Jinx: Love 💘 is in the Air 🌬️🎶(part 1)

When Air Becomes Emotion

There are chapters in Jinx that feel like pauses in the storm, moments when the story seems to inhale before beating again. Chapter 83 is one of them. At first glance, it resembles a “date”: the two men wear complementary headbands — white and black, (chapter 83) mirroring the contrast of their clothes and their personalities — and the champion even leans in to lick a smear of ice cream from the therapist’s finger, an image so intimate that any passerby would mistake them for lovers. And yet, not quite. The physical therapist approaches the outing as part of his job, a therapeutic break meant to soothe his patient’s nerves (chapter 83), while the athlete approaches the day with a far more personal hope. He stages the rides strategically, intending to appear strong and reliable so that his companion might grow frightened and instinctively reach for him (chapter 83) — just as he once did in the swimming pool. (chapter 80) Beneath the surface, what looks like a date is a carefully orchestrated attempt to recreate closeness without naming it. To conclude, whereas the episode flirts with the aesthetics of a date, the intentions behind it remain mismatched, unspoken, and unresolved. It is not an official date, yet it does not behave like a simple work-related excursion either, and we as readers are left suspended in that tantalizing in-between space — as if the very moment were hanging weightless above the ground, waiting for someone to name what it truly is.

As we follow them through the amusement park, we sense something shifting. The air itself seems to vibrate (chapter 83), charged with a warmth that seasoned Jinxphiles will recognize immediately: a tension between joy and tension, duty and desire, wind and water. And then we see him — the usually anxious physical therapist — smiling with his eyes closed, arms raised, as if offering himself to the sky and joining his “companions”, the clouds. In this panel, his hands — so often clenched, overworked, or trembling from exhaustion, fear or anger — are finally resting, suspended in a gesture of pure lightness and ease.

This moment is more than simple amusement; it is a brief liberation from the weight he has carried for years. For the first time, the man who usually survives on caution allows himself to rise, to laugh, to surrender to the wind. He appears almost weightless — as if something inside him has quietly unclenched. And as I watched this unexpected lightness unfold, something else surfaced just as naturally: a melody. Soft at first, almost accidental. It felt as though the chapter itself were humming in the background — John Paul Young’s Love Is in the Air.

Its melody, repetitive and gently rising, mirrors the slow ascent of the Ferris wheel: a circular motion that builds toward a quiet crescendo. And what might strike you — almost instinctively — is how naturally the lyrics seem to align with the chapter’s emotional beats, as if each verse echoed a panel.

— suddenly these lines become more than a melody. They become a key to understanding what neither the fighter nor the therapist dares to say aloud. (chapter 83) The song becomes more than a soundtrack; it becomes an interpretive key, guiding us through the protagonists’ unspoken emotions and shadowed hesitations.

At the same time, chapter 83 mirrors earlier moments of their story—especially the opening episode and the charged night-and-morning sequence of chapters 44 (chapter 44) and 45, where desire blurred into illusion and (chapter 45) reality collided with unspoken longing. The tension between dream (chapter 83) and waking life, quietly present in the lyrics themselves, resurfaces at the park amusement as well — though its meaning will become clearer as we look deeper. In season 1, the boundaries between the celebrity fighter and his therapist were blurred in ways neither of them understood: professional on the surface, intimate in practice, yet undefined in essence. Physical closeness existed, but emotional clarity did not. Now, in the bright openness of this amusement-park afternoon and evening, we are invited to look again. What exactly is their relationship here? A supervised rest day? A moment of companionship? The first fragile step toward something tenderer that neither man is ready to articulate?

And if their bond no longer fits the categories imposed by their roles, then we are left with the question that rises with them into the purple sky: What is love—when the line between duty and desire dissolves into the air itself?

Dan — “Love is in the air, everywhere I look around”

The first verse of the song insists on perception — on looking, hearing, sensing the presence of love in the world before one dares to name it. And this is precisely what happens to the physical therapist in chapter 83. When he sees a child running toward a mascot for a hug (chapter 83) or a family laughing together (chapter 83), something in him shifts so quietly that one might miss it at first glance: he smiles. (chapter 83) Not out of politeness, not to reassure someone else, not through exhaustion or habit. He smiles because he witnesses joy — and for once, it does not make him feel smaller. It does not activate the reflexes of deprivation or fear that shaped his life from childhood to early adulthood. On the other hand, the smile he gives in that moment is not radiant, not wide, not unguarded. It is a grin, a restrained upward curve that reveals both warmth and hesitation. His joy is present — unmistakably so — but it is still contained, as if his body has not yet learned how to express happiness without caution. This small, hesitant grin shows us a man who is beginning to open, yet still holds himself back, afraid of wanting too much.

And what makes this expression so striking is what it lacks. There is no envy in his eyes. No longing to trade places with the laughing family. No bitterness. No “why not me?” His gaze does not grab at the happiness he sees; it simply receives it. This absence is meaningful. For someone who grew up experiencing loss, scarcity, and emotional withholding, joy witnessed in others often triggers one of two reactions:

  • greed (“I want that, too.”)
  • hurt (“Why can’t I have that?”)

But Dan feels neither. He simply watches and grins — shyly, lightly, almost apologetically — as if happiness is something he is allowed to observe but not yet to claim. The expression reflects the quiet discipline of someone who has spent years dampening his own desires so he wouldn’t be disappointed. His joy is limited, yes, but also genuine. It is the joy of someone who is relearning safety through the world around him, step by delicate step.

And this is precisely why the grin matters. It shows that his emotional defenses are beginning to loosen, but not collapse. He allows the warmth of the scenery to touch him, without reaching out for more. He permits himself to feel — but in moderation, in the smallest possible dose that won’t frighten him. It is, therefore, the perfect visual embodiment of the song’s opening line:

because for the first time, he is looking around with the capacity to notice, even if he still doesn’t dare to hope.

Back in episode 1, the world was something he endured: every sound (chapter 1) reminded him of responsibility , every sight (chapter 1) pulled him back to duty or scarcity. Happiness belonged to others; he lived on the margins, always working, always surviving. But here, in the brightness of the amusement park (chapter 83), his gaze is finally unshackled. He looks outward and takes in the warmth of strangers’ affection without translating it into loss or longing. (chapter 83) Like described above, he is neither envious nor resentful. Instead, he experiences a fragile form of joy — not through himself, but through others. It is indirect happiness, a borrowed ray of light, but it is still happiness.

This scene reveals a subtle but profound transformation: the world no longer feels hostile. For a child who grew up believing that everything — security, love, parents — could vanish without warning or bring pain, the outside world was always tinged with danger. Now, for the first time, it becomes a landscape where he feels safe (chapter 83), though an accident could actually occur there. This contrasts so much to his thoughts in episode 1. (chapter 1) The amusement park becomes a place in which love exists openly, visibly, harmlessly. The lyrics capture this awakening beautifully: “And I don’t know if I’m being foolish… but it’s something that I must believe in.” (chapter 83) This is exactly what his smile expresses. He has no proof that love could include him. No certainty that he deserves it. No assurance that daring to hope won’t lead to disappointment. And yet, he believes — not because someone reassures him, but because his own senses finally give him permission.

When he smiles at the child or the family, he is not imagining himself in their place, nor projecting himself into some idealized domestic future. He simply lets the warm air settle in his chest. Happiness exists. It exists near him. It exists without punishing him. And if it exists, then perhaps — perhaps — he is not excluded from it forever. This is the first real beat of hope, the quiet reawakening of a heart that has spent too long underwater. The therapist who once sank in the pool out of fear now rises through the air of the amusement park simply by witnessing life unfold around him. His joy does not come from the ride; it initially comes from seeing love in the air, exactly as the song describes.

Yet this joy remains delicate, tentative — the kind that sits quietly at the edge of his lips. His smile is not wide or unguarded; it is a small, restrained grin, (chapter 83) a gesture that reveals how carefully he still manages his own emotions. For a man who learned early in life to minimize his desires to avoid disappointment, this gentle openness is already a form of courage. And then something unexpected happens.

Dan — “Love is in the air, In the risin’ of the sun


The moment he realizes that the fighter (chapter 83) — the man who seems invincible and superior in every domain — has never been to an amusement park, a spark ignites inside him. (chapter 83) His heart, which moments earlier beat quietly in observation, begins to race with excitement. For the first time, he is equal to the athlete. At the same time, for the first time, he is the one with experience or power. 😲 How so? For the first time, age becomes real (chapter 83): the physical therapist is twenty-nine, the athlete twenty-six.

Dan’s seniority — long irrelevant, long suppressed — begins to surface, not through conscious thought, but through instinct. He does not step forward because he is older; he steps forward because, for once, he knows something the fighter does not: his own desires. His body moves before his mind names the change. His voice lifts before he understands. (chapter 83) He suddenly steps into a role he has never been allowed to inhabit before: that of the knowledgeable one, the guide, the hyung.

And this moment exposes a quiet truth about his past that the story had always hinted at: he has never been allowed to inhabit his age. (chapter 78) Dan’s lifetime of passivity did not come from lack of intelligence or lack of will; it came from conditioning. He was raised by a guardian who loved him, yes, but who also unintentionally infantilized him. He was not allowed to question her words and decisions. His grandmother, who was not just older but twice his senior in authority, experience, and certainty, occupied every position of knowledge in his life. She decided what was dangerous, what was sensible, what was allowed, and what was forbidden. Her worldview dominated so completely that Dan’s own judgment never had room to form. His grandmother’s authority was absolute — not malicious, but unquestioned — and Dan learned very early that his role in the household was not to decide but to obey.

The clearest illustration appears in Chapter 7, when she panics about the money he could spend for her treatment and immediately demands: (chapter 7) As if a twenty-nine-year-old man — a working professional — were incapable of making a responsible financial decision. Dan’s “Of course not!” is instinctive, defensive, almost childlike, exposing the emotional hierarchy between them. In her eyes, he is not an adult with agency, but a boy who must be corrected, cautioned, overridden.

And yet — paradoxically — he was forced to become an adult far too early which the grandmother acknowledges. (chapter 65) However, observe that here, she feigns ignorance, she doesn’t know the origins of this metamorphosis. On the other hand, it is clear that she is well aware of the cause. He worked to support them both. He paid the hospital bills. He negotiated the debts. He shouldered the responsibility of survival.

And the greatest irony? The debt is in his name. (chapter 17) Legally, financially, the burden is his. But emotionally, symbolically, he was never allowed to own that responsibility; it was neither recognized nor validated. Instead, his grandmother continued to treat him as a child incapable of navigating the world on his own — even though he was the one saving them both.

This contradiction shaped him: He learned duty without authority, responsibility without recognition, adulthood without autonomy. He was taught to carry the weight of the world but never the permission to decide how to carry it. And now, we finally comprehend why the physical therapist remained so passive throughout Season 2. By giving him choices (chapter 77) and asking for his opinion (chapter 83), Joo Jaekyung is liberating his fated partner.

And this is precisely why the moment in Chapter 83 hits so deeply. (chapter 83) For the first time, he is not the silent follower but the one who leads. For the first time, his taste and desire matter.
For the first time, he is allowed to choose — where to walk, what to try, how to spend the day.

And in that instant, something long-suppressed rises to the surface: the part of him that was never permitted to grow up. His racing heart is not just excitement; it is the awakening of a self that had been dormant for years — the self who finally, quietly, steps into the light. As if echoing John Paul Young’s quiet promise,
“Love is in the air, in the risin’ of the sun,”
something inside him rises too — a self long buried under duty and financial strain. Chapter 83 unfolds beneath the sun, but its emotional lighting belongs to him: not chronological morning, but the symbolic morning of a man finally waking up. We see this most clearly in the moment he blushes and murmurs: (chapter 83). His face, half in shadow and half in light, appears as though it is gradually emerging from darkness. It feels like dawn breaking across his features — the soft illumination of newfound boldness, desire, and possibility. Even if the scene takes place in the afternoon, his face carries the light of morning, the brightness of a heart beginning to beat for itself. (chapter 83) And this is why his heart speeds up. Why he blushes. Why he suddenly moves with purpose. Why he becomes the guide: “I’ll be your guide today!”

This is not merely excitement. It is the first time his joy has weight and his seniority has meaning. It is the first time he can lead without fear. It is the first time he can offer joy rather than labor. In this fleeting, luminous moment, the therapist steps into the adulthood he earned long ago — not out of duty, but out of freedom. And paradoxically, by stepping into adulthood, he is finally allowed to reclaim something he was robbed of: childhood. Thus he receives a huge Teddy Bear from the athlete. (chapter 83) The toy from his childhood had vanished, probably thrown away because it had lost its role and doc Dan had no longer the time to play. At the same time, we should question ourselves who had offered it to doc Dan. (chapter 47)

The man who had to shoulder debts, bills, and survival before he even finished school now gets to experience what ordinary children take for granted — wearing a headband, tasting ice cream, pointing excitedly toward the next ride.
His joy is not childish; it is restorative. It is the healing of a stage of life he never truly lived. And with every shift of light and fresh air, a new part of Dan awakens — his agency, his boldness, his playfulness, even his shy but stubborn desires. (chapter 83) And this awakening has another consequence: for the first time, money disappears as a source of fear.

Dan, who used to feel uncomfortable in front of presents or at the slightest expense, suddenly moves with ease. (chapter 83) He accepts the fighter’s generosity without guilt (chapter 83), yet offers his own in return — buying the drinks, fetching the ice cream, participating in the flow of giving rather than shrinking from it. (chapter 83) No one questions cost; no one frames affection as financial burden. This reciprocity is gentle, natural, unspoken. It stands in stark contrast to Heesung (chapter 32), who immediately reduced generosity to calculation. He implied that doc Dan couldn’t afford it. His smile was a lure; his kindness, a transaction.

But with Jaekyung, Dan is not a debtor or a burden. Money stops being a battlefield. He is simply someone who can say yes and accept a huge Teddy Bear. (chapter 83) In fact, he loves the “gift”. He is someone who can offer something back (the drink, but also concerns (chapter 83) Someone who can choose.

Here, in the sunlit corners of the amusement park, the therapist is no longer the boy (chapter 65) who was forced into adulthood nor the adult who was treated like a child. He is finally both: (chapter 83) That’s the reason why Mingwa placed a boy with his father between the couple in this image. At the same time, she also insinuated that Joo Jaekyung was acting not only as a father, but also as a “boy”. That’s why love is in the air… they come to accept their true self. The two protagonists are both adults and kids!
Now, doc Dan is free enough to play and enjoy the rides (chapter 83), and respected enough to lead. And in that rare space, something long dormant begins to bloom, the return of the little boy’s innocence and smile! (chapter 83) “Love is in the air, In the whisper of the trees” Keep in mind that according to my interpretation, the tree embodies the physical therapist.

Just two people sharing the cost of a shared day — naturally, effortlessly, without negotiation. It is a small detail, but it signals a tectonic emotional shift: he no longer sees himself as someone who must earn affection through restraint, sacrifice, or poverty. He no longer sees himself as a burden!

Joo Jaekyung — “Love is in the air, in the thunder of the sea”

If Dan awakens in air, Jaekyung is pulled, almost violently, toward water. (chapter 83) The second half of the verse — “in the thunder of the sea” — finds its embodiment not in waves or ocean spray, but in a wooden flying boat swinging high above an amusement park. (chapter 83) It is here, of all places, that the façade of the undefeated champion bends, flickers, and reveals the frightened boy hiding beneath the man. (chapter 83)

At first, the athlete walks through the park with a confidence bordering on theatrical. He speaks like someone who knows the rules of amusement rides (chapter 83), although the knowledge is borrowed, second-hand, quoted from “the guys at the gym.” He buys cute headbands (chapter 83), pays for almost everything (chapter 83), selects a giant teddy bear as a prize. He tries to perform adulthood, to appear experienced, reliable, worldly — the one who leads. That’s why his reaction after the ride on the boat resembles a lot to the father: scared of rides (chapter 83) And yet this performance is delicate. One touch is all it takes to fracture it. (chapter 83) Because the truth is that Jaekyung, too, is both an adult and a child. Thus the author used many “chibi” in this chapter: (chapter 83) He is the man who finances the day, but also the boy who has never stepped inside an amusement park. (chapter 83) He is the warrior who never loses, but also the boy who becomes jealous of a rollercoaster because it made Dan smile. (chapter 83) He is the emperor of the ring, but also the boy whose innocence was stolen far too early through neglect, violence, and trauma.

This duality surfaces even during the ride moves. (chapter 83) When he sees Dan laughing with the wind in his hair, he is first moved. (chapter 83) For the first time, he truly notices the doctor’s joy and happiness. However, later his thoughts tighten into a childish pout: (chapter 83) The jealousy is not malicious — it is heartbreakingly sincere. It belongs to someone who has never been the source of gentle affection. Someone who has always been valued for power, not warmth. Someone whose earliest memories taught him that attention comes only when he performs. What he fails to notice that he is still behind the doctor’s happiness. How so? It is because he was the one who had suggested this trip!!

But let’s return our attention to the boat, the ride who combines water and air. The great athlete — the dragon of the cage, the man who terrifies opponents simply by standing in front of them — folds inward like a frightened child. (chapter 83) As the ride swings, his fingers clamp around the safety bar, his head drops, his breathing stutters, and his posture collapses into defensive instinct. The motion is too familiar. Too close to something his body remembers even when his mind tries to forget. One might think, it is related to his fear of fall. However, it is only partially true. His dizziness on the flying boat is not simply fear of a ride, nor the comedic reversal of roles between the fearless champion and the timid therapist. It is the physical echo of a lifetime of trauma — the kind the body never forgets.

A fighter’s training does not harden the vestibular system; it punishes it. Years of repeated blows (chapter 72)— even those that fall short of a diagnosable concussion — accumulate inside the inner ear like invisible fractures. The system responsible for balance, spatial orientation, and visual stabilization becomes worn, over-calibrated to impact but under-prepared for fluctuation. A man can be conditioned to withstand punches that would floor an ordinary person, yet still falter when the world tilts beneath him.

This is exactly what we witness on the flying boat. Jaekyung turns pale long before the motion becomes violent. His breathing shifts. His body stiffens. He clings to the safety bar not out of embarrassment, but because his senses are betraying him. These are classic signs of vestibular sensitivity — the lightheadedness, the nausea triggered by visual motion, the momentary whiteouts where vision loses stability, the delayed recovery after sudden shifts in height. Boxers experience it. Wrestlers experience it. MMA fighters live with it. But Jaekyung’s case carries a sharper edge.

Because his vulnerability is not merely the byproduct of sport.

It carries the ghost of childhood instability — the disorientation of being struck by someone who should have protected him, the instinctive bracing for impact, the nights when the world spun not from amusement but from fear. (chapter 72) The body he trained into steel was built upon a nervous system shaped by violence. Let’s not forget that before his father died, the latter hit his head with a bottle once again. (chapter 73) Finally, he started fighting at such a young age, (chapter 72), actually boxing at such a young age is limited to non-contact activities like footwork drills, shadowboxing, jump rope, basic strength & coordination, bag work with very light gloves. So there is no sparring, no head contact. (chapter 72)

It can survive force, but unpredictability — the rocking of a boat, the sudden drop of a height — awakens old alarms he never learned to silence. And now, you comprehend why Mingwa placed this panel just before they got on the boat! (chapter 83) This is what his father should have done in the past.

This is why the flying boat becomes his “thunder of the sea.” Not a thrill. A warning.

While Dan rises with the air (chapter 83) — light, joyful, awakened — Jaekyung is dragged back toward the element he once drowned in. His dizziness is the somatic memory of a boy who learned to endure chaos by stillness, who now finds himself unable to breathe when the world refuses to stay still.

And yet, even after this destabilizing moment, the athlete refuses to give up (chapter 83), thus they try other rides. It is important, because it implies that Joo Jaekyung is gradually leaving the water! This explicates why later something extraordinary happens. (chapter 83) He opens one eye — just one — and in that tiny gesture, the entire emotional axis of the chapter tilts. It is not the instinct of a fighter checking his surroundings; it is the instinct of a man searching for someone. The flying boat lurches beneath him, the air rushing past in violent arcs, yet all his focus narrows to a single point of stillness: Kim Dan.
(chapter 83) This moment mirrors Dan’s earlier “sunrise” panel, but in reverse. Where Dan’s face emerged from shadow into light, Jaekyung’s eye emerges from strain into clarity.
Where Dan stepped into awakening, Jaekyung clings to consciousness, seeking an anchor.

And that is why this panel is so quietly devastating. He does not open his eye to judge the ride or assess danger;
he opens it to find the lightness he cannot produce within himself, due to the guilt he is carrying in himself.

He is pale, dizzy, destabilized — the seat rocks like a wave he cannot fight — and instinctively, his gaze reaches outward for the one thing that steadies him. And there he sees it:

Dan smiling. Dan at ease. Dan radiant in the wind. (chapter 83)

It hits him like a beam of sunlight breaking through nausea, fear, and vertigo. (chapter 83) In the song’s language, this is his “rising of the sun” moment — not because he feels lightness, but because he perceives it in someone else. The warmth he cannot generate becomes visible in the face of the man beside him.

For Dan, love rises like morning.
For Jaekyung, love enters like light through a crack — a single opened eye.

And in that sliver of brightness, he breathes again. It is a pure parallel to the song’s line — “Love is in the air, everywhere I look around” — because that is exactly what he does: he looks around, and his gaze lands on Dan. The doctor’s smile becomes the only stable point in the shifting world. Jaekyung’s competitiveness, his jealousy of the rollercoaster, his greed for Dan’s smile — all of it collapses into something softer once his body falters.

For the first time, he allows himself to rely on someone else. To conclude, the ride — with its water-like arcs and unpredictable shifts — becomes a symbolic reenactment of the environment that shaped him. This is the song’s “thunder of the sea”: violent motion, destabilizing memory, fear disguised as nausea.

Yet despite his struggle, something remarkable awakens. Joo Jaekyung is still enjoying his time with his fated partner. Thus he wished to stay longer there. (chapter 83) It is because he enjoys listening to doc Dan. He enjoys his voice and words. This is not the internal voice of a fighter; it is the voice of someone falling in love without yet understanding how strong his feelings are.

He is too dizzy to perform adulthood, too overwhelmed to hide behind rank or reputation. The fragility he has always repressed leaks through every line of his body — and for the first time, he lets it. Thus he follows his heart and wins a huge teddy bear and buys headbands.

To conclude, the flying boat marks the moment (chapter 83),when Joo Jaekyung is stripped of his armor. The amusement park returns him to something raw, trembling, unfinished. But instead of shame, there is warmth. Instead of anger, there is gratitude. (chapter 83) Instead of retreat, there is reaching — a quiet but unmistakable reaching toward the man beside him. The problem is that he is still too scared to voice his thoughts in front of the physical therapist.

This represents another step of Jaekyung’s transformation: the shift from solitary dragon to partner, from survivor to someone who longs to be understood. And here, the parallel with his earlier metaphor becomes striking.
Back in Chapter 29, he described challengers as hyenas nipping at his heels , (chapter 29) a swarm of predators waiting for him to slow down. His career was an ocean of teeth and waves — constant motion, constant danger. Thus I detected a progression. In episode 69, he jumped onto the boat (chapter 69), then at the amusement park, the boat was in the air (chapter 83) Thus I deduce that the boat is “the last wave” he rides.

Once it stops, his world no longer moves with the violence of water. When he ascends the Ferris wheel (chapter 83), he rises into air — the first air he has breathed without fear.

He leaves the sea behind. He leaves the waves of fighters behind. He leaves the ocean of survival behind. Therefore I am sensing that the athlete is about to change his career and path. He will stop acting as a fighter only. That moment of ascent — quiet, suspended, pink-lit — is the moment he finally becomes what he was always meant to be: not prey chased across waves, not a beast trapped in turbulence, but a dragon lifting into the sky.

And the first breath of that ascent — the first hint of air entering lungs long constrained — begins beside Dan, in a gently swinging gondola at sunset.

The two men meet there in the subtle overlap between air and sea —
between awakening and unraveling,
between lightness and instability,
between childhood and adulthood.

The whisper of the trees meets the thunder of the sea.
And the love that neither can yet name floats quietly between them.

The Ferris Wheel — Where Dream and Reality Finally Meet

The emotional architecture of Chapter 83 only reveals its full depth when placed beside the earlier night-and-morning dyad of Chapters 44 and 45. Those chapters form a pair of opposites: a false dream (chapter 44) followed by a false dawn. Chapter 44 unfolds in artificial night — neon (chapter 44) and night lamp (chapter 44) — a landscape where nothing is stable and nothing is truly felt. Jaekyung is drunk, his consciousness slipping in and out of awareness; Dan, overwhelmed and inexperienced (when it comes to relationship), projects meaning onto a moment that cannot hold it. He wishes time would “stand still,” but he is wishing against reality. The entire scene is built on one-sided desire. The intimacy is sensory, not emotional. Dan longs to “get to know” (chapter 44) someone who is not present, rather drunk. But getting to know someone means communication. It is precisely the illusion captured in the song’s confession: I don’t know if I’m just dreaming… I don’t know if I see it true… And he wasn’t seeing it true; he was dreaming alone.

Then comes Chapter 45 — cruel daylight, harsh and flat, the sun stripped of warmth. (chapter 45) Morning light becomes a scalpel. There is no magic left, no gentleness, no room for misunderstanding. Jaekyung’s bluntness (chapter 45) annihilates the illusion Dan had constructed the night before. This is not heartbreak; it is disenchantment, the almost physical pain of realizing a moment meant nothing to the other person involved. Chapter 44 was the dream, and Chapter 45 was its punishment. Together they show a relationship out of sync, two people whose desires never touch at the same time. One wishes for home and attention, while the other has no idea that he is loved. So far, he has never heard this: “I love you”. One tries to reach out emotionally, while the other remains absent. However, when they are both lucid, none of them are totally honest, as they are self confused. Thus they are in two different worlds.

Chapter 83 is the first time those worlds merge. Hence we have the purple sky! (chapter 83) This scene confirmed my previous interpretation about the symbolism of the blue/golden hour.

Everything that failed in Chapters 44 and 45 is repaired — not by repetition, but by transformation. (chapter 83) The setting is no longer artificial night nor cold morning. It is true daylight — warm, golden, forgiving. Both men are fully conscious. Both are vulnerable. Both are honest. Both are sober. And for the first time, both want the same thing at the same time. This mutuality is the quiet miracle that turns an ordinary Ferris wheel cabin into a sacred emotional space. When Dan looks toward the horizon and murmurs, (chapter 83), the wolf thinks, with disarming sincerity, he is thankful toward the physical therapist. ” The wish that destroyed them in Chapter 44 now binds them together in Chapter 83. Suspended high in the sky, they share the same breath, the same light, the same fragile desire. This is where John Paul Young’s lyrics finally find their home: And I don’t know if I’m being foolish… don’t know if I’m being wise… but it’s something that I must believe in… and it’s there when I look in your eyes. And now it is the champion’s turn to become brave and confess his feelings to doc Dan, but like it was just revealed: Joo Jaekyung refused to repeat his confession! (chapter 83)

And the Ferris wheel forces them to talk to each other and face that truth. Unlike that night when Jaekyung could simply roll over and fall asleep, or that morning when Dan could retreat into silence, the Ferris wheel offers no escape route. They are trapped together — enclosed, elevated, suspended. Neither can walk away. (chapter 45) Neither can pretend not to feel. Neither can avoid the other’s gaze. They must see each other as they are, in that moment. And miraculously, neither flinches. There is no denial, no deflection, no cruelty. Only two men who finally dare to look. Whereas Chapter 44 let them hide behind darkness and drunkenness, and Chapter 45 forced them into cold exposure, Chapter 83 holds them in a gentle, suspended in-between: the space where dream and reality finally meet.

And Mingwa gives this moment a witness (chapter 83) — the enormous Teddy Bear Jaekyung won earlier that day. In the cramped Ferris wheel cabin, the bear sits with them, silent and soft, absorbing every unspoken emotion. It becomes the guardian of the day’s truth, the counterweight to the night of Chapter 44. Nothing from this moment can be denied, rewritten, or dismissed as drunken illusion. The bear remembers. It carries the warmth of Dan’s rediscovered childhood, the soreness of Jaekyung’s fear on the boat, the sweetness of their awkwardness, the courage of their mutual wish. Later, when Dan sees the bear again, he will remember not the fear of falling, not the dizziness, not the awkwardness — but the moment Jaekyung looked at him and apologized to him. Hence later the doctor is seen looking at his present (chapter 84) and holding the bear’s hand. (chapter 84) The bear contains the view, the sunset, the air, the honesty — everything that neither of them can run away from now.

This is why the Ferris wheel scene is more than a romantic interlude; it is a structural correction of the narrative wound created in Chapters 44 and 45. It does not repeat the night. It redeems it. It heals the morning. It merges the suspended magic of Chapter 44 with the daylight honesty of Chapter 45 — but only because both are willing, present, open. For the first time, their timing aligns. For the first time, neither is dreaming alone. For the first time, love is truly in the air, not as fantasy nor delusion, but as a shared, breathing reality. But wait… in episode 84, there is no “I like you,” no dramatic declaration, no romance in words. So it looks like my association was wrong. (chapter 84) Instead, what rises between them is something quieter and far more intimate: penance. The fighter does not confess love; he confesses his faults. He does not offer desire; he offers regret. In Jinx, this is the deeper beginning of love, because an apology centers the other person’s pain rather than one’s own feelings. Then Jaekyung admits he was wrong, he gives Dan something far more valuable than a confession — he gives recognition. The hamster has rights, he can express his thoughts and feelings.

This is why the air in the cabin feels charged despite the lack of explicit emotion. Love appears not as a statement but as a change in behavior, a cessation of superiority, a willingness to repair what was broken. For the first time, they meet on equal ground: the athlete stripped of his dominance, the therapist freed from his habitual submission. Neither plays a role; both simply exist honestly in the same small space. They are both humans.

And in this suspended moment, John Paul Young’s refrain drifts quietly into the scene—not as music, but as meaning. Because what unfolds in the cabin is exactly the tension the song names:

Both men stand at that threshold. Dan is wise enough to hope again, hence he is holding the teddy bear’s hand (chapter 84), but foolish enough to remain cautious and remain silent. (chapter 84)

Jaekyung is foolish enough not repeat his words (chapter 84) (chapter 84), but wise enough to regret immediately. (chapter 84) He is also wise enough to care deeply and repair instead of demand. Thus his apology feels so genuine.

Their intimacy is not built on certainty but on uncertainty bravely shared. Not on declarations, but on communication—hesitant, imperfect, but real. Not on fantasy, but on the courage to face each other without hiding. And that’s the common point between these two places in the air (chapter 45) (chapter 84) (chapter 84) Both men are not brave enough to confess their true feelings to their fated partner. Hence both came to regret their actions. (chapter 46) (chapter 46) The champion also played “dumb”. Thus the pillow got punched later. (chapter 84) He shouldn’t have thrown away his “feelings”. So by rubbing the hand of the toy, doc Dan is gradually expressing the return of “his greed and hope”.

The Ferris wheel becomes the place where foolishness and wisdom merge, where vulnerability replaces power, and where air itself begins to carry the shape of a future neither of them can yet name…but both can finally feel.

I was almost finished, when chapter 84 got released. Hence I could enrich the last part.

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: Breathless in the Light 🏰😶‍🌫️ – part 2

Since today, a new chapter will be released, this second part can not be long. Yet, I wanted to share my latest observations before the publication of chapter 83.

In the first part, I focused on the origins of the champion’s breathlessness and its cure: the amusement park. However, the air was not the only important element in episode 82. Let’s take another look at this image: (chapter 81) The plane soars not only above the Alps, but also above a vast river (probably the Rhône)— two landscapes that silently echo the dual composition of breath itself. Breath is made of air and water: oxygen and vapor, wind and moisture. (chapter 82) In that sense, the clouds surrounding the aircraft are not mere weather; they are the perfect union of the two elements that sustain life.

Joo Jaekyung’s breathlessness, then, is not simply a physiological lack of oxygen — it is the absence of water, the missing element of tenderness and flow. The champion has spent his life breathing air devoid of moisture, surviving on discipline, pride, and control — a dry atmosphere where emotion cannot condense. (chapter 82) That’s why, when Potato offers him a bottle of Evian, he doesn’t even look. He doesn’t need the water from the mountain and as such the world; he needs the water of the body — the intimacy, the shared moisture that reconnects him to life itself. What he truly longs for is Kim Dan’s saliva, the living trace of water transformed into affection, into care, into exchange. (chapter 81) He is longing for his lips and as such a kiss.

Only through that bodily element — through the return of water inside air — can he breathe again fully. Dan’s body literally rehydrates him. The vapor that once escaped his lungs returns as mist, as breath shared between two beings. At the same time, it teaches him how to breathe properly, the reverse of this scene in the locker room. (chapter 15)

And this elemental union anticipates the next landscape: the amusement park, where the air is filled with laughter, humidity, and movement. (chapter 82) Many attractions — the Ferris wheel, the fountain rides, the water park zones — combine air and water, height and spray, just like breath itself. And now, you understand why the champion got wounded with the spray (chapter 49) It corresponds to the negative version of the “breath”.

Another possibility is that they first share the same drink or the same ice cream (epilogue), because doc Dan wants to ensure that the drink or the ice cream is okay. (chapter 82) When Jaekyung and Dan enter the funfair, they’re not simply having fun; they’re reliving the chemistry of respiration and affection — the inhalation of joy, the exhalation of fear, the splash of renewal. The park becomes an externalized lung, a circular world of rides where water and air, play and life, are finally reconciled.

The Castle as Fairy-Tale Threshold

In the amusement park, the castle (chapter 82) stands as a replica of every child’s first dream: a place where danger ends, where curses lift, where the beast becomes human. In this new setting, the ring is replaced by an amusement park — a space where joy is no longer born from suffering. (chapter 15) The arena that once fed on pain, blood, and hierarchy gives way to a landscape of shared laughter, circular motion, and renewal. Here, entertainment is not built upon the exhaustion of bodies but upon their liberation. The crowd no longer watches to see who will fall; they rise and descend together. (chapter 82) People are more focused on their own emotions and experiences.

For Joo Jaekyung, this shift marks a fundamental redefinition of performance itself. The fighter who once turned agony into spectacle now experiences movement as play. The wolf who fought to survive in the ring learns to live among rides, fountains, and lights — spaces where the body moves not to conquer, but to feel.

Thus, the amusement park becomes his anti-ring — a sanctuary of reciprocity, where elevation and descent belong to everyone, and no one bleeds to entertain the rest. For Joo Jaekyung, who has spent his life trapped in the cycle of competition and rage, walking into that space with Kim Dan is an act of symbolic initiation. He brings the doctor — his witness and healer — into a world he has always avoided: fantasy, gentleness, illusion.

The wolf who once prowled in underground gyms now enters a castle built for children, and in doing so he accepts the possibility of becoming a fairy-tale prince — not by winning, but by transforming.

Why the “First Kiss” Matters Here

A fairy tale’s turning point is always the kiss — the moment when the spell breaks. And you might recall that I came to associate Kim Dan with Sleeping Beauty and in the illustration of that analysis, I I placed the doctor’s birthday. And that’s how I remembered here the boy’s huge smile and joy. (chapter 11) And now, pay attention to the number of the next episode: 83! The two numbers combined together make 11! As you can see, the amusement park is the most natural setting for a smile and kiss. Joo Jaekyung could even speak about his first kiss, an intimate secret that even Kim Dan doesn’t know. Confessing it there would align his personal myth with the fairy-tale architecture around him. This would make doc Dan realize that he is special contrary to the green-haired ex-lover. (chapter 42). But there’s more to it. In episode 81, Doc Dan rejects the champion’s advance — he turns his head away (chapter 81) letting the lips slip past him like water. Yet, in the very same scene, he allows a kiss on the neck, a place where breath, warmth, and pulse converge. (chapter 81) He never pushes him back. The doctor resists with the face — with speech, with identity — but not with the body. (chapter 81) And so, at the end, the athlete moves upward, trying to reach the mouth, trying to taste what remains forbidden. But he fails. (chapter 81) Why? Because the lips are not mere flesh; for Doc Dan, they are the visible border between desire and love. Jinx-lovers will remember his quiet request in the locker room (chapter 15): he links the lips to the heart — and through it, to the notion of consent. (chapter 15) To kiss him there is to ask for entry not into his body, but into his feeling.

That is why the scene at the pool stops at the threshold. The champion can touch his skin, but not yet his soul. (chapter 81) The water envelops them both — fluid, intimate — yet the final element is still missing: agreement, the meeting of air and will. Until Jaekyung learns to ask, to replace taking with invitation, the kiss will remain suspended, like a breath held underwater, waiting to surface into love. And now, you comprehend why he couldn’t achieve his goal in the swimming pool. It was, as if he was trying to recreate the situation in season 1. In other words, I deduce that there will be a confession before a kiss happens!!

From Wolf To Prince

A Jinx-lover noticed the similarities between this scene (chapter 17) and the one in front of the amusement park: (chapter 82) The two scenes mirror each other like opposite poles of Joo Jaekyung’s evolution. In both, he is dressed in black — a color that once signified anonymity and danger, but later becomes the mark of calm confidence.

In episode 17, the champion hides behind darkness. The cap pulled low conceals his eyes, his face is half-shadowed, and his clothes absorb light rather than reflect it. (chapter 17) When he intervenes to save Kim Dan from the loan sharks, he is first mistaken for one of them — a predator among predators. The irony is sharp: the man who comes to rescue looks indistinguishable from those who harm. The fighters’ world has taught him that power and fame must be hidden; he was encouraged to hide, as if the fans would attack him. He chose anonymity, unaware that this would not only isolate him but also make him appear as a thug. And don’t forget how the manager called him initially: (chapter 75) He is a monster. It was, as if the manager wanted to hide the “wolf” from people out of fear that he might attack people randomly. But the problem is that by dressing like that, he was no different from Heo Manwook. Therefore his heroism passes unnoticed, interpreted as violence and intrusion. (chapter 18) Like Batman, he moves in secrecy, protecting without ever being thanked. The outfit explains why his good deed leaves no trace of gratitude — the savior looks like the aggressor.

By episode 82, the transformation is complete. (chapter 82) He still wears black, but the darkness no longer hides him. The cap now sits higher, revealing his eyes and mouth — the organs of emotion and speech. A necklace gleams at his throat, a quiet emblem of openness. He walks beside Kim Dan in daylight, not to fight but to share joy. The man who once lurked in alleys now stands beneath the sky of the amusement park, where black absorbs light rather than extinguishes it.

The contrast encapsulates the metamorphosis of the wolf into a prince. And how did Heo Manwook call him? (chapter 17) A princeling! He was mocking him, because he knew that the fights were actually rigged. That’s why he called him fake. (chapter 17) This new connection reinforces my theory that the schemers are anticipating the Emperor’s demise. (chapter 82) Thus Arnaud Gabriel’s words are full of irony. There’s no luck in this match. However, the antagonists are not anticipating a metamorphosis. The wolf hides and strikes; the prince reveals and protects. The wolf saves without witnesses; the prince loves in full view. In the ring’s darkness he fought to survive; in the park’s brightness he learns to live and love. And the moment Joo Jaekyung is freed from his curse and can breathe, his next game will be different. Why? It is because the champion has another reason to make doc Dan’s wish to come true: they should work together for a long time! And observe the power of Doc Dan’s angel on the Emperor after spending his first night with his “bride”. He was full of energy!

Where his earlier anonymity made his goodness invisible, his new transparency makes tenderness possible. The same man, once mistaken for a criminal, now smiles like a fairy-tale hero. The cap lifted from his eyes symbolizes the lifting of his own blindness — he can finally see and be seen.

The Floating Duck Syndrome

However, contrary to the Sleeping Beauty or the Mermaid, we have two men as protagonists. So there is no princess. It is important because it signifies that we should expect two metamorphosis at the amusement park. That’s why it is difficult to say who will confess first. Nevertheless, this weekend, I discovered the following article: Floating Duck Syndrome. Psychologists use the expression floating duck syndrome to describe people who appear serene on the surface while paddling frantically beneath the water to keep themselves afloat. The image is both graceful and tragic: calm above, exhaustion below. It captures the condition of those who have learned to survive through composure — who equate love with performance and stability with silence.

This is Kim Dan’s illness in miniature. Ever since childhood he has floated through life without showing the effort beneath. The grandmother’s silence taught him that visible pain is shameful; the bullying taught him that vulnerability invites attack. So he learned to glide — polite, deferential, self-effacing — while his legs beat desperately under the surface. His smiles are survival reflexes, not joy. His stillness is not peace but tension. And we should see the picture of Kim Dan with his grandmother as a reflection of this Syndrome. (chapter 65) so he is not standing on his own two feet. And remember that according to me, Shin Okja stands for shore. He is smiling as if everything is fine, but the reality is different. When Dan sits on her lap wearing the duck shirt, he seems safe, grounded, “held.” Yet the shore (the halmoni) isn’t truly stable — it’s brittle earth pretending to resist erosion. She gives him the illusion of safety, not the reality of it. The hydrangeas stand for temporality. The body contact replaces emotional transparency. What he learns in that moment is: “If I stay still and quiet, she’ll hold me.” Thus, his first emotional rule becomes immobility and silence. That is how the floating duck is born — not by moving freely in water, but by learning to suppress movement to preserve attachment.

The floating duck explains why he could live beside death for so long — the dying grandmother, the dying puppy, the dying parts of himself — without ever asking for help. He confuses endurance with dignity. When the champion first meets him, he sees only the surface: the quiet doctor, calm as water. (chapter 56) He doesn’t yet see the storm and suffering beneath.

Parallel Currents: The Prince and the Duck

As Joo Jaekyung rises from wolf to prince, he travels from hidden aggression to open affection. And by doing so, he encourages to see activities as something fun. So far, Kim Dan sees such a day more as a burden and not as a source of joy. Why? It is because he still views himself as the champion’s physical therapist and nothing more. (chapter 82) But in such a place, it is, as if time was stopped. Thanks to the many emotions and sensations, his body and heart will be revived. Through fun, the duck will change. As Kim Dan ascends from floating duck to swimmer and to a flying duck, he moves from hidden suffering to open breath. Thus the Ferris Wheel will have definitely an impact on him. Both arcs revolve around air and water — the two elements that make up breath and emotion. Don’t forget that the doctor embodies the clouds as well, while the athlete stands for steam.

In the early episodes, Dan’s relationship to water is defensive: he stays afloat but never dives. He cannot trust the element that once carried his grief. Jaekyung, conversely, dominates air — he owns every breath in the ring but cannot breathe freely outside it.
When the champion teaches him to swim and later to have fun, their roles merge: the man of air brings air to the man of water. Dan’s first genuine strokes are also his first act of rebellion against quiet despair. He is no longer a duck faking serenity; he is a swimmer choosing motion. Thus he can start flying. And now, you comprehend my illustration.

From Survival to Freedom

The floating duck syndrome ends the moment visibility becomes safe. For Kim Dan, that safety arrives when Jaekyung learns to play — when the arena turns into an amusement park, when life stops demanding perfection and begins inviting joy. Play, after all, is what ducks do when they are no longer afraid of drowning: they splash.

Thus both men’s journeys converge.

  • The wolf learns tenderness.
  • The duck learns courage. Hence he has the strength to fly on his own and can join the clouds.
  • The air learns moisture.
  • The water learns breath.

Together they compose the complete lung of the story — two halves finally synchronizing. The one who once hid in darkness now walks in light; the one who once floated in silence now swims toward sound. And this can only happen, when both feel grateful toward each other. (chapter 45)

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: Behind The Emp’s Shadow 😶‍🌫️👻

First of all, I would like to thank my new readers from China. 😍 Nowadays, my blog is exploding again thanks to them.

The Poster as a Manifesto of Shadows and Smoke

When I first saw the new promotional image titled “The Return of the Emp”, I had to pause. Something in it refused to make sense — or perhaps, it made too much sense. Here stands the celebrity fighter alone, shirtless, his upper body carved out of darkness, while a faint cloud floats behind him accompanied by a hidden spotlight. Beneath him glows the number 317, a detail too deliberate to be accidental. And yet, where is the opponent? Every previous MFC poster — from Randy Booker’s green inferno (chapter 13) (chapter 40) to Baek Junmin’s red blaze (chapter 48) — had mirrored faces, two bodies, two lights. This time, there is only one. The duel has vanished. What remains looks less like a fight and more like a myth in the making. (chapter 81)

So I began to wonder, my fellow Jinx-lovers, who made this image? One might reply, of course, the marketing branch of MFC, eager to sell the comeback of their most profitable star. And yet, something doesn’t add up. Unlike the posters for Randy Booker (chapter 13) or Dominic Hill (chapter 40), this one shows no date, no place, no trace of logistics (no TV diffusion like in the States “On PPV”). Only a face, a body, a void. Why would MFC release such an abstract announcement, stripped of all practical information? Why design such a poster which makes this event look more like a secret rendez-vous?

At that point, another possibility emerged. Perhaps this is not merely MFC’s doing but Mingwa’s own design — a deliberate distortion, letting fiction expose the machinery that feeds it. The result, I believe, is an image that speaks in two voices at once: one belonging to the league’s publicity team, and the other to the storyteller who knows what must eventually rise from the smoke. But I am suspecting a third voice hiding behind MFC which I will reveal below.

But the first mystery is not the smoke or the color. It is the absence of Arnaud Gabriel, the French kickboxer (chapter 81) chosen to face the Emperor. According to Oh Daehyun, this man is fighting for the title of the hottest male athlete in the world. (chapter 81) So why is he not placed in the poster? Does he fear comparison — or has someone decided that no comparison should be allowed? Each missing element feels intentional — the kind of silence that makes the viewer uneasy, as though something essential was being hidden in plain sight. (chapter 81)

Then there is the pose — a quiet rupture in Mingwa’s visual language. Instead of the usual mirrored confrontation, the camera turns entirely toward the champion, revealing the torso and the raised fist. The MMA star faces not his rival, but the audience itself, as if daring the beholder to guess what has changed. For once, no familiar emblems frame him — no belt, no symmetry, only a body standing between light and smoke. Why this exposure now, and what does it conceal?

The light, too, behaves differently. In earlier posters, illumination came from behind (chapter 13) or within (chapter 48) — from the collision of two forces. Here, the glow seems to rise from below, slightly to the right, and yet the source remains unseen. Why there, and why invisible? What are we supposed to read in that slanted brightness — revelation or exposure, ascension or downfall?

And finally, the text itself: “The Return of the Emp.” (chapter 81) For the first time, words intrude upon the image — not just names, but a sentence, an unfinished promise. “Emp”: a fragment of Emperor, a crown cut short. (chapter 14) Why is there this abbreviation? Why does the image proclaim a return while simultaneously concealing the full title? What does it signify?

These details — the number 317, the smoke, the missing rival, the hidden light, the fractured title — weave a code of absence and expectation. They refuse to settle into one meaning, riddles disguised as design choices. From these visual clues, my previous theory seems to be corroborated: this event doesn’t announce the glorious comeback it pretends to be, but a carefully staged trap. However, there is more to it. The longer I examine the composition (chapter 81) — the fist aimed at the viewer, the smoke curling like a stage curtain, the void where the opponent should stand — the clearer it becomes that this poster already sketches the scene of the athlete’s anticipated demise. It reveals not just a fight, but where and how the next act will unfold 😲— before an audience that may not be what it seems.

The Absent Rival – Arnaud Gabriel and the Art of the Mask

Every puzzle begins with a missing face. And here, the first enigma is Arnaud Gabriel himself (chapter 81) — the man selected to stand against the Emperor, yet nowhere to be seen. Why choose him, a French fighter known less for his record than for his looks? (chapter 40) Where every previous MFC announcement balanced two visages, two auras, two lights, this one shows only the wolf. The French kickboxer has been erased before the match even begins. (chapter 81)

(chapter 81) According to Oh Daehyun, his goal is not victory but visibility — to be crowned the hottest male athlete. (chapter 81) That title alone tells us everything about his mindset. For Arnaud, competition is not victory but exhibition. His sport is not combat; it is choreography. Every gesture (the smile, the wink, the tilt of his head) (chapter 81) seems designed for the lens rather than the opponent.

And perhaps that is precisely why he was chosen. A kickboxer fights with distance. (chapter 81) His weapon is reach, not contact — the opposite of boxing, where rhythm and proximity create truth. Arnaud’s martial art allows him to attack without connection, to strike without touching — the perfect metaphor for a system built on façade. In this sense, he does not merely fight; he performs the idea of fighting. For him, combat is not confrontation but more dance, not survival but fun. It is sparring in its purest, most aesthetic form — controlled, rhythmic, pleasing to the eye. Every kick and grin seems rehearsed to delight the crowd.

His entire persona seems imported from the cinema rather than the cage. One cannot help but think of Jean-Claude Van Damme, the Belgian kickboxer and martial artist turned movie icon, whose blend of violence and grace transformed the fight into spectacle. Like Van Damme, Arnaud Gabriel stands at the crossroads between athlete and actor — between authenticity and artifice. And now, you comprehend why certain readers felt a connection between this fighter and Choi Heesung: (chapter 30) The latter had to learn fighting in order to play his role in the drama Extreme Worlds (chapter 29).

The fighter’s origin deepens this impression: France. The latter is famous for the spirit of savoir vivre — the art of living well, of savoring the moment. “Savoir vivre” is definitely part of his professional philosophy. Arnaud’s smile proclaims respect, pleasure and not perseverance or Schadenfreude. (chapter 81) He embodies a hedonism of the ring, a man who delights in admiration more than victory. Yet beneath the charm lies subtle anxiety. The beard that frames his grin functions as disguise — not to conceal aging, but to simulate experience, to appear older, to lend him a gravitas he has not earned. It is artifice masquerading as mastery.

It is funny, because in the analysis I had predicted that the match would take place in Europe. However, what my avid readers don’t know is that I was hesitating between France and Germany because of the desserts. And guess what… not only my prediction was proven correct, but also my hesitation. Why? Arnaud is a French name but its origins are Germanic. Arnaud, from arn (eagle) and wald (rule), means “he who rules like an eagle.” His name carries a certain arrogance. A creature of height and distance, he surveys from above, untouched by the chaos below. Gabriel, the angelic messenger, completes the illusion: an eagle crowned with divinity, a herald of light who never lands. Together they form the symbol of a man who rules through air — dazzling, distant, and hollow. Under this perspective, the smoke behind the champion could be interpreted as a veiled reference to Arnaud Gabriel. (chapter 81) He could attack him from behind or above. The smoke lingers behind both the title and the wolf, hinting that this elegant newcomer may have been placed as a pawn — not to challenge the champion’s skill, but to block his return to the title of Emperor. Consequently, he represents a real threat to Joo Jaekyung, while on the surface he looks harmless. That’s why for Park Namwook, Arnaud Gabriel seems to be an easy rival. No wonder why he described this encounter as a breeze (air element) (chapter 81), while in reality a “storm” is actually coming.

But in Jinx, there exists another eagle in the sky: Oh Daehyun. (chapter 8) His eagle is spreading his wings in front of his god, the sun, attempting to fly closer to the sun. According to me, Joo Jaekyung is the sun. This explains the loyalty of this purple belt fighter toward the protagonist!

Because of these parallels, I couldn’t help myself envisaging this possibility that Oh Daehyun ends up facing the other eagle. And that’s how the “novice” would get his breakthrough. (chapter 47) But that’s one possibility among others, one thing is sure. Oh Daehyun will play an important part during their stay in France.

And yet, for all this lightness, the Frenchman is nowhere to be seen. (chapter 81) His absence from the poster betrays the truth: he is not a rival but a tool. MFC’s marketing machine uses him as a prop, an emblem of beauty to bait the audience, to divert attention. The company doesn’t need his fists — only his face — and even that, now, has been erased. His omission signals that the game is fixed before it begins. Yes, the poster is implying the existence of a rigged match.

The same is true for the missing championship belt. (chapter 13) Once gleaming over the champion’s shoulder — as in the poster with Randy Booker — it has vanished. It absence in the fight against Baek Junmin revealed (chapter 48) MFC’s true intentions. The tie had long been decided in order to create a smooth transition. MFC’s goal becomes clear: to take away the belt and give it to someone else, while appearing clean. The wolf’s success represented a threat to their illegal business (gambling and money laundering). (chapter 46) People would bet on him and win… they needed him to lose and break his “lucky streak”. In other words, the organization betrayed the body they once sold. They had prepared the fall long before the injury, the surgery, or the suspension. But their plan failed. Despite every setback, the wolf remained beloved at home. People still admired him, not for the trophies, but for his kindness (chapter 62), humility and strength (chapter 62) In other words, what the champion did in the seaside town had a huge impact in his life and world. He lingered in the hearts of those he touched. He was not a fallen idol, nor a forgotten champion, but a living memory — proof that integrity leaves deeper marks than victory ever could. To conclude, his fame no longer comes from spectacle only but also from empathy and presence — from the very qualities the schemers and media system fail to grasp.

And so the game shifts. What cannot be destroyed by defeat will be targeted through image. (chapter 81) The new battlefield is the face. Under this light, Jinx-philes will grasp why the agents from the Entertainment agency were so zealous in defending the star’s reputation. If he were to lose his good looks, they would lose one of their most profitable clients. (chapter 81) They hadn’t intervened when he was suspended or stripped of brand value — back then, he was still only a fighter, not a product. The entertainment world belongs to artists, not athletes. In truth, the celebrity now stands between two worlds: the ring and the stage, the punch and the pose, the man and the myth. If the schemers cannot ruin his record, they will try to ruin his reflection.

Here, I suspect, lies the invisible hand of Baek Junmin — the man whose own face was once disfigured (chapter 52), whose envy of beauty turned into a creed. Imagine this. Now he holds the championship belt, yet no one admires him. His ruined face became the excuse for his bitterness, (chapter 52) and his rival the embodiment of everything he lost. He had to flee to Thailand to claim glory and admiration (chapter 69), only to discover that ownership without recognition is hollow. Even with the title, his name barely circulates in the media. (chapter 77) MFC can not promote him so easily, as his title could get questioned. He remains unseen — a champion without a face.

If Baek Junmin cannot be admired, he will annihilate admiration itself. (chapter 81) To him, visibility has become an offense. And this poster lets that mindset leak through. His presence is everywhere — not in the body of the opponent, but in the photograph chosen, in the smoke curling behind the champion, and in the raised fist, the same one that once struck him down. (chapter 52) In the past, his insult (chapter 74) merged anger with heat; now that very “hotness” materializes in the media and poster as smoke, an image of resentment turned into atmosphere. (chapter 81)

And yet, the smoke behind the celebrity’s silhouette may carry another, more literal association — one tied to France itself. (chapter 81)

The old blue packs of Gauloises Caporal, adorned with a winged helmet, were once the emblem of French masculinity and freedom — a breath of rebellion. “Gauloises,” meaning “Gallic,” evokes both the air of the bird (rooster/eagle) and the pride of the soldier. How fitting, then, that the French opponent, Arnaud Gabriel, should enter the narrative surrounded by air and smoke, like a man of wings rather than roots.

But here the image turns double-edged. To Baek Junmin, smoke is not freedom but submission (chapter 74): the visible trace of a man who dares to rebel. He once watched the fighter smoke a plain cigarette and sneered at him for it, precisely because he knew it was not a joint. In Junmin’s world, violation meant courage and power intoxication. He assumed that fearlessness linked to drugs would bring admiration and success. Jaekyung’s refusal to accept their drug wasn’t prudence; it was, to him, an insult — a quiet act of superiority. The wolf’s restraint exposed his indifference and own dependency, and that humiliation still burns.

Now that same symbol returns, ready to be twisted. (chapter 81) The schemers can weaponize the image of smoke — turning a mundane habit into proof of moral decay. What once marked distance from corruption could now be rebranded as relapse. Under this light, the haze on the new poster reads like the resurrection of that old resentment: smoke as proof, as provocation, as the spark that might ignite the next fall.

Worse still, the smoke doesn’t surround the fighter, it floats behind him. The poster makes the celebrity appear like vapor itself: fleeting, unsubstantial, “hot air.” The man of iron and will is reduced to mist and memory, a puff of illusion dissolving under false light. And now, we can finally grasp why the word “Emperor” remains unfinished. Emp no longer stands for empire, but for emptiness in the schemers’ eyes — the very image of a man hollowed out by rumor, stripped of body and voice, left to vanish in someone else’s smoke.

The Message Behind The Colors

At first glance, the black-and-white palette of the new poster might seem to echo the timeless harmony of yin and yang — two forces locked in mutual creation (chapter 81), night feeding day, death feeding life. Yet the longer I stared, the more this equilibrium seemed broken. Instead of flowing into each other, black and white now collide: the darkness doesn’t cradle the light, it devours it. The world becomes gray. And that’s the intention of the creators, though yin and yang will be present in the match.

My fellow Jinx-lovers might also recall that in South Korea, black and white are not symbols of elegance or neutrality — they are the colors of mourning. (chapter 74) The main lead was seen “wearing a black suit with three white strips” showing that he was the chief mourner. (chapter 74) Once you recognize this (chapter 81), the image takes on an entirely different meaning. The smoke rises not like balance restored, but like incense burning for the dead, a soul leaving a body. This inversion transforms the poster into something closer to a memorial portrait.

And then there is the light purple haze — a color that at first might seem aesthetic, even noble. Yet in this context, it suggests something bleeding, rotting, fermenting, like wine left too long in the glass. It blurs the boundary between beauty and decay, pleasure and loss. In religious iconography, purple once stood for power and resurrection; here it becomes the color of corruption — the slow decomposition of glory. This could be seen as a clue that the authors of this poster are aware of the athlete’s past drinking. (chapter 54) The wolf is wrapped not in triumph, but in the faint perfume of something dying beautifully. He is shown before his decomposition, which reminds us of his father’s fate: (chapter 73)

(chapter 74) The dense, rising smoke recalls the funeral altar we once saw during Joo Jaewoon’s death scene — white blossoms, a dark frame, and a half-erased face. The emperor’s comeback has been reframed as his own commemoration: a legend embalmed in monochrome.

What makes this echo even more haunting is the photograph chosen for Joo Jaewoon’s funeral — his portrait as a boxer. One part of his face is covered. Moreover, his burial fused the professional and the personal, erasing the line between athlete and man. When his father died, he vanished both as a sportsman and as a person — an identity consumed by a role. And now, the poster of “The Return of the Emp” seems to repeat the same logic. The fighter clenching his MFC-branded fist mirrors that old photograph. It’s as if the marketing team were unconsciously recreating the father’s memorial, predicting the son’s fall. The image proclaims not revival, but elimination in advance — the death of the fighter, and with him, the man.

And that, I believe, is precisely what Baek Junmin desires. Unlike the champion, Junmin never lived the disciplined life of a true athlete; he was a thug from the very beginning, fighting not for mastery, but for longing and recognition. He has always been a man of the shadows (chapter 73), hiding behind his hyungs, the mobsters who granted him borrowed strength and false belonging. Joo Jaekyung, by contrast, was raised in the ring — the gym shaped him as both a professional and a person.

But here is the difference between the two “altars”: the smoke in the poster is placed not in front of the picture (chapter 74), but behind and it is going in the opposite direction: (chapter 81) Mingwa is announcing the failure of the trap. In other words, the athlete is about to earn his stage name “The Emperor” for good! Observe that so far, this stage name was only announced once and it was never written. Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the fighter’s name is placed at the bottom. They are trying to erase his name, while he is about to become a real legend: the Emperor!

But let’s return our attention to The Shotgun and his relationship with the wolf! (chapter 49) If you have read my previous essay, you’ll remember that I connected the arc of chapters 80 to 89 to the theme of jealousy. Baek Junmin embodies that poison completely. His words — “ (chapter 49) “kid”, “coward,” “chicken” (chapter 74)— reveal not confidence but a profound inferiority complex. Obsessed with the Emperor, he wants to destroy the man he cannot become.

Yet in that obsession, Baek Junmin has frozen in time. His envy, greed, and resentment prevent him from truly living. He remains trapped in the past, mirroring the ghost of Joo Jaewoon, whose death also fused ambition and ruin. (chapter 73) Both men are haunted by the same delusion: that to win, one must erase the other.

That’s why the poster’s mourning tone resonates so powerfully — because it visualizes Junmin’s fantasy: to see the Emperor vanish, not only as a fighter, but as a man. And when he realizes that the wolf is not dying but living — that he has found peace, love, and laughter again — his envy will not fade. It will ignite.

And yet, the author behind this illustration — whoever designed it within the MFC hierarchy — does not realize how prophetic it becomes under Mingwa’s hand. (chapter 81) For what they intended as a visual obituary might instead signal transformation: the end of a man defined by violence and the birth of one reborn through empathy. Yes, the title of the match could be read like this: The return of Empathy. One might argue that this took place before. However, so far, none of the members from Team Black noticed it. In fact, the athlete stopped doc Dan from treating other members of Team Black. (chapter 79) And the hamster followed the wolf’s request. This explicates why Potato is wearing a knee support brace — a sign that he is now tending to his own injuries without the doctor’s assistance. (chapter 81) It is a subtle but telling detail: the physical separation mirrors the emotional boundary now forming within the team. The healer’s hands have been withdrawn. So the emperor’s empathy is incomplete, hence he is only EMP. It extends only toward his chosen one — the doctor — and not yet to the others around him. True empathy, however, cannot be selective; it must reach beyond intimacy to encompass even those who do not stand at the center of affection.

Potato’s knee brace exposes the current limit of the wolf’s compassion: he protects Kim Dan but neglects the rest. Yet the injured knee also foreshadows the coming fight. Arnaud Gabriel, the “eagle,” is a kickboxer — his power rests on his legs, his rhythm, his ability to stay aloft through movement. By highlighting Potato’s injury, the author discreetly reveals the eagle’s own weakness: the knee, the joint that bridges grace and collapse. Without his legs, the eagle cannot kick or dance — he becomes a chicken, earthbound and ridiculous. And how was the main lead described in the past? (chapter 1) He was a beast of destruction, someone who made sure to crush his opponents without mercy (chapter 15) Unstoppable in his rage, he moved like a man possessed — bloodthirsty, unrelenting, fighting not for glory but for survival. Each strike was a declaration: I will not die.

The French MMA scene, by contrast, stands for the opposite ethos — for entertainment, glamour, and spectacle, not mortal struggle. For the eagle, the ring is a stage; for the wolf, it has always been an arena. Thus, if the champion were to injure Arnaud Gabriel seriously, the audience’s outrage would be immediate. He would be condemned not as a fighter but as a monster. (chapter 81) Yet, this does not make the eagle harmless. He embodies dream and danger alike — beauty that glides above the earth, but also talons sharp enough to wound.

In my eyes, Arnaud Gabriel personifies both illusion and seduction, much like the cloud — an image that leads us back to Kim Dan himself. (chapter 38) The doctor, too, has always been associated with clouds: soft, elusive, shifting with emotion. Thus I deduce that their paths will inevitably cross, dream and danger meeting in vapor and light. But more importantly, I perceive the smoke as a reference to the rising of doc Dan as physical therapist. (chapter 81) So far, his efforts were never noticed. Park Namwook’s gratitude was rather a lip service than a true recognition, because after the debacle, he was ready to hire a new physical therapist. And according to me, the schemers are all expecting the arrival of a diminished “MMA fighter” reaching the end of his career. That’s why the light is directed at the cloud/smoke! The one behind him is his hidden support.

And if the match truly takes place, I believe the champion’s way to ruin the schemers’ plan will not be through annihilation but transformation. He has to become himself an ARTIST!! [I will elaborate more about this aspect below] This time, victory will not depend on blood, but on how he fights — by returning to his origins, to boxing, to the simplicity of rhythm and breath, to the era when his smile was genuine. By having fun… In that sense, Joo Jaekyung may no longer be fighting for MFC but as the living embodiment of his own gym — Team Black reborn as the Emperor’s court.

But before we reach that possibility, another layer of meaning unfolds through Team Black itself. (chapter 81) The team’s black-and-white uniform (chapter 81) echoes the same mourning duality: black in the center, white on the sides — precisely like the arrangement of smoke behind the poster’s title. Yet when the team steps into the airport, the palette explodes into the full five Korean colors (오방색):

  • Black (north, water): Kim Dan, wearing the Team Black jacket — still faithful, yet marked and exposed.
  • White (west, metal): Park Namwook, disciplined but cold. (chapter 81)
  • Blue (east, wood): Joo Jaekyung, vitality and growth, standing quietly at the center.
  • Red (south, fire): Potato, radiating warmth and impulsive energy.
  • Green (center, earth): Yosep, grounding the group in human normalcy.

Only Oh Daehyun’s clothing remains unseen, though his blond hair shines like yellow, the missing balance of the circle. Taken together, they form a living flag of South Korea, suggesting that for the first time, Team Black stands united not by uniform, but by spirit.

This silent unity contrasts sharply with their earlier appearance during the Baek Junmin match, when they were clothed alike but divided in heart and mind. (chapter 49) What looked like teamwork was mere coordination. Now, the visual disarray hides emotional harmony — the perfect yin-yang inversion of their past selves.

The poster may wear the colors of death, but the airport scene (chapter 81) quietly answers it with the colors of life, diversity, and rebirth. Behind the mourning veil, something in this team has already begun to live again.

As you could see, I detected parallels between the match in the States and the one in France. Everything is pointing out the existence of another trap. (chapter 81) People started wondering about the doctor’s jacket. Why is he the only one wearing it? It is clear that this cloth truly belongs to the physical therapist, because the sportsman’s has always been too big for the “hamster”. (chapter 36) One could think, the other members are not wearing it, for they don’t want to be associated with the champion. He has been stigmatized as a thug or a child losing his temper, the consequences of Park Namwook’s badmouthing. However, observe that even the star is not wearing it. (chapter 81) It, was if they didn’t want to be recognized.

I think, there exists another explanation. Don’t forget that the jacket had different logos on the back: (chapter 36) What once symbolized sponsorship and solidarity has quietly disappeared. The explanation seems obvious at first: the loss of commercial partners following scandal and suspension. (chapter 54) Yet the deeper implication is far more unsettling. The jacket was more than a uniform; it was a contract, a visible bond between fighter and system. Its absence signals abandonment. The champion may still fight under the MFC banner, but the federation no longer claims him with pride. He is now a free agent trapped in an invisible cage — tolerated, not trusted. He questioned MFC and their competence (see chapter 67 and 69).

And what about the doctor? His jacket, now a solitary relic, must have arrived after his departure and given to him after his return. The Team Black jacket makes him a walking target. By still carrying the brand, he becomes the visible trace of a world that wishes to erase itself. He wears proof of loyalty in a landscape where faithfulness has become liability. If the upcoming match is indeed a trap, his uniform can mark him as bait or as a disguise! (chapter 37) He could be mistaken for the owner of the gym or a person involved in the scheme. And this leads me to my next observation: the champion’s picture and posture!

The Body That Faces the Crowd – From Defiance to Dialogue

If the smoke and the black-and-white palette whisper of death, the body posture roars of defiance. On the poster, the MMA fighter stands half-turned toward us, left fist raised, the logo MFC glinting on his glove like a brand or a curse. The light strikes him from below and from the right, revealing one side while leaving the other in shadow — a visual echo of his divided self: the professional mask and the wounded man beneath.

The position of that raised fist is crucial. It does not challenge the opponent — there is none in sight. It challenges the beholder. The blow is aimed outward, toward the audience, toward a world that has mocked, condemned, or abandoned him. The poster transforms the traditional stance of the victor into something closer to revolt. The “comeback” it advertises is not a return to sport, but a return against the crowd. Despite his handsomeness, he seems to have a bad personality (provoking, insulting, challenging the audience). They made him look like a bad guy: ruthless, arrogant and rebellious. As you can see, they are attempting again to ruin his fame and name.

Light purple bleeds through the smoke, carrying an undertone of resentment — bruised flesh, fermented wine, or the slow rot of disillusion. It’s the color of pride wounded yet unyielding, the hue of someone who refuses to forgive the world for its betrayal. In this light, the athlete seems less a man celebrating triumph than a revenant demanding recognition.

This reversal also tells us something about the system around him. In earlier matches, such as the one in the United States, both fighters were cheered, embraced as performers in a shared spectacle. Here, the scene will be different. No shared ovation, no brotherly arm around the shoulder, as with Dominique Hill. The poster prepares us for isolation, for a battle where the crowd itself becomes the enemy.

The schemers are expecting an angry and resentful man, while in verity this is a projection from the Shotgun. But because MFC is placed twice, it exposes the company’s greed and possessiveness. With the logo on the glove, they insinuate that they are the one deciding when Joo Jaekyung will fight or not. He is their puppet, and they decide when to discard him.

And perhaps that is the deepest irony. Team Black, still unaware that the previous match had been rigged — blind to the partial commentary, the biased jury, the manipulated outcome — walks toward a trap thinking it’s a stage. Neither the champion nor his coach nor his companion suspects that this time, the audience’s hostility has been engineered. The raised fist is both prophecy and warning: he will fight alone, not just in the ring, but against perception itself. Yet, he will supported by the “vapor”.

What the schemers read as fury, however, may become the seed of transformation. The same gesture that once meant aggression could turn, under a new light, into assertion — not of anger, but of presence. If the previous posters framed the fighter as spectacle, this one shows him claiming his body back from those who profited from it. I would even go so far to say that the athlete will end up challenging the authority MFC and even sue them. (chapter 81) And that’s how he could make history. He will be remembered as the Emperor, the one who put an end to crimes!

317 — The Date That Isn’t There

After the smoke, the colors and the picture, the next enigma lies in what the poster refuses to specify: no date, no location, no time. Every previous MFC announcement was anchored in visibility — April X, Saturday, on PPV , June — a fixed promise to the public. Here, all coordinates vanish.

That erasure extends beyond the poster. When Team Black lands abroad, the airport — once a stage for flashbulbs and microphones — stands eerily still. (chapter 81) That erasure extends beyond the poster. Behind Potato and Kim Dan drift a few gray silhouettes, barely human, half-formed shadows of what should have been journalists or fans. They look less like people than ghosts of publicity, residues of a crowd that never came. No banners, no reporters’ questions, (chapter 36) no cheering spectators — nothing recalls the hero’s welcomes of earlier arcs.

And yet, paradoxically, this match was an invitation from the CEO himself, supposedly a prestigious opportunity. The absence of press coverage therefore exposes a contradiction: the greater the supposed honor, the deeper the concealment. No one outside the organization has been informed; the public is deliberately kept in the dark. What pretends to be a triumphant comeback is, in truth, a private operation, an exclusive fight designed for a restricted audience. (chapter 81) Thus I deduce that the athlete won’t fight in a huge arena, but in front of a small circle, where people might smoke. A new version of this scene (chapter 74) but with a different public.

Still, one element gives the illusion of authenticity: the number 317. It appears on the poster like a seal of legitimacy — the next official bout in MFC’s timeline. And that is precisely the brilliance of the trap. The number suggests continuity, reassuring the team that everything follows protocol. The wolf and his court walk straight into the ambush because the system’s familiar numbering masks the rupture beneath.

In this silence, the gray figures become a visual metaphor for the event’s nature: visible enough to seem real, but hollow when touched. The “return of the Emperor” is not a broadcast — it’s a ghost match, orchestrated for unseen eyes, similar to the high-rollers who once financed Baek Junmin’s underground bouts for “commoners”. (chapter 47) Thus, 317 functions like a counterfeit signature — convincing enough to deceive even those inside the organization. What looks like promotion turns out to be execution by design, a fight that exists on paper but not on record. Hence no one is waiting for them at the airport.

At first glance, 317 might seem to follow the ordinary sequence of MFC events, yet the attentive reader will recall the last recorded bout — MFC 298 (chapter 54), the match where the Emperor faced Baek Junmin. That small arithmetic gap hides something extraordinary: eighteen events have supposedly taken place since then, in barely three months. Such acceleration borders on absurdity. It feels less like a sports calendar than a purge — as if the federation were rushing to overwrite history, to bury the memory of its fallen champion beneath a flood of new numbers.

The more I pondered this, the more the number 317 began to sound not like continuity, but conspiracy. The digits 3, 1, and 7 echo two pivotal moments in the narrative: chapter 16 (1+6= 7), where the doctor was almost raped (chapter 16), the moment Heo Manwook thought that the “hamster” was working as an escort due to the name “Team Black”. (chapter 16) So because of the jacket Team Black, doc Dan could be mistaken for a prostitute. Naturally, Jinx-lovers will remember the great fight between Heo Manwook and his minions, when the athlete saved his fated partner. Back then, no one discovered his great action. (Chapter 17) And how did the loan shark describe their world? Fake… he even called him a princeling, because he stands for the glamor and artificiality of MFC. He is the cover for the underground fights, drugs and money laundering. This connection reinforces my interpretation that the future match is « fake » and as such rigged. Then in chapter 37, the hamster met a Korean disguised as a MFC manager. (chapter 37) Both episodes revolve around misunderstandings, silence and deception. In this light, 317 fuses these numbers into a single cipher of repetition: history threatening to repeat itself.

The absence of any date or place only amplifies the unease. “The Return of the Emp” seems less like a public comeback than a covert operation. A fight that exists everywhere and nowhere. Its secrecy betrays its true nature — not an open competition, but a private spectacle designed for those already in the know.

And who are “those”? The answer leads us back to the high rollers. (chapter 47) In the past, they participated in the underground matches of Gangwon Province, where Baek Junmin reigned as a local legend — a thug made myth through blood and rumor. (chapter 47) There, they would even cheat with weapons to ensure the right outcome (chapter 46), as they didn’t want to lose money. And what did Park Namwook say in episode 46? (chapter 46) But now, the same hunger for spectacle has simply migrated upward. What once belonged to the alleys has climbed into the penthouses. The illegal thrill of the poor has become the curated decadence of the rich. And they were invited to witness the death of the “emperor”, someone who tried to escape from his origins. Thus I deduced that this is only a match that the high rollers (I suppose, mostly people from the Occident, though expect some from South Korea) know about.

Baek Junmin’s smoky basements have found their mirror in Arnaud Gabriel’s illuminated arenas. One fed the working man’s fantasy of domination, the other gratifies the elite’s appetite for risk (chapter 81) — both sustained by the same voyeuristic instinct to watch another man fall. That’s why he doesn’t need to be seen in the poster. His source of income comes from sponsors in the end. They come from the elite.

And this time, the high rollers know precisely what they’re buying. They have been definitely briefed: the celebrity has had shoulder surgery, suffers from headaches, drinks, and dismissed his own physical therapist. He avoided the gym for a while. He is someone who gets easily triggered, and once he is furious, he makes mistakes. They are not ignorant; they are investors in ruin, betting on a man already wounded. The match is not entertainment but a calculated execution disguised as sport. (chapter 46) Hence the French kickboxer can see his art as entertainment and fun, for he is facing a so-called injured opponent. To conclude, they have ascended into a new form of decadence. The same pattern persists, merely transposed to another altitude. Baek Junmin’s world of illegal betting has found its reflection in Arnaud Gabriel’s world of sponsored violence. One feeds the poor man’s fantasy of power; the other, the rich man’s craving for risk. At the same time, the Korean thug had connections to high rollers too, but mostly Korean people. And the CEO is the link between these extreme two worlds. In other words, this match is bringing up the corruption to the surface. However, they are not expecting “change” and as such coincidence. Consequently, I am assuming that their plan will fail. And if they bet against the champion, imagine their reactions, when the opposite happens. They might feel deceived and betrayed. They could even lose, if someone else takes his place and he acts as the director of the gym. And who agreed to this match? Park Namwook… He wanted a match at any cost thinking that this would revive his boy’s “reputation” and fame. And now, you comprehend why no advisor was sent to develop a strategy against Arnaud Gabriel, the angel of death from the CEO!! Both sides are underestimating and deceiving each other. In this case, Park Namwook’s blindness and ignorance becomes a virtue. The enemy is left in the dark.

Thus, 317 becomes the code of collusion — the bridge between the basement and the penthouse, between the mud of Gangwon and the marble of Paris. A number that hides a shared agenda: the silent elimination of the Emperor. And now, you are wondering how the main leads can escape from this trap! If he wins and its victory reaches the ears of the public audience, the schemers will definitely attempt to accuse him of selecting a wrong fighter. If he loses, he will be “disfigured” and forgotten. Don’t forget that according to me, the French kickboxer will aim at his face and shoulders, his weaknesses. By losing his second title, Joo Jaekyung won’t be able to appear in the covers or social media! Another possibility is that he lets someone else fight in the ring due to circumstances, yet I have my doubts about this. You will discover soon why. But if my theory is correct and the champion shines in that fight so that the downfall doesn’t happen, the VIP audience might get upset against the CEO. The latter deceived them in order to earn a lot of money! They have been tricked by his lies and bet against the athlete. And the high rollers could decide to switch sides and question the new champion’s victory. One might think, a tie could be a possibility, but the poster is suggesting otherwise: it is a rigged game at the athlete’s expense. There’s another way that the wolf can succeed: it is to become an artist!! But what does it mean exactly?

Be Water, my friend

The heading is an important quote from the famous martial arts fighter Bruce Lee:

After reading his definition about Martial Arts, it becomes clear that the pool scenes are not just there for the doctor’s sake, they’re the curriculum. In water, the champion rehearses the very balance Bruce Lee describes—moving without forcing (chapter 81), breathing without bracing, learning that flow is strength. The author placed the swimming lessons here so we’d see him practice calm under pressure before he performs it in the ring. But observe that when he is in the swimming pool, he is expressing more and more his emotions. (chapter 81) At the same time, he is also incited to control his pulsions and body. (chapter 81) In other words, during the swimming lessons, he was encouraged to find the right balance between instincts and control, which Bruce Lee recommended. It is no coincidence that he referred to the philosophy of yin and yang!

Bruce Lee warns: “If you have anger toward others, they control you.” That’s been the wolf’s trap from chapter 14 onward—rage as a leash. (chapter 36) The pool inverts it. Laps replace lunges; rhythm and love replace revenge and hatred. Anger loses its grip because water refuses to hold it. And now, you can grasp why the athlete was calm during the meeting: (chapter 81) His fear and anger were no longer controlling his heart and mind. “One of the best lessons you can learn in life is to remain calm.” The swimmer learns it; the fighter must now prove it. Thanks to doc Dan, the athlete was incited not only to accept himself, but also to get self-knowledge.

Across from him stands the eagle: instinct without control —aerodynamic, moving based on the circumstances. Arnaud Gabriel fights based on the reaction of his opponent. He is air: elegant, distant, untouched. But the problem is that he has no strategy at all (“the unscientific”), as he is dependent on the air, his opponent. This gives another explanation why the Entertainment agency offered no advisors to the athlete. (chapter 81) Arnaud Gabriel is totally unpredictable which makes him dangerous but also weak. So what happens when the athlete uses a totally different strategy? The eagle will get caught by surprise. Thus in the past, we have to envision that the wolf was the mechanical man, iron and fire, surviving by destruction. Bruce Lee’s middle path—instinct guided by awareness—is the only way out of this binary. That’s why the story moves him from steel to steam, from panic to presence.

Life itself is your teacher (chapter 62), and you are in a state of constant learning. (chapter 80) The seaside town and doc Dan taught him kindness, the pool teaches him composure and precision, the poster’s smoke teaches him restraint: you don’t swat at vapor; you breathe and move through it. “It is far better to be alone than to be in bad company”—so he steps out of the schemers’ frame. “When you accept yourself, the whole world accepts you”—so he stops fighting the audience and starts speaking to one person who matters, then to many. In my opinion, Joo Jaekyung will use this bout to express his feelings for Doc Dan (“to me, martial arts means expressing yourself“) and the birthday card (chapter 81) with the key chain represents now his motivation. Thus he resembles more and more to the physical therapist. 8chapter 81) Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the athlete has not confessed his feelings yet. In my eyes, the confession will be strongly connected to the imminent match. In other words, by spending time with the physical therapist, the Emperor regained his voice and body. He can now express himself in the ring, making sure to catch doc Dan’s gaze and admiration. And now, you comprehend why I mentioned that Joo Jaekyung will come to see this fight as a source of strength and inspiration: it will be more about love and recognition from his loved one than the money or hatred from the audience.

Practically, this means the bout must look less like slaughter and more like sparring—measured pressure, controlled power, no needless cruelty. That choice does two things at once: it denies the high-rollers their blood-script and leaves the kickboxer no “reason” to obey orders to ruin a face or a shoulder. Arnaud only embodies instinct — rhythm without reflection, showmanship without soul. So he is not guided by negative emotions. Be water becomes case law: adapt, absorb, answer—without being owned by anger.

So air meets water: (chapter 81) spectacle meets expression. The eagle can only descend to strike; water rises, falls, returns. And since Bruce Lee’s punch turn into water , I came to imagine that the athlete might strike him like “water”, hard enough to make him lose the balance and defeat him, but not too strong to damage his knee for good.

If he carries the pool into the cage, the “emp” on the poster will cease to read as emptiness. It will resolve into empathy—calm under fire, feeling without being ruled by it. And the smoke behind him? Not a death shroud, but iron turning to steam—a body once forged in rage, now speaking in flow. And now, look at the other tattoo on his left arm: it is a cloud or steam! (chapter 17) And once the cloud (doc Dan) meets the steam (chapter 81), they can be together as a couple. To conclude, though this poster was created as an epitaph, the reality is that it announces the emergence of Joo Jaekyung, the dragon! Kim Dan is the one who is turning the athlete Joo Jaekyung into an actor, the emperor! Even if his career as MMA fighter ends, he can still work as an actor or as the owner of his gym. He will never be forgotten as an athlete like his father or Hwang Byungchul. His name Emperor will remain forever in the memory of people and maybe because of his “fight” with MFC and thugs. At the same time, it displays the increasing conflict between Team Black and MFC. The fist could be seen as directed at MFC. The Emperor represents a menace for the CEO in the end. One thing is sure: since Baek Junmin chose the nickname “The Shotgun”, it becomes clear that he has become the negative version of his rival: he is now the mechanical man (control without any natural instinct). He lost his balance and can no longer rely on others. What he fails to realize is that by bringing more and more people in the schemes, he is actually endangering the whole organisation MFC! Furthermore, contrary to the past, the athlete will pay attention to his fated partner in France, so a meeting between Arnaud Gabriel and Kim Dan will definitely reach the athlete’s eyes and ears.

This is the longer interview of Bruce Lee:

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: You’re right 👨‍⚖️🤝

My avid readers might have been wondering why I haven’t released a single analysis yet. The reason is simple. I had a lot of stress at school (many staff meetings, school trips to plan etc), hence I had no energy left for Jinx. However, I want to publish one before the release of episode 77. Why? It is because this number is magical.

The release of chapter 77 comes charged with symbolic weight. In numerology, seven resonates with truth and inner searching and as such spiritual awakening; doubled, as in 77, it points to equity and communication — two forces balancing, two voices meeting. It is precisely this symmetry that hovers at the close of chapter 76, when Joo Jaekyung, long defined by victory, utters for the first time: “I lost.” (chapter 76) This admission is no mere reversal of pride. It gestures toward something Jaekyung has never known: an exchange that does not end in domination or silence, but in dialogue. For Kim Dan, too, it marks a turning point. (chapter 76) For the first time, he uses the expression you’re right in front of his fated partner. He seems to concede with this idiom. Yet this apparent submission hides a deeper reversal. By admitting Jaekyung never asked for his help, he redirects the exchange toward his own truth: the loneliness of having no one to care for you. (chapter 76) What unfolds in the kitchen is not a quarrel about porridge but a fragile recognition. Dan’s “You’re right” acknowledges Jaekyung’s perspective without bitterness, while Jaekyung’s “I lost”  (chapter 76) is his clumsy way of saying the same. Both, in their own idiom, admit the other is right — without denying their own truth. And tellingly, they deliver these words without facing each other. The absence of direct confrontation allows something new: not a fractured dialogue, but the first exchange built on respect. The opposite to these “challenges”: (chapter 9) (chapter 45)

Chapter 77 therefore promises not another contest of wills, but a true sharing of thoughts. The future episode, with its doubled sevens, embodies equity and communication: two truths, mirrored, balancing, a new version of the champion’s nightmare: (chapter 76) The kitchen scene closes one cycle and announces another. (chapter 76) What follows is an attempt to untangle why Jaekyung has always spoken in the language of winning and losing, how Dan has always yielded ground with his refrain “you’re right,” and why their exchange over porridge finally reverses the logic. The rest of the essay will trace how this “loss” becomes the champion’s first victory in love.

The Weight of Arguments in the wolf’s Life

Victory and loss — where does such a vocabulary come from? Such a mind-set seems almost natural for an athlete, whose life is measured in wins and defeats, belts and rankings. It is tempting, then, for Jinx-philes to assume it is Jaekyung’s own invention — the stubborn creed of a fighter who admits in chapter 76 that he was “single-minded about winning.” (Chapter 76) In this view, his fixation would be the product of ambition, pride, or ego: the expected cost of survival in a cage where only victory pays.

But that confession, full of sweat and self-loathing, risks being misunderstood if we take it at face value. The truth is revealed in the next panels: he never formed deep connections (chapter 76), because the adults in his life cut them off before they could exist. Winning became his only mode of survival because every formative argument in his youth ended in defeat, and not the kind decided by a referee. With his father, mother, coach, and manager, words never led to recognition — only to insult, silence, utility, or obedience. He learned early that dialogue could not protect him; only victory could. His victories were not chosen freely, but forced into being by guardians who made him feel like a burden, until relationships themselves became burdens.

Joo Jaewoon and laughs

With his father, argument was domination. Every interaction or exchange ended in violence or insult, the cruelest of which was the comparison to his mother:  (chapter 73) He was a loser because of his mother. To lose meant humiliation and rejection; to speak at all meant to invite contempt. The only possible rebuttal was victory — to prove through strength that he was not the pathetic, worthless child his father saw in him. Winning became his sole argument against a man who would never listen, the only way to resist being branded a loser.

This logic crystallized on the morning (dawn) of their last confrontation. Bleeding but defiant, the boy hurled back the father’s words: (chapter 73). It was not just defiance; it was a vow that victory would silence abuse once and for all. When he returned with the trophy, he shouted triumphantly, (chapter 73) ready at last to claim, “I was right.” Yet reality betrayed him. His father’s death denied him the only acknowledgment he had sought. (chapter 73) The words “I was right” died in his throat. He had proved himself, yet there was no one left to recognize it. His own prediction — that his father’s death would mean nothing — proved false. The absence cut deeper than the insults had, leaving Jaekyung not with triumph but with the bitter aftertaste of self-loathing. Victory had silenced his father, but it also silenced the son. He had proved himself, yet there was no one left to hear it. (chapter 74) At the funeral he remained dry-eyed, his face locked in shame (ch. 74). No one saw his guilt, but it consumed him: the one man he needed to hear “I was right” from could no longer answer. At the same time, his smile and laugh were also linked to misery. For Jaekyung, laughter was never the sound of joy, but the echo of mockery and rejection due to the father. Just as tears became tied to betrayal and abandonment through his mother, so too did his father twist laughter into a weapon (chapter 73) — every laugh at his expense reinforcing the verdict that he was weak, pathetic, a loser. In Jaekyung’s childhood vocabulary, neither laughter nor tears could carry warmth. Both were stripped of comfort and redefined as signs of humiliation and pain.

From then on, the champion’s victories were haunted. Each belt raised was a mute confession to a dead man, proof delivered into silence. What looked like arrogance from the outside was in fact self-loathing: every triumph reminded him of the futility of winning arguments when no one was left to listen.

The nameless mother and tears

With his mother, argument was absence disguised as care. Unlike his father, she did not break him with fists or insults but with promises and justifications that placed the burden on him. (chapter 72) To the boy, she was not silent at first: she must have definitely told him to become strong, to endure, to wait. She gave him her number, leaving the illusion that her departure was not abandonment but necessity. Victory and wealth became her conditions for love. That is why he swore over the payphone to work hard (chapter 72) and “make money” so she could return, and why after his father’s death he still hoped for her homecoming. (chapter 74) But when the calls went unanswered, her silence became the sharpest weapon of all. Her eventual reply (chapter 74) confirmed that his effort had never mattered. For the first time, he cried (chapter 74), his tears expressed not just grief but the recognition of betrayal. From then on, tears themselves became equated with loss, weakness, and abandonment. This is why, in the wolf’s nightmare, Dan’s crying form (chapter 76) appears: the sight of tears recalls the moment he unconsciously realized that even his mother’s “you’re right” was a lie. At the same time, those tears function as a mirror. The champion projects onto Dan the very weakness he has always forbidden himself to show. (chapter 76) That’s why they are facing each other. This vision confirmed my previous interpretation, the physical therapist is the athlete’s tender reflection.

Yet the nightmare reveals even more. Notice their positions: Jaekyung faces Dan as though locked in an argument, but the words he utters — “Where are you going?” — strike at the heart of his own abandonment. As a child, he had no right to question his mother’s departure; he could only trust her excuse. Now, in the dream, Dan becomes the mirror of every adult: the father who could not cry, the mother who perhaps cried but still left silently (chapter 76), the boy he once was who longed to weep but had to swallow it down. At the same time, Jaekyung himself occupies the place of the “adult” — (chapter 76) the sinner, the one guilty of causing tears. This double vision displays his self-loathing. Thus I deduce that before meeting doc Dan, in the wolf’s psyche, tears were not simply weakness but hypocrisy, a performance that masks betrayal. How do I come to this interpretation? It is because during their last phone call, the mother shed no tears (chapter 74), she only made requests! (chapter 74) Hence the wolf’s tears were quickly replaced by rage and violence. (chapter 74)

Yet the nightmare does more than replay old pain. (chapter 76) It stages his first fragile attempt at connection. The positioning is crucial: though Jaekyung stands opposite Dan as though in an argument, he shows an interest in his fated partner. He is curious and worried about him. For the boy who once believed strength and silence were the only defenses against humiliation, this hesitant query is revolutionary. He is no longer trying to win, but to reach. Hence he attempts to stop doc Dan from leaving. (chapter 76) His trembling hand upon waking (chapter 76) shows the yearning to be held, comforted, reassured — something he never received from either parent. He is not entirely responsible for the physical therapist’s suffering. And here lies the difference: Dan’s tears are not manipulative or hypocritical , like the ones Jaekyung suspects from his mother, but unfiltered honesty. He expressed his emotions, not just through tears, but also through body language! (chapter 1) He was shaking, he was bowing and asking for forgiveness! Dan embodies a form of vulnerability that is real, legible, and forgiving contrary to the mother. When the teenager heard his mother’s voice after such a long time, the latter never brought up her past action. She never asked him for forgiveness.

In this sense, the nightmare foreshadows Jaekyung’s confession in the kitchen. (chapter 76) By following him and acknowledging Dan’s suffering and sincerity, he begins to dismantle his old associations of tears with betrayal. Facing Dan means facing his inner child: the boy who once begged his mother to return, and who still waits to be told that his effort mattered. In this way, apologizing to Dan becomes a form of apologizing to himself — a step out of self-loathing and into the possibility of communication.

Hwang Byungchul and it’s not too late

If Jaekyung’s father embodied domination and his mother abandonment, Hwang Byungchul represented blindness and passivity disguised as authority. His flaw was not cruelty but compliance: he never questioned the “mothers” in his life — not his own (chapter 74), whose quiet devotion and silence kept the gym alive, nor Jaekyung’s, whose absence he accepted without challenge. (chapter 72) In fact, his own mother’s submission reinforced this flaw: her blind trust in her son, her refusal to question his choices and the boxing world, taught him that authority need not be examined, only endured or seen as trustworthy. For him, hierarchy was unquestionable, and so he perpetuated it. Thus he stands for lack of critical thinking. This is why, with Hwang, the vocabulary of “right” and “wrong” was never about dialogue but about obedience. No wonder why he became so violent at the police station. (chapter 74) Unlike Jaewoon’s domination or the mother’s evasive silence, Hwang cloaked his authority in the language of advice — yet beneath it lay a black-and-white dualism: winners and losers, villains and victims. Thus Joo Jaewoon was blamed for becoming a thug (chapter 74), while the wolf’s mother was a victim. He viewed her as a selfless and caring mother: (chapter 74)And observe how he provoked the main lead. (chapter 74) When Hwang sneers, “What, am I wrong? Come on, answer me!” he is not inviting dialogue — he is staging a trap. The question is rhetorical, a demand for submission. Let’s not forget that he had witnessed the phone call in front of the funeral hall, but back then he had done nothing. And when the boy hesitates (chapter 74), unable to answer, Hwang strikes him in the chest. (chapter 74)and justifies his action behind social norms. (chapter 74) In that instant, he takes the role of judge, referee, and executioner, collapsing “argument” into violence. The very words “Am I wrong?” contain the irony: the coach is less interested in truth than in reasserting his own authority. Silence is treated as guilt, hesitation as defeat.

When Jaekyung bowed to him (chapter 74), he effectively admitted “you’re right” to the coach. Yet this wasn’t simply genuine agreement — it was submission, respect mixed with survival. The director misread it as validation of his worldview. This only reinforced his certainty, encouraging him never to reconsider his role. (chapter 74) When the protagonist finally left, the director could declare with satisfaction: t(chapter 74).

Crucially, his phrasing matters: he does not say “I’m right,” nor does he grant the fighter subjectivity with “you’re right.” Instead, “that’s right” casts Jaekyung himself as the object of judgment — a boy who fits into Hwang’s pre-set narrative of failure. At the same time, this word “that” could be seen as a reference to social norms. The words externalize responsibility: “that” is what defines the relationship between the director and the main lead. They are not a team or a family. The director of the boxing studio was forced to become “responsible” for the teenager, because the police had called him, not because of choice or empathy. He had become his guardian from a moral and social perspective. (chapter 74) The reality was that the old man had never truly become the star’s home and family, which explains why he constantly leaned on other adults, the mother or the father, to provide the guidance he himself refused to give. At the same time, I come to the following deduction: he must have lost his boxing studio, and with its vanishing, the elder was forced to face “reality”: loneliness, sickness and absence of happiness in his life!

And even decades later, his mentality hadn’t changed. Speaking to Dan, he cast the same black-and-white judgment: (chapter 70) Once again, Jaekyung is reduced to “that bastard” — a label, not a person — while Dan is framed as the pitiable victim. The old coot remains the righteous observer, untouched by guilt, protected by a rhetoric that always shifts responsibility elsewhere.

But the champion’s visit changed everything. The boy he once pushed away, the “bastard” he never claimed, still remembered him and returned. (chapter 75) He was happy again, though he initially tried to hide it. We have to envision that before the wolf’s visit, the elder had to face what his own life outside the gym looked like: sickness, solitude, the collapse of the studio that had sustained him and came to resent the main lead. Yet, Joo Jaekyung’s behavior changed everything: (chapter 71) (chapter 71) Only during the champion’s visit, did his words alter.On the rooftop of the hospice, he finally tells Jaekyung: (chapter 75) This shift did not come from wisdom gained in the ring but from loss — the loss of health, the loss of the gym, the loss of illusions — and from Jaekyung’s loyalty, which pierced through his blindness. Interesting is that this time, he doesn’t give the answer to the athlete. He stops thinking “I’m right, you’re wrong”. He treats him as an adult, as a mature and thoughtful person. Through that fidelity, Hwang glimpsed at last what he had denied both himself and Jaekyung for decades: that victory alone cannot sustain a life.

This is where the contrast with Dan becomes stark. Hwang’s “that’s right” (chapter 74) avoids accountability, treating Jaekyung as an object who merely confirms the coach’s worldview. Dan’s later (chapter 76), by contrast, acknowledges the other as a subject. It respects Jaekyung’s perspective without erasing his own. To conclude, the director’s change of attitude signals that—even for the wolf—change is possible. (chapter 76) It is not too late. The question “Am I too late?” is the consequence of Hwang byungchul’s words and it gradually indicates the switch in the champion’s mentality. It is no longer about being right or wrong. However, the nightmare reveals another aspect: the world is not black and white, but grey. (chapter 76) Imagine for one week, the champion has been staying in bed sick and no one paid him a visit and took care of him. Not even doc Dan, who knew that the man was sick… an important detail which he didn’t reveal to his landlord. (chapter 76) Hence he remained silent and avoided his gaze. But like the director showed it, it is never too late: (chapter 76)

The Manager and His Hidden Disability

Park Namwook is often shown eyeless, as the latter are concealed behind his glasses. (chapter 69) Thus my avid readers might jump to the conclusion that his biggest flaw is blindness, similar to the director. Besides, I had often criticized him for his blindness and ignorance. However, this is just a deception. The manager’s real defect is actually his deafness. How so? He does not hear Jaekyung’s words (chapter 17) at all. The verity is that he refuses to listen to his thoughts and emotions (chapter 31) in good (chapter 45) or in bad times. It goes so far, he does not take his silences seriously, and does not register his pain. This explicates why the manager saw in the champion’s silence at the restaurant as an agreement for a new fight! (chapter 69) His role is not to guide or protect, but to extract: money, victories, publicity. (chapter 75) In my opinion, he is fighting against oblivion through the star. This hidden disability explains why the coach can never truly connect with the champion. He listens instead to other voices – the CEO of MFC (chapter 69), the rumors among the directors (chapter 46), the media (chapter 52), the sponsors (chapter 41), the spectators or “authorities”(chapter 36) — and reacts to them, even violently, as in chapter 52, when public criticism painted Jaekyung in a negative light. (chapter 52) The slap was less about Jaekyung’s behavior than about Namwook’s own fear of outside judgment. He was not listening to the man in front of him but to the noise around him. He feared losing control in the end, especially after the athlete’s words let transpire his true position at the gym: (chapter 52) His question is not mere anger. It is a confession of position — an inadvertent acknowledgment that he knows he is the true backbone of the gym. He is the one responsible, the one carrying the burden that Namwook refuses to admit. These words crack the illusion: the fighter is not subordinate, but owner. The gym lives because of him.

Namwook’s reaction is immediate and violent. He slaps Jaekyung, not to correct him, but to silence him. The blow is the physical embodiment of his deafness: he refuses to hear the truth, so he strikes to reassert control. In that moment, Namwook reveals his greatest fear — that the fragile hierarchy could collapse if the fighter’s voice were truly recognized. And this interpretation gets validated right after: he appears as the one dependent on the athlete. (chapter 52) He acted as a child, faked “tears” in order to use empathy to his advantage.

For Namwook, dialogue is irrelevant: he expects obedience, nothing more, similar to the director. However, there’s a difference between them. Hwang Byungchul felt pity for the little boy in the past (chapter 71), hence he tried to help in his own way. On the other hand, Park Namwook shows clearly no sign to be interested in the private life of his boss. He is preferring ignorance over “knowledge and connection”. (chapter 66) Despite the incident, the manager hasn’t changed yet. He clinched onto the past, thinking that everything will be like before, as soon as the athlete enters the ring. He images a return to normality with the next match.

And yet, signs of change creep in. In chapter 66, standing in the silence of his own wardrobe, the star repeats Namwook’s words to himself: (chapter 66) For years, he had accepted his manager’s judgments out of habit, mistaking silence for consent. But here, for the first time, the repetition feels deliberate — not resignation, but reflection (“though”). The phrase becomes a question more than an agreement: is he truly right? He is admitting this out of habit.

By chapter 69, the cracks widen. Driving alone, he clenches the wheel and admits inwardly: (chapter 69) His silence has shifted from obedience to suffocation. The weight of Namwook’s deaf authority is no longer bearable. And yet, even here, his confession is muted, confined to the private space of his car. He is not yet ready to speak the words aloud — not until someone appears who will listen.

Park Namwook’s hidden disability, then, is not that he cannot hear, but that he refuses to. Hence he becomes blind as well because of his greed and vanity. His authority depends on silencing Jaekyung’s voice, keeping him in the role of the commodity who produces money but never speaks truth. The moment that silence is broken, his position collapses. And the wardrobe and the car foreshadow this collapse — places of solitude where Jaekyung begins, at last, to hear himself. And here I feel the need to add another observation: (chapter 48) This scene was observed by Kwak Junbeom, so the latter could have reported it to the coach. If it truly happened, this would expose the coach’s deafness and cowardice. He chose passivity instead of confronting the doctor or the champion. That way, he avoided responsibility. And this brings me to my final conclusion concerning the deaf manager. His main way to contact the celebrity is the cellphone: (chapter 66) It is both his mask and his crutch — a tool for barking orders, never for dialogue. The moment the line goes dead, his authority collapses, for he has no other means of contact. His power depends on Jaekyung’s reception, not his own strength. In truth, the manager’s disability is exposed here: deaf to Jaekyung’s voice, he has trained himself to hear only the ring of a phone. A fragile authority built on silence, ready to crumble the instant Jaekyung decides to switch it off.

Conclusions: The true origins of the champion’s mind-set

From these four figures, Jaekyung inherited a devastating binary. Argument meant violence, silence, utility, or stubbornness and selfishness — never recognition. No wonder why the champion became so selfish. He never had the last word. They were all right, he was always wrong… while the verity is that they all failed him as elders. And beneath the silence grew self-loathing: every failure, every moment of doubt confirmed the voices of his past. If he was not winning, he was worthless. That is why his reflection here (chapter 76) must be read not as pride, but as a desperate shield against annihilation. In other words, in episode 76, the athlete is too harsh on himself, though I am not saying that he is innocent either. He only thought of himself because he had taught to behave that way. He was just mirroring the adults surrounding him who hid their weaknesses and wrongdoings behind “lies, social norms and hierarchy”.

Kim Dan and “You’re right”

Kim Dan’s world mirrors this in reverse. Where Jaekyung was forced to fight for survival, Dan was taught to yield. (chapter 57) With his grandmother and with every authority he encountered — doctors, employers, even predators — he believed unquestioningly that others were right and he was wrong. Hence he trusted others blindly. He was trained to accept decisions made for him or against him. (chapter 70) Thus he accepts criticism with defending his own interest. He was not taught how to fight back or resist or even argue. (chapter 1) He never tried to seek justice. His “you’re right” was not recognition but submission, the language of someone who could not afford to resist. In season one, this made their relationship combustible: Jaekyung spoke only in victory and as such submission, while Dan accepted every loss as natural. He also adopted this mind-set. On the other hand, because their initial interaction was based on a contract, (chapter 6), both were forced to discuss with each other about the “content of the agreement”. That’s where the champion was trained to communciate with the physical therapist. Thanks to the champion, because of this victory/loss mentality, the doctor learned gradually to argue and “reply” with his “boss. However, due to his childhood, he couldn’t totally drop his old principles like for example “saying no”. (chapter 34) To conclude, before their fateful meeting, neither man had learned how to argue as equals. But in the kitchen in front of the stove, this changed: both are right and wrong! (chapter 76)

The Wolf’s Defeat in front of the Hamster

In the kitchen of chapter 76, Jaekyung does the unthinkable. (chapter 76) He lowers his head, leans against the wall, and mumbles words that would once have been inconceivable: “I lost. This is my undisputed defeat.” The phrasing is awkward, almost clumsy — the language of the ring awkwardly transplanted into the language of intimacy. But precisely because it sounds “wrong,” the moment feels real. For the first time, Jaekyung has no script to fall back on.

The body betrays what the words alone cannot carry. His feet are angled awkwardly, as if he does not quite know how to stand in this unfamiliar territory. His ears burn red, the involuntary flush of shyness. His voice is muffled, half-swallowed, the tone of a man who is both embarrassed and afraid. This is not the bold, aggressive fighter who has silenced others with insults or blows. This is Jaekyung stripped bare, caught between self-loathing and vulnerability. This is the child Jaekyung, the “cute cat”.

Self-loathing is essential to this moment. His confession is not a triumphant recognition of Dan’s worth, but a hesitant, guilty murmur: “I lost” is heavy with the weight of “I mistreated you, I don’t deserve you.” (chapter 76) He speaks like someone expecting rejection. Hence he keeps his distance. Yet the very fact that he says it at all signals change. Where once he would have doubled down — by barking an order, by firing Dan, by retreating into silence — he now admits defeat. The vocabulary of winning and losing, inherited from his father and reinforced by every adult in his life, collapses in the presence of Dan’s quiet honesty.

And paradoxically, this “defeat” is liberating. For Jaekyung, losing has always meant humiliation — the sneer of his father, the silence of his mother, the slap of his coach, the deafness of his manager. But here, losing does not bring scorn. It does not end in abandonment. It opens a space for recognition: losing to Dan means acknowledging that his heart has been touched, that someone else’s truth has entered his world and survived. In defeat, he is finally allowed to stop fighting.

This admission comes after a night of trembling restraint (chapter 76), where he literally grasps his own shoulder as though seeking the comfort of an embrace. The champion who once sneered at tears now reveals what he secretly longed for all along: to be reassured, to be held, to be forgiven. His “tap” against the wall is a silent gesture of surrender (chapter 76) — an acknowledgment that he can no longer keep his walls intact. He is now willing to rely on doc Dan exclusively.

The flashbacks frame this shift: (chapter 76). His confession reveals not strength but guilt. Kim Dan’s suffering was the price of his victories, and he knows it. On the other hand, his mea culpa should be relativized, for both were the targets of a plot! (chapter 76) These words expose both responsibility and shame: he had prioritized survival over connection, career over compassion. What boils under his skin is not pride but remorse.

And yet, within this defeat lies recognition: the fragile physical therapist, weak in constitution and endlessly battered by life, possesses a heart larger than his own. “When he not only failed to fulfill that role, but even showed me a weak side to him, it got my blood boiling” (chapter 76). The anger masked envy. Dan’s ability to remain soft, to cry openly, to keep caring despite his own pain — that is a form of strength Jaekyung never had. (chapter 76) The star’s thoughts in the kitchen are actually mirroring the ones in the bathroom: (chapter 68) In the bathtub, he still saw himself as the one in control, with the upper hand… but this is no longer the case in the kitchen. Through the physical therapist, the wolf is learning that even being in a vulnerable state doesn’t mean that this person is powerless. It is just that his “strength” lies elsewhere. In other words, someone struggling can also give comfort to another person in pain.

In front of the stove, (chapter 76) his words to Dan are clumsy and his tone hesitant, but the meaning is clear: this is the clean start of their relationship. He will no longer measure life by wins and losses, but by the courage to stand unguarded before another human being.

Thus the kitchen becomes a battlefield turned sanctuary. (chapter 76) The stove glows, not as an opponent’s spotlight, but as a hearth. The man who could never say “you’re wrong” to his father, mother, or coach finally confesses it in his own way: “I lost.” And in that defeat, Jaekyung discovers what victory in love looks like — not domination, but the freedom to lean, blush, and be weak without fear.

The bed, the table and the champion

If the table in Jaekyung’s childhood home was cluttered with ramen packs and soju bottles — (chapter 72) a place of solitary consumption rather than shared meals, the bed was the place where the little boy would drink his milk. (chapter 72) It is interesting that actually, Doc Dan wanted to bring the porridge to Joo Jaekyung to his bed during that full moon night, thus the latter made the following request: (chapter 76) But the wolf didn’t understand the hamster’s intention and followed his “hyung” to the kitchen. That’s how a misunderstanding was born which is also reflected in this interaction: (chapter 76) Here, what the wolf wanted was not to be a burden to the physical therapist. But he realized right away that his words could be misinterpreted. (chapter 76) However, doc Dan agreed to this, he remained calm. (chapter 76) Yet, the misunderstanding is not totally out of the room. Hence the doctor imagines that he has to leave the place right after the porridge is finished. However, what caught my attention is that in this brief scene, there was no table between them (chapter 76) contrary to the past, in particular in the penthouse. (chapter 41) The latter actually represented a hindrance between them, it marked their relationship: boss and “employee” (servant). Moreover, since the table in the champion’s childhood was linked to one person (the father), it is clear that the champion has never shared a table with someone. And this aspect brings me to my other observation.

The table under Park Namwook’s watch was no better. It was never about eating together as family, but about transactions. (chapter 22) Whether in meetings, weigh-ins, or dinners with the CEO (chapter 69), the table served as the stage for contracts, discipline, and deals. Even in chapter 36, where Namwook barked at him in front of guests, or in chapter 46, where he sat beside him during business discussions, the surface between them was never for intimacy. (chapter 46) It was a place where others dictated terms, while Jaekyung’s silence was mistaken for consent. And now, you comprehend why the two main leads could get closer in front of the stove in the kitchen. This place stands for warmth, care and family. (chapter 76) He lost, because there was no table… there is no contract, silence … this is no longer work, but home!

And this brings to my final observation. You certainly remember how the champion offered the doctor (chapter 13) a meal after his collapse. He refused to bring a meal to the bed, he asked him to join in the dining room and sit at the table. And what did they do there? The champion talked about his career, his fight etc… (chapter 13) the champion has long associated the table to business and not “care”. That’s why it is important for him to remember the significance of the bed in his childhood. It was the place where he could feel comfortable and safe, where he would eat! (chapter 72)

To conclude, the table represents the ultimate emblem of selfishness and deafness: a place where Jaekyung’s words and silences alike carry no weight and he is treated like an object.

Against this backdrop, the kitchen scene in chapter 76 shines with quiet revolt. (chapter 76) There, no table separates him from Dan, no manager is present to misread his silence. Both stand shoulder to shoulder by the stove, and what unfolds is not a deal but an exchange — fragmented, yes, but genuine. The kitchen, unlike the boardroom, is not a place of deafness but of listening, even in misunderstanding. In admitting “I lost,” Jaekyung finally answers an argument not with fists or silence, but with vulnerability. The table collapses, and with it the authority of all those who once claimed to know what was best for him.

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 Night🌒-Cursed Emperor 🫅

For my avid readers, the title and illustration give the impression that I will focus on Joo Jaewoong’s death and its signification in the protagonist’s life. They are not wrong, yet it covers only one aspect of this analysis. Jinx-philes have already sensed that this moment was not only the night that ended a life, but the one that birthed a weight Joo Jaekyung would carry forward: guilt that refused to fade, and a self-loathing that no victory could silence. If these are the roots of the curse, then “Emperor” names the crown — a crown whose origin is far murkier than the public believes. However, people shouldn’t forget that in that moment, the main lead was just a teenager, who belonged to a boxing studio. He was not a MMA fighter, he was not the Emperor either.

Like readers who thought they knew the main lead (a psychopath, a jerk…), fans in Jinx believe they know their idol. (chapter 26) They have watched his fights (chapter 23), memorized his moves and titles, and repeated the anecdotes told in gyms and on TV. They’ve heard how he was “saved” by sports from a darker path, and cheered for him as the “Emperor” — the handsomest fighter, the man who broke the arcade’s punching machine (chapter 26), the champion who stands above the rest. But if the champion’s life is already an open book, why did Mingwa wait so long to reveal his childhood and family? The answer is simple. It is because Joo Jaekyung has been called the Emperor till his fight against Baek Junmin! These public portraits — the friendly banter in the gym, the theatrical ring intros — show us the merchandise, not the man. They are the carefully polished surface presented to fans and fellow fighters alike, repeated so often that even those closest to him believe them. Yet behind this image (chapter 30) lies a past left unspoken, a silence so complete that his own history became an empty space others could fill as they wished. This essay brings these two “stories” together — the Emperor and the boy. And now, you may be wondering how I came to connect the champion’s trauma to his future career as an MMA fighter. The answer lies in Joo Jaekyung’s own voice. 😮

The Emperor in The News

When the news broke in chapter 70, (chapter 70), Hwang Byungchul’s anger fell squarely on the champion. (chapter 70) To him, it looked as though Jaekyung had made the reckless choice to return to the ring so soon. That was the trap: the headline and phrasing were designed to make it appear that the decision was the fighter’s own. The opening line alone (Chapter 70) created the illusion that this break had been perceived as a punishment, and that Jaekyung was eager to prove himself once again. No wonder the director assumed he had given his consent.

The visuals reinforced the illusion. The entertainment agency recycled old images not just because they lacked recent photos, but because they wanted to tap into the nostalgia of his earlier popularity, before the match against the Shotgun. It was as if someone wanted to overwrite the present and rewrite his history, packaging him in the glow of past victories. Even within the same news segment, there were two distinct “voices”: the official announcer highlighting his return, and an unseen voice quietly bringing up the suspension again — a reminder meant to frame his comeback as a personal mission rather than a corporate decision. In truth, the match was arranged by “Joo Jaekyung’s team” and MFC — a convenient shield for those actually pulling the strings. (chapter 70) Thus I conclude that the first comment (chapter 70) was to divert attention from the other persons involved in the decision for the next fight.

Notice what the journalist does not say. The CEO’s name is absent. There is no mention of the closed-door meeting between Park Namwook, Jaekyung, and the CEO where the fight was proposed. (chapter 69) By erasing these details, the public sees only two players: the Emperor and his anonymous “team.” (chapter 69) It was as if the main lead, backed by his team, had personally approached MFC to request the match — an illusion strengthened by the opening line, “MFC’s former champion Joo Jaekyung will be returning to the ring this fall after serving his suspension.” This way, if the decision draws criticism, the CEO can retreat behind the fighter and his team, like they did in the past. (Chapter 54) Back then, the champion had not reacted to this comment. Even in the worst case, the CEO can hide behind one of the MFC match managers or doctors. (chapter 41) But that excuse would be a fiction: Jaekyung hasn’t even met those doctors or talked to the MFC match manager (chapter 05). He has been chasing after his fated partner. Finally, he hasn’t even signed any paper or agreed at the meeting. In fact, he remained silent for the most part of the time and the reason for this urgent meeting was his request for proper investigation concerning the switched spray: (chapter 67) That’s the reason why this suggestion from the CEO appeared the very next day. (chapter 69)

When the orthopedic surgeon Park Junmin cleared him to remove the cast in chapter 61 (chapter 61), it was paired with a recommendation for rehabilitation — not an immediate return to competition. This was actually a condition for his total recovery. On the other hand, the doctor imagined or suggested that his patient wished to return to the ring so soon. No medical professional ever signed off on an autumn fight. Yet the date is already set, and the headlines frames it as a confident comeback without any medical backup. The Emperor’s name is splashed everywhere, but none of the words belong to him.

And this is not the first time we’ve seen this sleight of hand. Back in chapter 57, a television broadcast featured an “exclusive interview” (chapter 57) with one of his close associates — a man whose face was hidden, speaking as though he were the athlete’s voice. That interview was accompanied by a familiar victory image (chapter 57), a stock photo already used in other press pieces. This picture comes from after the fight in the States: (chapter 41), while the image released with the fall match announcement was the one from when he first won his champion title. (chapter 70) Since MFC and the journalist are recycling old images, they unwittingly revealed their own deception — dressing up the present in the clothes of the past. LOL!

The message is the same in every case: Jaekyung “speaks,” but only through others. His former stage name mirrored his situation, as he owned the champion belt for quite some time. The title “Emperor” (chapter 14) seems to radiate absolute power — the kind of authority that commands armies, bends laws, and answers to no one. It is meant to ooze charisma and control, a name that suggests the bearer acts on his own will. Yet, in truth, emperors have rarely ruled alone. Behind every throne stand ministers, advisors, generals, and family factions, each shaping decisions from the shadows. An emperor who ignores these forces risks losing his crown.

In Joo Jaekyung’s case, the irony is sharper still. Far from being the all-powerful figure his stage name implies, the “Emperor” is a role built and sustained by others — MFC executives, Park Namwook, the entertainment agency — each serving as both his court and his cage. They decide when he fights, how he is presented, and even the tone of the stories told in his name. Once he tried to complain about his tight schedule, this is what he got to hear: (chapter 17) He was blamed for his popularity. The man inside the crown does not act or speak freely; his words are filtered, scripted, or replaced entirely.

This makes the title “Emperor” less a badge of sovereignty and more a mask for dependence. Like a ruler hemmed in by court protocol and political intrigue, Jaekyung’s every public move is mediated by the hands of others. The grandeur of the title hides the quiet truth: the Emperor is voiceless, and the crown he wears is one that demands obedience rather than granting freedom. That’s his curse. His identity is filtered, packaged, and sold by those who stand in his shadow – so much so that people send him bottles of alcohol because that’s what one offers a champion, (chapter 12), never mind that he hardly drinks. The gesture fits the fantasy they’ve built around him, not the reality of a man who rejects alcohol due to his addicted father, a reminder that even the tokens of admiration are shaped by the image, not the truth. So who is this so-called close associate or “Joo Jaekyung’s team” exactly that decides for him, speaks for him, and hides behind his title? Besides, why did the journalist change from “one of his close associates” to “Joo Jaekyung’s team”?

The Voice Behind the Crown

In chapter 57, the television broadcast introduced “one of his close associates” — (chapter 57) a figure whose face and name were hidden, speaking on behalf of the Emperor. In the essay Craving Mama’s  Shine – part 1 (locked) I had presented different possibilities about the identity of this “close associate”. But with the new announcement, it becomes clear that figure can only be Park Namwook. He is the only one who arranged the meeting between the CEO and Joo Jaekyung. The anonymity was not a courtesy; it was a shield. By keeping his face and identity off the record, he could shape the narrative without owning it, avoiding any direct responsibility for the words attributed to him. Yet the choice of “close associate” was deliberate — it positioned him as the man closest to Jaekyung, someone with privileged access and authority to speak for him. It was a claim of proximity and influence, the sort of title that sells the image of a trusted confidant, even as it erases the fighter’s own voice.

The broadcast itself set the tone even before his segment began. Just prior to the “interview,” the anchor announced: (chapter 57) The nickname, played for entertainment value, was another way of turning the champion into a caricature — a marketable, amusing persona instead of a man with a past and agency. It is quite telling that Park Namwook’s interview aired immediately after the anchor referred to Jaekyung as “Mama Joo Jaekyung Fighter.” This was not the lofty “Emperor” title repeated in gyms and ring intros — it was more a mocking nickname, a deliberate jab meant to provoke. In that moment, the Emperor was verbally pulled down from his pedestal, yet the images shown alongside the segment told a different story: carefully chosen shots of him as a champion, a visual echo of his marketable persona. The dissonance was striking.

Equally telling is that the “Emperor” title had already vanished from the conversation. Its disappearance suggests that Jaekyung was never the one who chose it — it was a label assigned to him by others, to be used or dropped at their convenience. Park Namwook made no attempt to restore it or defend his fighter’s dignity, like mentioning the drug incident in the States or the spray incident in Seoul. The cause for his “silence” is simple: he doesn’t want to admit his failures and responsibility. He prefers the champion taking the blame. Hence this interview was not brought up by the manager: . (chapter 54) In my opinion, the man is trying to return to the past, thinking that his “popularity” can come back, not realizing that he is being manipulated himself. On the contrary, he stepped into the role of spokesperson without hesitation, speaking as if he were Jaekyung’s voice while keeping his own face and name hidden. He only speaks, when he feels safe. He can not be responsible for the champion’s recovery. (chapter 57) The message was clear: he had no issue with his fighter being framed this way (“Mama Fighter Joo Jaekyung”), so long as the interview served its purpose. Park Namwook may not be a cynical manipulator, but his silence in the face of mockery speaks volumes. In his mind, any coverage is better than none; to vanish from the public eye is worse than being nicknamed “Mama Fighter.” By stepping into the media slot, he believes he’s keeping Jaekyung alive in the public consciousness. Yet in doing so, he stands shoulder to shoulder with another, unseen voice — the one that coined the nickname in the first place. In both chapter 57 and chapter 70, this pairing repeats itself: Namwook’s loyalty becomes indistinguishable from complicity. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s lending his presence to a narrative that diminishes the man he claims to represent.

By chapter 70, the personal title “close associate” had shifted to the more generic “Joo Jaekyung’s team.” On the surface, the word “team” suggests equity, collaboration, and shared responsibility. But in Park Namwook’s vocabulary, “team” has never meant equality. His idea of a team mirrors the hierarchy he operates in — a boss who directs, and subordinates who follow without question, like we could observe at the hospital. (Chapter 52) This framing lets him claim the prestige of leadership while leaving himself room to withdraw if things go wrong. Yosep was the one notifying MFC and reporting the incident to the police, Potato explaining his discovery to Joo Jaekyung and blaming the star.

And yet, the choice of this term also reveals a subtle shift. By saying “Joo Jaekyung’s team,” he is placing the athlete’s name in front — not his own, not MFC’s. That way, he believes that he can avoid accountability behind the team. However, he is not grasping that gradually, he is stepping down from his self-proclaimed ownership of the gym. Whether intentionally or not, the manager is acknowledging that the gym’s growing identity will eventually crystallize around the fighter himself. The name “Team Black” hasn’t appeared yet, but its logic is already here: a team that exists for the athlete and with the athlete’s consent, not a faceless collective that speaks over him. When that name finally surfaces, it will function as a boundary—an institutional “enough”—marking the end of treating the man like merchandise.

Here, the article You Don’t Have to Put Up With Everything” offers a revealing lens. The article warns against confusing empathy with passive tolerance. While it’s important to understand that people may have difficult histories or traumas, compassion should not be used as a justification for allowing someone to mistreat or disrespect you. Understanding someone’s struggles does not mean accepting harmful gestures, words, or behaviors. Setting limits is not selfish or arrogant, but an act of self-respect and emotional protection. Boundaries are not rejection — they are self-care, a way to protect one’s well-being without guilt. This is exactly what the manager expected from Kim Dan. (Chapter 36) He should tolerate the celebrity’s moods and put up with everything. The manager didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t get affected. But what is the consequence of such a passive tolerance? An individual’s self-esteem can slowly erode, leading to a gradual loss of their sense of self. They may stop recognizing their own desires, needs, and rights, often without even realizing this is happening. This is because emotional exhaustion often develops subtly over time, rather than appearing as a sudden, dramatic event.

As you can see, it can lead to depression. That has been Jaekyung’s position for years as well— enduring decisions made without his real consent, swallowing public criticism and badmouthing, and staying silent (chapter 31) when punished. In this light, Park Namwook embodies the very dynamic the article warns against: a figure who benefits from another’s compliance, maintaining control not through open dialogue, but through unspoken rules and the threat of exclusion.

The First Curse of the Manufactured Emperor

And now, you may be wondering why I am focusing so much on the absence of voice from Joo Jaekyung — the Emperor and the man. It is because he has been used as a tool, more precisely as an ATM machine for MFC. According to the teacher in Jinx (chapter 73), by becoming a boxer, the champion wouldn’t make a lot of money. With this comment, he implied that boxing in South Korea had been losing popularity 10 years ago. This explicates why gradually, the members from Hwang Byungchul left the studio. And it was likely the same in the illegal fighting circuit. (chapter 73) The popularity of MMA in the States gave them the opportunity to revive fighting sports, a figure who could draw crowds and sponsors, making such events fashionable again.

For me, the Emperor was created for that reason. His public image was rewritten — he was called a “genius” (chapter 72) instead of “hard-working,” a man who “chose sports over a dark path.” Yet if you look closely, this celebrated “ascension” (chapter 72) isn’t tied to the director’s boxing studio at all — it’s linked to the arcade’s punching machine incident. (chapter 26) This moment, trivial in reality, became the origin story of the Emperor, as though the broken machines had revealed a prodigy destined for greatness. That’s the reason the star rejects this intro. In fact, this incident contributed to create the champion as a spoiled brat. In truth, the director had suggested that Jaekyung enter the sport professionally so that he could feed himself, but his reasoning had nothing to do with arcade games or instant legend. That pragmatic nudge was later overwritten with a glamorous tale that erased the long hours in a run-down boxing studio (chapter 72), the scars of his family history, and the years of survival before the cage. This is history rewritten, his boxing past and family erased. Why? His origins could expose the ugly verity: the link between criminality and boxing (as such fighting sports). Secondly, because his real story, though moving, lacked the glamorous allure needed to market him. His real story would have revealed that to rise to the top, you need relentless work, not a miraculous moment. That version was never going to sell as well as the “genius” myth.

With his success, his “gym” soon attracted members from different martial arts — judo, jiu-jitsu — all chasing the dream of becoming rich and famous like him. (chapter 46) Most of them thought that by staying close to him, they could benefit from his popularity. To conclude, for many of them proximity to the Emperor wasn’t about learning discipline or technique; it was about absorbing his fame by osmosis. Hence they complained and accepted the gifts and money so easily. (chapter 41) Observe how the manager is acting here. He is speaking, touching the star like his prize and possession. The Emperor became the merchandise, the illusion, the bait to draw both viewers and fighters. However, being “labeled as genius” can only push desperate fighters to take a short-cut: bribes and drugs. Hence Seonho couldn’t last a whole round. (chapter 46) And, like any product, once it was seen as damaged, its value plummeted. The moment he “lost” his title and suffered injury (chapter 52), the dream began to unravel. (chapter 52) This panel captures this shift perfectly: two fighters casually dismiss him over dinner. In those words, the Emperor isn’t a mentor, a champion, or even a man — he’s a broken commodity, no longer worth the investment. The same people who once fed off his popularity are the first to abandon him when the promise of easy gain disappears.

This served more than publicity. Through him, they could obscure their crimes and build a parallel market in the underground fighting world. And here, the lesson from “You Don’t Have to Put Up With Everything” becomes vital: understanding Jaekyung’s difficult past or the pressures on the industry should not excuse the way his dignity and history have been trampled. His compassion for the system that raised him has been turned into passive tolerance — exactly the dynamic the article warns against.

And now, you see why I chose to postpone the second part of The Birth of the Shotgun. Without Baek Junmin — his shadow in the ring — Joo Jaekyung would never have been made to shine so brightly. No wonder why he was so jealous. He believed that his victories were rigged too.

Yet the irony is that Park Namwook is no mastermind. As we’ve seen time and again, he follows the lead of others — the CEO, the entertainment agency, perhaps even unseen backers — rather than setting the agenda himself. He is the mouthpiece, not the brain. The “close associate” title flattered him with the appearance of authority; the “team” label protects him when that authority becomes risky. Both are masks, worn depending on the circumstances, to keep himself valuable to the system. On the other hand, he is gradually revealing his real position: he is not the owner of the gym! (chapter 22) He is even disposable. He is gradually giving more rights to his “boy”, the real director of Team Black. And the moment you perceive the manager as the main lead’s voice, you can grasp the true significance of the slap at the hospital: (chapter 52) For the first time, the main lead had voiced his own thoughts and emotions. He had used his real “voice”, revealed his unwell-being: (chapter 52) To this outburst, Park Namwook slapped Jaekyung in front of others (chapter 52). (chapter 52) That was not the act of a coach correcting an athlete — it was the gesture of an owner disciplining a pet or a possession, a reminder of who controlled the narrative. In that moment, the Emperor did not protest. (chapter 52) He chose silence, and later avoidance, staying away from the gym. That silence was not weakness, but choice: he would listen less and less to his hyung.

From then on, the champion’s public image — whether filtered through the “close associate” or the “team” — was not his own. Park Namwook treated him less like an athlete (chapter 70) and more like a product: something to be displayed, sold, and, when necessary, handled roughly to keep in line. The shift in labels is just another layer of that merchandising process — a packaging change to suit the current market, not a recognition of the man inside. To conclude, the champion has always been voiceless all this time, even here: (chapter 36) All he needed to do was to fight: (chapter 36)

And yet, if you compare the Emperor in the present with the teenager in the past, you’ll see a stark reversal. The Joo Jaekyung of today has his voice mediated, silenced, or replaced by others; the boy of yesterday dared to speak for himself. In the confrontation with his father, he voiced his own desires and defiance directly (chapter 73) — unfiltered, unmarketed, unprotected. It was raw, dangerous honesty, and it came at a cost: the loss of his voice!

The Night That Stole His Voice

If you compare the Emperor to the boy he once was, the contrast is striking. As a teenager confronting his father, Joo Jaekyung still voiced his own desires. (chapter 73) Six years earlier, however, his voice had already been battered by silence. After his mother’s abandonment at age six, the only connection he retained with her was a phone number — (chapter 72) We don’t know how many times he called, but each time we see him do it, his face is injured. (chapter 72) The phone calls are therefore intertwined with the boxing studio, as though pain itself pushed him toward her. At ten, he picked up the receiver and let it ring only a few times before hanging up. The next time, in the dead of winter, he finally spoke, promising that if she returned, he would protect her from his father and make enough money to keep her safe. (chapter 72) Each time what answered him was not her voice, but a machine: (chapter 72) His words met a recording, his promise suspended in a vacuum. Whether she listened to his words or not, the outcome was the same — she never came back. No reply, no echo. Her silence told him the truth: his wish would never be heard. From that point on, she vanished not only from his life but from his speech; he no longer mentioned her. That silence became his default — speaking desires aloud was pointless if no one would answer.

By the time of the morning argument with his father at sixteen, we can conclude that the nightly calls had long stopped. The boy had given up on being heard. (chapter 73) Six years later, at sixteen, he finally raised his voice again — this time to his father. He wouldn’t give up on boxing. Unlike the mother, the father answered. But his “reply” came in the form of insults, blows, and a dark prophecy: that Jaekyung would never amount to anything, (chapter 73) that he was born a loser, that his dream was a joke. Here, the voice met not silence but resistance, mockery, and humiliation. And unlike with his mother, Jaekyung did not retreat — he cursed back. (chapter 73) He swore he would prove the man wrong, that he would win, and spat the most dangerous line of all: “If I win, you can keel over and die for all I care.” That evening, he saw his father’s corpse — (chapter 73) and with it, another layer of his voice disappeared. He had the impression, he had killed his father. His words had been more dangerous than his punches. Hence he could only come to resent his own voice and words. And now, you comprehend why the Emperor allowed the hyung to become his voice. To conclude, the silence of those nights became the silence of the man. As you can see, the curse did not fall on Joo Jaekyung’s voice in one night — it was built, in stages, over years. But the death of his father linked to the argument represented the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

This is the pivotal difference: with the mother, voicing a wish had no consequence because it dissolved into nothingness. With the father, voicing a wish carried weight — it provoked, it struck back, and, in Jaekyung’s eyes, it cursed. When his father died that same evening, the boy was left to carry the unbearable suspicion that his words had somehow brought it about. That night became the night his voice was poisoned: one parent had taught him that speaking was useless; the other had taught him that speaking could kill. From then on, his voice retreated into the ring, where the only “speaking” he did was with his fists. And now, you comprehend why he is using his sex partners as surrogate fighters, why he treats them as toys. (chapter 55)

The Birth of the Jinx

The two formative wounds — his mother’s unanswered call and his father’s cursed reply — shaped the way Joo Jaekyung would handle intimacy for years to come. With his mother, speaking led to nothing; his voice dissolved into silence. With his father, speaking led to too much; his words became a curse, followed by guilt and grief. From these experiences, he learned that words in close relationships were unpredictable weapons. They could vanish, leaving him abandoned, or strike deep, leaving him ashamed.

Sex became his remedy to fight against loneliness and his refuge from this danger (chapter 2) — a space where he could act without having to speak. In the bedroom, as in the ring, the body could carry the conversation. Here, he could dominate, control, and release tension without the risk of verbal damage. His partners became surrogate opponents: sparring substitutes in a non-lethal match. Treating them as “toys” wasn’t only objectification; it was a form of control that, in his mind, protected both sides. Toys don’t demand answers, don’t talk back, and don’t leave you cursed with regret. They remain safely outside the territory where his voice had once done harm.

But this logic, built to keep others safe from his voice and himself safe from their silence, begins to falter with Kim Dan. The latter embodies not only the mother (abandonment, silence- I believe that he resembles her too) and father (argument, drinking), but also the child. Dan cries, shows his vulnerability and admits his mistakes. (chapter 1) He embodies innocence and as such lack of experiences. Moreover, he talks, makes suggestions for the champion’s sake (chapter 27), spent time with him, asks questions, confronts, and refuses to be reduced to a body in the room. He breaks the rule of silence. With him, Jaekyung can no longer hide behind the physical alone; he is forced to speak, to explain, to voice desires and fears. He pushes Jaekyung to engage in ways he’s spent years avoiding. In this way, Kim Dan becomes the first real threat to the system the champion built after those two curses — and possibly the first person who could prove that words can be safe again. And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung was moved by the birthday card (chapter 62) To most, it might look like a simple gesture, but for him, it was a rare and precious thing — a voice that had taken the time to shape itself into words just for him. (chapter 55) After years of associating speech with either silence or harm, receiving a long-winded, carefully written message felt almost unreal. He saw the effort behind it, the deliberate choice to put thoughts and emotions into language instead of letting them fade away or turn into weapons. In that card, Kim Dan offered something neither of his parents had managed: a voice that reached him without wounding. No silence, no insult. For the champion, it wasn’t just a card — it was proof that words could be built into a gift, not a curse. The latter expressed his dreams and gratitude. Thus I deduce that the Emperor’s curse will be broken by a spell: words! (chapter 55) The “spell” to break it is not some grand external event, but the simple, sustained act of honest communication — something that has been denied to him since childhood.

By linking this to Kim Dan, it becomes obvious that the Emperor’s liberation won’t come from winning another fight or reclaiming a title, but from restoring his own voice in a relationship where speaking is safe, heard, and reciprocated. Boxing was the only language he ever learned from his parents (chapter 72) — a vocabulary of fists, jabs, and physical dominance as a way to earn money and recognition— but with Dan, the champion is slowly acquiring a new language. His hands, once trained only for striking and defending, begin to communicate through gentle gestures: an embrace (chapter 68), a kiss, a pat, a caress or by simply holding hands. In this way, the curse that began when his voice was silenced and his hands were weaponized will only be broken when those same hands learn to speak tenderness. Look how doc Dan reacted to his public embrace: (chapter 71) He saw affection in the hug, but he still doubted the champion’s action.

The Prison of the Boy

And now, you are probably wondering why I selected a tree for the background illustration of The Night-Cursed Emperor. Until now, the design’s images have played a secondary role, yet the answer lies in a single scene from chapter 41. (chapter 41) Under the bright sunlight, Kim Dan reached out toward the leaves, his hand open and unguarded, as he silently thought of the man he loved. This gesture, so simple yet so revealing, became the unspoken confession that marked the start of a different kind of freedom—the freedom to feel.

In my earlier analysis Prison of Glass , Key  Of Time , I had argued that Joo Jaekyung’s habit of meditating before the expansive glass window in his penthouse was more than a moment of calm — it was a ritual of self-confinement. (chapter 53) The glass was an invisible barrier, offering the illusion of freedom while keeping him trapped in the moment of his unresolved trauma. The closer he stood to it, the further he was from true release, his gaze fixed outward to avoid looking inward. That’s why he had no eye in that scene: (chapter 55)

This new scene (chapter 73) reveals why that reading was correct: the penthouse window is not just a symbolic device of the present — it is the direct heir of a far older image burned into his memory. Here, as a teenager, he stands before a small barred window in the room where his father’s corpse lies. The resemblance is not visual coincidence but emotional continuity. Both windows let in light without granting escape; both present the outside world as something visible yet forever out of reach.

In this panel, the confinement is literal. The bars fragment the daylight, reducing it to slivers, making the outside world seem even more inaccessible. He is facing the window and he corpse, his eyes fixed on the narrow frame of light, as if distance could make the reality behind him vanish. But the truth is locked in place — the body on the floor, the night’s events, the words exchanged. This is the night that froze him.

From that point on, every window in his life — no matter how large, modern, or luxurious — became a reenactment of that first prison. (chapter 55) The penthouse’s vast glass wall is just a polished version of this barred opening, a reminder that while his circumstances changed, the barrier never truly fell. The trauma stayed intact, shaping the way he saw the world and himself. The boy who stared through those bars never left that room; the man still carries that gaze. But there’s more to it.

Observe how he is standing in front of the window: (chapter 73) he is not only frozen, but also silent! Not only he lost his voice that night, but also he could never talk about it to anyone! He was forced to carry this huge burden alone. Who would feel empathy or attachment to such a man, when he was famous for his bad behavior? But deep down, the boy had come to love his father despite his flaws. This is his deepest secret which is coming to the surface: his love and guilt!

Even the window denies him solace. He could never see the moon behind that small window, just as he failed to notice the snow falling, when he attempted to contact his mother: (chapter 72) Nature was invisible to him; his world was defined by conflict, neglect, and survival, not by moments of beauty. He was never taught to enjoy the present moment.

Chapter 73 signals a shift. Like in chapter 71, where he shields his gaze, his “third eye” — the inner sight that perceives emotional truth — is beginning to open and recall his “sins”. His fever is not just physical; it’s the body’s acknowledgment of pain long repressed. He is starting to allow himself to feel, to admit vulnerability. (chapter 71)

And this is where the night changes meaning. Until now, darkness for him was bound to abandonment and death. But in chapter 70, the owl’s call pierces the silence — (chapter 70) the night can also be alive, communicative, protective. In that moment, the moon becomes more than a distant light in the sky: it is a patient witness, a calm listener in the stillness, reflecting the truth he has yet to voice. (chapter 70) Its soft glow contrasts with the blinding glare of the cage lights, suggesting that under the moon, there is space for gentleness, for hearing one’s own heartbeat and another’s words. Just as the moon guides travelers through darkness, it can guide him toward a night that does not suffocate him with loss, but offers orientation and connection.

This reframes his past behavior: his repeated night rescues of Kim Dan were not merely impulsive heroics; (chapter 60) they were his own form of therapy. In saving someone else in the night, (chapter 65) he could prove to himself he was not powerless, he was valuable, capable of protecting what mattered. (chapter 69) He was not too late either. And the moment doc Dan discovers what the silent hero has done for him so many times, the former will realize that he has always been special to the Emperor. Moreover, the latter had never abandoned him in the end.

The curse of the Night-Cursed Emperor — the depression, the insomnia, the silence — will only break when he can walk through the night not as a rescuer masking his own wounds, but as a man who voices his emotions to the one person who has truly shared those nights with him. And now, Jinx-philes can grasp my illustration. The moment Joo Jaekyung starts confiding to doc Dan about his inner world, he will not only regain his voice, but also his life! He will be free and no longer the merchandise “Joo Jaekyung the fighter”. He will become a man with a history that is finally his to tell. And if his mother is still alive… she can be criticized for her actions. How so? It is because she was not by his side. She believed the “myth”. She probably imagined that he was “happy”. With his regained voice, the schemers will lose their hold over him; they will no longer be able to manipulate the silence that once kept him bound. Park Namwook has thrived in the shadow of his trauma — reframing the scars of that night as “mania”, (chapter 9) as if the champion’s volatility were a quirk (the actions of a spoiled child) to be managed rather than a wound to be healed. It is because he never talked to the champion or investigated his past. It was only about money and glory. The manufactured image of the erratic, temperamental fighter served Namwook well; it excused rough handling, justified bad press, and kept Joo Jaekyung dependent. Once the Emperor can name the truth of that night, the fiction collapses — and with it, Namwook’s control. He can only be judged as a liar and even a traitor, but we know that Joo Jaekyung has a big heart. He could love his father despite the abuse. Now, the missing link is Cheolmin! (chapter 13) Observe that this name is a combination between Hwang Byungchul and Baek Junmin! Under this light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete kept his existence in the dark for so long! It is because the latter belongs to his past and knows the truth behind the Emperor! He was aware of his suffering. For him, he is not just a fighter, but someone who needed FUN in his life!

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 Birth of the Shotgun 🔫🪨 (part 1)

Reading a Life Through Glimpses

Baek Junmin is not a character the story introduces directly, yet his presence has cast a long and invisible shadow over Joo Jaekyung’s life. Though he appears in only a handful of chapters—47, 49, 51, 52, and 73 [I am excluding the match]—his role is far from minor. He is, in fact, one of the main invisible architects of the champion’s trauma and jinx, the one who once stood across from him on a night that would shape the course of both their lives. Long before he was known as the Shotgun, Baek Junmin might have pulled the trigger on something else entirely: the last remnant of Jaekyung’s innocence. (chapter 73) Their violent encounter may have led to the vanishing of the young boy’s smile, replacing it with the hardened scowl of the Emperor, the tyrant in the ring. (chapter 1) If Hwang Byungchul gave Jaekyung the tools to fight, Baek Junmin gave him the reason to fight like a bloodthirsty tyrant. He did not simply scar the soul — he engraved rage into the champion’s core. The tragedy is that Joo Jaekyung never even learned his name. Thus he didn’t react to his name, only to his face and his smile. (chapter 47) And yet, Baek Junmin reappears, not as a stranger, but as the remnant of a past that refuses to stay buried. Additionally, he appears only through the narration of others (fighter) (chapter 47) or in flashes (chapter 73) — a gesture here, a line there (chapter 73) — before vanishing again. To understand him, we have to read between the panels, compare the boy we meet in episode 73 (chapter 73) to the man who resurfaces much later. (chapter 47) This is how we catch glimpses of him — by holding the present up against the past, by noticing what has changed and what has stayed the same.

The clues are scattered like pieces of a puzzle: a way of standing, the choice of clothing, how he hides among others or suddenly steps forward, the company he keeps. Each fragment feels small on its own, but when placed side by side, they begin to sketch an evolution — not told directly, but implied.

And like any puzzle, the final picture depends on how the pieces are arranged. What follows is the story that emerges when I fit these fragments together — a version that exists only because I chose to see the connections this way.

The Ears: Traces of Unspoken Fights

Though his hoodie and shadowed posture attempt to conceal him, Baek Junmin’s body betrays traces of a buried past. (chapter 73) A careful look at his face in chapter 73 reveals the early signs of cauliflower ear, particularly on the right side—a subtle swelling, the deformed curvature of the cartilage. These are not the ears of a novice. They speak of blows taken in silence, of matches fought outside the spotlight. (chapter 73) Such an injury is not congenital, nor cosmetic. It is the ear’s irreversible memory of repeated trauma, often earned through unregulated or unsupervised fighting.

This visual clue confirms what his words and clothes only hint at: (chapter 73) Baek Junmin was already an illegal fighter before becoming The Shotgun. And yet, unlike Joo Jaekyung—whose cauliflower ears are far more pronounced (chapter 47) than Junmin’s ears (chapter 49) Jaekyung’s ears mark him as a champion who faced real opponents in real matches, many of them brutal. His injuries are the price of transparency, visibility, and legitimacy. They are scars earned in the light, while Baek Junmin is supposed to be a novice. (chapter 47)

This contrast exposes the truth. Not only Baek Junmin’s ears were the evidence of a long career in the ring (illegal fights), yet they feel more secretive—a residue of unsanctioned violence and criminality. If Jaekyung’s ears are a badge of honesty and legality, Junmin’s are a whisper of something illicit. They suggest that while the fights may have been real (death), the stage was hidden. (chapter 47) His damage was earned in the shadows and in staged fights manipulated by higher powers. (chapter 47)

The Face – From Full to Hollow

The first thing that changes is his face. (chapter 73)

As a teenager, Baek Junmin has fuller cheeks and healthy skin—a face still marked by youth and perhaps untouched by prolonged hardship. But years later, his skin adult face is hollowed out. (chapter 49) His cheeks have sunk, his jaw stands out more sharply, and his features seem carved by something deeper than age. This is not the look of someone forced to cut weight for competition, (chapter 37), for the new rising star is already much smaller and thinner than the protagonist. (chapter 49) It’s more likely the result of long-term stress, emotional corrosion, or drug use.

But it’s not just the face that speaks—it’s the context in which these bodies live.

In chapter 73, Park Juho casually offers drugs to Joo Jaekyung, claiming (chapter 73) This line is telling. It reveals not only the normalization of drug use among these teenagers, but also how intimately it’s tied to fighting. Juho isn’t offering an escape—he’s offering a tool. For him, drugs aren’t about rebellion or recreation; they are a performance enhancer. They’re marketed as part of the fighter’s toolkit.

This moment confirms that in the environment where Baek Junmin came of age, violence and substance use are not only linked—they are institutionalized. The discipline of the gym has been replaced by street rules, where the edge you gain doesn’t come from technique, but from chemical courage. And Park Juho is no outsider: he was once a member of the gym. His descent—and his promotion of drugs under the guise of athletic benefit—reflects the rot that spreads when survival replaces structure and true care.

In contrast, Joo Jaekyung—despite the violence of his career—has retained a kind of “babyfaced” youthfulness. (chapter 44) His skin is clearer, his features softer, and his face shows fewer signs of internal collapse. This is the effect of healthy food, structured discipline, clean training, and perhaps even emotional restraint. While Junmin’s face has been thinned by chaos, Jaekyung’s has been preserved by control. Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the athlete fell in love with doc Dan at first sight. Despite being older, (chapter 7) the “hamster” still carries a baby face: a visual marker of youth, innocence, and gentleness. He embodies everything the Shotgun does not: vulnerability without corruption, softness without vice. If Baek Junmin stands for a corrupted adulthood — weapons (The Shotgun), shadows, and counterfeit gold — then Kim Dan, by contrast, becomes the sanctuary of all that was lost: the child, the smile, the safe bed.

Even before the gloves go on, the face tells the story: Baek Junmin’s path diverged long ago. He didn’t just take hits—he absorbed a life that ate away at him from the inside.

The Boy in the Hoodie

The first time we see the young Baek Junmin, he is not framed as a fighter. There are no gloves on his hands, no stance that invites a challenge. He is simply there — standing off to the side, wrapped in a black hoodie whose shadow swallows his shoulders and the line of his jaw. The garment is loose enough to blur the contours of his body, turning him into a shape rather than a figure.

His appearance captures the essence of what English calls “keeping a low profile.” But in French, the idiom garder un profil bas unfolds with even greater nuance—each of its synonyms revealing a different facet of his behavior and circumstances. Se faire discret (to make oneself discreet), être modeste (“to be modest”), rester dans l’ombre (to stay in the shadows), and ne pas attirer l’attention (to avoid attracting attention) all resonate with how he moves through this scene. The hoodie conceals his expression, his posture erases his presence, and his silence blends him into the background (“fade into the background“). He appears modest (être modeste), even passive —yet this modesty is not a personality trait, but a form of self-erasure taught by danger. He has become so invisible that he has succeeded in being forgotten (se faire oublier = to keep a low profile). Years later, when he finally stands before the protagonist again, the champion doesn’t recognize him. But Baek Junmin remembers. His question in chapter 49 (chapter 49) reveals that anonymity was never his desire. It was his sentence.

Why was he hiding? The answer lies in the world he came from. As hinted in chapter 18, (chapter 18) criminals don’t want attention. They avoid the law. They train their subordinates to vanish, to move through shadows, to speak only when spoken to. Baek Junmin wasn’t just playing a role —he was surviving a system that required him to erase himself. His hoodie was not simply clothing; it was a muzzle, a shadow he had to wear. That’s why the protagonist has not made a connection between his nemesis Baek Junmin and a Korean gang yet. (chapter 69) How is this possible, when it is clear that the antagonist is already a thug? It is because Joo Jaekyung has no idea about his true identity. He only knows him as a cheater and liar!! (chapter 51) In the past, he bought someone… but let’s return our attention to the past.

In a scene where others choose to stand out — one boy in white, another in red — (chapter 73) he blends in by choice. Black is not a neutral here; it is a decision to recede, to be part of the backdrop. The fabric pools around his hands, hiding the skin, while the hood hangs like an unspoken “no comment.” Even when he speaks, it is without volume or force. (chapter 73) His role in the exchange is that of a conduit — not the source, not the decision-maker, but the man in between. Striking is that another French synonym for “to keep a low profil” is “staying quiet” (se tenir coi) or “making himself small” (se faire tout petit) which totally reflects this scene.

And yet, he is not one of the low-tier errand boys either because he knows a higher-up (“his hyung”) (chapter 73) His positioning in the group is telling: physically closer to the speaker of authority, not lumped with the ones who will later be sent to do the dirty work. He is high enough to be trusted, low enough to avoid exposure. The hierarchy is implicit, mapped not by dialogue but by body placement. However, let us not get deceived. Despite Park Juho’s seemingly confident address—“Your hyung”—a closer look at the actual power dynamics reveals something far more fragile and unstable. (chapter 73) In the panel where Park Juho seeks verbal confirmation (“Right, Junmin?”), Baek Junmin’s response is subdued and minimal: “Yeah, that’s right.” He can just confirm what the other said. In fact, he is merely echoing the boy’s words—repeating them rather than asserting his own. This is not the confident affirmation of someone in control, nor the proud acknowledgment of a respected enforcer. It is the submissive response of someone complying with expectations, playing a role assigned to him—one he does not command.

Moreover, the fact that Baek Junmin physically removes his hood at that moment (chapter 73) —exposing his face—feels less like a gesture of confidence and more like a necessary performance to project even a semblance of authority. But that display only reveals how hollow his authority truly is. The power rests elsewhere: with the unnamed hyung behind the scenes.

This moment shatters any illusion that Baek Junmin has standing in the criminal underworld. He is no legend—just a middleman, entirely expendable. His presence, reduced to compliance and posturing, contrasts sharply with that of Park Juho. Though younger, Park Juho is no longer passive. He is making decisions, initiating conversation, and trying to recruit a new member. His behavior signals an emerging agency. In fact, Juho is gradually stepping into the very role Baek Junmin once tried to fill—but failed to claim. (chapter 73) The balance of power is shifting in real time, and Junmin seems to be on the verge of being silently replaced. This explains his intervention at the end. He doesn’t want a new recruit because he fears in him a rival.

There is another subtle but telling detail in this scene: the antagonist is introduced simply by his first name—Junmin. On the surface, this might suggest familiarity or equality. Yet this lack of a full name also reveals something deeper. It speaks to the absence of legacy, the absence of recognition. Junmin already has the ears of a fighter (chapter 73), this means that he is already fighting in the illegal underground ring, but he has no name that echoes his “success”. He is not the legend in the Gwanwon Province yet. (chapter 47) He is a man without renown, without lineage, this explicates why he is involved in drug dealing. This anonymity stands in sharp contrast to Joo Jaekyung, whose name will soon be attached to his first tournament win, marking the beginning of a visible, documented ascent, though I don’t think, the main lead will ever come to enjoy his victory… Not only because of his father’s death… but because of the Shotgun! My theory is that The Shotgun will make him lose his “trophy”, his victory! I will explain it further below!

Anyway, Junmin’s namelessness foreshadows his descent into the shadows, while Jaekyung’s path points toward visibility, acclaim, and transformation into a symbol: fame and success. He will be able to live out his father’s dream. (chapter 73) And notice that the legend is trapped to a province, indicating that he could never make it out of there like the champion! Therefore it already implies that the future “Shotgun”‘s association with the hyung is not based on loyalty or mutual respect—it is circumstantial, even transactional. It is about money and usefulness. And now, you comprehend why Baek Junmin’s position in this gang is quite precarious.

In this light, Junmin’s silence and brief confirmation expose his true position: subordinate, replaceable, and dispensable. He is not the king of this realm, but already a shadow… almost like a ghost! He’s lingering on the margins of both the law and the underworld, hovering between anonymity and infamy. After his painful encounter with Joo Jaekyung, he was told to keep a low profile. And he succeeded. He disappeared so thoroughly that not even Joo Jaekyung, whose life he once upended, could remember him. He ghosted himself (another synonym for keep a low profile) into oblivion—until the day he was reloaded.

Years later, he emerges again—but this time as a tool. Yet, I have the feeling that this man has always been a device, yet he failed to grasp his true position, as he has always faded into the background and copied others. Though he was never prosecuted for the deaths mentioned in chapter 47, (chapter 47), the five tattooed lines above his eye silently proclaim his kill count: 5 people. (chapter 73) That’s the same number of persons in the dark alley, when you exclude Joo Jaekyung and Baek Junmin (chapter 73) He has crossed the line: he entered the criminal world for good. Now he is no longer just a ghost, but a weapon with a body count. And this is precisely why his transformation into the Shotgun carries such grim symbolic weight. (chapter 49) A shotgun isn’t a subtle weapon—but it can be precise. It is powerful, direct, and designed for maximum impact at close range. In that sense, Baek Junmin isn’t just any tool—he is a weapon that must be pointed by someone else. His value doesn’t lie in legacy or longevity. It lies in the force he delivers when fired. He doesn’t aim; he is aimed. And like any tool of destruction, he can be reused, discarded, or silenced as needed. His body may carry tattoos and scars, but he has no voice in the system that uses him. Thus I deduce that this nickname was not entirely chosen by Baek Junmin, he was definitely influenced by his surrounding and he agreed to it, not realizing the true symbolism behind this name. Note that his nickname was only revealed, when he faced his nemesis. The target was the Emperor.

What makes this image linger is not just the hoodie (chapter 73), but what lies at its hemline: garbage bags. Stacked casually against the wall, their plastic skins catch stray glints of light. They are not the clean, tied-off kind; their surfaces are rumpled, slack in places, suggesting that some are only half full. It is a setting that smells — even if the page is silent — of neglect.

Garbage is not a neutral backdrop either. In visual storytelling, it speaks of disposability, of things used and discarded, of value extracted and then abandoned. And here, it frames Baek Junmin as much as the hoodie does. He is in this environment, not passing through it. Thus this motive appears once again: The refuse mirrors his role: useful for a time, easy to replace, meant to be kept out of sight until needed. It foreshadows what will happen to him years later, when he too will be treated as disposable by the very people who profited from him. (chapter 52) Note that Director Choi Gilseok doesn’t express concern for Baek Junmin, his attention is on the Emperor!

If we look carefully, the hoodie and the garbage share a function: both conceal. The hoodie hides the individual; the garbage hides the traces of past actions. Together, they create a space where identity and accountability dissolve. It also exposes his moral corruption.

This is the Baek Junmin we meet first — not the legend of the underground fighting circuit, not The Shotgun. He is almost anti-spectacle. And that is precisely why the contrast with his future self (chapter 47) — gold chains glinting, tattoos displayed, chin raised — feels so stark. To move from this shadow into the spotlight means something happened in between, something that flipped his calculation about visibility.

But for now, in this first glimpse, he is a boy learning the rules of survival: keep close to the powerful, keep your profile low, and never draw attention to yourself unless you can win the moment you do.

He doesn’t even enter the scene until the champion is gone. Joo Jaekyung has already brushed off the offer of drugs, already walked away into the dark, by the time Baek Junmin makes his approach. (chapter 73) This timing matters. It means the two men share a street that night but not a glance — the main lead never sees him, never knows they have crossed paths. And now, you know why the Shotgun could never forget him: a source of threat. This contrast exposes the truth: Not only the future Shotgun was already a thug, who kept his true nature well hidden, but also Joo JAekyung was totally misjudged: he is far from being a thug! He is totally honest (chapter 47),he doesn’t take pride in killing someone.

And yet, from Baek Junmin’s perspective, the scene in episode 73 is their first meeting. So he was never part of the “Hwang Buyngchul’s boxing studio”. For Joo Jaekyung, it is nothing — an evening that passes without incident. But this imbalance changes everything. When we later see them square off in the present-day hallway, it becomes clear that Baek Junmin is fighting a private, unfinished battle. (chapter 49)

The scene in chapter 73 becomes the prologue to a hidden chronology. Since the champion’s nemesis implied in the hallway that they had met personally before (chapter 49) and there was no direct interaction between them in the street, I come to the conclusion that their past must have crossed a second time between these two meetings. If we take the hallway encounter as their third meeting (chapter 49), there must have been at least a second — brief, sharp, and wounding enough to carve itself into Baek Junmin’s memory while leaving no conscious trace in Joo Jaekyung’s. The difference is telling: what the champion repressed, the Shotgun carried it like a scar. It means Baek Junmin knows more about him than the reverse, and every glare, every barb he throws later is sharpened by a history Joo Jaekyung couldn’t anticipate they share

The street itself is dim, (chapter 73) lit only in patches, with more shadow than clarity. In this kind of setting, the black hoodie becomes something more than clothing — it is camouflage. He is not merely wearing the dark; he is using it, letting the folds of fabric and the absence of light blur his edges. It is as if he intends to merge with the scenery, to be just another shadow leaning against the wall. This double concealment — in time and in space — ensures that, for now, he remains invisible to the one person whose attention he will one day crave. He began in the shadows not just by circumstance but by mandate. Yet as the boy in the hoodie fades into memory, a new figure will eventually emerge from those shadows—not to hide, but to strike. And he will no longer wear a hood. He will wear scars.

The Scar and the Tattoos: Carved Memory and Symbolic Death

In his youth, Baek Junmin bore no huge visible tattoos. (chapter 73) He only has a small one under the eye in the shape of a cross, an ambiguous symbol that could suggest death, a target or “devotion” (for the mafia). It was modest, even fearful. He seemed reluctant to mark his body, as though he feared being publicly identified as a thug or linked too closely to the criminal underworld. This caution contrasts starkly with his present appearance. (chapter 47) Now, his skin is heavily inked: an Oni demon slashes across his throat, a clear invocation of Japanese yakuza imagery and underground death culture. [For more read the essay Angels of Death: Shadows versus Serenity] So his transformation tells a story.

When Baek Junmin reappears in the present timeline (chapter 49), the change in his face is immediate and inescapable (chapter 73) — but only if we hold his past up against his present. The teenager in the black hoodie had smooth skin and no visible tattoos beyond a small mark under one eye, a calculated restraint that kept him from looking fully “claimed” by the underworld he moved in. His portray contrasts so much to the other teenager whose legs are covered by huge tattoos. (chapter 73) Now, Junmin’s face carries something far less deliberate: a scar running across his forehead above his right eye, a permanent reminder of an encounter that went violently wrong.

This is where the knife enters the story. Not as a vague metaphor for danger, but as an object with a history. We know Baek Junmin favors blades (chapter 47) — the demon tattoo on his throat clutches a knife between its teeth, a design too precise to be coincidence. In woodcarving, strokes are often carved with blades; in Baek Junmin’s case, the scar is a carving on flesh, an unwanted engraving that cannot be sanded smooth. The placement of the tattoo directly on his throat is almost poetic: the story of that scar is something he cannot speak, lodged like the blade between the demon’s teeth.

But the knife in Jinx carries an even sharper meaning. Hwang Byungchul once described the city as a cutthroat place — (chapter 72) and in this context, “cutthroat” is more than an idiom. It hints at the lurking threat of blades, at encounters in alleys and side streets where victory is stolen through speed and treachery. Joo Jaekyung has walked those streets without incident (chapter 72) (chapter 73) in the present timeline, but an assault there can happen any time.

And now, let me ask you where a knife was used before in the Manhwa? Naturally when the hero faced Heo Manwook (chapter 17) And what did the loan shark tell him before provoking him? (chapter 17) Based on the champion’s facial expression after hearing Heo Manwook’s questions, it becomes clear that Joo Jaekyung experienced in the past a scene where he faced a knife and his head was smashed with a bottle of soju. The criminals are recognizable due to their tattoos and their weapons, the knife! And the logic of the knife in this world is telling: as Heo Manwook showed (chapter 17), it appears when a fight is already lost. It is not a weapon of open combat, but of pride and desperation — a way to cheat fate when skill is not enough. Moreover, he was particularly vicious here. He attacked the champion from behind, a treacherous move. As you can see, the knife is strongly intertwined with the underworld, deception and cowardice.

You can actually detect many parallels between the argument with the champion’s father and the fight at doc Dan’s humble house: the twilight, the smashing of a bottle of soju on the head, (chapter 73) (chapter 17), a head injury (chapter 73), insults and provocations (chapter 73), (chapter 17) and finally an allusion to the “maker”, god versus father. (chapter 17) and finally DEATH!! (chapter 73) The loan shark was diminishing the young man’s skills and that his success was FAKE! Why? It is because the outcome was predicted. The winner and loser would already be determined.

And here the past/present contrast becomes more than physical. In his youth, he avoided conspicuous tattoos, perhaps to maintain a veneer of respectability and legitimacy — to pass under the radar, even as he acted as a middleman for his hyung. The black hoodie, the sparse ink, the way he let others handle the dirty work of selling drugs — all of it kept him in the gray zone, unremarkable to outsiders, even to Joo Jaekyung. But the scar changes that. A face without scars can blend in; a face with one becomes a story waiting to be told.

The most visible shift in his face is the scar on his forehead—a wound likely inflicted by Joo Jaekyung during their violent, knife-laced fight. Junmin must have decided to use it, when he felt threatened… but it backfired on him. This scar became a permanent reminder of his defeat, carved into flesh like a shameful birthmark. Its position on the forehead makes it impossible to ignore. It not only mars his appearance, but becomes an emblem of inferiority: a symbol that the world (and Baek Junmin himself) can see.

The connection between scar and the tattoo is more than symbolic—it’s thematic. Both involve penetration, cutting, and permanence. In Korean and Japanese culture, many traditional tattoos were made by hand, with needles or even small blades. (chapter 47) The Oni tattoo on Baek Junmin’s throat, where the demon wields a knife, is thus a mirror to his own scar: an acknowledgment of pain and an attempt to reclaim it as power. But there’s a paradox here. The tattoo shouts violence, but the original wound whispered shame. One was chosen; the other was inflicted. The thug is damned to keep this “humiliation” secret.

But his facial transformation doesn’t stop at the scar and the demon ink. Look closer, and you’ll see two small black dots beneath his right eye (chapter 49) —subtle, easily overlooked, yet loaded with meaning. These dots form a quiet counterpoint to the earlier cross tattoo under his left eye. They mirror each other, as if Junmin were trying to impose a kind of symmetry on his face—like a man seeking order through symbols after chaos has marred him. Their placement, right next to the scar, suggests something more: a visual strategy. Perhaps they are meant to divert attention from the wound, reframing the narrative of the face so the scar becomes part of a larger aesthetic rather than a standalone blemish.

Tattoo culture often loads such markings with coded meaning. In some circles, dots under the eye mimic teardrop tattoos, carrying associations of vengeance, mourning, or lived violence. It was, as if the criminal wanted to hide his “tears” and suffering. But Baek Junmin’s dots stop at two, not three—a gesture that resists completion. It’s as though he’s gesturing toward a story without finishing it, marking himself as wounded yet unfinished: they indicate his revenge. If the cross once stood for death or sacrifice, these dots represent his attempt to balance or bury that meaning, even as they draw the viewer’s eye to the very place he was disfigured. His body, and especially his face, has become a site of symbolic warfare—a battlefield of meaning, where shame, defiance, and imitation collide.

Contrast this with Joo Jaekyung, who also bore no tattoos in his youth. (chapter 73) Over time, the champion chose protective symbols— clouds and a dragon-like mask—tattoos designed not to intimidate but to shield. (chapter 1) (chapter 17) They represent protection, not aggression. Where Baek Junmin’s tattoos speak of death and destruction, Jaekyung’s express escape, survival and resilience. Even in their body art, the two boys tell opposing stories: one driven by resentment and darkness, the other by endurance and self-preservation.

But there is more. Baek Junmin’s body itself has become the evidence of a crime—his tattoos and scars forming a visual confession of his descent and his affiliations. Unwittingly, those who empowered him also helped preserve these signs. The very schemers who turned him into a weapon ensured he would one day become proof of their own corruption. In that sense, Baek Junmin truly is a shotgun—not just a tool of violence, but a loaded narrative, ready to backfire on those who pulled the trigger. Moreover, let’s not forget that the CEO vouched for Baek Junmin. (chapter 47) That’s the reason why the lady in red had to defend the Shotgun’s reputation and honor. (chapter 69) Nevertheless, they are here buying time. How so? If the champion were to fight again and even lose, they could bury the investigations. They were also biding time in order to stop investigations and the involvement of the media.

The shift in Baek Junmin’s appearance—from a cautious, hoodie-wearing boy to a tattoo-covered, self-styled villain—maps a descent into self-loathing and performative masculinity. He mimicked the criminal codes around him, but it was a copy without conviction. Hence years later, he is seen wearing a counterfeit Gucci t-shirt and fake jewels. (chapter 47) Is it a coincidence that back then one of the minions was wearing a fake Gucci t-shirt either? (chapter 73) No… he is copying others and in particular Joo Jaekyung whom he resents. Thus their attitude in the ring is similar (ruthless), yet both act that way for different reasons: pain and seriousness (chapter 15) versus fun and schadenfreude (chapter 47). His new persona feels exaggerated, theatrical, hollow. He wanted to become unforgettable, but ended up being another disposable fighter in a system that only remembers champions. Now, his face is ruined: he lost teeth and has a broken nose. (chapter 52) He can never look attractive again, hence he lost his value as MMA fighter for good. Despite the incident, Joo Jaekyung is still popular because he looks so young: (chapter 57) Hence the nurse felt sympathy for him. At the health center, he received his long due punishment. Baek Junmin learned through the hard way what it means fighting without rules. He got deceived himself, thinking that his “hyung” would have his back.

The irony is that the origin of his scar is one Baek Junmin cannot tell without exposing a deeper connection to his past and his criminal ties. And that would be “rigging a game”, making Joo Jaekyung lose his trophy! That’s why the ghost said this: (chapter 54) These words imply that the outcome was predicted… That’s the reason why Joo Jaekyung needs to remember the past. There lies the truth: they are “rigging the games because of bets!

And if our earlier deduction is correct — that the scar was the result of their unrecorded second meeting — then this is not just a wound, but the physical trace of their asymmetrical history. For Joo Jaekyung, that meeting was so brief, so quickly buried, that it left no visible mark. Yet don’t think, he was not traumatized. This changed the athlete forever. For Baek Junmin, it was formative, humiliating, unforgettable. The scar becomes both a reminder of his defeat and a motive for his revenge. (chapter 49) Imagine that the man has to see this scar on his face each day… the symbol of his defeat.

In this light, the knife and the scar are not separate symbols but intertwined: the weapon that failed him, the mark that betrays him, and the silence that binds them together. And now, you comprehend why he selected the Shotgun as stage name. It was to end his “curse”, living in the shadow of the celebrity.

The Shadow Trio: Joo Jaewoong, Baek Junmin, and the Ghost

Baek Junmin’s story becomes even more compelling (chapter 47) when set against two spectral figures in Jinx: the ghost (chapter 54) and Joo Jaekyung’s father, Joo Jaewoong. (chapter 73) These three form a symbolic trio—each marked by violence, marginalization, and a desire to escape the suffocating grip of their environment. Their most immediate shared trait? A smile that feels wrong. A grin not born of joy, but of cruelty, mockery, or powerlessness. Furthermore, all three are associated with trash and garbage: (chapter 47) (chapter 54) (chapter 72) Their words or flat reflect their mindset and role. They are waste, once used, they can be discarded. For me, it becomes obvious that the ghost from the champion’s nightmare is a combination of Joo Jaewoong and The Shotgun. Besides, observe how the father’s corpse (chapter 73) resembles to the “Shotgun” after receiving his “karma”: (chapter 52) Thus I deduce that Baek Junmin’s destiny was to go down the same path of Joo Jaewoong, unless he realizes the real root of his misery!

But let’s return our attention to the grins. The latter are paired with insults—bitter, scornful language that aims not only to hurt but also to humiliate. In all three, we detect a mix of resentment and impotence. And it’s no coincidence that all three are linked to the boxing world: (chapter 54), the father with his fading trophy, Baek Junmin with his own unspoken history in the underground ring and the ghost’s words linked to the champion’s hands. Together, they symbolize the toxic underbelly of combat sports, the place where dreams are sold and consumed.

But this trio isn’t a perfect mirror. There are divergences. Joo Jaewoong, though broken and addicted, had once been a professional athlete. (chapter 73) He had a past worth remembering—something he even clung to in his ruined apartment, preserving his medal and document like a relic. Baek Junmin, by contrast, never belonged to the gym. He wasn’t trained. He never received formal recognition. He fought in shadows, kept to the margins, and remained a “legend” only in the backrooms of Gangwon’s illegal rings because he trusted his “hyung”.

Joo Jaewoong also carried a paradox. He warned his son against the very path he had taken. He knew where it led—through the hands of people toward the underworld. (chapter 73) And yet he couldn’t resist gambling, drinking, or slipping further into that decay. He never kept a low profile. Baek Junmin, too, sought a way out. He almost wore no tattoos back then. His hoodie was black. He preferred to remain invisible. Unlike the younger thugs around him, he wasn’t flaunting power. He was navigating survival. His strategy was to stay hidden long enough to escape. Yet, deep down, (chapter 49). he desired to have a real title and admiration. (chapter 47)

But then something happened. He encountered Joo Jaekyung. And from that moment on, the fantasy of neutrality—the ability to remain on the fence—was destroyed. That’s why he approached Park Juho and questioned his actions afterwards. My avid readers will certainly recall my essay: Facing The Shotgun: Embracing Change The blond haired fighter embodies Change! Their fight which ended with a wound changed everything. Baek Junmin was defeated, scarred, exposed. And the shadows no longer provided cover.

That encounter became the turning point. While Joo Jaewoong gave up on boxing and rotted quietly, Baek Junmin doubled down on resentment and descent. If he couldn’t rise as a legitimate athlete, then he would find power elsewhere—on his own terms. (chapter 47) He wouldn’t become a better fighter; he would become a cheater. His new arena would be modeled after the streets: no rules, no weight classes, no referees. (chapter 47) His ring resembled the very fight that had marked his downfall—the alley, the knife, the shame. Yet here, surrounded by darkness and silence, he could finally rewrite the story. The violence felt earned now. People even died in these fights. To him, this was proof that his victories were real. Hence he smirked. (chapter 47) He couldn’t see that he had merely traded structure for spectacle, skill for savagery. He had confused bloodshed with honor. He was not an athlete, simply a thug.

He remained trapped in the same province, unable to leave (chapter 47)—but now he carried his own name. Baek Junmin! He is no longer Junmin, a teenager who tried to stay in the gray zone! But when he was televised, when the mobsters decided to polish his image and set him against the Emperor, he was reborn: The Shotgun. The stage name marks a shift—not just in visibility, but in function. He was no longer hiding. He could be seen, and therefore used. But by using his real name, he never realized that he could now be prosecuted. (chapter 47) He started dirtying his hands for the high-rollers.

From Junmin to Baek Junmin to The Shotgun—his very name charts a descent. He lost not only his identity, but his humanity. And perhaps most tragically, he never realized the extent of his manipulation. The high rollers never intended to hand him the champion belt. Their goal had been a tie (chapter 51) all along—a spectacle, not a coronation. Hence director Choi was overjoyed when he heard the verdict.(chapter 52) That’s why he earned a lot of money. They used this fight to remove the Emperor from the stage quietly. It was time for him to give up on his throne. If they had let Baek Junmin win the fight, people would have questioned the referees. The Shotgun was there to prepare the coup d’Etat, hence the new champion is someone else. Joo Jaekyung wouldn’t remain so calm hearing this: (chapter 69) They knew the Shotgun wasn’t strong enough. But he didn’t. He mistook cheating for skill. He mistook chaos for greatness. He believed he had earned what was scripted all along.

The Shotgun, the Ghost, and the Father—each longed to be seen. Each was eclipsed by Joo Jaekyung. And all three tried, in their own way, to mark or damage him. They resented him for his “talent, dream and happiness”. But the irony is bitter: none of them succeeded in shaping the Emperor. They only reflected what he overcame.

Hence he became the legend (chapter 47) in the illegal fighting ring, located in Gangwon

This very trait—keeping a low profile— was what initially distinguished him from Joo Jaewoong. The latter imagined that through admiration and recognition, he would get rich. That way, he would leave the place. (chapter 73) However, the opposite happened. Why? Through boxing, he came in touch with the criminal world. Striking is that in the beginning, Joo Jaewoong did the exact opposite to the Shotgun. He became famous because of his self-destructive behavior: (chapter 72) This explicates why Hwang Byungchul condemned the man and sided with the mother. But while Joo Jaewoong and Baek Junmin tried to escape through the sport, they both ended up in the criminal network. And neither made it out.

What unites all three—ghost, boxer, and Shotgun—is their resent towards the main lead. None of them intended to grow old in the same town, under the same weight of poverty, violence, and anonymity. Yet none succeeded. Baek Junmin never made it past the provincial legend status, until he was called to Seoul and brought to MFC. He may have become infamous, but he was never international. Hence the last match took place in Thailand… they were hoping that the new champion would get famous internationally. In the end, their stories are fragments of the same fate: young men crushed by the very world they hoped to transcend.

Conclusion to Part 1: The Puzzle

If Baek Junmin’s character feels complex, it is because he is built like a puzzle—fragmented, hidden, and deeply contradictory. Some pieces lie in the past; others only emerge in his present incarnation. We found signs in his tattoos, in the black hoodie, in the garbage-strewn street, and even in his silence. Each glimpse offered a new facet, and every comparison with Joo Jaekyung and Joo JAewoong cast another shadow into view.

But in the end, the puzzle you’ve read was not just Mingwa’s doing. It was also mine. This is only one way of assembling the fragments.

In the second part, I will try to bring the pieces closer together—to lay out what I believe truly happened between Baek Junmin and the Emperor, and how the Shotgun was born not in glory, but in humiliation.

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: Following The Teddy Bear 🧸🧸- part 1

The Shirt with the Bear—A Child Marked for Longing

In Jinx, the story of two men begins not in the ring, but in childhood (chapter 72) —and not with fists, but with fabric. (chapter 11) Each boy is introduced wearing a shirt adorned with a teddy bear, a symbol that quietly carries the emotional weight of the entire narrative. (chapter 11) [For more read The Missing Teddy Bear] These bears do not speak, but they tell us everything: about love received and love lost, about betrayal and comfort twisted into burden, and about two boys growing up in the absence of safe arms. (chapter 72)

The first bear appears on Joo Jaekyung’s summer tank top, worn by a small child peeking out from behind a wall. It’s a soft image against a harsh backdrop. (chapter 72) But look closely: the teddy bear wears a blue beanie, a casual hat suited for the outside world—not rest, but readiness. It also has a pair of glasses, a symbol of alertness, self-control, and forced maturity. Most strikingly, its right arm is wrapped in a white bandage. [I can’t recognize the writing below] This is no untouched toy. The bear, like the boy, is already injured. Even comfort is expected to survive harm. To wear such a design is to walk into the world marked not only by childhood, but by pain, exposure, and abandonment.

The second bear belongs to Kim Dan, who wears it not on a summer shirt but on winter pajamas, as he sings joyfully with his grandmother on his birthday. His teddy bear is unadorned, uninjured, and suited for rest. The night setting, the blanket, and the candlelight create a small cocoon of warmth. Yet this moment, too, is fleeting. The very love that nurtures him will later trap him—hoarded, isolated, and turned into duty.

What connects these two images is more than coincidence. Both boys wear gray and blue. While the first color indicates the loss of innocence and depression, the other stands for trust, responsibility, care and tenderness. One is dressed by a mother who vanished too soon. The other is dressed by a grandmother who seems so gentle and caring. Yet, the reality is that doc Dan has also been abandoned. One bear is already broken, the other seems to be still whole. One is worn in daylight, the other in the dark. But both children are being slowly stripped of the right to be protected. Their teddy bears will vanish—replaced by fear, control, and survival.

And yet, this is not just a story of loss. It is also a story of return. By meeting each other, Jaekyung and Dan begin to recover what was buried or better said repressed. The teddy bear reappears—not on fabric, but in gestures of touch, presence, and care. (chapter 68) In time, each man will become the other’s bear (chapter 66): a source of comfort, loyalty, and belonging. To follow the teddy bear is to trace this emotional path—from abandonment to connection, from injury to intimacy, from being held once to being held again.

(chapter 11) [For more read The Missing Teddy Bear] He too was once held (chapter 47), and then claimed, just like his teddy bear. The fate of doc Dan’s toy bear reflects the boy’s. The former was pushed outside the embrace and bed before disappearing. (chapter 21) That’s how the toy bear vanished from the little boy’s life. Thus I deduce that the teddy bear on the pajamas was the last traces of his “childhood”.

Across seasons and silences, both boys are linked by this shared emblem of care—care that was once given, then distorted, lost and finally rediscovered. They are united by the same experience and pain: a phone call linked to a missing mother. To follow the teddy bear is to trace this journey back to tenderness: the long path from abandonment to being held again.

But the presence of the teddy bear, even in symbolic form, does not last. (chapter 72) The shirts are not only outgrown (chapter 72) but also replaced with t-shirts without any design alluding to the vanishing of their identity and forced maturity. (chapter 57) For Jaekyung, the beanie-wearing bear with its wounded arm and wise glasses is the last trace of comfort before reality hardens. What remains is not the child, but the instinct to survive. From the moment the bear vanishes, a new figure begins to emerge—not one held, but one who fights. The boy with the teddy bear becomes the man who can’t rest, who equates existence with usefulness, and usefulness with victory.

The Vanishing of the Teddy Bear: The Birth of a Self-Made Man

In episode 72, readers are finally granted a glimpse into the long-obscured past of the champion. Some of my earlier hypotheses are confirmed—most notably, that Jaekyung’s father was an abusive alcoholic. Others, like the assumption that Joo Jaekyung belonged to a wealthy chaebol family or that the director’s name was Park Jinchul, are clearly disproven. (Though I’m not entirely ready to give up on the rich family theory just yet.) Interestingly, the name of the former coach appears indirectly, displayed on a sign outside the boxing studio: Hwang Byungchul. (Chapter 72) This subtle insertion suggests that the gym wasn’t just his workplace—it was his whole life, his identity, and even his home. Therefore it is not surprising that his name was not mentioned by doc Dan or the other patients. His stay at the Light of Hope implies the loss of his “home”, the gym and as such his identity. At the same time, this image reveals that Jinx-philes should examine each panel very closely, that there’s more than meets the eye.

What the chapter made unmistakably clear is that Jaekyung grew up in poverty and was abandoned at a very young age. His early life was marked not by privilege or education, but by neglect, hunger, and silence. (Chapter 72) This episode doesn’t just show how Jaekyung became a self-made man (chapter 72) (chapter 72) —it makes one thing heartbreakingly clear: he wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves; he raised himself. (chapter 7) The cliché used by Park Namwook in chapter 7 is revealed to be not only ignorant, but cruel. Jaekyung had no home, no real guardian, no one to defend or guide him. He didn’t grow up in the wild—he grew up alone, navigating between violence (abuse and bullying), hunger, and neglect without true protection. This reframes the champion’s identity: not as someone untamable, but as someone who was never tamed because no one cared enough to try. What we witness is not savagery, but simple survival. Thus he had no friend.

That’s how I realized that in such a barren emotional landscape, the “Teddy Bear” learned by mimicking others. With no safe adult figure to model affection or emotional intelligence, he absorbed what was available: the yelling or silent toughness of Hwang Byungchul (chapter 71), performative masculinity and high expectations of Park Namwook, and the explosive violence of his father. (chapter 72) (chapter 5) His behaviors—his hot temper, cold demeanor, blunt speech, and instrumental approach to others—were not innate traits. They were learned strategies, adapted from men who had likewise buried their vulnerability beneath strength or stoicism or brutality. Hence he brought no present to the patient at the hospice. (chapter 71) He became a wolf because he was surrounded by wolves—but deep down, his true nature is closer to a cat’s. This contrast becomes visible in Chapter 72, where his external persona appears as a shy, quiet, more sensitive self. (Chapter 72) Much earlier, in the summer night’s dream (Chapter 44), Kim Dan sensed that hidden nature: not the predator, but the man longing to be held. (Chapter 44) Doc Dan had sensed the real person behind the legend.

But this pattern began to change the moment Kim Dan entered his life.

Unlike the men of his past, Kim Dan shows his emotions (chapter 1), as he treats them as valid, not shameful. He cries, trembles, runs away, he apologizes… He asks questions rather than issuing orders. He names feelings (chapter 45) and respects boundaries. He listens. (chapter 29) And so, like a child learning a new language, Jaekyung begins to mimic him too. (chapter 62) The change is gradual but visible: helping the townspeople, accepting rest, asking to stay close, even touching and speaking more gently. (chapter 71) With Kim Dan, the fighter who once only mirrored power begins to echo tenderness.

The transformation is not only behavioral—it is linguistic. His vocabulary evolves. Once dominated by words like “fight,” “win,” “useful,” and “fuck,” his speech begins to include softer terms: (chapter 62) (chapter 68). These are not just words—they’re the building blocks of intimacy, borrowed from the only person who ever saw through his armor. From mimicking strength, Jaekyung has begun to mimic care. (chapter 71) Jaekyung is not just echoing concern—he is taking gradually responsibility for someone fragile, someone he once overlooked: the “hamster.”

And this is why Chapter 72 strikes with such force. It takes us back—not to his ambition, but to his origin, where the myth of the self-made man begins. We see now that his athletic mindset was not forged in aspiration but in desperation. His worldview was shaped not by hunger for greatness, but by starvation in all its forms.

(Chapter 72) The tragedy is that Hwang Byungchul misread that hunger. When he first met the boy, he saw dirty feet, an empty stomach—literal poverty. (chapter 72) So he fed him. But he never saw the deeper hunger: the absence of love, of being wanted. The coach assumed the problem was solved with food—because he had never gone without care. (chapter 72) He lived with his mother. He was never truly alone. And so he projected stability onto the boy’s silence.

What he thought was grit was grief. What looked like strength was only ever survival. We finally understand why he treats his own body with such brutality, (Chapter 27) because the body, from the very start, was only a tool for survival.

In chapter 72, the young Jaekyung is offered boxing not as sport, but as salvation. The former coach doesn’t comfort the bruised boy or confront the abusive father. (Chapter 72) Instead, he redirects the situation: (Chapter 72) Fighting, from the very beginning, is not about glory—it is about survival. What replaced the teddy bear was not another form of care—it was a system. Cold, brutal, and inescapable. In Jaekyung’s world, money means food, and food means strength. Fighting becomes synonymous with feeding himself. But this isn’t nourishment—it’s maintenance. Thus a nutritionist was hired later. (chapter 22) There is no joy in eating, no comfort at the table. His body becomes a tool, and pain becomes the currency he pays to keep it running.

It’s a vicious circle: he fights to eat, and he eats to fight. Every gesture is bent toward usefulness. His wounds are not treated for healing, but for returning to combat. That’s how he lived all this time. His body is not loved, only weaponized. Even food—the most basic form of comfort—is absorbed into the logic of performance. The equation is cruel but clear: to be seen, you must be useful. And to be useful, you must win. This means that the director’s suggestion and principle was pushed to the extreme. That’s the reason why I come to the following conclusion: there’s someone else involved in the birth of Joo Jaekyung, the Emperor. The evidence for this hypothesis is the champion’s belief: his jinx which is strongly intertwined with sex. Back then, the little boy was too young for sex.

This is the emotional core of the episode: Jaekyung internalizes the idea that his worth is conditional. He is not loved simply because he exists—he is noticed because he punches. (Chapter 26) This is how he enters adulthood, though he was still a child: not through love, but through function. The moment he steps into the ring, he’s no longer a child. He becomes, in the eyes of the adults around him, a product. (Chapter 72) This explicates why Hwang Byungchul never confronted the father or called the cops or the social services. The fact that he asked the little boy (chapter 72) indicates that he was not scared and was envisaging to intervene, until he changed his mind. He hoped to have found a “gem”, a future star. (Chapter 72) This interpretation gets reinforced in the following panel: (chapter 72) The expression (“But reality was like a punch to the gut”) suggests that even the coach himself was struck by how wrong or harsh the outcome turned out to be, but that realization came too late. Yet he blamed the young boy instead of convincing the young boy to postpone the fight. This scene shows that the man’s form of “help” was not rooted in empathy or protection—it was rooted in opportunity and perhaps even short-sighted hope for glory through the boy’s talent. He turned pain into performance.

But there’s a deeper, more insidious lesson embedded in this worldview—one the coach failed to recognize. (Chapter 72) By instilling in the young athlete the belief that survival depends solely on usefulness and performance, he unwittingly fostered a radical sense of self-reliance. The champion learned not only to fight, but to survive alone. If he became rich or succeeded, it wasn’t because of guidance or teamwork, but because of his own strength, talent, and determination. Thus he only employs the personal pronoun “you” and not “we”. In this cold logic, there is no room for mutual dependency, emotional support, or even loyalty. The coach, unconsciously, excluded himself from the athlete’s inner world. He trained a boxer, not a partner. And in doing so, he guaranteed his own eventual irrelevance.

Therefore it is not surprising that he was not contacted after the protagonist moved to Seoul, (chapter 71) why Joo Jaekyung never visited him or expressed his gratitude towards the boxing coach more openly. (Chapter 71) He became successful thanks to his own hard work. It was, as if he had followed the advice to the letter—make it on your own. I am suspecting that the charity event is linked to poor neighborhoods and children, so he didn’t totally erase the man from his memory, he just repressed him. However, it is not astonishing why the director is resentful and even bitter towards Joo Jaekyung. It was, as if he had never helped him. While he blames the man, the coach never recognized his own shortcomings. He didn’t see that his assistance was actually conditional. (Chapter 72) His goal was to create boxers and promote his gym. (Chapter 72) This explicates the absence of real support among the little kids in the end. (chapter 72) They are all rivals. But from my perspective, there exists another reason why the main lead didn’t keep in touch with Hwang Byungchul exposing the director’s blindness. The adult Joo Jaekyung admits that seeing the director’s face brings back “old memories”—not of comfort, but of trauma. (Chapter 71) The implication is unmistakable: Hwang Byungchul reminds him of his father and the abuse. And the latter is strongly intertwined with the mother’s abandonment.

That’s why I believe that going to Seoul wasn’t just about chasing success and looking for the mother—it was an act of escape, a way to break free from the past and its shadows. Joo Jaekyung needed distance not only from his hometown but from everything linked to his father, including boxing. The coach, in offering boxing as salvation, unknowingly tethered the boy to his abuser. (Chapter 72) The coach believed he was giving him a lifeline—but what he gave was a continuation, not a release. This could only increase Joo Jaewoong’s resent and jealousy towards his own son, if the latter became more successful.

Under this new light, we would have an explanation why Jaekyung ultimately chose MMA over boxing. MMA became his attempt to reclaim his body and forge a path not dictated by paternal legacy or the coach’s limitations. It was a way to fight, yes—but differently. On his own terms. This is the bitter irony: Hwang Byungchul believed he had rescued the child, when in reality, he kept him imprisoned in the very logic of pain and survival that was nearly destroying him. He didn’t free him—he simply refined the chains. On the one hand, the father got constantly reminded of his own failure, which could only poison the relationship between father and son, it created a common denominator between them.

This leads to a structural insight: episode 72 actually features two parallel narrators. One is Hwang Byungchul, whose commentary frames most of the memory sequence. (chapter 72) The other is Jaekyung himself. How can we tell? Because the scene of the phone call contains no narration, no framing voice. (Chapter 72) It’s a raw memory—silent and personal—untouched by the coach’s perspective. . (chapter 72) Thus I deduce that the other scenes are a combination of the champion and director’s memories. This would explain such scenes, where Hwang Bung-Chul is not present. (chapter 72)

Besides, Hwang Byungchul believed food and discipline were enough. He never noticed the emotional void beneath Jaekyung’s fighting spirit. What he interpreted as drive (ruthlessness/hunger) was, in truth, longing. He was hoping to have a true home again, to live with his mother. (chapter 72) The contrast between these two memories outlines how the coach misunderstood the athlete. Interesting is that doc Dan assumed that Joo Jaekyung had cut off ties with the former coach due to a quarrel. (Chapter 71) But here, doc Dan was making a huge mistake: he was just projecting his own feelings and relationship with him onto theirs. But he was behaving exactly like the former director: simplification.

Simplification as the Real Barrier to Care

Once again an article from Jennifer Delgado caught my attention: You don’t need to simplify your life: you need to eliminate the useless – and it’s not the same. The article warns us about the danger of simplification. In a turbulent world, we long for a sense of order. To achieve this, we construct simple narratives that comfort our self-image, ease our emotional stress, and help us sidestep ambiguity. However, this approach has a downside. By oversimplifying, we sidestep genuine engagement with complex issues. We overlook inconsistencies, reduce individuals to stereotypes, and avoid the demanding work of truly understanding others.

Instead of asking why, we label. (chapter 9) Instead of listening, we assume. We choose clear lines—strong or weak, good or bad, useful or useless—over the tangled, uncomfortable truth that everyone is both hurting and trying. This refusal to reflect doesn’t just distort reality—it perpetuates it. When we simplify, we don’t heal; we reenact.

In Jinx, all the major characters fall into the trap described in the article on simplification. But here, we’ll focus on four: Park Namwook, Hwang Byungchul, Shin Okja, and Kim Dan. Each, in their own way, simplifies Joo Jaekyung. They misread his strength as certainty, his body as armor, his silence as consent, and his volatility as mere rudeness. They reduce complexity into caricature—and in doing so, they fail to see the man behind the myth.

The manager and the brain scanner

Let’s begin with the manager, Park Namwook. In Chapter 52, (chapter 52),

he blamed Jaekyung for the entire “fiasco” with the post-fight scandal—even though he knew full well that the spray had been tampered with and that a conspiracy was in play. Why blame the victim? Because that’s what simplification offers: a way to avoid moral discomfort and responsibility. Namwook projects his own spoiled, self-centered logic onto Jaekyung, interpreting his athlete’s breakdown as immature drama, rather than what it actually was: the collapse of someone who had been manipulated and betrayed.

This moment reflects exactly what the article warns about: in the face of complexity, people seek easy answers. Instead of facing the multicausal reality—schemes, mistakes, exploitation, emotional exhaustion—Namwook reduces the problem to one person, one reaction, one scapegoat. That’s why the scene from Chapter 61 is so revealing. (chapter 61) In the panel where he sighs, “Haa… I have no idea what’s going on in that guy’s head,” he unintentionally exposes the shallowness of his approach. He imagines that by looking at Jaekyung’s brain—by cracking his psychology—he’ll “understand” him. That way, he can regain control. But this isn’t curiosity. It’s a veiled form of control-seeking. Namwook doesn’t want to know Jaekyung as a person—he wants him to be predictable, manageable, marketable. That line doesn’t reflect concern. It reflects frustration that the human being in front of him refuses to fit the role he’s been assigned. Hence it is logical that his solution to force Joo Jaekyung to return to the gym is to accept a new match. (chapter 69) Namwook’s failure is a professional one, but it’s also deeply emotional: he simplified Jaekyung into a product or spoiled child. And when the product malfunctioned—when pain erupted from silence—he didn’t ask why, he suggested how to make it stop. This is simplification in its most insidious form: not out of malice, but out of discomfort with emotional reality.

Shin Okja: One Problem, One Person, One Solution

If Park Namwook reduces Joo Jaekyung to a tool of success, Shin Okja turns him into a quick fix. (chapter 65) Her mindset follows a consistent logic: one problem, one person, one solution. Kim Dan is overworked and sick? (chapter 65) Then someone stronger should carry him. That “someone” becomes Jaekyung. The doctor should take pills and that’s it.

In Chapter 65, she urges the champion to take Dan back to Seoul. (chapter 65) Her logic is deeply utilitarian—Jaekyung is rich, strong, and dependable. Therefore, he must be fine. She does not consider whether he is emotionally stable, available, or even willing to carry such a weight. The haunted look in his eyes that Hwang Byungchul noticed in Chapter 72 (chapter 72) is invisible to her. She sees a man who has succeeded—and assumes that means he is thriving.

But her pattern is older. If doc Dan had parents, he wouldn’t be suffering so much. Her presence could never replace the parents. (chapter 65) This is totally naive, because certain parents like Joo Jaewoong are not capable of offering love and support. In Chapter 57, when Kim Dan was a child, bullied and humiliated, she told him: “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You still have me.” (chapter 57) This line, though comforting on the surface, is an act of simplification. She makes herself the sole solution to Dan’s complex emotional wounds. Her message: You don’t need justice, friends, or understanding. You need me. That’s how doc Dan was taught not to argue and not to fight back. He just needed to accept the situation.

In doing so, she creates a binary world: safe vs unsafe, solution vs threat. There is no room for nuance, community, or uncertainty. And this has long-lasting consequences. Dan grows up believing that support must come from one person, that relationships must be compensatory and binary. When the grandmother sends him away again—this time to Jaekyung—it mirrors the same pattern. “You need help? You’re sad? Then go with him.” That’s the reason why she is treating him as a “child”.

Like the article on simplification warns, such narratives are comforting but misleading. They prevent people from seeing the full scope of reality. Shin Okja never asks Dan about his friendships, his boundaries, his career goals. As she admitted herself in Chapter 65, (chapter 65) she doesn’t know anything about his life. That’s the price of simplification: you get a clean answer, but not the truth.

Gloves Instead of Grace: Hwang Byungchul’s Simplified Salvation

The “old coot”, too, clings to the myth of the invincible fighter—hungry, gritty, unstoppable. He fondly remembers the wounds, the sweat (chapter 72), the hunger, as if these alone forged greatness. But he fails to see how the very system he created helped drain the boy of more than just his tears—it emptied him of safety, of rest, of care. He only addressed the visible wounds and stomach pangs. (chapter 72) The gym’s director gave food and gloves, but not love. This was relegated to his “mother”. (chapter 72) He never addressed emotional starvation because he never recognized it; he himself was never truly alone—he always had his mother. And his misjudgment started from the very first encounter: seeing Jaekyung as a fierce cub (chapter 72) or as Joo Jaewoong’s heir rather than a hurt child.

Even in the present, the former director continues this pattern of simplification. He blames the champion for returning to the ring (chapter 70), as though he chose freely, overlooking how coercion and image control operate in their world. He accuses him of ruining his career with the suspension, even though it was orchestrated by others. (chapter 70) He judges him without knowing the circumstances. This projection is not new. In the past, he blamed the father, (chapter 72) Joo Jaewoong, for becoming a thug—but when another former wrestler also ends up as a loan shark’s lackey (chapter 17), it becomes clear that there exists a recurring link between athletic decline and criminal paths. The man fails to notice this connection. He sees these outcomes as individual moral failings, not systemic failures.

That’s why he never judged the mother for abandoning her child. (chapter 72) In his eyes, her departure was understandable (“of course”), even rational—because the father was “rotten.” But by justifying her decision, he erases the damage it caused: a bleeding, unconscious boy left to fend for himself. (chapter 72) In his worldview, offering a meal and a pair of boxing gloves should suffice to compensate for parental abandonment and violence. As if a jab and a protein shake could replace a mother’s embrace. This reveals the core of his failure: he confused intervention with salvation, and survival with healing.

So in the end, Hwang Byungchul didn’t just witness the system—he upheld it. (chapter 72) He became its idealistic defender, blind to its contradictions. He believed the gym could cure what society broke, but all he taught was how to endure, not how to recover. I would even add that when the boxers didn’t succeed in their career, they could end up using their skills for the mafia. This worldview is a product of his own simplification, his refusal to examine the deeper rot within the system he served. He didn’t suggest school and titles in order to escape poverty. And this is why he never truly saw the boy disappear. He missed the moment the light faded from Joo Jaekyung’s eyes, because he was never watching for it. In chasing strength, he forgot to safeguard the soul.

The tragedy is this: while he wanted to save the child (chapter 72), he trained the champion instead. That’s why the previous panel resembles a lot to this one. (chapter 40) Kim Dan saw the result and got fascinated. And what we’re left with now is a man whose pain and exhaustion are almost unseen (chapter 72) —until Hwang Byungchul notices the change and confided it to doc Dan. Someone should start listening to the silence after the spotlight vanishes.

This is where simplification becomes most tragic—not only because it hides pain, but because it reinforces it. It keeps people locked in roles, acting out silent scripts they never chose. To truly follow the teddy bear—to return to care, to softness, to a place where people are held and not used—each character must confront the simplifications they relied on. They must admit what they refused to see.

Kim Dan: The simple complexity

And then there is Kim Dan, who utters the most painful truth. In a moment of illness and exhaustion, he says, (chapter 64) He reproached him about being used and abandoned. But he was forgetting his own actions. He had also used the athlete, he had also left the bed in a hurry the next morning. Yes, he, too, simplified Jaekyung. That night, he said nothing. And in doing so, he confirmed the belief Jaekyung had internalized: I’m not someone who gets cared for. I’m someone who is tolerated, used, replaced. Like mentioned above, his mind-set was strongly influenced by Shin Okja. On the other hand, I noticed that the protagonist embodies complexity. How so? On the surface, he appears simple: obedient, quiet, weak, submissive, passive. (chapter 70) But beneath that surface lies a dense emotional world— love, grief, guilt, exhaustion, intelligence, empathy and moral clarity — that few characters in Jinx truly perceive. He stands for the heart! And everyone knows that “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” (Blaise Pascal) Because he acts from a place that defies the cold logic of power, hierarchy, and survival, he operates on emotional intelligence (chapter 71) —unspoken understanding, silent resistance, instinctive empathy. It’s no coincidence that his presence disrupts every system he enters: the gym, the hospital, the champion’s life.

By following his heart (even when that heart is heavy, broken, or exhausted), he becomes the very element that exposes the inadequacy of every simplified explanation—whether it’s Park Namwook’s control, Shin Okja’s projection, or even Jaekyung’s own self-image.

In short: Kim Dan is the counter-force to simplification because he lives in the in-between—where care and contradiction, pain and tenderness, duty and desire coexist. And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung needs to realize the existence of his heart and as such his love for doc Dan. Only then, both will be able to understand each other’s pain and heart.

Healing can only begin, when Jaekyung stops being a performance (chapter 70), and starts being a person. The racing heart… which has already happened. And this observation leads me to this scene: (chapter 58) Kim Dan was erasing this memory, he wanted to forget the star The Emperor. This act of forgetting wasn’t an escape from pain; it’s an active rejection of a myth that was keeping him emotionally paralyzed. As long as Jaekyung remained “The Emperor,” he could not be touched, questioned, or truly known. By forcing himself to forget that image, Kim Dan was making space for something more vulnerable and human to emerge. To conclude, thanks to this painful decision, he was able to perceive Joo Jaekyung the man. That’s why he acted so fiercely in front of him later. So by meeting the director, doc Dan is now able to see the child or the “cat” in his fated partner. That’s how it dawned on me why Mingwa let doc Dan suffer from addiction, depression and insomnia. Because these afflictions defy simplification. They resist instant solutions (pills). They demand patience, presence, and a refusal to look away.

Kim Dan, in a sense, becomes the embodiment of complexity. While others in Jaekyung’s life simplified him—manager, coach, fans—Kim Dan’s own struggle becomes the key to unlocking the champion’s inner contradictions. He doesn’t just offer pills; he becomes someone who stays through the night. That’s the true antidote to trauma: not fixes, but presence. But he is sick now too. (chapter 71)

Hwang Byungchul and the spotlight

Since the start of Jinx, I have been examining names, as the author made it clear that they carry symbolic weight and the former coach’s full name—Hwang Byungchul (황병철) is no exception. He encapsulates both his past role and his evolving narrative function.

Hwang (황) means yellow, a color tied to imperial symbolism but also to artificial light, visibility, and performance which is reflected in his offer: (chapter 72) Fittingly, Hwang Byungchul believed that survival came through being useful and seen. His guiding principle was clear: become a champion to put food on the table. Fighting was a mean to escape poverty, and success was measured by status, not inner healing.

But the given name Byungchul (병철) reveals even more.

  • Byung (병) includes the meanings:
    • Soldier → He encouraged Jaekyung to train with military-style rigidity, enforcing a code of strength over vulnerability.
    • Jar/container → He emotionally bottled things up, never showing weakness or affection.
    • Disease → A symbol of his terminal condition, but also the philosophical “illness” he passed on—survival at the cost of love and life. Joo Jaekyung was never taught how to enjoy life.
    • long, hunger → Perhaps the most revealing meaning. He is a man of long hunger—not necessarily for food, which he did provide to the children in the neighborhood, but for recognition, belonging, and emotional acknowledgment. He hoped to create a talent. He stood in the background, feeding mouths but staying unnamed, invisible. This hunger lives on in his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. He could never claim the boy as “his” athlete—not publicly, not even privately. Hence the picture remained in his notebook hidden. Because Jaekyung never spoke of his past, never acknowledged the gym, never looked back. It looked like the boy who was fed did not remember the man who fed him. The silence wasn’t just about pride—it was about pain. In a way, both of them were waiting for the other to speak first. Thus, Hwang Byungchul’s name becomes a silent confession: he symbolizes the emotional and symbolic hunger that surrounded Jaekyung’s early life—one that was addressed physically but never emotionally. The coach’s spotlight was always directed outward, toward performance, visibility, survival—but what he longed for most was to be seen by the one he helped raise.
    • To scold or punish → A reflection of the discipline and shame-based teaching he used.
    • To end or exterminate → This meaning could refer to his imminent passing, but it could allude to something else. Once a guardian of the system, he may unwittingly become its undoer. While he never openly questioned the structures of boxing or the MFC, he long dismissed corruption as the fighters’ personal failing—not a systemic flaw. He maintained a clear-cut divide between the “glamorous” fighting world and the criminal underworld, but reality has proven more entangled. In his final days, by being confronted with the truth and with Kim Dan’s care, he might symbolically put an end to the illusion that sustained his lifelong simplifications.
  • 철 (Chul / Cheol) was already examined before (see Park Jinchul)
    • Iron → Symbol of cold strength, discipline and inflexibility.
    • Philosophy → He lived by a code, but one that lacked space for human frailty.
    • To pierce → He trained the champion to break through his limits, but also inflicted wounds he never tended to.
    • Season/time → A fading era. His presence now marks the end of one ideological “season” and the start of something else—perhaps more human.

Together, Hwang Byungchul stands for a legacy of rigid survivalism under the spotlight, but also for the potential to expose its limits. His name doesn’t just mirror what he was—it foreshadows what he might help undo. His final lesson may be the most important: that the system he clung to was always built on a false binary. Striking is that when the director interacted with the main lead in the beginning, he didn’t pay attention to the boy’s clothes and as such to the teddy bear. He only looked at the boy’s body (the gaze (chapter 72), the size (chapter 72), his bruises (chapter 72) and asked for his name. This exposes his priorities and his blindness. He didn’t truly perceive the child in him, he was seeing him through the lenses of a boxer and director. Hence he underestimated the absence and abandonment of the mother.

The Absent Embrace: Of Bears, Mothers, and Fathers

If the teddy bear symbolizes maternal protection and warmth, then its absence in Joo Jaekyung’s childhood flat speaks volumes. (chapter 72) The boy didn’t have a blanket. He slept beside garbage. His father lay drunk and sprawled out, blind to his child’s needs. There was no teddy bear, no shared bed, no real cover. (chapter 21) Unlike Kim Dan, who grew up falling asleep next to his grandmother, accustomed to someone sharing his blanket, Jaekyung was emotionally and physically on his own from the start. Moreover, observe that the little boy had toys (chapter 21) contrary to Joo Jaekyung.

And yet, there was that one telling detail: the young Jaekyung once wore a shirt with a bandaged teddy bear on it. (chapter 72) Far from offering comfort, it mirrored his own battered condition. The implication? Someone saw—and chose not to act. That shirt represents the mother’s only trace. She was likely the one who picked out his clothes; an abusive man like Joo Jaewoong wouldn’t bother with childish designs. Which means the mother did witness his suffering or anticipated his fate, but chose to simply walk away without leaving a letter. IMO she didn’t leave an explication for her departure, hence the little boy came to imagine that she had left because of his addicted and violent father. (chapter 72) However, it is clear that here the protagonist was simplifying his mother’s decision, just like Hwang Byungchul. If she had truly cared for him, she would have taken him, but she did not.

She didn’t take her books either. (chapter 72) We see them wrapped up, left behind in the trash-littered apartment. This suggests she had been educated, possibly a nurse or a doctor. How did I come to this hypothesis? It is because this image reminded me of doc Dan’s departure from the penthouse. (chapter 53) He is a physical therapist. He had also arranged his books together: (chapter 53) And what did the hamster think while gathering his belongings? (chapter 53) So I deduce that the woman left them behind because she didn’t need them, she had enough or she no longer cared. But there is more to it!

Among the garbage (chapter 72), there are parcels stacked on the commode and table—some of them are wrapped and seemingly untouched. Their presence is striking. Unlike the strewn bottles and plastic bags, these boxes don’t speak of decay, but of intention. They hint at a moment when someone had plans—however fleeting. And yet, their sealed state raises unsettling questions: Who were these parcels for? And why were they never opened?

Two possibilities emerge.

First, the parcels might have belonged to Jaekyung’s mother. She came into that apartment with books and packages, suggesting she was educated and had once imagined a different life. But she never unpacked. The fact that the books remained sealed indicates she was already preparing to leave or they had moved recently. These were not signs of building a home, but of biding time. If she made purchases, they were not for her son. (chapter 27) There are no toys, no supplies for a child—just quiet evidence of a woman focused on herself, her escape perhaps already underway.

The second possibility is darker still: that even while living there, she bought things—but not for Jaekyung. She may have tried to create comfort for herself, or imagined she could still pursue personal goals, all while ignoring the battered child in the room. This would explain the absence of affection and the lack of a maternal trace. The teddy bear on his shirt, with its bandage, might have been an unconscious projection of his condition—but it was never followed by comfort or care. In contrast, when Kim Dan orders board games for the adult champion in episode 27, it is the first time we see a parcel meant for joy, connection, and healing. What the mother withheld, the doctor finally provides.

Remember how I connected the two teddy bears together! (chapter 72) (chapter 11) Is it a coincidence that we have age and a birthday together? And what had doc Dan left in that house? (chapter 53) The jacket… Because of these parallels, I come to develop the following theory. Joo Jaekyung knew his age, because he had just celebrated his birthday. This scene definitely took place in the summer. (chapter 72) And in my opinion, she must have offered him this t-shirt before her betrayal and abandonment. And she had definitely planned it. That’s why I believe that doc Dan’s departure (chapter 53) must have triggered the champion’s abandonment issues. He had the impression to relive the past. The mother had left him behind in the dark unexpectedly. (chapter 53) Thus Joo Jaekyung started drinking and recalling his repressed traumas. This explains why he didn’t look for doc Dan at first and why he hates his birthday and presents. (chapter 45) And now, you comprehend why I wrote above that I was not giving up on the idea that the champion could belong to a different world too. She was not accustomed to take care of a household. She wasn’t used to cook either. She would order food, hence we have the empty bowls. (chapter 72) Remember how the champion reacted, when he tasted his cooking for the first time? (chapter 22) He feared deception here, a sign that he must have experienced such a lie before. For me, everything is pointing out that this woman was incapable of becoming responsible for her own child. She left quietly and early enough that even Hwang Byungchul, who knew of her departure, didn’t recognize the boy (chapter 72). In other words, the mother was already emotionally absent long before she physically vanished. The bandaged bear thus becomes a silent accusation: you saw, and you left. Therefore it is not astonishing that Joo Jaekyung made such a mistake: (chapter 68) His mistakes concerning doc Dan are the evidences that he was not taught how to take care of someone. His errors indicates his innocence and purity.

This motherlessness is the defining wound of Jaekyung’s early life. No pictures, no memories, no bedtime rituals. In contrast, Kim Dan’s early childhood, while also marked by loss, retained traces of maternal love. His duck-print shirt, the framed photo with his grandmother, and the teddy bear he once held—all speak of touch, affection, and care. Dan was kissed (chapter 44) before he was abandoned. Jaekyung was never treated properly before. He was not claimed at all. It is important because the champion mentioned the word “home” (chapter 43) for the first time shortly after receiving a mysterious phone call. (chapter 43) And it is linked to his birthday. This resembles a lot to this scene: (chapter 72) That’s the reason why I am coming to the following hypothesis. The mysterious caller must be related to the “sulky cat” or “wolf”. (chapter 37) (chapter 49) Is it the mother or someone acting as an invisible guardian who knows the champion’s past? What do you think?

Now let’s turn our attention to the father. (chapter 72) Joo Jaewoong—whose name literally evokes the bear (웅, 雄 or 熊)—was not a gentle protector, but a violent alcoholic and drug addicted, a man who “strayed from the straight and narrow” (chapter 72). (chapter 72) A fallen boxer whose strength devolved into brutality. He started working for the mafia, but became entangled in their web. (chapter 72) The bear here is not a comforting toy but a dangerous beast. He loomed large over the child’s life not as a shield, but as a shadow. It is important because doc Dan is hearing for the second time that fighting has connections to the underworld. (chapter 47)

Even the name of the gym (chapter 54) —Team Black—bears symbolic weight. Unlike other athletes who proudly attach their names to their legacy, Joo Jaekyung avoids personal branding. He doesn’t call it “Jaekyung’s Gym” or “Joo Athletics.” Instead, he opts for anonymity, for darkness. It’s as if he’s building a fortress rather than a legacy, a space that offers power and protection, but no trace of where he came from.

This choice could reflect a deep desire to erase or hide his family history, especially from his father. The name “Joo Jaewoong” still echoes in the neighborhood (chapter 72), tied to shame, alcoholism, and downfall. Naming the gym after himself might invite that past back into the spotlight. Worse—it might give his father, or others like him, an opening to claim a share in his success.

Moreover, we should not overlook the emotional contradiction: Jaekyung’s former coach and his coach’s mother once formed a kind of surrogate household. They cooked for the boys, gave them structure, and in doing so gave Jaekyung a place to belong. But that environment was also where the champion was “trained,” not truly raised. The tenderness was limited to the mother, who is now dead and Joo Jaekyung knows it. Hence he didn’t ask about her. (chapter 71) I am quite certain that her vanishing must have pained him. She embodies the only good motherly role model in his life which explains why Joo JAekyung has a soft heart for Shin Okja. He knew to speak prettily and gently because of her. It is clear that the director influenced his dream, creating a gym where his mother would be part of it. (chapter 72) By not naming the gym after his mentor, Jaekyung draws a clear line: this is mine, but not a home—not for children, not for mothers, and not for fathers. Thus I came to deduce that Joo Jaekyung must have experienced something related to his mother, which Baek Junmin must know. But after the release of chapter 73, it becomes evident that their short but painful encounter took place shortly after the father’s death.

In this light, Team Black isn’t just a gym. It’s a sealed space—unbranded, unsentimental, and deliberately impersonal. A hidden monument to the self-made man who refuses to be claimed. The irony is that this name helped Park Namwook to claim the gym as his own. (chapter 22)

Thus, Joo Jaekyung’s story becomes one of inverted symbols. Where a bear should offer comfort, it signals danger and suffering. Where a shirt should offer warmth, it marks injury. Where a home should provide shelter, it holds darkness, silence and hunger. No wonder why the man fears the night! And this is why the champion had to become a bear himself—not the soft kind, but the feared kind. His “taming” by Kim Dan is not just romantic; it’s reparative. The man who never had a teddy bear may yet become one. I would even say, he is on the verge of becoming a mother bear defending her “curb”.

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: Illuminated 🌥️🌤️Silence and Lingering 🫶 Warmth 🔥

The Tenth Embrace – Stillness, Light, and Transformation

This image , released in anticipation of Chapter 70, is more than a promotional teaser. It is a moment frozen in time, yet brimming with motion—emotional, symbolic, and narrative. We see Joo Jaekyung embracing Kim Dan with both arms, pressing him tightly against his chest. There is no resistance, no distance, no tension in the frame. The palette moves from gray and brown fading into violet and pink, blooming into soft light. There is vapor, there is breath, an allusion to life. And most strikingly, there is stillness.

For my fellow Jinx-philes who have followed every bruise (chapter 11), every glare, and every awkward silence (chapter 67) between these two, this hug feels monumental. Why did the author choose this scene to announce the new chapter?

One might reply that it serves as a summary or visual recollection of the final moment in Chapter 69. And yes, it does that. But there’s more to it. The embrace is, in fact, a confession—one expressed not through speech but through touch. It may seem like a simple hug, yet it conveys something deeper and more vulnerable than any spoken admission. This is body language at its most honest: a quiet gesture that communicates all the things Jaekyung cannot articulate. Though words are absent, emotion is not. Silence, in this case, becomes a medium of connection rather than distance and lack of communication. Joo Jaekyung’s embrace reveals anxiety, tenderness, affection and the desire not to dominate, but to remain – to protect and to hold. And that is precisely why the author chose not to depict a kiss. A kiss would have shifted the tone toward romance, toward desire. But what Dan needs first is not romantic affection—he needs enduring, reliable friendship, a different form of love. Until now, he has only known fair-weather companions like Heesung or Potato. (chapter 58)

This embrace gestures toward something deeper: a bond built not on conditions, but on presence. Hence in this illustration, we also glimpse the athlete’s watch strapped to his wrist—a detail that may seem minor, but resonates with meaning. It subtly grounds the scene in time, discipline, and routine, reminding us of his physical life as a fighter. Back then, the wolf was always preoccupied with the future (chapter 29) —the constant possibility of being challenged, of losing ground, of falling from his throne. Time meant pressure. It meant movement. But now, in this image, the presence of the watch highlights how far he has come. No longer ruled by future threats, he chooses to pause, to stay grounded in the present. But in this moment, time is suspended. The watch becomes not a symbol of training, but of waiting—of calling time, of taking a breath, of choosing to be fully present for someone else. It marks a shift: he is no longer racing the clock, nor following the flow and facing the pack of challengers. He is here, holding, breathing, staying while keeping doc Dan in his sight.

This embrace is not just a recap of Chapter 69. It is a culmination. A reversal. A reflection. And above all, a threshold.

The date itself whispers symbolism. July 12. Add the digits: 1 + 2 + 7 = 10. In numerological terms, 10 signals the end of a cycle and the quiet promise of a new beginning. The “1” stands for rebirth, while the “0” opens the door to uncharted emotional space. We are no longer in the territory of possessiveness or pain. We are stepping into breath, presence, and vulnerability. It is the start of a real friendship and healing.

But how do I see all this in a single image? Naturally through reflections and comparisons. This essay will trace how this embrace reverses earlier dynamics—from the grandmother’s false comfort to the star’s previous grip of control. We will revisit the broken sandbag, the Emperor’s red backlit inner thoughts and visions (chapter 29, 55), and even the slap that echoed too loudly in the hospital. Because when Jaekyung finally hugs Dan with this kind of fragile openness, it doesn’t come from nowhere.

It comes from loss. From growth. From choosing stillness when everything in him was taught to keep running.

Revisiting the Embrace: From Control to Reciprocity

To truly grasp the emotional weight of the teaser hug , it must be examined in contrast with two pivotal earlier moments: the bathroom embrace in Chapter 68 (chapter 68) and the public hug on the dock in Chapter 69. (chapter 69)

In Chapter 68, the setting is intimate and vulnerable—a dim, wet bathroom. Kim Dan is asleep in the champion’s arms. Jaekyung holds him tightly from behind, but his own posture reveals something unresolved. (chapter 68) He rests his chin not on Dan, but on his own hand, his arm propped on the edge of the bathtub. This detail is telling: even in a moment of supposed closeness, Jaekyung relies on himself for support, not on Dan. He is physically near but emotionally braced—still holding himself apart. His thoughts are private, tender, and possessive. In a rare moment of introspection, he confesses that (chapter 68) This line (“I’ll keep him right here in the palm of my hand”) is deeply revealing. The champion frames care through the language of possession. The palm is open but hierarchical; it suggests that Dan is small, fragile, and dependent on Jaekyung’s will to hold or release. He does not yet see Dan as an equal. Even as he softens, his emotional vocabulary is shaped by superiority and containment. The hug is real, the sentiment sincere, but the dynamics remain unbalanced. And since Dan is asleep—unable to reciprocate, respond, or challenge—the embrace becomes more about the wolf’s soothing himself than forming a mutual bond. Furthermore, Dan is not even facing Jaekyung. (chapter 68) His head rests in the crook of the champion’s shoulder, turned away, a spatial choice that subtly reinforces the lingering emotional distance between them. They are close—but not yet connected. Initially, Dan’s profile is visible, resting gently against Jaekyung’s chest. However, as the moment progresses, Jaekyung subtly shifts Dan’s position. (chapter 68) In the next panel, we see Dan’s head from behind. This small but deliberate movement suggests a dynamic effort to hold onto him more firmly—to assert closeness, perhaps, but also to reposition him as something to protect and possess. The scene is filled with motion, both physical and psychological. And this motion, this shifting, stands in direct contrast to the stillness of the teaser image. In fact, the contrast goes deeper when considering the celebrity’s body language: (chapter 68) in the bathroom, we see only one of his hands holding Dan, while the other remains out of frame. Crucially, the watch he normally wears is missing. The absence of this item—one that often symbolizes the passage of time—hints at a suspended moment, an emotional pause where time no longer governs the champion’s thoughts. This subtle omission underscores how, in that quiet resolve to ‘keep him in the palm of my hand,’ Jaekyung momentarily abandons all concern for his career, his schedule, and the ticking clock of an MMA fighter’s short-lived prime. (chapter 68) It is no coincidence that the next morning he receives a new match offer: a test of that very resolution. (chapter 69) Yet, when faced with renewed pressure and stress, he falters—leaving Dan behind. (chapter 69) The illusion of control dissipates, revealing that his earlier vow, however heartfelt, was not yet unshakable.

Under this new light, it becomes clear why Mingwa let Jaekyung make this silent resolution (chapter 68) without a witness. Had the athlete expressed his thoughts directly to Dan, they might have come off as arrogant, performative, or even hypocritical later. The quietness of his resolve shields it from judgment (chapter 68) —it’s neither a promise nor a performance, but a deeply personal moment of self-reflection. As such, it doesn’t demand perfection, only sincerity. And when Jaekyung breaks from it later, readers are invited to empathize rather than condemn. This unspoken vow belongs to him alone, and its failure stings not because of broken trust, but because we witnessed its honesty.

By Chapter 69, we see a notable progression. On a stormy night under a clouded sky, Jaekyung embraces Dan again—this time fully clothed, in public, and face-to-face. (chapter 69) The posture is protective, with Dan still clutching shopping bags. Much like the embrace in the bathroom, this one also unfolds under the moonlight and carries a strong sense of motion. Jaekyung acts on instinct and emotion, reaching out without hesitation. His gestures are protective, but still driven by impulse rather than reflection. This hug is no longer one-sided: Dan leans in, allows himself to be held. It marks a moment of shared emotional exposure. Still, it remains reactive, a response to emotional tension (chapter 69) rather than a moment of mutual resolution. Jaekyung offers no words, yet a silent gesture of care and vulnerability.

Notably, the watch is no longer visible in this embrace. Although we know from earlier panels (chapter 69) that Jaekyung is wearing it, the change in angle—viewing the hug from behind—deliberately conceals it. (chapter 69) This compositional choice signals a subtle shift in perspective. Where the teaser centers the champion’s hands, the public embrace instead centers the environment, the setting, and the societal gaze. Dan’s face and back are hidden. Jaekyung’s back is turned to the viewer, signaling that this moment, while emotionally meaningful, remains partially opaque. Yet his vulnerability is visible—not through facial expression, but through posture. The tightness of his arms, the way he bends to reach Dan, the absence of hesitation—these all speak to a man laying down his guard. He is not posturing; he is clinging. And in doing so, he exposes his attachment and dependence.

By hiding Dan’s expression and placing him at the center of the frame, the author may be pointing to a new phase. Dan becomes the emotional axis, the silent center of Jaekyung’s emotional storm. As if to say: it is now Dan’s turn to interpret, to react, and eventually—to decide. The author thus repositions agency subtly but clearly in the teaser.

The embrace in episode 69 contrasts powerfully with the teaser image, which is defined by stillness. If the embraces in Chapters 68 and 69 are guided by nighttime instincts and lunar passivity, the teaser hints at something new—a quiet morning, or the symbolic arrival of sunlight. The glow on the left side of the illustration resembles the break of dawn, suggesting not only emotional warmth but also a conscious awakening. It is no longer about impulsive action in the dark; it is about holding on to someone in the light. The embrace is no longer a reaction—it is a decision.

The teaser embrace transcends both prior instances, not only in composition but in emotional clarity. The colors purple and pink respectively symbolize enlightenment, maturity and innocent love. Unlike the bathroom scene in Chapter 67, both men are now awake, and crucially, mutually present—not just physically, but emotionally. And unlike the last hug of Chapter 69, this embrace is not reactive; it is not prompted by surprise, fear, external danger, or a crisis. It emerges from stillness, from a shared decision to remain close. Yet within that stillness, it also oozes quiet determination (holding him tight)—a commitment not only to care, but to remain. The embrace becomes an embodiment of the unspoken motto: enjoy the present. It reflects a decision to prioritize presence over performance, commitment and connection over conquest.

Jaekyung’s posture is especially telling. His arms are wrapped tightly around Dan, but more than that, his entire body curves inward, as if folding into the space between them. His head rests against Dan’s neck or shoulder, a gesture that carries vulnerability, not dominance. This is not the body language of a man in control—it is that of someone seeking emotional grounding. He is not bracing Dan against the world; he is clinging to him, quietly, with all defenses down.

Dan’s body, too, speaks volumes. His back is visible, but this time, it is not a symbol of detachment. Compare it to the champion’s thoughts in the past. (chapter 55) In the new illustration, the hamster’s back is no longer representing anonymity and indifference, but visibility and care, for the champion is now facing his fated partner. In other words, doc Dan’s back in the teaser stands for uniqueness and high value. He can not be replaced. Moreover, doc Dan is not walking away, nor is he asleep. His hands are not visible—an intentional choice by the author. (chapter 69) By omitting them, the scene removes any external excuse for passivity, such as the black shopping bags seen in Chapter 69. Instead, it emphasizes Dan’s quiet agency. He is not weighed down or obstructed; he is simply there, choosing to stay. His stance is soft and grounded. He accepts the embrace—not out of resignation or shock, but through silent recognition. This marks a radical departure from earlier chapters where he either endured touch or froze under its weight. This time, he receives it—not as someone overwhelmed, but as an equal participant. That’s why I see the new illustration as the positive reflection of their argument in episode 45: (chapter 45) Back then, the champion refused the expensive key chain, symbolizing a missed opportunity for emotional connection. Both men yearned for attention and affection, but failed to express it. Here, in contrast, the champion offers something far more meaningful than a 14,000₩ and free lodging —his unguarded embrace. And Dan, by remaining still, appreciates the moment. His quiet presence, free of obligation or material offering, affirms that emotional closeness has replaced transactional gestures.

The setting amplifies this transformation. The pink and purple tones that bathe the scene suggest warmth, serenity, and renewal. These colors have replaced the earlier palettes of red (associated with lust and violence – chapter 29) and black (linked to isolation and fear – chapter 55). The two main leads are no longer alone. This is what transpires in the new drawing. The faint mist or vapor in the air suggests breath, life, and emotional release—it is as if they are finally exhaling together after holding so much in.

This embrace, centered in the teaser, is not just a gesture of reunion—it is a visual representation of mutual recognition and emotional rebirth. It marks a turning point where neither man seeks to overpower or please the other. Instead, they allow themselves to be seen and held. The result is not control, but reciprocity—a new balance where love is no longer a struggle for dominance but a shared space of refuge. This moment also represents the birth of a true team: both are relying on each other. Dan becomes Jaekyung’s anchor, the grounding force he never knew he needed, while Jaekyung stands as Dan’s shelter, his unwavering protection. They no longer orbit each other in isolation—they have become interdependent, attuned, and quietly united.

The Hamster’s Gift: Reading The Unspoken

Dan’s stillness in the teaser illustration should not be mistaken for passivity. It is a deliberate act of emotional reception—something he was trained for from childhood. Raised by a grandmother who rarely expressed affection through words, (chapter 21) Dan became fluent in a silent, physical language of care. She often asked him not to cry (chapter 57), unable or unwilling to face his vulnerability. To her, composure meant strength, and emotion—especially in the form of tears—was something to be managed or tucked away. Her love came in the form of caresses, pats (chapter 47) and composed embraces—gestures repeated with calm precision. These touches were predictable, rhythmic, and soothing, but they also suppressed genuine emotional exchange, the symbol of toxic positivity.

Dan learned early to interpret every small shift in touch: the rhythm of a pat,(chapter 57) the momentary pause of a hand (chapter 19), the direction of a gaze. Here, she was not looking at her grandchild who was talking on the phone. It was, as if she was excluding herself from the conversation. These gestures became his emotional compass—not because they were transparent, but because they were all he had.

Her hand was always in motion—patting, caressing (chapter 5) never still—giving the impression of involvement, of care in action. But this motion avoided vulnerability and responsibility in reality. She never clung, never trembled. Her gestures conveyed comfort but not surrender, presence but not change, and not support either. They were not truly emotionally together. (chapter 57) Dan was never permitted to break down fully—he was urged to quiet his feelings rather than explore them. Thus it is no coincidence that the halmoni has no idea about the incident with the switched spray. Moreover, later the protagonist was often the one to reach for her, (chapter 47) to hold her hand, to initiate closeness (chapter 47) (chapter 56). This reversal of roles placed the burden of emotional stability on his young shoulders.

And layered into this physical restraint were her verbal reassurances—”You still have me,” “Grandma will always be there for you” (chapter 57); I’ll come back home, once I am all better” (chapter 11) —promises that sounded protective but masked emotional denial. Her words were spoken to soothe, not to reassure with truth. These assurances were emotional illusions—comforting on the surface, but hollow in substance. They created the illusion that she was always strong, ever-present, even immortal—an anchor that would never be lost. Over time, this illusion cemented itself in Dan’s mind. She became a fixed point of emotional gravity, (chapter 65) a mythic figure whose emotional distance he interpreted as noble sacrifice. Her constant reassurances and carefully controlled gestures fed into this perception, convincing Dan that love meant loyalty, restraint, and silent endurance.

This formative training becomes key to understanding why he doesn’t resist Jaekyung’s embrace. He does not shrink, flinch, or cling—he simply stays. Unlike in Chapter 69, where he clutched shopping bags that might serve as a pretext for his inertia (chapter 69), in the teaser his immobility is unburdened. The absence of his visible hands and possessions symbolically removes all excuses. Dan is no longer reacting out of confusion or fear. He is choosing to be held.

This emotional acuity is especially visible in Chapter 35, when Dan observes the aftermath of Jaekyung’s violent outburst at the sandbag. (chapter 35) Instead of recoiling in fear or admiring his strength, Dan quietly states, “I think I really need to focus on Mr. Joo right now.” He does not focus on the strength or aggression, but on the pain beneath it. The burst sandbag, for him, is not a threat—it is a symbol of Jaekyung’s emotional unraveling. This silent recognition mirrors Dan’s interpretive skills developed in childhood. Just as he once learned to read a shift in his grandmother’s hand or the silence after a broken promise, he now interprets the damage to the sandbag as an unspoken plea for help. This sensitivity continues to define his bond with Jaekyung.

He recognizes the depth behind Jaekyung’s gesture —the trembling edge of desperation, the quiet need to be reassured. The celebrity’s grip is neither calculated nor repetitive. It is raw, clingy, and intense—each finger clutching as though Jaekyung fears losing him again. Unlike his grandmother’s composed movements, Jaekyung clings with both arms, as if to say: I need you to stay by my side. The absence of ritualized comfort, the lack of rehearsed gestures, tells Dan this is something radically different: not performance, but presence. There are no words exchanged—no hollow reassurances, no immortal promises. This is vulnerability in its purest form: exposed, messy, urgent.

For Dan, who was trained to perceive the emotional weight of silence and motion, the difference is staggering. The wolf’s embrace does not soothe from above—it clings from within. He doesn’t place himself above Dan like a guardian or caretaker. He reveals himself as someone who needs Dan’s presence, someone who trusts Dan with his own fragility.

This moment reshapes Dan’s emotional experience. In the past, stillness came from suppression. Now, it emerges from choice. In the past, he was the one to reach out (chapter 47), to stabilize the person meant to support him. Now, he is receiving without shame or hesitation. The Emperor’s silent desperation, his refusal to hide behind ritual or false strength, creates the space for Dan to feel treasured—not pitied, but wanted.

Dan was conditioned to listen with his eyes, to decipher emotion from gesture. That gift has become the foundation of their bond. This time, silence is not loneliness—it is intimacy. Jaekyung’s embrace asks for nothing and gives everything. It is not a gesture of power or protection—it is a surrender. And the master, for the first time, accepts it as his own. Jaekyung and Dan do not need to pretend. They offer presence, not perfection. And Dan, trained to hear meaning in silence, receives the hug as something more profound than any spoken vow. It is not just a sign of Jaekyung’s attachment—it is an invitation, which Dan, for the first time, accepts freely.

Letting Go of the Guardians: From Slap to Embrace

The teaser leaves no room for misunderstanding: this embrace belongs to no one but them. There is no space for a third party to intervene, mediate, or translate. The intimacy captured in the image signals not only mutual acceptance, but also a decisive boundary—an exclusion of external authority. With this embrace, the narrative quietly removes the former guardians—Shin Okja and Park Namwook—from the emotional core. Their time as intermediaries (chapter 65) or stand-ins (chapter 36) for affection has ended. The spotlight now belongs solely to Jaekyung and Dan, who no longer require mediation to reach one another. This shift becomes particularly evident when contrasting the teaser with earlier moments of evasion, silence, and misplaced dominance—especially through the lens of Park Namwook’s slap and Jaekyung’s own past deflections.

In Chapter 29, Jaekyung is depicted as a hunted predator (chapter 29), constantly pursued by younger fighters—“a pack of hyenas” nipping at his heels. Yet beneath this portrayal of endless motion is a deeper emotional truth: Jaekyung is running not just from competitors, but from his own solitude. That night, he refused to rest (chapter 29), ignoring Dan’s presence and concern. His rejection of the doctor’s offer of comfort or companionship underscores not only his emotional detachment but also the absence of true support from his supposed team. The manager, Park Namwook, is nowhere to be seen, (chapter 29) and Jaekyung operates in isolation—more fighter than partner, more machine than man. No man is watching his “back”. It is precisely this disconnection that prevents him from relaxing or recharging. He is trapped in a cycle of movement without relief, because he lacks the emotional foundation of trust and interdependence that the teaser illustration later comes to embody. In other words, behind this image of motion (chapter 29) lied an emotional stagnation. The champion was running from something internal, not just external. When Dan attempted to ask questions or reached out, Jaekyung frequently shut him down (chapter 42) or offered silence in return. He had no teamwork ability in the end contrary to the hamster who “assisted” his grandmother. But it is not surprising, since Park Namwook has always relied on his boy. (chapter 40) Each time, they faced a problem, the athlete had to resolve it. He was the problem and the solution for everything. (chapter 17)

This emotional avoidance culminates in a pivotal rupture: Park Namwook’s slap in Chapter 52. (chapter 52) Surrounded by others, the manager attempted to discipline Jaekyung not with understanding, but through force. The slap was not an act of care—it is an assertion of dominance. It reduced Jaekyung to a volatile asset and spoiled child, not a man in pain. Striking is that this gesture actually exposed the manager’s weakness and anxiety. He was the one reacting as a spoiled child, for he masked his wrongdoing with tears. (chapter 52) The reason is that he couldn’t face the terrible outcome and his own responsibility. He needed a scapegoat. Thus he blamed the champion for everything. But by doing so, he refused to share the burden and the athlete’s unwell-being. Striking is that this slap served as a wake-up for the athlete. From that moment on, he stopped relying entirely on his “hyung”. He was pushed to make decisions on his own. This harsh gesture mirrors Shin Okja’s attitude toward Kim Dan, (chapter 57) who was often comforted only when he concealed his distress. Both guardians acted as strong persons, while in reality they were hiding their own helplessness and anxiety. Both suppressed vulnerability (chapter 52), seeing it as disruptive or shameful. Their guidance demanded emotional control, not emotional honesty.

Yet while the manager relied on open scolding and explosive gestures, Shin Okja’s strategy was the opposite: she smothered emotional crises with fake promises and quiet patting. Where Park Namwook used confrontation and order, Shin Okja relied on evasion and emotional sedative. Both mechanisms served the same purpose—denying the “boy” the freedom to feel and process complex emotions. Both were forced to deny the existence of “evil” in the end. “They don’t know” or “because of your temper”… Both guardians expected their wards to be functional rather than fragile. The reason is that they were expecting blind loyalty and submission. Naturally, since the grandmother was more gentle, her actions created an invisible chain between her “puppy” and her, while the slap from the manager caused an invisible riff between him and the Emperor. Park Namwook can no longer raise his voice (chapter 66) or use violence to “tame the wolf”. That’s the reason why he is accepting the offer from the CEO of MFC. He is pushing the Emperor to return to the ring, but the problem is now that doc Dan was officially recognized as a member from Black Team. (chapter 69)

Herein lies the most profound contrast with the teaser embrace. The slap (chapter 52) is loud, performative, and corrective—a punishment wrapped in hierarchy. It takes place in a closed space—a hospital, ironically a place meant for healing. And yet, this act of violence is anything but restorative. Though members of Team Black are present, the moment remains confined, unspoken beyond its walls—a private humiliation masked as internal discipline. It does not foster intimacy or catharsis; instead, it isolates Jaekyung, stripping him of dignity both as an athlete and as a patient. In contrast, the embrace in Chapter 69 (chapter 69) occurs on a public street, before any audience. Its openness transforms what could have been a moment of embarrassment into a declaration. Jaekyung’s vulnerability becomes visible and valid—an indirect public confession that replaces the secrecy of the slap with the courage of connection. In fact, this scene displays the irrelevance of PArk Namwook in the “champion’s life”. He was never seen in the little town following his MMA fighter. So in the eyes of the inhabitants of this remote town, the doctor becomes a VIP. The embrace, by contrast, is quiet and egalitarian—a gesture of shared vulnerability and mutual respect. Where the slap severs emotional expression, the embrace enables it. Jaekyung does not mask his emotions or deflect responsibility with aggression; he leans into them, exposing his dependency and yearning without shame. This moment oozes closeness and intimacy, while indirectly their “secret” is exposed. They are important to each other.

This quiet exposure reverses the legacy of his guardians. Jaekyung does not slap, silence, or manage. He holds. And by doing so, he invites Dan to remain—no longer as a passive caretaker, but as someone who matters. The embrace thus becomes an answer to years of silencing: an offering of closeness where there was once only control.

By staging this gesture in full view—yet focused only on the pair—the teaser signals that no outsider can step in to define or distort their relationship anymore. Guardians are no longer needed. The embrace is their language now. Through the touch, both are feeling the warmth from each other. They are now friends and even family. Let’s not forget that the landlord saw them as “friends” (chapter 66) the moment the Emperor carried away doc Dan. This looks like an “embrace”. (chapter 66)

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: Prison Of Glass 🪟, Key 🔑 Of Time ⏲️

Time has always been a subtle but powerful force in Jinx, shaping the actions and mindsets of its characters in ways that they themselves barely perceive. In season 1, I had compared Kim Dan to Sleeping Beauty (chapter 13), who had been awakened by the champion, though contrary to the fairy tale, this arising was associated with pain. [For more read the analysis Painful awakening of Sleeping Beauty🤼‍♂️💕] What caught my attention is that in season 2 Joo Jaekyung was still himself trapped in temporal stasis too. (chapter 60) But how did they ended up both cursed by the same spell? The reason is simple. They were either halted by guilt and self-loathing or distorted by the desperate need to escape a traumatic past. Yet, amidst this stasis, small cracks are beginning to appear, suggesting that the flow of time cannot be denied forever. The past can not be repeated (chapter 64) or become the present or future. At the heart of this struggle lie symbols of doors, windows, and reflections—metaphors for how both characters perceive their realities and their chances of breaking free.

Interestingly, while Kim Dan became aware of the passage of time in Season 1 (chapter 44), he still does not fully include himself in this awareness. His concern was limited to his grandmother’s limited time (chapter 59), reflecting his selfless role as a caregiver. As someone who has long allowed others to define his time—whether as a physical therapist or as a prostitute—Kim Dan has yet to acknowledge his own mortality. Even during the lavender-tinted night, while he determined the length (chapter 64) and nature of the encounter (chapter 62), he did so for the sake of debts, not for himself. (chapter 64) The recent death of the puppy serves as a stark reminder (chapter 59) that he is not exempt from time’s reach, that he too is aging and vulnerable. But the doctor failed to recognize this warning. He only viewed it as a sign of his own powerlessness, reducing it from his own perception. He overlooked the fragility of life as such.

Meanwhile, Joo Jaekyung’s struggle is equally profound. By meditating before an expansive window (chapter 35), he created an illusion of freedom that only masked his deeper confinement—his glass prison. When Kim Dan closed the door and left (chapter 64), the illusion shattered, revealing the reality of his loneliness. The jinx, (chapter 55) once confined to the bedroom, now permeates his entire life, binding him to a past shaped by his abuser’s cruel words.

The Window: Illusions of Freedom

Joo Jaekyung’s habit of meditating in front of the window in his penthouse seemed, at first glance, like an attempt to find peace. (chapter 55) The view created an illusion of openness and freedom, masking the reality of his confinement. Glass, by its very nature, is transparent—a barrier that is invisible yet unbreakable, creating a false sense of freedom. The window’s clarity hid the fact that it was, in truth, an impassable wall that confined him, turning the promise of escape into a cruel irony. By focusing on the horizon, he could avoid looking inward, denying the unresolved trauma left by his anonymous abuser. (chapter 54) The ghost’s words,  (chapter 54) were designed to create the illusion of eternity—as if time itself was under the phantom’s control. This assertion not only sought to freeze Joo Jaekyung in a perpetual state of inadequacy but also to distort his perception of change as impossible. Trapped in a cycle of hatred and self-loathing, the athlete’s vision of freedom was limited to the false infinity of the horizon. (chapter 53) And now, you comprehend why the champion chose not to look for Kim Dan after his departure. He was so close to the window, making him think that he had a “choice”. That’s how I realized that the closer he would stand to the window, the less he would get Enlightenment. Hence he is portrayed eyeless here. (chapter 53) Ironically, the window—symbol of escape—became his glass prison, a barrier that reflected the endlessness of his struggle rather than a path to liberation.

In contrast, Kim Dan faced a broken, opaque window in his grandmother’s home (chapter 19) —a window that offered no view of the outside world. This reflected his entrapment in a life defined by guilt and sacrifice, unable to envision a future beyond repaying debts and fulfilling duties. The window’s visible cracks and makeshift repairs represent not only the physical deterioration of their environment but also the psychological fragmentation within Kim Dan himself. By choosing to patch the window rather than replace it, Shin Okja’s actions reflect a mentality of denial and resignation—an unwillingness to confront the full extent of their impoverishment and suffering.

This refusal to replace the broken window (chapter 19) suggests a deeper symbolic resistance to change or moving forward. In a sense, the grandmother’s decision to live with the broken window mirrors her acceptance of a life defined by limitations and unspoken grief. (chapter 19) It implies a preference for preserving a fragile status quo over embracing the uncertainty of transformation. For Kim Dan, who grew up in this environment, the broken window became a constant reminder that his world was fractured yet stagnant—a prison where time seemed to stand still, marked by routines of survival rather than progress.

Moreover, the window’s damage also serves as a visual metaphor for Kim Dan’s own brokenness, his unresolved trauma, and his sense of abandonment. The act of looking through a cracked and dirty window obscures the view of the outside world, just as Kim Dan’s perception of the future is clouded by past wounds and insecurities. Unlike Joo Jaekyung’s glass prison—clear but impassable—Kim Dan’s window is both broken and opaque, reinforcing the sense that he cannot even see what lies beyond his current existence, let alone escape it.

The grandmother’s passive acceptance of the broken window further exposes her powerlessness. It’s not merely about financial inability; it reflects a mental state of giving up—a resignation to a life where even repairing what’s broken seems pointless. In this context, the window becomes a symbol of Kim Dan’s psychological inheritance—a learned helplessness that prevents him from fully embracing the flow of time and the possibility of change. When he sat in front of that broken window, turning his back to the door, it symbolized his abandonment issues—an unconscious reenactment of being left behind. His world grew smaller with each passing day, suffocating him to the point of nightmares where he struggled to breathe.

The Door: Abandonment and Isolation

The motif of doors carries a dual significance in Jinx. On one hand, the fighter’s words in Episode 51 (chapter 51) served as the key that triggered Kim Dan’s abandonment trauma. How so? While “get out of my sight” implied that Kim Dan should leave him, the reality is that the champion left the locker room first. (chapter 51) Observe how the “hamster” is once again turning his back to the door. However, the bloody footprints became an evidence for Kim Dan that he had been abandoned and left behind. And now, you comprehend why the main lead took the athlete’s request seriously and literally. It is because the door in the past was the symbol of betrayal and abandonment. This explicates why he is so sensitive to the sound of a closing door and could recognize it, even if his ears and eyes were covered. (chapter 35)

As a child, he had been turning his back to the door, while he was talking over the phone. (chapter 19) According to my hypothesis, this memory announces the moment of the parent’s abandonment. Thus I deduce that when unconsciously, he came to associate the door with desertion. No wonder why he woke up, when he sensed the lack of warmth in the bed: (chapter 21) Consequently, I interpret the following scene like this: (chapter 19) When he was standing here, he must have sensed it as a betrayal against his own grandmother. Hence he employed the expression “goodbye” and not “farewell” to diminish his guilt. No wonder why he chose to hide his move from his relative and bring the Wedding Cabinet to the penthouse. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can grasp why Kim Dan’s nightmares in season 2 were linked to the opened door: (chapter 57) His unconscious was telling him this: Shin Okja had broken her promise. She was about to abandon him. He had the impression that he was reliving the past. That’s the reason why he was scared and suffering. (chapter 57) In addition, I believe that his unconscious was pushing him to come clean with the past, to reveal the changes in his life. It was impossible for both of them to keep such unreal promises. (chapter 11)

Because of the champion’s action in episode 51, the door became synonymous with rejection, with the fear of being cast aside at any moment. However, this time the association was more conscious. The open door in Kim Dan’s nightmare, where the halmoni had vanished, represented his deepest fear of being left alone in darkness. And what is he doing now? He is afflicting the same pain to his lover (chapter 64)

But there’s more to it. I had long outlined that the little boy was talking over the phone, when he recalled this moment. (chapter 19) That’s how he came to associate the telephone with betrayal and abandonment. Therefore it is no coincidence that the “hamster” was not calling Shin Okja either, when she was at the hospital. Joo Jaekyung’s inability to call Kim Dan (chapter 56) revealed the existence of a past trauma. It highlighted his own fear of abandonment and rejection—an emotion he had long denied. The door, a supposed barrier against the outside world, now stood as a reminder of all he had pushed away, including his own need for connection. Therefore he never left his door open in the penthouse: (chapter 55) That’s why I perceive this scene as an important step for Kim Dan himself: (chapter 64) By opening and closing the door, he is overcoming his abandonment issues. He becomes the ruler of his own life (time and relationship). He is freeing himself from the mental torment which readers could witness in earlier episodes.

However, the door symbolizes another notion: secret! Thus Mingwa created this sex session behind a closed door: (chapter 24) The physical therapist has kept his past trauma a secret. And what is the synonym for “secret”? Key! So when the main lead leaves the champion behind (chapter 64), he doesn’t realize that he is exposing the existence of his “secret”. In verity, he is actually inviting Joo Jaekyung to open the door and as such find this secret. In his mind, he is excluding his partner, whereas in truth the opposite is happening. Don’t forget that in episode 24, Kim Dan desired to hide the truth from Potato (chapter 24), yet the latter didn’t get fooled at all. He found out the true nature of their relationship. (chapter 64) By leaving, Kim Dan unwittingly presents Joo Jaekyung with the opportunity—or perhaps even the challenge—to find the ‘key’ to understanding him. This key is not just about uncovering past traumas but also about unlocking the true nature of their relationship—transforming it from a transactional arrangement into something genuine and emotionally honest.

The Wedding Cabinet: A Prison of Timelessness

In the absence of a transparent window, (chapter 19) the Wedding Cabinet in Kim Dan’s home functioned both as a mirror and a false window, preserving an illusion of timelessness. (chapter 19) Unlike the rest of the dilapidated house (chapter 10), the cabinet remained pristine, suggesting a futile attempt to halt the passage of time and maintain the status quo. (chapter 53) By throwing it away, Kim Dan unknowingly released time from its prison, breaking the spell that his grandmother’s control had cast over him. This act was not just a rejection of his past but an unconscious acknowledgment that time was moving forward—that he could no longer live as if he were already dead. Simultaneously, this gesture symbolizes his separation from his grandmother, breaking the illusion of perpetuity that she maintained. So while he might have been by her side physically (chapter 53), he was deep down miles away from her emotionally and mentally. This observation explains why he could object to her suggestion. (chapter 57) On the one hand, it shows that he was maturing, on the other hand as a young adult, it is clear that he is destined to make mistakes. He has always defined himself as the caregiver, but he forgot his own true nature: he is a human before anything else. And what is the definition of humanity? I would say, the capacity of benevolence and the inevitability of mistakes. It reflects the dual nature of human existence—the potential for compassion, kindness, and altruism on one side, and the propensity for mistakes, weaknesses, and moral failings on the other. And that’s exactly what the doctor has been mirroring to the champion in the lavender-tinted bedroom: (chapter 64) Joo Jaekyung was in his eyes a human, and not a champion. The irony is that with this idiom “always”, he is implying that he had hopes and expectations. The athlete would change and treat him better. Since the doctor has always been the embodiment of “selflessness”, the gods made sure to remind him of his own true nature: “mistakes”. That’s why he is often making blunders (chapter 1) to the point that I called him “Mister Mistake”. (chapter 43) On the other hand, his missteps are there to teach the fighter to drop his perfectionism and to bring the notion of entertainment in his fated partner’s life. Kim Dan is funny in his own way.

In religious contexts, errors are often framed as sins, accentuating the moral dimension of human actions and the necessity of redemption or forgiveness. This duality suggests that to be human is not only to strive for virtue but also to acknowledge and learn from one’s imperfections. The very ability to err, seek forgiveness, and change is seen as an intrinsic part of the human experience. This new perception reinforces my previous interpretation: the existence of champion’s jinx was indirectly questioned, when Kim Dan reminded his lover of his own true nature. He is a sinner. (chapter 64) He doesn’t respect humans in general. The irony is that by criticizing Joo Jaekyung, the doctor is overlooking his own nature. He is also a sinner.

(chapter 57) Is it a coincidence that the doctor’s cold attitude takes place in chapter 60 -64? (chapter 61) No, as the number 6 sounds similar to sex. Moreover, don’t forget that Satan’s number is strongly associated with 6 (666 or 616). From my point of view, the “hamster” is on his way to become an adult and as such a sinner as well. The physical therapist’s stubbornness reminded me of the behavior of a teenager who believes to know everything about life, while in verity, such people lack experiences. And what did the nurse say about the main lead? (chapter 57) He should nurse himself for his halmoni’s sake so that the latter wouldn’t worry. From my point of view, if doc Dan gets sick, he could be the catalysator for her deteriorating health. But now, it is time to return our attention to the “champion”.

The Abuser’s Shadow: A Timeless Sentence

Joo Jaekyung saw himself as a god who could turn time back: (chapter 61) But why did he want to return to the past? It is because of the ghost’s criticism (chapter 54) ‘You’ve never been good at anything’ were designed to freeze Joo Jaekyung in time, trapping him in a mental prison where change was impossible. I would even add, the mysterious person gave a negative connotation to “change”. On the one hand, the champion was pushed to prove the tormentor’s statement wrong, on the other hand, this implied that one “loss” would be perceived as a validation of the ghost’s claim. This signifies that his obsession with maintaining his title stemmed not from pride but from a desperate need to refute the man’s statement. We could say that the fighter fought not out of fun, but out of hatred and fears. (chapter 29) That’s why he was on survival modus and could never refuse any challenge. By associating sex with endurance and control (chapter 2), he replicated the sports-like expectations imposed by his abuser—likely someone from the medical or sports world who viewed him not as a human but as an asset. This means that despite the distance, this invisible abuser was still ruling over the athlete’s life exposing the falsehood of his belief: self-reliance. He was still acting as a helpless person. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Joo Jaekyung had to leave the penthouse with its huge windows. By leaving this place behind, he was actually moving away from the abuser’s claws, similar to the doctor’s move in episode 19.

So when Kim Dan’s words are here challenge this narrative. By accusing Joo Jaekyung of treating him like a doll, he inadvertently exposed the athlete’s own objectification at the hands of his abuser. For the first time, Joo Jaekyung is confronted with the possibility that he has been living as a reflection of his tormentor, not as himself. That’s the reason why he is placed with Kim Dan on the bed in the same position as his abuser: (chapter 64) (chapter 54) Imagine: it was, as though he had become the same person than his tormentor. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the champion had to turn around doc Dan before his climax. It is because he feared his lover’s gaze. I would even add, he was unconsciously projecting himself in the “hamster’s place”. Yes, deep down, he is still a child, exactly like Kim Dan. (chapter 57) But contrary to the physical therapist, we don’t know how the champion looked like as a “child”. So when the teenager closes the door, he is taught not only that he is alone (chapter 64), but also that he has lived in a mental prison too. His fated companion made him realize the positive side of change! The ghost is also a mortal, he can not control time either. He is aging as well. By distorting the past (chapter 64), the fighter is encouraged to question his own past and narrative, in particular his feelings. (chapter 54) What he felt back then, is no longer the same! All this time, he rejected emotions because he feared attachment and betrayal. The reality is that he was still feeling emotions (fears, resentment) and allowed them to rule his life. But now, he is feeling something: attachment, pleasure and warmth. (chapter 64) That’s why the door (chapter 64) becomes the place of Joo Jaekyung’s Enlightenment. (chapter 64) Hence the author focused on his wide opened gaze. Kim Dan’s intervention was painful but necessary, because through this reflection, the athlete’s motivation to fight is bound to change. In the future, the fight won’t be deadly serious like before, he won’t act like a tyrant in the ring where he couldn’t control his rage. (chapter 1) He will see his opponent as an artist too.

The Key of Time: Acceptance and Change

If the Wedding Cabinet symbolized a frozen past and a fake future (chapter 19), then the key to breaking this spell lies in accepting the passage of time. (chapter 53) Kim Dan’s act of discarding the cabinet was the first turn of this key, an unconscious decision to face mortality and change. He was embracing the unknown. And if the champion chose to retrieve it and became his new owner, I come to the following interpretation: the Wedding Cabinet will become the symbol of loyalty and a precious memory linked to Shin Okja. He definitely had a good time (chapter 21) with her, because he felt treasured. (chapter 61)

Similarly, Joo Jaekyung’s growing awareness of his own emotions (chapter 63) —no matter how reluctantly—represents the second turn. With the doctor’s cold rejection, he is forced to choose: What does he want in life? Only the champion title or something else? (chapter 64)

By recognizing the difference between the star and the human Joo Jaekyung, he can finally start to separate his identity from the expectations of his abuser. For the first time, he may come to see the title not as his existence but as a part of it—something that can be let go without losing himself. And this brings me back to my previous observation: the symbol of the window in the athlete’s life! (chapter 64) My avid readers will certainly recognized that in that hostel room, the window is covered by curtains! Besides, the bed is placed in front of it implying that the person can not meditate in the bed while looking at the window. That’s why the celebrity is turning his back to the window. Kim Dan is his reflection and as such the key to his release. This means, the bedroom loses its meaning as a fake place for “introspection”. Joo Jaekyung is destined to follow doc Dan in the end. Hence the latter will become his hyung. For me, there’s no doubt that through this confrontation, the athlete’s respect for Kim Dan can only increase. (chapter 64) He voiced his own thoughts and emotions without raising his voice or using violence which contrasts to Park Namwook. Joo Jaekyung’s gaze reveals no resentment or anger, just disbelief and realization. So if he starts following the doctor’s lead, I can only come to the deduction that he has to leave the room. So his feet should lead him to nature, if he doesn’t follow his lover directly. Since water is the place where he feels comfortable (chapter 27), and he noticed the quietness of the ocean (chapter 62), I am expecting that he will go to the beach. A new version of this scene: (chapter 59) But this time, that would be a conscious choice. That’s how he will reconnect with his true self for good. But strangely, I am expecting that he won’t be on his own. I am quite certain that this man will make a similar experience than the grandmother: (chapter 53) However, from my point of view, Joo Jaekyung should witness the sunrise and not sunset… which would announce his rebirth. There was only one sunset in season 1, which was linked to Shin Okja’s mortality: (chapter 47). Moreover, in season 1 and 2, the doctor was often connected to the sunset: (chapter 1) (chapter 17) And we had the beach here in the background. (chapter 48) This was an ominous sign for the champion’s symbolic “death” and rebirth. Sun and moon are natural tools to determine the flow of time.

Conclusion: The Time of Liberation

As time resumes its flow, both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung are being forced to confront the illusions that have kept them trapped. The glass prisons of windows and mirrors, the locked doors of abandonment, and the preserved Wedding Cabinet are all starting to crumble, revealing the path forward. They are about to receive their final life lessons: no one is powerful in front of time. Time can heal as much as it can destroy. They should enjoy their life due to its brevity.

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: Daily Jinx Advent Insight 17 📆 0️⃣1️⃣9️⃣The Shadows Cast By Numbers

In the composition The Magic Of Numbers I demonstrated the strong link between numbers, characters and situations. This led me to focus on the number 7 and its signification in Jinx. [For more read Magic 7 : Navigating between Jinx and Luck]. Is it a coincidence that number has for synonym “figure”, which is also an equivalent for “character”, person”? I don’t think so. However, the biggest discovery has not been revealed yet. Thus if my avid readers look carefully at the new illustration now, they will detect the digit 1, 0 and 9. What do they mean in Jinx? I will answer to this in the following analysis.

Numbers and Characters

For that, it is important to look at the following chapters and their digits:

Chapter 1Chapter 1Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 20
Loan SharksPerverted Hospital DirectorHeo Namwook/ the loan shark and his minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo NamwookLoan Shark and Perverted Hospital Director
Chapter 37Chapter 46Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49
Mysterious MFC agentHeo Namwook and minionsFirst appearance of Choi GilseokBaek Junmin’s first appearanceChoi Gilseok meeting Kim DanBaek Junmin meeting Joo Jaekyung and Director Choi switching the spray thanks to his minions

What do these episodes have in common? The number 10 or better said 1 and 0. Let me give different examples. 11; 37 : 3+7= 10; 46: 4+6=10; 4+7= 11. What caught my attention is that the number 1 and 0 are strongly intertwined with the villains.

Before going any further, it is relevant to define a villain.

A villain in literature is a character who represents evil or opposing moral values and often creates conflict with the protagonist. Villains typically display malicious intent, seeking to harm, dominate, or oppose others for personal gain or twisted ideals. Examples include:

  • Darth Vader (Star Wars): A dark lord driven by a desire to impose order through domination.
  • Hannibal Lecter (The Silence of the Lambs): A brilliant but psychopathic serial killer.
  • Voldemort (Harry Potter): A dark wizard seeking immortality and control​

This means that villains in Jinx are people resenting the main leads, they wish to harm or even ruin them. But let’s return our attention to my interpretation. The digit 1 announces the presence of a villain. One might argue about this perception, for number 48, 49 or 20 doesn’t mirror this theory. Nevertheless, Jinx-philes shouldn’t keep in mind that 8 embodies Kim Dan. Moreover, we should see it like that: 47= 4+7= 11, then 48=: 47 (Baek Junmin) + 1 Director Choi. Additionally, in 49, we have 4 persons involved in the scheme to kill the champion with Shotgun: (chapter 49) These 3 men and The Shotgun have to be seen as a team. Moreover, 4 is a synonym for death. Then, observe that the image from episode 20 contains two villains, the loan shark and the perverted hospital director. 1 +1 = 2. So when we see the number 10, 11, 16, 17 and 18, we could perceive it as an allusion to Heo Namwook, the villain.

However, another objection could be raised. What about episode 47? If you add the digits together, you have 11. So where are the two “villains”? It is clear that one is referring to the Shotgun, as for the other we could say, it is an allusion to the invisible involvement of Choi Gilseok. Then what about 11? One possible answer would be to say that the other villain in episode 11 was the representative of the association (chapter 11) and indirectly the persons involved in the redevelopment. However, I have to admit that I have a different explanation.

1 and antagonists

And this brings me to my other observation. In my eyes, the digit is not just referring to villains, but also to antagonists. You might ask about the difference between a villain and an antagonist.

An antagonist, by contrast, is any force or character that opposes the protagonist, creating conflict. They act as barriers to the protagonist’s growth or objectives, embodying stagnation or forces that resist transformation. Unlike villains, antagonists are not necessarily evil. For example:

The Party (1984): The oppressive government represents the antagonist but is not embodied by a single “villainous” character. The party embodies immobility through oppressive control, rejecting individuality or societal progress. It acts as a hurdle for Winston Smith, who seeks freedom and truth.

Miss Havisham in Great Expectations:: She is trapped in her heartbreak, she resists emotional healing and inadvertently thwarts Pip’s development.

As for Captain Ahab in Moby-Dick:, though a protagonist in his own story, Ahab’s obsessive immobility (revenge on the whale) becomes an antagonist force against his crew and their survival.

In other words, they create tension by opposing the protagonist’s goals. They test the main character’s resolve, adaptability, and resourcefulness. By clinging to outdated systems, ideologies, or personal fears, they symbolize forces that resist progress. Many antagonists refuse change, either out of fear, selfishness, or a belief in their own superiority. This refusal often highlights the protagonist’s drive for transformation or growth. To conclude, they embody hurdles to overcome, immobility, intern and extern conflict, resistance and regression.

Therefore for episode 11, one might think that the other 1 was referring to Joo Jaekyung, for the latter appears like a barrier which the young physical therapist needs to overcome. (chapter 11) Let’s not forget that in Jinx-Fandom, many Jinx-addicts calls him a “red flag”. Here, he was abusing his position. Furthermore, this theory could be seen as validated with the first episode with this image: (chapter 1) The main lead appears as a beast, triggering the doctor’s fears. He seems to be like an antagonist. However, I believe that it is just a deception. First, Mingwa has clearly stated that the champion is the protagonist of Jinx. As such, he can be neither a villain nor an antagonist. Secondly, though he seems to serve as a barrier, the reality is that Kim Dan is incited to mature and overcome his own fears. In fact, the celebrity represents the opposite notions of “conformity” and “immobility”. He embodies verity, maturity, transformation and progression. The evidence of this perception is the gradual transformation of Kim Dan as an inexperienced PT to a very professional and performant physical therapist. According to my interpretation, the Emperor works as the mirror of truth. He confronts the delusional physical therapist with his mental and emotional issues, like here: (chapter 20). Sex is not dirty, he is not an old creep. He is just 29 years old. He is pure and innocent like a baby. Hence we should see this discussion (chapter 45) as a good trigger for the 29 years old man to turn into a good PT. From that moment on, he only focused on the sportsman, and stopped asking the help from colleagues or listening to them. (chapter 42) He only relied on his hands. He was forced to become a serious and confident PT!!

On the other hand, there is no denial that the athlete shares some similar traits with an antagonist: his selfishness, the use of threats and an ideology (his jinx). Consequently, one might still contest my interpretation. Nonetheless, this hesitation can be removed easily, when we return our attention to chapter 1 again. (chapter 1) This image was not reflecting reality, but Kim Dan’s vision!! The following panel is the unbiased truth: (chapter 1) The star was just waiting, and not threatening the doctor. As you can see, Joo Jaekyung doesn’t appear like a threat or a monster. But this doesn’t end here. One detail caught my interest. The champion is associated with blue. It is his true color, whereas Kim Dan is “red”, like a sweet strawberry. So why does this young man ooze a red aura, when his true shade is blue like water (chapter 27) or the ocean. It is because he was under the influence of his hyung Park Namwook which explains why Mingwa introduced him like this: (chapter 1) Note the contrast to his “boy”. The red is not coming from Joo Jaekyung’s body (chapter 1), but more from the side which stands in opposition to the coach.

Thus I came to the following deduction. In episode 1, the MMA fighter appears as an antagonist, but he is not the real one, it is his coach and manager. The latter only shows his true colors at the end of season 1. This interpretation gets corroborated with episode 11: (chapter 11) The coach is yelling for Joo Jaekyung’s comment, yet the reality is that the manager didn’t treat Kim Dan at all. In fact, he feigned ignorance. Moreover, look at the champion’s t-shirt: (chapter 1) There is a spider on his t-shirt, which represents the manager’s personality and behavior. (chapter 26) In this composition, I compared the MMA star with a leopard and Park Namwook to a spider: Daily Jinx Advent Insight 12. This shows that the main lead had been copying his mentor’s behavior for a while. And the moment you associate 1 with Park Namwook, it becomes more comprehensible why he argued with his pupil in 17 (chapter 17) or in episode 46 (chapter 46) He represents regression or the hurdle to overcome.

However, we should consider the first episode as a combination of 1 and 0: 01. And who was missing in this chapter? Naturally, Shin Okja, the doctor’s grandmother. She is the other antagonist for our beloved couple: (chapter 11) (chapter 11) And I can prove my statement by showing the episode where she appears:

Chapter 5Chapter 7Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21

Chapter 22Chapter 30Chapter 41Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 53


Here, we should see as a continuation of episode 47.

By looking at the numbers carefully, I suddenly realized what the halmoni’s true number could be. It is 11 which actually makes 2. Hence we have 20, 21 and 22 where she plays a huge role. One might argue for this hypothesis, for she appears in episode 5 and 7. However, combine these two numbers together, then you have 12. A combination of 2 and 1, which is similar to 11 and 2. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the Webtoonist made her appear again, when Baek Junmin (the criminal embodies 5) entered the spotlight: 5 *2 = 10 or 47 = 11. But what does the number 1 and 0 mean.

1: Isolation, Ego, and Domination

The number 1 is often associated with leadership, individuality, and beginnings. However, its negative side can symbolize isolation, self-centeredness, and authoritarianism.

  1. Isolation and Loneliness
    • As a singular entity, 1 can represent someone who stands alone, often by choice or force, cutting themselves off from others. Park Namwook has always excluded the athlete from the “parties” (chapter 9) or other events like this one: (chapter 37) Buying in secret junk food.
    • This isolation can stem from arrogance or a belief in their superiority, which distances them from meaningful relationships. (chapter 52) Hence he shouldn’t be seen as a true friend of the champion. He views himself as the better one: manners, temper and decisions. The reality is that he is never making any decision.
    • In Jinx, the antagonistic figures, such as the surrogate parents, could embody this isolation by choosing control over connection, leaving the leads emotionally detached and alienated. Hence the grandmother keeps asking favors from her grandchild (chapter 11) (chapter 47)
  2. Selfishness and Ego
    • Negatively, 1 reflects the “me-first” mentality, where the individual prioritizes their needs, desires, and ambitions at the expense of others.
    • In villains, this could manifest as manipulative behavior or exploitation, as they treat others as tools rather than equals. (chapter 1)
  3. Domination and Tyranny
    • In its extreme, 1 represents absolute power—one ruler, one decision-maker—leading to oppressive or dictatorial behavior. Hence Kim Dan could never get a job as PT at a hospital. (chapter 1) But it is the same for the champion who got his “gym” stolen from his hyung: (chapter 22) He is acting here like a tyrant.
    • This can parallel the way antagonists in Jinx drain others emotionally and physically, exercising control in a way that leaves the protagonists powerless and diminished. They feel jinxed. That’s the reason why I added bats on the illustration. I came to this revelation thanks to this article:

The hidden vampires in Jinx

And naturally, these two descriptions reminded me of the manager from Team Black. He slaps or yells at the champion, each time he is frustrated. Then he trusts no one (chapter 52), spreading rumors, mistrust and doubts. (chapter 46) This would explain the champion’s emptiness and darkness: (chapter 29) As for the halmoni, she embodies the last type of emotional vampire:

This description reminded me of the last conversation between the doctor and his grandmother. (chapter 53) The request for another sacrifice and promise. It is also possible that she represents a combination of another type, though we didn’t see her complaining too much in season 1:

Maybe the phone call during the night, her repetitive requests the next morning (chapter 21) and Kim Miseon’s reproach to Kim Dan could be seen as an indirect allusion. And if my interpretation about her number is correct, then we would have a good explanation why Kim Dan was unable to perceive her true nature, but also why she is so selfish.

11: The false spiritual guide

The number 11 in numerology is often referred to as a “Master Number,” carrying profound spiritual energy and potential for enlightenment. However, its heightened sensitivity and intense energy can also manifest negatively. While they are visionaries, individuals influenced by 11 sometimes struggle to transform their dreams into reality. Their focus on idealism or spirituality may distract them from practical implementation. People influenced by 11 may feel overwhelmed by their internal energy, leading to high levels of stress and emotional instability. Their sensitivity to external stimuli can make them prone to chaotic thoughts and anxiety when life feels out of balance. The number’s dual nature can create internal conflict, making it difficult for individuals to find stability. They may oscillate between extremes—hope and despair, inspiration and doubt. Despite their innate strength, they may overly depend on others for validation or support, sometimes at the expense of their own goals. This arises from their deep need to connect and help others, which can leave them emotionally exhausted or vulnerable to exploitation​ [for more read Numerologist.com​ ] Being a master number, 11 carries an intense energy that can be difficult to manage. People influenced by it might feel an excessive burden to achieve greatness, leading to burnout or feelings of inadequacy. This can prevent them from realizing their full potential, as they fear taking risks or making mistakes. This can lead them to remain passive. ​[Building Beautiful Souls] Finally, the number 11 would also explain why she is only focusing on herself. Emotional intensity, indecisiveness, imbalance and duality, overwhelm and pressure reflects the grandmother’s personality, as the latter always avoids conflicts and prefers running away from reality.

And that’s how I came to the following conclusion. Season 1 stands under the color of red. Note that the halmoni is always seen wearing red or dark pink clothes in the past (chapter 48), just like Park Namwook is wearing a red t-shirt with Team Black on it. These were the vampires who were draining out their “boys”. However, in the last episode, Park Namwook is no longer wearing the red t-shirt, but a blue one. (chapter 53) Only the logo is red. (chapter 53) It is important, because it announces the manager’s resignation. He doesn’t want to become responsible for the mess. Unconsciously, he is no longer claiming to be the owner of the gym. Furthermore, notice that the grandmother desires to return to the West Coast in order to see an ocean of “fire”. (chapter 53) This shows that she is longing for warmth and red colors. Yet, the color of the sea is rather green or blue. As you can see, everything is pointing out that the couple had to overcome the antagonists from season 1, the emotional vampires, who were so close to them than none of them realized that they were the origins of their suffering. And now, if you look at my table again:

Chapter 1Chapter 1Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 20
Loan SharksPerverted Hospital DirectorHeo Namwook/ the loan shark and his minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo NamwookLoan Shark and Perverted Hospital Director
Chapter 37Chapter 46Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49
Mysterious MFC agentHeo Namwook and minionsFirst appearance of Choi GilseokBaek Junmin’s first appearanceChoi Gilseok meeting Kim DanBaek Junmin meeting Joo Jaekyung and Director Choi switching the spray thanks to his minions

you will realize that the villains’ shades are blue, black and green. (chapter 35) In episode 16 and 17, the presence of the sun is a reference to the MMA fighter, it is announcing his arrival. This corresponds to the color I had detected with the first scheme: MFC with the blue “ring” embodies this pigment, just like the ocean. In other words, blue should be the dominant color in season 2, and in Taoism blue stands for YIN! On the other hand, Kim Dan also represents red with his name. Moreover, if you look at the numbers of the quoted episodes again, you will realize that the villains are strongly connected to the number 10 and as such one and zero. Thus Director Choi Gilseokf’s phone number is 010-1…. (chapter 46)

0: Emptiness, Neglect, and Obliteration

The number 0, often associated with nothingness and potential, has a shadowy counterpart that embodies destruction, void, and futility.

  1. Emptiness and Neglect
    • 0 represents a void—a lack of presence, empathy, or nurturing. Antagonists or villains embodying this aspect may not just harm directly but leave a gaping hole in the lives of those they affect. (chapter 10) Here, the manager showed no empathy or understanding in front of the champion. (chapter 37) He never complimented him for his hard work at all.
    • In Jinx, this could reflect the emotional neglect or apathy the antagonists or villains show, as their actions drain the main leads of energy, motivation, and a sense of self-worth.
  2. Annihilation and Destruction
    • As the symbol of “nothingness,” 0 can represent obliteration. It suggests an absence of growth, hope, or meaning, as antagonists and villains tear down rather than build up. (chapter 46) With these words, the manager creates a negative atmosphere, therefore there is no longer any trust and loyalty among the members.
    • The destructive aspect of 0 mirrors how the surrogate parents or antagonists in Jinx consume and drain the leads, leaving them emotionally barren and mentally fragmented. (chapter 10)
  3. Cycles of Futility
    • As a closed loop, 0 suggests an endless cycle, often one of despair or entrapment.
    • In the Korean Manhwa, this seems to symbolize how the protagonists are trapped in abusive dynamics with antagonists and villains (the loan sharks, director Choi, MFC and the way they treat their athletes like pawns) who repeatedly exploit and manipulate them, making escape seem impossible. The grandmother created the illusion that Kim Dan would be able to pay off the debts by working hard (chapter 18), until the champion confronted the protagonist with reality.

And if we analyze the number 46 (as a representative of 10), this is what we have:

46: Cycles of Dependence and Exploitation

  • 4 (Stability/Control) combined with 6 (Responsibility/Dependence) often represents a dynamic of obligation and control, but when tied to antagonism, it takes on a darker tone: a cycle where the protagonist is trapped in an exploitative relationship, unable to break free due to misplaced responsibility or imposed stability. Thus in episode 46 from jinx, the champion tried to express his expectations about the manager and coach (chapter 46), however Park Namwook refused to accept such a behavior from his boss. Therefore he put his pupil under pressure.
    • The surrogate parent attempted to enforce a toxic sense of responsibility (6) on the athlete, ensuring control (4) over his actions and emotions. However, the champion tried to escape from this by running away: (chapter 46) He avoided a confrontation. This number symbolizes how the lead feels burdened by obligations imposed by his oppressor, who positions himself as provider of “stability” while actually fostering dependence and draining his victim. And naturally, in the same chapter, we have a similar interaction between Heo Manwook, the minion and his hyung, the real boss: (chapter 46) Here, the director was reminding him of his mistakes and obligations. However, this time the boss chose to become proactive and responsible.

Since I linked season 1 to red, it dawned on me why Cheolmin or the perverted hospital director didn’t appear in that season. (chapter 1) (chapter 13) They are strongly intertwined with the color green and as such blue. In literature, art, and psychology, the color blue often represents calmness, loyalty, and introspection.This fits to the description made by the author concerning season 2. The latter would focus more on emotions and thoughts than on the plot. And now, it is time to reveal why in the illustration I added the number 9.

Number 9 and its significance

This number stands for “change and help”. In this part, I will only focus on the following numbers: 9, 18, 19, 27, 29, 36, 39, 45 and 49. In episode 9, the champion was asked to take care of Doc Dan. The latter needed help, for he was too drunk to return home on his own. (chapter 9) The leopard agreed and that’s how they came to argue about his home the next morning: (chapter 10)- So from 9 to 18, the story is focusing on the doctor’s home. In episode 18, Joo Jaekyung invites the poor physical therapist to his home. (chapter 18) In this episode, both main leads refuse the assistance from the other. Kim Dan is bothered that Joo Jaekyung paid off the debts, while the other dismissed the worries from the PT: (chapter 18) Then in episode 19, Joo JAekyung is not asking for his “help”, until he calls him. But even here, he is refusing to prepare his partner: (chapter 19) As for Kim Dan, the latter doesn’t feel truly needed as PT, hence he is already thinking about taking another job: (chapter 19) Then in episode 27, Kim Dan offers his assistance. (chapter 27) He encourages his VIP client to take a break by remaining by his side. However, this attempt fails, as in episode 29 , (chapter 29) the champion rejects the idea of resting for a day. Then after the incident with the article, at no moment Kim Dan offers his assistance to help the champion. He remains totally passive, (chapter 36) it shows his passivity and neglect. He doesn’t feel responsible for the champion’s career or safety. His concerns earlier were rather superficial. This explicates why he is also treated like a doll. Then in episode 39, for the first time, the doctor is requesting his help and assistance. (chapter 39) The problem is that it is related to a drug and sex. This has nothing to do with his job or career. Interesting is that in episode 45, for the first time, Joo Jaekyung voiced his needs to have him as a PT: (chapter 45). Without him, he can not do it. But here is the thing. In the locker room, the champion chose himself to treat his pain, he selected the pain relief spray over the doctor’s hands. (chapter 49) This means that in that scene, Joo Jaekyung refused to let Kim Dan treat him out of doubts and mistrust which were triggered by the manager’s words and the pictures. As you can see, the number 9 is strongly intertwined with help, but also with a change. The beginning of a new circle. Thus I am expecting in the new season, chapter 54, that for the first time, Joo Jaekyung will ask for help and support. But he can not ask Park Namwook or others from Team Black… he has only one true friend and that would be Cheolmin, unless he finds the protagonist immediately. At the same time, I would like to point out another observation. What is the opposite of 9? Naturally 6, which represents the end of a circle. And now, look at this:

Chapter 6Chapter 26Chapter 36Chapter 42Chapter 46

The end of Joo Jaekyung’s torment. He doesn’t need to chase after him.

Kim Dan is overcoming his fears. It is an allusion to Heo Manwook and his minions. On the other hand, the champion can not play with Kim Dan.

The end of a peaceful cohabitation, the return of fears from Joo Jaekyung (his jinx)
the presence of a scheme

The return of the mint-goblin, and as such the doctor’s fears (low self-esteem) At the same time, we shouldn’t overlook the presence of a third person in that flat who could appear in season 2.

The villains are exposed: they are now targeting Team Black and in particular Kim Dan.

The number 6 is strongly intertwined with regression, negative influence, schemes, antagonists and villains. Moreover, I detected a link between 6 and green/grey. That’s the reason why I am expecting more than ever in season 2, the fight between two green: nature versus money, fun versus seriousness, justice versus crimes/schemes. But in order to take place, the main couple needs to reflect about their own true desires in their life. What do they want exactly? A PT or a friend, a lover or a partner, a family or a company, justice or a scapegoat, fame or happiness?

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: To Give🎁 or To Take? The Subtle Battle of Love ❤️ and Power 🥊 in Jinx

The trigger for this essay were quotes from “The Art Of Loving”, a book written by Erich Fromm. In my essay “The Art Of Loving” I had already introduced the German-American socio psychologist, psychoanalyst, sociologist and humanistic philosopher, where I presented his definition of love: Care, knowledge, respect and responsibility. However, notice that the title of my analysis is “To give or To Take?”, which was inspired by other books from Erich Fromm: “To Have or To Be?” and “Escape From Freedom”. The reason is simple, the quotes led me to his other theories which give explanations to the origins of unhappiness or happiness. There he outlined the problems of our modern society and gave advices how to lead a good life. This brings me back to the Korean Manhwa Jinx, where (un)happiness is in the center of the story. As the seme and uke are both really miserable despite their different social status. Both believed to be jinxed. The reality is that they were trapped, and their unhappiness was the result of their own bad choices. How would Erich Fromm explain this?

1. Masters and Slaves

In works like Escape from Freedom and The Art of Loving, Fromm suggested that humans often avoid the responsibility of true freedom by conforming to societal norms, seeking authority figures to follow, or focusing on material gains. This “escape from freedom,” as he called it, results in a loss of autonomy and self-awareness, keeping individuals from mastering their own lives. While Fromm believed we have the potential for self-mastery, he cautioned that this requires a conscious rejection of limiting social pressures and a commitment to self-discovery and personal responsibility. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can grasp my selection for the heading. Freedom defines the distinction between a master and a slave—those with freedom have agency, autonomy, and control over their choices, while those without it are subject to another’s will and have nothing to give to others. It highlights how freedom is fundamental to self-determination and power, establishing a boundary between control and subservience.

1. 1. The poor child and dog

And if you read my previous analysis “Sound Of Water “, you should have realized that Shin Okja embodies the slave who chose to escape from freedom. Thus she blamed life and others (“we”) (chapter 53) for not realizing her biggest wish: to return to the West Coast. With her words, she implies that she never had any choice. Hence she is not responsible for her “misery”. However, after reading Erich Fromm’s philosophy, it becomes clear that she must have always followed social norms and listened to authority figures (parents, husband, doctors, …). That’s how she gave up on her own freedom. One might argue that her scoop of maneuver was limited due to her poverty. However, the Mother Of Pearl Wedding Cabinet is definitely expensive and no junk (chapter 16), especially since the latter is rather old. The grandmother could have sold it, but she never did, for the latter has a sentimental value. Consequently, I would say that she had missed her chance, and naturally her misery is the result of her own wrong choices. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the grandmother portrays herself as poor who has nothing to give to her grandchild. (chapter 53) As a slave, she can not become responsible for Kim Dan and his life. However, she is wrong here again. She was not entirely powerless. She could have talked about her experience with the ocean, she could have loved her grandchild more properly so that Kim Dan wouldn’t have to suffer from abandonment issues and a low self-esteem. Yes, love is something free and no one has control over the emotions of a human being. Due to her lack of self-awareness (Peter Pan Syndrom), she influenced her grandchild negatively, and the latter became a copy of herself: trapped in the past, living in an illusion and rejecting reality. Funny is that by relying on Kim Dan constantly, she was actually teaching her grandson to become accountable and independent. She was entrusting her life into his own hands. Consequently, the main lead chose to accept the deal from Joo Jaekyung during their first night and later asked for a higher salary. Finally, at the end, he chose to leave the penthouse out of obligation (chapter 53) (filial duty), a sign that he is not able to break free from social norms. At the same time, it displays that his feelings for Joo Jaekyung are much stronger than the ones for Shin Okja. His short time spent in the penthouse left a deep impression on him.

On the other hand, we shouldn’t overlook one important aspect. The halmeoni asked for a favor from Kim Dan, and her wish is actually the expression of her own will. In other words, she is making a choice and as such becomes responsible for her own destiny. She can no longer say that life or others had a saying in her desire and choice. That’s the reason why during that night, she turned Kim Dan into a puppy dog. (chapter 53) Her vocabulary exposes that she became a master and in her mind, the puppy dog has to follow her owner. Therefore it is no coincidence that Mingwa created such an image: (chapter 53) The grandmother is now the master of her own life and Kim Dan’s. On the one hand, just before her death, she is learning to become accountable for her own life, even though I still have my doubts that she is really realizing the consequences of her choice. She is still chasing after after an illusion. As you already know, I am anticipating a rude awakening fron her part, as she can not escape from reality and her own mortality. On the other hand, with her request, she gets responsible for her grandchild’s career, and someone could criticize her for making him quit. She didn’t take his job’s obligations into consideration. Simultaneously, this image illustrates a relapse of Kim Dan. He is once again trapped, though he wished to be freed. Thus he wrote this to Joo Jaekyung: (chapter 53) Deep down, he would like to be recognized as a competent physical therapist. Moreover, my avid readers should recall that the champion had already noticed the change of heart in the doctor before the scheme took place. (chapter 53) So the athlete could come to the realization that his departure was related to the grandmother’s sickness and dying wish, a new version of episode 20 and 21. However, even if the fighter helps the grandmother, he can not entirely free the physical therapist. How so? It is because the doctor has to free himself, breaking free from conformity and his own psychological constraints (lack of confidence and as such courage). And the best evidence for his servitude mentality is the absence of his love confession to the athlete. He disguised it behind gratitude. (Chapter 45) But how can he change his condition? I will give the answer below.

1. 2. The release of the rich slave

As you can imagine, the person I am referring behind this heading is the champion. Interesting is that in the story, he received the title “Emperor”. (chapter 14) Yet, the reality is that despite his wealth, he is not free at all. Actually, he reminded me of a Roman gladiator. Gladiators in ancient Rome lived under challenging and contradictory conditions. Although they were often slaves or prisoners of war, some achieved fame, wealth, and admiration comparable to modern-day sports stars. Successful gladiators could earn prizes, attract fan followings, and even enjoy certain luxuries within their restrictive lives. However, they remained under the control of their lanista (manager) or the state, with little freedom to make personal choices. They could not select their opponents or refuse combat, and each fight carried the risk of injury or death, underscoring their vulnerability and lack of autonomy despite their celebrated status.

This comparison between the main lead and a Roman gladiator reinforced my negative perception about Park Namwook. He acts as the owner of the athlete (chapter 40), though the gym belongs to the celebrity. But let’s return our attention to the American-German philosopher. The latter pointed out the importance of self-awareness and the rejection of materialism and social pressures (authority figures, conformity) in order to become truly free.

This aspect is really important, because the athlete Joo Jaekyung is a homosexual which represents a huge taboo in the MMA world. Remember my hypothesis that the jinx could also be an excuse in order to hide his own sexual orientation. (chapter 2) Therefore sex is linked to prostitution and work. Back then, this had nothing to do with pleasure, sensuality and entertaining. It was revolving around power and domination. That way, he wouldn’t appear as weak, he is not controlled by his sexual desires and emotions. That’s how it dawned on me why the champion has been denying the existence of feelings in his past relationships. Naturally, it is possible that he got his heart broken before, but it is also possible that he could never live out his own true homosexuality. Note that his father figure, Park Namwook, has no idea about his sexual life. The athlete could fear to disappoint him. This raises the question how the manager will react, when the athlete’s secret is exposed. Should he request from his boy to organize a conference and deny the allegation there, he would divulge not only his lack of loyalty, but also his hypocrisy. Why? It is because this is something he should have organized after the last match. A conference to expose the existence of schemes. But everything got swayed under the rug. On the other hand, I deduce that if the topic of sodomy is brought up in season 2, there is no ambiguity that both main leads won’t give in to conformity and external pressure (even in the form of threats). Why? It is because during season 2, both characters will come to be true to themselves. That‘s how they can become master of their own life.

This signifies that in order to go on the past of self-mastery, the champion needs to break free from materialism (chapter 41), from his manager’s influence (father figure) and even from the MFC world (authorities) !! What is the common denominator between these three persons? MONEY! (chapter 50) Hence the last match was not cancelled in the last minute. The athlete is not fighting out of fun and passion, but out of obligation and survival. He is trapped in a world where money is everything. Thus he was always pushed to accept any challenger despite his injuries. That’s how I realized why the athlete always suspected Kim Dan of being greedy. It is because he projected his own thoughts onto his partner. However, this negative perception was definitely influenced by his “hyung”, we have the best example in episode 46. Due to Park Namwook, Joo Jaekyung was the one who was constantly thinking and talking about money in front of Kim Dan. (chapter 26) No wonder why he got so surprised by Kim Dan’s reaction in the locker room: (chapter 51) He was disarmed by a single question and a shocked and disappointed face: (chapter 51) The question implied that the doctor had been trusting him.

1. 3. The “lanista’s” chains

We had another perfect example of “Escape from Freedom” in episode 43 at the restaurant. Note that Park Namwook underlined that the fight was the champion’s decision (chapter 43), yet he added shortly this comment: : (chapter 43) The hypocrite coach utilized the personal pronoun “WE” indicating that he and his peers had played a role in the athlete’s decision. Funny is that though he complained about the schedule, he still accepted the switch of the fighter later. But he could have voiced his fears and objections. Nevertheless, he did nothing. Since I connected the halmeoni to past, I suddenly realized that the “lanista” embodies the opposite notion. He is trapped in the future, thus he is always anxious. Imagine that in that scene, they were celebrating Joo Jaekyung’s birthday, it should have been a good time. Yet, the manager kept talking about work and the future. (chapter 43) (chapter 43) This is a sign that he was not “enjoying the present”. In my eyes, with his comments, he was actually ruining the party. Fortunately, no one paid attention to his words except the physical therapist and Yosep. By talking like that, he gives the impression that he is caring and paying attention to the fighter. Yet this is just an illusion, for he is not focused on the present. He neglected his duties, therefore the schemers were able to bring drugs to the champion’s rooms. (chapter 49) Notice that he was afraid of an outburst from Joo Jaekyung in the locker room, therefore they were restraining him. This was no real protection. I am suspecting that the manager is trusting MFC and its organization. In addition, his obsession with the future explains why the athlete’s mental health has been neglected by the coach and manager. As a conclusion, Park Namwook is himself trapped in his own world: money, fear of the future and the champion‘s retirement which means the end of his own career as manager and coach. Therefore he is pushing his fighter to race against time. It is only a matter until his boy gets injured!!

This means that we should see the athlete’s suspension as his moment of release. He is no longer forced to fight. He is “abandoned” by MFC, fans and even by his manager (chapter 53). The latter announces that his “boy” can take a break. What caught my attention is his idiom. The suspension got turned into a break which sounds much more positive. Interesting is that break is not only a synonym for “rest”, but also for “opportunity, chance”. This new discovery reinforces my previous interpretation: the loss of his “title” and his suspension are in verity an escape to freedom. Why? It is because he is no longer exposed to manipulations and external pressure like in episode 36: (chapter 36) money, social media, the agency, the lawyer, Park Namwook and Jeong Yosep. For the first time, Joo Jaekyung can think of something else other than work. Nevertheless, the athlete had not realized it yet. Striking is that the longer the fighter thought about the PT’s resignation, the longer he came to object to it. (chapter 53) This means that the fighter was acknowledging the “uke” as an important member of Team Black. In addition, he was recognizing Kim Dan’s effort and talent as PT. Moreover, it exposes the absence of change in Joo Jaekyung’s mentality. He was still “thinking” of work and fighting. It displays that the protagonist had not realized the true signification of his suspension yet. Hence the doctor’s departure was necessary. Joo Jaekyung is forced to think about his fated partner, making him forget his work and his career. His “obsession” with Kim Dan will push him to stop being a workaholic. But there is more to it.

By leaving the city behind (my prediction), the champion’s not aware that this trip will become a spiritual journey where he will discover his true self. But for that, meditation is required. In my opinion, the grandmother’s illness should serve him as a wake-up call. He spent a lot of money on her treatment, but she couldn’t be saved. It looks like he never visited her again. Should he see her again, he could get shocked. From this (chapter 21) to this (chapter 47) Money is powerless in front of death and terrible injuries. Therefore he is lucky that his shoulder is not ruined forever. Moreover a trip represents a good metaphor for an escape, a travel is a synonym for freedom and the end of “routine”.

2. The ability to love

Far away from medias, public eyes, the agency and his manager, he can discover a different world: the West Coast and nature. And this brings me to a quote from Erich Fromm:

Through this statement, we have the explanation why Joo Jaekyung can love and why he couldn’t love Kim Dan properly in season 1. The fact that he lived alone in the penthouse is a proof of his independency (chapter 35). However, since he didn’t spend much time in his own home, he never took the time to take care of his soulmate. By leaving the city and Team Black behind, he would become truly alone (as opposition to his trips to Busan, the States) which would give him an opportunity to become more honest to himself and to Kim Dan.

In addition, this quote exposes the absence of “unconditional love” from the grandmother. (chapter 53) So far, she could never be alone, she always needed the assistance of others: Kim Dan, the doctor, the nurse, Joo Jaekyung. She always relied on others (“we”, “life”). But it is also the same for Kim Dan who has always been listening to people, as his desire was to get accepted. His conformity led him to experience misery, as he lacked critical thinking. He never questioned people’s words, decisions or behaviors. Only thanks to his soulmate, he started changing. His psychological restrains were his abandonment issues and his low self-esteem. That’s the reason why their love couldn’t flourish in season 1. Nevertheless, Kim Dan still had a good disposition for being capable of loving someone, exactly like his fated partner. He could live on his own as well.This signifies that their future love relationship won’t be toxic, as they won’t be needy or dependent on each other, the exact opposite between the grandmother and Kim Dan or Joo Jaekyung and his hyung Park Namwook. However, this doesn‘t mean that they won‘t help each other.

I am quite certain that the fighter must have noticed the doctor’s low self-esteem in the letter. Therefore he felt bad for his reproaches and lack of trust. Remember that the champion never expressed a compliment or even showed gratitude towards the doctor. (chapter 43) In episode 1, he gave a positive feedback (chapter 1). Nonetheless, his words sounded more negative due to the usage of negation. Moreover, Kim Dan was too scared to take his words seriously. Consequently, it becomes obvious that Kim Dan needs to hear praises from the athlete himself. It is not just about an apology about his misjudgment, the “hamster” needs to hear from his own patient that he trusts him and his hands. Thus he wants to be needed: (chapter 53) This explicates why the young man kept questioning the actor’s intentions behind his gifts. He could see that the man didn’t need him. This thought displays his desire to give a meaning to his own existence as well. If he is needed, he has a reason to exist. This desire of being needed can be expressed by words, but also with the hands: or like this: And what does the hand symbolize? The latter symbolizes gratitude and love! Hence the grandmother took the MMA fighter’s hand in order to thank him. (chapter 22) (chapter 22) As a conclusion, love and gratitude represents the key to freedom and as such to power. And now, you comprehend why The Art Of Loving can not be separated from „Escape from Freedom“.

2. 1. Love and Power

This explains why the famous author declared this:

This means that by giving, the person feels strong and powerful. Why? Fromm views the act of giving not as a depletion of oneself, but rather as a fulfillment and actualization of one’s capabilities. The productive character, according to him, doesn’t define himself by what he possesses or hoards, but rather by what he can give to others. It is his heart which defines his strength. Giving becomes a way of affirming one’s own power and abundance, showcasing that true fulfillment is found in one’s ability to be generous, creative, and life-affirming. Notice that the author contrasts generosity with passivity. By giving, the person becomes proactive and is no longer passive. In the past, I had described Joo Jaekyung as a person suffering from “inner passivity” [For more read “Couch Confession”]. As soon as I read the quote from The Art Of Loving, I realized why the champion disliked receiving presents (chapter 45) so much and preferred organizing a charity event for his birthday . (chapter 41) Being on the receiving side makes him feel weak and powerless. He is reduced to become a passive man. Furthermore, we shouldn’t overlook that such presents are not entirely selfless. Companies or admirers have expectations from Joo Jaekyung, earning some money or getting his attention. At the same time, these presents are strongly connected to his title and fame as champion. Thus they are not taking into consideration about the athlete’s dislikes and likes. Thus he was offered a bottle of wine (chapter 12), though he is no drinker or he doesn’t eat cakes. (chapter 41) The fact that the athlete organized a charity event for his birthday exposes not only his huge heart, but also that he had long recognized the power of generosity. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the champion was willing to pay off the doctor’s debts. (chapter 18) Here, he hoped to see gratitude on his fated partner’s face, but it didn’t happen like he imagined. Yet, notice that despite their argument, Joo Jaekyung proposed to the main lead to live with him in the penthouse: (chapter 18) His facial expression is exposing his true thoughts. He was definitely happy to help the doctor. The reason is simple. He is in control of his heart and life. This shows that deep down, the man has always had a soft heart and could find fulfillment in giving. However, the problem is that the champion had also internalized that there is nothing free in this world. Due to his past experiences, he realized that receivers would exploite his goodness. The green-haired guy was the perfect example. (chapter 2) Therefore it is not surprising that he kept denying his kindness to the doctor: (chapter 18) He had to, because the man was now living with him. Joo Jaekyung feared that his roommate could come to take advantage of his new position and even consider this place as his own. As you can see, the champion had long discovered the power of giving to others. Yet his problem was that he couldn’t live out this principle: he was either exploited or he has no family or close friend so far.

And now, let me ask you one question: who likes giving presents in Jinx? One might reply Kim Dan and Choi Heesung. The doctor and the actor have both something in common. (chapter 30) They both desire to be acknowledged and appreciated. (chapter 45) With this image, it was, as if Kim Dan wanted to be distinguished from all the stans. Yes, I do think that this has something to do their own negative feelings. However, there is a difference between Choi Heesung and Kim Dan. Note that the gifts are related to his sponsors and the agency. They were related to his work. Moreover, the gumiho rarely gave the meals or the presents personally. (chapter 31) (chapter 31) Furthermore, the actor gave these things for one reason: it was to obtain the doctor’s heart or to maintain his good image as a celebrity. In other words, these gestures were not selfless at all. This explains why the athlete was so weary of such “gifts”: a return of favor or a service. But the comedian is not the only one donating things. Naturally, it is the manager Park Namwook. (Chapter 26) (chapter 36) However, my avid readers should ponder on the following aspect: how did he buy the jackets and the junk food? (Chapter 37) This last scene is terrible, for this purchase happened behind the boss’ back. Naturally, everything was bought with the company card!! In other words, Park Namwook’s generosity is fake, for he is not spending his own money. After this new realization, I started wondering if the athlete’s negative attitude towards Kim Dan is not the consequence of Park Namwook’s behavior as well who takes it for granted to spend money on the athlete’s account. Why did the champion anticipate an expectation from Kim Dan, when he received the keychain? (Chapter 45) It is because his relationship with his coach has always been based on „conditional love and expectations“. Don’t forget that the coach was particularly nice to the athlete after winning his match in Busan. He was willing to be his „servant“ in that moment. Furthermore, there exists another evidence that in episode 45 the fighter latched out on the doctor because of his unresolved feelings towards his hyung. (Chapter 45) Kim Dan had not only followed the stans‘ behavior, but also listened to Park Namwook‘s words constantly. ’ (chapter 41) This frenzy was portrayed as something positive. Jinxworms can observe that the manager is mentioning the existence of „favors“. For me, it is no coincidence that in episode 45, the arrival from presents coming from his hyung coincides with the present with Kim Dan. It shows the underlying conflict between the celebrity and the former wrestler. Nevertheless, the fighter has not grasped it yet. So far, Joo Jaekyung has not tried to defy Park Namwook openly, to claim his place as the true owner of Team Black. We should see his words here as a first attempt to act as the boss (Chapter 46) The tension reached its peak in that scene: (chapter 52) The manager imagined that he could act like in the past (recurring to force), for Joo Jaekyung was „used“ to take his slaps. That’s where the generosity from Park Namwook comes from: he gives his punches to Joo Jaekyung and takes Joo Jaekyung‘s company for granted. And now, you comprehend why I selected such a title for this essay.

(Chapter 26) The sparring in episode 26 represents the positive version of giving a punch and taking it. The fighter was not upset about his defeat, moreover he was acting like a real teacher asking the physical therapist to overcome his own fears. On the hand, the slap at the hospital embodies the opposite notions: resent, no real teaching, no reflection, no listening, the one slapping is not overcoming his own fears and vents his anger. The give and take in episode 26 was happiness, true generosity, self-awareness, while this slap displays misery, anger, ignorance: (Chapter 52) True generosity, for Kim Dan had risked his health for the sake of Potato. (Chapter 26) The contrast not only exposes Park Namwook’s fake generosity, but also his greed and selfishness. For me, he missed the opportunity, as at the gym, Kim Dan took the chance, when the athlete was distracted. Hence in my opinion, chapter 52 was the turning point in their toxic relationship. Moreover, it signifies that the manager lost his special position as hyung. Far away from the gym, Joo Jaekyung will see Kim Dan under a different light, maybe even as a true role model, for he is wearing his heart in his hand.

2. 2. The wolf, the hamster and the world

But Erich Fromm wrote this about love:

For Fromm, love transcends a personal or exclusive attachment to one individual; it is a universal force that connects the self to humanity and existence as a whole. True love, in his view, is inclusive and expansive. It’s not a possessive or isolating sentiment but rather one that opens the lover to the wider world, fostering a connection to humanity and, ultimately, a deep acceptance and love for oneself.

Thus I come to the following conclusions: the moment the doctor and the champion admits their affection for their fated partner, they won’t be suffering from self-loathing or low self-esteem. But there is more to it. If you keep the quote in mind, you will realize that the champion’s affection for Kim Dan was not true love. [Like mentioned above, he couldn’t love properly] He couldn’t stand the idea of sharing his partner to others. (chapter 7) (chapter 43) He needed to seclude him from the others. But where does this possessiveness come from? In my opinion, it is not just the result of his own insecurities, but also the influence of the bad role model he had: Park Namwook. First, only in chapter 45, the manager sent congratulations from his family: (chapter 45) This means that Joo Jaekyung was never treated like a real family member. Then, due to his bad portrait of Joo Jaekyung (chapter 9), the manager kept creating a bad image of the athlete: brutal, moody, maniac… but the reality is that the man is actually generous and caring, like mentioned above and the coach knew this. Hence he could lie without any remorse: he is a savior and the gym owner. Moreover, the athlete can speak well and be polite. (chapter 22) This scene at the hospital displays that the fighter had been mirroring the behavior of his counterpart: Shin Okja is sweet and kind. And who is moody, yelling, brutal ? Park Namwook: (chapter 43) (chapter 52) The one who raised him like that is actually him: (chapter 7) Therefore I conclude that this possessiveness and obsession with Kim Dan is the result of the manager’s influence. Park Namwook treated him like a possession. And this brings me to my next part. How to become happy? One might reply: by loving someone. However, how can Joo Jaekyung drop his insecurities and open his heart like that? As you can see, we need another explanation.

3. The guide for happiness

Erich Fromm’s philosophy in To Have or To Be? revolves around two fundamental modes of existence: the having mode and the being mode. These modes represent distinct ways of interacting with the world, structuring relationships, and understanding one’s identity.

I am posting this video which I found very well made. Funny is that the blogger used a haiku to illustrate the difference between the being mode and the having mode.

3. 1. The Having Mode

In the “having” mode, identity and value are based on possessions and control over objects, people, and even oneself. The having mode is characterized by:

  • Possession and Ownership: One’s self-worth and sense of security are derived from what one possesses—material wealth, status, knowledge, even relationships. (Chapter 40) This explicates why the manager is happy in this scene. Thanks to him, he earned a lot of money and felt recognized.
  • Security in Stability: Individuals in the having mode seek to secure their identity through accumulation, feeling stable only when they can cling to things.
  • Alienation and Objectification: Relationships and experiences become objects to be owned or controlled, reducing people and emotions to mere assets.

Fromm argues that the having mode can lead to anxiety and insecurity because possessions can always be lost or taken away. It fosters competitiveness, isolation, and a fixation on external validation, ultimately stunting genuine self-growth and connection with others. Under this light, Manhwa-philes can grasp why the athlete, pushed by his mentor, kept accepting fights after another. The champion was suffering from self-loathing, but in order to get recognition and admiration from his hyung, he needed to win. Notice how gentle and proud the man was after the victories (chapter 15), but as soon as his idol lost his title and got even suspended, he yelled and slapped his fighter: (chapter 52) Why did he not blame the cheaters who had tricked Joo Jaekyung and framed the physical therapist? If you read my previous analyses about the coach, you will certain recall about my diagnosis: he seems to suffer from decidophobia. But as you can see, the man is unhappy, for he is living in the “Having Mode”. Hence he is taking no risk and letting the athlete make decisions. Furthermore, it explains perfectly why the manager lied to the members here: (chapter 22) Since his relationship with the main lead is so secure, he could claim the gym as his own. Notice how he treats the members here: he’s putting them under pressure, threatening them. Everything is revolving around competition, seriousness and greed. Why doesn’t Joo Jaekyung mess with his weight and nutrition? It is because his hyung made sure that the latter would fulfil all his expectations. He needs to be ready for the next fight. Why was the manager not present here? (chapter 43) This exposes his lack of engagement and indifference in the end, but this becomes even more obvious during the night: (chapter 43) Where was he, when his star was drunk? It was, as though he had vanished. (chapter 43) But the best evidence for this interpretation is this image: (chapter 52) The manager is upset, because his boy lost his title and his reputation is ruined. Moreover, many members left the gym which means that the company lost a lot of money.

This highlights the danger of building identity around possessions and the resulting vulnerability. And how did Park Namwook define himself in his life? He was a coach, a manager, the owner of Team Black…. (chapter 9) However, he never presented himself as a father or a husband. It was, as if his children or wife were not a source of his happiness. Why? It is because they don’t bring money, but rather cost money. Thanks to Joo Jaekyung’s popularity, the manager could stand in the spotlight (chapter 40), yet notice that no fans or fighter know his name as a successful coach or manager. He is not a famous manager in the end. His income depends on the athlete’s career and victories. No wonder why he put so much pressure on his celebrity. Thus I had the following revelation: he was actually exposing his true self in front of the doctor at the restaurant. (chapter 43) Joo Jaekyung would have to pick himself up, Park Namwook wouldn’t be there in order to assist him. Why? It is because it represented his own fears. Don’t forget that he is a former wrestler and athlete. He must have experienced it. The end of his boy’s career represents the end of his own career. Hence I am suspecting that the real savior of Park Namwook was the fighter himself, as the latter offered him an opportunity to find a good job.

But there is more to it. Why did the coach neglect doctor Kim Dan (chapter 40) in the States and even at the gym? (Chapter 43) It is because he doesn’t view the uke as a possession contrary to his „boy“. Why? It is because the young man doesn’t bring money or contribute to boast the manager’s self-esteem. In fact, Kim Dan is an expensive PT and the manager is aware of his high salary. Moreover, contrary to the hamster, Park Namwook was never seen in the penthouse, and the celebrity refused to invite the members. This is a clue that the champion could have refused to invite his coach there. The doctor’s stay at the penthouse is something Park Namwook discovered by accident. (Chapter 22) And now, it is important to recall that in the mode of Having, rivalry and competition are predominant. Therefore I deduce that deep down, the coach and manager sensed the physical therapist as a source of threat and rival. Therefore Jinx-philes shouldn’t be surprised that the coach did nothing to keep Kim Dan. (Chapter 53) Here his gestures and words should be judged as lip-services. He can even rationalize his departure: bad luck, they save a lot of money, for the next PT will have a lower salary. In addition, Kim Dan was treated as the celebrity’s possession, therefore he used him as a tool in order to compensate the actor. The manager is definitely imagining that once the break ends, things will work like before. (Chapter 53) Here, I feel the need to add that though I am portraying the coach in a rather pejorative light, I am not saying that he is a malicious or evil man. My point is that he needs to change and realize his wrong-doings. As long as he lives in this mode, he won’t be able to be happy: always in the fear of losing his possessions. So should a separation take place, it is possible that the distance brings more clarity and helps them to improve their relationship. However, I have to admit that I wished to witness a real argument between the hyung and his pupil. A new version of this scene: (chapter 17)

Interesting is that the sociologist stated this as well:

With this observation, it becomes comprehensible why the coach not only used violence against the athlete but also pushed the main lead to be rough with his own body. (Chapter 43) It is not random that Mingwa showed a rough manager while complaining about his star. She was implying his responsibility for mistreating his body in this scene. Park Namwook needed to prove his superiority over the celebrity to justify his position. And he used the fighter’s good heart, trust in him and social norms to manipulate his prize and possession. As a conclusion, both characters have a toxic relationship, exactly like between the halmoni and Kim Dan.

But Kim Dan was not different from the manager. He also lived in the mode of “having”. Hence once he earned money, he would buy gifts to others: (chapter 41) In his eyes, possessions and money determine someone’s values. Hence he bought an expensive keychain for his fated partner. Furthermore, I have been wondering if this spending is not related to Shin Okja, the latter could have been a spendthrift. In the essay „Click 📸: Between Fleeting illusions and Enduring Realities“ I had outlined that all the objects in the flat would belong to the grandmother (Chapter 19). Another possibility is that she made sure that her grandchild would spend money on her: (chapter 41) And this brings me to my next important revelation. The grandmother never said thank you to Kim Dan. She either apologizes (chapter 53 ) or makes it sound like a reproach „Spoil me to death“. There is no THANK YOU. She didn‘t give him her hand like in episode 22 with the celebrity as well. But there is another detail that caught my attention: the nurse mentioned the paid bills (chapter 22) after the departure of Joo Jaekyung, but notice how the halmeoni thanked the benefactor: (Chapter 22) She didn’t express the reason for her gratefulness. She didn‘t bring up the hospital bills, but she knew about it. In other words, when she showed her gratitude, she was in reality just thanking him for his company. That‘s how Kim Dan perceived it first and we should do it as well. To conclude, the grandmother is not really thankful, when it comes to money. Exactly like the manager, she takes it for granted. In fact, she gave him the yoghurt which was offered by the hospital. (chapter 21) One might argue that the poor woman couldn’t do much to express her gratitude. However, this is just a deception. Shin Okja could have written a letter to express her gratitude to Joo Jaekyung. Why do you think Mingwa created two scenes with a letter or card? (chapter 45) (chapter 53) The comparison lets transpire the importance of words. The champion might have judged the keychain differently, if he had read the card. But he didn’t. Another parallel between these two scenes is the rejection of a gift! However, in the final episode, Kim Dan voiced genuine gratitude towards his benefactor. The latter had allowed him to work as his PT. With the letter, he could voice his thoughts and emotions much better. And now, you realize that Shin Okja could have acted the same way. This made me realize that deep down, she resents being poor. She likes Dan spending money on her. (Chapter 41) Despite her rebuke she actually doesn’t meant it. She never actually told him to stop or rejected Joo Jaekyung‘s generosity. Instead, she made the following request to her grandson: (chapter 41). He should treat the sportsman nicely (“do good”). Kim Dan is the one who should be indebted to Joo Jaekyung. However, observe what she said in front of her grandchild before: she was the one who was grateful to the main lead, and not Kim Dan!! (chapter 41) She should have been the one who expressed her gratitude to Joo Jaekyung, but not Kim Dan for the trip (it was work related anyway). One might argue that the poor woman is trapped in the hospital, she can not do much. But you are wrong. She could have written a letter to her benefactor which means that she would have sacrificed some of her time for the athlete. Imagine that she had sent a message to the athlete, the latter might have decided to pay a visit to her. He is not truly heartless. With this silence, she created the impression that his assistance had changed her situation.

As you can see, she delegated her “gratitude” to her relative. Hence no wonder why Kim Dan chose to work hard for the keychain. He had to “work hard” in order to repay the huge debt (the trip to the States, the hospital). That’s why I come to the conclusion that the grandmother doesn’t represent true gratitude. She is similar to her male version: putting the responsibility on others and using words as lip-services. Simultaneously, this new discovery exposes another cause for her own suffering: she was also living in the mode of „having“. As my avid readers can notice, all the characters in Jinx were living the wrong way.

And this brings me to another aspect: Kim Dan’s diploma as physical therapist. In the having mode, education is centered on acquisition and possession of information. Knowledge is seen as something to be accumulated, memorized, and quantified—often in terms of grades, certificates, or degrees. Hence the doctor thought for a brief moment to take a MMA trainer seminar. (chapter 22)

Focus on Outcomes Over Process: Success in the having mode is defined by external achievements, grades, or credentials, rather than by actual understanding or personal growth.

Competitive Learning: Students are encouraged to see education as a competitive endeavor, where success often involves outperforming others rather than cooperating or collaborating.

Dependency on External Tools: This mindset can make students more prone to relying on shortcuts like cheating or using AI to complete assignments without really engaging with the material. In this context, tools like AI might be used to bypass learning rather than deepen understanding, reducing education to a means to an end.

Lack of Internal Motivation: The focus on external validation makes intrinsic motivation scarce. This dependency on external rewards may undermine creativity, critical thinking, and the desire for genuine understanding, as students prioritize “having knowledge” over “being knowledgeable.”

Kim Dan was not a proud PT. In fact, he had no problem to take a job as a courier. For him, the diploma was just a piece of paper. Why? It is because he was not truly motivated to become a PT. His choice was influenced by his halmoni and his financial situation. He was doing it for the money: (chapter 1) In other words, he was not passionate about his profession. This means that he didn’t define himself as PT due to his lack of engagement and low self-esteem. Besides, let’s not forget that he judges people based on their social status and seniority. I would even add, the main lead had not recognized the existence of his own skills (knowledge, genuineness and dedication). But by working for Joo Jaekyung, he came to enjoy his job. This explicates why he kept buying books. (chapter 53) He likes not only his job now, but also learning as such. This is no coincidence that education in the mode of “being” means that the focus is on learning and developing skills. Hence I still see a change in the hamster at the end of season 1: (chapter 53) He is defining himself by his skills: he is a PT!! Money plays no longer a role. He is about to live in the mode of „being“.

However, there are other students in Jinx. Fromm’s explanations about human psychology made me realize why many members from Team Black left the gym soon after the champion’s loss and bad PR: (chapter 52) In this panel, the author let us see glimpses of their motivation and thoughts. For them, the champion has nothing to teach them, since he lost his title and is injured. This shows that they are only interested in the outcome, success and as such fame, but not in the process, how to become skilled! In other words, they see “success” as a possession. He has no title, then he has nothing to offer. They are all living in the mode of having, which can only lead to misery and even self-destruction. No wonder why they were not too upset or shocked, when they heard that the game had been rigged. But what led them to make such a decision?

Naturally, the manager played a huge role in this. The gym gave the impression that by being by the athlete’s side, they would become successful as well. Park Namwook contributed to this wrong evolution, for he didn’t confront the fighters with reality: he made false promises. (chapter 23) Then he only focused on the “outcome” and not on the process. Hence he neglected them, delegated his task on the pressured athlete. The latter had to train them: (chapter 25) and (chapter 36) In my eyes, he didn’t want to play the bad guy. The meeting or his worries were more important (chapter 36) than their training and career. Moreover, he kept bribing them with junk food (chapter 26) or new jackets or towels. He was only interested in getting new members, but not in developing their skills. This explains why he treated Seonho so well: (chapter 46) The latter was a new source of income and fame. Everything was revolving around money. That’s how it dawned on me why the manager got angry for the bet in episode 26: (chapter 26) We shouldn’t judge his words as a verity, he was just using the doctor as a false excuse. The reality is that the sparring had brought no money at all! This fight was strongly intertwined with fun. The notion of „entertaining“ stands in opposition to money. Fun means feeling emotions and being to true one’s self. In other words, Kim Dan stands for a different notion of MMA fighting: the sportsmen shouldn’t work for money, but for fun. They are artists too. This signifies that as time passed on, the members of Team Black lost their passion for fighting (chapter 26) and became more obsessed with possessions and fame. Potato and the remaining members represent the exceptions. They enjoyed the lessons despite the pain and struggles. The other members became dependent on external tools which led them to lose their integrity. To conclude, the reason for their disloyalty is that at the end, they had long internalized the mode of having and were just interested in getting successful.

3. 2. The Being Mode

In contrast, the “being” mode focuses on authentic self-expression, inner fulfillment, and experience rather than ownership. Key aspects include:

Living Authentically: People in the being mode derive meaning from their experiences, creativity, and actions, rather than from acquiring or possessing. That‘s why fun is so important. And who embodies fun in Jinx? Naturally Heesung (special episode2 ), but also Cheolmin (chapter 13) who likes making jokes. That‘s how I came to understand why Cheolmin appeared only one time in season 1. He will come to replace the manager: (chapter 13)

Dynamic Engagement: This mode emphasizes growth, spontaneity, and a deep, active engagement with life. Here, identity is fluid and self-renewing, driven by inner growth rather than external gains.

Connectedness and Compassion: Fromm sees the being mode as fostering a sense of unity with others and the world, as it’s grounded in compassion, shared experience, and a true sense of community.

The being mode fosters qualities like love, empathy, joy, and creativity, enabling individuals to experience life in a richer, more meaningful way.

Cheolmin stands for understanding and trust in humans. He criticized the man first, but he didn‘t imply that he had done it with bad intentions. Secondly, he believed his sunbae, (Chapter 13) when the latter denied his responsibility. This shows that the man doesn’t mistrust people. He has faith in humans. And in this short scene, the doctor shows alle positive notions mentioned above: love, empathy, joy and creativity. Therefore I come to the following interpretation: he embodies the being mode. No wonder why he was not present in season 1. The main lead was definitely obsessed with work. Hence the moment Cheolmin’s path crosses Kim Dan’s, the funny doctor should become the hamster’s new role model.

3. 3. The Larger Philosophical Context

Fromm’s philosophy reflects a critique of modern consumerism and materialism, which, in his view, has led society towards the having mode. He argues that this mode is ultimately destructive, as it alienates individuals from their true selves and from others. The being mode, on the other hand, aligns with the principles of humanistic and existential philosophy, emphasizing the pursuit of self-actualization, meaning, and interconnectedness.

Fromm warns that without a shift from “having” to “being,” society risks falling into moral and psychological decay, driven by the insatiable quest for possessions and power. And we can observe this in Jinx. MFC and the medical world (chapter 48) are full of greedy people who have no problems to commit crimes in order to achieve their goals (more fame, more wealth, revenge, more connections). Baek Junmin became a champion by cheating. (Chapter 49) Thus he thought, the athlete had earned his title the same way. His fights were rigged, yet the verity is that the idol worked hard to achieve this level. The irony is that The Gunshot experienced much too late that his assumption was wrong. (Chapter 52) His shaking is exposing his fears. Like mentioned in the past, I am anticipating that The Shotgun will avoid a new fight with the celebrity.

Thus I interpret these two panels from Mingwa like this: They embody the mode of being. The hands are touching each other directly. They are not attached by money. Moreover, the hands express positive emotions and thoughts: support, gratitude, honesty, tenderness, acceptance and more importantly trust and fun. They are enjoying the present moment. Mingwa announced with these images the happy ending for these two characters who thought that they were jinxed. The reality is that they were responsible for their own misery.

This work urges a reassessment of values and priorities, where personal growth and human connection take precedence over material wealth and social status. And that’s where Joo Jaekyung is standing now. (chapter 53) He is standing at a crossroad. What does he truly want in life? Fame? More money? Or happiness and as such love and fun?

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: Sound Of Water 🏖️ (third version)

The countdown for season 2 is running. The author and Lezhin announced that chapter 54 will be released on November 22nd. 🎉 Almost exactly one year after the start of the first season.

A great thank you to @Rin_de_eegana who provided me with the original Haikus. Hence the English translation was changed.

Initially, I desired to release this essay , but as always I didn’t anticipate the effort and energy involved in the composition. Thus I decided to publish the essay “Sound Of Water” first, as it is much easier to write (less literature to read). The trigger for this essay are Haikus which I discovered in a recently published French Book entitled “Le bruit de l’eau” (Sound of water). And now, you know the origin for this essay. As you can see, the collection of Haikus is focusing on the topic “Water”. Since I only possess the French version of Haikus, I could only give you my own English translation. Fortunately, my friend @Rin_de_eegana was able to find the original version, Japanese. Therefore in the second version, I am giving a second English translation whích gave me new insight once again. Anyway, the thing is that as soon as I read certain poems, it made me think of Jinx and the characters. This shows my obsession for this terrific Manhwa.

1. Haikus and nature

On the other hand, you might be wondering how the Korean Manhwa is connected to Haikus and to water as well. In order to answer to this question, it is first necessary to present the characteristics of a Haiku.

1. 1. Characteristics of a Haiku:

  1. Syllable Structure: Traditionally, a haiku consists of three lines following a 5-7-5 syllable pattern. This means the first line has 5 syllables, the second line 7, and the third line 5. However, in modern haiku, especially in non-Japanese contexts, this structure can be more flexible.
  2. Seasonal Reference (Kigo): Classic haikus often include a reference to nature or a specific season, known as a kigo. This ties the poem to the natural world and evokes a sense of time or environment.
  3. Juxtaposition (Kireji): There is typically a contrast or shift in perspective, often marked by a cutting word (kireji) in Japanese. This brings two images or ideas into sharp focus, inviting the reader to connect them in a meaningful way.
  4. Present Moment (Awareness): Haikus capture a single moment in time with brevity and clarity. The poet seeks to express the essence of an experience, often related to nature, through minimalistic yet vivid language.
  5. Subjectivity and Simplicity: The poem is usually personal, expressing the poet’s direct experience or observation in a simple, unsentimental manner.

If you read all my previous analyses about Jinx, you are already aware that in this story, Mingwa has been portraying the city as a place full of corruption and estrangement. Yet the main leads are slowly reconnecting to their own true nature thanks to each other. Furthermore, the Webtoonist is stating through Jinx that fame or wealth are no real source of happiness, rather love and fulfilment. Thus the champion is suffering from depression, insomnia and anger issues. Finally, through her characters, it becomes clear that they need to learn how to “enjoy the moment”. That’s how they will come to love life and stop living like ghosts. That’s how they will learn how to live a good life. And that’s exactly what a Haiku is conveying too. The latter is often linked to the concept of “enlightenment” and “carpe diem” (seizing the day), though not always in an overt way. Many haikus emphasize the fleeting nature of life or the ephemeral beauty of a single moment—key elements of the carpe diem philosophy. The seasonal references, especially to autumn or falling leaves, often remind readers of life’s transience (ephemerality) encouraging an appreciation of the present moment before it passes. For example, a haiku may evoke the beauty of cherry blossoms in spring (a symbol of both renewal and impermanence) or describe the changing of seasons to highlight the inevitability of change and decay, which can be interpreted as a quiet call to embrace life while we can.

In essence, haikus share with carpe diem the philosophy of mindfulness—appreciating the now because it is fleeting. And now, you comprehend why the French book about Haikus is containing poems about water. Since the illustration is showing the sea, , anyone will think immediately of the ocean. But where is the sea in Jinx?

1. 2. Blue and Boundary

It was implied in chapter 14/15 with the doctor’s trip to Busan, a city which is situated on the Southern coast. (chapter 14) Yet, the main lead never got the chance to see it. Then the ocean is only mentioned directly at the end of the first season. The halmeoni was expressing her wish to return to the West Coast (chapter 53) where she hoped to see a beautiful ocean one more time. (chapter 53) When she was 10 years old, she was moved by how the ocean changed colors with the beautiful sunset. It was no longer blue or grey, but yellow, red, pink, orange and purple. This wonderful but brief moment left such a deep impression on her that she could never forget it. (chapter 53) She never came to regret her walk to the beach, because this souvenir also became her source of strength. This memory created in her the desire to see it again, thus she kept postcards with views of the ocean. (chapter 17)

In addition, I believe that the mesmerizing view also made her forget everything: her worries or her family. (chapter 53) Hence she remained immobile and silent in front of the amazing view. We could say, she felt totally engulfed by the ocean in fire, forgetting herself in the brilliant glow of the sunset as if she were becoming one with the view. This interpretation reinforces my perception about the intention behind the halmeoni’s wish: escapism from reality. She believes that with such a view, she will forget her terminal disease and even her pain, as though it will help her to live longer.

But there is another reason why she was so affected which I discovered with this Haiku written by Santoka:

French EnglishJapanese
“Me voilà
là où le bleu de la mer
est sans limite.”
“Here I am,
where the blue of the sea
knows no bounds.”
New translation:
I am here now,
in the boundless blue
of the sea.”
われ今ここに
海の青さのかぎりなし

The Haiku evokes a profound sense of openness and freedom, often reflecting a Zen-inspired approach to nature and self-awareness. Since the ocean embodies infinity and timelessness, the observer “Here I am” is remembering through the beautiful view of the ocean of his own limit: mortality. At the same time, the contrast encourages the “Here I am “ not only to meditate. It also motivates the person to grow, to push away his own limits. Why? It is because the boundless blue sea symbolizes both the vastness of nature and the limitless potential of the self, inviting reflection on life’s expansive and uncontainable aspects. The sea here represents a place beyond the limits of ordinary concerns, not as a void but as openness and infinite potential. This limitless “blue” suggests an escape from the mundane, a place for self-discovery, and the eternal flow of time, reminiscent of the Buddhist idea of impermanence. As a conclusion, this haiku captures a moment of complete presence within the vastness of nature. The poet stands before the limitless blue of the sea, feeling both awe and a sense of unity with its expansiveness. The phrase “I am here now” grounds the poet in the present (ephemerality), whereas “boundless blue” emphasizes the sea’s infinite reach, a powerful symbol for freedom, mystery, or eternity. The haiku suggests an experience of feeling both small and deeply connected within the immense, unending beauty of the natural world.

As you can sense, this poem captures the “now,” encouraging readers to embrace a moment as fleeting as the sea’s endless horizon, thus aligning with “carpe diem.” Shin Okja must have felt free, peaceful and powerful in that moment. As you can imagine, as soon as I saw this picture with the poem, I couldn’t help myself thinking about Kim Dan. In front of the sea, the PT should find his true self: no boundary… like the sea! In front of the sea, he could get more self-awareness and realize that he is also strong. In season 1, people could sense his low self-esteem. So by being next to nature (sea, trees), he could regain his self-confidence. In other words, I believe that his journey to the sea will affect him deeply too, though he has no expectation at all.

Is it a coincidence that his silhouette (chapter 53) is glowing blue? I don’t think so. Let’s not forget that blue symbolizes wood for Koreans. The sea (water) and a tree (chapter 41) are the doctor’s true elements. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why under the tree, he came to acknowledge his feelings for the athlete. In addition, if Kim Dan gets close to water, this signifies that he will get replenished and truly nourished. And notice that during season 1, he never ate properly.

But this doesn’t end here. The poem also reminded me of Joo Jaekyung: (chapter 53) He is standing in front of the blue city. But he doesn’t feel free and powerful. Why? There is a window in front of him. The window is showing him his own boundaries. His penthouse is like a cage, and he is not truly dominating the city. In reality, he is isolated. To conclude, the panel stands in opposition to the Japanese poem and the grandmother’s vision: alienation, regret and powerlessness. So we should write the haiku like this, from the champion’s perspective:

“Here I am,
where the blue of the city
knows my limits.”

In Seoul, he is now portrayed as a thug and loser. Since the image contradicts the original haiku from Santoka, this means that the moment in front of the window embodies not self-awareness, but the opposite: obliviousness, ignorance, or even self-deception. These terms imply a lack of insight into his own thoughts, feelings, or actions, which led him misunderstand or misjudge Kim Dan. Similarly, the opposite of peace of mind can be described as anxiety, distress, or turmoil, which are states marked by worry, unease, or mental unrest, often resulting from unresolved conflicts or lack of clarity. Thus the fighter can not express his emotions and thoughts properly. (chapter 53) Together, these opposites suggest a state of inner turmoil or confusion, where a person lacks clarity about both themselves and the world around them, which can inhibit personal growth and well-being. And this is exactly how the main lead feels in the final panel of season 1.

Thus it dawned on me that both characters could make a beautiful experience in front of the ocean in fire. How so? I realized that the grandmother never shared this experience with her grandson before. She kept this beautiful moment as a secret (chapter 53) which is the exact opposite to Santoka. By writing the haiku, the author desired to share his thoughts and emotions, and encourage his readers to meditate and to feel this freedom and peacefulness. Thus I am expecting that both characters will go to the ocean together and that’s how the latter will get closer to each other. Their intimacy will improve not just through clear and direct communication, but also through shared experiences. However, we shouldn’t imagine that they will make the exact same experience than Shin Okja, as each person is different. Furthermore, they could go there to a divergent season or time, hence the nature of the ocean could be different:

Like this Haiku from Amari Ôki

French EnglishJapanese
Loin d’être
aussi calme qu’un mort
la mer hivernale !
“Far from being
as calm as the dead,
the winter sea!”
New translation:
There is no ease of death
in the winter sea.
死ぬといふ やすらぎ
冬の海になし

The French version of this haiku contrasts the common image of calmness with the intense energy of the winter sea. By comparing it to the dead, the poet suggests that even in the cold and desolate season, the sea is dynamic, restless, and alive—defying the stillness and finality of death. This evokes a sense of nature’s persistent vitality, even in winter’s harshest state. The constant, unrelenting waves of the winter sea indeed suggest an image of persistence and ceaseless motion contrasting with the sleeping nature in winter. This naturally made me think of the grandmother’s death, who might have vanished, but she remains present in the heart and mind of the main leads. In front of a changing and vigorous sea, the beholder is also reminded of his own life and mortality.

However, the Japanese version and the second English translation gives a totally different interpretation. The « winter sea » conveys a vision of death that is neither gentle nor peaceful, but rather restless and intense, like the winter sea itself. In this image, the cold, churning waters of winter contrasts with the idea of a calm, serene end. The winter sea embodies a relentless, almost haunting energy, where waves are constantly breaking and crashing, echoing a sense of turmoil rather than tranquility.

This interpretation suggests that, just as the winter sea is harsh and unyielding, so too might death be something that doesn’t bring the expected ease or comfort. It reflects an unsettling vision of nature and existence, where peace is elusive and even death holds an enduring, untamed force. This means that once the halmeoni is facing the ocean, the latter could scare her, because she is reminded of her own death. She would be confronted with her own powerlessness and mortality, this can only reinforce her fears about death. Another possibility is that Kim Dan is triggered by this vision (don’t forget that he fears water: (chapter 27) Like mentioned above, the beholder in front of the ocean can have a different experience than the young girl.

2. The grandmother’s confession

Let’s return our attention to Shin Okja’s childhood and magical moment once again. (chapter 53) What caught my attention is the vocabulary employed to describe her past life is revolving around “chaos”, “urgency” and “race against time: “to evacuate” and “so hectic”. (chapter 53) Thus I deduce that in that moment, she must have felt at peace. This explains why she could never forget this magic moment. However, her confession displays a deep regret as well: she couldn’t go back to the ocean. I would even add that she is portraying herself as a person who had no control over her life. It was either « we » or « life ». Through her words, we can sense her passivity, but also her victim mentality. It was not her fault that she couldn’t go back to the ocean. She never had the opportunity to do so!! She never had missed her chance. She is denying the existence of a missed chance or timing. After reading the description of her past life, I am quite certain that my avid readers can recognize the similarities between the athlete and the halmeoni’s destiny. Until his defeat, Joo Jaekyung had no time either. He was also racing against time. However, there exists one divergence between them: the chance to make the right decision. This means that the champion has now the opportunity to take a break. Furthermore, he also has one chance to get back the doctor, but he shouldn’t miss it.

This quote underlines the importance of awareness and self-knowledge in seizing opportunities and making meaningful choices. Fromm frequently discussed how individuals miss chances for genuine self-fulfillment because they are distracted by external pressures or conformist habits, thereby losing touch with the pivotal moments that could bring change and growth. Thus I deduce that Shin Okja is not truly honest to herself and her grandchild. She must have had a chance at some point, but she made the wrong decision. Thus she portrays herself as a victim of circumstances. There is no doubt that contrary to Shin Okja, the athlete won’t miss his second chance and will change for the better.

However, we shouldn’t forget that with her request, the grandmother is making a rush decision in reality. She is not taking her time to reflect if her desire to go to the West coast is a good thing. Like I wrote in the previous analysis Click : Between Fleeting illusions and Enduring Realities, she got definitely deceived by this brochure: (chapter 53) Furthermore, she is imagining that she can make the same experience again. But this is just an illusion, like the Greek philosopher Heraclitus explained it:

Heraclitus uses the river as a metaphor to show that everything is in constant flux. Just as the water in a river is always moving, flowing from one place to another, everything in life is always changing—from our thoughts, feelings, and bodies to the external world. This idea (“everything flows”) points to his belief that nothing remains static or permanent.

Yes, Shin Okja is no longer the 10 years old child. She needs someone by her side to go to the beach. (chapter 53) Secondly, I doubt that the beautiful view could make her forget her suffering. Finally, let’s not forget that for one single moment, she will spend many days in a hospice, where she will be surrounded by dying people. Furthermore, the image of the ocean could generate a different feeling: torment like mentioned above. She is expecting to make the same experience, but the opposite could happen. She gets terrified and tormented. Therefore I have the impression that the grandmother might come to regret her past decision. But contrary to the past, she can not blame the others (« we ») or life, as it was her own choice and request! Therefore I deduce that in the past, she let others make decisions for herself, like we could see it with her expensive treatment. She listened to Kim Dan and the oncologist. (Chapter 7) And we could see that Joo Jaekyung had a similar attitude in season 1, he would listen to his hyungs and the people working for MFC. Consequently, I come to the following deduction: this time, the fighter will make the decision on his own. He won’t follow Park Namwook’s advice: (chapter 53) The latter is asking him to simply wait and to rely on him. Joo Jaekyung will take the matter into his own hands, the exact opposite attitude to the beginning of season 1.

3. Regret and Water

As you can see, thanks the first two haikus, I got a much better understanding of the characters from Jinx. However, the biggest revelation came with another haiku. Water comes under different forms, like a river, a waterfall or rain. Therefore the book contains the following haiku written by Ryokan Taigu.

French EnglishJapanese
Jour après jour
Tombe la bruine –
La vieillesse me saisit
“Day after day
The misty rain falls—
Old age grips me.”
New translation based on the Japanese version:
Day by day,
as the winter rain falls,
people grow old.”
日々日々に
時雨の降れば
人老いぬ (Thanks to @rinsan)

This haiku reflects the passage of time and the inevitability of aging, with the winter rain symbolizing the steady, unstoppable rhythm of nature that mirrors life’s transient nature. The imagery of rain falling “day by day” emphasizes the gradual, almost unnoticed progress of time that ultimately leads to aging. Despite the slight change in the translation, it doesn’t affect my revelation and new interpretation. Thanks to this poem, I had suddenly realized two aspects. First, the fall and winter in Jinx symbolize the dying Shin Okja. The seasons are mirroring the aging and the changes. This means that we should expect her death either in fall or in winter. I am opting more for fall due to the rain, though the poem from Amari Ôki is connecting death to winter. Why? Striking is that in season 1, Mingwa always showed us a beautiful weather. The sun was always present following the main lead, (chapter 1) (chapter 47) (chapter 47) even when the doctor was confronted with the truth about his terminally ill grandmother. The sun was always shining brightly. Since in the haiku from Ryokan Taigu, the rain is associated with old-age and fall (misty), it dawned on me that the rain should be associated with the grandmother’s death. If this comes true, it was, as though the sky and gods were weeping for her vanishing. Additionally, the first season took place in Spring and Summer, thus I deduce that season 2 will take place around late summer, fall and winter. This means that the weather should change. And this remark led to my second revelation. I started looking for South Korea’s climates, particularly I was curious about the climate on the West Coast.

Should they move to the beige region on the West coast, this signifies that it will rain more often, especially in the Summer. 😮

As you can see, late Summer and fall in South Korea are strongly linked to rain and even typhoons😨. And we would have a possible explanation about the circumstances for the vanishing of Kim Dan’s parents and his fear of water. Imagine this. By returning to the West Coast and as such by reconnecting to her past, the doctor’s past and his parents’ vanishing will certainly come back to the surface. Don’t forget that his parents were never brought up in season 1.

But let’s return our attention to my previous observation. The weather and as such nature could decide not to fulfil her wish. Due to the rain or a tempest, she is not able to go to the beach. She didn’t take the season into consideration, a sign that she didn’t truly ponder on her decision. This would explain why we had no bad weather in season 1, for her grandchild was fulfilling all her desires. Moreover, since the halmeoni lived for quite some time at the hospital, there is no ambiguity that she came to forget the seasons. She only remembers the ocean on a beautiful day. And now, look at the following picture: (chapter 19) the presence of pink and purple hydrangeas indicates that it was taken in Summer. This new approach reinforces my perception that the grandmother is about to get confronted with harsh reality despite her attempts to escape from it. Her wish can not be fulfilled so easily, like she is imagining it. In addition, Manhwa-philes should keep in their mind that weather has a great influence on elderly people’s health.

It is not just about heat or cold, even rain can increase their pain (arthritis for example) or bring them infections. Here, I found an article showing the great impact of the monsoon on seniors. https://www.patientsengage.com/healthy-living/managing-older-adults-health-rains-monsoon

This observation leads me to even conclude that her move to the West Coast could in reality accelerate her death. 😮And now, I am adding the picture which was placed next to the haiku from Ryokan.

We have an elderly man walking through the rain in front of the blue sea. The latter is accompanied with a Waka-poem from Yoshihiro (which was not translated). According to my Japanese friend @Rin_de_eegana (飯乞ふと 里にも出でず この頃は 時雨の雨の 間なくし降れば), this phrase describes a situation where one cannot even go out to the village to beg for alms due to the long rain. Here, we have the topic of poverty linked to old-age and rain. Yes, the pages of this book reminded me of Shin Okja, a poor elderly woman who is so sick. And like mentioned above, the rain could be the reason why the woman doesn’t go to the beach. The two poems are underlining one important aspect: the powerlessness of humans in front of nature. No one can stop aging, just like no one can control the weather. At the same time, it outlines the importance for a senior to be surrounded by people, so that they don’t end up dying from dehydration, from a cold or hypothermia.

4. Tears and rain

In the part above, I presented the following expectation: the day of the grandmother’s death is strongly intertwined with the rain. The drops from the sky should be seen as a metaphor for tears. But I have another evidence for this prediction. My avid readers should keep in their mind that Mingwa’s story is written like a kaleidoscope, like an eternal circle. Thus scenes are always reflecting each other. This means, the author left traces of the rain in season 1. And where were they? In the bathroom (chapter 47) (chapter 49) Both main leads went to the restroom in order to hide their emotional turmoil and suffering. They used flowing water (in Joo Jaekyung’s case the shower) in order to cover the sound of their weeping: SHAAA. Yes, the tears are making sound… so the rain should make sound as well. And this brings me to my next remark. (chapter 53) When she mentioned this beautiful experience to Kim Dan, she was only focusing on the mesmerizing view: a colorful ocean. Thus the author zoomed on her eyes and blushing cheeks. However, she didn’t pay attention to the sound of the ocean. Yes, the waves are making sound. Thus the author zoomed on her eyes and blushing cheeks, but her ears are not really visible. Moreover, her memory is presented without a sound. (chapter 53) There is only silence, whereas in reality, this is how the ocean sounds:

If you pay attention to the title of this video, you will see that sea waves are used to help people to relax and to fall asleep!! Thus I am inclined to think that the champion will discover the true power of nature in front of the Yellow sea. The sound of the waves will help him to overcome his insomnia. In season 1, the author implied the existence of a connection between the sea waves and his insomnia in the champion’s life : (Chapter 29) Remember how I had described this panel. The fighter feared to be swallowed by the darkness, to drown because of the many opponents. The fighters are placed like waves. Thus the celebrity could decide to change his career (to become a fighter like Dominic Hill who selects his own fighters) and move to the countryside in order to live a better life. And this brings me to my last haiku composed by Suéko Fujii

French English
Le bruit de l’eau
éclairé par la lune
plus intense
“The sound of water
illuminated by the moon—
more intense.”

In this haiku, the poet highlights how moonlight not only illuminates but enhances perception, sharpening the experience of nature’s sounds. The moonlight doesn’t physically alter the water, but it creates an atmosphere that heightens the beholder’s awareness, making the sound seem richer or more intense. This effect reveals the power of the night and the way natural elements interact, transforming something ordinary into something profound. The haiku suggests a quiet moment of immersion where the listener becomes deeply attuned to the surrounding world, connecting to the peaceful yet amplified rhythm of nature. As a conclusion, the poet becomes engulfed by the moon’s illumination and the ocean’s sound, as if fully absorbed into this heightened sensory experience. The moonlight and the intensified sound draw the poet into a deep, almost meditative state, where each element—the visual of the moon and the sound of the water—merges, enveloping him completely. This poem represents a reflection of the grandmother’s experience, though the latter diverges slightly. She didn’t focus on the sound. And look at the drawing next to the haiku. We have a room with a view! Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why I am already envisaging that Joo Jaekyung moves to the countryside. As you can envision it, the Haiku from Suéko Fujii triggered my imagination.

Joo Jaekyung is getting his enlightenment during the night in front of the sea, and who is standing in front of the ocean? Naturally, it can only be Kim Dan who stands for the moon!! A new version of these two blue nights: (chapter 29) (chapter 35) The blue would be a reference to the ocean. After that couch confession night, the athlete got a certain enlightenment, hence he tried to get closer to Kim Dan the next morning . (chapter 30) In episode 35, the night stands for ignorance and self-deception, for the doctor was not present. Joo Jaekyung reverted to his old self. However, don’t forget that the haiku was not just about the moon light, but also about the sound of the waves. All the senses are awakened which represents a better experience than the grandmother’s. Moreover, since I am anticipating the presence of Kim Dan, this means that Kim Dan embodies not only the light in the dark, but also sound of water. This interpretation brings me to the following remark. In season 1, the athlete had already associated his fated partner to “sound”, though in the beginning he viewed it as noise (chapter 18) and as a source of stress and worries. (chapter 45) This means that the night view of the ocean should make him discover the beauty of the sound of water. He will come to associate the sound of the sea waves with Kim Dan. That’s how he will be able to fall asleep. In other words, I am expecting a new version of this scene: (chapter 47) To conclude, Joo Jaekyung will also have an Enlightenment in front of the ocean, but contrary to the grandmother, this experience will be associated with the night, the sound and a person: his soulmate Kim Dan.

That’s it. I hope you enjoyed reading this composition. If yes, let me know if I should write a similar essay with haikus which are focusing on a different topic, like for example flowers, food etc.

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: Reluctant Moving 🚗🦽

1. The role of Routine in Jinx

In my last essay La Vie En Rose , I named Choi Heesung Mister Boredom, while I introduced the champion as Mister Routine explaining why the latter would reject the artist. (chapter 30) Whereas the protagonist sees in a pattern a shield and protection, the other considers it as a source of danger, for the person doesn’t feel alive.

1. 1. The prince’s perception of routine

As you can see, Heesung views regularity as a synonym for death. Why? His reason is simple. He doesn’t sense his heart racing. Interesting is that when the physical therapist interacted with the actor for the first time, the former didn’t treat him as a celebrity, but as a normal patient. Choi Heesung was simply a human in the protagonist’s eyes and nothing else. (Chapter 30) Kim Dan had heard the conversation between the artist and his manager before offering his help and approaching him. Then when he took his hand for an examination, he was not holding it out of admiration. (Chapter 30) No wonder why the doctor caught his attention. The pink haired star got surprised by such an unusual treatment. The irony is that the main lead was doing nothing out of the ordinary. This shows that till this meeting, the actor had always been treated as a prince, for the latter had always been privileged. It is not surprising that Heesung found Joo Jaekyung refreshing. (Chapter 30) He was the only one who would not consider him as special, rather as bothersome. Yes, he was not favored by the emperor. Under his new light, it becomes comprehensible why Mingwa let the gumiho play the role of a prince wearing a purple hanbok with Potato: (Special episode 2) The purple hanbok is strongly connected to Joseon royalty. (For more read my essays about Painter Of The Night) In addition, while the comedian thinks, it is a fiction, he is wrong in verity. It was a reality, for he has been living like a sovereign. And now, you comprehend why Heesung praised the physical therapist to the sky. (Chapter 30) By treating him like an average patient, he could only appear as very professional and competent. (Chapter 30) He was seen as a serious and honest doctor who was not looking for favors and recognition. So I deduce that the actor felt moved by such a selflessness and care. (Chapter 30) We should consider this image full with stars as a metaphor for the comedian’s heart racing. To conclude, their first encounter reflected Heesung’s philosophy: his desire for novelty and genuine attention, while he is longing for normal treatment and as such for an ordinary relationship. The expression “soulmate” is implying the notion of equity. Thus because of the doctor’s actions, Heesung felt alive. Funny is that by discovering the doctor, Heesung was encouraged to accept routine. Therefore he came to the gym on a regular basis. (Chapter 31) This shows the inner conflict of the actor. Deep down, he dislikes being treated as a prince and would like to be seen as a man and nothing more. Normality and regularity stand in opposition to privilege and novelty. On the other side, he seems to reject averageness and commonplaceness. Therefore he likes to show off his wealth: (chapter 32) Through the ukes (Potato and Kim Dan), the fox is experiencing the positive aspects of ordinariness. He drinks soju while eating a cheap meal on the street to drown his sorrow (chapter 35) or he imagines to have sex in a barn next to a crowded place. (Special episode 2) As you can see, thanks to the new episode, I realized that Potato’s role is to make him give up on his special status and privileges. In the bedroom, he might become the master, but outside he will be forced to work for someone else: Potato and as such for the main couple. And this brings me to my next prediction. Look how Mingwa ended the second special episode: Manhwaphiles see Potato running away, because he is embarrassed. For me, it indicates that Potato will turn his back on Heesung. Yes, we should see this ending as the positive reflection from this night: (chapter 53) Back then, the champion didn’t imagine that the doctor had already started distancing himself. However, here it is clear that contrary to the main lead, Yoon-Gu doesn’t plan to leave the actor or to neglect him at all. He is a very mature and responsible person. Besides, he has just accepted his suggestion: he plans to visit him on the set. However, Heesung is about to learn important life lessons. Life never goes as planned. Furthermore, he will be forced to question his principles and his behavior. (Special episode 1) He needs to become responsible. He won’t get sick of his lover, and he is going to miss him terribly. In my eyes, Choi Heesung is about to go through the same experience than his frenemy: regret and longing. He should have paid more attention to the physical therapist and the champion (chapter 35), as their relationship is affecting his own life. How so? It is because the young MMA fighter is a stan of Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung! (Chapter 35) Let’s not forget that when Yoon-Gu helped the physical therapist in the locker room, he was indirectly assisting the star. (Chapter 49) The problem is that in season 1, he was rather distant and privileged the celebrity. Therefore he didn’t protect the physical therapist properly. Since the maknae is really sad about the doctor’s departure (chapter 52), it becomes clear that his interest aligns with his idol’s. (Chapter 53) Therefore he can only support the champion’s decision to bring back the main lead. Yet, under the orange tent he decided to cheer them on from afar. Thus I am now inclined to think that the maknae could choose to become more proactive, when it comes to Kim Dan.

The other reason for envisioning a separation is that in the latest episode, readers could see the fox’s blushing. (Special episode 2) The latter got more pronounced, as time passed on, a sign of his rebirth or revival. He is on his way to fall deeply in love with the maknae, because he is having fun all the time. (Special episode 2) Fascinating is that the expression “to have a ball” (a synonym to enjoy oneself) is related to Cinderella.

Cinderella is a fairy tale about transformation and disguise. The young woman is able to climb socially thanks to a her godmother, a hidden sponsor!! One might think that Potato is a new version of Cinderella and Heesung is his future sponsor. Yet I believe that the actor will make the opposite experience than the original protagonist’s. Through Potato, Choi Heesung will discover a new world… MMA fighting, criminality and even misery. My avid readers should recall that when he was sent to the gym, he was reading a script entitled: EXTREME WORLDS (Chapter 29) He has only lived in one so far due to his privileges. It was, as if he has lived in a fairy tale, far away from reality. Now with Potato, he is finally able to live out his fantasies, hence his fairytale-like world has just lost its reason to exist. Thanks to Kim Dan and Potato, the comedian is brought back to reality. He is discovering not only averageness, but also the true significance of routine and normality. Thanks to the latter, trust and intimacy can deepen. He found out that he can experience novelty through sex.

Interesting is that the actor is now trying to include his lover in his professional life. (Special episode 2) It was, as if he wanted Potato to switch his career. It exposes his desire to be close to the maknae. However, with the champion’s downfall and the physical therapist’s departure, I am quite certain that Yoon-Gu’s position at Team Black is about to change. The gym needs to become successful again and present new athletes. Yoon-Gu can no longer be treated as an extra!! His future is now important for Team Black and Park Namwook. Finally, he proved his worth by fighting the older and bigger fighters at the restaurant. Thus I doubt that Choi Heesung can make a deal with Park Namwook like in the past.

1. 2. The champion’s habits and Heesung

Then in her last notes, Mingwa described Joo Jaekyung’s daily schedule. The moment you read this note, you can grasp why the athlete would consider the comedian as a total nuisance. It is because the former couldn’t focus on his training (other exercises: CrossFit, Gym, mostly weights). As a conclusion, the athlete had many reasons to view the artist as bothersome. On the other hand, since Heesung is on his way to adopt regularity, I deduce that the champion’s fate is to accept surprises and changes in his life. And now, you know why their first encounter ended like this: (chapter 1) No one had ever run away from him like that. He was used to face opponents who would challenge him or people who would admire him. Notice that the doctor is turning his back on him, which contrasts to the morning after their first sex session. There, the protagonist chose to vanish into thin air behind the champion’s back after spending the night with him. (Chapter 4) However, in the athlete’s mind, the doctor had not abandoned him, for he imagined that Kim Dan was motivated by his greed. He was just interested in money. As you can see, Kim Dan represents novelty and exception. Nonetheless, the problem is that till the end of season 1, the fighter never came to see novelties and sudden events as something positive. (Chapter 53) Under this new light, Manhwaphiles can grasp why the celebrity hates birthdays and surprise parties. They represent a violation to his regular schedule. (Chapter 43) (chapter 53) So when he refuses the doctor’s resignation, he exposes his true mind-set once again. Kim Dan has already become part of his daily routine. Thus the Webtoonist had included the doctor’s schedule in the notes. But there’s more to it.

The moment Kim Dan moved to the penthouse (chapter 19), the athlete didn’t change his daily schedule at all. On the one hand, Manhwa-philes could judge this as a sign of his selfishness. On the other hand, it exposes his lack of sociability. He had never lived with someone else before. Since we never saw his family or heard about his parents in the first season, I assume that he is a true orphan contrasting to the physical therapist’s situation. Yet both have one common denominator: abandonment issues. The absence of family displays the difference between the two semes. While the actor embodies favoritism and nepotism which is strongly linked to family, the other represents the opposite values: indifference, meritocracy and business. Thus the Webtoonist created such a scene: (Chapter 31) He only gets respected, as long as he is “bringing money” to Team Black (Chapter 52) and MFC. According to me, people from MFC had expected the athlete’s defeat in the USA so that I am quite certain that they had bet on his loss. Because of meritocracy, it is normal that Joo Jaekyung trained so hard on a regular basis. Besides, his routine outlines the importance of his work in his life. His career means everything to him. In fact, it represents his life. Thus it is not surprising that his daily schedule would center on his training. Simultaneously, Manhwa-worms can understand why the champion had no time to meditate and question his believes and way of life. He had no time for something else. Under this light, it dawned on me why the athlete expected from Kim Dan to adapt himself to his daily schedule. The latter had to develop a routine based on the champion’s training. Furthermore readers can grasp the fighter’s behavior in the following image. (Chapter 19) Joo Jaekyung is leaving for the evening training, and he is making no exception. However, as time passed on, the athlete came to make an exception for the doctor. Because of the actor, the athlete chose to neglect his training once. (Chapter 32) According to me, he never went to his training. And shortly after, he was involved in a scandal.

2. Mister Routine, Mister Change and the Wedding Cabinet

(chapter 19) Interesting is that we are witnessing the MMA fighter turning his back to the physical therapist. He is leaving his destined partner behind. From my point of view, his words (“Do what you want”) imply that he is not recognizing the doctor as a valuable and necessary PT, for he is not including him in the evening training. I would even go so far to say that Joo Jaekyung is treating the protagonist as a part of his furniture. In my eyes, the fighter came to associate him with the halmoni’s Wedding Cabinet. It was, as if in the champion’s unconscious, the doctor had become the beautiful cupboard.

This interpretation helps to grasp why the athlete neglected his lover for 10 days (chapter 19) and why he got upset and scared (chapter 53), when he saw the Wedding Cabinet in the hallway. (chapter 53). In episode 19, the champion really viewed the main lead as an object (chapter 19). Therefore he focused on his training and didn’t pay attention to Kim Dan’s whereabouts and actions. However, it changed, as soon as someone reminded him of Kim Dan’s true nature: (chapter 19) he was a human. According to my theory, the coach Jeong Yosep was behind this trigger, since he is the only one at the gym with a failed relationship. (chapter 05) Hence he called him from the gym making sure that he had not blocked him or even vanished. Under this new light, Jinx-philes can understand why he felt the urge to have sex with Kim Dan. It was to remind him that he would belong to him. Yes, unconsciously, the athlete projected his own thoughts and fears onto his fated companion. (chapter 19) Yet, with such an order, Kim Dan appears more as a sex doll than as a free human being. This scene is important, because this reminder showed him that the latter could leave the flat behind his back, he was not obliged to wait for him at his penthouse. Since the fighter was seen wearing his shoes in the bathroom (chapter 19), many Jinx-philes had been able to discern the fighter’s past (invisible) action. He had been looking for the doctor in the huge penthouse, the older version of this scene (chapter 53). Since the latter is so big, the absence of light and noise must have startled the main lead. (chapter 19) The doctor had barely left traces in the apartment. Only the cupboard was the evidence of his presence in the flat. However, this object could be left behind… exactly like Joo Jaekyung had treated Kim Dan in this panel: (chapter 19) Moreover, let’s not forget how the protagonist viewed the huge furniture. (chapter 19) It was worthless. My point is that Joo Jaekyung must have realized in episode 19, when he returned to the penthouse that Kim Dan was different from the cupboard, he was no object at all. And now, you comprehend why the main lead said this to the doctor in the bathroom: (chapter 19) First, he was compared to a prostitute, then later to a baby. (Chapter 20) This scene proves that Joo Jaekyung was viewing his lover as a human. Additionally, the comparison to a whore was to mask his previous anxiety and thoughts. He had been looking for him. He needed to appear as strong and superior, the one with the upper hand.

This interpretation raises the following question. Did he keep viewing him as a human after this episode? My answer is positive, though on the surface it looks like he reverted back to his old ways. (Chapter 33) Here, he tried to give pleasure to the doctor, for he saw Choi Heesung as a huge rival. The latter is known for being a better lover. It was, as if he was trying to give a reward to his companion. Moreover, I believe, the sex toy was there, because the champion feared that he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions and actions. Then in this scene, one might argue that the champion treated him as a sex doll (chapter 36) However, my avid readers should keep in their mind that sex was like a surrogate fight. Thus we could say that in this panel, the physical therapist is actually treated like a “fighter” and enemy. Then when the champion criticized him for his bad decision, he was finally recognizing him as a physical therapist. (Chapter 45) As Manhwaworms can observe, the room mate’s social status was improving. I would even add, the athlete was putting more and more responsibility on the main lead. A sign that despite the appearances he was trusting him more and more. On the other hand, one might argue about this analysis, for after the quarrel, the fighter started distancing himself from his PT. He would no longer talk to him and even ignore him. (Chapter 47) So anyone would say that he is no longer treating Kim Dan as a human. However, this is just a deception. How so? It becomes perceptible, when you contrast the last panel with this one: (Chapter 19) That’s why my illustration displays both pictures next to each other. What caught my attention is that earlier in the season, the celebrity talked to doc Dan, but he was showing a certain disrespect towards his room mate. His Wedding Cabinet was garbage, he was not included in his evening training. Like mentioned above, he was treated like a furniture. Nevertheless, in chapter 47, Joo Jaekyung chose the silent treatment. It shows that he was now considering him as a member from Team Black, but because of Park Namwook’s warning, (chapter 47) he kept everything to himself. Indirectly, he was questioning his PT’s loyalty. This shows that the miscommunication and silence were the results of the coach’s advice and intervention. This means that due to his manager’s words, the champion started doubting the physical therapist. Thus I come to the following deduction: though the athlete asked Kim Dan to get out of his side (chapter 51), unconsciously the star made the opposite decision: he started considering him as a real member from Team Black. Why? It is because the doctor had touched his heart and mind with this question: (chapter 51) He had broken the final wall between them. This explicates why the moment Joo Jaekyung heard about the doctor’s resignation, (chapter 53), he refused his decision. This means indirectly, he is admitting that the protagonist is a trustworthy and competent PT! His attitude contrasts so much to his coach’s who imagines that doc Dan can be replaced so easily. (Chapter 53) In my opinion, the one behind the champion’s mistrust is the manager. I even have the impression that he is also responsible for his mistrust against doctors, as they are no fighters. Either it is because he has an inferiority complex against such people or it is related to MFC. He only trusts the organization and its members, as such he only trusts doctors from MFC. To conclude, at the end of season 1, Kim Dan is recognized as a trustworthy physical therapist and as a real member from Team Black.

And now, you are wondering the signification of the cupboard in the final episode from season 1. It is time to examine more closely this scene. (chapter 53) When the doctor left the penthouse, he disposed his halmoni’s Wedding cabinet. In other words, he treated the precious furniture as junk, turning the champion’s words into a reality. It was, as if the doctor had taken the MMA fighter’s words seriously. However, Kim Dan didn’t act that way because of the athlete’s false judgement. It is just that the doctor came to consider the wedding cabinet as a burden. Thus he treated it as junk. For him, the furniture only had a sentimental value. It symbolized the grandmother. But why would he consider it as an onus then? First, he couldn’t bring the cupboard to the West coast, too expensive and troublesome. Secondly, he wouldn’t have been able to place the Wedding cabinet in a small flat. (chapter 16) In addition, Kim Dan had kept it for his halmoni’s sake. (chapter 53) She was the one who loved it so much. But since she is trying to reconnect to her childhood and nature, she no longer values it. Yes, the halmoni is falling more and more into childhood, the closer she is to death. Thus she came to repress her marriage. As you can see, the elderly is slowly forgetting her own past and as such Kim Dan. She is trying to relive a moment from her childhood, a time when the grandchild didn’t exist. (Chapter 53) Thus I deduce that Kim Dan can no longer view the Wedding Cabinet like before. I believe seeing the cupboard would be painful for doc Dan, as he would be constantly reminded of his grandmother. (Chapter 53) This image is full of symbolism. Kim Dan is now able to touch the cold Wedding Cabinet, a sign that he is accepting his grandmother’s death. By biding farewell to the furniture, he is preparing himself for the inevitable: his halmoni’s vanishing. It was, as though he was saying goodbye to his relative. That’s the reason why his smile is full of sadness, when he is pushing his relative’s wheelchair. (Chapter 53) Her death has become a taboo. He is full of resignation. Contrary to the past, he is willing to face her death and as such to be by her side on her final moments. Yes, this panel (chapter 53) exposes the doctor’s painful transformation. He is now a grown-up. Though he is forced to change, he is not upset because he is accepting his fate. However, the champion came to associate the cupboard with Kim Dan. So I assume that with the doctor’s departure, for the celebrity, the furniture has now a sentimental value. For me, Manhwaphiles should consider these two pictures (Chapter 53) (chapter 53) as a reflection of this chapter: (chapter 46) (chapter 46) In both scenes, the doctor came to resign and lower his expectation. Thus I deduce that after the final episode, the champion will come to treasure the objects left behind by the physical therapist. Notice that he didn’t throw away the letter. By keeping them, the athlete would show how much he appreciates Kim Dan. In addition, the letter is wishing him well, which no one has expressed so far. The letter oozes trust, confidentiality, admiration and closeness. Hence I deduce that at the end, Joo Jaekyung is heartbroken, though he can not clearly voice his emotions. (Chapter 53) Yet, in opposition to the doctor, he has long internalized to fight for himself. Therefore I am certain that the champion will follow the physical therapist’s trail. And that’s how he will be pushed to drop his habits and develop a new “routine”, where he is no longer the one determining the daily schedule. In my eyes, the grandmother should play a bigger role in his life, as the doctor decided to give her comfort until her final moment. That’s how I am imagining that both will come to an agreement how to redefine their life together. As you can see, by following the physical therapist, the athlete is pushed to leave not only the penthouse, but also the gym. He is on his way to discover new horizons. Since the gym represents routine and training, this signifies that the athlete can no longer follow the same daily schedule. The champion’s suspension is in reality a blessing in disguise. He has the time and the occasion to meditate about his life.

3. Traveling and rebirth

This brings me to my next aspect. In season 1, the champion often went to new places in South Korea because of Kim Dan. When Park Namwook asked his boy to take care of the doctor, the champion discovered his poverty and debts. (Chapter 17) Then when he brought the physical therapist to Heesung’s home, he used the GPS, a sign that he was not familiar with the route. (Chapter 33) Interesting is that when he heard his regular nightly disappearances, he never tried to follow him. (Chapter 45) Why? It is because he was always back in the morning. Furthermore, despite his exhaustion, the physical therapist was still following the daily schedule. Because Kim Dan wanted to keep it a secret, the champion was forced to feign ignorance. Thus he couldn’t question him about his whereabouts. In addition, I can also envision that he must have thought that it was related to his grandmother. Don’t forget that he experienced once how the doctor had left his side due to a phone call in the middle of the night. (Chapter 21) Since the athlete’s life is revolving around routine, I am quite certain that he must have jumped to conclusions based on his first experiences… the birth of prejudices. Thus I have the feeling that Park Namwook’s biased perception concerning his champion is also influenced by their first meeting and experiences. It is important, because such a mentality fixated on daily schedule represents a hindrance for the mind. Routine often leads to close-mindedness and lack of critical thinking. At the same time, this new interpretation explains why the athlete got so worked up and upset, when he received the golden chain. (Chapter 45) It is because all this time, the athlete had been worrying about the doctor and in the best case about his grandmother. Becoming a courier during the night could only give the impression that the halmoni’s health had improved and the expensive treatment was working. In my eyes, the fighter couldn’t ask his physical therapist about his relative’s physical condition either, for it was not his place to ask. He is first and all the PT’s employer. Besides, the physical therapist has always been secretive about his own private life and family, just like the fighter. Therefore I assume that he must have projected his own mind-set onto the doctor, he would not look into the physical therapist’s life. And what was the doctor thinking about the star during season 1? The more time passed on, the more he got curious. To conclude, since the beginning of the story, the celebrity never showed an interest and curiosity to his fated partner. This observation leads me to the following conclusion. In season 2, it is the athlete’s turn to become curios about his lover’s past and life. At the same time, as soon as Kim Dan paid more attention to his lover, he also reflected on his own life, like for example in this scene: (chapter 16) He wondered why the athlete had kissed him, which made him realize that it was his first kiss. Therefore I come to the following deduction. Joo Jaekyung will be forced to discover his lover’s like and dislike which will incite him to become more honest about his own desires and passions. We have an allusion to this development in season 1: (chapter 27) Thanks to his companion, he remembered how much he likes swimming! He had totally repressed it. To conclude, Joo Jaekyung’s travel shouldn’t be just perceived as a journey to the West Coast and Kim Dan’s side, but as an inner journey! He is on his way to discover himself and reconnect to his childhood, or better said to his inner child. This signifies that he is actually following Shin Okja’s footsteps which is regression to childhood. (Chapter 53) Thus my theory is that he will go to the beach and be moved by the beautiful sunset. So far, he has never paid attention to his surroundings and nature. There is another reason why I come to this expectation. I saw parallels between the last picture and this one: (chapter 53) Both are connected to travel. Though both are alone, their experience is totally different. Why? It is because of the contrasts.

The grandmother Joo Jaekyung
nature civilization
sun artificial light – night
closureemptiness
beautiful – impressed Hates this moment – sadness
Companionship – she doesn’t feel isolatedloneliness
death – departure ”death of the hero” – departure to the unknown

The view over the city is offering no comfort to the star. He feels miserable and lonely. He is finally realizing that despite his money, he has no one by his side. He is now regretting the past… exactly like the grandmother. Since both are regressing to childhood, it is very likely that the athlete will develop a certain closeness to the halmoni. Contrary to the first season, it shouldn’t be reduced to one short moment. Don’t forget that in episode 21, Kim Dan had doubted his relative’s statement: (chapter 22) He would have the opportunity now to verify this statement.

Since my hypothesis is that he will travel and follow the doctor, he will reconnect with nature. The ocean is the place where the goddess Aphrodite was born. It is the place of Love. Hence I believe that in front of the ocean, the human Joo Jaekyung will be reborn! He will no longer be the star, the champion… but simply an average human. He will not only love the doctor (admit his feelings for him), but also love himself. Mingwa has already indicated his journey to the ocean with this image:

For the champion has to learn to meditate and to identify his own emotions, it makes sense why the Webtoonist announced that season 2 would be a slow burn and would focus on emotions. Besides, he has now to pay attention to the grandmother and Kim Dan. Since it is only a matter of time, until Shin Okja dies, I associate her vanishing as a change too. Because of her, Joo Jaekyung is forced to accept novelty as something natural. Life can not be predicted… Changes can also be a source of joy… like the jokes. We have the perfect example in chapter 27: (Chapter 27) (chapter 27) Thus we should see a more gentle and humorous fighter in season 2. Since he is suspended, he can no longer associate sex with fighting! He has now time to enjoy life. He has someone by his side watching his back. He can now learn how to relax. He should come quickly to the conclusion that his career doesn’t represent his life. He could do other things. He is no longer fighting against time, as the latter has been suspended: 3 MONTHS! The god Saturn, Kim Dan, will teach him the true value of time. And that’s how Park Namwook will lose his boy to the physical therapist.

PS: I hope, this essay made you looking forward for season 2.

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: 3️⃣ 7️⃣The Magic Of Numbers 🧚‍♂️🧝‍♂️8️⃣ – (second version)

1. Numbers, Mathematics and Magic

How can numbers be associated with magic? The latter stands for mystery and supernatural forces, while the other representing Mathematics symbolize rationality and logic. It looks like a contradiction, yet let’s not forget that without Mathematics, we wouldn’t be able to understand our world. How? The function of mathematics is multi-faceted and integral to various aspects of human life. Some key functions of mathematics include:

  1. Problem-solving: Mathematics provides a systematic approach to solving problems across different fields, from science and engineering to economics and social sciences.
  2. Modeling and prediction: Mathematics allows us to create models that represent real-world phenomena, enabling us to make predictions and understand complex systems.
  3. Quantification: Mathematics provides a language for quantifying and measuring quantities, allowing us to describe and compare different phenomena.
  4. Analysis: Mathematics provides tools for analyzing data, patterns, and relationships, helping us gain insights and make informed decisions.
  5. Communication: Mathematics serves as a universal language that facilitates communication and collaboration among people with diverse backgrounds and cultures.

As you can see, they help us to solve problems in our daily life, but more importantly, thanks to them we can make predictions. Indirectly, it shows that numbers are strongly connected with magic, for they are used as a key to understand the unknown, to anticipate bad things. It was, as if they were the key to communicate with the unknown. It was, as if numbers were a language on their own. That’s why they appear so magical. Under this new light, it becomes understandable why certain people came to see numbers as something supernatural. It was, as if the gods and stars were trying to communicate with humans. Let’s not forget that numbers in religions play a huge role. In Christianity, we have one representing unity and the monotheistic nature of God, then 3 with Trinity (Father, Son, Holy Spirit) and divine perfection. In addition, seven is associated with completeness, perfection, and divine order (e.g., seven days of creation), whereas 12 represents completeness or wholeness (e.g., twelve apostles, twelve tribes of Israel). Finally, we have forty, which often signifies a period of testing, preparation, or transformation (e.g., forty days of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness, which is quite similar in Islam (forty days of fasting in Ramadan: trial and purification). In Hinduism, three represents the Trimurti (Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva) and the cycles of creation, preservation, and destruction, then 4 symbolizes the four stages of life (ashramas) and the four aims of life (purusharthas) and finally 8 stands for prosperity, abundance, and cosmic balance (e.g., eight directions, eight forms of Lakshmi). I could include other religions like Buddhism or Judaism which all have special numbers (1, 3, 7, 10, 18). To conclude, numbers are connected to belief, to celestial and divine world, and they embody certain notions. This observation brings me to my main topic, Numerology, particularly Chaldean numerology.

2. Chaldean Numerology

The latte is a belief system that ascribes meaning to numbers and their influence on human life. Originating from ancient Chaldea, a region in the Middle East, Chaldean numerology assigns specific vibrations and characteristics to each number from 1 to 8, as the number 9 is considered a sacred, spiritual number.

In Chaldean numerology, each letter of the alphabet is assigned a numerical value, and by analyzing names or words, practitioners can derive insights into personality traits, life path, and future events. These numerical values are based on the vibrations associated with the sound of each letter rather than its alphabetical order.

Chaldean numerology is often used to gain insight into various aspects of life, including career choices, relationships, and personal development. By calculating and interpreting numerical patterns, individuals may uncover hidden strengths, weaknesses, and opportunities for growth.

Overall, Chaldean numerology offers a unique perspective on the significance of numbers in shaping human experiences and guiding life’s journey. It remains a popular tool for self-discovery and personal empowerment among those who believe in its principles. As you can see, it helps people recurring to Numerology to solve problems, to make decisions which will affect their life, to anticipate bad events. However, like pointed above, this “science” is based on faith and not “facts”. How so? It is because Numerology believes in supernaturality, and the latter is a synonym for occultism, prophecy, magic and even hocus-pocus. That’s why here I feel the need to remind my readers that the content of this essay is not representing my own belief. Just perceive me as a neutral commentator. The purpose of this essay is to demonstrate that Mingwa used this system to develop her story. How can I prove it? I could answer to this question very quickly, yet it would ruin the fun. Hence I would like first to demonstrate how I came to discover this influence.

3. Return to the past

If I look back at my previous examinations, it started with Potato and chapter 22. (chapter 22) Back then, I came to realize that both ukes were associated with the number 2. Shortly after, while making a first portrait of Cheolmin, I noticed that this cute doctor was linked to numbers 1, 3, 4. At the same time, I connected him to the sky, an angel. As you can observe it, my observations led me little by little to planets and numerology. But the major turning point was, when I perceived Kim Dan as a representative of Saturn . From that moment on, I came to associate Jinx-characters with gods and as such planets. Hence in the essay , I made the following connections. Potato was Venus, and his soulmate Choi Heesung is Mercury. Then Joo Jaekyung is Jupiter and the Sun, whereas Kim Dan was Saturn and the Moon. That’s how I discovered that Kim Dan was associated with the number 8. Thus in the composition A Summer Night’s Dream, I outlined that this was Kim Dan’s night, for 44 stands for 8. And do you know what 44 mean in Numerology? HEALING! That’s the night Kim Dan got healed. (chapter 44) During that night, he realized that time was flowing. It helped him to reconnect with the present and forget his abandonment issues. How so? This revelation was necessary to make him realize that his promise with his halmoni was impossible. She was a mortal, exactly like him. This lovely night gave him the strength to face reality (chapter 47) and digest the terrible news. (chapter 47) Thanks to the champion, Kim Dan discovered that he could receive warmth and love from someone else. And now, you can grasp why he was strong enough to give the present to Joo Jaekyung despite his fear, why he could confront his boss in the locker room in episode 51. Thanks to this magical night, he learned that he could stand on his own. He is an adult now. But wait… people might question this interpretation, for there was no teamwork in episode 11. (chapter 11) When Park Namwook and Kwak Junbeom saw that he was wounded, the manager could detect the doctor’s lie. But what did they do? Nothing, they acted, as if they had not detected his lie. However, don’t forget the champion’s reaction. (chapter 11) He treated him as an important member of his team, he needed his assistance. Secondly, who helped Kim Dan with his struggles? Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 11) He might have taken advantage of the situation, yet contrary to the others, he did something despite his ignorance. (chapter 11) They were a team… working together, relying on each other. 22 announced a new start, for the champion divulged that he was living with the cute hamster. (chapter 22) Secondly, notice that he showed his true power in the break room. He is the true owner of the gym (chapter 22) It is important, because it indicates that little by little, Joo Jaekyung is taking over the gym. From that chapter on, he was building his world from the ground”.

In episode 33 (chapter 33), we could see Joo Jaekyung’s success reached its peak, as he had just signed a contract with the Entertainment agency. “Reaching the pinnacles of success” was also reflected in another situation. The champion was allowed to touch his lover’s phallus (chapter 33), something he had been denied before (chapter 24). Moreover, he was able to get a confession from Kim Dan. (chapter 33) The latter would react to him, only him could make him cum. Moreover, observe that in the heat of the moment, Kim Dan embraced his lover which surprised both. (chapter 33) The cute doctor was unconsciously accepting to be intimate with his boss. Thus he whispered to the sportsman. (chapter 33) In other words, the athlete had been successful in the car, though there is no doubt that he reacted more to the situation, he feared to lose his lover to the frenemy Choi Heesung.

4. The magical 6

But what was the trigger for this essay? First, while examining chapter 51, especially the argumentation between Kim Dan and his soulmate, I noticed parallels with episode 15. Through this table, it become visible that Mingwa created episode 51 as a positive reflection.

Chapter 15Chapter 51
A request, but notice that he is avoiding the athlete’s gaze. He only starts talking, when the other is turning his back to him. But even so, he is not able to look at his VIP client. Kim Dan is the one avoiding the athlete. Both faced each other. They voiced their own thoughts and emotions. They are no longer avoiding discomfort, a sign that they are getting closer to each other.
Here Manhwa-lovers can detect Joo Jaekyung’s arrogance and detachment. Both were not true to themselves. They were both beating around the bush. No one voiced exactly what they truly desire from each other, for they were not listening to their own heart. However, their discussion ended with a question pushing both characters to meditate.
Why doesn’t he trust me yet? How can I earn it? Why don’t I trust him, though we live together? Why don’t I trust him, when he prepared breakfasts for me? Why don’t I trust him, when he was able to heal my shoulder?

It is no coincidence that the numbers are reflecting each other. But more importantly, if you add the numbers together, you have six. 6 embodies Venus, the goddess of love. And now, you know why in my illustration I selected pictures from episode 6, 33 and 51! They are all connected to the same number. This signifies that we should examine the following chapters 6, 15, 24, 33, 42, and 51 as a continuation or better said as reflections. Hence they stand for love, but don’t forget that Venus also embodies fertility, prosperity and victory. How so?  She was the ancestor of the Roman people through her son, Aeneas, who survived the fall of Troy and fled to Italy. That’s why she came to symbolize Rome’s imperial power. Yes, these chapters are mirroring a battle, who has the upper hand in the couple.

Chapter 6Chapter 15Chapter 24Chapter 33Chapter 42Chapter 51

So the moment I connected these episodes to each other, I noticed the progression in their relationship. First, when the deal was made, the physical therapist could never refuse. He had to please his partner at any time and place and he could make any request. But it changed in the locker room, Kim Dan made a first request. Then in the office, he questioned his boss’ decision before making a request. But contrary to the previous 6, the alpha listened to his plea. Thus Potato was sent away. Then in the car, for the first time, Kim Dan voiced a desire. He even allowed his partner to touch his penis, something he had rejected before. Then in the penthouse, he cooked a breakfast, though he was tired. Interesting is that by earning money as a courier, he never realized that he was actually violating their deal. Joo Jaekyung could no longer ask for sex at any moment and at any place. This shows that though Kim Dan had become the owner of his life. He was liberating himself from his situation as “whore”. He could find a new job, if he wanted to. Joo Jaekyung had no saying in his life. It was teaching Joo Jaekyung a lesson, he shouldn’t have intervened, when Choi Heesung offered him a job. Indirectly, he was forbidding him to work elsewhere as PT. Under this new light, Manhwaphiles can grasp the lie from the green-haired uke. On the other hand, it is not surprising why the champion got mad at Kim Dan in the penthouse. He couldn’t admit that he had come to enjoy his presence in his flat. He could no longer bring up their previous deal. (chapter 45) By taking a side gig, the main lead pushed the athlete to recognize him as a true physical therapist and not as a whore. This new interpretation reinforces my conviction that the sex before the match with Baek Junmin was different, it had lost its true value and meaning: it was no longer a belief, rather a habit. Kim Dan could even determine the end of the sex session. (chapter 53) So when Kim Dan asked him this question (chapter 51), he was forced to recall their initial deal. (chapter 6) This condition represented a violation to his belief, the jinx. Having sex with Kim Dan had nothing to do with his career and fights. Moreover, in order to make an oral deal, you need to trust the counterpart. However, money played a huge role in the creation of their deal, therefore he mistrusted him. Finally, notice that gradually they were moving on from their initial deal. The result is that sex is no longer present in episode 51. I would say, the turning point is episode 42, where there was no sex between them, yet this topic was still present through the former partner. But what does the number 6 mean in Jinx?

In my eyes, they display all a change and as such marks a first time for Kim Dan. While in episode 6, they made a new deal, in episode 15, Joo Jaekyung faced his lover for the first time after kissing him. (chapter 15) But there’s more to it. It was also a first for the champion. He invited Kim Dan to watch the show. Imagine that he had never invited any sex partner before. Then in episode 24, he listened to the doctor’s request without any complain. Then in episode 33, for the first time, Joo Jaekyung focused on giving Kim Dan’s anal pleasure. It was, as if the star wanted to trigger desires in Kim Dan. Then in episode 42, Joo Jaekyung witnessed that Kim Dan was doing the breakfasts out of “routine” and not out of pleasure. Thus he always fell asleep. On the other hand, the physical therapist got confronted with a rival for the first time. Finally, in episode 51, Joo Jaekyung is now acknowledging Kim Dan as his final doctor. He is voicing his expectation: meticulousity. (chapter 51) All their discussion was about work and loyalty. (chapter 51) By bringing the topic money (chapter 51), the champion could finally voice his biggest fear. Deep down, he knew that their relationship was based on money. But with one sentence, the doctor could remove his doubts and insecurities. (chapter 51) His voice and facial expression exposed the doctor’s shock and disappointment. He thought, the champion would trust him. It is important, because this means that from now on, their bond is based on the heart. This painful conversation opened their heart and mind, the exact opposite of this scene, where the prejudices from each other got reinforced. (chapter 6) (chapter 6) Moreover, I would like to point out that contrary to his altercation with his manager (chapter 46) , he listened to Kim Dan till the end. (chapter 51) Here, he didn’t fear the discussion, he voiced his true thoughts and emotions. And observe that this scene is also connected to number 6. Another common denominator is that in both scenes, the champion left the room, yet his motivations were totally different. The comment from the doctor had affected him which we could observe here. (chapter 51) He was more than caught by surprise, in my opinion, it must have dawned on him that he might have been wrong about the doctor. Hence he got upset. Seeing the physical therapist’s face was like a reminder that he had made a mistake, he had not trusted Kim Dan, while the latter had not.

5. The answer is in the numbers

And now, it is time to expose the biggest evidence that Mingwa has been using Chaldean Numerology. The moment I discovered 6, I started wondering which number the characters from Jinx were associated with. So far, I had come to the deduction was Kim Dan’s number was 8 through my examination. But is it true or not? As for Joo Jaekyung, I saw him linked to Jupiter and the sun (3 or 1). Thus I looked for a validation.

On this website, I tipped the name Kim Dan, his birthday 26. 12. 1994 (as he is 29). I am assuming 1994, for the story started more or less in 2023 and it is the same year in Jinx: July. And this is what I found. His radical and name number is 8, whereas his destiny number is 7. His color is Black, his fast day is Saturday and his favorable days are Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Actually, it confirmed that the young man was represented by Saturn and the number 8. As for his destiny number, I believe that his fate is to meet Cheolmin (chapter 13) and Alfredo (chapter 47). Remember that for me, Cheolmin is connected to Neptune, hence we have the number 1, 3 and 4. Thus it would validate my hypothesis that at the restaurant, Joo Jaekyung was talking to the cute doctor. (chapter 43) On the other hand, you are probably wondering how I came to this new theory. It’s simple. It’s because of his name. Alfredo is connected to the number 7. In addition, his name signifies wise counselor.

And now, you understand why I added the elf in the illustration. This signifies that we have another mythical creature in the Manhwa. So far, I detected the presence of the dragon, the angel, the goblin and the gumiho. However, it is important to know that the portrait of elves in the Lord Of The Rings is only reflecting one aspect of their true personality. In fact, in the past, these creatures were not necessarily embodying goodness and light.

Moreover, in German, the word “Albtraum” (nightmare) comes from “aelf”, because in the past, people used to think that they would cause nightmares.

Thus I come to the following deduction. Alfredo represents a dark elf, and Kim Dan is fated to meet him in order to face his biggest fears from the past. For me, it is the vanishing of his parents. Remember that Alfredo is Italian, during the magical night in the States, we could see the city Venice, which is surrounded by water. , (chapter 39) In chapter 53, we discover that it was the halmoni’s dream to see the ocean, like we could observe it in his old house. (chapter 17) However, in the last panel, Joo Jaekyung was leading his loved one, symbolizing that he would bring him to different places. Thus the doctor had to follow him to Busan (city next to the sea) and to the USA. At the end of season 1, it becomes clear that the champion will follow the doctor’s footsteps. He will got to the West Coast. Yet, in reality, the fighter is actually following the grandmother’s trail. Moreover, note that the doctor’s dream was to travel too. However, this desire is strongly connected to his relative. (chapter 47) As you can see, we have dream and ocean combined together. But if the ocean is connected to dream, how did I come to associate Alfredo with the dark elf? My theory is that the sea also represents the source of his suffering and as such his nightmare. I believe that his parents died drowning which would explain this reaction in the swimming pool. (chapter 27) Yet according to my previous interpretation, the PT’s totem is the duck: (chapter 19) A bird that is associated with water. And what is the common denominator between these last three panels? (Chapter 17) (Chapter 27) (Chapter 47) The number 7… All of them are oozing pain and fear, but also they are linked to water: (chapter 7) (chapter 37) (chapter 47) The bridge from San Francisco is a place where people often commit suicide. My idea is that after they vanished, the halmoni never discussed their death with him. Since the grandmother was harassed by the loan shark, I can only assume that they killed themselves due to the debts, and suicide is a huge taboo in South Korea. Notice that his first trip led him to Busan which is a town next to the sea. However, back then, he had not the time to go to the beach. But when he went to the States, it was far from the coast, as UFC/MFC is located in Las Vegas. Hence he came to enjoy his trip. In fact, it inspired him to travel. (chapter 47)

So if my theory is correct, then Mingwa made sure that Kim Dan wouldn’t meet Alfredo too soon. He needed to be ready for that trip. Thus fortunately he got injured. My point is that we should make connections between episodes containing the name number, like for example 2, 12, 22, 32, 42, 52… At the same time, I also think, Alfredo could announce the emancipation for both characters, for pain has a positive effect on people: growth and change. Moreover, it is important to underline that the city “Venice” represents a combination of nature and civilization. Since it is surrounded by water, the latter has the upper hand. In other words, Venice stands for balance.

And now, it is time to give the champion’s number. I tipped Joo Jaekyung, 21. 06. 1997. His radical and name number is 3 confirming my observation. He is Jupiter. As for his destiny number, it is 8 and as such Kim Dan. This implies that Joo Jaekyung was following his destiny, when he chose the cute hamster as his partner. But it is not the same for Kim Dan. This signifies that loving the champion will be the doctor’s own choice. At the same time, it implies that the doctor will have the upper hand in their relationship. But his favorable numbers are 6 and 9… and now, you understand the signification of 6! These chapters helped him to metamorphose. No wonder why his wish got fulfilled in episode 39: (chapter 39) Then his favorable days are Thursday, Tuesday and Friday. And if we combine the days from the two protagonists, there is only Wednesday off.

As for Potato, I tipped 19.08. 2003. His radical number is 1, while his name number is 4. But more importantly his destiny number is 5! Keep in mind that for me, Heesung is Mercury, number 5. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Heesung could woo Potato. (chapter 35) We have a 5, but 3+5= 8, the double of 4. Besides, his favorable numbers are 1, 7, 4. Then we would have the explanation why he became more important in episode 22 (chapter 22), why he protected the doctor from Heesung in episode 31 (chapter 31), why he asked for Kim Dan in episode 40 and why he reappeared in episode 47. (chapter 47) and helped him in the locker room. (chapter 49)

As you can imagine, I could write much more about this topic. Here, I just analyzed the number 6 and a little 7. But before closing this composition, I would like my readers to look again at the list of the master numbers. As you can imagine, when I saw the signification for 55 (“lesson for communication”), my hopes got up, for it indicates that the protagonists will open up to each other. 5+5= 10, which means 1. This number stands for unity, moreover it symbolizes equity. Nevertheless, don’t forget that anguish is necessary in order to make them growth. Hence I am still expecting a painful conversation. They would reveal their wounds to each other. Consequently, it should diverge from episode 5 (violence, silence, avoidance), 45 (restrained strength, yelling but avoidance), 51 (no violence, yelling, confrontation and a question). The force is slowly vanishing replaced by words.

If you liked this type of essay, then it would be great to let me know. I could focus on other numbers, like for example 3 or 8 or 1, and their connections to the protagonists and the villains. That’s why I wrote part 1, but if I receive no feedback, then I will like it to my readers to analyze the numbers and their signification.

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: Dawn’s 🌅 Enigmatic Message ☎️ 📞 (second version)

Like the illustration is displaying it, my main focus will be on the last part of chapter 47, the phone call and message from the “executive director” of King of MMA. (chapter 47) Now, you are wondering why I decided to dedicate an essay about this scene. It is because the phone call and message raise a lot of questions. Why did the mysterious man call Kim Dan at such an early hour? Notice that it is in the morning, at 5. 15 am. (chapter 47)

1. Evidences for 5:15 am

How can I be so sure that it is in the morning, and not in the evening? Notice that in the Spanish version, the translator wrote “Buenas tardes” for hello giving the impression that it was in the afternoon. The person came to this conclusion because during the night before, Kim Dan looked at his cellphone. The doctor’s meeting with Kim Miseon was in the afternoon. (chapter 47) The Spanish translator thought, the person calling Kim Dan was contacting him, after the doctor had met the oncologist. She imagined that not much time had passed. Yet, I believe, it is in the morning. First, it is important to place the day in the year. Since Joo Jaekyung’s birthday is on June 21st, and the next match is shortly after (chapter 47), I deduce that we are in July. However, the sunset in Seoul during that month is between 8:29 and 8:12 pm, whereas dawn in the same period and place is between 4:44 am and 5:07 am and sunrise between 5:15 and 5:36 am. Jinx-philes can now determine the time thanks to the position of the sun: (chapter 47) It is in the morning. Moreover, the Webtoonist tipped off her avid readers with this panel: (chapter 47) In Korean, it is written MONDAY!! I had already detected a certain pattern. The protagonist would visit his grandmother on Sundays, (chapter 30) as Saturdays are Kim Dan’s days. The morning in chapter 30 took place after the couple had spent their day-off together.

2. Reconstruction of his weekend and its interpretation

Thus I deduce that when the doctor returned home (chapter 47), it was Saturday evening. Then the next day, he went to the hospital in order to get the results. After hearing the terrible news, he lost track of time. Hence he didn’t look at his cellphone contrary to episode 5. (chapter 5) On the other hand, I don’t think, he visited Shin Okja right after meeting Kim Miseon, for his grandma would have known that he had remained by her side the entire night. Nonetheless, her worries were about eating and not about lack of sleep. (chapter 47) Thus I come to the conclusion that he spent the whole night at the hospital like in episode 21: (chapter 21) This explains why the grandmother was not wearing her headgear. She was sleeping. But back then, Kim Dan returned to the penthouse at dawn. (chapter 21) Therefore the grandma didn’t notice that he had stayed by her side for quite some time, for she was asleep. Hence she requested his presence the next morning. Nonetheless, there exists another difference between chapter 47 and 21. In my eyes, Kim Dan entered her room during the night and spent some time in the bathroom. (chapter 47) He didn’t approach the bed the same way: (chapter 21) However, I doubt that he spent just one hour in the restroom covering his tears by running the tap water. (chapter 47) I have the feeling that this scene is a reflection from their first night. (chapter 3) Here, he was also sitting on the floor pondering if he should still accept the deal. And what had happened back then? The protagonist was lost in the moment, he had no notion of time because of his fears and social norms. As a first conclusion, Kim Dan spent a lot of time in the bathroom reliving the moment when he was receiving the bad news. This interpretation displays how much his grandmother’s imminent death devastated him. He had spent the entire night crying: (chapter 47) Therefore he had red eyes. Furthermore, the halmoni’s name is Shin Okja, and Shin can signify “morning, dawn and daybreak”. For me, it is no coincidence. First, it was her moment to shine due to her compassion. (chapter 47). She symbolizes humanity in both senses of the word: empathy and humankind (mortality). Though she is weak physically, she is strong mentally. At the same time, Okja can only treasure this moment, for Kim Dan was by her side, when she woke up. (chapter 47) In my eyes, this scene represents the positive reflection from that nightmare: (chapter 21) As a little boy, he had asked his grandmother to never leave his side, unaware that this meant that he should do the same. He should remain by her side too. Yet, he didn’t do it. (chapter 47) This observation made me realize another aspect. When he heard the diagnosis from Kim Miseon for the first time, he admitted his powerlessness. (chapter 5) In his eyes, he could do nothing for his grandma. But he was wrong, as he could support her by spending time with her. From my point of view, when the halmoni left home for the hospital, deep down, he must have felt abandoned. On the other hand, we shouldn’t forget that he also had other worries and problems to solve: the loan, the hospital bills and finding a job as a PT. Hence I deduce that through his grandmother, he learned the following lesson: he should spend more time with his loved ones, as they can vanish at any moment. He learned how precious time is. This remark made me realize the huge contrast between these two scenes: (chapter 47) He was in the bathroom crying and kept recalling the terrible monologue from the oncologist. He felt lost and trapped in the same moment. It felt like an eternity for him. But when he listened to his grandmother, bathed in the sunlight, it triggered his memory about his childhood with her. (Chapter 47) Not only she had kept her promise, but also through this recollection, he got a notion of time again. We could say, he could feel time again. He sensed her true nature: her mortality. It is important, because of this new realization, he can move on and focus on the future in a long term. That’s the reason why I see this scene as a new leaf for both characters: (chapter 47) Shin Okja is no longer a goddess, a star during the night… but a human facing her mortality. Besides, the doctor focused too much on money, not realizing that goods are irrelevant in front of death. (chapter 41) This explicates why the champion is not attached to clothes and presents.

3. The call at 5:15 am

And now, it is time to return our attention to the phone call in the morning. Why would he call the physical therapist at such an early hour? One might reply that it was an emergency, for the next match is around the corner. Yet, I can refute this point. How so? Note that the caller only let the phone ring 3 times: (chapter 47) Then he left a message. This stands in opposition to Joo Jaekyung’s action in episode 5: (chapter 5) The latter even spent about 23 minutes to reach the protagonist. He started calling at 10: 12 am and the next person he called was the MFC manager at 10:30 am. 12 + 23 times = 25 minutes. It means that for each call, he waited more than one minute before calling again. Another difference is that the athlete phoned him each hour: around 10 am, before around 9.00 am., hence I am assuming that he must have called around 8:00 am. This exposes the champion’s despair and huge desire!! However, he never tried to reach him at 5: 15 am. The director’s action appears as tactless and selfish. Since it was not an emergency, then why would he call the doctor so early? What was the point to act that way, when he left a message right immediately? (chapter 47) One might say that he feared that the doctor would reject his phone call, as he couldn’t recognize the number. On the other hand, I would like to outline that the man didn’t introduce himself properly. He didn’t mention his name at all. He just described his work and position. Compare his message to the one from the journalist: (chapter 35) So what does the divergence display? I would say, the lack of seriousness and integrity from the executive director. Shim Yoon-Seok wished to appear as a serious reporter, though he was intruding in the champion’s private life. Don’t forget that the latter messaged Joo Jaekyung during the night, but he didn’t call him: (chapter 35) He desired to give the impression that he was a hard-working journalist. On the other hand, because he just sent a message, it indicates that the reporter wished to hide, to remain anonymous. In other words, he was hiding his identity behind a name. How so? It is because the champion could not hear his voice at all. Joo Jaekyung can not recognize the journalist contrary to this scene: (chapter 36) This divergence reveals that the executive director has a different approach than the reporter. The former seeks to „get close to Kim Dan“, while the journalist desired to avoid the famous fighter’s wrath. Shim Yoon-Seok anticipated his reaction. Therefore I have the feeling that the mysterious man contacted the physical therapist so early to create the illusion that it was urgent. They needed him. Interesting is that when the champion received the message from Shim Yoon-Seok, he never questioned how the reporter got his contact. (Chapter 35) Besides, I noticed that the text from the journalist was ambiguous, especially for the readers. (Chapter 35) The latter doesn’t claim to be the author of the article. He doesn’t employ the possessive pronoun „my“, then the column doesn’t expose the name of the author. And we have a similar situation with the message. (Chapter 47) No name and as such no identity… Kim Dan could not recognize the man in the street, if he were to meet him. Furthermore, the message could be from someone else, impersonating him… the latter could deny that he ever sent such a message, as it is not his „phone number“. As you can see, I detected a pattern. The schemers are playing with ambiguity which mirrors the doctor’s situation. The MFC security guys had no idea about Kim Dan’s identity: (chapter 40) A fighter, a prostitute, a lover or a physical therapist? Another difference between the two texts (35 and 47) is that (chapter 47) above the anonymous message, Manhwalovers can read the warning about phishing and spasms, while the champion’s cell phone doesn’t show such a message. It could be an indication that the debts from Kim Dan are related to phishing scams.

After this quote, Manhwaworms can grasp that phishing represents a huge problem in South Korea. Therefore I have the feeling that this number could get blocked or even reported as spam. Let’s not forget my previous conclusion. The fact that the mysterious sender didn’t mention his name is exposing his mind-set. He doesn’t want his true identity to be discovered in verity. This would corroborate my theory that the man behind the message is Mr. Choi. In the analysis “Angel(s) Of Death: Shadows versus Serenity”, I had already outlined the similarities between the mysterious phone number (chapter 47) and Mr Choi’s: (chapter 46) And now, imagine the consequences, when Kim Dan or Joo Jaekyung reports the text as spam. Not only he doesn’t prevent the scammer from sending more texts to him, but it does let the authorities know as well that there’s a problem. Carriers might block the sender’s messages. Government bureaus might take action to prevent the scammer from messaging other cellphone users. (Chapter 46) And remember that Mr. Choi used this cellphone to contact his underling, a sign that their relationship was not official and should remain a secret. Hence if the line got cut, then Heo Manwook and Mr. Choi would be forced to meet. As you can imagine, the moment I discovered the connection between „carrier“ and „spam“, I couldn‘t help myself thinking that Mr. Choi might have received the CV from the courier company!! (Chapter 42) Yes, we have here a text on a cellphone too. Therefore I couldn‘t help myself laughing!! Why? It is because I believe that the schemers are thinking that Kim Dan is a member of Team Black, a fighter, and he is Joo Jaekyung‘s protégé. My reasoning is the following: since my hypothesis is that he got the doctor‘s curriculum vitae through the courier enterprise (Chapter 46), I doubt that Kim Dan mentioned that he was working as PT for Joo Jaekyung. This would have raised an eye-brow!! His side gig was supposed to be a secret implying that his official work was to be kept hidden as well. Furthermore, I am assuming that Mr. Choi must have tried to figure out Kim Dan based on his CV. He worked for a short time at the hospital and after he chose to take odd jobs. So he could have had a change of heart, he desired to pursue a different career, like for example becoming a professional MMA fighter. I don‘t think, people would mention such a hobby, as it could give a bad impression. Finally, if my theory is correct, then it signifies that Mr. Choi got tipped off by the hidden person from chapter 42. (chapter 42) Remember my previous interpretation: the anonymous person had discovered a secret, but back then it was difficult to determine the secret. (Chapter 42) First, I thought that they knew that Kim Dan was probably his „sex partner“ as a fan, as he didn‘t object to this statement (chapter 42) But note that Kim Dan had protected the champion’s name and reputation first. Hence my idea is that in the mind of the anonymous observer, Kim Dan might have been left speechless for a different reason. He was described as a parasite, for he was using Joo Jaekyung‘s care and talent to become himself a professional MMA fighter!! In other words, they are mistaking him for Potato. And now, you comprehend why I added the green fox in the illustration: They are trying to snatch away the favorite athlete from Team Black in order to destabilize Joo Jaekyung mentally (chapter 46), as the champion was seen quite caring towards Kim Dan. We could see that fighters at Team Black believes in luck (chapter 23) So they could think, Kim Dan is not questioning the belief too, as he is a fighter. However, in the picture, Kim Dan looked depressed alone. So the picture was exposing his disillusion and Mr. Choi could misinterpret the origins of his disappointment: he was not able to achieve his dream. (Chapter 47) Because he is a member from Team Black, he is not paid well. He is not sponsored by Joo Jaekyung, in fact he needs to pay fee memberships. One might argue about this theory (Kim Dan is confused as a fighter) for the sender addressed the protagonist as Doc Dan. This is the indication of a spy, only members from Team Black know his nickname. Nonetheless, the Spanish version diverges, as he is addressed as Mr. Kim. Hence that could be an error made by the English translator, similar to „Buenas tardes“. On the other hand, let‘s not forget that during the sparring, the main lead’s nickname got a different meaning. (Chapter 26) They could have jumped to the conclusion that Doc Dan was his stage name as a reference to his education and past, unaware that in reality it was indicating his true job. Thanks to @joojaedan, I got access to the original version. He is addressed as Kim Dan, and @joojaedan told me that he got addressed the same way than the fighter and Joo Jaekyung would call him. I have to admit that I let the app Deepl translate the Korean version. This is what I got:

The official English version is definitely the better translation for two reasons. First, what caught my attention is the title “executive director”. According to my research, executive director is not the same than CEO or “jefe del gimnasio…”. In Spanish, the author of the message is presented as the owner of the gym, but now take a look at this source:

This shows that the author of the message is presenting himself as the right-hand of the fighter. He is not the owner of the gym officially, for he acts as a representative and takes care of the finances and PR!! I would even say, he must be working with a law firm as well. As you can see, thanks to the original and English translation, I discovered a new aspect, the connection between the Entertainment agency and the law firm, which corroborates my previous interpretation: the lawyer and the manager from the agency were working together, covering up for each other. (Chapter 36) Moreover, this signifies that Baek Junmin is presented as the owner of the gym (chapter 47), as he is the face of that gym. In reality, he is just the cover, whereas the true owner is the mysterious sender of the text. (Chapter 47) This signifies that he is acting like Park Manwook (chapter 22). Yet, he is his negative reflection, as Mr. Choi is the real owner, but he hides behind the thug Baek Junmin. On the other hand, Park Manwook views himself as the owner of the gym, for he takes care of contracts and finances, but the one with the final saying is in truth Joo Jaekyung. To conclude, we have a similar situation between the two gyms: the owners are keeping a low profile, they stand in the shadow. However, there exists a difference between them. Joo Jaekyung is allowing his hyung to call himself the owner of the gym out of respect, whereas the other is doing in order to hide his criminal activities. I would even say, he is making sure that Baek Junmin would take the fall in case he would get into trouble.

Moreover, since he asked Kim Dan to call him back, it implies that he wished to be in touch with Kim Dan through his cellphone. In other words, he doesn’t desire to meet Kim Dan personally. I would even add that he wished to be connected to Kim Dan like to Heo Manwook, not through the official line, but a private and secret phone. (chapter 46) As you can see, through this comparison, we can discern the personality and the intentions of the anonymous caller much better. It stands for secrecy and intrusion. At the same time, it exposes that the schemers are not exchanging information between each other which can only need to a failure. Heo Manwook knows that Kim Dan is well paid, whereas Mr. Choi thinks, he is still struggling financially. But why did he call him at 5:15 am then?

One might reply that he needed to call him before the doctor would go to the gym with Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 46) He wanted to ensure that the athlete wouldn’t notice his phone call. He couldn’t reach him around 9:00 or 10:00 am, this would have been noticed by Team Black’s members. On the other hand, he could have called him during the weekend, especially on Saturday evening or on Sunday. The last picture with Kim Dan is portraying him leaving a place alone, in my opinion, it is the hospital. Thus my hypothesis is that Mr. Choi must have known that the main lead would visit his relative on Sunday. On the other hand, since my theory is that he got the CV through the carrier enterprise, it is also possible that Mr. Choi imagines that Kim Dan is still working as a courier, especially if he is assuming that the doctor is planning to become a professional MMA fighter. He has no idea about the truth: it was to offer a present to the star.

Don’t forget that the two protagonists reflect each other. While Joo Jaekyung was misled to think that the hospital leaked information to the journalist (chapter 36) which was definitely not true, I deduce that this must have happened to Kim Dan in reality. A company leaked his information, yet the doctor is unaware of it.

Therefore I assume that Mr Choi called him briefly at 5:15 am, as he knew that his night shift as courier would end around dawn. (chapter 42) He let it ring three times before texting him in order to catch the doctor’s attention, to distinguish himself from the previous calls (for his job). If so, then Mr. Choi must believe that Kim Dan is being “exploited” by the athlete. Hence the doctor would look so unhappy, when he is alone. In other words, the pictures taken in secrecy would expose the hypocrisy of the celebrity towards the main lead. (chapter 46) That’s how Mr. Choi interpreted the images. Nevertheless, it would signify that the executive director is projecting his own thoughts onto the fighter. According to me, Baek Junmin is his “slave”. He needs to bring him the result Mr. Choi desires. (chapter 47)

That’s how I came to the following deduction. In order to perceive the caller’s intention, we need to compare his text to the previous ones. And we have two other messages in Jinx:

In chapter 34, Heesung, Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung communicated to each other through messages. (Chapter 35) Here, the actor had planned to confess to him, while the other wanted to divulge the true nature of their relationship: (chapter 34) It was pure sex, yet the comedian didn‘t get fooled. Joo Jaekyung had feelings for him. Striking is that during that night, the doctor got fooled and this twice!!: (chapter 34) First, the star knew about the invitation from Choi Heesung. This even caught Kim Dan by surprise. This image exposes that the champion had violated the doctor’s privacy. So how did he know it? We have different possibilities, yet my idea is that he had seen the message!! Thus he replied with a text to Heesung. Besides, observe how he dissuaded the doctor from visiting the actor. (Chapter 34) He should CALL him… a sign that the champion had not called anyone. Since Mingwa is writing like Byeonduck, I have the feeling that the message from Mr. Choi will be discovered by Joo Jaekyung. Remember how his hyungs had warned him (chapter 46), but he had refused to listen to them. (Chapter 46) But the moment the champion is confronted with such a message directly, this would be a wake-up call for Joo Jaekyung, he should treat his members much better, as the existence of his company is in jeopardy. Moreover, I am hoping that such a discovery will push Joo Jaekyung to play a trick on his enemy too, like for example he gives a task to Potato, act as a spy!!

But it is relevant to recall that the executive director initially called Kim Dan before leaving a message on his cellphone. Hence I believe that we should also compare it to the previous phone calls the main leads received in the past. This led me to notice the recurrence of certain notions: sex, emergency, treatment, interruption, spying, secrecy, manipulations, rejection, and finally ignorance.

Chapter 1Chapter 5Chapter 11Chapter 13Chapter 16/17Chapter 19/20

Emergency, treatment, manipulation, sex and interruption
Kim Dan saw the calls, but he ignored them.
Here, Joo Jaekyung heard that the doctor could have blocked him.
Emergency, treatment, secrecy (the reason behind the contract) and rejection
It was another emergency call, for he needed to leave the place within a week. Interesting is that the person didn’t present himself. No name… As you already know, I am suspecting that the doctor got fooled, for I doubt he ever received any compensation for his move. He should have received money. Emergency, rejection, manipulation, interruption and spying (Heo Manwook interrogated the doctor right after)
In this chapter, we have in fact two calls related to a danger.
Emergency, treatment, sex, interruption, manipulation and secrecy

Treatment, interruption, sex, secrecy, rejection and manipulation
Sex, interruption, „emergency“, as the champion didn‘t take off his shoes and put down his bag. Then during the intercourse, the doctor was called by the hospital
Sex, treatment, interruption, secrecy (hidden in the bathroom) Here, the doctor could not refuse the champion‘s suggestion.
ChaPter 21Chapter 24Chapter 32Chapter 38Chapter 45

Here, we have sex, interruption, secrecy (grandma‘s existence and illness), rejection and ignorance. Kim Dan didn‘t answer the phone calls right away, as he was sick.
Sex, interruption (food), secrecy, manipulation, ignorance and spying. Potato had tried to listen to their conversation.
Treatment, emergency, interruption (food), ignorance, manipulation and „spying“. Heesung tried to discern the nature of their relationship.
Interesting is that here, there was no emergency from the champion‘s part. This time, Kim Dan was the one longing for the athlete. Sex, emergency, ignorance, manipulation, though here the victims of the trick were the two main leads.This message stands in opposition to all the other messages: honesty, family.
But it shares a common point from the text in chapter 34: love confession. Park Namwook and his family view him as a family member. Yet, the star saw it as an intrusion, it happened right after the sex-love session

And now, which notions do we find in the phone call from Mr. Choi? Manipulation, because he is not introducing himself properly. He doesn’t explain how he got his contact. Then we have secrecy, because he is calling so early. Interesting is that the caller gave the impression that it was an emergency by calling at dawn, (Chapter 47) yet his words contradict the notion of crisis and danger. Kim Dan can determine the time. Then we have ignorance, for Kim Dan didn’t notice the ringing and the texting. (Chapter 47) That’s why we have NO interruption. Furthermore, it displays spying, as the contact raises the question how the executive director got his phone number. Funny is that the notion of rejection is present through the notice above the text: (chapter 47) As for treatment, it is related to the grandmother, a sign that the sender is not interested in any treatment. Hence I come to the following deduction: the mysterious sender has the intention of deceiving Kim Dan. In exchange for betraying the champion, the executive director will promise him a career at the gym „Kim of MMA“!! Yet, I don’t think, he has the intention to keep his promise, because Baek Junmin has been used as his tool to get rich. The fame in the underground fighting ring is not only fake, but also dangerous. (Chapter 47) And how should he betray the athlete?

We have different possibilities. Since I linked this scene to the altercation with the goblin and his mysterious room mate, they could ask him not to be his sex partner before the match. Or they could ask him to drug the champion like in the past. According to my previous observations, MR. Choi was left in the dark concerning the failure of the last trick. (Chapter 40) He has no idea that Kim Dan became the victim and got framed later. (Chapter 46) Furthermore, since Heo Manwook was the one who hired this man (chapter 37) indicating that he used another channel than Mr. Choi‘s. Hence I am suspecting that Mr. Choi wasn‘t informed about the corruption of the MFC’s doctors. (Chapter 47) So my idea is that they could ask Kim Dan to injure the athlete during a sparring. First, Mr Choi judged the champion based on his performance. He still won the fight against Dominic Hill, though he was supposed to be injured. So in his eyes, the shoulder injury was exaggerated. Besides, he received a go from the MFC doctors and his match is very soon. Everything is pointing out that the athlete is healthy. Moreover, Alfredo was replaced in the last minute due to an injury. (Chapter 47) The MMA fighter could have been asked to fake an injury, similar to Heesung‘s plot. As for Kim Dan, his task would be to „target his shoulder, his weak point“. Another possibility is to expose his vulnerabilities. One thing is sure: their approach will fail, hence they will propose the deal to Seonho. (Chapter 47) And the latter has a reason to get revenge on the celebrity because the suffered humiliation and beating. (Chapter 46) What caught my attention is that this athlete definitely boosted his situation by advertising that he was the champion’s sparring partner. I doubt that the main lead‘s criticism was unfounded. (Chapter 46), for he had been bragging about his merits. (Chapter 46) By the way, I believe, Seonho was a recent recruit. Therefore he doesn‘t know the champion that well and he is not close to the other fighters. Hence they didn‘t protect him (Chapter 46) like in episode 1 (chapter 1) He had no idea about the roughness during the sparring, though this scene exposes that the champion had toned down the brutality during the sparring. (Chapter 46) (Chapter 25) So Seonho could expose the true identity of the main lead, he is a physical therapist… Hence the schemers would understand why he got blocked or reported as spam. Their retaliation would be to tarnish his reputation as physical therapist.

Besides, I am envisaging that Seonho could be encouraged to trespass and steal the files (chapter 42) On the other hand, since I am predicting a failure of their scheme, they could decide to take revenge on Seonho by sending him to an illegal fighting game, where he could get badly injured. Moreover, the moment they discover how weak the red-haired man is, they could jump to the impression that Seonho deceived them!! (Chapter 46) Don’t forget that the champion is the mirror of truth, while the doctor‘s role is to expose the hideous side from people: the goblin and the green fox! It divulges their true nature: greed, ambition, selfishness, ruthlessness, immorality… That‘s the reason why Mr. Choi made his entrance.

Moreover, because of the files, they could frame the physical therapist as the leak for the article, unaware that the doctor is living with the athlete. And that would force Shim Yoon-Seok to come out of the shadow. At the same time, the doctor‘s past suffering would come to the surface. So far, Joo Jaekyung only met trustworthy doctors, Dr. Lee and Cheolmin. Hence he had no reason to doubt the integrity of doctors. Notice that after the release of the article, they framed the hospital, but not the doctor himself. (Chapter 36) And this is what Kim Dan and the champion will have to learn: the corruption of organizations like the Entertainment company, MFC and hospitals, if their directors are themself dishonest and greedy.

Since my idea is that the champion discovers the message, I am hoping that he can hear and recognize the voice of Mr. Choi so that he can realize that he got betrayed by the Entertainment agency. Interesting is that coach Jeon Yosep was tasked to investigate the matters about the underground fighting ring. (Chapter 46) But he was sitting with the others later. Consequently, I come to the deduction that he failed to discover any lead, or better said, any connection between the bets and Mr. Choi. Why? It is because he is a former champion, and professionals among MMA world must know that he works for the star. (Chapter 47) Joo Jaekyung needs to realize that he can not just rely on his hyungs alone, he needs the assistance from the whole staff: Kim Dan and the other fighters, as they are not known in the MMA world. (Chapter 47) They couldn‘t break into MFC, on the other hand, their position helps them to get insight, to approach the illegal fighting ring. (Chapter 47) To conclude, I am sensing a new undercover mission and a trick from Team Black.

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: Plotting Shadows: Enigma❓ of a Mysterious Collage🧩

1. The first piece of the puzzling plot

If you read my essays “Agent Blue – part 1 (Second version) and Agent Blue – part 2“, you already know about my theory that Heo Manwook was involved in the drug incident. And this hypothesis got proven correct: (chapter 46) I had even truly perceived his motivations: (chapter 46) He desired to get revenge on the celebrity. But from my point of view, there exist other reasons for his trick. He was seeking validation for his statement: (chapter 17) Such fights are fake. The irony was that his perception got discredited once again. And now, we know why he thought like this. He is involved with the underground sports gamblers. (Chapter 46) His computer screen is indicating that Heo Manwook is gambling himself. (Chapter 46)

However, the loan shark was just the peak of the iceberg, for he is working for someone else: Mr Choi! (chapter 46)

Before examining this new character more closely, I prefer determining their relationship, as my focus is first on the moneylender. The way Heo Manwook saved the contact under Mr Choi indicates a certain respect and distance. He doesn’t call him by his first name. Additionally, though the moneylender calls Mr Choi “Boss” (chapter 46), their work relations are not official. Yes, they are bound to each other by an oral contract and as such by loyalty. And how do I know this? Mingwa left two important clues: Mr Choi is using his wireless telephone, though there is a normal telephone on his desk. (chapter 46) This shows that this call is private and even secret. No one should know about his connection to the thug. From my point of view, Mr. Choi doesn’t want to interact with Heo Manwook too often, as this could expose the true origins of his wealth and fame. He is not a real self-made man, rather a criminal who could climb the social ladders thanks to his cunningness and connections.

Secondly, Jinx-philes should recall how Kim Dan had wired the 14.000 $ to Heo Manwook’s personal account. (chapter 16) And this raises the following question again. (chapter 17) To which account did the champion send the money? Heo Manwook’s or a different one? If this is the second case, this signifies that Heo Manwook has been embezzling money from Mr. Choi through the poor physical therapist. The latter was sending the money to his personal account. (chapter 16) This would explain why Heo Manwook would harass the main lead, though he had paid the interests on time. (chapter 1) Under this new light, it dawned on me why the moneylender interrogated Kim Dan later. (chapter 11) It is because the doctor had paid a huge amount making it impossible for the loan shark to filch it. And now take a closer look at the infuriated thug: he employed the expression “laundering money”! He was projecting his own fears onto Kim Dan. For me, this scene exposes the true nature between Mr. Choi and Heo Manwook. He is laundering money for Mr. Choi. This explicates why their work relations is not official, as they are engaged in illegal activities. Thus their labor relations can not be known to others. On the other hand, if the champion paid the loan to the same account (chapter 16), then Joo Jaekyung has a way to track down the moneylender. 😮 Moreover, remember how I had underlined the importance of business account and personal account. If the loan shark were to get sued, he would be held responsible personally for any damage. He could go himself into debts.😉 And Mr. Choi could act, as if he has nothing to do with him. Since I detected the presence of “respect and distance” with the contact registration, it seems doubtful that the criminal would steal from his “boss”. Yet, we shouldn’t overlook the fact that the moneylender used his “boss” to achieve his own goal: getting revenge on the champion. (chapter 46) He had to convince him to bet on Joo Jaekyung’s defeat. The thug could use the interference of the champion on his side business, as this secret “laundering money” could come to the surface. His actions prove us that his “respect” towards his boss is just superficial. He is prioritizing his own interests. Hence he could have definitely taken advantage of his own position to earn more money through side “hustles”. (chapter 45) Yes, the negative reflection from the physical therapist’s. So should the broker indeed have embezzled money, that would be the end between him and Mr Choi. He would be abandoned. However, since my assumption is that the moneylender is laundering money for Mr. Choi, it signifies that the latter is dependent on him as well. However, he could choose to replace him. We could detect through the years that the thugs were switched. (Chapter 5) (chapter 1) Thus I come to the following conclusion: We are assisting to the gradual disintegration of their secret relationship. I am already envisaging that Heo Manwook could end up not only losing Mr. Choi’s favor, but also getting switched by this man. (Chapter 37) And the starting point of their estrangement is the suggestion made by Heo Manwook which led to the loss of the bet. Mr. Choi trusted his „underground assistant“, hence he wagers a huge amount of money. (Chapter 46) The sum reflects the faith he had in Heo Manwook. Yet, the conversation displays the increasing mistrust between them. Note that the usurer is not taking responsibility for the failure of his scheme: „on their end“. (Chapter 46) It was because of the others. Moreover, observe that the moneylender was looking at his screen, a sign that he is slowly getting addicted to underground sports gambling. (Chapter 46) There’s no doubt that the moneylender will act on his own. (chapter 46) He won’t listen to his boss’ request. Why? First, the thug never got his revenge, but it was his main motivation for his last trick. We could say that it is a matter of pride and money  (chapter 46). Secondly, since Mr. Choi is now taking the matter into his own hands, this signifies that the criminal won’t be involved in the next scheme, so he won‘t gain anything. (chapter 46) Consequently, it implies that Mr. Choi won’t inform him… Yet, keep in mind that Heo Manwook is looking at illegal sport bets, and the champion’s next fight is scheduled in two weeks, which the moneylender must definitely know. Therefore I am envisaging a new bet on the athlete from his part. And this brings me to my second piece of the “collage”.

2. The drug incident and its consequences

For that, it is time to return our attention to the last scheme. Mr. Choi had not organized himself the drug incident, he had just been informed about the plot. (chapter 46) That’s the reason why the thug had hired the man himself. This confirms that this man (chapter 37) met the moneylender, but he was not in touch with Mr Choi. Hence the man in black could not reveal the incident in the States to Mr Choi. The latter has no idea what truly happened there: they missed their target and afterwards they involved MFC security guys to cover up the incident by framing the physical therapist.. What only mattered to Mr. Choi was that the champion had not drunk the drugged beverage. And we know for sure that Mr Choi is left in the dark concerning this (chapter 40). How so? It is because Heo Manwook doesn’t explain how the plot failed!! (chapter 46) At no moment, he elaborates that someone else drank the poisoned nutrition shake. Besides, Heo Manwook has no idea about the identity of the drinker. From my point of view, Mr Choi is unaware of the involvement of MFC security guys. Yes… though this chapter was painful for Jinx-philes, it still gave me hope, for the author is showing that the villains are not communicating to each other. They keep information from each other which represents the exact opposite to the argument in the penthouse. (chapter 45) Their reason for not sharing their secrets is simple: they don’t want to expose their vulnerabilities, mistakes and problems. That’s the reason why their plots can only fail in the end. They didn’t possess all the information. Simultaneously, it displays their cowardice, for they are acting in the shadow, behind people’s back.

We have the best evidence of miscommunication with Kim Dan. The latter never interacted with Mr. Choi directly, but he was connected to him through the debts. Moreover, he was not the borrower of the loan (chapter 5), thus I doubt that Mr. Choi is aware of the connection between the physical therapist and Heo Manwook. The curriculum vitae sent to him certainly doesn’t contain any information about Kim Dan’s past financial situation. (chapter 46) Moreover, the CV can be seen as a source of information, just like the photos. As you can see, Mr. Choi gathered insight through others, I would even add through indirect channels. Another common denominator is that this intel is on paper. He is not interacting with the celebrity or the doctor. It is important, because he is judging the situation from the distance. He is put in the same situation than Potato: (chapter 23) Back then, he initially denied the existence of intimacy between them, until he was confronted with reality. (chapter 25) Hence he envied the doctor for his closeness with the celebrity. (chapter 25) Thus from my point of view, Mr. Choi must have come to a different perception than the maknae: (chapter 46) The champion not only must trust the doctor, but also exposes his attachment towards the physical therapist by opening the door and sharing the burden with his fated partner. The fighter is seen gentle and caring. Hence it becomes clear that Mr. Choi is now targeting Kim Dan. His goal will be to separate the couple. I didn’t come to this conclusion just through deductions, but Mingwa also left a clue: the “stalker” took a picture of Kim Dan alone, a sign that the photograph was now following the physical therapist. But if Mr. Choi had showed the picture to Heo Manwook, the latter would have revealed that Kim Dan was “selling his body” for “Team Black”. The documents are the proof of miscommunication, though they are conversing over the phone. This stands in opposition to these short messages from Park Manwook: (chapter 45): sincere congratulations from a family, as he showed his kids to the celebrity. Finally, observe that during the phone conversation, Mr. Choi refused to listen to his minion. (chapter 46)

Furthermore, I would like to outline that when the fake MFC guy brought the poison, he saw Kim Dan wearing an uniform with the tag Team Black. (chapter 37) However, the man with the cap couldn’t determine Kim Dan’s true identity based on his uniform. Who was he exactly? A fighter? Or a coach? He could jump to the false conclusion that it is an uniform for the members of Team Black and not for the physical therapist. The unknown man could only recognize him by his face and hair. That’s how he got denunciated to the MFC security guys (chapter 40) Therefore you comprehend why the “fake” agents for order tried to determine his identity. (chapter 40) But the champion’s response couldn’t give them any satisfaction: (chapter 40) He only declared that he was part of his team. They had no idea who the person actually was. However, Joo Jaekyung didn’t realize that through his action, he was bringing attention to the company “TEAM BLACK”. That’s what the criminal saw on the uniform and the jacket! Thus I come to the following deduction: the hired man will report to Heo Manwook the existence of Team Black and its connection with Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 16) (chapter 16) Thus there’s a high chance that they will try to ruin the champion by tarnishing his company. It is a hidden brothel. Imagine Park Manwook’s reaction, when he gets to hear that his gym is a whorehouse. (Chapter 45) Another possibility is that they decide to target the members from Team Black, especially Potato, and rig his games. (chapter 46) But here is the thing: (chapter 30) Choi Heesung has been promoting the athlete and his company. (chapter 31) That’s how the actor’s reputation would get affected. As you can see, the actor and Mr. Choi share the same family name. So are they related or not?

3. A star against evil versus a overseer of a mountain

Before answering this question, I would like to portray him first, based on the clues Mingwa left in the chapter. Who is this man?

He is definitely a new villain, as he wagered on the champion‘s loss. Interesting is that Mingwa didn’t reveal everything about this character. First, she never showed his eyes! (chapter 46) Don’t forget that eyes are the mirror of the soul. Secondly, the readers can only see his chin and nose, while the top of his head remains in the shadow. For me, the Webtoonist didn’t truly expose Mr Choi’s face. Why? The purpose is to keep his identity a mystery. Some people came to think that this person was the fan at the restaurant, for he was wearing similar clothes (green shirt). (chapter 43) Besides, on his desk, there were photos of the protagonists. But in my eyes, these two persons are totally different. How so? (chapter 46) The form of the hair on the neck diverges: round versus square. Moreover, both men are wearing the cell phone with a different hand: left versus right. But why did the author create such a confusion? It is because she is working with positive and negative reflections. This means that the admiration of the fan at the restaurant was genuine, whereas Mr Choi is just a hypocrite. He had been spying on Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan. (chapter 46) I also don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Mr Choi is left-handed. The association between being left-handed and being considered a jinx or unlucky is rooted in historical superstitions and cultural beliefs. Throughout history, left-handedness has been viewed with suspicion or negativity in various cultures.

He owns a huge company, for his desk is covered with files. Besides, the small red box looks very expensive. First, I thought that it was a cigarette etui, until my friend @m1n_m1n_07 suggested a box for a stamp seal. The latter is the symbol for identity and ownership. Thus I deduced that Mr. Choi is running a business. In my opinion, he is the CEO of the Entertainment agency. Yes, this would fit the description about the „fake admiration“ for Joo Jaekyung. Then this would signify that the entertainment agency would launder money by receiving payments from the moneylender Heo Manwook that are proceeds from illegal activities, such as loan sharking or extortion. The agency might then use its legitimate business activities, such as concert promotions or talent management, to disguise the illicit origins of the funds. That‘s why they needed the athlete as their client! Behind his games, they could mask the illegal activities, thus the lucky streak!!

And remember what the actor said at the club: (chapter 33) He employed the personal pronoun “our” (even in the Korean version), a sign that he was identifying himself with the owner. From my point of view, Mr Choi and Choi Heesung are related, I would even say father and son. I know, when I presented my theory on X, people argued about this, for in South Korea, Choi is a common surname, just like Kim Miseon is not related to Kim Dan. (Chapter 5) Yet, I can refute their objections with the following points. Jinx is about emancipation and maturity, the leads are encouraged to become responsible and mature men. This signifies that they need to cut off ties with their parents and become strong mentally and emotionally.

Moreover, the moment you compare the introduction of the two Chois, you can detect huge contrasts. It indicates that the author is once again working with positive and negative reflections. First, the actor was not introduced as Choi Heesung, but as Heesung. (chapter 29) Note that the comedian is promoting himself with Heesung and not his surname. (chapter 30) It was, as if he didn’t want to be connected to this Mr. Choi. Moreover, contrary to the mysterious director, readers could see his face and identify his “job”: an actor! (chapter 29) Yes, the Webtoonist introduced the actor the opposite way. However, in this scene, Jinx-Philes were intrigued by him, as they had no way to determine his role in the story: antagonist or second lead? His personality was quite mysterious which stands in opposition to Mr. Choi. Readers can already judge him as a bad guy. The latter oozes ruthlessness, greed and dishonesty. His words are represented by the color “dark grey”. (chapter 46)

These notions stand in opposition to the actor. (chapter 31) The latter hates conventions, discipline and even control. (chapter 33) In addition, Grey embodies boredom, neutrality and compromise, while the actor is always trying to “take a side”, to earn people’s admiration. As you can see, through this contrast, it becomes obvious that these two characters are related. The darkness from the relative rubbed off on the actor, for he is able to scheme. Moreover, Mingwa still created some similarities: both faces were first covered. (chapter 29) (chapter 46) And finally, the actor was seen wearing a similar shade on the rooftop: (chapter 33) Green, whose negative features are greed, jealousy and envy. And what had Heesung done during that day? A prank at the champion’s expense. He wanted to have the doctor for himself. Furthermore, we can grasp why Heesung’s manager complained about this: (chapter 31) His words expose the greed and selfishness of the CEO from the agency. They are accountable for Heesung’s actions. In my eyes, this condition was made in order to control Heesung, so that the latter would feel responsible for his manager and other employees. It was to push him to „work“. Under this new approach, it dawned on me why Heesung would sponsor lunches to the members from Team Black, (chapter 30). It was his way to get acceptance and recognition. From my point of view, he occupies a special position at the agency, as if his moves are supervised there. Hence he asked from his manager that the latter would keep the fake injury a secret. (Chapter 33) His laziness was already implied by the champion. (Chapter 31) As you can see, I sense that Heesung had an ambivalent relationship with his „father“. On the one hand, he rejects him due to his cold-heartedness and high expectations, on the other hand, he was still relying on him and his connections through the agency. In my eyes, he will be forced to choose between love or money in the end.

From my point of view, Heesung and his relative are not close, they have an estranged relationship. Finally, I would like my inquisitive readers to recall the way the actor appeared at the club: he was wearing slippers. (chapter 33) My initial theory was that he had been stalked. But he could have left the family house after a huge quarrel. And Mr. Choi is indeed acting like a stalker, though he did not do it himself: the pictures! (chapter 46) On the other hand, these pictures corroborate my previous observation: Joo Jaekyung had been followed during that evening. (chapter 33) This was the “stalker” working on Mr. Choi’s account. So it dawned on me that Heesung might have been living with his father in the huge building (chapter 32), until he chose to move out and live on his own. And now, we have the perfect explanation why his house is so clean and impersonal: (chapter 33) It is because his father probably meddled in his life constantly. I have the impression that he must know about his father’s past and the true origin of their wealth. The fact that he introduces himself as “Heesung” is a sign that he wants to deny his origins, Choi.

Since people questioned my theory about their parentage, I chose to look into the signification of Choi. This is what I found:

This quote explains why this mysterious man was introduced as Mr. Choi!! He is an antagonist and even villain of our beloved couples, while the actor had to be introduced as Heesung, for his role in Jinx is different. Moreover, since Mr. Choi is portrayed as a man obsessed with money and with no integrity, Manhwalovers can grasp why Heesung was obsessed with his search for a „soulmate“. (Chapter 33) He had been missing love and warmth too because of his family, exactly like the champion. Both came to a similar conclusion: fame served as a replacement. It was to get recognition and „affection“. The problem is that this type of attachment is rather superficial and temporary, as none of their „admirers“ or „fans“ has to become responsible for them. Moreover, their fortune played a huge role to undermine their relationship.

Then I found on a different website this information:

This indicates Mr. Choi’s role in Jinx. He acts like a general or governor, and gives orders to his minions. He has the impression that he owns the world. Hence he can bet on the champion‘s defeat. He is treating people like „pawns”. That‘s the reason why I included a building below Mr Choi in the illustration.  The house stands for power and propriety. But Choi has another signification.

As you can see, this surname is associated with stars and lucky charms. It is important, because it implies the involvement of Mr. Choi with the champion‘s jinx. Is it a coincidence that the actor knows about the athlete‘s jinx? (Chapter 32) Note that when he was conversing with the celebrity at the bar, he never brought up his jinx. (Chapter 33) He only criticized Joo Jaekyung for his poor sexual behavior. So where did he hear it? Interesting is that 6 months ago, the champion signed a contract with the Entertainment agency, and this is what Park Namwook confessed to the physical therapist: (Chapter 43) His success felt almost unreal, as it was too beautiful to be true. And this would coincide with the signature of the contract between the athlete and the Entertainment agency. The lucky streak is to cover up the illegal activities. He is already envisaging an injury, because he was convinced that this is the fate of such celebrities. (Chapter 43) However, if he pondered a little more, he would realize that it is a lie. How so? Coach Jeon Yosep is the evidence that not all athletes are destined to end their career because of an injury. Yosep is still a fighter.

And the connection between Choi and the 5 stars reinforces my previous interpretation about the characters in Jinx. They are all associated with stars and as such planets: Saturn, Moon, Sun, Mars, Venus, Jupiter, Neptun and Mercury. Interesting is that number 46 corresponds to the sun. So we could say that Mr-Choi and Joo Jaekyung are represented by the huge star, and Mingwa placed Mr Choi next to the main lead as an indication of a future collision between the 2 suns. There will be a conflict of interests.

Interesting is that this number is linked to scandal and family. Then the latter is used to achieve a goal displaying selfishness and heartlessness. As you can see, I am quite certain that very soon, we will have a new uproar. Moreover, I would like to outline that the mysterious man is wearing a watch! (chapter 46) It was, as if he was owning time. And we have the evidence that he is the one behind the timing, as he called Heo Manwook first, and this for one reason. he wanted to announce him that he should stop seeking “revenge” on the celebrity on his own. But he only did it after receiving the CV from Kim Dan and the pictures. (chapter 46) The desk is also referring to time, like we could observe it in this situation: (chapter 43) The package arrived right on time.

And naturally, this panel (chapter 46) raises the following questions. Who took the pictures without being noticed? I mean, they were in front of the gym, so they could have sensed the presence of a third person, unless the latter acted as a deliveryman. Then, how did Mr. Choi get the résumé from the main lead? Did the latter send it to find a new job? Or was the curriculum vitae delivered to Mr. Choi by someone else? Like for example… a hospital! Let’s not forget that the physical therapist has been blacklisted by all the hospitals. (chapter 1) I doubt that the incident with the perverted hospital director was leaked to the outside world, so the main lead must have been badmouthed. So if this rumor about Kim Dan reached Mr- Choi’s ears, then he will definitely see in him the perfect scapegoat for covering up his own involvement. He would even appear as a righteous person. According to me, he is the CEO from the Entertainment agency and the latter had pushed the champion to press charges against the hospital. (chapter 36) In fact, he could decide to leak the information about the physical therapist to the hospital so that the latter can put the blame on the free-lancer! (chapter 42) That way, the agency would divert attention from its own responsibility and even receive support from the clinic. Then we have this rumor circulating that people are sending spies to gyms. (chapter 46) Is it a coincidence that this terrible gossip reached the blind manager Park Manwook at this moment? No, nothing is random in this story. They could frame the physical therapist as someone who tried to “leak” information in order to rig a game. He could be portrayed as a gambler. Yet, Mr Choi is not aware that Kim Dan offered a golden keychain to the champion and even risked his health to buy the expensive present.  

However, we shouldn’t overlook that because the MFC matchmaker was involved in the plot, (chapter 36), he must have wagered too and lost money. This would explain why he asked the doctor from MFC to give it a go right after. He needed to create a new game in order to cover up the last losses. The problem is that since Mr. Choi wasn’t informed about the incident with the security guys from MFC, I don’t think, he is truly aware of the celebrity’s physical conditions. If he knew about the real diagnosis, he wouldn’t need to investigate Kim Dan. He would rely on time… within such a short time, Joo Jaekyung wouldn’t be able to recover. In fact, he would even bet on the athlete’s defeat once again. Since he saw these pictures, I am quite certain that he is misjudging the relationship between the two protagonists. They are close, hence he needs to sow discord and even plant a seed of doubts on the athlete’s mind.

Finally, I would like to outline that the first plot started with the publication of Shim Yoon-Seok’s article: (chapter 35) The athlete was pushed to prove the “wrongfulness” of this article by accepting a fight. (chapter 36) Hence I am suspecting that one of Mr. Choi’s intentions is to portray Kim Dan as a fraud, as a bad and immoral PT. They could even question his skills and competences, for MFC authorized the fight and the champion is now no longer treated by the famous hospital. They could imply that the main lead isolated the athlete on purpose and even aggravated his injury. But like mentioned above, Mr. Choi only knows half of the story. He has no idea about the connection between Cheolmin and the athlete and the former assisted him. Besides, he judges the poor uke based on his prejudices and past experiences. Exactly like the loan shark, Mr. Choi is also projecting his own thoughts onto the doctor. If the latter sent his CV, it signifies that the CEO imagines that Kim Dan is ready to “betray” the champion. Yet, the doctor doesn’t resent the main lead. In addition, from my point of view, the mysterious “general” received the résumé through connections.

Finally, once the characters make a connection between the drug incident and the agency, there is no ambiguity that the agent will have to take the fall, though he definitely followed the directives: (chapter 36) He acted on his own. The MFC matchmaker can even deny his involvement, for he didn’t contact the champion himself. (Chapter 36) Don’t forget that the man has his phone number. (Chapter 5) Imagine the consequences for the manager. The latter would not only lose his job, but also face a lawsuit for breaching the contract. There’s no ambiguity that Mr. Choi would feign ignorance. Finally, since Mingwa is using karma as punishment, the readers should expect that Mr. Choi’s papers will get leaked too. Heo Manwook plotted out of revenge and greed, the result was that he lost a lot: his boss‘ trust, his money and his „sanity“. Since Mr. Choi is now taking matters into his own hands, we have to envision that his actions will affect his company… and as such Heesung. The latter could become suspected as „spy“ or in the worse case as theft, he is „stealing talents“. All his past actions would appear in a different light: his generosity was fake. (Chapter 31) Yes, appearances would now play in Heesung‘s disfavor. Finally, an incident with the agency would push Heesung to fight against his relative… and to regain control over his life.

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