Please support the authors by reading Manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the Manhwa: Jinx But be aware that the Manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link of the table of contents about Jinx. Here is the link where you can find the table of contents of analyzed Manhwas. Here are the links, if you are interested in the first work from Mingwa, BJ Alex, and the 2 previous essays about Jinx The Sweetest Downfall Ever and Hot 🔥Sparks ⚡, Feverish 🌡️Reality (part 1)
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After the Spark: What Changes Once the Circuit Is Closed?
When episode 86 ends 
(chapter 86), it does not close the night through narrative resolution. There is no statement, no promise, no verbal seal. And yet, for many Jinx-philes, the final panel refuses to let the scene dissolve. What remains is not heat, not tension, not even tenderness — but circulation.
What caught my attention, on rereading the episode with some distance, is precisely this ending. In the final embrace and kiss, bodies are not merely touching; they are aligned. Kim Dan is neither collapsed nor clinging. Joo Jaekyung is neither looming nor enclosing. Their torsos meet without compression, their heads incline toward each other, and the kiss does not interrupt movement — it completes it. The image does not suggest release, but continuity. Not dispersal, but return. In other words, the final embrace functions as a closed electric circuit, while the kiss operates as the activating spark — not a release, but the moment the current begins to flow.
This detail matters because it reframes the entire night. Earlier nights in Jinx burned intensely and then vanished. This one does not. Heat exhausts itself. Electricity does not. It remains as potential — stored, latent, waiting to be activated. When readers feel that “something has shifted,” they are not sensing emotional climax, but a closed circuit. The night ends, yet nothing needs to be said, because something has already been set.
Under this new light, my perception of relationships in Jinx changed. What had long been read through the language of excess — desire, domination, sacrifice, endurance — began to appear instead through the logic of current: circulation, interruption 
(chapter 21), overload 
(chapter 33), short circuit 
(chapter 51), 
(chapter 53) reset. And once that lens is adopted, it becomes impossible to limit the consequences of episode 86 to the couple alone. Because a closed circuit does not only affect those directly connected to it. It alters the surrounding system.
In the first part of Hot Sparks, Feverish Reality, the focus lay on how this night functions in itself: how electricity replaces fire, how illusion gives way to continuity, how silence becomes embodied communication. That analysis allowed us to rethink the nature of the moment. But once the circuit is closed, another question inevitably arises — quieter, but far more consequential: What changes once the night is over?
If the Paris night is not a dream, not a relapse, and not a miracle, then it must be understood as a reconfiguration of conditions. Memory begins to behave differently. Surprise no longer carries the same meaning. The past can no longer be invoked automatically as justification. And responsibility — long deferred — becomes unavoidable.
This second part of the essay therefore turns toward repercussions. To approach them, the analysis will move through four interlinked angles. First, it will examine surprise, returning to the sudden kiss in episode 86. By placing this gesture alongside earlier moments where surprise meant threat or emotional risk, the essay will show how the same structure acquires a different meaning once agency is restored — and why this matters. Second, it will address recognition without erasure, focusing on the line 
(chapter 86). This section will explore how acknowledging change without denying past harm opens a new ethical position — one that prevents memory from being weaponized, while still preserving responsibility. Third, the analysis will turn to conversion, revisiting earlier nights marked by failure, asymmetry, and isolation. Rather than cancelling them, episode 86 absorbs and transforms them. This is where forgiveness, reflection, and the first true encounter with consequence quietly enter the narrative. Finally, a new section will widen the lens further by examining shared experience and memory 
(chapter 53), particularly through Kim Dan’s relationship with his grandmother. Here, the focus will not be accusation, but contrast: between memories carried alone and memories held together; between cycles of repetition and moments of presence; between a worldview structured around endurance and one shaped by circulation. The Paris night does not only affect how Kim Dan sees Joo Jaekyung (chapter 86) — it changes how he may begin to situate himself within inherited bonds and unspoken expectations.
The Paris night did not resolve the story. It changed the system in which the story must now continue. And like electricity itself, its importance will only become fully visible when something — or someone — can no longer function as before.
Surprise Reversed: From Threat to Agency
To understand why the kiss in episode 86 
(chapter 86) carries such weight, we must return to the origin of kissing itself in Jinx. Because surprise, in this story, is not an abstract theme. It has a history. And that history begins with a body being caught off guard.
The first time Kim Dan is kissed by Joo Jaekyung, it is sudden. 
(chapter 14) There is no warning, no verbal cue, no time to prepare. The kiss arrives as interruption. It is not negotiated; it is imposed. Hence the author focused on the champion’s hand just before the smooch. 
This moment matters far more than it initially appears, because it establishes the template through which Kim Dan first encounters intimacy. 
(chapter 15) Affection does not emerge gradually. It breaks in.
Kim Dan reacts accordingly. Shortly afterward, he articulates a need that is easy to overlook but fundamentally revealing: he asks Joo Jaekyung to tell him before kissing him. 
(chapter 15) He needs preparation. He needs time to brace himself emotionally. This request reveals two aspects. First, he connects a kiss with love. On the other hand, the request is not really about romance; it is rather about survival. Surprise, for Kim Dan, has already been coded as something that overwhelms the body before the mind can intervene.
And yet, what follows is one of the most striking contradictions in the narrative. Every time Kim Dan initiates a kiss himself 
(chapter 39), he violates his own request.
His kisses arrive suddenly. 
(chapter 39) They are unannounced, often landing on unusual places (cheek or ear) (chapter 39) 
(chapter 44). They often take place under asymmetrical conditions — when one of them is intoxicated, confused, or emotionally exposed. Sometimes they occur without full consent, sometimes without clarity. In chapters 39 and 44, kisses surface precisely when language fails or consciousness fractures. It is as if Kim Dan has internalized a rule he never chose: a kiss must be sudden. Observe how the champion replies to the doctor’s smile and laugh: he kissed him, as if he was jealous of his happiness. 
(chapter 44) That’s how I came to realize that the kiss in the Manhwa is strongly intertwined with “surprise”. This is the missing link.
Kim Dan does not merely endure surprise; he learns it. Because intimacy entered his life through interruption 
(chapter 2), he comes to reproduce interruption as intimacy. He knows that surprise destabilizes him — that is why he asked for warning — but he has no other model. What overwhelms him also becomes what he reaches for. Surprise is both threat and language.
This paradox explains much of Season 1. Surprise is repeatedly associated with danger 
(chapter 3): the sudden call from the athlete, 
(chapter 1), the offer of sex in exchange for money (chapter 3), the contract that turns availability into obligation 
(chapter 6), the switched spray 
(chapter 49), the sudden changes in rules. These moments strip Kim Dan of anticipation and agency. His body reacts before his will can engage. Surprise equals exposure.
And yet — this is where the narrative becomes uncomfortable — these same surprises also pull him out of ghosthood.
Before Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan lives in a state defined by repetition and duty. 
(chapter 1) His life is governed by “always”: always working, always returning, always responsible. He lives for his grandmother. Nothing unexpected is allowed to happen, because nothing unexpected can be afforded. This is safety through stasis. Presence without experience.
But this does not mean that surprise was absent from his past. On the contrary, when unpredictability did enter Kim Dan’s life earlier, it came in its most destructive form: through the loan shark, Heo Manwook and his minions. His appearances were sudden, intrusive, violent. 
(chapter 5) 
(chapter 1) They shattered routine rather than enriching it. Surprise, in that context, did not open possibility; it threatened survival. It meant debt, coercion, fear. And precisely because of that, it could not be integrated into memory as experience — only repressed as trauma.
This distinction matters. When Kim Dan’s grandmother is hospitalized and removed from the house, the loan shark also disappears from daily life. His violence becomes something that can be pushed aside, denied, or avoided 
(chapter 1), if he doesn’t return home. Surprise, in its earlier form, is excised from the household. What remains is a world of repetition and endurance — safer, but lifeless.
Seen from this angle, Joo Jaekyung does not introduce unpredictability into Kim Dan’s life from nothing. He replaces it. 
(chapter 2) but in a fundamentally different form.
The loan shark embodies surprise without negotiation. 
(chapter 11)
(chapter 11) His appearances are sudden, his demands non-discussable, his violence immediate. He does not ask; he enforces. Surprise, under his rule, eliminates speech. It leaves no space for argument, no room for clarification, no possibility of consent. One endures, or one is punished.
Joo Jaekyung, by contrast, introduces unpredictability through contracts and negotiation. 
(chapter 6) Even when power is asymmetrical, even when the terms are coercive, speech is required. Conditions are stated. Rules are articulated. Kim Dan is forced to listen, to answer, to argue, to object. He must speak.
This difference is decisive. Surprise no longer arrives solely as terror; it arrives as confrontation. Kim Dan is not merely acted upon — he is compelled into dialogue. The body is still exposed, but language re-enters the scene. Where the loan shark silenced, the athlete imposes discussion.
This is why Joo Jaekyung can occupy the same structural position as the loan shark — and yet not replicate him. Both disrupt repetition. Both break the closed circuit of endurance. But only one does so in a way that keeps Kim Dan within the realm of human interaction. Even coercive negotiation presupposes a subject who can respond.
This also explains the later confrontation in the house. 
(chapter 17) The two figures cannot coexist because they represent mutually exclusive regimes of surprise: one that annihilates speech, and one that forces it into being. In other words, only one allows experience to be lived rather than survived.
Surprise enters Kim Dan’s life violently, but it does not remain mere rupture. (chapter 2) It functions as negative charge — an abrupt influx of energy into a system that had been closed for too long. Fear, anger, desire, attachment appear not as orderly developments, but as shocks. These experiences are unstable, often painful, sometimes destructive 
(chapter 51) — yet they are unmistakably his. They mark the moment when something begins to circulate. (chapter 51)
This distinction is crucial. Before Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan’s life operated in a static loop, governed by repetition, sacrifice, and gratitude. Energy was expended, but never transformed. Surprise, in its first incarnation, is therefore pure threat: uncontained, overwhelming, incapable of integration. It breaks the system without yet allowing current to flow.
What changes with Joo Jaekyung is not the presence of danger, but its conductivity. Surprise becomes ambivalent — still risky, still destabilizing — but now capable of generating movement and as such meditation. Negative charge no longer annihilates the circuit; it begins to activate it. 
(chapter 27) Experiences accumulate instead of disappearing. They demand response, speech, negotiation. Life no longer consists in enduring impact, but in processing it.
This is why these experiences cannot be shared with Kim Dan’s grandmother. Her moral economy is built on infantilization 
(chapter 65) and as such neutralization: suffering must be absorbed, pain must be justified, disruption must be folded back into endurance. There is no place for charge there — only for dissipation. What Kim Dan lives through with Joo Jaekyung follows a different logic altogether: not sacrifice, but circulation; not repetition, but conversion.
Surprise thus becomes the hinge not between danger and safety, but between static survival (–) and relational movement (+). And once that conversion begins, the past can no longer be returned unchanged — nor can it be shared without transformation.
This is why Kim Dan falls in love 
(chapter 41) not despite surprise, but through it. Not because dominance is romanticized, but because surprise is the first force that treats him as someone to whom things can happen. And don’t forget that for him, a kiss symbolizes affection. Even negative experiences generate subjectivity. They prove that he exists beyond function.
Seen through this lens, Kim Dan’s habit of surprising Joo Jaekyung with kisses (chapter 39) — on the ear or the cheek — is no longer random or contradictory. It is learned behavior. He has absorbed surprise as a mode of relation. What was once done to him becomes something he does, imperfectly and often prematurely. These kisses are not about dominance. They do not corner or silence. They test connection. They ask, without words: Are you still here?
But until episode 86, this structure remains unresolved. Surprise exists, but it is never fully safe. 
(chapter 85) Kim Dan either endures it or reproduces it under unstable conditions. Agency is partial. Meaning collapses afterward.
This is what makes the doctor’s kiss in Paris categorically different. (chapter 86)
Formally, it is still sudden. Kim Dan does not announce it. He does not negotiate it verbally. But structurally, everything has changed. For the first time, surprise is not imposed on him — and it is not enacted from confusion or imbalance. It is chosen. Kim Dan is clear-minded enough to recognize both his desire and his uncertainty. He is not dissociating. He is not reacting. He is deciding to remain present despite risk. And the response confirms the shift.
Joo Jaekyung does not neutralize the kiss with passivity 
(chapter 39), irony 
(chapter 41) or rejection 
(chapter 55). He does not retreat into his habitual “it’s nothing” or “never mind.” He does not reinterpret the gesture as convenience or reflex. 
(chapter 86) He kisses back while looking tenderly at his partner. He holds Kim Dan’s head gently. He can only see such a gesture as a positive answer to his request: acceptance and even desire. Surprise is not punished. It is received.
This is the moment where the meaning of surprise reverses. Surprise no longer equals threat. Surprise becomes agency. And that’s how I could discover a link between the kiss and the doctor’s birthday present, the key chain.
(Chapter 45) This time, the athlete not only accepts the present (the kiss), but but also expresses “gratitude” by kissing back actively. (Chapter 86) This means that the athlete is recognizing the existence of feelings.
The kiss does not erase the past. (Chapter 86) It does not retroactively justify earlier violations. But it establishes a new condition: surprise can now occur without annihilation. Intimacy can arrive without silencing reflection. Experience no longer collapses into shame or disappearance. IT symbolizes a positive and enjoyable moment.
This is why the kiss matters more than any spoken line in the episode. It is not simply romantic. It is structural evidence that the logic governing their interactions has changed. Surprise now operates within a closed circuit of consent and presence.
Kim Dan is no longer a ghost enduring interruptions. He is a subject capable of initiating them. He has learned surprise — and now, for the first time, he reclaims it. Under this new condition, the question is no longer whether surprise will hurt. It is whether life can proceed without it. And once that question is raised, the story cannot return to repetition or silence.
Recognition Without Erasure: When Memory Changes Function
What struck me next was how subtly episode 86 reorganizes the role of the past. Once surprise ceases to function purely as threat and begins to circulate, memory itself starts behaving differently. Electricity does not only move bodies; it redistributes charge. And it is precisely at this level — the level of memory and recognition — that something decisive occurs.
The line is brief, almost casual: (chapter 86) And yet it performs an extraordinary operation. Kim Dan does not deny the past. He does not soften it. He does not excuse it. Instead, he repositions it. For the first time, the past is no longer invoked as an absolute reference point, but as a differentiated state — one phase among others. Such a confession contradicts the grandmother’s philosophy: ALWAYS
(chapter 65) In her eyes, she has never changed, just like her grandson. (chapter 65) If there were changes, they were associated with trouble and worries.
This distinction is crucial, because in Jinx, the past has long functioned like a blunt instrument. It has been used to fix identities 
(chapter 52), justify behavior 
(chapter 57), and foreclose change. The champion’s violence is explained through reputation. 
(chapter 1) Kim Dan’s endurance is explained through obedience and debt. The grandmother’s authority is explained through sacrifice. In every case, the same logic applies: this is how it has always been; therefore this is how it must remain.
That logic is static. Electrically speaking, it is a circuit without polarity — no – and +, no tension, no movement. The past becomes a dead weight, not a source of information. It does not inform the present; it dominates it.
What episode 86 introduces is not forgiveness in the sentimental sense, but recognition without erasure. (chapter 86) Recognition means the charge of the past remains. Erasure would mean grounding it, neutralizing it, pretending it never existed. Kim Dan does neither. He keeps the – while allowing the + to emerge.
A World Without Polarity: When the Past Becomes a Weapon
This is where the electrical metaphor becomes indispensable. In a functioning circuit, negative and positive do not cancel each other out. They coexist. They create potential difference. And it is that difference — not harmony — that allows current to flow. (chapter 86) In the final panels, Kim Dan does not embrace an idealized version of the champion, nor a redeemed figure cleansed of history. He embraces Joo Jaekyung as he is now, with the knowledge of who he was before. This distinction matters. Acceptance here is not absolution. It is contact without denial.
Electric current does not pass between identical charges. It requires tension. Polarity. Resistance. The − and the + must remain distinct, or nothing moves. In this sense, Kim Dan’s embrace is not a gesture of harmony but of recognition. He acknowledges the champion’s flaws and mistakes — not to excuse them, but to stop pretending they never existed or to stop pretending to be better. What he accepts is not the past itself, but the reality that the past does not exhaust the present. That’s why he is able to stop ruminating and to follow his heart.
Furthermore when Kim Dan recognizes that “the old him” (chapter 86) existed, he does not collapse the timeline. He does not say: he was never that person. Nor does he say: he is forever that person. Instead, he introduces temporal polarity. Then and now. Before and after. – and +.
This move has immediate consequences. First, it disarms the past as a weapon. 
(chapter 65) If the past is absolute, it can be endlessly invoked to invalidate the present. We have a perfect example on the beach. (chapter 65) Kim Dan is here compared to the past. (chapter 65) When Shin Okja speaks of Kim Dan as a heavy smoker, she is not recounting a neutral habit. She is anchoring him to a past version of himself — one defined through worry, decline, and deviation from the “good boy” image.
What follows is telling. She does not ask why he smoked. She does not ask what changed. She does not ask how he lived. The only question that matters to her is: “Does he still smoke?”
(chapter 65)
The present is interrogated exclusively through the past. In this logic, the past functions as a fixed reference point. If the habit persists, the present confirms her narrative. If it does not, the absence is not read as growth but as an anomaly — something provisional, something that could always return. This is not concern. It is classification.
Shin Okja does not relate to Kim Dan as someone moving through phases, but as someone who must remain legible within a stable moral category. Change is not interpreted as development, but as risk. When Shin Okja repeatedly frames Kim Dan’s smoking and drinking as failures (chapter 65), she is not simply expressing concern about health. She is doing something more consequential: she is disqualifying the legitimacy of his decisions. In her discourse, Kim Dan’s actions are never treated as choices made under pressure, pain, or circumstance. 
(chapter 65) They are evaluated exclusively through a moral lens. Smoking and drinking are not responses; they are flaws. And because they are framed as flaws, they retroactively define his character rather than his situation. This is where agency collapses.
Care and Choice
If every decision Kim Dan makes is already interpreted as “bad,” then decision-making itself becomes suspect. Choice is no longer a neutral capacity; it is something he is assumed to misuse. In other words, he is not someone who chooses poorly — he is someone who should not be choosing at all. Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp why the grandmother approached the champion and asked for this favor: 
(chapter 65) Her behavior does not contradict her claim that she wants Kim Dan to “live his own life.” 
(chapter 65) It reveals how she understands such a life should be arranged. She sees herself as superior, as if she had never done any mistake, as if she had lived as a saint.
If she had truly accepted Kim Dan as a subject capable of self-direction, she would have spoken to him directly. Conversation presupposes agency; it allows disagreement, hesitation, and refusal. Instead, she chose a different route: influencing his fate behind his back. This move preserves her moral position while bypassing the risk of confrontation. It allows her to believe she is acting in his interest without ever having to acknowledge his will. That’s why she is entrusting her grandson to the athlete. 
(chapter 78)
In other words, she does not imagine Kim Dan living freely through his own choices, but being placed into a better configuration by others — preferably by someone stronger, more decisive, and more visible than himself. The request to the champion thus follows the same logic that governs her judgment of Kim Dan’s habits: she does not trust him to choose, only to comply.
And this is precisely why her worldview stands in quiet opposition to what unfolds in episode 86. The physical therapist’s desires are not only acknowledged, but also respected. 
(chapter 86) Once again, the “hamster” is given the opportunity not only to decide, but also to follow his heart. Where the Paris night allows difference to coexist with memory, Shin Okja’s framework collapses difference back into judgment. Where electricity requires polarity, her logic insists on sameness. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible how doc Dan came to neglect himself. Self-care is inseparable from choice — from the belief that one’s decisions can meaningfully alter the present. If change is denied, care loses its purpose. Attending to oneself becomes optional, even suspect, because it implies a future different from the one already prescribed.
Recognition without erasure breaks that pattern. It allows Kim Dan to say, implicitly: what happened matters — but it does not get to decide everything.
Second, this recognition introduces responsibility where there was previously only fatalism. If change is possible, then it can be acknowledged. And if it can be acknowledged, it can be responded to. The past no longer excuses inaction. It no longer absolves neglect. It becomes a reference, not a refuge.
Two Versions, One Person: Temporal Polarity and Ethical Clarity
By acknowledging that there is an “old him” (chapter 86) and a present one, Kim Dan implicitly accepts that change has causes. And this is where his position shifts in a way that is easy to miss. If Joo Jaekyung has changed, then Kim Dan is not obligated to assume that he is the reason. He does not interpret the change as something he must earn or preserve through obedience.
Instead, a question becomes possible: what happened in between? And this question matters, because Kim Dan does not know. He does not know about the incident at the health center. He does not know about the slap at the hospital (chapter 52). He does not know that no one stood by the champion afterward — not even Potato.
By recognizing two versions of Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan opens a space for inquiry rather than self-accusation. The change no longer needs to be attributed to his own sacrifice. It can be understood as something that also happened to the champion. This is not naivety. It is ethical clarity. Consequently, I perceive the night in Paris as the end of doc Dan’s low self-esteem and shame.
It also means that if anyone were to invoke the champion’s past against him — a manager, a coach (chapter 57), the system — Kim Dan can now side with him without denying what came before. The past stops being a weapon. It becomes context. This move has immediate consequences.
This shift is subtle, but it radiates outward.
Until now, Kim Dan has often carried memory alone. He remembers nights that others forget. He remembers moments that were dismissed. This asymmetry has turned memory into burden. 
(chapter 44) The one who remembers bears the – alone, while the other continues forward unmarked. That imbalance is corrosive. It distorts perception. It turns even good memories sour.
Episode 86 begins to redistribute that charge. Not by forcing confession, but by establishing shared presence. Once current circulates between two points, no single node carries the full load. Recognition does not mean recounting every wound; it means no longer isolating the wound in silence.
This is why the line about “the old him” matters more than it appears. It is not merely observational. It is infrastructural. It signals that memory is no longer trapped in a single body.
And this logic does not stop with the champion. It extends, inevitably, to Kim Dan’s relationship with his grandmother, like mentioned above.
Her worldview has long been organized around moral continuity. She remembers suffering 
(chapter 65), but she remembers it in a way that flattens time. Pain becomes proof of virtue. Sacrifice becomes identity. 
(chapter 65) Change is allowed only insofar as it returns to the same point. Electrically speaking, her system is grounded — all charge dissipates into endurance. There is no polarity, only repetition.
This is why the past, in her discourse, often appears as reproach. Not necessarily spoken harshly, but structurally unavoidable. You used to drink. You used to smoke. You used to be helpless. The past is not cited to understand, but to fix position. It anchors Kim Dan to a role: the one who must be protected, managed, or sent away “for his own good.”
Recognition without erasure offers Kim Dan a way out of this bind. If the past is no longer absolute, then it can be questioned. Not denied — questioned. The statement “you don’t know me and my life” becomes thinkable. Not as rebellion, but as differentiation. Kim Dan can hold the memory of his past while refusing to let it define his present. He can acknowledge the grandmother’s suffering without allowing it to dictate his future.
This is where forgiveness enters the narrative — quietly, without ceremony. (chapter 86) Forgiveness here is not reconciliation. It is not forgetting. It is not moral absolution. It is the decision not to collapse polarity. To allow – and + to coexist without forcing resolution. Forgiveness becomes a form of electrical insulation: it prevents overload, not by cutting the circuit, but by stabilizing it.
Seen this way, forgiveness is not weakness. It is structural maturity. And it has consequences. For Kim Dan, it means the past no longer monopolizes his self-understanding. He is not bound to prove gratitude through self-erasure. He can recognize care without submitting to control. He can accept gifts and help without dissolving into debt.
From Spark to Current: Why the Jinx Loses Its Power
For Joo Jaekyung, it means the jinx can no longer function as fatal explanation. 
(chapter 65) Even though the word jinx is never spoken during the Paris night, its logic quietly collapses there. (chapter 86)
Until now, sex operated as discharge. 
(chapter 75) In chapter 75, it is explicitly framed as a way to “clear the head”: an act designed to release pressure and return the system to zero. Partners were interchangeable. Feelings were excluded. Electricity existed only as a spark — brief, violent, and self-extinguishing. Energy was expelled, not circulated. That is the true mechanics of the jinx: power without continuity, intensity without consequence.
Paris introduces a different configuration. Sex is no longer oriented toward erasure or reset. It is no longer about escaping thought or silencing memory. Instead, it becomes a mode of presence.
(chapter 85) Desires matter, not the match the next morning. Besides, the identity of the partner matters — not just romantically, but also structurally. Current requires two poles. It requires response. It cannot flow through an object, only between 2 subjects.
This is why the jinx does not need to be confronted explicitly to be undone. A system built on discharge cannot survive circulation. Once energy is no longer expelled but sustained, once tension is held rather than neutralized, fatalism loses its grip. The spark does not burn out; it becomes current.
And with current comes consequence. Sex no longer clears the mind; it sharpens awareness. It no longer abolishes the future; it implies one. What happens in Paris does not redeem the past — it renders repetition impossible. Reflection becomes unavoidable, not because someone demands it, but because the system no longer resets cleanly.
The jinx dissolves not through force, but through continuity. Recognition without erasure thus prepares the ground for the final transformation: conversion. Thus the story can move forward.
– and – = + : Conversion and the End of Ghosthood
Two nights once marked by failure — chapter 39 
(chapter 39) and chapter 44 (chapter 44) — converge in episode 86. This convergence is not coincidental, nor is it nostalgic. It is a conversion.
Both earlier nights shared the same fatal structure: only one person remembered. In chapter 39, Kim Dan’s confession existed without continuity; his body spoke, but his memory did not follow. In chapter 44, the reverse occurred: Kim Dan remembered everything, while Joo Jaekyung attempted to forget. In both cases, memory became asymmetrical. One carried meaning; the other escaped it. And meaning, when carried alone, curdles. What might have been tenderness transformed into obsession, shame, or bitterness. Memory became burden.
Episode 86 breaks this curse through a gesture that is deceptively simple: both remember. (chapter 86) Both made surprising experiences: dry orgasm and a gentle and caring sex partner.
This is why simultaneity matters so profoundly. Sparks appear on both bodies. Confusion is mutual. Questions circulate rather than collapse inward. Neither consciousness outruns the other. Time, which had previously fractured under intoxication, coercion, or denial, resumes its flow. Not because the past is resolved, but because it is finally shared. Shared experience.
Here, memory begins to function differently — no longer as fixation or haunting, but as integration.
This shift allows us to recognize a much older pattern in Kim Dan’s inner life. His relationship to memory has always been selective, but not arbitrarily so. When it comes to his grandmother, Kim Dan remembers each interaction with his grandmother in a positive light: the warmth 
(chapter 11), the care – even if he had hurt himself – 
(chapter 47), the shared smiles 
(chapter 47). Thus this photograph 
(chapter 65) becomes a talisman — not a record of reality, but a distilled image of safety. Painful dimensions are filtered out. Conflict, coercion, and silent pressure recede into the background. Memory protects him by idealizing. Because of this picture, he projected himself in the future, making unrealistic plans. 
(chapter 47) It was, as if he only had good times with his grandmother.
Shin Okja, by contrast, remembers the same past through a radically different lens. (chapter 65) Her recollection is saturated with pity, loss, fear (chapter 65), and blame (chapter 65). The vanishing of the parents becomes the gravitational center around which all other memories orbit. Where Kim Dan remembers warmth, she remembers danger. Where he remembers protection, she remembers failure. One memory soothes; the other hardens. One preserves life; the other polices it. Kim Dan must remain the “good boy,” unchanged, because acknowledging his growth would mean acknowledging that the past did not remain intact.
The graduation photos make this painfully clear. They immortalize achievements, (chapter 47) not shared experiences. They resemble press photos of the champion more than lived moments. The work, the strain, the cost are absent. And tellingly, Kim Dan does not keep these pictures. They do not anchor memory; they flatten it. They freeze time rather than allowing it to move.
This asymmetry is crucial. It reveals that the relationship between Kim Dan and his grandmother has always mirrored the structure of those failed nights: one person remembers in a way that helps to keep working, the other remembers in a way that poisons (infantilizing doc Dan). One idealizes; the other condemns. And because the tragedy at the center of their past was never fully spoken, memory could not be synchronized. Kim Dan was pushed — silently, indirectly — to carry an idealized version of their shared life, while Shin Okja carried the unresolved catastrophe alone. (chapter 65) Toxic positivity emerges precisely here: not as cheerfulness, but as enforced idealization that denies the legitimacy of pain, anger, or differentiation.
And it is precisely here that the connection with the grandmother crystallizes. The latter is often connected to sleep 
(chapter 21) 
(chapter 47) and memories. 
(chapter 21) 
(chapter 65). While sleeping, memories come to the surface.
Only at this point did something else catch my attention — something that, retrospectively, had been present all along. The painting in the living room: 
(chapter 85) I believe that its appearance does not function as decoration. Its imagery — figures suspended among clouds, bodies neither falling nor grounded — introduces a different register of time. Not urgency. Not performance. Not spectacle. Stillness. Interval. A space where movement pauses without collapsing. Under this new light, the reference is Morpheus.
Morpheus is not the god of illusion. He is the one who allows rest, who brings form to dreams so the body can sleep. His presence signals not escape from reality, but the possibility of restorative sleep. This matters, because insomnia has haunted Joo Jaekyung from the beginning. 
(chapter 75) Until now, rest had been replaced by discharge: sex as erasure, violence as exhaustion, ritual as compulsion. The Paris night does not abolish wakefulness through collapse; it introduces the conditions under which sleep might finally be possible.
Episode 86 introduces a third possibility: the kiss of Morpheus or the famous goodnight kiss. (Chapter 86) What caught my attention is that the athlete was irritated, when the doctor simply wished him a good night. 
(Chapter 78) Here, he reduced it to the absence of sex, but I am sure that deep down, he would have been satisfied, if the “hamster” had given him a good night kiss.
The Paris night does not ask either character to idealize or to condemn. (chapter 86) It does not demand that the past be redeemed, nor that it be endlessly rehearsed. (chapter 86) Instead, it contextualizes. Memory is no longer absolute; it becomes temporal. Then and now. (chapter 86) Before and after. – and +.
This is why the electrical metaphor reaches its full force here. Two negatives do not annihilate each other. They convert. The shared remembering of two previously failed nights produces not cancellation, but potential. 
(chapter 86) The charge redistributes. Memory ceases to isolate and begins to circulate. Hence it creates a new memory.
It is at this point that Prometheus quietly enters the scene — not as explicit mythological references, but as symbolic functions. Electricity, like fire stolen from the gods, marks a return to humanity. It is the end of purely divine punishment and purely mechanical survival. At the same time, illusion dissolves. Sleep, dream, and dissociation lose their grip. The characters are no longer ghosts moving through each other’s lives, nor zombies repeating ritualized behaviors. They become human again — vulnerable, reflective, embodied. And once human, reflection becomes inevitable.
The night itself remains carpe diem. It is presence without calculation, sensation without projection, intimacy without bargaining. For those hours, the future does not intrude. But this does not mean consequence is erased. On the contrary: because the night is no longer an illusion, its aftermath must be faced. The jinx has not disappeared because its existence was not mentioned or danger is gone. Corruption, rigged matches, replacement, and blacklisting still await. What has changed is not the external threat, but the internal configuration.
The Paris night did not save the protagonists. It returned them to themselves. And this return has consequences beyond the couple. It destabilizes the grandmother’s moral economy. This new observation reinforces my previous interpretation: this position 
(chapter 86) was a reflection of the picture. (chapter 65) Shin Okja is no longer doc Dan’s center of gravitation. That’s the real revolution. There is no longer interruption or triangulation. I am even inclined to think, that’s the night where the main leads became a true team.
Moreover, if memory can be shared without collapsing into blame, then her version of the past can no longer function as unquestionable authority. (chapter 65) If Kim Dan no longer needs to idealize in order to survive, then he can finally see the cost of that idealization — for himself and for her. The tragedy she alone has been carrying can surface, but without demanding that he sacrifices his present to it. The past stops being a sealed vault and becomes a shared, albeit painful, terrain.
This is the true end of ghosthood. That’s why doc Dan is feeling feverish during that night. 
(chapter 86) No one is erased or reduced to an object. Nothing is overlooked or forgotten. But repetition loses its hold. And from here, the story can no longer proceed as before.
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(chapter 85) represents the positive reflection of this night 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58), when the physical therapist chose to give up on the athlete and stop listening to his heart. Here, I am not only referring to the numerical symmetry but also to the doctor’s shifting vision of Joo Jaekyung.
(chapter 85), Jaekyung appears with a towel around his neck. This simple object evokes water and sweat, but in Jinx, these elements are never neutral. They are tied to one of the champion’s earliest traumas: the humiliation of being called “dirty” 
(chapter 75) and “smelly” as a child. This is why Jaekyung learned to perfuse his body with cologne after every shower 
(chapter 75) and why physical proximity has always carried the risk of shame. Hence he kept people at arms length. In chapter 40, when he rescued Kim Dan from the security guards, he kept his distance 
(chapter 40) — he had not yet showered, for the towel on his shoulders was stained with blood. Mingwa was indirectly referring to the champion’s psychological wounds. 
(chapter 40) It was, as if the fear of smelling “wrong,” of being perceived as contaminated, was still dictating his movements. Hence he could only claim doc Dan as one of his own, but not as his “physical therapist” or even “family”. And interesting is that doc Dan copied his attitude. In the hallway, he maintained a certain distance from the athlete. 
(chapter 40)
(chapter 40) the moment he dried off 
(chapter 85) and trust — and perhaps even the moment when Dan chooses, for the first time, to be honest with his own body and heart. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 61) [I will elaborate it further later]. And perhaps this is why the moment feels so disarming: because the downfall is not tragic but tender, not humiliating but intimate. Sweet, even.
(chapter 85), when a single careless comment shattered the champion’s composure and revealed just how fragile his newfound hope really was.
(chapter 85) In contrast, both Park Namwook and coach Jeong Yosep wear generic MFC T-shirts. 
(chapter 85) Dan is lost in his thoughts — anticipating the night ahead with the champion — and has barely touched his food. Park Namwook notices this. One might think, such a remark displays the manager’s concern for the main lead’s well-being. However, the manager adds that the other members of the team are all almost finished. With such a remark, it becomes clear that the manager is urging the protagonist to finish his plate. Although Park Namwook addresses Dan as if showing concern, the content of his remark betrays his true priority: not Dan’s well-being, but the team’s schedule. By pointing out that ‘the rest of us are almost finished,’ he urges Dan to keep pace, treating him as staff who had to follow the group rather than someone with personal needs. As you can sense, schedule is essential for the manager. However, because doc Dan couldn’t reveal the true reason behind his behavior, he gives an excuse for his lack of appetite. 
(chapter 53) The manager’s words bring Joo Jaekyung back to reality and its uncomfortable truth that Dan’s presence now is still bound to a contract — temporary, contingent, never fully his. In other words, with his remarks, Park Namwook is reopening old wounds which shows his total blindness and lack of finesse and of empathy. He treats the last match, as if nothing bad had happened. The incident with the switched spray is simply erased.
(chapter 53) leaving without thinking; now, after Dan vanished from his life entirely, that earlier departure feels like a sign he failed to read. Park’s question brushes against this bruise, and Jaekyung’s lips reflect the discomfort.
(chapter 85) The younger fighter suddenly bursts into panic, declaring how nervous he would be in Jaekyung’s place, how his heart would be pounding out of his chest. His outburst is sincere, naïve, and completely focused on the champion — he never once considers Dan’s feelings. Yet these words strike deeper than he intends. At the mention of a pounding heart, Jaekyung’s eyes lift upward in a brief, involuntary movement. It is the smallest gesture, but it exposes everything he wishes to hide. Because his heart is pounding — but not for the match. It is because of doc Dan! 
(chapter 85) “Come to my room at 11.”
(chapter 85) the need for reassurance, the wish to rewrite the pattern of the past, the quiet hope that Dan will not leave him again — not tonight and not afterwards.
(chapter 85) Schedules are his armor, punctuality his hiding place. Whenever something threatens to slip beyond control, he retreats behind procedure. 
(chapter 85), as soon as the athlete stands up right after his recommendation and announces he is now returning to his room. 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 85) In theory, this is the perfect window to do what he used to do in the States 
(chapter 38) and Korea 
(chapter 48) before a big fight: watch his opponent’s videos, study their habits, rehearse counters. If we only looked at the clock, we might assume he spent the evening thinking about Arnaud Gabriel.
(chapter 85) He opens the door and immediately grabs him inside 
(chapter 85), cutting off any possibility of hesitation. The way he drags him over the threshold, presses him against the wall 
(chapter 85) This is not the controlled, casual emperor of old; it is someone who has been holding back for hours and refuses to risk even a second in which Dan might change his mind. 
(chapter 65) and the comment of the champion in front of this movie: 
(chapter 29) Moreover, I consider this scene 
(chapter 85) as a new version of Choi Heesung’s advice: Doc Dan just needs to sit back and enjoy!! 
(chapter 31) Joo Jaekyung is now doing everything, as deep down he wants to become the perfect lover! And how had I described the night in the States? 
Back then, the hamster Dan had become the champion’s perfect lover, especially because he had kissed his face, hugged him and confessed to him. 
(chapter 38) One might reply that the athlete desired to maintain appearances and as such to hide his suffering and anxiety. In other words, he was hiding his emotions behind routine, Jinx-sex would always start at 11 pm. However, this idea is not entirely satisfying because once doc Dan was in his room, the fighter was no longer hiding his emotions and desires. 
(chapter 72), when the latter would return late from his “work” and the death of his father 
(chapter 73). 
(chapter 85) Because doc Dan could have refused. He could have used his queasiness as an excuse, could have stayed in his room, could have claimed exhaustion. Instead, he obeyed the request — a request sent by someone who had hurt him deeply in the past. Doc Dan’s arrival is proof that he is not rejecting him. Proof that the night is real. Proof that the attempt to do better might actually matter. At the same time, doc Dan couldn’t miss the true meaning behind this text sent in front of others: the athlete’s anxiety and suffering. 
(chapter 85) This explains why his worried gaze followed his fated partner. 
(chapter 85) In other words, the text had a different meaning. It was not an order, but rather a wish…and it had nothing to do with his match against Arnaud Gabriel. During that night, Joo Jaekyung is not seeing a surrogate fighter in front of him or a sex toy, but his real partner, his future boyfriend. This means, this night stands in opposition to the one in the penthouse: 
(chapter 85) This is why he touches Dan’s face instead of flipping him over.
(chapter 85) — something he has never done before. This does not come from instinct. It comes from intention. It comes from effort. It comes from learning. He is indeed showering doc Dan with love and tenderness, therefore it is not surprising that the “hamster” is moved sensually and emotionally. Exactly like during the Summer Night’s Dream, he is reaching nirvana, hence Jinx-philes are constantly seeing stars,. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 85) — or the emotional slip that comes with resurfacing feelings: the therapist losing distance, falling back into intimacy. All of these readings sound plausible at first glance. 
(chapter 85) Styled up, hardened with gel 
(chapter 30) , perfectly arranged — it is the crown of the Emperor, the symbol of his control, his discipline, and the myth that MFC sells:
(chapter 82) When the hair stands, the image stands.
(chapter 85) — but not the way adults or professionals usually do. 
(chapter 71) So doc Dan could recognize the little boy in the athlete, the more he sees the protagonist with his hair down. Furthermore, I noticed that contrary to season 1, Doc Dan has now more memories of the “wolf” facing him. 
(chapter 85) In the past, he would more look at him from behind: 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 35) Seeing his face reflects not only the increasing care for each other, but also the improving communication between them. 
(chapter 85) more mature, more “masculine” in the traditional sense. This explicates why the stylists had to dress him up. 
(chapter 82) Yet such an intervention did more than prepare him for the cameras — it tightened the restrictions around his own image, reducing the fighter’s rights over how he appears to the world. With the suit, he appeared older and more powerful. The French fighter leans into age, while the Korean champion leans into youth — a symbolic inversion that reinforces the central tension in the Paris arc: Gabriel performs adulthood; Jaekyung rediscovers the adolescence he never lived. 
(chapter 85) But just as Jaekyung begins to slip into these youthful, softer identities, MFC reasserts control.
(chapter 85) hair up, face polished, a look engineered for posters and rankings. He becomes once again the Emperor — the man who must appear older, sharper, more intimidating, more manufactured.
(chapter 79) This is the boy from the childhood photograph.
In the rain, with his hair heavy and unstyled, his gaze dark and sensual, Jaekyung appears nothing like the commanding emperor. He looks free — freed by weather, freed by desire, freed from roles. It was foreshadowing, not just fanservice. It announces the end of the « jinx » in reality. 
(chapter 85) He is describing himself. His sweetness is the taste of freedom — freedom from performance, freedom from control, freedom from MFC, freedom from fear. He is enjoying this moment. Dan tastes sweet because Jaekyung is finally tasting the life he never allowed himself to want.
(chapter 21) The image of winged rescue and divine protection hangs over the very piece of furniture that, throughout the series, has functioned as Dan’s private sanctuary. This is not incidental. In Jinx, the couch is tied to his deepest memories of care and abandonment, and Mingwa activates this symbolism each time Dan gravitates to it.
(chapter 21) Why does he consistently feel safer on the couch than in a bed? 
(chapter 29) Why, after the second swimming lesson, did he refuse to return to the bed 
(chapter 81), even though he was exhausted? Why does he place the teddy bear 
(chapter 84) —his last substitute for lost parental affection—on the couch and not on the bed? And finally, why has he always harbored the secret wish to be carried to bed, as confessed through his memory in chapter 61? 
(chapter 10) Secondly, at no moment, we ever witness the grandmother carrying the little boy to bed. Either she is rocking him to sleep outside the house 
(chapter 44), 
(chapter 44) traces from parents. And now, you comprehend why the hamster could never truly rest in the bed. The couch is therefore not an adult preference; it is a trauma imprint. Resting there feels safe because beds—large, empty, abandoned spaces—became reminders of whoever no longer carried him. Hence it is no longer surprising that he woke up, when he sensed the vanishing of warmth. 
(chapter 84): the bear stands in for a lost comforting presence. It also represents the main lead, Joo Jaekyung. The latter is gradually reentering in the physical therapist’s heart and life. Therefore it is not surprising that there, he squeezes the hand of the toy. It is also why Doc Dan curls around it like a child who deep down hopes to be chosen, lifted, and held. And it is why, even as an adult, his body still whispers the same yearning: someone, please carry me to bed again.
chapter 40, chapter 65, chapter 68, chapter 79)
(chapter 85) and he was still able to arrive on time in the arena. 
(chapter 40) For me, it is a clue that the manager would always request to meet around 7.00 am, when the match was at noon. But what should do the athlete do during all this time? He can only get nervous and feel pressured. 
(chapter 81) I noticed that in different scenes from season 2, the athlete started waking up later and even after doc Dan. 
(chapter 66) But the manager’s rigid schedule threatens even that. An early morning summons drains the fighter’s cortisol reserves before the match has even begun, creating a long, empty corridor of waiting — a period where tension, anxiety, fatigue, and irritation ferment in the body. Instead of resting, centering, and preparing, the champion would spend hours fighting against the clock imposed on him.
(chapter 54) , he might even jump to the wrong conclusion: that Jaekyung drank again — this time behind his back. 
(chapter 82) The irony is striking. Two days before the match, it was Park Namwook who overindulged with the others, yet he may now project that same carelessness onto the athlete. In his mind, the DND sign does not simply mean “rest”; it becomes a warning signal, a possible confirmation of the irresponsibility he fears but has never actually witnessed. Thus I can already imagine him panicking.
(chapter 82), his look 
(chapter 82), his free time and took care of the champion’s emotional needs. In Paris, the « hamster » became the champion’s manager de facto, the unofficial right-hand. That’s why if they are late and they need a scapegoat, the manager can blame the physical therapist for the « delay », he would always come late to appointments (chapter 17: meeting the doctor) and to the fights (Busan, in the States).
(chapter 84), the fireworks erupt, and Kim Dan turns his head too late. 
(chapter 84) Readers have replayed the blurred panel again and again, straining to decipher the muffled shapes of his mouth. Some are convinced that this is the confession, the moment the wolf finally says aloud what his body has been whispering for months. One Jinx-phile, 
just enough to match the Korean 좋아해 김단 (jo-a-hae Kim Dan)—“I like you, Kim Dan.”
(chapter 84) —especially Japanese summer festivals where boys and girls, dressed in yukata, confess beneath crackling skies. Fireworks symbolize joy, romance, fleeting courage. It is no wonder many readers assumed that Mingwa was drawing on this cultural grammar: purple night sky, glowing lights, two lonely figures suspended above the world. A confession seems almost inevitable. And if it truly was a love declaration, then the champion’s refusal to repeat himself 
(chapter 84) would make perfect narrative sense—confession lost, moment gone, courage spent.
(chapter 62) 
(chapter 77) Why does Joo Jaekyung speak exactly when the fireworks begin, as if choosing the one moment when he is guaranteed to be drowned out? 
(chapter 84) Was he truly confessing love—or was he trying to verbalize something far more raw, far more primitive, far more difficult?
(chapter 76) and 79 
(chapter 79), where he “speaks” only when the other man cannot truly hear him. At the hostel, the mumbling was barely audible: yet according to my observation and deduction, doc Dan seems to have caught something. as later we discover this scene from the champion’s memory: 
(chapter 77) He already knew that the athlete was standing next to him. However, observe that this vision focused on the doctor’s gaze was accompanied with silence. This means, doc Dan acted, as if he had heard nothing. So if he heard, what did the physical therapist catch exactly in the kitchen? “I lost…”, but it was devoid of any context. Doc Dan had no idea what the director Hwang Byungchul had advised to his former student. 
(chapter 75) He could not know that “I lost” referred to something far more intimate: Jaekyung losing control over his own emotional detachment, he was totally vulnerable in front of doc Dan. His heart was stronger than his “mind and fists”. Naturally, if Kim Dan interpreted the phrase at all, he would connect it to the only “loss” he understood: the tie with Baek Junmin. A humiliating defeat. A source of shame. This misinterpretation perfectly explains why in the cabin, the hamster immediately assumes that the champion is once again determined to regain his title: 
(chapter 84) He is taking the champion’s words at face-value. 
(chapter 77) He trusts the explanation Jaekyung himself gave under the tree. And here lies the deeper revelation: Kim Dan’s misunderstanding exposes the true meaning of the tree confession. Why did Jaekyung suddenly accept the match? Why frame it entirely in terms of “I need you for these two fights”?
(chapter 84) A deadline designed to keep Kim Dan close without revealing the depth of the emotional dependency underneath. Finally, before we even analyze posture or timing, we must acknowledge the ghost that is sitting inside the cabin with them — Jaekyung’s own admission of dishonesty. Just minutes earlier, the narrative revealed again a thought he had never dared to voice aloud: 
(chapter 84) For the first time, he admits wrongdoing without deflecting, without rage, without pride. This apology is not strategic; it is confessional. A tone we have never heard from him before. It is no coincidence that just before, he employed this expression: 
(chapter 84) This is the language of surrender — not to defeat, but to vulnerability and selflessness. The champion who once insisted on keeping Kim Dan “one way or another” (chapter 84) now articulates the opposite impulse: the willingness to release him, to give him a choice. 
(chapter 84) Thus for me, in the cabin the champion became, for a moment, the boy with no mother’s gaze, no father’s protection, no safe place to rest. He must have said something cheesy, something a young person would say. Purity returns before experience does. Honesty returns before articulation. And in that moment inside the cabin, Mingwa makes a decisive artistic choice: we do not see Jaekyung’s eyes. 
(chapter 84) This pigment stands for innocence, purity, new beginnings and even equity. 
(chapter 84) Because they were not yet meant to be received, only meant to be released. The fireworks allow him to finally attempt a more honest sentence, but in conditions where it cannot reach its target.
(chapter 81) Yet this is also the limit of what he can say.
(chapter 79) Thus he could see the athlete’s mouth moving and hear sound. Nevertheless, observe that the moment the wolf reached to the doctor’s words, he bowed his head and looked down. From this 
(chapter 79) to this 
(chapter 79) However, he doesn’t fear coldness, but ridicule and mockery, the father’s gaze: 
(chapter 73) Under this light, people can grasp why Joo Jaekyung was not facing doc Dan directly in the cabin. To conclude, the mechanism is identical, but amplified. 
(Chapter 44) 
(chapter 73) Besides, the head of her position is indicating that she was not looking at her son, the boy was hiding his face from Joo Jaewoong and his mother. Then his father mocked him, degraded him, and used resemblance as an insult: “
(chapter 74) or his mother (a poor but good mother), he was not seen for whom he was: a child, a boy. Jinx consistently links sight with recognition, and recognition with love. 
(chapter 53) Jaekyung has never been granted either. 
(Chapter 45) Thus when he got upset with the present, he indirectly expressed the wish to be « looked at ». Moreover, in his visions or memories, this is what he keeps seeing: 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 75) Doc Dan’s gaze!
(chapter 51) His breath catches; his eyes widen. It is the moment he realizes his mistake. He never thought that doc Dan had been trusting him. That moment marks the first rupture in his emotional armor, not only because it hurt, but because it revealed. He realizes with terror that he wants to be seen by Kim Dan, but when he faced such a gaze, he could only feel guilty and bad. Thus it is not surprising that later, his nightmare let transpire his guilty conscience. 
(chapter 82), as the champion has always used his surroundings as a source of inspiration. 
(chapter 84) The gaze under the fireworks triggers emotions in him. Thus he blurted out something. But for me, he does not know how to say “I love you.” He cannot even say “I like you.” Those sentences belong to someone who has matured emotionally — someone who can identify feelings properly, but so far he keeps saying: “to stay by his side” and his « affection declarations » were all linked to negativity.. Thus my idea was that Joo Jaekyung could have said this: “I want to hold you!” (안고 싶어 너). Let’s not forget that so far, the champion had never expressed such a longing before; a warm embrace. He would always follow his instincts: 
(chapter 4) 
(chapter 43) 
(chapter 69) The hug represents a metaphor for “staying by his side, for home and to be seen”. Moreover, in French embrasser can mean kiss and hug. And strangely, I noticed that the protagonists were never looking at each other during an embrace. 
(chapter 84) Here, the doctor looks sad and wounded. His eyes are unfocused — he is not seeing the present. The water running down his eyelashes gives the impression of tears, even though he is not crying. His gaze is distant, fixed on something internal. His mouth looks tense, almost trembling. The mouth especially is a clue: Kim Dan’s emotions always gather there when something from the past resurfaces.This is the expression of someone thrown into an involuntary flashback. He is inside a memory. This explicates why this scene is similar to the champion’s shower after the latter had met Baek Junmin: 
(chapter 49) 
(chapter 49) Both scenes show a man pulled violently into a buried memory. Thus, my assumption is simple: the champion said something that pierced straight into Kim Dan’s oldest wound and brought his trauma to the surface. And this brings me to my next observation. Inside the cabin, there are not two people — there are three: the champion, the therapist, and the Teddy Bear. 
(chapter 84) Furthermore, we have a window. We have a phone (dead, but present). We have a childlike toy — symbol of stolen innocence.
(chapter 84) And now, look again at episode 19: 
(chapter 19) A window with no view. Three figures: halmoni, the boy, and the phone placed between them like a knife. And the sound structure is identical, but reversed:
(chapter 56) In other words, wearing black is more than just a change of personality or mourning. It becomes the color of mystery, the beginning of descent into truth. 
(chapter 19). Observe that in the penthouse, doc Dan has never placed the frame 
(chapter 79) on the night table. 
(chapter 84) Every time innocence is ripped away, a teddy bear disappears from the story.
(chapter 82) will happen linked to the protagonists’ past (recent and childhood). Let’s not forget that doc Dan still has no idea what Joo Jaekyung went through after his departure: the slap, the drinking, the headache and the indifference of Team Black, just like the athlete has no idea about the blacklisting and bullying in the physical therapist’s past. 
(chapter 84) So by wearing black, doc Dan indicates that he is gradually becoming responsible for Team Blackand Joo Jaekyung the athlete. 
(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.
(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.
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. 
(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?
(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.
(chapter 1) reminded him of responsibility , every sight 
(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), 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) — 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.
(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. 
(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.
(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.
(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.
(chapter 77) and asking for his opinion
(chapter 83), Joo Jaekyung is liberating his fated partner. 
(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 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. 
(chapter 83) Someone who can choose.
(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!
(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) 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)
(chapter 83), although the knowledge is borrowed, second-hand, quoted from “the guys at the gym.” He buys cute headbands 
(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) 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 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.
(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 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.
(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) 
(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),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. 
, (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), he rises into air — the first air he has breathed without fear.
(chapter 44) followed by a false dawn. Chapter 44 unfolds in artificial night — neon 
(chapter 44) and night lamp 
(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. 
(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) This scene confirmed my previous interpretation about the symbolism of the blue/golden hour. 
(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.
(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.
(chapter 84) 
(chapter 84), but wise enough to regret immediately. 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 46) 
(chapter 46) The champion also played “dumb”. Thus the pillow got punched later. 
(chapter 82) Jinx-Lovers consider it as their first real date, a long-awaited moment of levity after so much pain. But perhaps we should pause and ask: why this place? 
(chapter 82) scattered on the table, one displays the Eiffel Tower — the obvious choice, symbol of mastery and control. Built for the Exposition Universelle of 1889, it was meant to celebrate France’s industrial power and the centenary of the Revolution — proof that bourgeoisie and steel, not kings and nobility, now ruled the sky and ground. It was even supposed to be dismantled after twenty years, yet it remained, and has since become the symbol of Paris and of France. A monument to progress, modernity, freedom, national pride and endurance. 
(chapter 82) His hotel room opens onto a broad window and a balcony — an invitation to look out. Secondly, observe that he only proposed this activity after the other members had fallen sick. When doc Dan barged in his room, the champion was doing a one-handed handstand, holding his entire weight as if defying gravity itself 
(chapter 82) and proving his recovery. The posture seemed like control, yet it was closer to self-punishment — an immobility that devoured strength. Blood rushed to his heart and head, but his lungs stayed empty. It was, unconsciously, his way of treating his breathlessness. This also shows that he had no real expectation about the “rest” his manager had suggested 
(chapter 82) — the drinking, the empty and aimless trip (“check out the area”). For the wolf, such a downtime could only mean endurance, not release and excitement. By the way, such a suggestion from Park Namwook borders on stupidity and blindness. How could he propose drinking, when he had seen his “boy” indulged in alcohol before?
(chapter 82) How do I come to this interpretation? We have seen these stars before, during Kim Dan’s Summer Night’s Dream: the same glittering symbols of softness and excitement.
(chapter 44) Yet, this time, the little “stars” belong to the celebrity. 
(chapter 82) His choice of the amusement park is not really about himself and his desires— it is an act of care, a wish to give happiness to someone else.
, Sleeping Beauty 
and Beauty and the Beast 
).Hence there is the castle on the brochure. 
(chapter 82) For both, it was financially and emotionally out of question. It grounds the symbolism of the amusement park in social reality, reminding readers that “fun” is also a form of privilege. This means that the champion is actually on his way to replace this picture: 
(chapter 65) So yes, this may look like a simple date. Yet beneath its playful surface lies the quietest revolution of all: the man who once ignored every view now opens the window, looks outward, and chooses wonder and fun over war.
(chapter 81), but not about the geography and air. I had truly detected the importance of this image and its symbolism. The plane that opened this arc spoke not of luxury, but of altitude — of a life lived too high, where oxygen is rationed by pride. Below the aircraft stretch the Alps, which I had correctly identified. From there flows the athlete’s own water – Evian 
(chapter 82) (written Evien in the manhwa) — drawn from the mountain that sustains him and starves him at once.
(chapter 82) 
(chapter 82) — a creature of heights and thin air, born to dominate the skies where others can barely breathe. The metaphor could not be clearer: altitude is his arena, but also his undoing. 
(chapter 81) The air remains clear and generous, the sky washed in blue as if nothing could go wrong. Yet the trees, touched by the first copper tones, announce the slow turn of the year. It is a calm, lucid atmosphere, the kind of weather that hides transition inside serenity. The unseen Seine glides through the city like a long breath, steady and effortless.
(chapter 82), to build joy outside the ring 
(chapter 82) 
(chapter 81) A single breath — huu — escapes, white against the air. It looks like calm, but it isn’t. It’s the sound of a man forcing his body to obey. The clenched fist that follows betrays him: anxiety condensed into muscle. 
(chapter 81) The champion has descended, yet the altitude still lives inside him.
(chapter 14), but his lungs and heart. Yet at the airport, the sportsman doesn’t realize it 
and makes the following resolution: 
(chapter 69) Back then, he feared for doc Dan’s life and ran as if his own heart depended on it. His breathlessness wasn’t exhaustion but panic: the instinctive terror of losing the person who keeps him alive. Thus when he saw him alive on the dock, he could start breathing properly: 
(chapter 69) From HUFF to HAA… exhale versus inhale.
(chapter 82) His brain and heart remember that night at the dock; every harsh inhale during practice echoes that same dread of separation.
(chapter 82) He became the wolf again, not out of jealousy, but out of survival reflex—his body screaming its panic in place of words. In that instant, he was reminded that he could lose doc Dan as a partner, that the bond he relies on might not belong to him forever.. The roar emptied his chest; his lungs gave out before his pride did. There was no air left in his body… thus the heart and lung couldn’t work properly. 
(chapter 75) The fearsome beast who once fought for dominance is gone. What remains is a tamed wolf, following his master’s voice (doc Dan) — not out of submission, but because he finally trusts where it leads. 
(chapter 82) He is now a tamed wolf following his master’s suggestions! 
(chapter 82) Thus the coach is now facing the couple. And now, my avid readers can understand why the champion seems almost radiant when he finds himself alone with doc Dan at the amusement park. It is not mere joy or freedom; it is the relief of finally acting from desire instead of duty 
(chapter 55) 
(chapter 79) The scene functions as both mirror and revelation: it forces the fighter to face the truth he has avoided all his life. In the past, he had never truly fallen. His defeats were painful, but never fatal; his failures never signified the end of a life. He could always stand up again — until now. Watching Kim Dan lean over the edge forces him to confront the difference between metaphor and mortality.
(chapter 73), thrown like stones by the father at his son, buried themselves in the boy like shards.. They echoed like a curse — a prophecy Joo Jaekyung would spend his whole life disproving.
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 72), yet she made no attempt to build an independent life. Her survival had always depended on his success — and when his career crumbled, she vanished with it. That’s the reason why the trash remained uncollected — a visual proof of abandonment 
(chapter 72) But the little boy failed to notice it, because he was suffering from the father’s abuse. Before leaving, she gave her son a phone number, as if absence were only temporary, as if love could be reached through a dial tone. That small gesture sustained an illusion: that she would come back if he became strong enough, rich enough, worthy enough. That illusion became the foundation of his life.
(chapter 72) His first fight was not about trophies — it was an act of filial negotiation: a promise to buy her return. But of course, 300 dollars could not rebuild a family. His first fall became the confirmation of her silence. This explicates why he recalls his first tournament and considers it as “fall”. He had not been able to win, thus the mother could not return. He doesn’t fight for glory or passion; he fights to avoid being discarded again. So, when he says “I won’t fall again,” what he really means is “I won’t let myself be unloved again.” 
(chapter 72) But the problem is that when he was finally able to reach his mother, the latter answered that Joo Jaekyung was too late. The mother’s words sealed the curse. He was “already grown up now” 
(chapter 74), hence he no longer needed her — as if maturity meant he no longer needed love. She actually implied that she had been all this time by his side. 
(chapter 74), while in reality, she had long abandoned him. Her departure turned growth into punishment, and independence into exile. This explicates why as an adult, he used money to buy people and turn them into toys. This could only make appear as a spoiled brat. 
(chapter 79) Even Park Namwook himself, only days earlier, had described the French match as 
(chapter 81) “a breeze” — a fight so effortless that it would bring some fresh air into the champion’s career. But that metaphor betrays its irony: what was supposed to refresh him is now suffocating him. The “breeze” promised by his manager has turned into lack of air.
(chapter 70) — a detail no one around him ever learned. This simple fact overturns their interpretation. 
(chapter 70) The breathlessness they see now is not a decline in performance, but the residue of transformation. His body, once trained to suppress every weakness, had finally surrendered to nature.
(chapter 46), whose clash with the champion exposes two different forms of frustration.
(chapter 46) He reproaches Seonho for using his title and image to promote himself, for bragging about their sparring sessions to boost his career. From his perspective, Seonho lacks both endurance and authenticity — he performs strength rather than living it. 
(chapter 46) For Jaekyung, such behavior is intolerable because it cheapens everything he has sacrificed to achieve.
(chapter 46) He turns on Jaekyung and accuses him of arrogance — of using his champion title to look down on others. What Seonho perceives as disdain is, in truth, the athlete’s defense mechanism. The star’s detachment is not born from pride but from obligation and trauma (abandonment issues). 
(chapter 46) His perfection is not freedom; it is captivity.
(chapter 52) tried to recruit Potato, the youngest member from Team Black. He wanted to become the new idol of Hwang Yoon-Gu. He imagined that he could replace the main lead and Potato would be happy to become the new sparring partner of Seonho. 
(chapter 82) — a beauty that glides but never lands. Like Seonho, Gabriel thrives on appearance — on surfaces polished by attention. His beauty, elegance, and social charisma are his weapons. He lives in the air of visibility, relying on wind — the shifting currents of social media 
(chapter 81) 
(chapter 82) and press coverage — to lift his name higher. That’s why Mingwa made sure to show him at the press conference. 
(chapter 82) Every post, every camera flash, every headline serves as borrowed oxygen. 
(chapter 82) The grin that follows is one of self-satisfaction and superficiality, not connection. It’s the smile of a man admiring his own reflection in another’s confusion — proof that he controls both the scene and the gaze. This shows that he had no intention to make the protagonist jealous. And it is clear that he never saw the wolf’s rage afterwards. 
(chapter 70). Both men embody the same cruelty disguised as professionalism — one in the ring, the other from the shadows. They blame the champion for the new match, none of them question the system. 
(chapter 36) or the media’s harsh verdicts after defeat 
(chapter 54), when analysts accused Jaekyung of recklessness for returning to the ring too soon, though he had problems with his shoulder. Gabriel’s fame soars above such storms — sustained by admiration, not endurance. Hence he is posting selfies.
(chapter 82) He is now seen signing autographs 
(chapter 82), whereas in the past, he was only seen in company of reporters in a secluded area. 
(chapter 40) 
(chapter 69) The victory would be branded as hollow, a publicity stunt rather than an athletic achievement. 
(chapter 82) first unveiled at the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893, was created to transform height into play. Conceived by engineer George Washington Ferris as America’s answer to the Parisian tower, it sought to outshine France not through steel alone, but through motion — a structure that would rise and fall, carrying ordinary people with it. Unlike the fixed tower, the wheel invited participation: passengers would move together, share the air, rise and descend without fear. It was both monument and moment — a way to democratize the sky.
Here the athlete has only one goal: talk to doc Dan and clean the air. He has no intention to truly rekindle with him 
Thus he is still stuck in a traffic jam. 
Here, there is a progression, because he can switch the lane. However, he is still driving in one direction, not looking out of the window. He is not taking his time either. These scenes illustrate the champion’s psychological confinement and mirror doc Dan’s mindset as well.
(chapter 75)
(chapter 27) 
(chapter 80) He has not grasped that he can make the champion happy. In fact, this day would represent a real break and rest, as they would learn nothing, only make new experiences so that life can appear colorful again. Here, we can see two balloons in the form of heart: green and yellow. 
(chapter 74) Joo Jaekyung would have achieved his goal: even vulnerable or childish, he is still lovable. 
(chapter 41) They were destined to be together and lived happily. 
(chapter 55)
(chapter 77) One tree, one voice, one yard — and yet the chapter closes not with human speech, 
(chapter 77) but with this fragile chorus of sound: chirp, chirp, chirp, whoosh. The choice feels deliberate, unsettling. Why does Mingwa give the final word to nature? Why let the cicada and the tree, not the champion or the doctor, occupy the last panel? Why offer us a rhythm so fleeting, so fragile, instead of the solidity of spoken language? 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) defines the scene as much as sound does. Between the two men, honest words fail. One proposes deals, bargains, contracts 
(chapter 77) The cicada sings not out of calculation, but because it must. The summer is nearing its end. The branches of the tree move not with intention, but with rhythm due to the wind. 
(chapter 77) Are we witnessing growth, or a repetition with a new mask? Rhythm, or song?
(chapter 77). Yet the cicada’s song interrupts their exchange
(chapter 77), cutting through human words to remind us that time is not theirs to master. If nature is the true composer of this tale, then what are they but its creatures — a cicada on the trunk, a tree standing silently next to the characters?
(chapter 77) Observe that after each thought 
(chapter 77). He is the cicada, because he feels powerless in front of doc Dan. Or we could say, he is the cicada due to his self-loathing. Hence he feels so small. On the other hand, observe that he doesn’t expose his vulnerability to doc Dan. He appears strong, independent and determined in front of the physical therapist. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 1) have always been temporary, rotated and replaced like disposable tools. 
(chapter 53) Never once did he sustain a long relationship with one which was definitely influenced by his manager. Even now, with Dan, he cannot cross the invisible line between professional and personal 
(chapter 77) It is no wonder that his voice and the cicada’s noise blur into one rhythm — restless, repetitive, transient. 
(chapter 75), and now at twenty-six 
(chapter 75), like the cicada in its final molt, he sings louder than ever, defiant against the silence that waits for him. 
(chapter 69) Under the tree, the “fighter” is acting, as if he was strong and healthy again! 
(chapter 77) He has already accepted the fight in the fall 
(chapter 57), sacrificing joy for survival, laboring without song. But Mingwa overturns the moral. The grandmother embodies the ant’s labor 
(chapter 62), turning Dan into a beast of burden — obedient, exploited, mute. The landlord has a similar mind-set 
(chapter 77), yet he diverges from Shin Okja, because he is aware of the importance of rest. Moreover, we see him working next to the two “kids”. On the other hand, note that doc Dan is working once again during his free time. 
(chapter 77) Shin Okja’s hoarding brought no music, no life which contrasts a little to the nameless farmer: 
(chapter 77) His words are linked to music. Yet, if we compare the champion with the grandmother, the cicada fills the silence with sound 
(chapter 75) (bench-talk during the night under a street lamp 
“let’s make history” pitches), always angling the wolf toward the next blaze. Under that light, every human bond is recoded as use: therapists rotate, friends become assets, even pain becomes a publicity arc. The “spotlight” warms 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 75) This shows that the athlete has not found the right answer yet. He only focused on this aspect: doc Dan 
(chapter 76) But the director had told him this: 
(chapter 77) At no moment, he is mentioning Hwang Byungchul or the landlord. He goes further—he defines himself as a shackle, an anchor weighing Dan down. The language is borrowed directly from Dan’s own vocabulary: 
(chapter 77). In a grim symmetry, both men come to see themselves as burdens, unworthy of being chosen, each convinced he is dragging the other down. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can understand why I perceived no deep change in the wolf, he is still defining himself as a fighter and champion, nothing more. 
(chapter 77) Each match will only bring him closer to separation. Whether he wins or loses, the outcome is the same: Dan will leave. 
(chapter 11), replayed in episode 58 
– chapter 59- (the puppy’s burial seared death into his memory), he still cannot taste life. The sweetness of the moment melts as passively as he endures it. Yet it is also Jaekyung’s tragedy, because by calling himself a “shackle” (77), he steps into Dan’s shoes: burdened, unworthy, longing — and unheard. What was once Dan’s silent plea for companionship is now Jaekyung’s, but this time it is Dan who cannot perceive the truth, too focused on himself and his self-loathing.
(chapter 71) but voiceless. His attraction to Shin Okja’s wedding cabinet makes sense here. 
(chapter 19) The cabinet, crafted from dead wood and mother-of-pearl, is civilization’s tree: beautiful, heavy, but lifeless. It embodies control and permanence, much like the grandmother’s treatment of him — precious in appearance, mute in agency. When Dan strokes it longingly in chapter 19
(chapter 19), he projects himself onto it and his grandmother, identifying with its polished silence. By chapter 53, however, the tone shifts. 
(chapter 53) The cabinet becomes a burden, an inheritance of death and stasis that he must abandon, just as he begins to sense the need to step beyond his grandmother’s shadow.
(chapter 41) But life requires care: water, soil, and balance between sun 
(chapter 41) and shade. This means that trees need care, yet the problem is that since they grow patiently, people take them for resilient. Nevertheless, the illness of a tree (parasites, fungus) can be difficult to perceive because signs are not always obvious and can be confused with normal growth patterns (falling leaves due to the season). This mirrors doc Dan’s conditions. He is blamed for his sickness, as he has a weak constitution 
(chapter 70). Thus I see Dan’s decline, his exhaustion, his silence at the bench in chapter 77, as a reflection of this reality: he is not being tended like the tree in the courtyard which contrasts to the way the chili peppers are treated. 
(chapter 77), even when holding a Popsicle. 
(chapter 41) That was the moment he realized he had caught feelings for Jaekyung. The tree embodies life, hence there is this expression: “The tree of life”. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why the main lead came to associate rest and companionship to a walk through the woods. 
(chapter 65) — through woods, past the grave of the nameless puppy — reveal his repressed longing: to mourn, to belong, to root himself in a place where companionship is natural, not demanded. He is indeed longing for recognition and care. 
(chapter 57), treating him as a cabinet to be left behind or a baggage to be passed on. 
(chapter 76) What he expressed in front of the champion was actually reflecting his own desires. But so far, no one is willing to stay by his side and take care of him, when he is sick. Exactly like the athlete, the main lead was not allowed to become “sick” in the end, as he had to support his grandmother.
(chapter 59), the parents never properly mourned, all the grief denied him. The trunk carries scars, weathering seasons while others lean against it — the image of Dan’s silent, taken-for-granted endurance. And it is precisely on the trunk, in the realm of life itself, that the cicada sings. 
(chapter 57) And because I made the connection between the main lead and the tree, another association came to my mind: the picture of the smiling Kim Dan with his grandmother in front of the hydrangeas. 
(chapter 76) accompanied the ghostly illusion of Dan, a presence felt but no longer seen. As you can see, the sound exposes the doctor’s true life: he is a ghost, exactly like the tree in the corner of the yard. This means that we should expect doc Dan’s response to the champion’s offer in the next episode. However, this time, the physical therapist will make his own choice, not influenced by his grandmother, born from his true desire.
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77). One might think, he selected it, because he likes it and as such has already tasted it. However, I can refute this perception. 
(chapter 16) When doc Dan was looking for a new place, he was eating a red bean bread in front of a freezer at a convenience story. The little boy in the background was looking for a popsicle himself. This shows not only the malnutrition of doc Dan’s from the past, but also his choices were influenced by his grandmother and her taste. In episode 11, the grandmother offered him red bean bread for his birthday 
(chapter 77) is not referring to the popsicle, but to the good news from the celebrity. This disconnection exposes the doctor’s lack of appetite and listlessness. He is not living, he is withering. Hence the popsicle melts untouched, a confession without words: 
(chapter 77) or “sleepwalking” 
(chapter 77) and not depression! 
(chapter 77) sharp, hot, forged by survival. Chili peppers, introduced to Korea centuries ago, became a cornerstone of its cuisine — not only for flavor but as a sign of vitality and strength. They are hung in bundles outside homes to ward off bad luck, their fiery color a talisman of life-force. Doc Dan brings life into the champion’s life 
, pushing the athlete to change his habits. The physical therapist also burns 
(chapter 18), though he rarely lets it show. His fire erupts in flashes — anger, defiance, or hidden passion 
(chapter 77) He refuses the penthouse not because he dislikes it, but because he has already grown attached to it, to its inhabitant, and to the bond he fears to name. To admit this attachment would be to risk exposure — to risk being seen and rejected once again.
(chapter 77) Melon is not survival food, not inherited obligation. It is pure refreshment, fruit turned into summer sweetness. For once, he accepts it without protest, without remark, even tastes it. 
(chapter 43), presented on his birthday cake, but a quieter gesture of allowing sweetness into his body. Contrary to the past, he is now taking his time to eat it. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) circling, playful, embodiments of innocence, pranks, and uncalculated joy. And yet, the champion does not see them. His gaze is elsewhere, fixed on Kim Dan and as such on promises, contracts and shackles, on the logic of debts and repayment. 
(chapter 13) His life has been shaped by exchanges where even love must be earned, and so he remains haunted by the sense that he is tolerated, not chosen. 
: a fighter guarding his jinx, a therapist financing his grandmother’s care. 
(chapter 48) It was no real bargain, but a devil’s deal: short-term relief in exchange for entrapment in illegality. 
(chapter 48) Dan, swayed by Shin Okja’s illness 
(chapter 48), hid the meeting from Jaekyung. The secrecy itself poisoned the bond, culminating in the locker-room explosion. There Jaekyung hurled his cruelest accusation 
(chapter 41) — even the act of repaying Jaekyung was her idea. Money became the currency of gratitude because she defined it so. Observe that her request from the celebrity evolves around money and time again: 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 77) Worse still, he would relive the sting of mistrust 
(chapter 57), while she spent time with the champion on the beach. Xshe simply ignored his desire: 
(chapter 57) making decisions on his behalf without knowing his actual life. Her choices are based on the past and on her believes (television, trust in drugs and huge hospitals). She has no idea about his sleepwalking, his malnutrition, the incident with the switched spray, his blacklisting in Seoul …
(chapter 6) The reality is that this new offer doesn’t stand for equity and respect, rather servitude and submission. Something the doctor has already sensed: 
(chapter 77) He was already shocked how far the athlete was willing to go. Besides, he keeps wondering why the athlete would act this way: 
(chapter 77) In his mind, hatred is the imagined opposite of love — the binary hammered into him by his father. 
(chapter 53) that left Dan trapped. The landlord, by contrast, knows limits. He praises without exploiting: “You’re doing better than anyone else here, the best!” But then, instead of pushing for more, he tells them to rest. He values their health, not just their productivity. In other words, he is not really an “ant” in La Fontaine’s fable, hoarding labor until exhaustion. He embodies a balance — work as a way to connect, not to consume.
(chapter 74), and since then he has refused to look beyond the ring. To him, the jinx belongs to matches, not to hospitals or funerals. He takes comfort in the grandmother’s words that she will choose her time of departure 
(chapter 65), never considering that illness could strike suddenly, that Dan’s health could collapse without warning, that Hwang Byungchul’s shadow could fade from the story altogether. Hence he imagines that they can visit Shin Okja regularly. 
(chapter 75) To conclude, he is still acting, as if he could control time and as such life.
(chapter 59) For him, sweetness is fragile — a red bean bun, a fleeting popsicle — always on the verge of melting away. This is why silence overwhelms him on the bench: Jaekyung offers a contract, and as such the cicada calls, But Doc Dan’s own voice fails. Hence the wind answers 
(chapter 76) He misses that for Dan, they are a source of comfort, tiny sparks of smile 
(chapter 57) in a life otherwise muted by burden. The tragedy is that Jaekyung himself is the only one who could give Dan that genuine laughter — the kind we glimpsed once, briefly, in chapter 44 
(chapter 77) Yet, she is no longer his source of “comfort”. 
(chapter 22) But the grandmother doesn’t embody jokes and games, only obligations and duties. So helping the grandmother doesn’t signify assisting his fated partner. Without pranks, without jokes, without the unpredictable gift of play, their bond risks becoming another duty, another sterile shackle.
(chapter 22) — carefully measured meals from his nutritionist, even the doctor’s recent convalescent porridge of rice and chicken. 
(chapter 77) The male lead didn’t add abalone for example. But what if the athlete tasted something different? A hot, spiced dish, the kind that makes you laugh and cry at the same time? This is no abstract thought — Mingwa has already staged it in parallels. 
(chapter 37) In the States and in Seoul… After Heesung slept with Potato, he cooked him ramen studded with chili peppers. 
The gesture was not just breakfast but an intimate code, echoing the well-known phrase, “Do you want to eat ramen?” 
(chapter 35) — an invitation to closeness. Jaekyung might know the phrase, with his many partners before Dan, 
(special episode 1) but he has never truly eaten the ramen. Dan, ironically the virgin, has never received the invitation at all. The one ignorant of the metaphor has lived it 
(chapter 37); the one familiar with the code has never tasted its reality. 😂
(chapter 73) Joy and smile were followed by guilt 
(chapter 73), sadness and resent. 
(chapter 74) 
(chapter 40) 
(chapter 75) His eyes open after the dream, and they open to the same light. It’s the opposite of every earlier awakening 
(chapter 54) —no gasp for air, no clutching his throat 
(chapter 75), no father’s voice strangling him. This sudden awakening embodies enlightenment. 
(chapter 70) He knows the athlete from the past. The latter was attached to people and not to places. Why does he speak of “something” rather than “someone”, if he knows? The lesson is not about fixing a new goal or object to chase, but about discovering how to live differently — how to live happily. 
(chapter 75). Even before, he could only mutter to himself this: 
(chapter 70) The negation indicates denial, but observe that he couldn’t even use a noun. He cannot yet translate this vision into words, because he has never heard “I love you” himself 
(chapter 74) No one ever taught him how to say I love you. And so, when Dan appears in his dream, it is not the words that free him but the gaze. 
(chapter 75) or the mother’s withdrawal. 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 75) His love is expressed through humility — through not knowing. At the same time, his words and facial expression ooze trust and confidence. 
(chapter 75) Each title, each belt, each triumph was a rebuttal to his father’s words. He was not worthless, not doomed. Yet the irony is cruel: in fighting to silence those curses 
(chapter 75), he bound himself ever more tightly to them. Winning never brought peace; it only bought him momentary quiet from the voices in his head. This confession from the main lead confirmed my previous interpretations. First, the main lead had been constantly hearing voices in his head. Secondly, the hamster embodies “sound”, but a different kind: true communication linked to honesty and affection. This explicates why after the couch confession 
(chapter 29), Joo Jaekyung opened up a little to doc Dan! Thus the next morning, he visited the bathroom where doc Dan was! 
(chapter 30) It was just an excuse to spend more time with his fated partner. 
(chapter 74), no “dear,” no “I love you.” In the father’s memory, she used the child as an excuse to distance herself from her spouse. In that moment, Jaekyung is not a son to be cherished but a barrier in an adult quarrel.
(chapter 67) His question is really an appeal for recognition. If Jaekyung answered yes, Dan could interpret it as proof of love, because in his own distorted framework being worried about equals being cared for. But Jaekyung answered with silence. 
(chapter 67) Not because he felt nothing, but because he lacked the language to connect worry with love. In his conscious mind, conception of care was still bound to usefulness — Dan mattered because he was needed for training, not because he was loved as himself, while deep down, he had already moved beyond this aspect. He was just in denial in this scene,
(chapter 74) On one level, she does not recognize his voice. But on a deeper level, her words ring as truth: she does not know her son. She has no idea who he has become, what defines him, what characterizes him beyond money and survival.
(chapter 74), promising to provide for her if she returns home. He unconsciously appeals to the only logic he has ever known: that love equals provision, that affection is secured by usefulness. 
(chapter 42) His father’s voice was violent and scornful, but its framework remained lodged in him.
(chapter 62) That way, he can still be “free”. 
(chapter 72) becomes the perfect metaphor for her treatment of him. Once she no longer needed him, he was discarded like refuse. Just as trash cannot be reclaimed by sentimental value, she will not be able to reclaim him later through appeals to blood ties or belated need. It is impossible because he has learned — painfully — that true love is not about what you have, but about who you are.
(chapter 74) He understood that the words he longed for as a child were never simply withheld — they never existed. Since we saw her back and heard her voice, I don’t think, she truly cut off ties with Joo Jaekyung. Why? It is because she had no intention to change her phone number again. 
(chapter 74) She expected him to follow her request. I can definitely imagine her trying to reconnect with Joo Jaekyung, the moment he became a celebrity. 
(chapter 75) Keep in mind that we have these mysterious phone calls: 
(chapter 37)
(chapter 43) 
(chapter 49)
(chapter 75) On the surface, these sound like support. He smiles, his tone is warm, his words echo the vocabulary of friendship. Yet this false promise had lasting consequences: it reinforced a pattern already planted by the champion’s mother. Since childhood, Jaekyung had equated helping with caring 
(chapter 34), Jaekyung assumed later that the actor would have helped doc Dan to hide. 
(chapter 58) His violent intrusion into the actor’s home was the natural outgrowth of Namwook’s teaching: if love is real, it must show itself as service.
(chapter 45), Jaekyung struggled to even recognize it. Giving him a gift and expressing gratitude was not “helping the fighter”. 
“ (chapter 75) There’s a life outside the ring and the spotlight. 
(chapter 72) was quite futile, for at the end, he ended up alone and felt lonely.
(chapter 71) Yet, deep down, he was happy that Joo Jaekyung had visited him and even spent the whole day with him. Secondly, for him, too, love has always been expressed through responsibility, advice, and correction rather than direct declaration. When he tells Jaekyung to “look around” and “think hard,” or warns Dan to “
(chapter 70) “stay sharp,” he is not being cold — he is speaking from the only framework of love he knows: respect, knowledge, care, and responsibility, the very dimensions Erich Fromm outlines. He realized too late that he missed Joo Jaekyung very much. His love is embedded in actions and words of guidance, not in sentimental speech. To suddenly say “I love you” would, in his own register, feel shallow and false. He actually embodies the “real parent” IMO, because contrary to all the others adults, he learned from his mistakes. No parent is perfect, but they need to reflect on their words and actions. Learning through experiences is lifelong learning. It stops with death. The director did his best according to the circumstances and tried to correct his wrongdoings. And we can see his influence in the champion’s life. When it comes to doc Dan, he also makes mistakes: 
(chapter 68) 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69) And that’s what makes him so human. 
(chapter 71) Hence doc Dan didn’t resent the champion for his harsh treatment. But unlike the mother, who equated love with possession, Hwang Byungchul has begun to correct himself. He respects Jaekyung’s privacy, he encourages instead of dictating, he models a love that is belated but still real. This opens the possibility that Jaekyung, too, may learn to fill his silences differently — not with dominance or provision, but with genuine presence. He truly embodies the philosophy from Erich Fromm: it is never too late to become happy! Hence he smiled on the rooftop! 
(chapter 41) He didn’t know how to judge such a confession. Hence these words were reduced to a mistake! 
(chapter 66), whispers through tears 
(chapter 66) and then breaks down with “
(chapter 66) These are not declarations of love, but desperate substitutes — fragments of the words he could never utter in childhood. They expose the precise gap: he never managed to say back what had once been said to him. He had lost his parents too soon. Instead of “I love you too,” what emerges is fear of abandonment. Instead of reciprocity, there is only pleading. His grip on Jaekyung’s shirt is the physical translation of what he could not verbalize: the child’s attempt to hold onto someone who is already vanishing. 
(chapter 31)— which he associates with unbearable debt. His mother’s final “gift” of love was one he could never repay. Any present risks reopening that wound: “What if I can’t repay this? What if I lose them too?”
(chapter 74) — the quiet sign that the sun is about to rise. Dawn is not just a natural detail in Jinx; it is a symbolic hinge. It is the moment when night meets day, when moon and sun overlap, when endings bleed into beginnings. In myth and fairy tale, dawn often marks metamorphosis: the Little Mermaid turns to foam, the enchanted sleepers awaken, the beast becomes a prince. For Jaekyung, too, dawn is the threshold. His father cursed him at dawn 
(chapter 73), stripping him of worth, tying the rising sun to shame. But in this new dawn, another voice will have to intervene. Only Dan can replace the curse with a blessing. Only “I love you” can undo “you are not special.” And if it is not “I love You”, then it could be a kiss, the symbol of “affection”. 
(chapter 75) He was always there — arranging his matches, covering his problems, whispering about his “future.” Yet the quality of his presence was hollow. He never once guided Jaekyung beyond his father’s curse, never helped him imagine a life beyond titles. Thus he never discovered that the “monster” was suffering from insomnia. 
(chapter 75) His companionship was measured in duration, not depth.
(chapter 41), an invitation to walk together. Namwook’s long presence embodies the trap of quantity without substance. Dan’s brief but luminous presence reveals the power of quality: the kind of attention that transforms.
(chapter 75) Namwook’s whispers, too, keep him chained to that rhythm of urgency — rankings, titles, deadlines. But once Dan’s whisper replaces Namwook’s, time itself shifts. The future is no longer a debt to repay but a horizon to approach slowly, hand in hand.
(chapter 27), even rediscovered his love for swimming. Water, his true element, was reclaimed as play rather than punishment. 
(chapter 27) That single day was a seed — a foreshadowing of what life might look like once the curse is broken for good.
(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.
(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.
(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)
(chapter 47) His damage was earned in the shadows and in staged fights manipulated by higher powers. 
(chapter 47)
(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.
(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.
(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.
(chapter 49) reveals that anonymity was never his desire. It was his sentence.
(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 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) That’s the same number of persons in the dark alley, when you exclude Joo Jaekyung and Baek Junmin 
(chapter 52) Note that Director Choi Gilseok doesn’t express concern for Baek Junmin, his attention is on the Emperor! 
(chapter 47),he doesn’t take pride in killing someone.
(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
(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.
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 73) in the present timeline, but an assault there can happen any time.
(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.
(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 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. 
(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. 
(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 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.
(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! 
(chapter 54) and Joo Jaekyung’s father, Joo Jaewoong. 
(chapter 47) 
(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.
(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”.
(chapter 49). he desired to have a real title and admiration. 
(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 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.
(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 68) In time, each man will become the other’s bear 
(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 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.
(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. 
(chapter 71), performative masculinity and high expectations of Park Namwook, and the explosive violence of his father. 
(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 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.
(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 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.
(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 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.
(Chapter 27) because the body, from the very start, was only a tool for survival.
(Chapter 72) Instead, he redirects the situation: 
(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) 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.
(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) 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.
(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) 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) 
(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. 
(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.
(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 65) Her mindset follows a consistent logic: one problem, one person, one solution. Kim Dan is overworked and sick? 
(chapter 72) is invisible to her. She sees a man who has succeeded—and assumes that means he is thriving.
(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.
(chapter 70) He judges him without knowing the circumstances. This projection is not new. In the past, he blamed the father, 
(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. 
(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.
(chapter 70), and starts being a person. The racing heart… which has already happened. And this observation leads me to this scene: 
(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. 
(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!
(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.
(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 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.
(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.
(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 22) 
(chapter 16) —haltingly and with a trace of disbelief visible thanks to the points of suspension —as his first kiss ever. His stunned reaction and eventual admission offer a compelling lens through which to explore the symbolism of kissing in Jinx, but also the emotional landscape the two men must navigate. 
(chapter 55) Still, some readers have theorized the existence of a “special lover” in his past 
(chapter 2), someone who might have earned a different kind of intimacy. One cause for this hypothesis is that in the champion’s first memory, he was facing his partner, which contrasts so much to the way he had sex with his partners (from behind). This possibility casts the locker room kiss in a new light. 
(chapter 14) If it was his first, the gesture carries a far deeper meaning than either man realizes in the moment. And if it wasn’t, then why does this kiss—with Kim Dan—resonate so differently?
(chapter 30) Recognizing his face, Dan mentions that his grandmother used to watch the drama A Fine Line, and that he had seen it with her. 
(chapter 30) The author even includes a framed shot from the fictional show, depicting Heesung as the smiling son-in-law in a multigenerational family. This visual insert is subtle, but telling: it wasn’t the story that stayed with Dan, but the faces—the aesthetics of family structure and polite emotional decorum.
(chapter 16) it frightened him. The kiss broke an invisible boundary—one his upbringing had silently enforced. That’s the reason why he wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
(chapter 30) He blushes and wonders why. 
(chapter 30) It’s a telling moment: Dan isn’t used to feeling attraction and desire, let alone recognizing it. He never bought posters of celebrities, never fantasized. That world—the glamorous world of affection, attention, and beauty—was never his. 
(chapter 30) —despite already having been seen naked by Jaekyung 
(chapter 30) —suggests something deeper than modesty. When he rushes to hide his underwear and blushes merely at brushing his teeth next to someone 
(chapter 30), it becomes evident: Dan is not accustomed to physical closeness or shared domestic spaces. These are not reactions of a man with just sexual trauma—they point to someone raised without the warmth of daily intimacy.
(chapter 5) He had to take care of himself, dressed on his own. He had to act like an adult, as his role was to assist his grandmother: 
(chapter 44) and toward something far more intimate and protective. These are not the kisses of seduction, but of affection—almost maternal in their tone. Hence the MMA fighter got patted later: 
(chapter 44) is a behavior shared by felines and wolves alike: a subtle act of comfort, trust, and bonding. Wolves nuzzle to soothe and reassure. Leopards nudge to display affection without threatening dominance. Dan’s pecks 
(chapter 57) (chapter 57)—licking them not out of instinct alone, but to reassure and bond. 
(chapter 14) Therefore the physical therapist astonishment, “What’s this?” was not naïve; it was disoriented. Somewhere deep within, Dan had internalized a different model of kissing: one that reflected comfort, not conquest; affection, not arousal. The kiss he received was too strange, too fierce—it violated a definition he didn’t even know he had. His body knew how to kiss, but it remembered a different type of kiss altogether. The latter stands for love and as such emotions. Under this new light, my avid readers can comprehend why the physical therapist made the following request from his fated partner: 
(chapter 14) Jaekyung repeated such a gesture, as seen in chapters 24
(chapter 24), and again in 64 
(chapter 64). These gestures were not expressions of tenderness, but acts of dominance, mirroring how the celebrity was taught to treat intimacy: not as an exchange, but as an imposition. His behavior echoes Cheolmin’s earlier suggestion 
(chapter 13) where a little touch was functional. On the other hand, the suggestion framed “affection” as a form of fun and entertainment, meant to soften the experience and shift the focus toward the partner. While Cheolmin’s comment was not malicious—in fact, it encouraged Jaekyung to become gentler and more attentive—it still fell short of true emotional connection. Why? It was a medical suggestion, meant to protect Dan’s fragile state. The kisses in episodes 14 were to protect the physical therapist. They were initially functional, a mean to achieve a goal before becoming a habit.
(chapter 63) Fun is not the same as love, and this distinction matters deeply for someone like Kim Dan, who associates kissing with emotional safety and love, not performance or play. This explicates why he refused to be kissed in episode 63: 
(chapter 63) 
(chapter 3) —it forces the wolf to ponder on the meaning of a kiss and his relationship with the physical therapist.
In that iconic artwork, the man does not kiss the woman on the mouth, the traditional locus of erotic desire. Instead, his lips are placed upon her cheek—a gesture that suggests reverence, not possession; vulnerability, not domination.
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 45)
(chapter 54) When he was young, he had to face an abuser. Notice that the man’s face was very close to the champion’s 
(chapter 44) Joo Jaekyung is leading the kiss, he is regaining control over their relationship. It reinforces the idea that the wolf’s kiss was not merely about passion, but about reclaiming dominance and halting a shift in power. Just moments earlier, Kim Dan’s laughter had opened a space of emotional intimacy and lightness, which the champion was not prepared to face. The kiss, now prolonged and intensified, becomes the sportsman’s way of reasserting control over a situation that was slipping into unfamiliar emotional territory.
(chapter 45) The marks on the doctor’s body were evidence that he was no longer in control. They weren’t just signs of a physical encounter—they were witnesses to something far more threatening: vulnerability, softness, and reciprocity. In the night, swept up by instinct and unspoken longing, the wolf had allowed himself to be touched—not just physically, but emotionally. But by morning, the spell was broken. His gaze didn’t linger on Kim Dan with affection—it darted instead to the bruises and scratches as though they were accusations.
(chapter 45) wasn’t just the pain he might have inflicted—it was the realization that the balance of power had subtly shifted. The man who had always dictated the terms of their relationship had surrendered to something unfamiliar: tenderness, emotional closeness, and shared desire. The fact that Kim Dan initiated affection, even kissed him voluntarily, shattered Jaekyung’s script. For someone who conflated feelings with threat, and dominance with safety, this reversal was unbearable.
(chapter 37), and kissing becomes his emotional brake pedal. It’s not simply an act of love, but a means to regulate, or even drown out, what he cannot yet name or accept: that he is being loved. It is not random that I included the scene from episode 37: he heard laughs from the other room. For him, such a noise must have sounded like a disrespect and mockery, triggering his past trauma. And he was not entirely wrong in the sense that they were eating behind his back 
(chapter 37) It was, as if they were mocking him because of his forced “diet”. No wonder why the champion is barely seen laughing and prefers seriousness. At the same time, I can grasp why the athlete feels close to Park Namwook, as the latter stands for these exact notions: work, money and seriousness. Fun is not part of his world and vocabulary, therefore he punished Joo Jaekyung for sparring with doc Dan.
(chapter 2) Though his face was close to the star’s, he didn’t attempt to kiss him. In fact, he proposed him a fellatio, a sign that the champion had never allowed anyone to get close to his “face”. Finally, observe how he reacted, when the uke in episode 55 attempted to kiss him: 
(chapter 55) The celebrity even ran away: a sign that the allowing someone approaching his face is perceived as something uncomfortable and threatening. At the same time, that moment exposes the kiss as something sacred—one that cannot be duplicated without emotional violation. This shows that for the champion, the meaning of a smooch has evolved. It is no longer perceived as a source of fun and a mean to gain something.
(chapter 55) He couldn’t forget doc Dan’s face, the latter excited him, a sign that for the champion, the face in general has been a source of pain, yet thanks to doc Dan, the latter has become a source of “comfort and joy”. 
(chapter 66) When he saw his face for the first time, he didn’t realize that he was already under the hamster’s spell. Striking is that he even focused on his chin and lips, a sign that he desired to kiss them. One thing is sure. The champion treasured the doctor’s face. After their separation, it is not surprising that the wolf felt the need to see his face. 
(chapter 39) before requesting a fellatio: 
(chapter 39) The main lead’s head was very close to the champion’s face, thus he must have felt uncomfortable. Secondly by acting this way, the doctor was gradually gaining power over their relationship. For the wolf, dominance is everything, an indication that in his past he felt defenseless and weak. His “opponent”, the mysterious ghost, had the upper hand. Moreover, the fellatio created a distance between them, where the fighter could expose his superiority. And note how doc Dan behaved under the influence of the drug: 
(chapter 39) For the first time, he accepted Dan’s initiative—both physically and emotionally. Compare it to his attitude before: 
(chapter 55) These memories represent the moment where the athlete felt strong and had the upper hand in their relationship. These images reveal that Joo Jaekyung hasn’t realized the signification of the kiss yet. For him, they don’t seem important. This exposes that the athlete has not associated kiss with love and affection yet. At the same time, we have to envision that a smooch is strongly intertwined with equity and trust. 
(chapter 28) And in episode 14, it was clear that the star still felt superior to his companion, therefore the kiss had no special meaning. As you can see, everything is pointing out that Joo Jaekyung had never been kissed before. And what does a kiss symbolize? Not only attachment, but also purity and innocence. 
(chapter 42) According to him, doc Dan was not different from him. However, he was wrong. It is because the champion had kissed him!! Moreover, the celebrity had allowed doc Dan to kiss him as well. Besides, how did the champion name his past lovers? They were toys… normally people don’t kiss playthings. And now, imagine that doc Dan were to discover that Joo Jaekyung had his first kiss with him. This revelation would not only make him realize that Joo Jaekyung loves him, but also he could be wondering why the athlete had never done such a thing before, though he had past lovers. YES, the “first kiss” could be the trigger for both characters to question their respective past and perceive their fated partner correctly. 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 52) In that context, a kiss could never be affection, but vulnerability. A risk.
(chapter 3), based on Dan’s vague claim of prior partners. Yet Dan has never kissed anyone before. The kiss becomes his true moment of loss, a quiet confession through action. Conversely, Jaekyung’s own discomfort shows that he, too, is untouched in this particular way. When Dan tries to kiss Jaekyung again, and he instinctively rejects it, it reveals just how unprepared he is for affection. They are both unaware that the other is emotionally “pure” in this regard, and that makes the kiss a shared revelation.
(chapter 67), Jaekyung must reinvent his approach. He cannot rely on dominance, strength, or sexual performance to win Dan’s heart. If he wants true connection, he must learn a new language—one built on gestures of affection, softness, and presence. This process also involves separating his public persona from his private longing. Joo Jaekyung, the champion, cannot seduce with spectacle. But Jaegeng, the man, might learn to express love through a simple touch, or a well-timed kiss. The redefinition of seduction is not just about Dan’s healing; it is about the wolf’s reclaiming his own right to feel and give love. And in my opinion, that process has already started: 
(chapter 69) That moment was devoid of lust, stripped of performance, and free from power dynamics. Jaekyung didn’t lean in for a kiss; he didn’t touch Dan’s lips or body with any sexual intent. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the physical therapist in silent reassurance, tucking his face against Dan’s shoulder as though hiding from the world. This was not a champion claiming a prize—it was a man expressing affection. The embrace exposes that doc Dan belongs to his “world” and he trusts him. In this light, the embrace becomes a prelude to a kiss—not a literal one, but an emotional kiss: a meeting place of vulnerability and longing.
(chapter 29: note that he did not select this scene to rekindle with the doctor, but the other scene) He will learn it from life, from watching how the innocent express care without shame or purpose.
(chapter 27) In Jaekyung’s past, laughter had been a weapon—an expression of ridicule and cruelty from an abuser. 
(chapter 62) If someone had laughed in front of him and made fun of him, this would have reopened his old wounds.
(chapter 69). For the first time in this story, we as readers were allowed to hear Joo Jaekyung’s heart 
— not in battle, not in passion, not in rage — but in that suspended instant when he imagined Kim Dan missing, possibly forever. Since the author linked the BADUM with doc Dan 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69), she created the illusion that the physical therapist was embodying the MMA fighter’s heart. This scene resonated with me long after I closed the chapter.
(chapter 69) Suddenly, the pieces clicked: the heartbeat in Jinx is not just a narrative sound effect. 
(chapter 14)— yet no heartbeat is heard. One might think, the absence of the heart racing implies the lack of fear. His emotions are real, but they do not connect him to life or to others. Why?
(chapter 14) — GUOOO, metal dented, yet no pain. Yet, Jinx-philes can see Badum Badum in that picture. Nevertheless it is connected to the physical therapist’s heart: he is scared of the athlete’s strength. On the surface, the champion’s gesture appears reckless — an act of a man who does not care for his body. But this is not pure “fearlessness.” In truth, the celebrity’s anger is masking deeper fear and suffering.
(chapter 14) — triggered this buried wound, igniting a desperate drive to disprove that old accusation.
(chapter 44) BADUM BADUM from Kim Dan’s heart as Jaekyung makes a move on him. His blushing face, wide eyes, and parted lips all signal that this is not fear — it is love, excitement, and emerging attachment. 
(chapter 44) and tried new things. He gave his lover pecks on his cheeks and ear 
(chapter 34), we see the actor’s confidence gradually vanishing. His mask begins to crack. In that moment, he realizes that in the VIP spa his celebrity status offers no protection. No manager, no Park Namwook, no audience is present. He is utterly exposed to the raw force of the champion’s anger and fist — and the physical threat is real.
(chapter 34) The confrontation repeats — Jaekyung threatens once more. Yet, there is no visible BADUM, BADUM here. Why? Don’t forget that just before, the actor gulped and blushed 
(chapter 34) — a clear sign of excitement, not fear. And still, his heart remains silent. This raises the question. Why was the actor not afraid of the MMA fighter? Because even if the words echo the previous threat, the perceived danger has changed. With doc Dan standing between them 
(chapter 34), the actor subconsciously knows: “He will not attack me here.” The champion made it clear that the physical therapist shouldn’t detect the actor’s presence. Doc Dan acts as an emotional shield, preventing true panic. The body no longer signals mortal danger — and so, no BADUM sounds.
(chapter 43) Here, the doctor feared the celebrity’s rejection. This scene was actually announcing that doc Dan was already in love with the “wolf”. 
(chapter 21) — having a nightmare. It is only when the grandmother returned to the bed and began to sing that his body calmed. 
(chapter 21)
(chapter 21) — one that later echoes in his adult struggles with attachment and loss.
(chapter 58) “I am happy and at ease, but… why does my heart feel so heavy?” — it is as if the external music has replaced his internal rhythm. The joyous sound outside contrasts painfully with his own muted emotions. The music underscores his emotional disconnection and the inner weight he carries.
(chapter 65) finds his way back to the man he cares for.
(chapter 65) is more than noise. It’s a resonant signal — not unlike the heartbeat. When she barks, it alerts Jaekyung to Dan’s trance. 
(Chapter 65) Moreover, the dog is capable of expressing her „worries and pain“. And for the first time, the champion follows a sound not of the crowd, not of a bell, but of life calling to life. 
(Chapter 65) Her bark anchors him, just as Dan once did. And it marks the moment Jaekyung becomes emotionally receptive not only to Dan, but to care itself — puppies, vulnerability, connection. In other words, her presence foreshadows Jaekyung’s emotional readiness to care for others beyond the ring. Having rediscovered and embraced his own vulnerability, his heart is gradually open to softness — to animals, to dependency, to affection.
(chapter 59), the reality is that work has long lost its meaning. He has no goal in his life in the end. The emotional gravity of his loss regarding Jaekyung is palpable, though the physical therapist is not realizing it. Jinx-philes should keep in their mind that in season 1, the protagonist used his grandmother as a shield to justify his transactional relationship with the celebrity — and here, perhaps again, she becomes a cover for deeper pain.
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69) His body speaks what the panel leaves unsaid — a visceral resonance of surprise, longing, and fragile hope.
(chapter 69) There is no accusation, no resentment, no judgment.
(chapter 45), his heart raced. But he mistook this for irritation 
(chapter 45) — not attachment. That is why he threatened to hire another doctor the next morning: he feared dependency and as such vulnerability. 
(chapter 55) In his mind, people leave — they live elsewhere — life goes on. He never imagined irretrievable loss.
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 5) his reliance on routine. Yet there is another jinx in this story, one far less visible and perhaps even more tragic: Kim Dan’s.
(chapter 1) was seen as the core expression of a man who believed he was doomed.
(chapter 21) He lies on the couch and dreams of a night when she vanished from their shared bed. 
(chapter 21) This reveals how, in Kim Dan’s subconscious, the night and an empty bed have become synonymous with death. The trauma is deeply embedded, where even temporary absence is tied to the irreversibility of loss. For Kim Dan, solitude at night 
(chapter 67) is not mere loneliness—it is abandonment, it is death, it is the erasure of home. It is repressed, hidden beneath his quiet demeanor and years of survival-based behavior. Rather than a rational belief, it is a subconscious wound that only surfaces in moments of extreme vulnerability—especially at night. 
(chapter 2), the doctor’s is secret and involuntary. His actions—his fearful expressions 
(chapter 57), his pattern of emotional detachment 
(chapter 67), and his obsessive loyalty to his grandmother 
(chapter 10) signal a suppressed conviction: that he is destined to be left behind. What seemed like devotion now appears as coping; what appeared stoic was survival. And with the impending death of his grandmother, the anchor holding this hidden jinx in place is slipping away.
(chapter 67) in Chapter 67, nighttime becomes the stage for his unresolved trauma. These nights mirror one another and suggest an origin story that predates them all: a night when Kim Dan was abandoned by his mother.
(chapter 59), the story tells us: Kim Dan was separated too soon. He was not ready.
(chapter 53)
(Chapter 56) he tucks her in. Their roles are reversed. He behaves like a parent, whereas in truth, he is reverting emotionally to a child terrified of being alone. This reversal highlights the internal dissonance between his outward behavior and emotional reality. Though he was forced to grow up quickly 
(chapter 67) This reinforces my hypothesis that his bad drinking habits are related to the absence of a loved one next to him. 
(chapter 56) Imagine what it means for her: her grandson is already 29 years old and he can not sleep alone. Under this perspective, Jinx-philes can grasp the relative’s reasoning. The problem is that her knowledge is actually wrong! How so? It is because the protagonist was able to sleep so well alone in the penthouse, to the point that the athlete was envious of him. 
(chapter 29) That’s how it dawned on me why Shin Okja was so determined to send back her grandson to Seoul.
(chapter 19) The latter is obsessed with work, while he is suffering from insomnia. 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 65) And when we remember that Kim Dan tried to call her, she
He is carrying the sins of “adults”. By likening him to an angel, Mingwa frames his pain not as weakness, but as unjust burden. He embodies purity, sacrifice, and resilience, not because he was allowed to thrive, but because he endured. The angel metaphor becomes even more striking when you think about traditional symbolism: angels don’t belong to Earth, yet they walk among the living, often suffering in silence and helping others. That’s exactly Kim Dan — out of place, bearing the consequences of others’ choices, carrying guilt, debt, and unspoken grief that were never his to begin with.
(chapter 29) —not because of physical intimacy with Joo Jaekyung, but because he felt safe. For a time, the place became his illusion of home. But when the champion showed mistrust, the illusion shattered. 
(Chapter 67) Observe how Joo Jaekyung called the penthouse: not home, but his place. Due to the last altercation, the emotional safety collapsed. This experience reactivated his fear of abandonment and solidified the belief that he has no home. 
(chapter 61) that he must sacrifice his “needs” and identity to be accepted. 
(chapter 66) holds on—“Don’t leave me.”
(chapter 2) He wanted the champion to keep his promise. From my point of view, the parent’s vanishing is strongly intertwined with a broken promise… And that’s exactly what the grandmother did to her own grandson: she didn’t keep her words either. 
(chapter 11) 
(chapter 67), but this time, with eerie detachment. He kneels before Joo Jaekyung like a servant, 
(chapter 67) his arousal betrays a loss of emotional control. Though he is on his knees, it is Joo Jaekyung who is emotionally yielding. His body betrays his composure, responding to Kim Dan’s touch and gaze. Kim Dan, watching the tremble in the fighter’s expression and the rising heat in his body, feels the shift. His soft blush is not simply one of affection or embarrassment—it’s a flicker of recognition. 
(chapter 67) He senses that the one usually in control is now unraveling. Appearances deceive: beneath this scene lies a quiet reversal of power. The blush on his cheeks is a trace of a brief moment of clarity: he sees that the person who once held all the control is now faltering.
(chapter 66), his body is still a vessel for mourning. Hence there is no kiss during that blue night. Each night carries the residue of that first trauma: the night he was left alone. Whether his mother disappeared or passed away in the night, the result is the same—nighttime became synonymous with loss.
(chapter 63) His so-called jinx is not some irrational superstition. It’s a scar. It’s the quiet belief that the people he loves will vanish the moment he lets his guard down.
(chapter 67), it’s resignation. Hence he is not expecting to be cured with the pills. 
(chapter 67) while he drank alcohol with the medicine. 
(Chapter 67) Until now, the champion has a blind faith in drugs, just like the grandmother. 
(chapter 7), while Kim Dan becomes a child during the night.
(Chapter 66) 
(chapter 36), his tendency to retreat rather than challenge his own doubts 
(chapter 36), and his overwhelming fear of disappointing others 
(chapter 18) the doctor 
(chapter 25) Therefore the physical therapist bought books. Moreover, we should consider this argument 
(chapter 6), he came to accept that he was not truly talented. The champion had no trust in him and later, the word jinx triggered a repressed bad memory. 
(chapter 62) Due to his bad past experiences, he concluded deep down that his CV was not reflecting the truth. 
(chapter 56) That’s the reason why he was devaluing himself and as such not looking for a high position.
(chapter 48) exemplifies this pattern: 
(chapter 48) It was not the right time. He assumed his voice held no weight, reflecting years of learned helplessness. It shows how Kim Dan internalizes responsibility for things beyond his control. He thinks that withholding information is an act of protection rather than avoidance. Yet in doing so, he denies himself agency in his own life.
(chapter 62) completely devastated Kim Dan’s already fragile self-esteem. 
(chapter 62) First, he considers himself as waste. While in the past, he was at least a tool, he is now garbage. Hence his feelings are “trash”. 
(chapter 62) This means that in episode 62, he felt worse than in episode 18! The idioms “trash” and “waste” revealed the doctor’s own self-perception in episode 62: he saw himself as totally useless. He belonged to the “wastebasket”, just like the golden key chain. 
(chapter 46) Thus I deduce that the fate of this item echoes the doctor’s. 
(chapter 47) He had selected this profession because of her. This shows that until now, he has never developed any ambition on his own. The loss of faith from someone he relied on for motivation made him feel completely worthless. This reinforces that his confidence and sense of direction were never self-sustained: they depended on others’ recognition. This pattern suggests that Kim Dan has never truly asked himself what he wants. His entire existence has revolved around meeting expectations, whether from his grandmother, Joo Jaekyung, or even his profession. His current crisis—feeling like waste—stems from the realization that without someone to validate his worth, he sees himself as nothing.
(chapter 59) However, observe that he is using the expressions “do” and “now”. This has nothing to do with the future and dreams. It is not a reflection on his own desires but rather an immediate reaction to his circumstances. His mindset is still trapped in survival mode, seeking a course of action rather than contemplating what he truly wants. His words reflect an urgency to act rather than an opportunity to dream. This highlights that he has spent his entire life making decisions based on necessity rather than personal fulfillment. Even when faced with uncertainty, he does not ask himself what he wants—only what he must do next. His transformation will only be complete when he begins to question not just how to survive, but how to live on his own terms. That’s how I realized why Mingwa put this question in front of the window covered with Venetian blinds [which made me think of this scene 
(chapter 39 – Venice, a travel to Italy]. The window with the Venetian blinds represents a metaphor for the doctor’s trapped dreams. This interpretation made me recognize another aspect. Kim Dan is pushed to meditate, when he is front of a window or better said close to the sky! Hence the hamster started thinking about his own future in the penthouse 
(chapter 19) or when he looked at the sun and sky: 
(chapter 47) The picture from his childhood: himself with his grandmother. 
(chapter 38) No wonder why he questioned the meaning of his champion title: 
(chapter 54). He saw the belt as something rather “meaningless”. 
(chapter 43) This would boost the doctor’s self-esteem. He is not trash, but an acknowledged fan and friend. The picture would encourage the physical therapist to develop his own ambitions. As soon as I made this discovery, another detail caught my notice: 
(chapter 66) The celebrity has no picture of Park Namwook in his contacts divulging the superficiality of their relationship. 
(chapter 42) The problem is that the athlete took this recommendation personally. He felt as if his job as fighter was questioned. 
(chapter 62) According to the main lead, the champion is “wasting his time here”. 
(chapter 62)
(chapter 57) Hence it is clear that in the future, the physical therapist would refuse to use any kind of spray. On the other hand, it is important to recall that back then, Joo Jaekyung had made the request himself: 
(chapter 49) So in the doctor’s mind, if he agreed to the champion’s request, he would be treated like in the past. He would have to simply to follow the athlete’s lead. That’s why he is imagining that he might be put in a similar situation than in the past. But there exists another reason why he refused the champion’s offer right from the start. It is because he has always perceived himself as “hands” which stand for selflessness and generosity. The latter defined doc Dan. Hence he looked at them, when he declared himself as a tool: 
(chapter 57) 
(chapter 1) with a previous PT like the spray? No wonder why he called himself “trash” in the end. 
, people might wonder why I selected dandelions as a frame for the selected.. It’s clear that the dandelions aren’t just there for aesthetic balance. Their symbolism is profound. Dandelions are often associated with childhood innocence, wishes, and fleeting moments of beauty, yet they also wither quickly, easily scattered by the wind. In the context of Jinx, they represent a transitory force—something that struggles to take root, much like the intangible and fleeting elements in Kim Dan’s life. But there’s more to it. Before delving into deeper analysis, consider this: what is the common denominator in all these scenes?
(chapter 37) Therefore it is not surprising that the main lead couldn’t view the members as friends in the end. 
(chapter 41) And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung has always disliked his birthday and the “congratulations” from people in general. The gifts and words were like poisoned praises to his soul. They were pushing him to live like a “god”. 
(chapter 45) Kim Dan’s only adult photograph, taken with Choi Heesung and Potato, ties into his professional world, reinforcing how his identity has always been defined by what he does rather than who he is. 
(chapter 59) While this photography was not a personal and intimate picture, it also symbolizes his first root in the little community: Light of Hope Hospice. He is part of the staff and as such of the little town. On the other side, we could say, he is gradually entering the scene as a PT. Note the contrast to the food truck: 
(chapter 30) In other words, it exposes the actor’s hypocrisy and wrongdoings. And now, you understand why I wrote genuine in parentheses above [proof of (genuine) human connection]. Photography in Jinx also represents the evidence of wrongdoing 
(chapter 48) and deception: 
(chapter 46) The exact opposite of the dandelions.
(chapter 66) It is a direct contradiction to the hollow praise doc Dan has received all his life. 
(chapter 66) he contradicts not only Kim Dan’s self-perception, but also his past accusations: 
(chapter 66)
(chapter 66) reveals Kim Dan’s elevation in the champion’s life. The dressing room symbolizes privacy and closeness. No longer seen as a mere tool, Kim Dan has become an integral part of Joo Jaekyung’s world, not because of what he can do but because of who he is. 
(chapter 66) Therefore the champion is holding the expensive gift with his whole hand contrary to the past: 
(chapter 55) As a conclusion, by bringing him to the sleep specialist, the star proved doc Dan’s words wrong! He told him something that doc Dan didn’t know: he is precious. He needs to pay attention to his health and body.
(chapter 32) And now, you comprehend why the athlete didn’t fall for Park Namwook’s manipulations afterwards.
(chapter 66) “I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately…”, it carries an accusatory undertone, subtly suggesting that the champion has been avoiding him. By framing it this way, Park Namwook is not just asking about Joo Jaekyung’s well-being—he is asserting his discontent over losing control. His follow-up suggestion, “Instead of being alone all the time, why not come to the gym?”, reinforces the idea that he sees the gym as a tether, a way to keep Joo Jaekyung within his domain of influence. In addition, he is suggesting that the athlete has been using his injury as an excuse to avoid training. There’s an undertone of doubt and accusation, as if he does not fully believe the champion’s recovery process is valid or necessary. Instead of expressing genuine concern, Park Namwook is subtly framing Joo Jaekyung’s absence as a sign of laziness or avoidance. The small compliment from the manager (“good work”) represents a turning point in the athlete’s life. Park Namwook can no longer treat the athlete like in the past.
(chapter 65) At the same time, such a disapproval 
(chapter 1), hence his true desire was to run away from that place. For praise to be effective, the recipient must be open to receiving it, either by looking forward to feedback or having expectations of validation. Since Kim Dan was in a state of distress, he was unable to internalize the champion’s words, reinforcing his long-standing belief that he was invisible or unworthy of acknowledgment. That’s how the champion’s praise became a dandelion seed in the end.
(chapter 36), or to meet expectations. None of these affirmations recognize him as a person, only as a professional fulfilling a role.
(chapter 18) 
(chapter 64) 
(chapter 66) Is this a joke? 
(chapter 40) However, Kim Dan has never realized it. Either he was sleeping or totally out of it (fear of sex) 
(chapter 27) It is important to recall the importance of the receiver’s mind-set. The latter has to perceive the sincerity from the speaker. Hence I come to the following deduction: The moment Kim Dan notices Joo Jaekyung’s smile and laugh, then he should come to the conclusion that he matters to the protagonist. I would even say, the two protagonists are destined to make each other laugh and smile: 
(chapter 64), and the language of touch—their dynamic undergoes a profound shift. This moment is not just about desire but about power, communication, and the fight for control. It is in this intimate space that both men are confronted with their vulnerabilities 
(chapter 64) and the evolving nature of their relationship. During this lavender-tinted night, their intimacy is no longer just a matter of physicality—it becomes a language of contradictions. Through grasping, biting, and kissing, their touch oscillates between control and vulnerability, rejection and longing. This moment encapsulates the shifting power dynamics between them, where Jaekyung’s physical presence no longer guarantees submission 
(chapter 64), and Kim Dan begins to push back, not with force, but with emotional detachment. He avoids his gaze, hides his moaning and as such remains silent. This night is a pivotal moment, signaling the champion’s awakening to his emotions and Kim Dan’s assertion of his autonomy. 
(chapter 63) it is a stark contrast to the usual aggressive or mechanical physicality of their past encounters. Let’s not forget that when the athlete kissed the doctor for the first time 
(chapter 14) in the locker room, he not only used his hand 
(chapter 14) This comparison outlines that their first kiss was more the result of conscious and tactical decisions than of passion and desire. It was not only to protect the hamster’s life, but also to be able to fight against Randy Booker. In other words, their first kiss was strongly intertwined with work and absence of consent. He had not informed Doc Dan before.
(chapter 63), until the latter finally opened his mouth. This gesture reminded me of a wolf licking his progeniture in order to show affection. My avid readers will certainly recall my analysis of their “love session” at the penthouse in Episode 44: there were traces of “animalistic behavior” 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 63) represented the next step of his “generosity”. Yet, the divergence is that the star had done the French Kiss by instincts, whereas the fellatio was more a calculated move. He selected this new approach based on his own likes and experiences. In other words, this magical night represents the birth of a “lover” and “boyfriend”. 
(chapter 62) The celebrity could do anything he wanted. In other words, he had clearly giving him his consent to be kissed and the doctor could not refuse as such. 
(chapter 63) It is clear that Kim Dan had anticipated a different approach: a renewal of their First wedding night. The irony is that the French kiss and the fellatio became the evidence that the star was not treating the doctor as a doll per se. Why? The star has changed a lot due to the main lead’s influence. He had gained knowledge and confidence. Nevertheless, their interaction here forces a confrontation not just between them, but within themselves—Jaekyung, who has always relied on physical dominance to maintain control, is confronted with a newfound uncertainty, while Kim Dan, whose silence once reinforced Jaekyung’s belief in his own power, now wields that same silence as a weapon.
(chapter 63) The significance of this kiss becomes evident when, later that night, he finally speaks up, voicing everything he has suppressed. 
(chapter 64) It is, as though Jaekyung has unknowingly opened a door within the hamster. Yet, despite this newfound ability to speak, Kim Dan still bites his lip at times, revealing his continued hesitation. He is not yet ready to embrace vulnerability fully, but this moment marks the beginning of that journey.
(chapter 64), the scent in the air 
(as seen through the presence of scent sticks in the background), and the vision and sensation of the man beneath him. Unlike the previous intimate moment in Chapter 44, where he was inebriated, this time he is conscious. 
(chapter 64) This is the rebirth of Jaekyung—not as the infallible champion but as a man experiencing intimacy in a new way.
(chapter 64) It indicates that the star was actually revealing his attraction toward his companion. We could say that with this attitude, he was gradually lowering his guard. But there’s more to it. Just before he “was going to finish inside”, he chose to kiss his partner. 
(chapter 64) This privileged position indicates that the main lead was not ready to face Kim Dan’s gaze during an orgasm. In other words, he had not entirely lowered his guard in front of the doctor. The reason is simple. While he was giving pleasure to his partner, this is what he was forced to see: 
(chapter 64) rejection, anger and resentment. This was not a gaze full of love, the remains from the “surrogate fights”. His facial expression was reminding him that his fated partner was more a prostitute than a lover, for he saw this sex session not as a source of pleasure. That’s why he thought like this: 
(chapter 64) Under this new light, I deduce that the champion was not aware of the true motivations behind his actions. He was actually longing for the doctor’s love and embrace. 
(chapter 64) His act of biting his lips in Chapter 64 is not just a nervous tic; it expresses not only physical manifestation of his restraint, but also his suicidal tendencies. He doesn’t mind hurting himself. This shows that he still doesn’t value and treasure his own body.
(chapter 64) The lip bite signifies hesitation but also resistance. It reflects his internal struggle: he does not want to engage, but something within him still reacts. He still has feelings for the athlete. This small gesture encapsulates his frustration—not just with Jaekyung, but with himself.
(chapter 57) and overworks himself. That’s the reason why I couldn’t truly rejoice when Kim Dan rejected the champion. In fact, he selected work and pain over “joy and pleasure”. And why? Because of the past and the athlete’s actions.
(chapter 64) Further by licking his lip, he is acting like his doctor and guardian. But there’s more to it. Observe the comment from the champion: he was holding back. This means that by biting his lips, the doctor reminded Joo Jaekyung of his own weak constitution. Thus I interpret that the champion came to associate the kiss with vulnerability and affection. 
(chapter 15) and touches were purely acts of dominance—ways to assert ownership over Kim Dan. However, the ear lick, which almost looks like a bite, in Chapter 64 carries a different weight. 
(chapter 64) He refused to see and listen to others and to the athlete, because he was trying to deny the existence of his love. The reason is simple. He is trapped in his own world, full of darkness. He was trying to clinch onto the past, where he portrayed himself as a victim and doll of the champion. But the reality is that doc Dan treated himself as a doll or servant, for he didn’t value his own body. Hence he didn’t eat properly and drank soju to drown his pain. 
(chapter 5) This is a habit he had before he met Joo Jaekyung. Moreover the latter was living in abstinence, until he drank alcohol by mistake because of him.
(chapter 24) of Season 1. Instead, there is waiting and hesitation, an unspoken question in the way he leans in. For the first time, it seems as though he is searching for something more—perhaps a response, a reciprocation, or even just an acknowledgment from Kim Dan. This shift underscores Jaekyung’s internal transformation; he is gradually internalizing Kim Dan’s values and beginning to approach intimacy differently, even if he himself is not yet fully aware of it.
(chapter 64). He thought, using strength could still help him to conquer Kim Dan’s heart, though it is just an unconscious attempt. 
(chapter 8) 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 61) That’s the reason why during this lavender-tinted night, Mingwa used reflections of all sex sessions from season 1. Let’s not forget that Joo Jaekyung was never seen cleaning up “the mess” he made. Doc Dan had to clean himself, which is the reason why he made the following request: 
(chapter 29) Not washing his partner implies his refusal of becoming responsible. The problem is that since it was a first for him, he has no idea about its true meaning. Besides, due to his own traumas and fears, he didn’t pay attention to his PT’s emotions and well-being. Striking is that Joo Jaekyung compared himself to fire during that night. 
(chapter 63) And what is the opposite to fire? WATER!! Thus this image came to my mind. How do you kill desires and passion? One might say by becoming ice-cold! However, my answer is this: by pouring a glass of cold water on the champion’s face! Yes… 
(chapter 37) This means that Joo Jaekyung is getting punished for this gesture. Let’s not forget that he mentioned their stay in the States to bring back good memories. But I have another reference for this interpretation. 
(chapter 64) This panel is a reflection from that particular day: 
(chapter 27) And where did he go to calm down? In the swimming pool… 
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 