that brief moment, Kim Dan is no longer alone. The landlord, as a silent guardian, and Joo Jaekyung, as a fierce protector, are both behind him—symbolically and literally. (chapter 69) They are not towering over him or walking ahead; they are there, at his back, where no one had ever stood before. And that, perhaps, is the quiet miracle of Jinx—a boy once starved of love and breath, now flanked by the wind and the storm. This signifies that when the storm will hit the western coast, the main lead will strangely feel safe and comfortable, because he has company by his side.

Wheelchair and Truck: A Study in Contrast

Under this light, I noticed another contrast forming between the landlord and the grandmother. On one hand, we have a man who drives his own truck (chapter 69), tends his yard, walks to the fields, shares his meal with his tenant and guides him without uttering huge demands. On the other, we see a woman who claims independence (chapter 56) (chapter 65) while seated in a wheelchair or lying in a hospital bed—entirely dependent on others to move her. Her self-image as a strong and autonomous elder clashes sharply with her visible reliance on those around her.

The landlord symbolizes mobility and quiet agency. His freedom lies not only in movement, but in his capacity to give space to others. By contrast, the grandmother is fixed in place (chapter 65), reliant on beds, wheels, and nurses to navigate the world. Under this new perspective, the wheelchair and the truck are no longer just modes of transportation—they are emblems of character. One rolls forward by another’s push, the other steers by its own will.

And what would happen if the storm did arrive? If shifts prevented hospice staff from returning? The illusion of her autonomy would crumble. While the landlord silently prepares for such contingencies, the grandmother clings to the fantasy that she needs no one. Storms reveal truths: who bends and adapts, and who remains trapped in the comfort of stillness, unprepared for change and misfortune. Since she has this beautiful memory of the ocean (chapter 53), I doubt that she anticipated the existence of dangers by living on the coast: storms and typhoons. So her beautiful town could get devastated, (chapter 65). Is it a coincidence that when she compliments the place, she is not listening to the wind and seeing the huge clouds in the sky? This stands in opposition to the silent landlord who is looking at the horizon turning his back to the little town: (chapter 69)

The Quiet Trinity

At the heart of this subtle narrative lies a trinity (chapter 69) —not loud or hierarchical, but quiet and balanced. The landlord, watchful and unobtrusive, takes on a godlike role: not in power, but in presence. Kim Dan, wounded and unsure, becomes the son figure seeking shelter and rediscovery. And Joo Jaekyung, long cast as the brute force or fallen star, now returns as a humbled spirit (chapter 69) —silent, alert, and transformed. Or we could say the reverse: Doc Dan becomes the dragon’s holly spirit (chapter 69), while the star becomes the son. This trio, for now, are merely neighbors. But with the storm approaching, I am expecting that their separation may dissolve, drawing them into shared space and daily life.

This potential cohabitation stands in stark contrast to the dysfunctional head of Team Black: (chapter 46) Coach Yosep, Joo Jaekyung, and Park Namwook—a trio marked by authority without dialogue, control without care. In that group, the manager sowed distrust while avoiding accountability. (chapter 46) In the new trio, no one holds dominion over the other. There are no contracts, no strings. The landlord has no financial stake in the fighter’s success. (chapter 61) Instead, he finds quiet satisfaction in their presence—a subtle joy in no longer eating alone, in hearing laughter in the yard, in offering a meal or a moment of guidance. His support is not selfless but unburdened by agendas. That’s precisely what makes his influence so restorative: his care is grounded, practical, and free of manipulation. However, as time passed on, the landlord discovered that by living close with the two young men, responsibilities couldn’t be avoided. Hence he is paying attention to Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan. (chapter 66) Accountability, once optional, became natural. Without ever declaring himself their guardian, the landlord started noticing their silences, their movements, and their needs. He began to look after them—not because he had to, but because living with them made indifference impossible.

Here, in the modest shelter of shared presence, a new pattern emerges: a household of silent support and mutual growth. No one commands, yet all are transforming. It is a trinity not of power, but of breath, where healing flows like the wind—unseen but deeply felt. The champion and the doctor are no longer steered by duty or burden. For the first time, they seem ready to let the wind carry them—not as a force of chaos, but as a guide toward something lighter, freer, and true, like the two sparrows. (chapter 66)

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Truth 🕵🏼‍♂️ Behind The Oath Of Hippocrates ⚕️

The Hippocratic Oath, one of the oldest binding documents in history, originates from Ancient Greece and has long been regarded as the ethical foundation of Western medicine. Traditionally attributed to Hippocrates, often called the ‘Father of Medicine’, the oath originally included commitments to treat the sick to the best of one’s ability, to preserve patient confidentiality, and to pass on medical knowledge without demanding payment.

Over centuries, this oath has undergone numerous revisions to reflect the changing nature of medicine and ethics in society. While its core values—non-maleficence, beneficence, and fidelity—remain intact, modern versions are more secular and inclusive, often omitting archaic references to gods or master-apprentice hierarchies. The intention behind the oath has always been clear: to put the well-being of the patient first and to uphold the dignity and responsibility of the medical profession. These noble intentions raise important questions in today’s context. To what extent are they still fulfilled? Do contemporary medical professionals act in the spirit of this oath? And can structural realities—limited time, profit-driven care, burnout—undermine a physician’s ability to live up to its promise?

These critical perspectives crystallized while reading Chapter 67 of Jinx, and triggered a thought-provoking exchange between my friend @Milliformemes2024 and me. Our diverging interpretations of the sleep specialist in chapter 67 helped to shed new light on the enduring relevance—but also the limitations—of the Hippocratic tradition. What began as a discussion about a single consultation evolved into a broader reflection on symbolic language, institutional care, and the ethical cost of modern medicine. In truth, both perspectives hold merit. Our conversation mirrored a larger dialogue between Idealism and Reality: one of us defending the emotional depth and symbolic resonance in care, the other grounded in the necessity of boundaries and pragmatism. This essay unfolds in three parts: first, a symbolic analysis of the sleep specialist and the contrasting figure of Cheolmin; second, a comparison of institutional care and how financial motives shape medical ethics; and third, a visual exploration of hospitals and their architectural relationship to nature.

The Sleep Specialist and the Invisible Patient

Our discussion began with differing impressions of the sleep specialist in Chapter 67. My friend viewed her approach as textbook (chapter 67): the brief diagnosis, the recommendation for weekly visits, the specialist’s tentative attribution of Kim Dan’s condition to either alcohol or a possible psychological cause, emphasizing the need for continued observation and weekly visits before offering a definitive diagnosis —all standard responses. For her, this was a doctor following routine procedure without overstepping professional boundaries. However, I perceived her behavior very differently. I saw someone who remained emotionally detached and almost absent, reducing the complexity of Kim Dan’s condition to simplistic surface-level causes without genuine inquiry.

This divergence in opinion hinged on what each of us prioritized. My friend appreciated the clinical neutrality, interpreting it as a mark of competence. I, however, found it troubling—too minimal, the possible psychological cause was only mentioned. The symbolism in her appearance intensified my reaction. She is portrayed eyeless, a metaphor for her blindness—not in vision, but in perception. Her gaze is absent; her diagnostic process relies not on what she sees but on what others report, most notably, Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 67) Rather than forming an independent assessment, she accepts the narrative of a third party, which introduces bias and limits her understanding. One might argue about that, because she is looking at a paper, probably result of a blood test which seems to corroborate the guardian’s statement. Hence the sleep specialist concludes that Kim Dan is suffering from insomnia, alcohol addiction and sleepwalking. The problem is that his statement is based on external observations (halmoni and the landlord) and their limited knowledge. Moreover, Jinx-philes should keep in mind two important aspects: (chapter 61) The champion had been himself suffering from similar symptoms which could be seen as a projection on his loved one. Additionally, based on previous observations, I have interpreted Kim Dan’s nightly walks not merely as sleepwalking, but as dissociative episodes—likely triggered by overwhelming guilt, unresolved trauma, and a chronic sense of disconnection from his body and surroundings. But how could the champion know about this? He’s not a doctor himself. In order to have a more accurate picture of the whole situation, she should have talked to the patient himself. But by relying on papers and the guardian’s testimony, she not only distances herself from the patient physically and emotionally, but also delegates the responsibility of interpretation. She is using the eyes of others.

She wears an open white coat, (chapter 67) revealing a light green pullover layered over a white shirt—clothing that clearly belongs to her private wardrobe. This visual detail suggests a separation between her personal identity and her professional role. It’s as if donning the coat is enough to signal her authority, without requiring emotional engagement. The coat becomes a badge, not a commitment.

Yet one could argue that this very distinction is essential. The boundary between self and profession is what prevents the physician from becoming emotionally overwhelmed. Without such a barrier, the practitioner might absorb too much of the patient’s pain—leading not only to fatigue but to burnout. (chapter 57) Perhaps the doctor’s detachment is not indifference, but a survival mechanism in a healthcare system that demands efficiency over intimacy.

The white coat in this scene does not function as a symbol of care (chapter 67): it becomes an emblem of role-playing. What caught my attention is that she doesn’t directly address the patient, she doesn’t ask him any question either. She is not curious at all. If she had, she would have heard this: (chapter 67) indicating that his alcohol addiction is not the real reason for his insomnia. Then she fails to examine Kim Dan physically, the desk is between them. Therefore she can not detect his visible malnourishment.

But she couldn’t see it, as she relied on second-hand testimony (Joo Jaekyung’s words). The irony is that the latter failed to notice it. Each time he saw the doctor’s body, he got aroused. (chapter 62) Moreover, both the landlord and the grandmother never brought up this aspect, though Shin Okja had observed this terrible transformation: (chapter 57)

And this raises the following question. Why did the sleep specialist not question the main lead directly and relied on other sources? (chapter 66) It is because the physical therapist is just a number (2) and as such a file. Therefore the doctor is not seeing the patient as a human. I can not blame the woman either, for she has so many patients to treat during the day. And now look at the building of the hospital: (chapter 66). It is huge reminding me of a factory. This “modern hospital” with its sleek architecture, expansive buildings, and impressive specialization exudes a sense of advancement and trustworthiness. Yet beneath this polished surface lies a business-oriented structure, one that prizes efficiency, reputation, and patient turnover over genuine patient connection. This “modern hospital” (chapter 67) functions like one factory: patients are numbers in a queue, doctors are overloaded, and individual care becomes secondary to systemic goals. The very design of the building reflects this: towering facades and compartmentalized departments, where nature and warmth are pushed to the background. In such an environment, the Hippocratic Oath—rooted in ideals of empathy, presence, and personal responsibility—is reduced to ritual, overshadowed by institutional pragmatism and economic demands. Hence she is simply treating his symptoms: insomnia and “sleepwalking”! She is prescribing him “sleeping pills”. (chapter 67) She is doing exactly what Shin Okja wanted: (chapter 65) (chapter 65) It is as though thanks to the drug, the odd behavior from Kim Dan would simply vanish. (chapter 67) That’s the reason why Mingwa didn’t give the doctor a name. She has become a soulless doctor, like a robot. On the one hand, the absence of her name implies that she is not trying to seek fame like Kim Miseon (chapter 5) with the new medicine. On the other hand, it implies that the light-brown haired woman is doing her job for her paycheck which reminds me of Cheolmin’s statement: (chapter 13): “Oh no, no. That won’t do. My precious paycheck!”.

This “namelessness” is not a coincidence. It mirrors how large hospitals treat their staff: as interchangeable parts of a system that prioritizes efficiency and profit over personalized care. (chapter 67) The sleep specialist becomes a faceless figure in an institution where doctors are overworked, underpaid, and pressured to diagnose quickly. Her task is not to heal, but to manage—preferably in under 10 minutes. This reminds me of a confession I received from my own osteopath-orthopedist-chiropractor. He once told me that in hospitals (Germany), proper care is nearly impossible. Due to pressure and time constraints, most doctors are given no more than two or three minutes per patient. As a result, many end up recommending surgery as the default solution—not necessarily because it’s the best, but because it’s fast and system-approved.

Disillusioned by this assembly-line approach, he eventually left the hospital and opened his own private practice. There, he devotes at least one full hour to each new patient—first to examine, then to diagnose, and finally to treat them himself. I remain deeply grateful to him, because he was the only one able to resolve my long-standing shoulder and neck pain. While others focused on symptoms—treating the neck in isolation—he identified the true origin: spinal blockages further down the column. What struck me even more is that he once recognized signs of depression in a patient—not through tests or charts, but simply by observing how the symptoms would worsen or improve. He talks to his patients while treating them, listening not only to their words, but also to their bodies. This interaction allows him to adjust the treatment in real-time and to notice subtle signs others might miss. That’s what makes him a true healer. He doesn’t rush; he takes his time and creates space for the patient to be seen and heard. In doing so, he provides something that modern hospitals often fail to offer: attention without judgment, and care without hurry.

On the other hand, he also confided in me that he has learned to select his patients. Some individuals came to him with fixed expectations, treating him like a service provider rather than a medical expert. They arrived with their own self-diagnoses and requests, expecting him to execute treatment plans they had already designed in their minds. In those cases, he had to draw a line—because healing, in his view, depends on trust and dialogue, not on fulfilling demands. A doctor, he reminded me, is not a technician carrying out orders, but someone who must observe, assess, and guide with discernment. This dynamic reminded me of Joo Jaekyung, who often treated both Dr. Lee and Kim Dan (chapter 27) (chapter 49) as mere service providers. Whether it was brushing off medical advice with “Don’t push it, I know my body better than anyone else” (chapter 27) or demanding instant pain relief to continue training (chapter 49), the champion positioned himself as the ultimate authority over his own treatment. Since his attitude echoed the confession of my osteopath, it is understandable why my osteopath-orthopedist began to select his patients carefully. This mirrors Kim Dan’s evolution, when the latter chose to reject the champion’s offer. Indirectly, he is “learning” to select his job and not take them by opportunism. He is also learning to select his “patients”. Striking is that Shin Okja has a similar attitude than the athlete. (chapter 7) She desired to have a treatment with less side effects and less painful. And the moment she was confronted with reality, this painful new treatment only brought pain and nothing more, she chose to leave this institution and move elsewhere. (chapter 53) Therefore it is not surprising that she is treating the protagonist the same way: she knows what is the best for him. (chapter 57) She is treating him like a service-provider, she is now rejecting that he has lost his “usefulness”. His pay here is not high, …

But let’s return our attention to the anonymous sleep specialist. The latter has just become a victim of this terrible health system. She is not engaging with Kim Dan’s trauma, nor investigating his psyche, for she doesn’t have the time for it. Her task is not to heal deeply, but to manage efficiently. Secondly, she is specialized in sleep medicine, so she is no psychologist or psychiatrist. Therefore it is not surprising that she is focusing on certain aspects. But sending him to a different department would mean that she would lose her „new patient“. If you have ever watched series about hospitals, you are aware of the competition between departments. Here I can recommend the K-drama LIFE. Since she is more treating him in such a short time, it is not astonishing that doc Dan is doubting her words, (chapter 67) and not even following her recommendation. (chapter 67) He felt misjudged and misunderstood; reduced to a file number, not seen as a complex human being.

However, there’s more to it. Two details stood out to me in particular. First, consider what the anonymous doctor told Joo Jaekyung (chapter 67) and second, what Kim Dan actually received as treatment: (chapter 67) pills in a plastic bag marked with a standard instruction: “Take with food”. These two panels capture more than a routine prescription, they reveal the institutional deflection of responsibility and the impersonal mechanics of care.

By printing the instruction on the packaging rather than saying it aloud, the doctor shields herself from accountability. If something goes wrong, she can point to the label. She doesn’t have to engage, explain, or ensure understanding. It’s a subtle but calculated transfer of responsibility—from physician to patient, and even more so, to the guardian. Now it’s not just Kim Dan who’s expected to monitor himself, but Joo Jaekyung as well. The burden of care is silently offloaded onto those least equipped to manage it.

What makes it worse is that Joo Jaekyung is never shown holding or reading the bag. The implication? He likely never noticed the fine print at all. No one is actively guiding the treatment. No one is watching over Kim Dan.

Her verbal emphasis is even more revealing. Instead of discussing the food requirement or giving Kim Dan any personal advice, she delivers a single, sweeping command: “Drinking is off-limits.” It’s not just vague—it’s scolding. The patient’s alcoholism isn’t treated; it’s sidelined. The system checks the boxes—and moves on. It frames her as an authority figure who cares more about issuing warnings than offering help. There’s no nuance, no tailored support, no effort to build trust. What Kim Dan hears is not empathy, but judgment. He’s treated as a risk to be managed, not a human being to be helped. She can only reinforce his low self-esteem: he‘s a burden.

This is what deepens his sense of being misdiagnosed, as if the doctor was painting his condition so negatively in order to scare him. He doesn’t receive insight or compassion—he receives protocol. And in a healthcare system ruled by efficiency and liability protection, the doctor’s priority becomes covering herself—not ensuring the well-being of her patient.

The invisible doctor and the visible patient

Cheolmin (chapter 13), in contrast, enters the story with no white coat at all. He carries only a doctor’s bag, dressed in a green pullover and a beige checkered shirt. (chapter 13) Despite this informal attire, he immediately recognizes Kim Dan’s symptoms and engages both the guardian and the patient. He doesn’t need institutional support to assert authority; his presence and diagnostic clarity define him. While his clothes might elsewhere be read as conservative or emotionally restrained, here they highlight that care can come outside rigid systems.

Previously, we interpreted Cheolmin’s clothing as a reflection of a certain emotional reserve. The beige checkered shirt, covered by the green pullover, suggests a guarded personality; someone who perhaps maintains a protective layer between his professional and emotional worlds. And yet, this emotional caution doesn’t hinder his ability to act with warmth and competence. (chapter 13) Quite the opposite. He doesn’t hide behind his distance; he manages it. His approach is practical and grounded, but never cold. He doesn’t wear a white coat, yet he brings with him a doctor’s case and an unshakable sense of responsibility. His tools are simple (his own body), (chapter 13) his posture relaxed, and his tone—often sprinkled with humor—adds a human touch that the eyeless doctor sorely lacks. And what is the cause for this huge difference? It is because the “famous sleep specialist” is relying on her institution (nurses, blood tests, drugs). She is following a procedure, as the visit took place at the hospital.

Unlike Cheolmin, who uses his emotional detachment constructively, the sleep specialist disappears behind it. She neither touches nor addresses the patient directly. She offers no humor, no effort to ease the atmosphere—only sterile authority and detached warnings.

Ironically, while Cheolmin may seem less emotionally expressive at first glance, he is far more emotionally present. His humor isn’t just a personal trait—it’s a therapeutic tool. (chapter 13) It bridges the gap between roles, making the patient feel seen rather than categorized. There’s no judgement in their relationship. The eyeless doctor may appear neutral, but in truth, she is hollow. Cheolmin appears reserved, yet his actions speak with empathy. Where she recites guidelines, he initiates dialogue. (chapter 13) Where she avoids involvement, he offers engagement.

In short, Cheolmin’s clothes reflect thoughtful distance—not absence. He remains attentive, responsive, and subtly warm. His restraint is a choice, not a flaw. And it is precisely this contrast that reveals what the Hippocratic Oath should still mean today: presence, humility, and care; and not money, drug and efficiency.

The positions between my friend and me reflect a core conflict between reality and idealism. She values adherence to clinical norms and sees the specialist’s behavior as a rational expression of professional boundaries. Emotional distance, she argued, is often necessary—not just to ensure objectivity, but also to protect healthcare professionals from burnout, especially in overburdened systems. I agreed in principle, but maintained that detachment becomes damaging to the patients and the doctors. It affects the relationship between them, because it prevents accurate diagnosis or erases the patient’s voice entirely or the patient starts seeing himself as a “client” and the doctor as his “service provider”. A middle ground must be found—where presence doesn’t equate to over-involvement, but where empathy still has space. My orthopedist found his solution: open a small office where he tries to help his patients to avoid surgeries. He told me: “The first surgery in his field is always an option, the second one will always be a necessity.”

Moreover, our analysis acknowledged the limitations the doctor faces. The specialist likely juggles a tight schedule. A queue of patients, like the one displayed before Kim Dan’s session, signals the industrial rhythm of care. In such a system, she may not have time for deeper engagement. But for patients like Kim Dan—vulnerable, undernourished, spiraling emotionally—this neglect can reinforce their invisibility. In contrast, Joo Jaekyung receives deferential treatment, because he is famous. The medical world depicted in Jinx bends toward prestige, not need.

This contrast reveals something vital: in medicine, presence matters. The specialist hides behind procedures. Cheolmin shows up. The white coat, then, becomes a mirror: does it reflect a vocation or disguise institutional distance?

Institutions and Ideals—Comparing the Medical World of Jinx

In Jinx, medical care unfolds within a tapestry of institutions—anonymously vast hospitals (chapter 61) (chapter 67), the Light of Hope hospice (chapter 61), the sleek University hospital dedicated to research (chapter 5), and more intimate yet modern facilities like this one.(Chapter 27) Each medical setting not only has its own architecture but also its own moral blueprint. In the essay “Doctor Romantic 3 (locked)“, I had already compared doctor Lee’s workplace and behavior to the “beautiful Kim Miseon” from the University Hospital. Season 2 introduced us to new institutions. Each place claims authority through professional codes and visual symbols, but the deeper narrative explores how care is either embodied or abandoned. Mingwa uses attire, body language, and structure to draw sharp distinctions between appearance and intent.

Kim Miseon (chapter 5) from Sallim University Seongshim Hospital: This research-driven university hospital is connected to Kim Miseon, the doctor who prescribed a new experimental treatment for the grandmother. (chapter 5) Despite the pristine exterior of the building and the promise of scientific advancement, her actions raise ethical concerns. She dilvuged information in the hallway. (chapter 21) Then the treatment’s failure is attributed either to the grandmother’s frailty or Kim Dan’s late arrival and absence, subtly shifting blame. (chapter 21) Like mentioned before, this treatment wasn’t even properly recorded in the patient file raising the suspicion of deliberate concealment. (chapter 56) It appears as “pain killers”. Her open white coat (chapter 21), worn over a green uniform resembling surgical scrubs, aligns her visually with institutional authority, while her eyeless portrayal emphasizes detachment. (chapter 21) Her motivation seems driven not by compassion but ambition: a pursuit of recognition and success through experimental medicine, regardless of consequence. It seems that this new therapy didn’t bring her the results she hoped, and strangely later director Choi Gilseok (chapter 48) got aware of Shin Okja’s conditions, implying that patient confidentiality had been breached.

Park Junmin (Chapter 61): In contrast, Park Junmin (chapter 61) represents the polished face of a business-oriented clinic. While his office projects sleekness and personalized care, his comments betray his priorities. He praises Joo Jaekyung’s fame and urges a return to the ring—not out of medical concern, but because it would guarantee the champion’s return as a paying patient. He wants to retain a high-profile client. His friendliness is strategic. (chapter 61) He does not embody the Hippocratic Oath but rather a service model. The coat becomes a costume that sells recovery. It is clear that he is promoting his own hospital. Joo Jaekyung, however, surprises him by refusing (chapter 61), highlighting that the athlete has become aware of what genuine care should look like. When the champion calmly declares, “I’ll be receiving rehabilitation services in another hospital,” Junmin answers with a stunned “Sorry?”. But this is not confusion. It’s a reflexive mask for shock. He did not expect to lose control of the situation. Beneath that one-word response lies disbelief, disappointment, and veiled panic. He’s losing a lucrative patient—and more importantly, a public endorsement. The moment exposes how fragile his authority truly is when faced with a patient asserting autonomy. Let’s not forget that when the champion was facing a mental and emotional breakdown, the latter offered no other support than “rest”. He even avoided his gaze. (chapter 54) The athlete was left on his own.

Light of Hope Director (Chapter 59): At first glance, the hospice appears to be underfunded and outdated. (chapter 61) However, its director breaks expectations. Unlike the smooth-talking or indifferent doctors at larger institutions, he is directly involved in patient care. (chapter 56) He informs the physical therapist about the grandmother’s condition, works late at night (chapter 60), criticizes people for their rude behavior (chapter 59) or actively disciplines staff (chapter 59) when mistakes are made. Though he also flatters the champion (chapter 61) and sees promotional potential, he never exploits patients. (chapter 61) The juxtaposition of humility and responsibility in his demeanor, combined with his stunned reactions to sudden events, suggests an overworked and understaffed environment—but not one without moral grounding. His white coat and blue medical uniform echo the nurses’ attire, subtly promoting a sense of equity among staff. Despite being a director, he doesn’t separate himself from frontline caregivers. His uniform also contrasts with the green worn by Kim Miseon or Park Miseon, suggesting a focus on practical responsibility over prestige. By blending in with the team, he fosters a culture of shared accountability, not rigid hierarchy. Among all institutional figures, he comes closest to balancing authority with integrity.

Hospital Director (Chapter 6): While this figure appears authoritative (chapter 1), the details of his attire tell another story. Wearing a suit beneath his coat implies professionalism, but here it also suggests a business-driven mindset. The coat becomes a sleek outer layer masking deeper intentions. His charming demeanor conceals a more sinister reality—he weaponizes authority for personal gain. His use of professional attire isn’t about respectability but manipulation. Beneath the surface, profit, control, and coercion drive his actions. (chapter 1) The white coat, in his case, is not a symbol of healing but a façade for exploitation. drives his authority. The coat becomes a literal cover for abuse—harassment disguised under professionalism. His entire persona is a façade: calculated, charming on the surface, but predatory and morally bankrupt beneath.

The Sleep Specialist (Chapter 67): (chapter 67) Eyeless and detached, the sleep doctor treats Kim Dan without any emotional or physical engagement. Her absence of a name symbolizes depersonalization. She doesn’t speak directly to Kim Dan, doesn’t examine him, and only echoes what she heard from Joo Jaekyung. The prescription she offers is another layer of critique. The instruction “Take with food” appears only in print—never verbally stressed—thus shifting liability. If Kim Dan suffers side effects or mixes medication with alcohol, responsibility falls on him or his guardian. This is institutional medicine in its most risk-averse form: impersonal, quick, and shielded from consequence.

Dr. Lee (Chapter 27): Dr. Lee is the only named and truly visible doctor. (chapter 27) His gray shirt signals a more relaxed approach, (chapter 27) and his facial expression conveys a certain empathy—though his words also betray resignation. He sits beside the patient, not opposite, visually erasing the typical hierarchical divide between doctor and athlete. His recommendation that Joo Jaekyung rest is gently delivered, but he knows it will likely be ignored. He represents the tension between medical idealism and the pressures of athletic performance. He is trying his best to protect Joo Jaekyung’s career. (chapter 27) Notably, he doesn’t chase fame or loyalty—he’s realistic, yet still rooted in care. (chapter 27) His clinic, with open blinds and wide windows, stands for transparency and modern ethics.

Cheolmin (Chapter 13): (chapter 13) Finally, Cheolmin exists outside the hospital system. He wears no white coat, but his behavior mirrors a true physician’s. He diagnoses accurately, gives immediate advice, and engages both patient and guardian. His attire—a shirt layered under another—might suggest emotional restraint, but it doesn’t interfere with his actions. He jokes and teases, breaking through tension and inviting trust. He acts not because protocol demands it, but because someone needs help. That’s enough.

This comparative tableau reveals that white coats do not guarantee compassion—and their absence doesn’t negate it. In Jinx, only those who break institutional molds offer real help. The rest follow protocols, serve systems, and sometimes cause harm through inaction or self-interest. It exposes that doctors are simply humans and not gods.

Furthermore, the financial aspect underpins all these interactions. Hospitals in Jinx are not purely charitable; they’re businesses. The emphasis on new medicine, fame, or facility branding often outweighs the patient’s actual condition. Misdiagnoses, evasions, and moral compromises follow from this reality.

Kim Dan’s journey through these institutions underscores how vulnerable patients are when medicine is transactional. Blame is subtly shifted. Responsibility is diffused. And yet, in emergencies, the expectation remains: doctors should act.

Nature, Architecture, and the Illusion of Healing

A striking feature in Jinx is the architectural integration of nature into hospital design. (chapter 67) Trees and greenery appear in every facility—but their placement and symbolism vary. These visual cues subtly reveal each institution’s philosophy of care.

At the university hospital where Kim Miseon works, (chapter 41) nature is neatly confined. Rooftop gardens and structured greenery exist, but more as visual accessories than lived environments. The hospital is a towering research center, representing scientific advancement—but also bureaucratic coldness. Here, nature exists to impress, not to comfort. This artificial balance between concrete and green reflects a clinical detachment: nature is curated, not embraced. It aligns perfectly with Kim Miseon’s demeanor—professional, pristine, but ultimately distant and ambition-driven.the environment feels controlled. (chapter 41)

In the rain-drenched hospital (chapter 54) where Joo Jaekyung receives treatment, the rooftop greenery appears remote and ornamental, disconnected from patient care. (chapter 61) Nature is present but removed, almost symbolic of lost ideals. The building is imposing, gray, and bureaucratic, which is quite similar to the university hospital.

In the sleep therapy hospital (chapter 67), the setting amplifies this detachment. Trees do appear, but they are overwhelmed by massive, impersonal structures. The greenery seems almost trapped, overshadowed by glass and steel. This mirrors the interaction with the sleep specialist, who issues warnings and prescriptions without genuine communication. In this environment, nature is not a partner in healing—it is background noise, a symbolic performance of care in a place that prioritizes liability and speed over connection.

By contrast, the Light of Hope hospice (chapters 61) is embedded in a hillside, its architecture low to the ground, surrounded by untamed, organic greenery. The trees are not ornamental—they embrace the building, echoing a kind of natural protection. Nature here is not only real, but alive. It reflects the ethos of the institution: flawed, underfunded, but grounded in human presence. The hospital director may wear a coat, but his modest blue uniform aligns him visually with the nurses, suggesting equity and participation rather than hierarchy. Just like the unpolished trees, he is there not to be admired but to serve.

A fourth setting appears with Dr. Lee’s clinic (chapter 27). The building is smaller, (chapter 18) modern, and set among scattered trees. (chapter 18) Large windows suggest openness and transparency—the very qualities Dr. Lee brings to his interaction. This is a space that, while modest, is genuinely attentive. Here, nature doesn’t impress, it is integrated in the landscape. The park is not surrounded by huge buildings.

Through these varied landscapes, Jinx critiques the illusion of healing as something that can be staged through architecture. It exposes how hospitals, like people, can hide behind appearances. Trees and plants, like white coats and professional titles, can be used to mask indifference just as easily as they can accompany real care. Healing does not bloom in greenery alone—it flourishes through presence, attentiveness, and trust.

Yet these visual patterns also contain hope. The presence of even small parks and rooftop gardens within institutional designs reflects an underlying truth: nature matters. (chapter 41) These green spaces acknowledge, even if superficially, that human beings do not heal through medicine alone. They need sunlight, air, softness—a sense of rhythm beyond fluorescent lights and steel corridors. Nature grounds. It breathes.

That is why the small town, (chapter 65) nestled in the countryside and far from institutional rigidity, emerges as a space of true potential. In returning there, Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan are not just escaping their past—they are moving toward a form of healing that modern hospitals imitate but rarely achieve. Closer to nature, they are closer to themselves. If hospitals imitate forests, the village becomes the forest. And in that simplicity, Jinx suggests, real happiness might grow.

Conclusions

From open to closed, from crisp to wrinkled, the white coat becomes a symbol of ideology. Some wear it like armor, others like a mask—and some not at all. But it is not just the coat that deceives. Buildings too wear their own uniforms. Grand glass hospitals draped in rooftop gardens and courtyard trees promise healing, yet often fail to deliver. Nature becomes another costume—just like the coat.

But Jinx reminds us: real care cannot be faked. It is revealed not through polished surfaces or institutional prestige, but in action—staying late, listening carefully, protecting the vulnerable. The doctors who truly heal are those who treat the person, not the file.

And why, then, do so few doctors recommend sunlight, trees, or quiet walks? The answer is simple: nature costs nothing. It cannot be patented or billed. And yet, its presence in every hospital design is a silent confession that healing lies outside the system. That, in the end, true recovery begins where profit ends. This is precisely what Jinx shows through Joo Jaekyung’s arc: once he leaves the sterile confines of the gym and begins spending time outdoors, (chapter 62) surrounded by greenery, animals, and people who don’t treat him as a product—his health improves. His muscles may still ache, but mentally and emotionally, he is lighter. Research confirms what the story suggests: sunlight and time in nature significantly boost mental health. In that way, his borrowed floral pants and farmwork reflect something deeper—a return to balance. Nature becomes not just a background, but a remedy.

The Hippocratic Oath promised to do no harm. But in a medical world where patients are reduced to symptoms, empathy is replaced by protocol, and care becomes a product, harm happens quietly—disguised in good intentions and sealed with institutional polish.

And yet, what the Oath once embodied still exists—just not in the systems that claim it. It lives in a shared meal, a walk under trees, a quiet moment in the sun. (chapter 57) It lives where no one is watching and no one is billing. In Jinx, the real medicine lies outside the chart—in the dirt on borrowed floral pants, in sweat earned under open skies. Nature becomes the unspoken vow that systems forgot.

The coat may still be white. The walls may be green. But healing comes not from the symbols, but from the soil.

That’s the truth behind the Oath of Hippocrates.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: 𓇢𓆸 Prove Me Wrong Again 💢😂

When you look at the illustration, your eyes are immediately drawn to the broken mirror at its center. As you can imagine, the cracked reflection, fragmented and distorted, is essentially referring to our protagonist Kim Dan. The broken mirror echoes Kim Dan’s shattered self-esteem. It is a visual representation of his inner dialogue: the doubts, fears, and insecurities that have long dictated his life. His reluctance to assert himself (chapter 36), his tendency to retreat rather than challenge his own doubts (chapter 36), and his overwhelming fear of disappointing others (chapter 51) are all reflections of these internalized obstacles. Recognizing them as external impositions rather than intrinsic truths is the first step to breaking free. That’s the reason why in the reflection of the broken mirror, you can detect an open window in the background. By focusing too much on his reflection, the physical therapist is trapped in his own negative world. One could perceive it as the opposite version of Narcissus. Yet rather than falling in love with his image, he sees only his flaws, reinforcing his belief that he is unworthy. The open window suggests an escape, a possibility for change, but the problem is that the main lead is too fixated on his shattered self-perception to pay attention to his surroundings. Hence he comes to neglect his own body and people next to him.

The Weight of Unseen Chains: Mental Barriers

The mental obstacles we impose upon ourselves can be some of the most difficult to overcome. In the article “The mental obstacles you put on yourself to stop moving forward” Jennifer Delgado explains that these barriers often originate from the voices of significant figures in our past. They can be parents, teachers, or even childhood bullies who shaped how we see ourselves.

Kim Dan’s struggles reflect this reality, just as Joo Jaekyung’s nightmare (chapter 54) suggests he too is haunted by such internalized voices. Under this new light, you comprehend why I wrote in the introduction that the broken mirror was mostly alluding to the doctor. Both protagonists are suffering from mental hurdles, trapped in a psychological prison. The significant difference is that while Kim Dan is consciously recognizing his self-doubt (chapter 62), Joo Jaekyung does not. The evidence for this interpretation is the champion’s nightmare: (chapter 54) Instead of realizing the words stem from an external source, an abuser from his past, he sees them as a reflection of his own fears and inadequacies. This explicates why he chose to drink. This terrible vision illustrates how internalized criticism functions: it feels personal, nonetheless its origins lie in past experiences. Both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung are trapped in cycles of learned helplessness, shaped by voices that do not truly belong to them. Their self-doubt was not inherent; it was shaped by the expectations and criticisms of those around them. Striking is that Mingwa let us see how these mental obstacles are born. Observe that (chapter 18) the doctor (chapter 36) repeated the exact same words than his boss. This means that , the doctor internalized these limiting beliefs, thinking that he was not in a position to speak up or assert himself. This explicates why he had to convince himself that he was just a tool to the athlete. This explicates why at the end, he returned the champion’s jacket. The athlete never recognized him as a stan either. Simultaneously, the athlete was also the physical therapist’s emancipator, because he encouraged him to improve his skills and knowledge (chapter 25) Therefore the physical therapist bought books. Moreover, we should consider this argument (chapter 45) as a revocation of the star’s statement in episode 18. Kim Dan was no longer perceived as a tool, but as a real physical therapist. On the one hand, this request boosted the “angel’s ego”, on the other hand, he was put under immense pressure, for he was compared to his colleagues. (chapter 45) Since in Seoul, Kim Dan has only been hired because of sex (Joo Jaekyung, the perverted hospital director) (chapter 6), he came to accept that he was not truly talented. The champion had no trust in him and later, the word jinx triggered a repressed bad memory. (chapter 62) Due to his bad past experiences, he concluded deep down that his CV was not reflecting the truth. (chapter 56) That’s the reason why he was devaluing himself and as such not looking for a high position.

In her article, the psychologist outlines three primary mental barriers that keep individuals from moving forward:

  • It’s not the right time – The belief that circumstances must be perfect before taking action, leading to perpetual hesitation.
  • I’m not an expert – A sense of inadequacy that prevents people from trying, despite having the capability to learn and grow.
  • I will surely fail – A deeply ingrained fear of failure that discourages risk-taking and reinforces insecurities,

Striking is that in season 1, we could detect these three mental obstacles in the physical therapist’s life.

His unwillingness to defy Joo Jaekyung’s dismissal in episode 48 (chapter 48) exemplifies this pattern: (chapter 48) It was not the right time. He assumed his voice held no weight, reflecting years of learned helplessness. It shows how Kim Dan internalizes responsibility for things beyond his control. He thinks that withholding information is an act of protection rather than avoidance. Yet in doing so, he denies himself agency in his own life.

This aligns with Delgado’s argument—these limiting beliefs were not inherent truths but external influences that he internalized, preventing him from asserting himself. Thus I deduce that Kim Dan has unknowingly adopted his grandmother’s behavior—withholding information under the justification of “protecting” others. Therefore it is not astonishing that her grandson treated her the same way. He already concealed many things from her in order to protect her, and she was his only role model. Just as she concealed things from him (like her true feelings, the absence of the parents or even the way she spoke about him behind his back), Kim Dan did the same to Joo Jaekyung in episode 48. His rationale in this scene mirrors her method of control through omission.

Season two of Jinx only intensifies these self-imposed constraints. I noticed that the switched spray incident (chapter 62) completely devastated Kim Dan’s already fragile self-esteem. (chapter 62) First, he considers himself as waste. While in the past, he was at least a tool, he is now garbage. Hence his feelings are “trash”. (chapter 62) This means that in episode 62, he felt worse than in episode 18! The idioms “trash” and “waste” revealed the doctor’s own self-perception in episode 62: he saw himself as totally useless. He belonged to the “wastebasket”, just like the golden key chain. (chapter 46) Thus I deduce that the fate of this item echoes the doctor’s.

But let’s return our attention to his transformation in season 1. He was making progress thanks to Joo Jaekyung’s trust, but that one moment undid everything. (chapter 51) When he realized that the champion didn’t put his faith in him, he lost his motivation. This observation reminded me of the main lead’s previous statement. (chapter 47) He had selected this profession because of her. This shows that until now, he has never developed any ambition on his own. The loss of faith from someone he relied on for motivation made him feel completely worthless. This reinforces that his confidence and sense of direction were never self-sustained: they depended on others’ recognition. This pattern suggests that Kim Dan has never truly asked himself what he wants. His entire existence has revolved around meeting expectations, whether from his grandmother, Joo Jaekyung, or even his profession. His current crisis—feeling like waste—stems from the realization that without someone to validate his worth, he sees himself as nothing.

One might question this statement because of this scene: (chapter 59) However, observe that he is using the expressions “do” and “now”. This has nothing to do with the future and dreams. It is not a reflection on his own desires but rather an immediate reaction to his circumstances. His mindset is still trapped in survival mode, seeking a course of action rather than contemplating what he truly wants. His words reflect an urgency to act rather than an opportunity to dream. This highlights that he has spent his entire life making decisions based on necessity rather than personal fulfillment. Even when faced with uncertainty, he does not ask himself what he wants—only what he must do next. His transformation will only be complete when he begins to question not just how to survive, but how to live on his own terms. That’s how I realized why Mingwa put this question in front of the window covered with Venetian blinds [which made me think of this scene (chapter 39 – Venice, a travel to Italy]. The window with the Venetian blinds represents a metaphor for the doctor’s trapped dreams. This interpretation made me recognize another aspect. Kim Dan is pushed to meditate, when he is front of a window or better said close to the sky! Hence the hamster started thinking about his own future in the penthouse (chapter 19) or when he looked at the sun and sky: (chapter 41) (chapter 41) And the best evidence for this interpretation and expectation is doc Dan’s cellphone screen display. (chapter 38) My avid readers will certainly recall that clouds embody dreams! Why? It is because in verity, doc Dan is a dreamer, an ambitious man. What caught my attention is that his contact Joo Jaekyung was not saved with a picture!! And what had motivated Kim Dan in the past? (chapter 47) The picture from his childhood: himself with his grandmother. (chapter 66) But the latter was not related to work, but to fun and nature. Striking is that Joo Jaekyung has an empty phone screen display indicating that he has no real dream on his own either: (chapter 38) No wonder why he questioned the meaning of his champion title: (chapter 54). He saw the belt as something rather “meaningless”.

To conclude, for the couple to break free from their terrible mindset, they need to find purpose within themselves rather than constantly seeking external validation. But let’s focus more on doc Dan again. This also ties into the broader theme of meaningful praise—instead of being recognized for what he does, he needs to be valued for who he is. How can this take place? By taking a picture together! (chapter 43) This would boost the doctor’s self-esteem. He is not trash, but an acknowledged fan and friend. The picture would encourage the physical therapist to develop his own ambitions. As soon as I made this discovery, another detail caught my notice: (chapter 66) The celebrity has no picture of Park Namwook in his contacts divulging the superficiality of their relationship.

Then in her article, the psychologist mentioned two other mental barriers. “I’m not an expert”. That’s the reason why in episode 42, doc Dan used his colleague to voice his own thoughts. (chapter 42) The problem is that the athlete took this recommendation personally. He felt as if his job as fighter was questioned. (chapter 42) As you can see, the doctor’s hesitations were exposing his mental obstacles, which was reflected in the champion’s attitude. No wonder why doc Dan chose to become a courier as a second job instead of finding a new VIP client. While the interaction between the athlete and Kim Dan in front of the hospice display the return of doc Dan’s past mental hurdles:

  • I’m not an expert (chapter 62)
  • It’s not the right time: (chapter 62) According to the main lead, the champion is “wasting his time here”.
  • I will surely fail: (chapter 62)

The only difference to the past is that now the athlete could detect the presence of his partner’s negative thoughts. Nevertheless, by examining closely the statements from the main lead, I noticed other mental barriers that people place on themselves, which Delgado did not mention but are still strongly related to the other three:

  • Overthinking – Kim Dan fixates on past mistakes, questioning every action and thought. (chapter 62) Therefore the athlete tried to persuade his fated partner to accept his offer by saying this: “Don’t overthink” (chapter 62)
  • Catastrophizing – He assumes the worst possible outcome, believing another mistake could destroy his credibility entirely. The reality is that he expressed his regret of having used the spray: (chapter 57) Hence it is clear that in the future, the physical therapist would refuse to use any kind of spray. On the other hand, it is important to recall that back then, Joo Jaekyung had made the request himself: (chapter 49) So in the doctor’s mind, if he agreed to the champion’s request, he would be treated like in the past. He would have to simply to follow the athlete’s lead. That’s why he is imagining that he might be put in a similar situation than in the past. But there exists another reason why he refused the champion’s offer right from the start. It is because he has always perceived himself as “hands” which stand for selflessness and generosity. The latter defined doc Dan. Hence he looked at them, when he declared himself as a tool: (chapter 36) Under this new light, it occurred to me why the hamster had to reject the star’s offer right from the start. It is because he came to identify himself as the “spray”. Hence Mingwa created such panels, where Kim Dan’s terrible memories (chapter 57) (chapter 62) are combining the doctor’s hands with the spray. Then a spray is an item destined to be discarded. Is it a coincidence that Kim Dan “switched” places (chapter 1) with a previous PT like the spray? No wonder why he called himself “trash” in the end.
  • Preferring the comfort zone – To avoid failure, he tells himself he should step back (chapter 62) and let others handle things, rather than risk making another mistake. His patients at the hospice are all terminally ill, therefore they don’t have high expectations from him.

His belief that others are ‘wasting their time’ on him echoes a deeper conviction—that he himself is waste. By equating attention and care with wasted effort, he subconsciously devalues his own existence, reducing himself to something disposable, like the “poisoned spray”. This mindset aligns with the toxic inner dialogue shaped by years of neglect and emotional suppression. It was the one thing helping him grow, yet now, he questions whether he deserves it at all.

The Dandelion and Praise: A Fragile Symbol

Returning to the illustration , people might wonder why I selected dandelions as a frame for the selected.. It’s clear that the dandelions aren’t just there for aesthetic balance. Their symbolism is profound. Dandelions are often associated with childhood innocence, wishes, and fleeting moments of beauty, yet they also wither quickly, easily scattered by the wind. In the context of Jinx, they represent a transitory force—something that struggles to take root, much like the intangible and fleeting elements in Kim Dan’s life. But there’s more to it. Before delving into deeper analysis, consider this: what is the common denominator in all these scenes?

Chapter 1Chapter 15Chapter 30Chapter 31



Chapter 40Chapter 43Chapter 56Chapter 62Chapter 66



The answer is compliments. However, here it is important to make a distinction. In most of the selected scenes, the physical therapist is the one getting praised. In the actor’s eyes, he is not only an angel, but also the best. But why did he say that? One might say that Kim Dan offered his services for free. LOL! (chapter 31: I will explain this further below) Besides, the manager is saying that the champion’s performance has improved thanks to his presence. Halmoni is describing her grandson as a diligent and hard-working physical therapist. The nurse expressed a similar praise than the comedian. He is the best! All the support he received was linked to his job as physical therapist. (chapter 37) Therefore it is not surprising that the main lead couldn’t view the members as friends in the end.

Striking is that I picked up three scenes where the “wolf” came to be praised. In chapter 15, for the first time, the doctor voiced his admiration to the athlete: “You were amazing!” to which the champion responded: “Tell me something I don’t know!” But why did he say this? It is because his manager always complimented him for his performance in the ring: (chapter 40) And now, my avid readers can sense a parallel between Joo Jaekyung’s reply and the title of this essay: “Prove me wrong again!”

Hollow Words: The Illusion of Praise

If we examine the praises Kim Dan receives throughout the series, we could see that these nice words never reached Kim Dan’s soul and heart. But why didn’t they help him to boost his ego? Delgado’s second article, Praise That Completely Destroys Children’s Self-Esteem, offers valuable insight into why:

  1. Focus on Ability, Not Effort – Compliments like “You’re the best” or “You have amazing care” (chapter 56) emphasize innate talent rather than the effort he puts in. This means that when he fails, he interprets it as proof that he was never truly capable to begin with.
  2. Exaggeration – The over-the-top gestures, like the coffee truck, feel inflated and insincere. This makes it harder for Kim Dan to genuinely believe in the praise he receives. Besides, there’s no picture of him there.
  3. Pressure, Not Motivation – Instead of building him up , these compliments raise expectations to an unattainable level, reinforcing his belief that he’s a fraud who will inevitably disappoint.

And now, you comprehend how I came to associate dandelion seeds to empty flatteries. The connection between dandelion seeds and hollow praise lies in their fleeting, weightless nature. Just as dandelion seeds are easily carried away by the wind, hollow compliments—those that are vague, exaggerated, or disconnected from genuine effort—disperse without truly taking root in the person they are meant to uplift. They may seem pleasant in the moment, but they fail to provide real nourishment or stability for self-esteem. Hence Potato’s admiration couldn’t move the athlete’s heart and mind: (chapter 41) And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung has always disliked his birthday and the “congratulations” from people in general. The gifts and words were like poisoned praises to his soul. They were pushing him to live like a “god”.

Dandelions are often associated with impermanence, a plant that thrives briefly before its seeds scatter, lost to the wind. Similarly, the praise Kim Dan receives—“You’re the best,” “You’re amazing,”—floats around him but never lands deep enough to strengthen his self-worth. It is momentary validation, gone as quickly as it appears, leaving him feeling just as uncertain and fragile as before.

This is why the illustration places hollow praise within the dandelion blooms—it highlights the transient, superficial nature of these compliments. Instead of fostering deep confidence, they merely swirl around him, reinforcing his feeling of disconnect between others’ perception of him and his own self-image.

That’s how I came to the first following conclusion. Dandelions and photographs serve as opposing symbols in Jinx. The dandelion seeds represent fleeting, empty compliments—words that drift away with the wind, never taking root. Conversely, photographs preserve meaningful moments (chapter 66), cementing their value over time. Unlike dandelion seeds, which scatter meaninglessly, photographs stand for memory, permanence, and proof of (genuine) human connection. (chapter 45) Kim Dan’s only adult photograph, taken with Choi Heesung and Potato, ties into his professional world, reinforcing how his identity has always been defined by what he does rather than who he is. (chapter 59) While this photography was not a personal and intimate picture, it also symbolizes his first root in the little community: Light of Hope Hospice. He is part of the staff and as such of the little town. On the other side, we could say, he is gradually entering the scene as a PT. Note the contrast to the food truck: (chapter 31) There was no picture of “Angel Dan”!! It was, as if the comedian was using doc Dan’s image to promote himself 😮, similar to this scene: (chapter 30) In other words, it exposes the actor’s hypocrisy and wrongdoings. And now, you understand why I wrote genuine in parentheses above [proof of (genuine) human connection]. Photography in Jinx also represents the evidence of wrongdoing (chapter 48) and deception: (chapter 66) This picture is not just the symbol of innocence and joy, it is strongly intertwined with the vanishing of the parents. There is a secret behind this picture. Yet, for Joo Jaekyung’s, it looks like Halmoni was enough for Kim Dan, as she could make him smile once. The photography, the emblem of civilization, can be traced back, and as such exposes the identity of the perpetrators and accomplices: (chapter 46) The exact opposite of the dandelions.

Joo Jaekyung’s act of bringing Kim Dan to the sleep specialist is the embodiment of actions over words. (chapter 66) It is a direct contradiction to the hollow praise doc Dan has received all his life. (chapter 53) He was treasurable, for he did favors to his grandmother all the time. Instead of simply saying that Kim Dan matters, the champion proves it. He challenges the physical therapist’s own perception of himself, demonstrating that he is not just useful—he is precious. Secondly by justifying his action for the doctor’s sake, (chapter 66) he contradicts not only Kim Dan’s self-perception, but also his past accusations: (chapter 66) that he was merely a tool for Joo Jaekyung’s success. By taking him to the sleep specialist, the champion proves something that Kim Dan had refused to see: he matters beyond his utility. This moment mirrors Joo Jaekyung’s past words— (chapter 15) into an action that Kim Dan never expected, an undeniable truth he can no longer ignore. And keep in mind that this reply was linked to doc Dan’s praise concerning his recent fight: (chapter 15) What Joo Jaekyung wants to hear from doc Dan is that he is a good person outside the ring, he wants to be praised for his good actions too. (chapter 62) This shows that deep down, he desires to obtain doc Dan’s gratitude. No wonder why he got so upset after hearing the displeased comment from Kim Dan. (chapter 66)

Moreover, the key chain’s presence in the dressing room (chapter 66) reveals Kim Dan’s elevation in the champion’s life. The dressing room symbolizes privacy and closeness. No longer seen as a mere tool, Kim Dan has become an integral part of Joo Jaekyung’s world, not because of what he can do but because of who he is. (chapter 66) Therefore the champion is holding the expensive gift with his whole hand contrary to the past: (chapter 55) As a conclusion, by bringing him to the sleep specialist, the star proved doc Dan’s words wrong! He told him something that doc Dan didn’t know: he is precious. He needs to pay attention to his health and body.

On the other hand, actions are not enough, in particular for both protagonists. The past words have to be erased, and this can only become effective with encouragement and good compliment. So how should compliments be in order to help the children? For praise to be meaningful, it must be like a deeply rooted plant, not a dandelion seed—grounded in reality, tied to effort rather than ability, and capable of fostering real growth. Moreover, the words have to be specific. Third, the person has to avoid exaggeration and give some motivation, like for example the picture!

The power of words

Mingwa gave us an illustration for a good appreciation: (chapter 66) The champion was praised for doing paperwork. “Good work” was specific, simple and related to an effort. Joo Jaekyung has been patient, diligent and docile in the office. For once, Joo Jaekyung was validated for something outside the ring 😉—something that had nothing to do with his physical strength or his ability to fight. That compliment planted a seed of recognition: his value is not solely tied to his role as a champion. This scene made me laugh because by giving such a flattery, the coach was not realizing that he was pushing his “boy” to take care of administrative tasks. This means that the main lead is destined to become a “white-collar”, a manager!! Kim Dan’s vision should become a reality. (chapter 32) And now, you comprehend why the athlete didn’t fall for Park Namwook’s manipulations afterwards.

When Park Namwook tells Joo Jaekyung, (chapter 66) “I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately…”, it carries an accusatory undertone, subtly suggesting that the champion has been avoiding him. By framing it this way, Park Namwook is not just asking about Joo Jaekyung’s well-being—he is asserting his discontent over losing control. His follow-up suggestion, “Instead of being alone all the time, why not come to the gym?”, reinforces the idea that he sees the gym as a tether, a way to keep Joo Jaekyung within his domain of influence. In addition, he is suggesting that the athlete has been using his injury as an excuse to avoid training. There’s an undertone of doubt and accusation, as if he does not fully believe the champion’s recovery process is valid or necessary. Instead of expressing genuine concern, Park Namwook is subtly framing Joo Jaekyung’s absence as a sign of laziness or avoidance. The small compliment from the manager (“good work”) represents a turning point in the athlete’s life. Park Namwook can no longer treat the athlete like in the past.

But there’s more to it. What caught my attention is that days before, Kim Dan had expressed a huge reproach to the athlete: (chapter 66) This criticism represents the negative version of the manager’s flattery. However, Kim Dan’s words left a huge impact in the champion’s mind and heart for one reason. Through his reproach, he reminded the star that he had a life outside the spotlight and ring. One might say that he was blamed for his bad behavior. Nonetheless his words implied that he viewed the celebrity as an adult, accountable for his actions! Jinx-philes will certainly recall that Park Namwook chastised the celebrity as a spoiled child (chapter 7) (chapter 52) Joo Jaekyung was portrayed as someone with a bad temper and personality. The manager was focusing on the ability, was exaggerating and put pressure on him by using his hand! That’s how it dawned on me why Joo Jaekyung could become resistant to Park Namwook’s short and superficial appreciation. Doc Dan’s harsh words served as an antidote to the manager’s tactics. How so? First, Doc Dan brought up the existence of feelings which Joo Jaekyung has been denying all this time. Then he blamed the champion for his actions and not for his character contrary to the manager!! Therefore he left room for Joo Jaekyung to improve himself. The idiom “always” served as a motivation for the athlete. Here, he could change. That’s why Joo Jaekyung, though hurt and angry, didn’t leave doc Dan’s side. (chapter 65) At the same time, such a disapproval (chapter 64) implies the existence of past hope and expectations. This means that the star has the possibility to revive these buried expectations and hopes by acting differently. By portraying the main lead as a maniac or bad-tempered person, Joo Jaekyung had the impression that he could never change Park Namwook’s perception no matter what he did! The only way to please him was to be in the ring. This was an “immutable truth” which stands in opposition to doc Dan’s criticism (“change”, private life). As you can see, a person can change for the better not because of compliments, but also because of criticisms, a new version of this scene: (chapter 45)

The Impact: A Growing Divide

Striking is that Kim Dan was praised by the protagonist after their first meeting. The champion’s appreciation followed the principles outlined by Delgado: it was specific, effort-based, and motivating. (chapter 1) However, this recognition went completely unnoticed by Kim Dan for three key reasons. First, he was not directly mentioned in the praise, making it difficult for him to associate it with himself. Secondly, Joo Jaekyung didn’t look at him either. Then the star’s phrasing included two negative notions (“not” and “bad”) which subtly diluted the apparent respect behind his words. Rather than perceiving it as validation, Kim Dan likely dismissed it as neutral or indifferent. Finally, it is also important that doc Dan had just made a mistake before (chapter 1), hence his true desire was to run away from that place. For praise to be effective, the recipient must be open to receiving it, either by looking forward to feedback or having expectations of validation. Since Kim Dan was in a state of distress, he was unable to internalize the champion’s words, reinforcing his long-standing belief that he was invisible or unworthy of acknowledgment. That’s how the champion’s praise became a dandelion seed in the end.

Another important detail caught my attention are the grandmother’s praises. (chapter 53) (chapter 61) They are rather inconsistent and conditional. In front of Joo Jaekyung, she commends Kim Dan for his diligence and productivity, emphasizing his value based on his ability to work and fulfill responsibilities. However, when speaking about him in private or when displeased, she reduces him to his supposed vices—calling him a drinker (chapter 65) or a smoker, hiding his sacrifices and the true causes for his struggles. Her words reinforce the idea that Kim Dan is only as good as his usefulness, that love and recognition are earned through labor, not freely given.

With such a mindset imposed on him from childhood, it becomes evident why Kim Dan does not allow himself to take breaks or seek joy for himself. Rest is seen as unearned indulgence rather than a necessity, and self-care is overshadowed by the guilt of not doing enough. His grandmother’s approval was never unconditional; it fluctuated based on how well he served her expectations. This pattern of conditional compliment shaped his self-worth, making him feel unworthy of being cared for unless he was constantly proving himself through actions. What makes this even more striking is that the praise Kim Dan receives from others follows the same pattern as his grandmother’s. Whether it’s his colleagues, the actor, the nurses, or even Park Namwook, their compliments are always tied to his work and productivity—his ability to heal, to endure (chapter 36), or to meet expectations. None of these affirmations recognize him as a person, only as a professional fulfilling a role.

Rather than boosting Kim Dan’s self-esteem, these empty praises widen the gap between how others perceive him and how he sees himself. His inner voice, shaped by years of self-doubt, tells him that he is undeserving of these accolades. Without specific, effort-based recognition, he is unable to recognize his own progress, leaving him trapped in an endless cycle of self-doubt.

A Different Kind of Praise

This is why, as I reflected on these observations, I realized that Joo Jaekyung’s praise must be different. It shouldn’t be about Kim Dan’s work at all. It shouldn’t be another generic statement about how great he is at his job. Instead, it should focus on:

  • Personal Qualities – His resilience, kindness, or courage, rather than his medical skills.
  • Emotional Impact – Expressing how Kim Dan’s presence affects Joo Jaekyung on a deeper level.
  • Small Acts – Noticing the little things Kim Dan does—how he cares, how he listens, how he perseveres.

Joo Jaekyung saying something as simple as “I missed your presence in the penthouse” would mean more than a thousand empty compliments. It would tell Kim Dan that he is wanted as a person, not just needed. That he matters beyond his function as a doctor. This is the type of praise that could truly help Kim Dan break free from his cycle of self-doubt.

And what is the favorite expression which comes to the champion’s mind, when he observes doc Dan’s behavior? (chapter 18) (chapter 45) (chapter 64) (chapter 66) Is this a joke?

Jinx-philes can notice that the champion is associating doc Dan to a JOKE! The problem is that so far the athlete used this idiom in a rather negative context. Kim Dan made the champion smile and laugh! (chapter 40) However, Kim Dan has never realized it. Either he was sleeping or totally out of it (fear of sex) (chapter 27) It is important to recall the importance of the receiver’s mind-set. The latter has to perceive the sincerity from the speaker. Hence I come to the following deduction: The moment Kim Dan notices Joo Jaekyung’s smile and laugh, then he should come to the conclusion that he matters to the protagonist. I would even say, the two protagonists are destined to make each other laugh and smile: (chapter 44) This would be the best “compliment” for both of them. With Kim Dan by his side, Joo Jaekyung desires to make “jokes”. (chapter 61) No wonder why Shin Okja preferred the champion’s company to her own grandson’s. The latter would ooze such negativity and suffering that his presence reinforced her guilty conscience. His grandmother’s mood got spoiled. On the other hand, Mingwa exposed the existence of fake happiness and fun like in this scene: (chapter 58) The friends ignored the main lead’s emotions and struggles. In order to be able to have fun, both main leads must be freed from their past and low self-esteem.

Conclusion: Breaking the Cycle

The title “Prove Me Wrong Again” takes on multiple meanings. On one level, it reflects how Kim Dan’s struggles with self-worth repeatedly override any praise he receives. No matter how much others try to uplift him, his mind tells him otherwise. But on another level, it is a challenge—an opportunity for someone, particularly Joo Jaekyung, to show him that true validation comes from being seen, not just being useful.

Kim Dan does not need grand gestures or overblown words. He needs consistency, sincerity, and reminders that his worth extends beyond his profession. The broken mirror in the illustration reflects the damage done to his self-esteem, but the dandelions? Perhaps they represent the possibility of change—of words that, rather than fading, finally take root. Because the doctor is suffering from depression right now, it is now Joo Jaekyung’s turn to make doc Dan happy, to make him smile and laugh.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: Bruised 🩸 by Choices, Bound By Sacrifice 😭

Exploring Kim Dan’s Psyche

In the complex narrative of Jinx, Kim Dan’s psyche is an intricate web woven from his upbringing, life experiences, and conditioned beliefs. Episode 61 serves as a focal point for understanding his internal struggles, particularly through the symbolic appearance of a bruise on his arm. (Chapter 61) However, this moment is not isolated—it reflects patterns in his personality that have appeared throughout the series. (Chapter 11) (chapter 18) This essay delves into the significance of Kim Dan’s physical and emotional bruises, examining how they symbolize his suffering, internal conflict and transformation. I will examine Kim Dan’s conflicted emotions surrounding gratitude and debt, contrasting his interactions with Joo Jaekyung and his grandmother, Shin Okja. Additionally, I will explore how Kim Dan’s conditioned identity as a caregiver drives his choices, even in his current living situation with the landlord, where he unconsciously replicates past dynamics. Ultimately, I will elaborate how Kim Dan’s newfound awareness could reshape his identity and relationships moving forward.

By comparing Episode 61 to earlier scenes, we can uncover recurring themes of sacrifice and rejection of help, shedding light on how Kim Dan’s mindset continues to perpetuate his suffering. This essay aims to unravel his internal contradictions, demonstrating how his struggles with gratitude, self-perception, and consent are deeply rooted in his past and manifest in his present relationships.

Bruised Flesh, Silent Cries

The bruise on Kim Dan’s arm in episode 61 (chapter 61) serves as a profound symbol of his neglect, overexertion, and silent suffering. More than just a physical injury, it reflects his exhaustion, malnutrition, and inability to recognize his own limits. Despite being a visible mark of his struggles, it goes unnoticed, until the champion, Joo Jaekyung, becomes the first to see it. (Chapter 61) His unexpected reaction catches Kim Dan off guard, further emphasizing how disconnected the doctor has become from his own well-being. However, contrary to the past (chapter 11), Kim Dan is truly responsible for the contusion. He caused the injury by removing the needle from the drip. (chapter 60) By taking this action, he absolved Joo Jaekyung of any responsibility for the injury, but this is merely a superficial conclusion. (Chapter 61) On the hand the circumstances surrounding the bruise, where Kim Dan removed the needle on his own, provide insight into his psyche. The deeper cause of the bruise lies in Kim Dan’s declining health, which is intrinsically connected to his malnutrition and the neglect he faces from those around him. It is important to recall that Joo Jaekyung was explicitly informed that Kim Dan needed rest (chapter 60). Yet, with his insistence, (chapter 61), he forced the physical therapist to keep working, adding even more strain than before. Though the physical therapist attempted to voice his disapproval, (chapter 61), he ultimately had no choice but to comply, as his order came from the hospice director. (Chapter 61) And why did the director override Kim Dan’s need for rest? Money and free PR. Joo Jaekyung’s influence secured the director’s approval, disregarding the doctor’s well-being in favor of business interests. This conversation at the director’s office makes one thing clear: words hold no power against profit. An d that realization led me to another connection—every one of Kim Dan’s bruises is linked to exploitation, whether by authority, obligation, or financial influence.

Chapter 11Chapter 18Chapter 43

To summarize, all his bruises were linked to money. In episode 11 and 18, it was related to the debts and the loan shark Heo Manwook. Then in episode 43 it was because of the expensive present Kim Dan wanted to offer to his boss and idol. However, notice that just before making the decision to offer a birthday gift, Kim Dan had been encouraged by his grandmother to show his generosity and gratitude towards the athlete. (Chapter 41) It is clear that she was inciting him to work harder than before. This displays that Kim Dan was not allowed to rest. During this encounter, she didn’t ask him about his well-being either. And what is the link between these 3 episodes? The grandmother and her poverty. The latter was responsible for the loan.

And because of money, Kim Dan never went on his own to the hospital in order to get treated. That’s how it dawned on me how the halmoni’s neglect could be exposed. No hospital or doctor has a file about Kim Dan as patient. When Shin Okja was transferred to the hospice, the hospice director and doctor received her patient file, hence he could make the following prognostics: she didn’t have much time to live. (chapter 56) Kim Dan has only visited the hospital once, and this was solely due to Joo Jaekyung’s intervention. The latter needed medical attention himself (chapter 18) and took Kim Dan along, ensuring he was seen as an emergency patient. However, this visit was brief and lacked any comprehensive medical examination—no blood samples were taken, and his underlying health concerns remained undiagnosed. This omission further underscores the neglect Kim Dan has suffered, as even in a medical setting, his long-term health issues were overlooked.

In other words, the moment the main lead’s health condition worsens and he is brought to the hospice, it is likely that the medical staff will seek details regarding his medical history. Given that he has never received proper care, they may turn to his grandmother, Shin Okja, for information about his past treatments and health status. And what did the old woman confess to the gentle and kind celebrity? (chapter 21) He had never been healthy and strong. Moreover, when he joined them, at no moment the senior asked if he had gone to the doctor, though he had been sick before. (chapter 21) But back then, the champion didn’t pay too much attention to it. In my opinion, her response will likely reflect her established pattern of emotional detachment and deflection of responsibility. Rather than admitting her lack of concern for his well-being, she may shift blame onto the staff or Kim Dan himself (chapter 57). In the last case, she will downplay the severity of his condition, insisting that he has always been stubborn and independent. She could even mention her conversation, when she tried to convince Kim Dan to return to Seoul, but the latter refused to listen to her.

Shin Okja might express surprise or even mild indignation at the idea that Kim Dan has been suffering in silence. She could feign ignorance, claiming that he never shared his struggles with her or that she assumed he was capable of handling his own affairs. Her response may also reveal an attempt to protect her own image, deflecting any potential criticism of her negligence. At the same time, she might subtly imply that Kim Dan’s health issues are the result of his own choices—his insistence on working tirelessly, his rejection of her past attempts to offer him food (chapter 5), or his general reluctance to ask for help. He rejected the athlete’s help and concern. (chapter 60) In addition, Jinx-philes should recall how the nurse 1 reacted to doc Dan’s dizziness and workaholism (chapter 57). She blamed the main lead, because she imagined that Shin Okja would worry about him. However, it becomes clear that the halmoni is not worried about her grandson at all. She is acting like a fan in front of the athlete. (chapter 61) One might argue that based on this scene, the grandmother didn’t see him with the bruise on his arm. (chapter 61) He only remained at the door. However, observe that there was a cut between this image (chapter 61) and the conversation between the main couple in front of the hospice. (chapter 61) So he could have made his presence known to his relative before asking Joo Jaekyung to follow him because of his treatment. To conclude, I believe that she had the time and occasion to see her grandchild and his bruise.

This confrontation with the hospice staff may serve as a pivotal moment, not only in exposing the extent of Kim Dan’s suffering but also in highlighting the grandmother’s true nature. If the medical professionals press further, requesting past medical records or details of where he had been treated, it will become evident that there is little to no documented history. She had never been worried about his health, since he was young. This realization could solidify the perception of Kim Dan as someone who has been neglected for years, forcing those around him—especially Joo Jaekyung—to reevaluate their understanding of his struggles.

And now, you know why Cheolmin is so important. (chapter 13) He is the only doctor who has ever examined the protagonist so closely and even paid attention to his fingernails! (chapter 13) At the same time, the chingu from the club was the first one pointing out that his wounds were never treated!! Furthermore, I realized that the doctor’s lies from episode 11 (chapter 11) could appear in a different light: he was not beaten by Heo Manwook, but he truly tripped on the stairs due to his weak constitution, a new version of this scene: (chapter 59) He would space out and even fall asleep at any moment.

Secondly, by contrasting these bruises, I noticed a pattern. First, it was the doctor’s left eye, then the right eye. The bruises on the eyes symbolized the doctor’s blindness. The latter had been avoiding reality. At the same time, the purple eyes exposed people’s sightlessness and indifference. Later the physical therapist injures his hands and knee, but no one intervened again. (chapter 43) They imagined that rest was the best solution, something the champion had heard from Cheolmin before. That’s why he listened to his manager’s suggestion. He let him sleep instead of urging him to eat something. He had heard that rest was crucial forgetting that Kim Dan was suffering from malnutrition. (chapter 13) The latter was the cause for the severe exhaustion. However, like mentioned above, the doctor is not blameless either, because he never questioned why his wounds on the hand were bleeding again. (chapter 43) He thought, it was related to the massage, yet the reality was that this incident showed that he had coagulation issues. To conclude, all the bruises could have always been noticed by people due to their locations (eyes, hands, arm)! (chapter 11) While the manager and Kwak Junbeom saw the injury and accepted the “excuse”, the nurses are now no longer paying attention to Kim Dan’s well-being contrary to the past. The bruise on the doctor’s arm reflects the staff’s neglect: they are not helping him. They are now more obsessed with handsome guys (chapter 61) and his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 61) That’s how I recognized why these women’s warm welcome and curiosity about Kim Dan were rather superficial. (chapter 56) His arrival stands for novelty and a breath of fresh air at the institution. However, with this change, the female staff is forgetting their original duty: they need to pay attention to their colleagues. They are behaving like the grandmother (chapter 61): fangirling over the handsome guys visiting their little town. That’s why Mingwa drew flowers in the last two images. No wonder why no one around Kim Dan is observing the bruise and his deteriorating condition. Moreover, since the physical therapist has a relative at the hospice, the staff is envisioning that Shin Okja is doing “her work”, she is paying attention to Kim Dan’s mental and physical conditions. On the other hand, there is no doubt that the grandmother has already delegated her own responsibility onto others, Kim Dan and the hospice. It is a medical institution, therefore they should pay attention to his working conditions. In other words, since no one feels responsible for the protagonist’s health, no one is worried about Kim Dan at all. At the end of episode 61, he is even so pale and breathless (chapter 61) that I am anticipating a terrible incident leading to a rude awakening for everyone.

Furthermore, the bruise (chapter 61) also reflects Kim Dan’s personality—marked by his selflessness, deep-seated low self-esteem and sacrificing tendencies. His inability to prioritize his own well-being is a recurring theme throughout the story, and it is intrinsically linked to his perception of self-worth. Conditioned by his upbringing, he has internalized the belief that his existence is burdensome, reinforcing his tendency to endure pain in silence. The fact that he was never taken to a doctor only strengthened his negative self-perception—medical care was seen as an expense he was unworthy of, a burden his grandmother should not have to bear.

The doctor’s bruise and Shin Okja’s education

In reality, Shin Okja’s supposed sacrifices were not genuine acts of selflessness but a carefully maintained illusion. While Kim Dan grew up believing she had given up so much for him, the truth was that she consistently prioritized herself, shaping his perception of responsibility and guilt. By neglecting his health, she subtly ingrained in him the notion that he was undeserving of care, further reinforcing his compulsion to sacrifice himself for others. This duality—the physical fragility of his health and the emotional scars of a neglected childhood—underscores the profound symbolic weight of the bruise, marking not just his external injuries but also the wounds inflicted upon his psyche.

Furthermore, in Chapter 61, (chapter 61) Shin Okja offers her yogurt to Joo Jaekyung, expressing concern over his weight loss. This small act of care stands in stark contrast to her treatment of Kim Dan, who has visibly suffered from weight loss and paleness too. In season 2, she no longer asked him if he would eat or if he desired to eat the yogurts.

Her neglect does not merely stem from past interactions, such as when Kim Dan dismissed her offerings, claiming he was no longer a child. It is rooted in a deeper belief that her responsibilities toward him have ended. (chapter 47) For Shin Okja, raising him to adulthood marked the completion of her duty, and his current struggles are no longer her concern. This perspective becomes evident in her words from Chapter 57, where she tells him, he can’t stay here forever, and it’s not like he’ll stick around after she dies. (chapter 57) By declaring that Kim Dan is now responsible for his own life, she emotionally detaches herself, absolving herself of any accountability for his deteriorating condition. However, she is forgetting (chapter 56) that she is still relying on him, as he is the one paying her hospice bills. Besides, she still doesn’t know that the loan is no longer existent. It was, as if he had to clean up her mess before her death. At no moment, she asks about the loan or the doctor’s future. She is not thinking about his future at all.

Moreover, Shin Okja’s earlier acknowledgment of Kim Dan’s worsening health condition (chapter 57) —coupled with his refusal to heed her concerns (chapter 57) — reinforces her conviction that she has fulfilled her role. In her mind, his rejection of her advice places the burden of care entirely on him, allowing her to dismiss any further involvement. This emotional withdrawal directly connects to the symbolism of the bruise: (chapter 61) it signifies not only Kim Dan’s physical neglect but also the absence of meaningful support from those who should care for him. The bruise becomes a manifestation of his grandmother’s abdication of responsibility, leaving him to bear the weight of his sacrifices alone, even as his health visibly deteriorates.

The bruise also holds significance in the context of the debts. (chapter 18) In episode 18, when Joo Jaekyung confronts Kim Dan about the loan, the doctor has a bruise on his left eye, symbolizing his entrapment and helplessness. This earlier injury highlights how Kim Dan has been conditioned to view himself as responsible for burdens that are not his own, perpetuating a cycle of sacrifice and self-neglect. And a new bruise appeared just after the athlete reminded the physical therapist of his past promise: (chapter 61) His grandmother’s disregard for his well-being amplifies the injustice of this situation; she allowed him to shoulder the debt despite knowing it was never truly his to bear. The bruise becomes a recurring motif, a visual representation of how others have imposed their responsibilities on Kim Dan, leaving him physically and emotionally scarred.

Shin Okja’s role in Kim Dan’s life is pivotal in understanding his psyche. Her methods of control were often passive-aggressive, characterized by guilt-tripping and emotional manipulation. In flashbacks, we see her imposing adult responsibilities on Kim Dan at a young age, reinforcing the idea that he must grow up quickly to alleviate her burdens. This dynamic is exemplified in Chapter 47, where she remarks, “You still have a lot of growing up to do, don’t you?” (chapter 47) In Chapter 57, Shin Okja’s detachment becomes more evident as she advises Kim Dan to leave the hospice. (chapter 57) These words strip Kim Dan of any sense of belonging or familial connection, further isolating him. Her suggestion that he move on reflects her mental and emotional withdrawal from him, leaving him adrift. This detachment, however, creates an opportunity for Joo Jaekyung to step into her place. As Shin Okja relinquishes her hold over Kim Dan, Joo Jaekyung’s role in his life becomes increasingly significant. The question remains whether Joo Jaekyung will rise to the occasion, offering Kim Dan the emotional support and respect he has long been denied.

The Symbolism of the Setting

The hospice, Light of Hope, serves as a symbolic backdrop for Kim Dan’s journey. It represents both a place of healing and a stark reminder of his sacrifices (chapter 60). The juxtaposition of the vibrant environment with Kim Dan’s deteriorating health underscores the neglect he faces. The hospice is meant to be a sanctuary, yet it becomes a space where Kim Dan is further burdened by the champion and his grandmother’s expectations (chapter 61) and the weight of his past.

The setting also reflects the champion’s role in Kim Dan’s life. Joo Jaekyung’s presence at the hospice symbolizes a potential turning point (chapter 61), where Kim Dan might finally confront his suppressed emotions and begin to heal. However, the pivotal detail lies in where Joo Jaekyung first notices the bruise on Kim Dan’s arm—not within the hospice but outside, in front of the building. This distinction is significant, as it suggests that Kim Dan’s true healing will not occur within the confines of the hospice itself, but in the broader expanse of nature, away from the constructed sanctuary. It hints at a deeper connection to the natural world as a source of renewal and recovery, a theme subtly woven into Kim Dan’s earlier reflections.

The imagery ties back to Kim Dan’s own words about Joo Jaekyung: (chapter 55) This line “I finally feel like I can breathe again”, written by Kim Dan, reveals a subconscious acknowledgment that his relationship with the champion represents a breath of fresh air, a chance to escape the suffocating expectations and burdens he has carried for so long. The bruise, a physical manifestation of his struggle, signals the breaking point of his role as a selfless caregiver. It challenges the illusion of invulnerability that Kim Dan has maintained and forces those around him to confront his vulnerability.

Furthermore, this notion of healing outside the hospice aligns with the setting of Kim Dan’s unconscious cry for help—the beach. His suicidal disposition in that scene reflects a desperate need for release, a yearning for an escape that the structured environment of the hospice cannot provide. (chapter 60) The beach, with its open and untamed expanse, symbolizes freedom and a return to the self. It foreshadows that Kim Dan’s true journey toward healing will require him to step outside the roles and confines imposed upon him, finding solace not in what is expected but in what feels authentic and liberating.

The Burden of Debts and Sacrifice

Kim Dan’s relationship with the debts encapsulates his conditioned belief that he must bear burdens alone. (chapter 18) His grandmother, Shin Okja, played a significant role in this mindset by fostering the illusion that hard work and sacrifice would erase the debts. However, as revealed in episode 18, this was a lie. Shin Okja made the choice to take on the loan and not to seek help (chapter 5), yet she burdened Kim Dan with it, using his sense of duty and gratitude against him. Her statement in episode 57 (chapter 57) —“This place isn’t your hometown, and you don’t have any ties here”—further reinforces the emotional distance she has always maintained, treating him more as an obligation than family. However, she is forgetting that as a senior, she still has obligations towards her grandson.

Joo Jaekyung’s decision to pay off the loan (chapter 18) in Episode 18 introduces the theme of gratitude (chapter 18) —or, more accurately, the lack thereof. The champion’s actions were motivated by a desire to help (chapter 18), hence the star was waiting for a smile from Kim Dan. Yet the latter perceived it as meddling. His immediate response (chapter 18) —shock, disbelief, and rejection—revealed his inability to accept help. This reaction stems from his upbringing, where he was conditioned to equate self-worth with self-reliance. Even after moving into Joo Jaekyung’s penthouse, Kim Dan insisted on repaying the loan (chapter 53), leaving a note when he moved out that promises to settle the debt. However, by Episode 61, Kim Dan is no longer mentioning the debt, signaling a shift in his priorities and a possible breaking point in his adherence to his grandmother’s expectations. (chapter 61)

Kim Dan’s lack of gratitude toward Joo Jaekyung also stems from a deeper existential crisis. When the champion repaid the loan, he unknowingly deprived Kim Dan of what had become his sole purpose in life: assisting his grandmother. (chapter 47) The physical therapist’s entire existence had revolved around fulfilling her needs, from managing the debt to taking care of her health. With her now approaching death and actively pushing him away, Kim Dan is left grappling with a profound sense of meaninglessness. (chapter 60) He had never been given the opportunity to develop dreams or ambitions of his own, as his life was entirely defined by his grandmother’s circumstances. This lack of agency further explains his rejection of Joo Jaekyung’s generosity in Episode 18 and his later promise to reimburse the loan. Clinging to this promise was Kim Dan’s way of creating purpose and meaning in a life that had otherwise been dictated by others. It highlights how deeply entrenched his self-sacrificing tendencies are, as even his attempts to assert independence are rooted in his conditioned need to serve others. That’s why I come to the following prediction. Kim Dan needs to get confronted with illness and death (he could lose his life) so that his will for life comes to the surface. Right now, he imagines that since he is young, he will outlive his relative, but the death of the puppy was a warning to him that youth is no guarantee for a long life. (chapter 59) Death can take away anyone and at any moment. In my eyes, if Joo Jaekyung uses his own body to save the doctor again (like for example blood transfusion and CPR), this time Kim Dan would feel truly grateful towards the champion. So far, the doctor has not recognized the star as his savior yet. By removing the needle, he denied the protagonist’s intervention on the beach: (chapter 60) Hence his arm got bruised. The contusion was a reminder that something had happened during that night, but Kim Dan chose to ignore the incident. He never questioned why he was on the beach, he acted, as if Joo JAekyung had lied. (chapter 60)

The Hypocrisy of Gratitude

Kim Dan’s inability to express gratitude towards Joo Jaekyung is rooted in the hypocrisy of his situation. (chapter 18) Deep down, Kim Dan knows that the debt was never truly his responsibility, making it difficult for him to view the champion’s actions as a genuine act of kindness. This inner conflict is compounded by his suicidal disposition, which renders the concept of repaying the debt meaningless.

Additionally, Kim Dan’s relationship with gratitude is further complicated by his grandmother’s influence. Shin Okja used pity (chapter 53) and guilt to manipulate Kim Dan into fulfilling her wishes, framing his sacrifices as acts of love and duty. Her neglect and disregard for his well-being, even as he deteriorates physically and emotionally, highlight her selfishness. Through his past memories, readers can get a glimpse of his misery. (chapter 59) He worked so hard, was even beaten, but he could never voice his torment. (chapter 59) Why? It is because the grandmother was no longer by his side and she never talked to him either. The absence of communication indicates her lack of interest in Kim Dan. And it becomes comprehensible why during that night, he felt the need to go to the ocean and drown himself. It is because he was gradually realizing his loneliness. With his relative’s death, he would only keep living a terrible life determined by work and nothing else.

And because Kim Dan made the promise to the champion to reimburse him, it is clear why the fighter reminded him of the “unpaid debt” after their reunion. (chapter 60) (chapter 60) Since Kim Dan had not accepted the fighter’s generosity and even reaffirmed the need to pay back the “loan”, Joo Jaekyung imagined that his fated partner was very principled about money. The latter was used to drive an edge between them. However, the MMA fighter made a terrible mistake at the hospice. With his remark (chapter 60), he created the impression that he was impatient, expecting to be paid back, and as such his past generosity was in truth fake. He never desired to assist the doctor with this problem. And note that from that night on, the physical therapist is no longer bringing up the topic of the unpaid debts. (chapter 61) In my opinion, the physical therapist has now internalized that he is not responsible for the unpaid debts. It is only a matter of time, until Kim Dan confronts the fighter with his biased prejudices (chapter 11) and even uses his own words against him: (chapter 22) The loan was the result of his grandmother’s decision. He never helped him, rather his grandmother.

The dynamic between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung also reveals the former’s hypocrisy. Despite feeling trapped and powerless, Kim Dan had choices. He could reveal the truth to the athlete, when he begged for his help: (chapter 11) However, he never explained his circumstances to the generous athlete. By keeping him in the dark, he reinforced his negative disposition about the doctor. And chapter 61 exposes this reality. His suffering was the result of his own decision. (chapter 61) Do you recognize the room? That was the doctor’s (chapter 19) (chapter 53) His decision to allow Joo Jaekyung into his bedroom in episode 61 demonstrates that he consented to the relationship, even if begrudgingly. (chapter 61) However, his reaction afterward (regret) suggests that he struggles to take ownership of his choices. The fact that he recalled this sex scene in the restroom divulges a certain resent towards the athlete. The latter abandoned him right after their interaction. Hence I come to the following deduction. In reality, he is projecting his frustrations onto Joo Jaekyung, masking his true feelings about his grandmother, who is the root cause of his conditioned self-sacrifice. And this observation brings to my next remark. People wondered when this intercourse took place. One might think that this took place rather early in the story because of the way Joo Jaekyung acted. He didn’t remove his pants (chapter 61) and acted like in episode 6. (chapter 6) or 8 (chapter 8) where he would abandon the protagonist right after the climax and not care about his partner’s conditions and feelings: (chapter 61) I might be wrong, but for me, it took place much later in the story, around the time the athlete was about to face Alfredo. Why? First notice that they had sex in the doctor’s bedroom. This means that Kim Dan was already living in the penthouse. The words from the champion implied that he would return to his own bedroom, where the doctor’s thoughts implied that he was standing close to his bed. However, so far, they only had sex in the champion’s bedroom, when it was the evening before the match: (chapter 13) Since the doctor mentioned that a match was right around the corner (chapter 61) It leaves us four possibilities. Randy Booker, Dominic Hill, Alfredo (chapter 47) and Baek Junmin. However, for the intercourse took place in the doctor’s bedroom (he wished to be carried to his own bed) (chapter 61), I am already excluding Randy Booker. Secondly, this sex session can not have taken place before his match with Dominic Hill (chapter 36), for they had sex every day. However, in episode 53, we discover their night before the match against the Shotgun (chapter 53) So this scene can only have taken place in chapter 47, when the match with Angelo got canceled and Kim Dan had been confronted with the terrible news about his terminally ill grandmother. (chapter 47) In the previous part of this essay, my avid readers could see the strong parallels between 61 and 47. But there exists another reason why I am inclining to think that the sex scene took place later in the story. It is because during that “magical night” (44), Kim Dan learned the notion of “consent”. (chapter 44) During that blue hour, Kim Dan discovered that he could say no! And notice that in his memory, he clearly thought that he could have rejected the athlete’s advances. (chapter 61) The other reason for this theory is Park Namwook’s advice at the gym: (chapter 46) He should mistrust the members from the gym and keep his distance from people. So during that time, Joo Jaekyung did follow his hyung’s advice (chapter 47), yet I can’t imagine that this man could become abstinent like in episode 19. Hence at some point, he must have felt the urge to possess Kim Dan, a mixture of fear and dominance. He imagined that way that he could impose his will onto the doctor and control his “loyalty”. With this submission, he would force the doctor to remain by his side. But naturally, this sex as “power play” could increase the gap between the main leads.

Interesting is that in episode 53 (chapter 53) doc Dan was copying the champion’s behavior from episode 61. Right after the sex, he would leave the bed and return to his bedroom. How did Joo Jaekyung recall this night? (chapter 53) He saw his attitude as a sign of disloyalty and “abandonment”. And that’s how Kim Dan is feeling in the restroom: (chapter 61) The darkness around the eyes is a metaphor for his resent and anger. And the moment you contrast the two memories (53 and 61), you can detect the hypocrisy of the two main leads. They only recall scenes where they were hurt and felt betrayed. However, in reality, they were both victims and perpetrators, because none of them chose to open up and talk to each other. Why? It is because both chose to listen to their “guardian” and their “favor”. Like mentioned before, in a quarrel, no one is right and wrong. The purpose of an argument is to listen to the counterpart and view incidents from their perspective. Finally, the physical therapist’s recollection serves as an important evidence that he had never been powerless and helpless. He could have refused all the time because their deal was never official.He could have used the contract as a shield. But the best evidence of Kim Dan’s power is this rejection: (chapter 61) I had already pointed out the increasing resistance and resilience from Kim Dan in episode 60: (chapter 61) My prediction came true. In the past, he could have denied the existence of the deal, Joo Jaekyung was free to seek another physical therapist. He never realized that he had some leverage. Yet he still followed the athlete’s requests. He saw himself bound by obligations. However, this was just an illusion. Hence in episode 61, we see him legitimating his consent that there was an imminent fight. (chapter 61) This shows that he always used others to justify his choices. That way, he could portray himself as a dutiful and loving person, while his sacrifices would all go unnoticed.

The doctor’s fate: a reflection of Joo Jaekyung’s life

Kim Dan’s bruises are more than just marks of exhaustion and overexertion; they symbolize the way his body is used for the benefit of others. (chapter 61) He is expected to work despite his declining health, his suffering dismissed by those around him. (chapter 61) His well-being is secondary to business interests, whether it be the hospice director valuing money and PR over his need for rest or Joo Jaekyung imposing additional strain despite knowing better. Every bruise on Kim Dan’s body is a reflection of a system that prioritizes productivity over humanity.

This, however, mirrors Joo Jaekyung’s own existence. (chapter 40) He is paid to receive bruises, to push his body past its limits (chapter 50), to endure pain while the public watches and profits are made. His suffering is entertainment, a spectacle that fuels the business of MMA. Though he is a champion, he is still a commodity, expected to perform regardless of his condition. (chapter 61) He understands, better than anyone, what it means to be physically used for the sake of others, yet he remains blind to the fact that he has placed Kim Dan in the same position. While one has no file about his health condition, the other has many files, but they are not studied, because this would push the manager to question his decision and even ruin the business: (chapter 17) I doubt that Park Namwook studied them, and notice that the recently hired PT didn’t ask for the champion’s files first: (chapter 54) Thus I deduce that the champion’s files are in reality a subterfuge. They give the impression that the doctors and Park Namwook truly care for his well-being, but it is not correct. They are only interested in his body because of wealth and reputation. But let’s return our attention to episode 61 and the champion’s attitude towards Kim Dan.

The hypocrisy is undeniable. (chapter 61) Joo Jaekyung pressures Kim Dan to work through his pain, (chapter 61) despite living a life where he is forced to do the same. He became what he despised—someone who forces another to sacrifice their well-being for business. (chapter 60) The reality is, both of them exist in a world where their worth is determined by what their bodies can endure. Kim Dan’s value is measured by his ability to work, just as Jaekyung’s is determined by his ability to fight. They are both trapped in a system that demands their suffering for profit, used by those in power who see them as tools rather than individuals.

If Joo Jaekyung fails to recognize this parallel, he will only perpetuate the very cycle that has shaped his own pain. But if he does, it could be the key to not only freeing Kim Dan from this exploitation but also breaking himself out of the same cycle. The question remains: will he see the truth before it’s too late? (chapter 54) It is clear that the manager wants Joo Jaekyung to return to the ring as soon as possible to erase the last “debacle”. In my opinion, the doctor’s illness could serve Joo Jaekyung as an excuse to delay his return to the ring and even not to accept the next challenge.

A Caregiver’s Identity

Kim Dan’s choice to rent from an elderly landlord (chapter 57) is another manifestation of his conditioned role as a caregiver. By living with an older man, he creates the illusion of a familial bond, mirroring the dynamic he shared with his grandmother. This decision highlights his struggle to break free from the identity imposed on him—one defined by servitude and selflessness. He assumes that he should take care of the landlord, offering to cook and expressing guilt for not fulfilling this perceived duty. Yet, the landlord subtly challenges this narrative. By inviting Kim Dan to eat breakfast (chapter 57) and dismissing his apologies, the landlord treats him as an equal rather than a caretaker. This dynamic forces Kim Dan to confront his false perception of himself.

The landlord’s care, though understated, contrasts sharply with Kim Dan’s expectations. In Episode 57, the landlord observes Kim Dan’s declining health and attempts to address his drinking habits. (chapter 57) Despite this, Kim Dan rejects the advice, demonstrating his resistance to being cared for. This moment underscores his internal conflict—he craves independence yet clings to the role of the selfless provider. The landlord’s actions expose the fallacy of Kim Dan’s identity, revealing that his caregiving is not always necessary or effective.

Kim Dan’s Transformation: From Self-Sacrifice to Self-Awareness

Chapter 61 marks a significant shift in Kim Dan’s psyche—he begins to view himself with self-pity. That’s why he recalled the sex in the restroom. (chapter 61) He was not feeling well, yet the champion still demanded to have sex with him. (chapter 61) However, like pointed out above, he could have objected and even explained the situation. But no… he chose silence and submission in the end. This exposes the long internalized belief that Joo Jaekyung is stubborn and won’t listen or even get angry. Moreover, it is related to the grandmother’s education which privileged money, obedience, silence and taboo. However, the recollection (chapter 61) is indicating the increasing resent and anger towards the star. Joo Jaekyung is no longer seen as a celebrity and idol, but as a inconsiderate man. This transformation is subtle but meaningful, as it reflects his burgeoning awareness of his own worth and the unjust treatment he has endured. For the first time, Kim Dan acknowledges himself as pitiful (chapter 61), a clear departure from his habitual role of unquestioned self-sacrifice. This moment signals the emergence of a new identity, where Kim Dan starts “treasuring” himself, even if only as someone who deserves more respect than he has been given. In his recollection, he has a wish: to have a companion who would take care of him.

Kim Dan’s realization that he was not respected by Joo Jaekyung (chapter 61) parallels the emotional and mental detachment of Shin Okja. While his grandmother had long imposed the role of a caregiver upon him, (chapter 61) her current disregard for his health and well-being forces him to confront the fragility of his own existence. His bruised arm and poor health serve as physical manifestations of this awakening—he is no longer the tireless, invincible caregiver but a vulnerable human being who could fall gravely ill (chapter 61) or even abandon others first. (chapter 53)

The Emotional Transition: Joo Jaekyung’s Role in Kim Dan’s Life

This transformation in Kim Dan reflects a deeper narrative shift in Jinx: the exploration of self-worth and emotional reciprocity. It signals that relationships should not be defined by obligation and sacrifice alone but also by mutual respect and care. As Kim Dan begins to recognize his own worth, the dynamics of his relationships with both Shin Okja and Joo Jaekyung are poised to change dramatically. (chapter 61) This chapter sets the stage for a redefinition of Kim Dan’s identity (chapter 61), no longer bound by the roles others have imposed on him but shaped by his own choices and growing self-respect.

Shin Okja’s emotional detachment opens a door for Joo Jaekyung to step into her place, but this transition is contingent on Joo Jaekyung admitting his feelings for Kim Dan. (chapter 61) The physical reminder of Kim Dan’s poor health is not only a wake-up call for Joo Jaekyung but also for Kim Dan himself. It emphasizes that caregiving cannot define his identity entirely, and he too needs care and consideration.

This dynamic creates a powerful opportunity for growth in their relationship. If Joo Jaekyung is to fill the void left by Shin Okja, he must evolve from a figure of dominance to one of emotional support and genuine affection. Similarly, Kim Dan must shed the remnants of his belief that his only worth lies in what he can do for others. His growing self-awareness, catalyzed by his deteriorating health, paves the way for this mutual transformation.

The Role of Health as a Narrative Reminder

Kim Dan’s health, deteriorating as it is, serves a dual purpose. For Joo Jaekyung, it is a stark reminder of the consequences of his past neglect (chapter 13) and the fragility of Kim Dan’s existence. For Kim Dan, it challenges his self-perception as an indestructible caregiver. This realization could lead him to an inevitable conclusion: his own needs and well-being are just as important as those of others.

Ironically, this reversal also suggests a possibility that Kim Dan could be the one to abandon his grandmother first—not out of malice but as a natural consequence of his newfound understanding of his humanity. He wants to live, he doesn’t want to die now. His physical limitations and emotional exhaustion could compel him to prioritize his own survival over the expectations imposed on him, marking a definitive break from his past.

To conclude, Kim Dan’s deteriorating health presents a pivotal moment in his journey, marking a potential shift from mere survival to truly embracing life. His identity, long defined by caregiving and sacrifice, could face a profound challenge if his condition worsens, forcing him into a role of dependency. Joo Jaekyung’s role in this transformation could be equally transformative. Witnessing Kim Dan’s vulnerability might inspire the champion to step into the role of a true caregiver, fostering a deeper emotional connection between them. This shift would starkly contrast Kim Dan’s relationship with his grandmother, where care was one-sided and manipulative. Instead, it could establish a foundation of mutual respect and shared responsibility, breaking the cycle of transactional relationships that have defined Kim Dan’s past.

Ultimately, Kim Dan’s illness could become a catalyst for healing—not just physically but emotionally—for both him and Joo Jaekyung. It sets the stage for a relationship rooted in genuine care and respect, underscoring the broader theme of personal growth and the rediscovery of self-worth.

Conclusion

“Bruised by Choices, Bound by Sacrifice” encapsulates the complexities of Kim Dan’s character and his relationships. The recurring motif of the bruise serves as a powerful symbol of his struggles, reflecting both his physical pain and the emotional scars left by his upbringing. The debts, gratitude, and the hospice setting further illustrate how Kim Dan’s sacrifices have shaped his identity, forcing him to navigate a path filled with contradictions and unspoken resentments.

This examination also underscores the profound link between silence and sacrifice in Kim Dan’s journey. His suffering largely went unnoticed not just due to external neglect but because of his own choice to remain silent. Kim Dan never expressed his thoughts or emotions, choosing instead to endure in silence to avoid burdening his grandmother. Ironically, this silence was unnecessary, as Shin Okja herself was blinded by his youth, assuming that his vitality ensured he would outlive her. This assumption prevented her from recognizing his vulnerabilities, highlighting yet another layer of neglect in their relationship.

Through this lens, Kim Dan’s journey becomes a poignant exploration of the cost of selflessness and the courage it takes to reclaim one’s agency. His silence, once a symbol of sacrifice, now stands as a barrier he must overcome to truly heal and redefine his life on his own terms. By breaking free from the constraints of unspoken expectations and misplaced gratitude, Kim Dan’s transformation holds the promise of a future where his choices are guided by self-respect and a newfound understanding of his worth.

In earlier chapters, such as Chapter 57, Kim Dan’s landlord invited him to share breakfast, showing a degree of care and concern. However, Kim Dan deflected this gesture, maintaining his self-imposed role as a caregiver. In Chapter 58, despite sitting at a table with Heesung, Potato, and the landlord, Kim Dan’s disengagement from the meal—leaving most of the chicken untouched and avoiding the rice wine—highlighted his hidden struggles with both malnutrition and alcoholism. His deliberate avoidance of the rice wine reflects an effort to conceal his drinking habits, adding another layer to his isolation.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Tumblr-Twitter account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Fault in His Powerful Hands 👊

At the hospice, Joo Jaekyung admitted to Kim Dan that he was not the one responsible for the incident with the switched spray. (chapter 60) However, this revelation sheds light on a deeper issue: his unquestioned reliance on the spray over Kim Dan’s expertise. (chapter 49) This choice reflects a significant lack of trust. Even with Kim Dan as his physical therapist, someone who had already proven his skills by treating his shoulder in record time (chapter 49), Joo Jaekyung chose to rely on external medicine rather than the “power of hands” that the nurse in the hospice later praises. (chapter 56)

The Misplaced Trust in Medication

This decision is revealing. (chapter 56) Here, the nurse credits Kim Dan’s care with improving the quality of life for terminally ill patients, emphasizing the tangible results of his dedication and skill. Yet, Joo Jaekyung disregards these same qualities. Instead of trusting Kim Dan, he justified his choice with the belief that the PT “wasn’t doing his job right,” a sentiment captured in his internal monologue. (chapter 55) But why was he thinking like that? He came to this judgement for two reasons. On the one hand, he was recalling the physical therapist’s nightly desertions. The latter chose to work as a courier instead of focusing on his main job. Moreover, the fact that he hadn’t checked the spray right before using it (chapter 51) This explains why the athlete imagined that Kim Dan had resigned due to his mistake. (chapter 55) However, this assumption is not only incorrect but unjust, as Kim Dan’s quick and effective treatment of his shoulder clearly demonstrates the contrary. (chapter 49) He felt no pain in his shoulder, a sign that he had been able to recover. Moreover, keep in mind what the other PT said in episode 42: (chapter 42) Finally, note that Baek Junmin was not able to defeat the dragon despite targeting his fragile shoulder. (chapter 50) The match ended up as a tie.

Kim Dan’s Hands and Regrets

The author’s focus on Kim Dan’s hands in the panel (chapter 60) where Joo Jaekyung admits his past ignorance adds a layer of emotional depth. The close-up of Kim Dan’s hands, slowly clenching, illustrates the complex mix of emotions he is experiencing in that moment. While the champion acknowledges his mistake, the tension in Kim Dan’s hands suggests a blend of guilt, frustration, and even resentment. This visual choice underscores the weight of the emotional burden Kim Dan carries—a burden made heavier by Joo Jaekyung’s previous accusations (chapter 60) and his failure to shield Kim Dan from blame. The clenched hands symbolize the internal struggle between an internal conflict between anger, indifference and lingering hurt caused by the lack of trust. What caught my attention is the sound of his jaw, KRIK, which reminded me of the star’s behavior. (chapter 56) This jaw’s movement symbolizes the return of instincts and as such to the champion’s true nature: he is a wolf. This means that the doctor is gradually losing his gentle nature and is on the verge of becoming a “wolf”. No wonder why he mimicked like the athlete at the end of episode 60: (chapter 60) He is acting like a loner wolf, whereas in reality his true personality is a hamster and duck.

Another panel, showing Kim Dan looking at his reflection and lamenting, indicates that this regret is beginning to fester. While he has not yet voiced these thoughts directly to Joo Jaekyung, the flinching hands (chapter 60) highlight the start of a growing resent. Thus I deduce that the self-directed blame could eventually shift outward, as Kim Dan begins to connect Joo Jaekyung’s role in the decision to use the spray. These subtle visual and narrative cues show how Kim Dan’s perspective is gradually evolving, laying the groundwork for potential confrontation. The clenched hands symbolize this internal struggle, balancing regret, lingering hurt, and a desire to fully understand the truth.

Incomplete Truths and Accountability

Joo Jaekyung never revisits or questions his decision to use the spray. (chapter 60) While he eventually acknowledges that Kim Dan was not to blame for the incident, he fails to recognize his own accountability in both the situation and its emotional aftermath. This lack of self-reflection extends to his understanding of Kim Dan’s mental state. Even though he knew the identity of the true orchestrator behind the scheme, the rival team, Joo Jaekyung did nothing to alleviate Kim Dan’s guilt and shame. Instead, his silence perpetuated the doctor’s internal suffering.

In addition, when Joo Jaekyung told Kim Dan, (chapter 60) his words left more questions than answers. He never clarified that the spray had been switched or explained what had truly happened. For Kim Dan, these vague words only deepened his emotional wounds. Left in ignorance, Kim Dan remains unaware that a fighter from Choi Gilseok’s team switched the spray. (chapter 52) By failing to provide a full explanation, Joo Jaekyung created the illusion that the matter was resolved. This lack of transparency leaves Kim Dan burdened with guilt and confusion, unable to find closure.

Ironically, Joo Jaekyung himself is not entirely informed. While he assumes Baek Junmin orchestrated the scheme (chapter 54), he is unaware that The Shotgun was merely a pawn used by Choi Gilseok, who had larger, more manipulative intentions. (chapter 52) I doubt that Potato told him about the director’s bet, too upset to discover the switched spray. The fighter’s ignorance mirrors Kim Dan’s in a way, highlighting how both are victims of deceit. This conversation further reflects their lack of communication, as it seems Joo Jaekyung deliberately avoids sharing his thoughts and knowledge with Kim Dan. (chapter 60) His reluctance to fully explain the situation perpetuates the emotional distance between them, leaving both trapped in a web of incomplete truths and unresolved tensions.

Mirroring Chapter 52: The Role of Toxic Relationships

This moment (chapter 60) also mirrors a significant scene from Chapter 52 (chapter 52), where Joo Jaekyung’s team visits him after the surgery at the hospital. Notably, the team members only address him when they need him to take the blame for the situation. Through this comparison, I noticed another aspect. They were all standing at a certain distance from the star’s bed. This exposes that none of them had the intention to spend time there and to give company to the athlete. At the same time, their position divulges their arrogance, lack of empathy or worries! Yes, no one is assuming that the athlete’s career is in danger. They are all somehow expecting that he will return to the ring. No wonder why their focus is entirely on the job, ignoring his well-being. When Joo Jaekyung finally voices his frustration and unwell-being (chapter 52), he is silenced with a slap. (chapter 52) This interaction reveals the deeply flawed dynamics of his relationships and the toxic role models that shaped him. His coach’s behavior—reducing everything to money and silencing emotional expression—has profoundly influenced his inability to recognize his own uncaring attitude at the hospice. (chapter 60) Yet, there exists a huge divergence between these two scenes. The athlete is now recognizing that he is dependent on his soulmate, though he is not voicing directly to Kim Dan. The hamster can not be replaced… someone needs to remind to Joo Jaekyung that life is fragile.

Kim Dan’s Rejection and Its Consequences

This parallel between 52 and 60 explains why Joo Jaekyung does not see how his attitude might appear dismissive or hurtful to Kim Dan. (chapter 60) Having grown up in an environment where emotional needs were consistently invalidated, he is blind to the damage his actions cause. Consequently, Kim Dan’s rejection and refusal to listen to him are understandable. (chapter 60) He is no longer willing to accept anything from Joo Jaekyung, hence he removes the needle. (chapter 60) The treatment is the symbol of the champion’s generosity and rescue. However, this is no longer working. So we could say that this gesture reflects the fate of the golden key chain. (chapter 45) After being blamed in the past, Kim Dan has reached his limit and chosen to stop engaging with Joo Jaekyung. However, this reaction risks exacerbating Kim Dan’s denial of his own mental illness, as he suppresses his emotions and isolates himself further. Contrary to the keychain, he can not be replaced. If he doesn’t get treated properly, his life could be in danger. (chapter 60) Hence he leaves a trail of blood on the floor.

Medication, Time and The Hospice as a Place of Healing

Joo Jaekyung’s reliance on medication (chapter 49) and quick fixes (chapter 54) reveals a deeper issue: his belief that drugs can compensate for his mistreatment of his own body. (chapter 27) By pushing himself beyond his physical limits and refusing to allow his body to rest, he clings to the power of medication as a means to sustain his performance. The hospice setting, where medicines and drugs are not perceived as vital (chapter 56), stands in stark contrast to Joo Jaekyung’s belief that medication is the only solution for treatment. Is it a coincidence that the doctor changed his prognostics about grandmother’s life span? No. It shows that without the new medication, she is supposed to live longer. Secondly it is clear that the grandmother is living well, because she is not plagued with remorse or guilt. In my opinion, through Shin Okja, the fighter should discover the power of mental health. (chapter 60) Besides, in such a place, he has the opportunity to experience how hands and comfort can surpass medication in offering true care and healing. This environment could challenge his reliance on external solutions and emphasize the value of trust and human connection.

Conclusion

Ultimately, this moment at the hospice highlights the need for Joo Jaekyung to confront his trust issues and the ripple effects of his decisions. His inability to reflect on his own actions and communicate openly with Kim Dan not only perpetuates the emotional distance between them but also prevents both from achieving closure. For Joo Jaekyung, this environment could serve as a turning point—a place where he learns to value emotional connection over quick fixes and begins to dismantle the toxic behaviors instilled by his past relationships. Similarly, for Kim Dan, this moment has the potential to bring about healing, but only if Joo Jaekyung takes the initiative to bridge the gap of trust and misunderstanding. Until both confront their shared and individual struggles, the imbalance in their relationship will persist, leaving unresolved the guilt, mistrust, and emotional wounds that weigh heavily on them both. I have to admit that by noticing the doctor’s jaw in this image (chapter 60), I am now wondering if the physical therapist won’t punch or slap the athlete in the future again. Chapter 61 is definitely connected to 7 (chapter 7) and the number 62 mirrors the famous fight in episode 62: (chapter 26)

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Tumblr-Twitter account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Deceptive Light💡 Of Hope ❇️

Hope often implies the promise of a tomorrow, a continuation of life and opportunity. Yet in Jinx, the depiction of Kim Dan’s condition—his unconscious attempted suicide (chapter 60), deteriorating physical health (chapter 60), and the ominous setting of the hospice (chapter 60) — challenges this notion. The photographs from episode 60 subtly introduce the fifth puppy’s death as a poignant symbol of Kim Dan’s precarious fate. (chapter 60) The puppy’s appearance in only one photo (the second one from left) among many mirrors Kim Dan’s fragile existence, (chapter 60) deepening the parallel between them. This connection becomes even more striking when recalling that the grandmother once likened Kim Dan to a puppy (chapter 53), emphasizing his vulnerability and dependence on others.

Without intervention, Kim Dan’s condition—both physical and emotional—could spiral into irreparable harm, reflecting the unnoticed demise of the puppy. 😭This essay will examine these events chronologically, beginning with Joo Jaekyung’s urgent rescue and arrival at the hospice. The narrative will then explore the symbolic meaning of the photographs, including the fifth puppy’s fleeting presence and its absence in subsequent images, as well as the profound symbolism of the room where Kim Dan is placed. This analysis will reveal how both elements intertwine to foreshadow Kim Dan’s increasingly tenuous grip on life and the unspoken realities of his condition. 

The Rescue and the Green Cross

Joo Jaekyung rushed to the hospice with Kim Dan in his arms (chapter 60), he rested him on his healthy shoulder to provide support. This method of carrying, while practical in the moment, placed uneven strain on Jaekyung’s body. The weight resting on one side risked injury to his back and disrupted his balance, subtly reflecting the physical toll of his desperation to save Kim Dan. This small but significant detail underscores the sacrifices Jaekyung was willing to make in his attempt to protect him. However, since Kim Dan was unconscious, he couldn’t see the wolf’s kindness and selflessness.

Moreover, we have to imagine that while looking around for help on the beach, (chapter 60) the green cross and the name “Light of Hope” likely caught his attention, inspiring him to believe the hospice could offer immediate assistance. Jaekyung’s desperation was evident in his drenched appearance after rescuing Kim Dan from the ocean (chapter 60), coupled with his labored breathing as he hurried into the hospice. His question (chapter 60) reflected not only his uncertainty about whether the hospice could offer assistance but also the sheer urgency of his actions. This moment underscores the physical and emotional toll of his determination to save Kim Dan. Jaekyung risked worsening his own physical condition, driven by the hope that help would be available Yet the irony of this moment lies in the true purpose of the hospice: it is not a place for treatment or healing but a program dedicated to end-of-life care. (chapter 57)

This observation invites deeper reflection on why a small town would have a hospice rather than a hospital. The answer may lie in the demographic realities of the region. The aging population is evident in scenes depicting the town’s streets, where Potato and Heesung encounter primarily elderly individuals (chapter 58), such as two older women (chapter 58). Yes, there were two small details, yet full of meaning. Even the landlord (chapter 58) nicknamed “old man” (chapter 59) by Heesung, symbolizes this demographic trend. The hospice’s focus on senior care reflects a broader societal issue in South Korea: a declining birth rate coupled with an increasing elderly population.

These statistics underscore the challenges South Korea faces in balancing an increasing elderly population with a shrinking workforce, impacting economic growth, healthcare systems, and social services. While “Light of Hope” caters to the growing number of seniors, this approach inadvertently reinforces the exodus of younger generations. This migration from the countryside to Seoul or other major cities is subtly reflected in Jinx. Yoon-Gu, for instance, comes from the province of Gangwon-Do, embodying the trend of younger people leaving rural areas in search of opportunities. (chapter 57) In addition, the empty bedroom where Kim Dan is staying—with its untouched guitar, furniture, and books—suggests it once belonged to a teenager who left home and never returned. The unchanged state of the room symbolizes the stagnation and loss felt in these regions, further highlighting the broader societal issues at play. This shows that Jinx is not merely a classic love story; it also paints a nuanced portrait of South Korean society and its challenges. By prioritizing elder care without addressing the needs of the youth, the hospice embodies a false promise of hope—one that may ultimately exacerbate the very demographic crisis it seeks to alleviate. (chapter 57) This observation is further supported by the panel depicting the hospice’s exterior, which highlights its offer of free health checks. This detail suggests that the hospice is actively trying to attract new patients and has the necessary resources to conduct thorough medical examinations. For instance, when one of Kim Dan’s patients fell, the hospice staff were able to examine him properly (chapter 59), indicating their capacity for medical intervention. However, this approach reveals an underlying paradox: while the hospice caters primarily to an aging population, it lacks a sustainable strategy to address the exodus of younger generations, whose departure threatens its long-term viability. This issue is further illustrated by the hospice director’s decision to allow the facility to be used as a location for a movie shoot, (chapter 59) seemingly as an attempt to garner attention and improve its reputation. However, relying on such strategies means any potential benefits will only materialize months later, when the movie is released. This delay highlights the limitations of the hospice’s current approach to sustaining itself. In this context, Joo Jaekyung’s presence could play a pivotal role. It is possible he may become the driving force in revitalizing not only the hospice but also the town itself, potentially pushing the director to transform the hospice into a full-fledged hospital, addressing both immediate and long-term needs of the community. And this would fit his personality, as I connected him to a dragon. Let’s not forget that in season 1, the MMA fighter was introduced as a benefactor who organized a charity event (chapter 41), yet we never got to hear where the money went. This potential transformation underscores the underlying complexities of the hospice’s current operations, as it navigates between providing care for the elderly and responding to broader societal challenges. By situating Jaekyung in this dynamic, the narrative subtly hints at his capacity to influence change, bridging the gap between the hospice’s limitations and the community’s evolving needs.

This stark reality mirrors Kim Dan’s mental and physical state. The trail of blood he left behind (chapter 60) —a consequence of removing his IV needle—symbolizes his quiet surrender and deteriorating health. When Kim Dan arrived at the hospice, he carried the faint hope of finding solace (chapter 56), particularly from his grandmother, who had promised to go to the beach with him. (chapter 53) However, this hope was met with disappointment (chapter 57) – which he never expressed -, reflecting the deceptive promise of the hospice itself. Kim Dan’s fate seems to mirror not only the unnoticed death of the fifth puppy (chapter 59) but also his grandmother’s diminishing expectations of him. (chapter 56) She expressed twice that she no longer needed him. (chapter 57) However, all this time, she had been his motivation and reason to live. Once likened to a puppy, Kim Dan’s vulnerability and struggle for recognition remain central to his story, highlighting the fragility of his existence. His malnutrition, possibly linked to a deficiency in vitamin K and compounded by his alcohol dependency, exacerbates his fragility, making his situation increasingly perilous. Vitamin K, essential for blood clotting and bone health, is derived primarily from leafy green vegetables and produced by gut bacteria. A deficiency can result in symptoms such as dizziness (chapter 57), easy bruising (chapter 13), excessive bleeding and slow wound healing—all of which align with Kim Dan’s deteriorating condition and the trail of blood he left after removing his IV needle. (chapter 60) Is it a coincidence that a company with the green logo K was shown in different panels, like this one? (Chapter 54) Like mentioned before, this logo could be referring to a pharmaceutical company.

The Room and Its Symbolism

The room (chapter 60) where Kim Dan is placed raises significant questions about its purpose within the hospice. The presence of curtains, indicating multiple beds, contrasts with the lack of personal belongings or cupboards (see as a comparison, Shin Okja’s room – episode 59), suggesting a temporary space for patients nearing the end of life. Moreover, observe that the colors of the curtains in the patients’ room is orange (chapter 56) (chapter 56) and not white. This observation aligns with the assumption that this room is reserved for those on the verge of dying, shielding terminally ill patients from witnessing another’s death. 😨

This interpretation becomes clearer when contrasted with the emergency room depicted in the K-drama Love Scout. In the drama, a character searches for his CEO and friend Kang by pulling back closed curtains in an emergency room, discovering different patients behind each one until finding the right person. This reinforces the notion that closed curtains signify the presence of others, even if their identities remain hidden. In addition, when the doctor treated the patient Park Jinchul, the curtains were closed. (chapter 56) (chapter 60) Like in Love Scout, the room in Jinx also has closed curtains, but instead of revealing activity or connection, it implies abandonment and isolation for those behind them. How so? Contrary to the transparent, automatic doors of the emergency room in Love Scout, the door in this scene is closed, manual, and opaque. Such a door symbolizes privacy and secrecy, further emphasizing the room’s association with isolation and death. In addition, the lack of anyone visibly attending to them suggests desertion. Everything is indicating that this space is not dedicated to immediate care and life-saving measures contrary to the emergency room. This contrast emphasizes that the room in Jinx symbolizes abandonment and death rather than rescue. 

But there’s more to it. In Episode 52, the curtains in the health center were removed between two patients (chapter 52) to signify absence of confidentiality, contrasting with the closed-off nature of this space. This comparison not only exposes the manipulation of the staff at the health center, but also reinforces my interpretation that the emergency room at the hospice stands for danger and challenge. This detail underscores Joo Jaekyung’s assumption that he and Kim Dan are alone, but it also raises the possibility that their conversation could have been overheard by someone lying behind the curtains, such as the patient from Episode 57. (chapter 57) or the mysterious Park Jinchul (chapter 56) (chapter 56) If others are indeed present, their isolation hints at a bleak reality: death would occur behind closed curtains, without companions or acknowledgment. This setting forces Joo Jaekyung to confront the fragility of life and the limits of money, as even wealth cannot shield anyone from the inevitability of death. (chapter 60) The room’s atmosphere intensifies this realization, as the symbolism of abandonment permeates its design and the interactions within. Moreover, since many people could see parallels between this scene with the doctor’s situation in the locker room, (chapter 51), they should remember that people were listening to their conversation behind the closed door, but they chose not to intervene. (chapter 53) That’s the reason why I am inclined to think that someone was /is present behind the curtain, but chose to remain silent. However, contrary to Team Black, such a person should intervene, if my theory is correct. And there is another evidence for this hypothesis. Since in episode 60 Joo Jaekyung offers a new contract (chapter 60), it signifies that it is a reflection from chapter 6: (chapter 6) Nevertheless, back then, the deal was made without any witness. That’s the reason why I come to the conclusion that someone else was present in that room, yet contrary to the past, this person will intervene which stands in opposition to the symbolism of the room: death, secrecy and abandonment. And that can only be a patient who experienced the talent and care from Kim Dan. Joo JAekyung has never met any previous patient from Kim Dan before, but this is what readers got to hear from the nurse: (chapter 56) Only a bedridden person on the verge of dying can express such a gratitude towards the physical therapist.

If this interpretation is correct, the room’s symbolism is intertwined with death rather than rescue, then it conveys a sense of abandonment, as though the staff had already given up on Kim Dan. Furthermore, the decision not to place Kim Dan near his grandmother suggests an effort to keep the incident hidden from her (if she is not in the room), emphasizing the isolation surrounding his condition. On the other hand, the champion’s presence in that room could represent a chance for the athlete as well. This could represent the moment of his “rebirth”. Through a honest but painful conversation, the fighter would be encouraged to judge Kim Dan in a different light and nurture his maternal instincts. Moreover, he could give some comfort to a dying patient, similar to this scene: (chapter 21) which would push him to have a change of heart and show his vulnerability. What can he fear from a dying or terminally ill person? Nothing… hence he can only listen to the confidence and advice from such a patient.

And if my deductions based on observations are true, this signifies that the brochure from Light Of Hope (chapter 53) is indeed an illusion and deception, for the senior on the paper is portrayed as being accompanied by a nurse. The reality is different, for the patients are facing death alone.

Between Lies and Misconceptions

Kim Dan’s interaction with Joo Jaekyung in this room is marked by lies and unspoken truths, which define the fragile dynamic between them. Their conversation begins with Kim Dan’s simple yet loaded question about how Jaekyung discovered his whereabouts. This moment, better captured in the Japanese, and Spanish translations, underscores Kim Dan’s curiosity and underlying desire for clarity. In the Japanese version, Kim Dan asks, “どうしてここがわかったんですか?” (“How did you find out about this place?”), while the Spanish translation reads, “¿Cómo es que usted acabó aquí?” (“How did you end up here?”). Both translations emphasize Kim Dan’s direct inquiry about how Jaekyung discovered his whereabouts, making Jaekyung’s evasive response even more significant. It is clear that he is trying to protect Potato here. However, Jaekyung’s response (chapter 60) immediately sets the tone for their interaction. His refusal to answer and his deliberate avoidance of Kim Dan’s gaze reflect a lie by omission. This evasive behavior not only highlights Jaekyung’s reluctance to reveal his vulnerability but also creates a significant divide between them, making it clear that they are not functioning as a unified team.

Kim Dan’s body language mirrors this emotional disconnection. (chapter 60) Initially, he avoids Jaekyung’s gaze, signaling his own fear and insecurity. This avoidance reveals his worry about rejection and his deeper emotional vulnerability. On the one hand, he hopes deep down that the athlete would admit that he came looking for him, yet their last two interactions were arguments and rejections which the doctor didn’t forget. (chapter 60) Moreover, the idiom “by any chance” is exposing his low self-esteem. His words are exposing his internal struggles: between hope and despair. Later, his subtle act of turning his head away—a gesture often linked to dishonesty—indicates an effort to conceal his true feelings. (chapter 60) He is still in love with Joo Jaekyung, but he is no longer hoping for any attachment and feelings from the fighter. On the other hand, his words are reflecting a different opinion: he is no longer trusting the athlete. This means that when the champion admitted his mistake indirectly, it was already too late. (chapter 60) The damage was done. In addition, he is rejecting the job offer because of the champion’s money. (chapter 60) He doesn’t want this fake generosity, since the athlete is reminding him of his “debts” towards him: (chapter 60) How ironic is that with his last remark, he ruined all his chances with Kim Dan. He was still viewing the physical therapist as someone below him. However, keep in mind that such an arrogance and “confidence” are just subterfuges from the MMA fighter. This act of concealment parallels Jaekyung’s guarded demeanor, as both characters are ensnared in a cycle of avoidance and denial.

Jaekyung, for his part, struggles with acknowledging his dependency on Kim Dan. (chapter 60) This evasive remark suggests that Jaekyung believes keeping Kim Dan ignorant of his intentions is for the best. By withholding the truth, he feels he is protecting himself and Kim Dan from unnecessary burdens or complexities, reinforcing his perception that their relationship is better managed with clear boundaries. However, this attempt at concealment only deepens the divide between them, as it denies Kim Dan the clarity and emotional connection he seeks. In fact, he is not realizing that he is even afflicting more pain on his fated partner.

This dynamic is further emphasized when comparing their positions in Episode 6 and Episode 60. In Episode 6, Kim Dan was standing while Jaekyung sat (chapter 6), reflecting the power imbalance between them. Kim Dan momentarily held the upper hand by negotiating his terms, but once Jaekyung agreed, their positions shifted (chapter 6), with Kim Dan ending up on the floor—a physical manifestation of his subservience. Later, in the locker room, both were shown facing each other (chapter 51), symbolizing a superficial moment of equality. In Episode 60, however, both are seated: (chapter 60) Kim Dan in bed and Jaekyung on a chair. Yet, this apparent parity hides a reversal of dependency. While Kim Dan is physically and mentally weaker, neglecting his own health to leave the bed, (chapter 60) it is Jaekyung who has become emotionally reliant on him. Kim Dan’s stubbornness to push through his fragility mirrors the fighter’s own traits, exposing an ironic role reversal that neither of them fully acknowledges.

Despite his outward confidence, (chapter 60) his refusal to engage truthfully exposes his internal conflict and fear of reliance. But why does he fear so much closeness and dependency? Naturally, Jinx-philes should keep in their mind his terrible childhood where he suffered emotional abuse. Moreover, he had been taken advantage from his previous sex partners. (chapter 42) Despite the appearances, such relationships could only deepen his wounds and reinforce his anxieties. Thirdly, let’s not forget that the athlete read the doctor’s birthday card where the latter expressed the hope to work for him for a long time: (chapter 55) That’s why he imagined that once he made his offer, the other would agree immediately. However, what he failed to realize is that he read the note too late. Besides, there were these erased words which left the fighter in the ignorance. Finally, he continues to misunderstand Kim Dan’s motivations (chapter 60), as he did in episode 6. (chapter 6) Back then, Jaekyung assumed money was the sole driving force behind Kim Dan’s actions, and in the current interaction, he still believes this to be true. His internal monologue reveals this misconception: (chapter 60) I would even add, he believes to know Kim Dan so well, hence he mentions his grandmother: (chapter 60) However, Jaekyung is terribly wrong because he never talked to his lover. His interest and curiosity were quite superficial. Therefore he fails to grasp that Kim Dan’s longing is not for material wealth or familial obligation, but for genuine companionship and a place to call home. Kim Dan’s rejection of a boss-employee dynamic (chapter 60) underscores his desire for a deeper, more meaningful connection—something Jaekyung is unable to see due to his own emotional barriers.

But there is another reason why he got rejected. Fate wanted to punish the athlete for putting his own selfish desires over the doctor’s. He had seen the physical therapist in a dangerous situation (chapter 60). Moreover he got to hear from the doctor that Kim Dan needed rest: (chapter 60). Yet, the first thing he talked about with the doctor was work (chapter 60), once Kim Dan asked him for the reason of his visit: (chapter 60) In other words, with his request, he implied that he had not been longing for Kim Dan’s company. With his attitude, he could only give the impression that he was not interested in the man Kim Dan, rather in the physical therapist, and that’s not what the main lead truly desires. To conclude, his behavior and words generated the impression that the fighter was only superficially interested in him. It was, as if his rescue on the beach had never taken place. He was definitely undermining his own “good deed”.

Their interaction becomes a poignant dance of unspoken fears and withheld truths, illustrating how deeply both characters are entrenched in their insecurities. From the very start, the conversation is undermined by these concealed emotions, dooming it to failure and highlighting the isolation each character feels despite their physical proximity.

Potato’s Role and the Symbolism of Photos

Potato’s involvement adds another layer to the narrative. While the readers can notice the photo of Kim Dan in front of the hospice, they also detect the pictures of the puppies, which were captured later. (chapter 60) These images reveal that Potato visited the old man’s house to bid farewell to the animals. Among the photos, only one shows the fifth puppy—a small, brown one on the left—who appears less active than the others, symbolizing its declining condition. This shows that he was present, when the puppy was showing signs of being sick, but he did nothing. He was too focused on the moment cheering these animals on (chapter 35) for his own “happiness”. Through Potato, the author is criticizing the attitude of fans who are only projecting their own emotions onto their idols. Their wish for happiness is quite rather superficial. This subtle oversight reflects Potato’s growing detachment, as his focus shifted to capturing moments for posterity rather than addressing the realities in front of him. The absence of the fifth puppy becomes a poignant symbol of unnoticed fragility and foreshadows Kim Dan’s own vulnerability. And how did Kim Dan react to the death of the small dog? (chapter 60) He blamed himself.

Additionally, Potato’s farewell request to treat Kim Dan to a meal if he ever returns to Seoul reveals his underlying doubt. (chapter 59) Deep down, Potato does not expect Kim Dan to come back, reflecting his resignation to their fading relationship. Notably, Potato only asked for a picture of Kim Dan at the very end, never taking photos of him during their time together. (chapter 60) This lack of sensitivity and focus on celebrities, flowers, or the puppies instead of his friend underscores the growing emotional distance between them. Interestingly, while Potato returned to the old man’s house to bid farewell to the puppies, he has no intention of returning to the hospice. This contrast highlights how his farewell request serves as an acknowledgment that they are unlikely to meet again. This detachment mirrors Jaekyung and Heesung’s superficial connections, emphasizing how work relationships often overshadow genuine bonds.

Lies, Betrayal, and Ignorance

Potato’s secret visit concerning the puppies and his silence regarding Kim Dan’s whereabouts reveal his growing resemblance to Heesung. (chapter 60) When he got caught with his silence, Mingwa never showed us Potato’s justification. Yet, it becomes clear that the young fighter decided to give the following explanation: he respected Kim Dan’s wish to remain undiscovered (chapter 58) The reason for this interpretation is the champion’s reaction, when he was asked how he knew about his whereabouts (chapter 60) He deliberately avoided revealing that Potato was the one who disclosed Kim Dan’s location, shielding Potato’s role and perhaps attempting to protect the fragile connection they all share. This omission reflects Jaekyung’s misguided belief that ignorance might shield Kim Dan from further pain or complications. However, claiming he respected Kim Dan’s wish to remain undiscovered—was a lie, as his true motivation was Heesung’s request. (chapter 58) Therefore it is not surprising that through this omission, the main couple got affected. The lie from the chow chow had consequences for it increased the gap between the two protagonists. That’s how it dawned on me why Mingwa revealed the photo library of Potato. (chapter 60) The latter would serve as an evidence of his passivity and blindness towards Kim Dan, for the 5th puppy was still alive back then. The latter represents the fate of the doctor’s. These layers of deception highlight how characters like Potato become increasingly absorbed in their own worlds, blinded by their focus on superficial priorities.

This theme of being “too late” is also mirrored in Kim Dan’s experience with the puppy’s fate (chapter 59) and Joo Jaekyung’s rescue of Kim Dan. (chapter 59) In the case of the puppy, Kim Dan arrived too late to save the small animal, reflecting his self-doubt and hesitance to trust his abilities. Conversely, Joo Jaekyung arrived just in time to rescue Kim Dan from the ocean, demonstrating his decisive action. However, his failure to keep Kim Dan in a safe environment afterward suggests a broader inability to provide sustained support, echoing the narrative’s overarching theme of fragility and impermanence. (chapter 60) Though he is the one left behind, he is not realizing that by not following him, he is failing to protect Kim Dan.

The imagery of the fifth puppy serves as a poignant commentary on the consequences of neglect and inaction. The puppy’s decline—evident but unaddressed—parallels Kim Dan’s own struggles. Just as the fifth puppy’s fading presence is overshadowed by the activity of its siblings, (chapter 60) Kim Dan’s vulnerability risks being overlooked amid the chaos of the narrative. The missing puppy becomes a haunting reminder of what happens when fragility is ignored: a slow, quiet decline that ultimately goes unnoticed until it is too late. With too late comes regrets and remorse: (chapter 57) Cheolmin already warned his friend in episode 13: (chapter 13) But the man refused to listen to his advice, and now Kim Dan is leaving a trail of blood on the floor (chapter 60) indicating that his blood is not coagulating correctly. The last comment from the athlete implies that he is now accepting the challenge, he will do anything to have Kim Dan come back to him. Nevertheless, there exists one problem in my opinion: he is running out of time due to Kim Dan‘s physical and emotional deterioration, while he needs time to regain the physical therapist‘s trust.

Conclusion: The Fragility of Hope

The title, “The Deceptive Light of Hope,” encapsulates the essence of these intertwined narratives. The hospice’s name promises healing and solace, yet it masks the harsh reality of end-of-life care. On the other hand, since the couple reunited there, their relationship can be built on better foundations. They are surrounded by people who are definitely more attentive and less passive than at the gym. Moreover, the athlete has been living as a zombie all this time, the latter needs to die in order to be reborn as a human being. But it is the same for Kim Dan who has been living as a ghost for the last one and half month. On the other hand, rebirth is strongly intertwined with suffering, which reinforces my conviction that something bad to Kim Dan will happen. Since a beating heart is the symbol for humanity, it signifies that both will have to open up and confess their feelings. Similarly, the brightly lit hospital room, symbolizing purity, conceals the lies and unspoken truths exchanged between Jaekyung and Kim Dan. Potato’s photographs, seemingly innocent, betray a certain selfishness, ignorance and detachment, symbolized by the missing puppy. Each element contributes to the overarching theme: the fragile and often deceptive nature of hope in a world where appearances rarely align with reality. It is only a matter of time, until the wrongdoers realize their mistakes and apologize properly.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Tumblr-Twitter account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: A Luminous Kiss 😘💋 Amid Shadows 🫂

In Jinx, the evolution of Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan’s relationship can be traced through the symbolic use of kisses [for more listen to Kiss Me], specifically the one in the locker room (Chapter 15) and the life-saving kiss on the beach (Episode 60). Both moments carry significant emotional weight but reflect different facets of their dynamic, from selfishness to selflessness, secrecy to openness, and miscommunication to recognition. The setting and circumstances surrounding these kisses not only highlight the characters’ growth but also underscore the unresolved struggles they face.

Selfishness vs. Selflessness

The kiss in Chapter 14 and 15 was performed under the pretense of care but was marked by a sense of urgency and concern. Joo Jaekyung, lost in his thoughts and experiencing a form of derealization (chapter 14), acted particularly rough with Kim Dan (chapter 14), only snapping back to reality when he felt Kim Dan’s body trembling. (chapter 14) This moment of realization, coupled with the doctor’s tears and plea (chapter 14), served as the trigger for Joo Jaekyung to recall Cheolmin’s recommendation (chapter 14) of using foreplay and gentler methods, such as a kiss. While the kiss reflected care in the moment (chapter 14), selfish motives lingered in the shadows, as Joo Jaekyung sought to prevent causing visible harm that could lead to questions or even a scandal. It was, as if he wanted to silence his partner. Moreover, this decision was influenced by external suggestions, particularly from his friend, and not entirely by his own intentions. It was a calculated action to prevent immediate harm but lacked genuine emotional depth.

Interesting is that Kim Dan never dared to question Joo Jaekyung for this sudden kiss. (chapter 16) Moreover, he never wondered why Joo Jaekyung had asked for sex in the locker room, which represented a change in his behavior. If he had done it before, then he would have forced the physical therapist to travel with him to Busan. (chapter 13) As you can see, through the comparison with the kiss on the beach, I realized the doctor’s passivity and lack of critical thinking in season 1. He never asked why the athlete was so rough during sex. He took this for a normality. His attitude exposed the doctor’s biased perception of his boss: a spoiled and rough man obsessed with sex. I would even add that the kiss had a positive effect on the protagonist (chapter 15), because for the first time, Kim Dan made a request. With his remark, he implied that the kiss was strongly associated with emotions. However, exactly like Joo Jaekyung pointed out (chapter 15), the physical therapist omitted something important in the locker room. First, he didn’t share all his thoughts about the athlete, in particular his prejudices. Finally, he should have talked about his behavior before the kiss. What was he thinking, when he was having sex with him? In verity, he had been used as a substitute. In other words, the champion’s selfishness was rubbing on the doctor. Both were selfish, both had their heart and mind closed. And this remark brings me to the kiss on the beach.

In contrast, the kiss in Episode 60 (chapter 60) was executed purely for Kim Dan’s sake. It was a spontaneous, instinctive act of CPR to save his life, demonstrating selflessness and true concern. Unlike the locker room kiss, which carried both urgency and selfish motives, the beach kiss was entirely devoid of emotional connection, functioning solely as a technical gesture. Kim Dan was unconscious and unaware of the act, which stripped it of any emotional reciprocity. Here, Joo Jaekyung saw Kim Dan as a human being—detached from his social background and circumstances. This shift in perception is reflected in the location: the openness and natural beauty of the beach stand in stark contrast to the confined, artificial environment of the locker room. Joo Jaekyung’s willingness to perform this act in the open signifies a progression in his character—a gradual dismantling of his secrecy about his sexuality and his connection to Kim Dan. This shift from selfishness to selflessness illustrates not only Joo Jaekyung’s emotional growth but also the deepening of his bond with Kim Dan.

Secrecy vs. Openness

The locker room serves as a metaphorical closet (chapter 15), a confined space symbolizing Joo Jaekyung’s need to keep his relationships private. Picking up partners at a VIP club (chapter 33) was another extension of his desire to maintain secrecy. By contrast, the beach in Episode 60 is a public, open space, reflecting a significant shift. (chapter 60) Moreover, in the past, the locker room (chapter 14) was always filled with people surrounding the champion. However, once Kim Dan entered his life, this dynamic began to change. In Episode 14, Joo Jaekyung asked everyone to leave the locker room, (chapter 14) even excluding Park Namwook, who was even seen before stationed outside the bathroom door, (chapter 14) signaling a gradual exclusion of others from his private life and emotions. By Episode 15, Joo Jaekyung explicitly sent away his manager to have a private conversation with Kim Dan. (chapter 14) This shift highlights the increasing importance of Kim Dan in Joo Jaekyung’s personal sphere. Interestingly, this progression is contrasted by Episode 49, where Joo Jaekyung deliberately ensured (chapter 49) he was not left alone with Kim Dan. This means that this place was no longer the synonym for privacy and secret. This reflects why director Choi could intrude with his minions. Following the incident with the switched spray, Kim Dan was left behind (chapter 50) in the locker room twice (chapter 51), which could only increase the physical therapist’s feelings that he didn’t belong to Team Black. He was not part of that “family”. And this coincides with the moment where Kim Dan cries for the last time: (chapter 51) From that moment on, the main lead won’t show his vulnerability and pain to others. This gesture announces the return of his “blue friend”, the depression.

Moreover, keep in mind what the grandmother used to say constantly to her grandson: “Don’t cry” (chapter 57) Shin Okja must have felt uncomfortable with his tears and pain, therefore the doctor internalized not to show his struggling and burdens in front of his grandmother. This explicates why he denied his weeping in front of her first. (chapter 47) And now, you are wondering how this is relevant to the scene on the beach. Joo Jaekyung got shocked and scared, but he didn’t cry later and it is the same for Kim Dan. Hence the latter could deny his presence on the beach and even ignore the athlete’s words: (chapter 60) The absence of tears or a trembling body from the main leads indicate that both are hiding their emotions from each other. (chapter 60)

And because Kim Dan came to symbolize the fighter’s intimacy and privacy, it is no coincidence that their relationship ended in the locker room. There, the champion exposed his true thoughts about the doctor: his lack of professionalism, (chapter 51), his lack of loyalty, his greed and obsession for money. (chapter 51) Here, they were totally honest to each other: (chapter 51) Though the champion was restraining himself, he didn’t realize that his words were like punches to Kim Dan. The latter got to hear what he didn’t know. (chapter 51) Despite living together in the penthouse, he didn’t trust his room mate. After divulging his mistrust and anger to the physical therapist in the locker room, the former left Kim Dan behind and went to the health center with his hyungs. (chapter 51) What he didn’t realize is that the doctor stood for secrecy and closeness, so by leaving his side, he was destined to be exposed. (chapter 52) The conversation in the locker room symbolically announced the champion’s private struggles to the media, as his bad temper was made public shortly after.

Through these events, the kiss in the locker room becomes full of symbolism. It not only marked a moment of urgency but also served as an emotional awakening for Joo Jaekyung (chapter 15) , representing his need for mental and emotional support, which his team and entourage failed to provide. While the CPR kiss could be dismissed as a rescue, it symbolically represents a step toward Joo Jaekyung revealing his true self. The kiss marks a moment where he unconsciously begins to acknowledge his feelings and his homosexuality, even in a setting where others could witness it.

By contrast, the couple on the beach in episode 60 (chapter 60) was surrounded by nature. Hence they could show their true self: their exhaustion, desire and emotions. While the doctor was suicidal due to his depression and fatigue, the champion’s worries were genuine. Yet Kim Dan was not able to hear them. (chapter 60) This means that on the beach, Kim Dan could only detect one thing: Joo Jaekyung’s presence. But he didn’t sense his kisses and hear his words. That’s the reason why I come to the conclusion that this scene stands under the sign of “dream and illusion”. (chapter 60) Hence he came to reject his “intervention” as a lie and deception. The reality is that Joo Jaekyung does care for him, but he doesn’t know how to show it. He fears attachment. Because of his misjudgement, Kim Dan is not capable to notice the transformation in his former boss. . (chapter 60) The latter has now darker circles, and he lost a lot of weight. (chapter 49) His muscles are less pronounced. He is also wasting away.

This progression also ties to the concept of nature vs. artifice. The natural setting of the beach—the waves, the open sky—contrasts sharply with the sterile, artificial environment of the locker room. Nature brings out authenticity and raw emotion, whereas the locker room and the emergency room (chapter 60) reinforce control and suppression. In the locker room, the absence of time and space to relax or meditate highlighted the pressures placed on Joo Jaekyung by his manager and coach (chapter 14) (chapter 49), who believed that physical strength alone would solve his problems. This environment denied him the mental and emotional support he truly needed. (chapter 15) The kiss in Chapter 15 became a moment where Joo Jaekyung discovered not only physical pleasure but also positive emotions, which acted like a sweet candy, a reward for his hard work. (chapter 15) It gave him emotional support. It symbolized a rare moment of relief and connection amidst the overwhelming demands of his environment. Joo Jaekyung’s actions in these settings highlight his gradual move from a place of concealment to one of openness and authenticity. While the CPR kiss could be dismissed as a rescue, it symbolically represents a step toward Joo Jaekyung revealing his true self. (chapter 60) The kiss marks a moment where he unconsciously begins to acknowledge his feelings and his homosexuality, even in a setting where others could witness it.

Lies and Miscommunication

Another layer of complexity is revealed when examining the two kisses. From that wonderful night (chapter 44) on, Kim Dan never got kissed again. The absence of a kiss in the locker room was revealing Joo Jaekyung’s lack of faith in Kim Dan. His mistrust left such an emotional wound, which is only visible to the third eye. (chapter 54) Because Joo Jaekyung saw it in a vision, it becomes clear that the athlete is still in denial about his wrongdoing. Therefore he didn’t apologize for his false accusations and his bad perception of the physical therapist: (chapter 60) By admitting that he knows about his innocence, he imagines that he can get scott-free. But he is wrong. His skepticism and dismissiveness wounded Kim Dan’s heart and mind, leaving scars that reverberate through their future interactions. Kim Dan can no longer trust him now (chapter 60) , though there is no doubt that the doctor is still in love with him. At the hospice, this mistrust resurfaces. The parallel conversations—in the locker room and the emergency room—highlight the ongoing cycle of miscommunication and emotional disconnect. Both characters, in their own way, lie to themselves and each other. Joo Jaekyung sees Kim Dan through the lens of poverty and greed (chapter 60, reducing his identity to his need for money, while Kim Dan rejects his offer, his help and conceals his pain. It is not surprising that Kim Dan left the treatment room. (chapter 60) By doing so, he is denying his rescue and assistance. It was, as if this night and as such the kiss had never happened.

The beach, however, offers a stark contrast. There, in the midst of the emergency, Joo Jaekyung’s perception of Kim Dan shifts. For the first time, he sees him as a human being—vulnerable and in need of genuine care. (chapter 60) The lies and miscommunication fade in the face of the life-and-death situation. However, this recognition is short-lived, as the events at the hospice reveal Joo Jaekyung’s lingering selfishness (chapter 60) and inability to fully comprehend the seriousness of Kim Dan’s mental and physical state.

Kim Dan as Joo Jaekyung’s Reflection

Episode 60 also underscores the parallels between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. Both characters are struggling and mistreating their bodies, albeit in different ways. Kim Dan’s rejection of help and his deteriorating condition mirror Joo Jaekyung’s past behavior of ignoring medical advice and pushing himself to extremes. This dynamic serves as a reflection, forcing the champion to confront his own flaws. Kim Dan’s condition becomes a metaphorical mirror, showing Joo Jaekyung the consequences of neglecting physical (chapter 27) and mental well-being. (chapter 27) When Kim Dan removed the needle carelessly (chapter 60), he was actually copying his lover’s behavior.

The dissociation and derealization evident in Kim Dan’s behavior further highlight his mental fragility. This fragility contrasts sharply with Joo Jaekyung’s reaction during their interaction at the hospice. When the champion angrily asks, , his words reveal frustration and a superficial understanding of the situation. Rather than addressing the underlying psychological distress driving Kim Dan’s actions, Joo Jaekyung perceives them as reckless behavior. His focus remains on immediate danger rather than the deeper cause, showcasing his emotional detachment and inability to grasp the full seriousness of Kim Dan’s mental state. This misinterpretation underscores how Joo Jaekyung is still projecting his own coping mechanisms onto Kim Dan, assuming that sheer willpower and physical strength can resolve emotional struggles. This moment serves as a stark reminder of Joo Jaekyung’s ongoing growth and the gaps in his understanding of Kim Dan’s suffering. His denial of having gone to the beach, despite clear evidence, points to the depth of his trauma. (chapter 60) That’s why I can’t shake the feeling that the physical therapist is still in danger. The trail of blood on the floor could be interpreted as a bad omen. (chapter 60) Many Jinx-philes saw parallels between the champion’s departure from the locker room with the final image from chapter 60, (chapter 51) However, in the last image, the athlete had left the room to go to the health center, while Kim Dan is now leaving the treatment room, a sign that he is not just rejecting the champion’s help, but also the hospice’s intervention. (chapter 60) So he could get into trouble in his profession.

This moment becomes a turning point for Joo Jaekyung, as he is about to grasp the gravity of Kim Dan’s mental illness. However, his focus on money and material solutions (chapter 60) at the hospice contrasts sharply with the purity of his actions on the beach, underscoring his ongoing struggle with selfishness and superficiality.

As long as Joo Jaekyung hides his vulnerability and hides his true self to achieve his goal, Kim Dan will mirror his actions. He will deceive him too. However, we shouldn’t see their separation (chapter 60) at the end of episode 60 as something negative. How so? It is because Kim Dan never said this: (chapter 51) He never wished to never see Joo Jaekyung again. Moreover, he never regretted their meeting either. (chapter 60) And now, pay attention to his hand, he is slightly clenching his fist, a sign that he is pained while saying this: “Have a safe trip home!” The word “home” and his gesture display that deep down, he was happy to see him. He is longing for home, but he can not express his true desire. Thus I deduce that Joo JAekyung’s words in front of the restaurant must have moved his heart: (chapter 43) No wonder why he thought that it was time to get to know the fighter during that night: (chapter 44)

On the other hand, by utilizing the word “home”, he is implying that the fighter doesn’t belong here. The doctor is actually mimicking his own grandmother. (chapter 57) (chapter 57) However, Jinx-philes should detect the divergence: she is not using the word “home”, but Seoul. That’s the reason why in the end, Shin Okja’s confession to her grandchild will come back to bite her, as she described her own grandson as a stranger in this little town. It was, as if he had been an orphan all his life. He had no home all along.

And because of the doctor’s words, it is clear that Joo Jaekyung won’t return to Seoul. He just needs to stay by his side in order to gain his trust. The longer the fighter stays in that place, the longer he will be able to detect the deceptions surrounding the doctor: (chapter 58) Where are the parents? Who is the man where he is staying? Where did he plan to go after his stay there? The idiom “temporarily” could be perceived as an evidence that the doctor plans to end his life. According to my interpretation, Heesung believed that the landlord was Kim Dan’s grandfather. He was just denying his origins out of shame.

One thing is sure. Because of the doctor, Joo Jaekyung will be forced to admit that home is where the physical therapist is. With his goodbye, Kim Dan was challenging his former boss , (chapter 60) a new version of this scene. (chapter 9) The athlete has now every reason to stay there and that’s how he will discover all the doctor’s secrets and misery.

Conclusion

The kisses in Jinx are more than just physical acts; they are symbolic markers of Joo Jaekyung’s emotional journey and his evolving relationship with Kim Dan. The locker room (chapter 15) kiss represents selfishness, secrecy, and miscommunication, while the beach kiss (chapter 60) signifies selflessness, openness, and recognition. However, both kisses, initiated by Joo Jaekyung, were not truly expressions of deep love or genuine emotional pleasure. As technical gestures borne out of urgency and care, they left no lasting emotional trace in their relationship.

This lack of emotional permanence highlights the characters’ ongoing struggles. While Joo Jaekyung shows signs of growth, he has yet to fully understand or confront the complexities of Kim Dan’s mental and emotional state. Similarly, Kim Dan’s passivity and silence in earlier moments underline the barriers that remain between them. Trapped in his own misery, he fails to see the physical deterioration from his former idol. The juxtaposition of these kisses serves to illustrate the fragility of their bond and the slow, uneven process of their personal and relational evolution. Through these moments, the author masterfully portrays the intersection of urgency, care, and miscommunication, ultimately crafting a nuanced exploration of healing and connection amidst shadows. Once again, it exposes the importance of honesty and clear communication in a couple.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Tumblr-Twitter account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: A Snapshot 🖼️ of Fate’s🧵 Hands 🫶

Introduction

The journey of Joo Jaekyung finding Kim Dan (chapter 59) is a masterful interplay of symbolism, reflection, and narrative breadcrumbs laid out by Mingwa. Central to this exploration is a photograph (chapter 59) —an innocent request by the nurses at the hospice (chapter 59) —which becomes the pivotal clue leading Joo Jaekyung to Kim Dan. Through a careful analysis of the timeline and the use of contrasting events, it becomes clear that Mingwa’s narrative mirrors a kaleidoscope, reflecting positive and negative elements rooted in Taoist principles. While the doctor’s unconscious (chapter 59) led him to the shore, driven by despair and suicidal intent, the MMA fighter’s journey stands as its opposite: (chapter 59 ) a conscious choice to follow his heart, hence he was full of anger and frustration. Joo Jaekyung was no longer repressing his feelings, even if he had yet to fully recognize his affection. (chapter 59) This deliberate action underscores the contrast between their emotional states and sets the stage for their eventual reunion. The stay of Heesung and Potato (chapter 59) embodies the negative reflection of Joo Jaekyung’s purposeful arrival. We can detect the divergences: day versus night, work versus break, healthy versus unhealthy etc. Through the juxtaposition of images and situations, Mingwa provides profound insight into the characters’ thoughts, desires, and intentions. The photograph’s role becomes pivotal: while it marks the end of Heesung and Potato’s visit (chapter 59), it simultaneously signifies the first crucial clue in Joo Jaekyung’s search. This marked the turning point where his ongoing efforts were given direction, transforming his pursuit into a decisive journey toward discovery.

At first glance, the photograph (chapter 59) features key individuals such as Heesung, Potato, the green-haired nurse, and the director of the hospice (chapter 59) —each of whom had interacted with Kim Dan (chapter 57) during his time at Light of Hope. While these individuals appear as potential candidates for revealing Kim Dan’s location, the true helper remains shrouded in mystery. This ambiguity emphasizes the layered narrative of Jinx, where each small action—no matter how mundane—contributes to the larger theme of fate’s intricate web, offering insight into the power of both intentional and unintentional intervention. If Potato had not suggested the picture (chapter 59), if the nurses had not insisted (chapter 59), or if the photograph (chapter 59) had remained entirely private (only Kim Dan, Potato and Heesung together), the chain of events might not have unfolded. Each of these “ifs” reflects the delicate interplay of fate and intervention, where seemingly small actions cumulatively wove the threads that guided Joo Jaekyung to Kim Dan. This demonstrates how intentional and unintentional acts alike can influence the larger narrative, ultimately intertwining lives in unexpected ways. The “if” becomes a recurring symbol of fate and intervention. Through a process of deduction and analysis, the photograph emerges as the link that sets fate into motion, guiding Joo Jaekyung to his lover. The stay of Heesung and Potato, defined by inaction, lies (chapter 58) (chapter 58) (chapter 58), ignorance and superficiality (chapter 58), becomes the shadowed reflection of the proactive search by Joo Jaekyung. This interplay of light and dark is central to unraveling how fate unfolded.

Potato, Heesung, and the Decision to Stay Silent

Heesung (chapter 58) and Potato, despite their contrasting motivations (chapter 58), came to the same conclusion: they should not reveal Kim Dan’s whereabouts to Joo Jaekyung. Heesung argued that Kim Dan was better off in his secluded life, away from the chaos of Joo Jaekyung. Potato, deeply trusting his lover’s seniority and judgment, chose to follow Heesung’s lead. Their decision reflects not only their loyalty to Kim Dan’s expressed wishes but also their passive adherence to the belief that avoiding intervention was a form of help which reminds us of Potato’s former principle: (chapter 35) This shows that despite the last incident, Yoon-Gu didn’t drop this terrible principle. Notice that he is advocating the same philosophy than Shin Okja. Heesung justified his stance by claiming that it was in Kim Dan’s best interests (chapter 58), implying that the relationship between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung was toxic. However, his reasoning revealed a deeper selfishness: Heesung harbored resentment and sought to see his frenemy suffer as payback for the humiliation and damages he had endured. (chapter 58) This hidden motivation underscores the complexity of his actions and casts doubt on his proclaimed concern for Kim Dan.

This decision persisted throughout their ten-day stay at the hospice. (chapter 59) Importantly, Joo Jaekyung did not arrive during this period, further affirming their resolve. The photograph taken just before their departure was the key turning point. However, the timeline—marked by the sunsets (chapter 59) (chapter 59) —suggests that Joo Jaekyung arrived only two days after Heesung and Potato left. This indicates that neither Potato nor Heesung leaked the information to Joo Jaekyung, as the champion would have sought Kim Dan immediately if informed by them. Instead, this photograph—seemingly public rather than private—became the clue he needed. Moreover, since the two friends knew where Kim Dan lived, I am assuming that he would have gone right to the doctor‘s rented room. But he did not. He went to the beach. Since the nurses didn‘t notice that Kim Dan was a friend of Potato and Heesung and mistook him for a fan, I am assuming that only the two friends know his address.

The Photograph as the Catalyst

The photograph holds immense symbolic and narrative weight. It was not meant to expose Kim Dan (chapter 59); it was requested by the nurses as a keepsake for their time with the visiting celebrities. Initially intended as a simple memento, the photograph transformed into the thread that connected Joo Jaekyung to Kim Dan. Importantly, the identities of Heesung, Potato, the green-haired nurse, and the hospice director all become relevant, as each had interacted with Kim Dan during his time at Light of Hope.

This public nature of the photograph underscores the idea of “hiding in plain sight.” Kim Dan was among a crowd, blending into the background, not anticipating that anyone would recognize him. However, this picture became the critical link for someone who initially focused on Heesung, Potato, or the green-haired nurse or the hospice director. The person looking at the picture was not searching for Kim Dan but discovered him by accident, making the revelation both unexpected and serendipitous. This discovery highlights how fate operates through chance and unintentional connections. It serves as a prelude to exploring the contrasting dynamics of intervention, from misguided actions to purposeful assistance, which will be further examined in the comparative analysis.

Thus it is unlikely that the information came from members of Team Black, in particular from Oh Daehyun and Kwank Junbeom. Initially, I envisaged them as potential candidates, for Oh Daehyun has always had sharp eyes (he has an eagle as tattoo) (chapter 8) (chapter 37) and Kwak Junbeom was a witness of the encounter between Kim Dan and director Choi Gilseok. (Chapter 48) Nonetheless, there exist significant points against this theory. Despite their fondness for the actor (chapter 30) and their interactions with Heesung and Potato (chapter 35), they are unaware of the actor’s relationship with Potato. The author left many clues for this interpretation. They didn’t notice the maknae’s absence at the champion’s birthday (chapter 43), but more importantly the presence of Yoon-Gu‘s embarrassment in front of his hyung indicates secrecy. . (chapter 58) His “redness” indicates that he doesn’t want to expose his special relationship with Heesung. Therefore I believe that he didn’t mention this trip to other members. Consequently, I doubt that the members were looking for Potato in such a photograph. Furthermore, from my perspective, members of Team Black are still left in the dark about Joo Jaekyung’s struggles. They are unaware of his drinking habits (chapter 56), or his emotional state. They think, he has not come to the gym due to his recovery. Furthermore, they don’t use his cellphone number to contact him. The hiring of a new physical therapist and (chapter 57) the interview suggested that Joo Jaekyung was taking a break to recover from his injury, leaving no indication of his active search for Kim Dan. However, Yoon-Gu got informed through Heesung that Joo Jaekyung was desperately looking for him: (chapter 58), but probably saw this as another “negative reaction” (bad temper) of a spoiled child. This makes it unlikely that members of Team Black could have provided the critical information.

This leaves only the green-haired nurse and the hospice director as plausible sources of assistance. However, the hospice director can be ruled out, as he did not make the request for the photograph. His lack of direct involvement in this key moment suggests that his role in connecting Joo Jaekyung to Kim Dan was minimal, leaving the nurse as the final candidate.

The green-haired nurse (chapter 59), while not pivotal in initiating the photograph (chapter 59) —this was driven by her colleagues’ request—holds a central position in the narrative due to her placement next to Kim Dan in the picture. Although quiet, observant (chapter 57) and unassuming (chapter 57), her positioning reflects Mingwa’s deliberate storytelling, emphasizing her subtle yet crucial role in connecting the threads of fate. She is also unlikely to have directly contacted Joo Jaekyung. As an average nurse living far from Seoul, she would not have access to the champion’s contact information or knowledge of his search for Kim Dan. However, this does not exclude her influence entirely. My idea is that she shared the photograph with someone close to her—a family member or friend—turning what was initially a public image into a private clue. Through this intermediary, the picture may have reached someone who recognized Kim Dan and understood his connection to the MMA fighter. This chain of events underscores the role of chance and intervention in the narrative and suggests that another, yet unknown, individual helped guide Joo Jaekyung to his destination.

In season 1, both Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan became victims of schemes (chapter 50) (chapter 49), highlighting the failures of relying solely on fate. The champion’s eventual discovery of Kim Dan underscores the necessity of teamwork and active intervention. Notably, this also reflects the flaws in Team Black, whose inaction and superficiality limited their understanding of both Joo Jaekyung’s struggles and Kim Dan’s situation. While Heesung’s stardom and blog (chapter 30) could have amplified the picture’s reach, it’s unlikely Joo Jaekyung relied on such sources directly. I can not imagine him spying on the actor’s blog. Instead, the role of the helpers — the nurse and her acquaintance— emerge as crucial to piecing together the connection. The inadvertent role of the nurses Mind and Heart, urging Heesung to take the picture, becomes an integral part of the story’s progression. (chapter 59) Symbolically, their request took place on the road, metaphorically paving the way for the reunion between Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan. This act of intervention can also be compared to the three fairies in Sleeping Beauty (chapter 13) who played pivotal roles in lifting the curse, as Mingwa’s narrative often draws on such reflections. Here, the nurses’ actions, though seemingly minor, echo the same themes of fate and intervention.

Comparative Analysis: Bad Help vs. Real Help

And now it is time to show the table with the comparative analysis which helped me to determine the identity of the “decisive helper”.

AspectHeesung and Potato (Bad Help)The Anonymous Helper and Joo Jaekyung (Real Help)
MotivationCoincidence – They visited Kim Dan for unrelated reasons and deferred to his expressed wishes to stay hidden.Purposeful – Joo Jaekyung actively searched for Kim Dan, aided by the helper’s deeper insight.
Driving ForceHeesung dominated decision-making; Potato followed blindly out of trust.Collaborative – The helper actively supported Joo Jaekyung with information and empathy.
Knowledge of Kim DanLimited to surface-level observations, unaware of his deeper struggles (derealization, isolation).Comprehensive understanding of Kim Dan’s physical and emotional state, possibly worsened by isolation.
Knowledge of Joo JaekyungNone; they did not factor in Joo Jaekyung’s struggles or his importance to Kim Dan.Awareness of Joo Jaekyung’s emotional repression, suffering and need for reconciliation.
Action TakenChose not to reveal Kim Dan’s whereabouts, leaving him isolated and misunderstood.Proactively helped Joo Jaekyung locate Kim Dan, recognizing their interdependence.
Impact on Kim DanReinforced his isolation and emotional detachment, respecting his wish to remain hidden but worsening his condition.Facilitated a reunion, offering support and an opportunity for Kim Dan to heal through connection.
Encounter TimingDuring the day, casual and detached, focused on surface-level interactions.At night, intimate and deliberate, focused on reconnecting and providing real help.
Interaction DepthMinimal – They barely talked to Kim Dan and misunderstood his deeper needs.Profound The helper’s understanding of both characters allowed for meaningful assistance.
Emotional ToneMisguided loyalty, passive adherence to Kim Dan’s expressed wishes without deeper consideration.Empathy-driven, with active efforts to address both Kim Dan’s and Joo Jaekyung’s struggles.
Identity of the HelperHeesung and Potato: Superficial understanding, driven by friendship and blind trust.Anonymous Helper: Likely someone who knows both Kim Dan’s struggles and Joo Jaekyung’s challenges
Motivated ByFear of “making things worse” by interfering, leading to inaction. Heesung sees Joo Jaekyung as a violent, drunk and selfish ruffian So the other person should stand for the opposite notions: Genuine care and understanding of the importance of reconnection for both parties.
OutcomeLeft Kim Dan emotionally isolated and neglected Joo Jaekyung’s need to help him.Enabled Joo Jaekyung to find Kim Dan, fostering potential healing and growth for both.

Portrait of the Anonymous Helper

The anonymous helper stands out as a figure of quiet significance, bridging the emotional and practical divide between Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan. Acting out of genuine care and empathy, this individual demonstrated a nuanced understanding of the connection between the two protagonists. While they may not have known all the details of Kim Dan’s struggles or Joo Jaekyung’s emotional turmoil, their insight and actions played a pivotal role. By recognizing the doctor in the photograph and ensuring it reached the athlete, who could act upon it, the helper catalyzed the reunion. Their ability to intervene discreetly and purposefully exemplifies the transformative power of small, compassionate gestures. This role, often unnoticed in its quiet execution, serves as a symbol of how intentional yet modest actions can shape the course of fate.

The Angel’s Intervention

And all these clues led me to Cheolmin! (chapter 13) The latter knew the PT’s face, (chapter 13) but didn’t know his identity. He mistook him for someone who was selling his body for money. (chapter 13) In addition, Kim Dan never got to know the intervention of this hyung: he was the invisible helping hand in season 1. And now, if you reread the scene in episode 13, you will notice that this conversation between Joo Jaekyung and his friend contains all the ingredients in episode 59: the use of the phone, fainting, malnutrition, secrecy, neglect, secret suffering, pictures and public knowledge (chapter 13), the death of a man and finally urgency. Moreover, remember what his friend told him before: the importance of rest and (chapter 13) He should send him to the hospital for tests, but the fighter refused. Why? It is because the latter feared his “chingu”. The doctor seemed rather interested in Kim Dan, therefore he feared that the PT might dump him for a “colleague”. That’s why Heesung was sent later to his gym. Karma was punishing him for not listening to his friend’s advice. Finally, it is important to recall his advice: (chapter 13) His recommendation makes him a clear supporter of the couple which stands in opposition to the second couple: Heesung and Potato. That’s why I am suspecting that the actor is about to receive his own punishment!! Who is standing next to Kim Dan? (chapter 59) The Cute Potato! The actor is about to get a rival. But let’s return our attention to Cheolmin. Though in episode 13, he remained unaware of Kim Dan’s true identity and personal struggles, I have the impression that he got updated by the athlete later. (chapter 43) And during that evening, the champion called his penthouse with the doc “Home” for the first time. Finally, in season 2, Joo Jaekyung started visiting each hospital or Sports Rehabilitation Center in Seoul in order to find Kim Dan. (chapter 56) And there’s no doubt that Joo Jaekyung got recognized by people forcing him to use a mask to hide his identity. So this frenetic search must have reached the mysterious doctor’s ears, but I doubt that he made the connection between the star’s lover and the physical therapist right away. Since he‘s a guest of XY club, (Chapter 13), it is also possible that he could have heard about the last incident in the restroom with doc Dan’s replacement. Since Cheolmin found Dan cute, it is very likely that he was also drawn to the surrogate „Dan“. But I don‘t think, this was enough to intervene, as Joo Jaekyung didn‘t ask for his help.

However, this must have changed, when Cheolmin came across the photograph and recognized Kim Dan, his prior connection to both men could have inspired him to act. Moreover, since he had examined Kim Dan before, as a detailed -oriented physician, he could have detected the pale face of Kim Dan. (Chapter 59) Moreover, if he talked with the green-haired nurse, he could have heard about his unusual tiredness and spacing out. This would reflect the theme of fate weaving unlikely connections into the narrative. Cheolmin’s invisible intervention would also underscore the contrast between those who act out of genuine care and those who avoid involvement due to fear or inaction. However, since the champion came at the right time, it is likely that Joo Jaekyung will feel deeply grateful to the person who informed him. This gratitude may pave the way for Joo Jaekyung to trust others more fully and recognize the value of relying on others’ judgment.

Finally, I would like to remind my readers about my previous portrait of the mysterious doctor Cheolmin: I compared him to an archangel and to Neptune and strangely, the doctor moved to a place next to the coast. So maybe Cheolmin comes from that little town and the green-haired nurse is his relative. I had already outlined their similarities. Finally, look at the numbers, we have 4 in both episodes, 13 and 59 (13: 1+3 = 4 / 59: 5-9= -4) The -4 would coincide with Kim Dan’s vanishing, but also with the intervention of Cheolmin. And if my theory is correct, this means that the champion will come to regret his past decision (chapter 13), not to listen to his true friend, the one who was not called (chapter 56), but who reached to him, when Joo Jaekyung needed assistance the most. He was the only one who was accepting the fighter’s struggling, whereas Park Namwook chose to bury the truth.

Contrasting the Two Photographs

The two significant photographs in Jinx—one of Kim Dan and his grandmother (Chapter 19) and the group photograph at the hospice

(chapter 59) (Chapter 59)—serve as visual metaphors for Kim Dan’s emotional state and his evolving journey. However, their contrast is best understood through an analysis of key aspects: location, subjects, feelings, and the importance of memory.

Location: The first photograph, taken in a garden filled with vibrant flowers, symbolizes life and nature. This imagery conveys warmth and innocence, yet in reality, it reflects ephemerality and death due to the flowers. Moreover, it is ironically undercut by the secrecy surrounding the picture, as it was hidden from view. That’s why the readers can not identify the location and occasion for this image too. In contrast, the hospice setting of the second photograph can be more easily identified and located. In addition, it represents a more clinical and structured environment. On the other hand, it contains a common denominator with the first image: death and temporality. This means that The “Light of Hope” sign in the background casts a dual shadow. On the one hand, it signifies the grandmother’s oppressive influence but also hints at the possibility of healing and reconnection. Someone else will take over her place.

Subjects: The first photograph features only Kim Dan and his grandmother, emphasizing their private and familial bond. This simplicity, however, underscores Kim Dan’s isolation and dependency on a single flawed relationship. The group photograph, on the other hand, is crowded with people: nurses, hospice staff, and celebrities. The collective setting reflects a growing sense of community, albeit one where Kim Dan remains on the periphery. His inclusion in this photograph marks the beginning of a tentative integration into a broader social circle.

Feelings of Kim Dan: In the first photograph, Kim Dan’s childlike happiness is genuine, hence I am suspecting that the halmoni’s smile was not sincere. How so? It is because in the hospice photograph, Kim Dan’s outward expressions appear subdued, reflecting discomfort and reluctance. Everyone is happy except him, but no one noticed it. Hence I believe that in the first picture, Kim Dan has been idealizing his grandmother’s happiness. However, since he is now struggling, I see this new picture as a good sign. This juxtaposition highlights his transition from stagnation and idealization to a fragile but growing acceptance of connection and support.

Importance of Memory: The childhood photograph was hidden, suggesting that it served more as a relic of the past than a tool for connection. For Kim Dan, it embodied a memory of his grandmother’s love, but for her, it likely held no such significance—highlighting her emotional distance. In contrast, the hospice photograph, initially intended as a lighthearted memento, became a pivotal clue in reuniting Kim Dan with Joo Jaekyung. Its transformation from public to private use underscores the power of shared memories in forging connections. Furthermore, since the second picture announces the future reunion of the protagonists, I am connecting the first picture to a future „separation“. On the other hand, the second image was taken just before they departed, so both photographs are linked to separation and departure.

Photographer’s Identity: The identity of the photographer adds another layer of contrast. The hospice photograph was taken by Heesung’s manager, someone connected to work and external responsibilities. In contrast, the photographer of the childhood image remains unknown, shrouding the moment in secrecy. This anonymity, combined with the hidden nature of the photograph, reinforces its association with private pain and toxic positivity. Both images carry “ghosts”—the grandmother’s influence and the silent presence of the anonymous photographer—highlighting the themes of temporality and loss in Kim Dan’s journey.

Through these comparisons, it becomes evident that the first photograph symbolizes stagnation, secrecy, and unspoken pain, while the second reflects progression, albeit hesitant, toward community and healing. These images serve as mirrors of Kim Dan’s journey, reinforcing Mingwa’s use of visual storytelling to depict the interplay of isolation, connection, and fate. This comparison serves another purpose as well. Keep in mind that the one who desired to have a private picture was Potato (chapter), he wanted to have a good memory of his stay there with Heesung and Potato. However, this is how it looked like in the end: (chapter 59) It became the synonym for “work” and “fame”. So should the news about Kim Dan’s action reach Potato’s ears, he can only get shocked. What he thought to be a happy memory, was not, because he was unable to detect his friend’s suffering. He was not a true friend. As you can see, I have the feeling that this image will drive an edge between the second couple in the end. Let’s not forget that the actor is now using friendship and work to hide his true relationship with Yoon-Gu. So far, he has not been honest to the chow chow. He used his innocence to his advantage. However, the doctor’s attempted suicide announces the loss of Potato’s real innocence.

Conclusion: A Green Thread Among the Red

Through the photograph and the green-haired nurse’s inadvertent intervention, Joo Jaekyung was led to Kim Dan. The story’s thematic underpinnings—fate, connection, and the contrast between isolation and community—culminate in this reunion. Joo Jaekyung’s journey was not simply guided by one person but by many, each playing a small but significant role in weaving the threads of fate. If Potato had not asked for the photograph, if the nurses had not encouraged its capture, or if someone like Cheolmin had not acted upon it, the outcome could have been vastly different. These small moments of intervention underscore the story’s larger theme: the quiet power of collective action. However, keep in mind that Kim Dan met the actor and the „puppy“ by coincidence. So in their meeting, fate still played a role: the beach. As you already know, my theory is that Joo Jaekyung recognized Kim Dan‘s back from the road, as the latter is higher than the beach. And where did the nurses asked for the picture with Heesung? (Chapter 59) They were standing on the road. On his way to the hospice, he arrived by the coast, from there he could see the ocean. Nature (sea) brought them together, just like the dog Boksoon let Kim Dan reunite with his friends.

Interestingly, (chapter 59) Kim Dan’s ocean scene—a night devoid of moonlight—symbolized his emotional turmoil and loss in the darkness which marks the end of the grandmother‘s power over her grandson‘s life. By contrast, Joo Jaekyung’s intervention represents the light of hope rekindled (chapter 59), offering Kim Dan a chance for healing and reconnection. He embraces him, something his grandmother has not been able to provide lately, Through this journey, Joo Jaekyung also learns to trust others and realize that self-reliance, bolstered by money alone, is insufficient. His disillusionment with Park Namwook, who failed to act on his requests, should further cement this realization. Gradually, Joo Jaekyung comes to value genuine support and collaborative effort, paving the way for both his and Kim Dan’s growth.

This narrative progression, captured through time, characters, and symbolism, ultimately reveals that Joo Jaekyung’s journey to finding Kim Dan was not simply one of chance. It was a testament to the interconnectedness of lives and the quiet power of actions—a snapshot of fate’s many hands.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Tumblr-Twitter account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: The Wolf’s 🐺 Cure ⚕️ Among The Sheep 🐑

Introduction

The second season of Jinx promises to delve deeper into the lives of its main characters, transitioning from the confines of the gym (chapter 54) and penthouse (chapter 54) in Seoul—a city symbolizing anonymity, invisibility, and corruption—to the hospice “Light of Hope” (chapter 56) in a small town on the West Coast (chapter 56), where people know each other. This essay builds upon my previous interpretations of the series, which led me to develop these predictions for the upcoming season. By comparing the visual depictions of the gym and penthouse in Seoul with the hospice and small town on the West Coast, the divergence in weather becomes a powerful symbol of the changes Joo Jaekyung will undergo. The rainy, overcast settings of the gym and penthouse reflect the fighter’s inner turmoil and sadness, highlighting the oppressive atmosphere of a city rife with anonymity and corruption. In contrast, the sunny and open environment of the hospice and town by the ocean represents a space of hope and renewal, where human connections thrive. This comparison underscores the significant role the hospice and small town will play in fostering Joo Jaekyung’s self-discovery and healing. The gym and penthouse in Seoul symbolize anonymity, invisibility, and corruption. This anonymity stems from the city’s indifference to individual suffering, as seen when Kim Dan was dragged (chapter 16) (chapter 16) through the streets by loan sharks in broad daylight without anyone intervening. Invisibility is further exemplified by the perverted hospital director, (chapter 1) who harassed Kim Dan without facing any consequences, though he was caught, and by Kim Miseon’s unethical actions, such as leaking patient information (chapter 48) and using Shin Okja as a guinea pig for trial treatments (chapter 21) —none of which led to accountability. In contrast, the hospice represents a counterpoint: (chapter 56) a space where respect and dignity take precedence over ambition, fostering genuine human connection and care. This contrast between the city and the hospice highlights the champion’s need to redefine his understanding of life, identity, and success. The contrast between the hospice and MFC becomes pivotal, as these environments symbolize opposing values: while the hospice fosters compassion (chapter 57), reflection, and healing, the MFC epitomizes exploitation, indifference and neglect. (chapter 52) The best example is the vanishing of the protagonist’s former rival, Baek Junmin, (chapter 57) who no longer appears in the news.

Contrasting the Hospice and MFC

The hospice, Light of Hope, does not offer healing in the traditional sense, as its patients are no longer hoping to be cured. Instead, it provides a space for those burdened by emotional scars to wait for death in a positive way, (chapter 56) emphasizing respect and dignity. This stark reality will serve as an eye-opener for Joo Jaekyung, who is burdened by news and media narratives equating (chapter 36) (chapter 35) (chapter 36) his shoulder injury or potential career loss with “death.” At the hospice, he will encounter people who are truly facing the end of their lives (chapter 57), prompting him to recognize that his so-called career end does not symbolize his real death. (chapter 29) This realization will help him distinguish between his life as a fighter and his life as a person, setting the stage for his transformation. It provides a stark contrast to the MFC, which is riddled with manipulation and greed. At the hospice, Joo Jaekyung is likely to encounter individuals whose lives are defined not by competition but by care and connection, like Mingwa implied it with the comment of the nurse: (chapter 57). This environment challenges him to confront the indifference of figures like Yosep and Park Namwook, whose neglect, blind trust, passivity, naivety, neglect and selfishness have shaped his struggles. Notice that the nurses are often seen together and exchanging thoughts about doc Dan symbolizing unity and harmony (chapter 57) which contrasts so much to the mentality at the gym. There, no one paid attention to the well-being of Kim Dan or the athlete. The latter had to burden everything on his own. The hospice’s focus on teamwork and selflessness mirrors the qualities of the sheep—often symbols of conformity but also of communal support and altruism.

On the other hand, the grandmother believes she has found her “family” and “roots” at the hospice (chapter 57), yet her exclusion of Kim Dan reveals her flawed understanding of family, which she associates solely with a location. This behavior aligns her with the symbolism of the black sheep: a disruptive force within the community whose selfishness and inability to nurture genuine familial bonds isolate her. Her neglect of Kim Dan, despite his evident suffering, exposes her as prioritizing her personal comfort over the well-being of her own grandson. The arrival of the wolf—Joo Jaekyung—will challenge her perception, forcing her to confront the flaws in her thinking and her selfishness. His presence, along with interactions with other characters such as Potato and Heesung, who possesses the perceptiveness of a gumiho, will expose her true nature to the community. This confrontation will push her toward an overdue reckoning with her actions and their impact on Kim Dan. I also realized that since this woman is suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome, her true enemy is youth which is embodied by Yoon-Gu. The latter stands for the opposite values: innocence and responsibility. So his ignorance and purity could lead her to experience unpleasant truths, like for example: Potato asks her about the whereabouts of Kim Dan’s parents, a new version of this scene: (special episode 1) In other words, the presence of Kim Dan’s friends (Joo JAekyung, Potato and Heesung) could make her realize her true nature, which would impact her mental health. She led a life full of missed chances and regrets.

The MFC, in contrast, represents the worst of hierarchical power dynamics. It stands as a symbol of industrialization, producing ‘champions’ not for their personal growth or well-being but for monetary gain. Fighters are treated as commodities, molded and exploited for profit in a system that prioritizes output over humanity. As an organization, it prioritizes profit over the well-being of its fighters, fostering a culture of exploitation and blind obedience. Joo Jaekyung’s realization of these flaws will likely spur his transformation into the true owner of the gym, imposing his values of loyalty, care, and protection.

Defining the Cure: Reconnecting with the True Self

For Joo Jaekyung, the “cure” lies in reconnecting with his true self and rediscovering his childish side, something he could only experience twice in season 1. He had fun with Kim Dan by his side (chapter 26) (chapter 27) In Korean culture, the saying “when the heart isn’t in it” reflects a profound truth: actions devoid of sincerity lack real value. Season 2’s new settings allow the champion to reflect on his mechanical, dispassionate life and begin to act with intention and feeling.

Central to this transformation is his relationship with Kim Dan. Taking care of Kim Dan—physically, emotionally, and mentally—becomes a pathway for Joo Jaekyung to rediscover his own humanity and generosity. However, it becomes evident that the one truly dying a slow death is Kim Dan. His negative change, marked by physical and emotional decline, should make the champion realize that Kim Dan has been identifying himself with the athlete. The last incident appears to have “killed” the physical therapist’s spirit, leaving him a shadow of his former self. (chapter 54) Though in denial, Joo Jaekyung feels undoubtedly responsible for the doctor’s suffering, as one of his nightmares reveals his guilt for doubting Kim Dan’s honesty and dedication. Once seeing his terrible transformation, the man can only blame himself, especially if he recalls Cheolmin’s advice: (chapter 13)- The act of nurturing Kim Dan is symbolic: it aligns Joo Jaekyung with the wolf, an animal deeply associated with love, family, and protection. Through this connection, he learns to balance his ferocity with tenderness, becoming not just a fighter but a protector.

Education also stands at the center of Season 2, exemplified by Boksoon (chapter 57) and her puppies. Kim Dan is tasked with taking care of the dog and her newborns, and Joo Jaekyung should be asked to do the same. This responsibility not only serves as an allegory for taming the wolf within him but also paves the way for the champion’s deeper connection with Kim Dan. By being close to the ocean (chapter 56), a place where Joo Jaekyung finds relaxation through swimming, the setting introduces an opportunity for him to teach Kim Dan how to swim, addressing the latter’s fear of water (chapter 27). Swimming could become a shared activity that rebuilds their relationship on a foundation of trust, mutual learning, and growth. Engaging in this physical activity would not only strengthen their bond but also boost Kim Dan’s confidence and help him rediscover his own resilience.

Moreover, the professional dynamic between them shifts significantly in Season 2. With Joo Jaekyung hiring a new physical therapist (chapter 54), his connection with Kim Dan is no longer defined by a boss-employee relationship. Their interactions, now free of financial obligations, offer the fighter a clearer view of Kim Dan’s selfless and angelic nature. The physical therapist’s unwavering care, even at the expense of his own well-being, highlights his ungreedy and altruistic character. This realization will deepen Joo Jaekyung’s respect and affection for Kim Dan, further cementing the transformative journey they both embark on.

The Role of Mirrors and Mentors

Key secondary characters at the hospice serve as mirrors and mentors to the main leads. The landlord (chapter 57) and the yelling patient (chapter 57), represented as an ibex, embody qualities that challenge Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan to confront their past traumas and current flaws. The ibex’s defiance contrasts with the sheep-like conformity of the hospice patients, encouraging Potato, Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung to question the blind obedience that has shaped their relationship with figures like Park Namwook. These characters reflect the flaws of Yosep and Namwook, enabling Joo Jaekyung to see the neglect and indifference he has endured and inspiring him to redefine his role in the gym and in Kim Dan’s life.

Nurses 1 and 2, previously conceptualized as (chapter 56) “Nurse Mind” and “Nurse Heart,” provide another layer of mentorship. They could act as the champion’s eyes and ears, teaching him to observe and understand Kim Dan’s mental state. Though the nurse 1 started reproaching Kim Dan to neglect himself (chapter 57), she was able to note that he was suffering mentally and emotionally. She diagnosed it as burn-out. Then in the latest chapter, a new nurse appeared. With her green hair and glasses (chapter 57), she reminded me of the champion’s friend: (chapter 13) She already noticed his unusual fatigue, so in my opinion, this third woman could be the one detecting that the main lead is not eating properly. If this assumption is correct, then she stands for food and body, like in the Korean saying: “If your heart is not in it, you can’t see if you look. You can’t even hear if you listen, and you can’t taste even if you eat.” Their guidance should help Joo Jaekyung cultivate a nurturing side, showing him that strength is not solely physical but also emotional and relational. In this way, the nurses become pivotal in his journey from a lone wolf to a leader who values and protects his pack.

The Symbolism of Wolves, Sheep, and the Illustration

The wolf symbolizes love, family, and protection, qualities that Joo Jaekyung begins to embody as he nurtures Kim Dan and confronts his own vulnerabilities. The illustration visually represents this duality: the wolf in sheep clothes, walking towards the hospice, embodies Joo Jaekyung’s fierce yet diminished and protective nature, while the broken tree—representing Kim Dan—signals his fragile state and the need for healing. Together, the wolf and the sun symbolize Joo Jaekyung’s journey toward self-discovery and redemption, as he draws strength from the tree’s shade, embodying Kim Dan’s care and quiet support.

Meanwhile, the sheep represent conformity and selflessness, but the presence of the ibex disrupts this harmony, standing as a challenge to blind obedience. I have to admit that the patient’s reaction (chapter 57) reminded me a lot of Yoon-Gu’s (chapter 49), though their positions are absolutely opposite. The patient’s reaction in Chapter 57 echoes this dynamic, as he accuses Joo Jaekyung of being ill-tempered (this means that he remembers the suspension), a perspective shaped by the media’s manipulations. His criticism reflects the behavior of a sheep, falling prey to misinformation and failing to see the larger truths. On the other hand, it indicates that this man also knows a part of the truth: the suspension which is no longer mentioned, but also escaped Kim Dan’s notice, as he was dealing with his departure. In contrast, Potato’s response in Chapter 49, where he courageously questioned Director Choi despite the latter being an elder, showcases independence and critical thinking. This juxtaposition highlights the patient’s potential to awaken Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan, and Potato to the damaging impact of media narratives. Over time, the patient himself must confront the wrongfulness and cold-heartedness of his accusations, fostering growth and understanding on all sides. These characters reflect the flaws of Yosep and Namwook, enabling Joo Jaekyung to see the neglect and indifference he has endured and inspiring him to redefine his role in the gym and in Kim Dan’s life.

The illustration’s inclusion of the hamster—symbolizing Kim Dan’s fun, fragile, and nurturing nature—along with the chow chow and the gumiho, emphasizes the roles of protectors and mediators. The chow chow’s loyalty and the gumiho’s cunning serve as essential forces guarding the hamster and navigating the complexities of this “pure community,” where lies and selfishness can still exist. These characters highlight the intricate dynamics within the hospice, where Joo Jaekyung must balance strength with empathy.

Wolves also represent loyalty and teamwork, values that stand in stark contrast to the selfishness and manipulation he experienced at the MFC. Meanwhile, the sheep, often dismissed as symbols of conformity, carry a deeper meaning at the hospice. They embody gentleness, warmth (due to their wool), selflessness and community, traits that Joo Jaekyung learns to appreciate and emulate. That’s how the wolf will learn how to give warmth and comfort to his fated partner. The hamster can only feel grateful towards his benefactor pushing him to reciprocate the attitude. Then the moon, embodied by the doctor, will become the guardian of the champion so that the latter can little by little recover from his insomnia and recurrent nightmares.

A Journey of Transformation

In a world where individuals are on the verge of death, Joo Jaekyung discovers his own senses: his humanity and generosity. The hospice provides a space for him to reconnect with his true self, guided by the lessons he learns from Kim Dan, the nurses, and the “mirrors” of the landlord and the ibex. This transformation not only redefines his relationship with Kim Dan but also prepares him to reclaim his rightful place as the leader of the gym, imbuing it with values of care and protection. Furthermore, the hospice teaches Joo Jaekyung the value of rest and relaxation (chapter 57), concepts he had previously dismissed as “laziness.” (chapter 13) This newfound appreciation allows him to form fond memories of the place, associating it with peace and renewal despite the grandmother’s inevitable passing. By metaphorically taking over her place at the hospice, Joo Jaekyung symbolically builds his family there, grounding himself in the values of compassion and community. These lessons ultimately empower him to take over the gym with a renewed perspective, ready to lead with strength and empathy. Finally, I deduce that the main couple will initially navigate between the Light of Hope Hospice and the doctor’s rented room before visiting other places (like the beach and the mountain) The more places they will visit together, the more they will become true to themselves, inciting them to open their mind and heart to each other. Surrounded by nature, all the characters will get purified and discover the true source of happiness.

Ultimately, The Wolf’s Cure Among the Sheep is a story of healing through connection, a reminder that even in a world marked by competition and death, humanity and generosity can flourish when the heart is truly in it.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: Starving 🍬 For Light ☀️ – part 2

After the release of Starving for Light, I made very important discoveries and as such new connections between Kim Dan’s eating disorder, his workaholism and the grandmother’s neglect. However, since the original essay was already very long, I decided to add a second part. According to my observations, Kim Dan is suffering from ARFID (Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder). The latter is an eating disorder characterized by an extreme avoidance or restriction of food, leading to nutritional deficiencies, weight loss, or dependence on supplements. Unlike other eating disorders, ARFID is not related to concerns about body image or weight but instead stems from factors such as sensory sensitivities, fear of choking or vomiting, or a lack of interest in eating. It often begins in childhood and can significantly impact physical health, social functioning, and emotional well-being. Treatment typically involves therapy, nutritional counseling, and addressing underlying causes of food avoidance.

Evidences of the grandmother’s neglect

In the first part, this is what I wrote:

This suspicion got confirmed while rereading the story. Shin Okja has never shared a meal with Kim Dan together. One might argue about this statement because of his memory concerning his birthday. (chapter 11) Here, she offered him a sweet bread as present, but since it was his birthday cake, he had to share his “own present” with his grandmother. The little he possessed was given to his grandmother, a new form of this scene (chapter 43) In other words, he was the one sharing his food with her. But there exist more conclusive evidences. (chapter 5) When he visited her in episode 5, the main lead was the first one to bring up the topic “dinner”. How did the grandmother respond to his question? “You know your granny never skipped a meal”. Her statement is implying that someone else skipped his meals before. That can only be the doctor. So she knows that he has not been eating on a regular basis. And what is the opposite of “never”? ALWAYS! Yet, observe that she is smiling, when she is saying this. It exposes that she never saw the doctor’s skipping meals as worrisome. She must have probably thought that her grandson was a picky eater.

Moreover, I would like my avid readers to keep in mind that Kim Dan was eating his snacks alone, when she was standing next to him: (chapter 57) So she was not sitting down to a meal with her grandchild literally. In addition, when she suggested snacks to console him, she didn’t realize the terrible consequences of her decision. Once it was dinner time, Kim Dan would no longer feel hungry. With the introduction of such a ritual (eating became the synonym for repressing negative emotions), it is normal that the little boy would stop eating with his grandmother. That’s how the routine of eating on a regular basis got dropped, as it was strongly intertwined with his negative emotions and terrible incidents.

But let’s return our attention to the scene in episode 5. (chapter 5) Notice that she only asked him if he had already eaten after hearing his question. In other words, if Kim Dan had never inquired about her meals, she would have never shown an interest in his meals. Only after hearing that he would eat later, she got worried: (chapter 5) Thus she offered him two sweet yogurts. (chapter 5) Her words “You used to love these when you were little” are alluding that she perceives the main lead as a picky eater. As a child, he would never refuse the drinks. So when she offers them to him, she is sure that he will eat these. Finally, when she saw the celebrity, she indirectly put the blame on her grandson. He is thin and weak, because he didn’t eat properly. (chapter 21) In her eyes, Kim Dan’s habit for skipping meals was the expression of an avoidance of certain foods. It was because he was a picky eater. This shows that she never questioned herself and her past decisions. Then in the latest episode, she is seen eating her lunch, (chapter 57) yet at no moment she shares her food or questions him if he has already eaten. For me, this scene exposes her neglect. Her focus lies elsewhere: (chapter 57) She asks this question, because she has already witnessed him sleeping next to her. She associates tiredness with lack of sleep, but she is not making the connection between malnutrition and his exhaustion. (chapter 57) On the other hand, the expression “wasting away” displays her realization. She is seeing how Kim Dan is losing weight!! To conclude, she is not totally blind. Her grandson is not eating properly. But why is she not questioning her grandson about his meals? It is because he is working at the hospice where lunches are provided to the staff. (chapter 56) In other words, she is relying on the hospice, while the staff is too busy and overwhelmed with work to notice that Kim Dan has been working too much and even avoiding lunches. (chapter 57) It took them days before the nurse noticed that he shouldn’t be there. Interesting is that the nurse “Mind” is starting to put the blame on the physical therapist (chapter 57) for his attitude and is now siding with the grandmother. They assume “burn out”, while the reality is that he is suffering from different traumas. But notice that he was only sent away, after Kim Dan got dizzy. (chapter 57) This shows that Kim Dan had become a ghost at the hospice for the last few days, and no one paid attention to him. He was invisible because it was his way to be “accepted” and not stigmatized as “bun” or “orphan”. People only noticed him, until he created some ruckus at the institution. However, this means that the man must have spent the night with his grandmother. Yet, at no moment she sent him away or even shared her meals with him. This shows her indifference and egoism. She contrasts so much to the protagonist’s landlord.

The landlord in the doctor’s life

Though the latter doesn’t know him that well, he is paying attention to his every move: (chapter 57) He noticed right away that he was missing. Why? It is because his room was empty. (chapter 57) This scene represents the man’s new routine. He would go to Kim Dan’s bedroom and ask the protagonist to eat breakfast with him. On the other hand, though he noticed the doctor’s absence, he jumped to a false conclusion. He imagined that his new room mate had returned to Seoul. This raises the following question. Why is this caring man assuming that Kim Dan moved to that small and insignificant town just for a short moment? (chapter 57) And why did he think that Kim Dan had left for good? First, I can imagine that the doctor looked for a place without deposit. (chapter 16) But more important, it is because the physical therapist only arrived on the West Coast with two small bags. (chapter 53) And now pay attention to the PT’s departure on the day he was sent back: (chapter 57) He had gone to the hospice with all his belongings, a sign that he had planned to stay with his grandmother until his “death”. In other words, his “workplace” would have become his tomb. This means that the landlord already noticed that the main lead only had a few belongings, and the moment he didn’t see the black bag with the halmoni’s picture, he assumed that Kim Dan had returned to the city. Thanks to the introduction of the new landlord, my interpretation about the champion’s biased judgment got confirmed. (chapter 19) When Joo Jaekyung saw the huge Wedding Cabinet, he thought that Kim Dan had many clothes. Thus he saw it as a sign of “greed”, Kim Dan was poor, because he was not able to save money. And this observation brings me back to the landlord: (chapter 57) In my opinion, this man doesn’t know the real profession of Kim Dan. Notice that he is talking about “work” in general. He can not understand why his tenant would work for days so much. Another evidence for his ignorance is that he never went to the hospice to ask if the physical therapist was there. I would even add that this man is also ignorant about the existence of Kim Dan’s grandmother. How did I come to this deduction? It is simply that the old man is anticipating the doctor’s departure. Who would move to that little town with only two bags? It is important because despite his mistakes (chapter 57; here he used guilt and shame to incite Kim Dan not to drink), he is attempting to be close to his new room mate, to understand him. The problem is that the protagonist is keeping everything to himself. He is not speaking about himself and his past. This is quite understandable, as the grandmother keeps telling him that he has no roots here. (chapter 57) I would even add that with this advice, she was restraining him from becoming close to people in this hometown. It is her place, not his… In other words, she was forbidding him to make friends here and have a good relationship with the staff. Finally, when the grandmother says Kim Dan has no ties here,” it mirrors the hurtful stigmatization he faced as a child when he was labeled as an orphan, a “bum.” (chapter 57) Her words inadvertently repeat the narrative of abandonment and lack of belonging that has followed Kim Dan throughout his life. It feels as though she’s repeating those same accusations, reinforcing the idea that he is rootless, unworthy, and out of place. Instead of acknowledging the sacrifices Kim Dan has made for her, the grandmother dismisses him as someone without meaningful ties, perpetuating the feelings of invisibility and worthlessness he’s battled since childhood. So with this declaration “This place isn’t your hometown and you don’t have any ties here” she was triggering his abandonment issues and low self-esteem. This outlines her lack of empathy, self-centeredness and ignorance. Thus I have to admit that I am even wondering if he has not been adopted by Shin Okja.

And because the halmoni claims to be part of this hometown and the landlord belongs to the same community, I can’t help myself thinking that once he hears about Kim Dan’s true job and his halmoni, he will go to the hospice and meet her. Let’s not forget that no one recognizes or remembers her. Why? My explanation is simple. This is the place where her maiden family has been buried, but like her words display it: she never went to the hometown to visit the graves of her ancestors. The grandmother is projecting her own history of not “sticking around” for her deceased relatives onto Kim Dan. Just as she distanced herself from her family in the past (e.g., after their deaths), she now assumes that Kim Dan will do the same to her, reflecting her awareness of how such disconnection has defined her relationships. We could say, she “forgot” them, but once she is about to die, she wants to be remembered as a part of this community. This shows that this woman values tradition and the past, but in a superficial manner.

However, since the doctor has become the symbol of her past suffering, she would like to send him away. She is refusing to be burdened by worries and a guilty conscience. To conclude, she is rejecting her past and as such her responsibilities. She is now advocating “self-reliance”, while in the past, she used to ask him for favors. (chapter 53) On the other hand, the landlord embodies the opposite notions: (chapter 57) Care, curiosity and responsibility. Here he is asking for help as well. Nevertheless the nature of his request is different, for it is not about himself, but about Boksoon and her puppies. As you can see, he is making sure that she gets the best environment to raise her puppies. On the other side, Shin Okja used to prioritize herself and her own suffering. Notice that the doctor was resting under a tree in the yard (chapter 57), until the owner appeared. Thus I couldn’t restrain myself thinking that this man is strongly associated with the sun (fatherly figure) and life, whereas the grandmother stands for darkness (chapter 57), night and death.

The sequels of traumas

Since I detected symptoms of ARFID, it occurred to me the significance of the drugged beverage. (chapter 37) Kim Dan has never associated food with pleasure, love and happiness. Yet, for the first time, someone paid attention to his eating habits and suggested him to drink this nutrition shake. So the food became “poison” to him, this could only reinforce his negative disposition about eating. Is it a coincidence that soon after, he is seen sleeping and skipping meals? (chapter 43) No, his avoidance of eating increased. Park Namwook and the others assumed like many readers that it was related to his overwork and exhaustion, but it is only partially true. Sleeping was also his way to avoid food in the end. And this brings me back to the incident with the switched spray: (chapter 57) This crime triggered a trauma in the doctor. Hence his hands were shaking, and he is plagued by a huge guilty conscience. It was, as if his hands had become poison too. However, hands are necessary to eat. To conclude, this could only worsen his condition. And notice that even with the landlord, he is not seen eating. In fact, he is patting the dog. (chapter 57) That’s the reason why I don’t think that Kim Dan’s ARFID can be suddenly cured, the moment Potato reveals the truth about the incident. He has to develop a routine around eating. Someone has to put food right into his mouth, to feed him literally. On the other hand, I can imagine that a change will take place, when he sees his fighter totally diminished. He would serve as a reminder and reflection to himself.

And what is the common denominator between the switched spray and the drugged beverage? They reinforced his mental issues: ARFID, his depression and his low self-esteem. But the problem is that MFC , (chapter 41) the doctors and the authorities diminished the importance of such a wrongdoing, because they denied the existence of psychological sequels. Thus they only investigated it from the athlete’s perspective: (chapter 52) He was the only target and victim. Therefore it was reduced to the work of a hater and rival. Nevertheless, they didn’t interrogate the real victim of the crime correctly. Either he was about to get framed or his involvement was totally denied. It was, as if he had not been present. By not taking the physical therapist’s psychological damages into consideration, they actually expose their true nature. They don’t care about mental health at all. This explicates why the athlete had to prove his worth constantly. We should see these comments as a new form of bullying (chapter 36), which were supported by MFC, the Entertainment agency and Park Namwook. Joo Jaekyung had to prove them wrong: his career is not finished yet. So when the couple meets again, they should quickly realize the importance of mental health, as both are definitely at their lowest point in their life. In other words, the mental issues from Kim Dan serve a purpose in this story: people close to him should come to the realization that mental health is essential in life, something they neglected before. Either they didn’t feel concerned or they were biased or simply ignorant. Thus the athlete in the illustration for season 2 is looking at his fated partner’s face : He is now paying attention to his facial expressions and trying to discover his thoughts. Moreover, note that he is also grabbing his wrist, which could be interpreted like this. On the one hand, he is attempting to stop Kim Dan from working, as the symbol of a PT is the helping hand. He should relax and rely on the fighter’s care and protection. He is his shelter and home. On the other hand, it could be seen as his attempt to stop Kim Dan from using his wrist against the sinners and criminals: Kim Miseon who used her halmoni as guinea pig, Choi Gilseok who tricked him etc… Yes, I have the impression that at some point, the physical therapist could end up feeling like his fated partner: (chapter 41) Kim Dan is looking for light, because he has been trapped for too long in that darkness: (chapter 57) Because of ostracism and bullying, invisibility became his copying mechanism and the absence of shared meals could only reinforce his negative perception of himself. At the same time, the grandmother’s existence became his only source of life. So his meeting with Potato and Heesung is to remind him that he is not alone. (chapter 57) He was not forgotten, he left traces in their life. He was their sunlight, their angel.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.

Jinx: Unspoken Gifts 🎁, Unveiled Truths🪩 in the Light of Hope 💚

The hospice named “Light of Hope” (chapter 56) in Jinx serves as a powerful symbol and narrative device, encapsulating the themes of observation, communication, and truth, as reflected in the title “Unspoken Gifts, Unveiled Truths in the Light of Hope.” Its name evokes images of enlightenment and clarity, which stand in stark contrast to the gym Team Black and the grandmother’s internal state of denial and her rejection of responsibility. This tension between the hospice’s symbolic essence and the grandmother’s actions deepens the narrative’s exploration of personal accountability and transformation.

Closeness and Observation

Unlike the anonymity of the city (chapter 35), where people’s actions and words can go unnoticed, the hospice fosters an environment of close-knit relationships and mutual observation. (chapter 56) In this communal setting, actions carry weight, and behaviors are scrutinized. Thus the door to the meeting room is made of translucent glass. (chapter 56) While in the previous essay, I pointed out that this door reflected Kim Dan’s emotional entanglement—he is physically present but emotionally excluded from his grandmother’s world, highlighting the imbalance in their relationship -, in verity this transparent door offers an opportunity for the main lead. How so? The glass door stands not only for transparency, but also for “emotional distance”. The glass allows visibility but creates a barrier, symbolizing a balance between openness and detachment. This is essential in a hospice environment, where the focus is on providing care and support without becoming overly attached to the inevitable outcome: death. For the staff, maintaining a degree of detachment is necessary for their well-being, as becoming too attached could make the emotional toll of their work unbearable. Therefore I am suspecting that the two nurses (chapter 56) will become the physical therapist and champion’s mentors and advisors. Why? It is because the nurse with the brown hair embodies those values. Her emotional distance is already perceptible in her conversation with her colleague: (chapter 56) “Apparently” indicates a certain reservation suggesting that the speaker is relying on logic or observation rather than direct emotional involvement. That’s how the readers in the English version got finally to discover the grandmother’s name: Shin Okja. The latter has a name and a room number. While her description about the grandmother oozes objectivity and facts, she shows a different attitude towards the main lead later. Here, she is speaking from her heart: (chapter 56) She is projecting herself in his shoes. Why? IT is because she got influenced by the comment from her colleague. That’s how I realized that together, they represent the balance of heart and mind, their unity and understanding forming a cohesive whole. That’s how both are able not to become indifferent or too much attached. This coincides to the dualism of their profession: care but also detachment. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why the second nurse is not referring to facts, but to impressions and imagination. Her words are strongly intertwined with rumors: “with his experience”. So far, the main lead had barely experience in his field, as his first big gig ended up in a fiasco. He didn’t stay that long at the hospital and it is the same for the champion. He only worked at the gym for three months. The dark haired woman might have seen Kim Dan’s resume and the last employer, but she didn’t notice his name (Joo Jaekyung). This is her MO for „detachment“, she doesn’t pay attention to names. Moreover, she didn’t detect that he had barely worked as a PT before indicating that she has no notion of „time“. The discrepancy between her thoughts and reality can be easily explained. She also recognized the transformation in the patients, and could link it to the doctor’s skills. The reference to “famous athlete” and the doctor’s skills created a false perception, and this had an influence on her colleague: “You’re telling me!”.

The grapevines, both literal and figurative, symbolize the interconnectedness of the residents and the flow of information that can subtly reveal hidden truths. The grandmother, who once thrived under the city’s indifference, now finds herself navigating the attentive and watchful gaze of the hospice community. (chapter 56) Her hypocrisy, particularly in her treatment of Kim Dan, remains hidden behind the guise of socially acceptable behavior. Within the hospice, residents maintain a positive opinion of her, which enables her to mask her neglect and selfishness effectively. But since the two nurses are sharing their thoughts and working as a team, it signifies that Shin Okja’s wrongdoings could be detected this time. Or better said, they will realize the true suffering from the protagonist. Nurse Heart and nurse Mind will do their best to protect their new mascot and give him what he truly needs: (chapter 56) Comfort and even a home! It is important, because this evolution represents a contradiction to the athlete’s past: Park Namwook portrayed himself as Joo Jaekyung’s savior and family. (chapter 26) The reality is that he still has no idea why the champion was acting that way. He tried to explain his odd behavior by jumping to conclusions (prejudices: a spoiled child) and by listening to others. He never used his heart and mind, rather his ears and eyes. And this brings me to my next part.

Team Black‘s heart and mind

The partnership between the two nameless nurses contrasts sharply with the fractured dynamic between Park Namwook and Jeong Yosep in Team Black, where miscommunication and hidden motives reign. Observe that only in episode 5, the champion and the manager heard about the coach’s divorce and its circumstances. (chapter 5) And the other laughed. Then the coach seems to have no cellphone. Maybe he believes to have no need for it, for he goes to the gym every day. This signifies that he expects to be informed by his hyung Namwook. However, like mentioned in the previous essay, I believe that the manager has been sweeping under the rug the terrible condition of his “boy” from the coach and the team members. To sum up, Team Black embodies the opposite of the hospice’s values. There is no transparency, because the conversation took place not outside, but behind closed door. The door might be translucent, the reality is that they sent away all the members. (chapter 36) The gym, while ostensibly a team environment, is ruled by indifference, anonymity, and a lack of genuine camaraderie. The heart and the mind are not working together. Why? It is because the coach is trusting the manager, as he views him as the heart of the gym. What he fails to see, is that Park Namwook is neither the heart nor the mind, for he is more reflecting his surroundings: money. Secondly, the manager is easily influenced and is using conformity and social norms to avoid responsibility. He fears making decisions and lets others become proactive. Joo Jaekyung, the leader, relies exclusively on Park Namwook, the manager, who undermines team spirit by fostering distrust and misinformation. (chapter 46) The member’s loyalty got questioned, but the irony is that they had the real insight. (chapter 47) Thus rumors about Baek Junmin being an illegal fighter never reached Jaekyung’s ears. That’s why the author made fun of the main lead here: (chapter 47) His ear seemed to have caught their badmouthing, but not the real information. But why did he not listen to the members? It is because Namwook had encouraged the champion to keep his distance from others. He had even planted seeds of distrust among the team with his badmouthing about the champion. He has a bad temper and is a spoiled child, so no one needs to pay attention to him and his moods. The slap was the evidence of his disrespect and hypocrisy. (chapter 52) He was not willing to listen to the fighter’s suffering, because he didn’t want to be burdened. In fact, the opposite happened. (chapter 52) The man acted, as if he had been the biggest victim. Moreover, Namwook’s actions often reflect a lack of genuine loyalty, as seen in (chapter 22) episode 22, when he falsely claims ownership of the gym and again in episode 56 when he reminds the champion of his absence from the gym, behaving as though he were the boss. (chapter 56) In reality, the true owner of the gym is the “wolf,” and Namwook’s behavior underscores his disregard for loyalty and responsibility. In fact, his words mirror the nurse’s at the hospice: (chapter 56) Since she approached the physical therapist to get closer to him and used work to create a connection, people can see the similarities between her and the manager. While she represents honesty, curiosity, care but also “ignorance”,, it means that Park Namwook embodies the opposite values: indifference and a certain dishonesty. (chapter 56) Hence he is seen talking over the phone and not face to face, unlike the nurse. He knows that his boy is struggling, but he acts, as if he didn’t know. This contrast validates my previous interpretation of the manager. His question “Is everything okay with you?” exposes his lack of genuine concern. He uses work not to praise his “boy”, but to blame him for his “negligence”. He downplays the champion’s struggles while still recovering from surgery. This lack of care creates an atmosphere of apathy, anonymity, and selfish expectation, sharply contrasting with the hospice’s values of dignity and communal care. But how do we explain this huge divergence? First, the main principles of the hospice are dignity and care, and not primarily money. Therefore the institution offers free health check once a month: (chapter 56) Then they don’t pay attention to drugs and treatment, as they are useless there. Therefore they are less prone to corruption and greed contrary to the hospitals in Seoul. This means that this institution should become the main support for the main couple. Let’s not forget that Joo Jaekyung is suing a reputable hospital, but there’s no doubt that all the institutions are siding with the medical world and not the fighter.

Furthermore, though Light Of Hope and Team Black are strongly intertwined with fighting, their focus diverges significantly. The hospice prioritizes mental well-being, addressing the emotional and psychological needs of patients who have already relinquished hope for physical recovery. (chapter 56) This contrasts with the gym, where fighting is treated as entertainment and sport, emphasizing the physical aspect while neglecting the mental health of its athletes. Ironically, even the physical treatment of its members was neglected at the gym from the very beginning, like we could see it in two occasions: (chapter 1) The fighter with the head injury received treatment from the members (self-medication) and Kim Changming had a shoulder injury which got neglected. (chapter 7) These incidents reflect the gym’s underlying indifference and mismanagement. This disparity explains why Jaekyung’s mental health suffered under Namwook’s leadership, as the gym lacked the supportive and transparent environment required to nurture emotional resilience. Jaekyung’s stay at the hospice is likely to open his eyes to this overlooked aspect, prompting him to reconsider his leadership style and the values governing Team Black. But it is the same for Kim Dan, especially if he sees how weak and neglected the fighter looks: (chapter 56) he has already become a shadow of himself.

Gifts, communication and Truth

Light, a recurring symbol of enlightenment and awareness, serves different functions in the hospice and Team Black. In the hospice, light represents the revelation of truths previously hidden by denial and pretense. (chapter 56) The nurses might come to wonder how the grandmother can happily chat and smile when her relative is barely eating and spending all his time at the hospice. For the grandmother, this light exposes her selfishness and misguided belief that she can evade accountability. (chapter 56) Her actions, such as allowing Kim Dan to stay by her side and covering him, contrast sharply with her earlier attempts to push him away. In this scene, a caretaker might pass through the rooms to ensure everything is in order, noticing the doctor present. To an outsider, the visible outcome suggests that she accepts her grandchild’s relentless care without protest. It was, as if she had said nothing at all. Yet, this perceived acceptance masks her internal struggle and the discomfort of being dependent on Kim Dan, reflecting her conflicted emotions. These moments of vulnerability and acceptance highlight the gradual erosion of her denial under the hospice’s symbolic light.

The idea of gifts further underscores the theme of communication and truth, as gifts convey a message and reveal the nature of the relationship between the giver and the receiver. For instance, Park Namwook treats the gym as though it were a “gift” bestowed upon him, despite this being far from the truth. (chapter 22) Rather than acknowledging the champion’s suffering and generosity, he exploits his position thanks to his seniority, treating the gym as his personal domain. This false sense of ownership leads to his manipulative behavior and disregard for loyalty, as he capitalizes on Jaekyung’s trust and struggles.

Similarly, the grandmother’s wedding cabinet, made of mother-of-pearl, was a symbol of her dowry and seems to hold sentimental value for her. (chapter 19) However, for Kim Dan, this object represented a burden rather than a gift. He had troubles to find a new place to stay because of her „treasure“: (chapter 16) Despite its substantial value, the grandmother never sold the cabinet to pay off the debts, prioritizing its preservation over the survival of her home and family. On the one hand, this reveals her immaturity and selfishness, as she put up with her grandson’s suffering. On the other hand, her decision created the impression to Kim Dan that this belonging had just a sentimental value and nothing more. So when the champion saw that huge Wedding cabinet, he judged it as „junk“ and that’s how the doctor got this perception validated. (Chapter 19) Hence it is not surprising that at the end, he chose to abandon this huge cupboard. (Chapter 53) Finally during her move to the Light Of Hope, she did not ask about the whereabouts of her belonging which could only reinforce the impression that this item had no real value. It had even lost its sentimental value, as she was no longer thinking of her former home. Her ignorance and forgetfulness are once again outlining her superficiality, self-centeredness and lack of empathy. The sentimental value of her Wedding Cabinet was rather shallow. But the tragedy is that when the furniture was moved the penthouse, the champion noticed this item for the first time and came to associate this cupboard with the doctor. (chapter 19) Thus I am suspecting that this Wedding Cabinet created a false impression about the doctor: Joo Jaekyung thought that Kim Dan had many clothes in this cupboard, the negative version of this scene, (chapter 42) This explicates why the athlete didn’t pay attention to his soulmate’s clothes. And now, observe that the doctor is only wearing his PT uniform. (chapter 56) Thus I am predicting a huge awakening for the champion. Without the cupboard, the champion can see that the physical therapist almost has no cloth. Thus he can only admit his humbleness and benevolence. However, the moment he hears that this furniture belonged to the grandmother, the champion can only perceive the relative in a different light. Yes, the gift should expose her true personality. At the same time, Shin Okja never gave her Wedding Cabinet to Kim Dan, so should she discover that she lost her gift or the latter ended up in the athlete’s hands, she could protest and reclaim it. My point is that this legacy serves as a tool to expose the grandmother’s childish and shallow nature.

But I believe that we should combine this present from the past with the scarf she received from her grandson: (chapter 56) She is wearing it daily and is proud of it. Deep down, she knows the true value of the scarf: it was expensive (Chapter 41) as she employs the expression „spoil to death“. By wearing the scarf with flowers, she appears wealthy, but also vain! Since I detected that Kim Dan likes pink flowers, my interpretation is that this gift mirrors the doctor’s taste indicating that he was slowly regaining his identity and confidence.. (chapter 31) And notice that the bouquet of pink roses pushed Kim Dan to talk to Joo Jaekyung about his taste. That’s how I detected a strong connection between presents and communication. Notice that on the champion’s birthday, the manager sent a message while the presents were delivered. (chapter 45) This aspect gets even validated with the doctor’s keychain. The latter not only caused an argument between the two room mates (chapter 45), but also encouraged the doctor to convey his thoughts and expectations in the card. On the other hand, he didn’t expose the whole truth (chapter 55) Another interesting aspect lies in the doctor’s shaking hands which the champion noticed, when he offered the present: (chapter 55) This scene reminded me of their first encounter: (Chapter 56) So the man must have recognized the doctor‘s fear, which explains why the champion could voice his anger later. But back then, he never wondered why the doctor‘s hands were shaking like leaves. It is because the doctor feared rejection. The present had the following meaning for the physical therapist: recognition and acceptance. The gift was the symbol for „conditional affection“ which he had long internalized due to his grandmother. But this doesn‘t end here. The shaking hands appeared in a different scene: (chapter 49) The common denominator between these three scenes is the mistake. Kim Dan feared to have made a mistake with the present, because he was afraid of the champion‘s reaction: will he accept him or not? But let‘s return our attention to the gifts from the doctor.

And what is the huge divergence between the champion and the grandmother? The latter has always accepted doc Dan’s gifts, and even kept them, though she is well aware that her grandson is broke. He might have no longer any debts, but she doesn’t know it. So should the main lead meet the grandmother wearing the beautiful and expensive scarf, he should realize the value of the cloth. He should notice that the spoiled and greedy child is the halmoni, and not his fated partner. (chapter 41) Her words at the hospital are going to come back to bite her. She should have refused them in order to save some money. To conclude, the gifts serve to expose the truth about the receivers’ personality, like we could observe in another occasion: (chapter 31)

Funny is that her Wedding Cabinet was never intended as a gift for Kim Dan but as a reflection of her own past. Similarly, the scarf becomes a symbolic extension of this dynamic, illustrating the disparity in how gifts are perceived and valued. Through these gifts, the true nature of the relationships and the inherent imbalances are exposed. The cabinet, meant to represent care and love, becomes a mirror of her selfishness and refusal to take responsibility for Kim Dan’s sacrifices. These gifts underscore the imbalance in relationships where one party takes advantage of the other’s kindness or generosity. So paying back the fighter should be seen as a reflection to the scene, where the champion rejected the keychain. Simultaneously, the money transfer (chapter 55) implies that as soon as the main couple meet each other, they will have to discuss this matter. To sum up, a gift encourages the couple to communicate, yet contrary to season 1, both should be more honest to each other at the Light Of Hope. Every word and action will appear in a different light. Another aspect is that none of them takes things for granted, which stands in opposition to hyung Namwook and the grandmother. This explicates why the latter have no problem to spend money.

The Symbolism of Light

Light, a recurring symbol of enlightenment and awareness, serves different functions in the hospice and Team Black. In the hospice, light represents the revelation of truths previously hidden by denial and pretense. (chapter 56) The nurses might come to wonder how she can happily chat and smile, when her relative is barely eating and even spending his whole time at the hospice. For the grandmother, this light exposes her selfishness and misguided belief that she can evade accountability. (chapter 56) Her actions, such as allowing Kim Dan to stay by her side and covering him, contrast sharply with her earlier attempts to push him away. In this scene, a caretaker might pass through the rooms to ensure everything is in order, noticing the doctor present. To an outsider, the visible outcome suggests that she accepts her grandchild’s relentless care without protest. It was, as if she had said nothing at all. Yet, this perceived acceptance masks her internal struggle and the discomfort of being dependent on Kim Dan, reflecting her conflicted emotions. These moments of vulnerability and acceptance highlight the gradual erosion of her denial under the hospice’s symbolic light.

In contrast, Team Black’s symbolic “darkness” represents ignorance, despair, and unhappiness. The gym’s lack of transparency and trust fosters a culture of disconnection and secrecy. This explicates why Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung got betrayed and abandoned by the staff. Though they were both victims, no one sided with them. No one went to fetch them either or to call them. The name “Team Black” itself evokes these negative qualities, further emphasizing the divergence from the hospice’s values of clarity and interconnectedness. On the other hand, one origin of this problem is that the gym was founded for the athlete’s own needs. That means that the company must change its philosophy and in my opinion, it is related to Kim Dan. The latter embodies other values like family, dedication and selflessness. Work is not linked to money, but to self-worth. Like mentioned before, the doctor is about to conquer the gym and as such he is the true game changer.

For Jaekyung, the hospice’s light serves as a metaphorical mirror, reflecting the shortcomings of his leadership and his failure to build a true sense of community within Team Black. By entering this environment, he begins to see the value of actions over appearances and the importance of genuine relationships, which contrasts with the superficial and transactional nature of his gym.

A Catalyst for Transformation

The hospice’s name also reflects its role as a catalyst for transformation. While it offers hope and care to its residents, it also demands honesty and responsibility. The grandmother’s journey within this space is marked by a slow but inevitable confrontation with her own hypocrisy. Her interactions with Kim Dan and the hospice community challenge her to embrace the very principles that the “Light of Hope” embodies—truth, responsibility, and genuine care.

Similarly, Jaekyung’s time at the hospice serves as a turning point. Surrounded by people who value authenticity over status, he begins to shed his reliance on Park Namwook and reevaluates his treatment of Team Black. The hospice helps him uncover buried traumas and understand the impact of his actions on others, including Kim Dan. This newfound awareness sets the stage for his transformation as a leader and as a person.

Conclusion

The hospice “Light of Hope” is not merely a setting in Jinx; it is a microcosm of the story’s broader themes. It stands as a beacon of enlightenment, forcing characters like the grandmother and Joo Jaekyung to confront uncomfortable truths and redefine their relationships with themselves and others. While the grandmother initially resists this process, the hospice’s environment and its symbolic “light” gradually guide her toward self-awareness and accountability. For Jaekyung, the hospice provides an opportunity to recognize the flaws in his leadership and to embrace a more empathetic and authentic approach to life. In doing so, the “Light of Hope” becomes a place where denial fades, truths are revealed, and the potential for transformation is realized.

Feel free to comment. If you have any suggestion for topics or Manhwas, feel free to ask. If you enjoyed reading it, retweet it or push the button like. My Reddit-Instagram-Twitter-Tumblr account is: @bebebisous33. Thanks for reading and for the support, particularly, I would like to thank all the new followers and people recommending my blog.