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

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

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

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

Joo Jaekyung: When Strength Masks Submission

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Park Namwook: Delegating Blame to Escape Collapse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kim Dan: From Submission to Resistance—and Back Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Grandmother: Avoidance Disguised as Selflessness

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

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

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

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

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

Survival Mode and Selective Laziness: The Blind Spots of Belief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the article states,

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

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

The topic for the next essay is:

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

Jinx: Where The Heart💓 Spoke 💓🎶

My avid readers might have been surprised that I didn’t publish any essay for almost a month. I had two reasons for this hiatus. First, the last publications didn’t receive much attention, while I had invested a lot of time in them. Secondly, I was myself under a lot of stress, just like our champion Joo Jaekyung and the Webtoonist Mingwa. I needed myself a break. On the other hand, this doesn’t mean that I stopped analyzing this terrific Manhwa, quite the opposite.

The First Sound: Episode 69 and the Birth of the Heartbeat

When I first read episode 69 of Jinx, one small, fragile detail caught me by surprise — the sudden appearance of the champion’s heartbeat: BADUM (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.
And then I came across a fascinating article: Resonance Theory: Vibrating with Music. It explained how sound activates deep biological responses — how rhythm, tone, and vibration connect us to life itself. According to this theory, when we hear sound — especially rhythmic or emotionally charged sound — it does not remain a surface experience. It triggers responses in our nervous system, heart rate, breath, and emotional centers. Sound can bypass the defenses of the thinking mind and speak directly to the body.
This is why music can make us weep, why a heartbeat can evoke terror or tenderness — and why a single human voice can call us back from fear or despair, like in this scene: (chapter 69) Suddenly, the pieces clicked: the heartbeat in Jinx is not just a narrative sound effect. (chapter 69) It is a form of music — an embodied rhythm that signals life, love, and emotional awakening.

It was this article that first led me to reflect on why we so rarely hear heartbeat or music in the story — and why their presence or absence marks such a profound shift in the characters’ inner worlds.

Looking Back: The Silence of the Heart

As I began reflecting on this moment, I noticed how deliberately the manhwa had withheld the fighter’s heartbeats in earlier key scenes. Consider chapter 14: (chapter 14) Jaekyung, insulted and trapped in shameful memories, is wrapped in rage (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?

Because at that time, there was no one to lose. His world was transactional: lovers came and went; gym relationships were shallow and competitive; even his manager was more functionary than family. Without meaningful attachment, there was no fear of loss — and thus no reason for the heart to speak.

This absence of heartbeat is mirrored in Joo Jaekyung’s actions in that scene. In episode 14, after the humiliating confrontation, we see him drive his fist into the locker (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.
His mind, still trapped in past traumas, is locked onto an unseen enemy: the voice of his childhood abuser (chapter 54), who had called him trash, weak, pathetic, incapable. (chapter 54) The challenger, Randy Booker’s insult — calling him a “baby” (chapter 14) — triggered this buried wound, igniting a desperate drive to disprove that old accusation.
Yet the protagonist is not consciously aware of this. He has repressed his childhood so deeply that he fights not the present opponent, but a shadow from the past. In this state, he acts on instinct, driven by the frustration, rage and pain he cannot name. (chapter 14) There is no conscious heartbeat — because he is not present with himself. He is moving as a zombie: reactive, destructive, unthinking. His body acts, but his heart remains silent.

Heartbeat Scenes: Love, Fear, and Danger

As you can see, Jinx does show us heartbeat scenes earlier — not for the MMA fighter, but for the physical therapist and for other moments of crisis. These examples help us understand the emotional vocabulary of the heartbeat in the narrative:

❤️ Episode 44: Heartbeat of Love and Attachment

In episode 44, we hear (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.
This is the positive heartbeat — the one that invites us to risk feeling, to follow the pull of connection.

Indeed, Dan did follow his heart that night, therefore he made requests (chapter 44) and tried new things. He gave his lover pecks on his cheeks and ear (chapter 44). He chose intimacy, and chose to act from his own emotions. This gave him strength and courage. But by morning, he withdrew, the moment he met resistance and opposition. (chapter 45) He chose silence, unable yet to confess what that heartbeat had awakened.

💔 Episode 34: Heartbeat of Fear and Danger

By contrast, in episode 34, we witness a different kind of heartbeat — one driven not by love, but by survival panic.

When the protagonist first corners Choi Heesung and threatens him — (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.

His body betrays him: the darkness around the gaze, the unmistakable BADUM BADUM of his racing heart. Here, the heartbeat does not speak of longing or love. It is a visceral alarm bell, signaling vulnerability and fear.

And yet — this makes the next moment all the more revealing. Later in the same episode, the actor faces the main lead again — but this time Dan is present. (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.

In this, the manhwa subtly shows us:
Heartbeat is not simply about surface emotion. It reflects the perceived reality of threat, loss, or love.
When danger and loss feel real → the heart races. (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”.
When one feels protected → the heart stays still, even if the mind recalls past fear.

Music as Substitute for the Heartbeat: Emotional Disconnection

There is another layer to this symbolism — and it lies in the rare appearances of actual music in Jinx. Music is introduced only twice:

1. Episode 21:
Kim Dan remembered his grandmother singing a lullaby (chapter 21) — a sound of comfort and life. But it was a distant memory, not part of his adult world.
Crucially, Dan was asleep (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) Here, sound functions as both comfort and erasure. The lullaby soothes — but it also covers an earlier silence. It replaces what was absent: the voice of his parent(s). The melody fills the void — yet beneath it, the deeper wound remains untouched. (chapter 21)
Thus the lullaby is not simply a token of love — it is also a symbol of emotional substitution. Dan carries this unresolved layer with him (chapter 21) — one that later echoes in his adult struggles with attachment and loss.

2. Episode 58 (season 2):
Outside, Heesung, Potato, and the landlord are singing and dancing (chapter 58) — vibrant, alive. But Dan sits apart. He is disconnected — his inner state does not resonate with the music. At that moment, he is preparing to abandon Jaekyung.

What struck me is this: Dan’s own heartbeat is absent in that scene. Though he thinks (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.

And here, the parallel with childhood becomes clear.
The cheerful music provides surface warmth — but the root pain of emotional rupture (with Jaekyung) is untouched.
Just like the lullaby once offered comfort without healing, the music here offers temporary relief, not true resolution.
In both moments, we see how music without heart resonance leaves the deeper wounds unaddressed — and why it is the sound of the heart, not external melody, that must ultimately speak.

3. Boksoon and the champion

In Dan’s case, music never fully reconnected him to life — it was merely a temporary surface. But Joo Jaekyung, guided not by a melody but by the raw bark of a dog, (chapter 65) finds his way back to the man he cares for.

Boksoon’s bark in episode 65 (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.

In this light, Boksoon’s bark becomes a canine echo of Jaekyung’s heartbeat: both signal that something fragile and important is alive. That life is worth protecting. And that Jaekyung — no longer the zombie fighter — is becoming someone who hears, feels, and chooses to respond.

The Black Veil: Emotional Death and Substitution of Memory

We see this deepening in the very next beat. (chapter 58) During the happy party with the actor and Potato, Dan remembers his past lover — and we see the champion’s image under a black-and-white veil. It was, as if the sun was vanishing from his life. In that moment, Dan decided to detach himself from Jaekyung, to forget him. The champion is emotionally “dead” — unreachable, lost to him.

This may explain why after the death of the puppy, doc Dan goes toward the sea. Though in his trance, he is thinking of his grandmother (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.

Sound, Resonance, and Biological Awakening

And so we return to resonance theory. As the article explains, sound activates deep biological responses. It connects us to life, bypassing intellectual defenses. Rhythm, tone, and vibration speak first to the body — to the breath, to the heartbeat, to the reflexes — before they are processed by the conscious mind.

In Jinx, we see this principle embodied again and again — and nowhere more clearly than in the key moments of Jaekyung’s awakening. At first, the BADUM — the sound of the heart — announces the body’s recognition of fear and attachment. (chapter 69) But as his emotional state deepens, the manhwa subtly shows that the language of the heart is not always written — it is felt, seen, heard in breath and gaze.

This becomes especially clear when Jaekyung reaches the dock. (chapter 69) There, as he sees a figure on the boat, his breath catches — for a moment, he believes it might be Dan. But as he draws closer, he recognizes his mistake. The man is not Dan. (chapter 69)

Now, on the dock, Jaekyung remains proactive — scanning for signs, seeking a solution. And when a small, fragile sound pierces the air (chapter 69) — “Umm” — we witness a subtle but profound shift.
Here, the heartbeat is no longer heard, but it is seen and felt: in the shallow breath (chapter 69), the audible HAA…, and in the dilated pupil. (chapter 69) His body speaks what the panel leaves unsaid — a visceral resonance of surprise, longing, and fragile hope.
And when his eyes finally meet Dan’s, we see it: relief floods through him. In that instant, his hardened facade dissolves. He appears young again — the boy beneath the champion’s armor emerges.
This marks not only the depth of his attachment, but also a profound shift in perception: he is no longer the “superior” in this bond. In that moment of relief, he begins to see Dan not as a child or subordinate, but as an emotional anchor, an authority figure — someone he can trust, someone to whom he can turn. (chapter 69) But before he moves, before he speaks, he just looks. Frozen in place, he engulfs Dan with his gaze (chapter 69) — eyes wide, breath caught. His pupil dilates, as if trying to capture and preserve the image of the person he feared lost. In that breathless instant, Dan becomes the apple of his eye — the one irreplaceable figure in his emotional world.

And then something even deeper shifts: the roles reverse. Dan is no longer the puppy. Jaekyung is. He becomes Jaegeng.

Why this transformation? Because despite everything — the pain, the fear, the trauma of the night before (chapter 69) — Dan does not scold him, reject him, or shrink away. He simply asks: (chapter 69) There is no accusation, no resentment, no judgment.

Unlike Baek Junmin or the mysterious ghost from Jaekyung’s past, who mocked (chapter 49) the fighter’s vulnerability and punished his needs, (chapter 54) Dan sees the man, not the mistake.

And so, for the first time in his life, Jaekyung experiences unconditional regard — not the kind that is bought with talent or won through dominance, but the kind that says: you are worth caring for, even when you make mistake or falter. And that’s why he clings to Dan (chapter 69) — not as a fighter needing a medic, but as a person giving affection and seeking warmth. And in Dan’s quiet presence, he finally finds someone who doesn’t shame his vulnerability — someone who holds space for both the man and the boy he has always been.The inner child from the athlete awakens — and with it, the first true opening of his heart. He is now reborn.

Revisiting Episode 44: Fear of Dependency and Fear of Loss

Here we can look back and understand earlier scenes more deeply.

In episode 44,Jaekyung’s heart had already begun reacting — but he could not name it. This is visible, when he questioned Dan: (chapter 44) What were those buttons? His heart. His breath. His body’s fear that Dan might vanish.

Every time he heard Dan leaving at night (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 45)

And there is one more layer. Before episode 69, even though Jaekyung feared Dan vanishing, he had never connected “vanishing” with death. (chapter 55) In his mind, people leave — they live elsewhere — life goes on. He never imagined irretrievable loss.

But now — seeing the empty house, the footprints on the ground, imagining Doc Dan bare feet while (chapter 69) walking into the sea (chapter 69): he has this revelation: Dan might not simply leave. He might disappear forever. This unbearable thought awakens his heart completely. (chapter 69) Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Mingwa connected his beating heart to his face. With this panel, she implied the huge awakening and the protagonist’s transformation. He is facing reality. He is accepting his mortality, his beating heart. He no longer views it as a discomfort.

Conclusion: When the Heart Spoke, Life Began

And here, the lesson deepens. In episode 14, Jaekyung’s self-destructive punch had shown us a man trapped by past traumas, acting on raw instinct. There was no heartbeat — not because he was fearless, but because his mind was not free. He was still a zombie: (chapter 29) moving through the world, but without true inner life. Hence his eyes were “empty”. (chapter 26)

But now, in episode 69, when the heart speaks (chapter 69), it teaches not only love — but emancipation. The BADUM announces the birth of a man who can finally think and feel for himself and for doc Dan. The resonance of the heart breaks the zombie trance. It awakens conscious presence.

And we can now see why this experience of fear was essential. (chapter 69) Until this moment, Jaekyung’s driving force had been to prove his mysterious childhood abuser wrong (chapter 54) — to erase the label of “weak, pathetic, incapable” that had haunted him.
This is why, in episode 67, when Dan asked him directly (chapter 67), Jaekyung could only remain silent. (chapter 67) He could not yet admit his worries, his vulnerabilities — not even to himself. To confess would be to risk blackmail, to risk being seen again as that helpless child.

Only by experiencing the true fear of losing Dan — a fear greater than his old shame — could he begin to open the sealed chamber of his heart.
And so, when the heartbeat came, it did not merely signal love. It marked the first break in the old defenses. The child within could finally begin to hope — not for victory, but for understanding, for acceptance. But there’s more to it.

But with that one heartbeat (chapter 69) — the BADUM that exploded in episode 69 — the jinx is broken. The undead becomes the living. His past, once the fuel of every punch, begins to fade. The rage that once drove him no longer holds its grip. He no longer needs to fight in order to prove that he isn’t weak — because someone has seen him at his most vulnerable and stayed. Under this light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete hid his “growing attachment and dependency” behind the jinx. (chapter 65)

In focusing on Dan (chapter 69) — not as a subordinate or tool, but as a source of emotional stability — Jaekyung finally turns his gaze forward. His reason for fighting is no longer rooted in resentment, but in attachment. His strength no longer has to scream; it can protect. Hence he desires to embrace his companion and lover in front of others. (chapter 69) The curse is lifted. The zombie breathes. The jinx dissolves — and in its place, a human being emerges. No longer driven by resentment or fear, he begins to choose connection over rage, presence over instinct. This means, he will be less vulnerable to schemes.
And that, at last, is the beginning of his humanity.

And we must also notice what happens just before the embrace. (chapter 69) When Dan speaks, Jaekyung remains utterly silent. He does not reply — not because he does not care, but because he is emotionally disarmed. In that moment, words fail him.
His silence is a form of submission — the instinctive response of a boy overwhelmed by fear, reaching for safety.
And the embrace that follows is not the act of a champion, or a lover. (chapter 69) It is the embrace of a child seeking a parent — of one who has never known how to ask for comfort, but who now surrenders to the need for it.
The boy hugs, because the heart has spoken — and in that moment, the first true human bond is formed.

Yet true liberation still lies ahead. For emancipation can only be complete when he begins to open his heart fully to Dan — to speak, to share, to trust.

When the heart spoke — life began.
But not yet the life of a man. First, the awakening of the child within — the boy who had never been allowed to feel, who now looks at Dan with open eyes.
And only through love, only through trust, will this child one day become a man — free, whole, alive.

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

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

The Announcement of the Storm

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

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

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

Material Loss and Emotional Awakening

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

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

The Illusion of Safety

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Town on the Edge facing the Tempest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Storm in Literature

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

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

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

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

Five Disrupted Relationships

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

1. Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung

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

2. Boksoon and the Puppies:

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

3. Shin Okja

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

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

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

4. Park Namwook

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

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

5. The Landlord

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

Conclusions

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

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

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

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

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

The Invitation to Move

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

Shaping the Framework Without Words

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

The Wind That Adjusts

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

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

Gaze Toward the Horizon

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

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

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

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

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

The Hand Fan: A Symbol of Breath

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

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

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

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

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

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

(chapter 62)

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

Air Against Hot Air

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

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

Wind Before the Storm

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Man Without Judgment

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

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

Standing Behind Kim Dan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wheelchair and Truck: A Study in Contrast

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

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

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

The Quiet Trinity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sleep Specialist and the Invisible Patient

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The invisible doctor and the visible patient

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Institutions and Ideals—Comparing the Medical World of Jinx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nature, Architecture, and the Illusion of Healing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusions

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s the truth behind the Oath of Hippocrates.

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

Jinx: The Secret ㊙️ Doctor’s Jinx 👄

In the world of Jinx, superstition often masks deep psychological wounds. Readers are well aware of Joo Jaekyung’s belief in a hex: (chapter 2) his ritualistic sex before fights, his fear of losing control, (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.

In earlier analyses—particularly in the essay “Jinxed: Behind The Scenes 🎬” I stated that Kim Dan, like Joo Jaekyung, might have perceived his life as cursed. This conclusion emerged from his grim familial and financial circumstances: his overwork, exploitation by the loan shark, and his identity eroded by relentless sacrifice. At that time, the interpretation leaned heavily on visible hardships and his devotion to his grandmother. His silent plea (chapter 1) was seen as the core expression of a man who believed he was doomed.

However, Season 2 invites a more nuanced reading. I came to realize that Kim Dan never consciously viewed himself as jinxed. (chapter 56) In Chapter 56, Kim Dan is seen curled up next to a bed, whispering: “I’m scared… of being alone.” What makes this moment especially revealing is that he is not physically alone, for he is resting next to his grandmother. The presence of the very person who raised him should, in theory, offer comfort. And yet, the fear persists.

This contrast underscores the depth of Kim Dan’s emotional wound. His fear isn’t simply about being left in the future — it’s the echo of a past abandonment so profound that even proximity can’t soothe it. His grandmother is alive, mere steps away, yet his body curls into itself, instinctively shielding against an absence that has already been internalized.

That he doesn’t say “I’m scared of being abandoned” or “of being jinxed” shows that this fear hasn’t been processed into words or reason. It’s not part of his conscious self-concept. Unlike the celebrity, who ritualizes his fear as a “jinx” and tries to control it through actions, Kim Dan’s trauma remains trapped in silence. He doesn’t believe he is cursed — not on the surface. But emotionally, he lives as if he were. The hex exists, not in his language, but in his body.

His whispered fear in the dark — “I’m scared… of being alone” — is the clearest window into his hidden jinx. And perhaps the most heartbreaking part is this: he voices it not, when he is abandoned, but when someone is still there. That’s how deep the fear runs. (chapter 21) And this issue didn’t begin in adulthood. In Chapter 21, Kim Dan dreams of a night from his childhood: he wakes up alone, glances around the room in quiet confusion, and softly calls out for his grandmother. The room is dim, the bed beside him empty. This image carries more than just childhood anxiety: (chapter 21) It weaves together absence, silence, and the specter of loss. What’s striking is that the nightmare surfaces, not when he’s alone in the present, but after he has just returned from watching over his hospitalized grandmother. (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.

So while Joo Jaekyung’s curse is shouted and choreographed (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.

A Jinx Rooted in the Night

The key lies in the night. The most pivotal emotional regressions in Kim Dan’s life happen after dark. Whether it is the first night with Joo Jaekyung in Chapter 2 (chapter 2), the trembling kiss (chapter 44) and touch (chapter 44) in Chapter 44, the complete breakdown (chapter 66) in Chapter 66, or the transactional submission (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.

This theory is supported by visual cues and character behavior. In Chapter 56, Kim Dan curls into himself in bed, unable to sleep. He admits silently, “I’m scared… of being alone.” That fear is not adult anxiety—it’s childhood terror. (chapter 56) The body language, the shadows, the loneliness—they evoke the image of a small child who once cried through the night, waiting for someone who never returned.

Kim Dan’s actions echo those of someone who was left too early—possibly around the age of six. Psychologists describe this stage as a turning point in emotional development. If a caregiver vanishes at that time, the child internalizes the absence as a personal fault. He grows up believing that love is conditional, that if he’s quiet, obedient, invisible—maybe no one else will leave.

Mingwa subtly ties this back to animal behavior through the inclusion of puppies. (chapter 57) A puppy needs at least eight weeks with its mother to grow emotionally secure. By drawing this parallel (chapter 59), the story tells us: Kim Dan was separated too soon. He was not ready.

The Role of the Grandmother: A Talisman, Not a Cure

Kim Dan’s grandmother became his emotional anchor: (chapter 47) the one person whose presence could keep the jinx at bay. As long as she was there, he could suppress the trauma, function, survive. She was his talisman. But she was never a healer, for she never spoke about his parents. She never addressed the core of his abandonment, like we could witness in the doctor’s nightmare: (chapter 57) And silence, when it comes to trauma, does not protect—it festers.

Her infantilization of him is also telling. (chapter 53) (chapter 65) One might argue about this, for in this scene, (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 65), he still carries the emotional wounds of a child. And from my point of view, the grandmother knows it, therefore she treats him as a child. And this observation led me to the following question: why does she still view him as a “boy”, though he has been working since his youth? It is because he can not sleep alone! What caught my attention is that she never stated, when the doctor started smoking or drinking. (chapter 65) Was it the moment, when she went to the hospital? The timing is crucial, as it can give clues about the main lead’s sleeping trouble. In episode 67, the protagonist finally exposed his cause: (chapter 67) This reinforces my hypothesis that his bad drinking habits are related to the absence of a loved one next to him.

In other words, he can not sleep alone and from my perspective, Shin Okja knows it, but is refusing to become responsible for this situation. (chapter 47) She witnessed this since he was a child, which explains why she never truly addressed his fear of being left behind. This would explain why the halmoni tried to send him away from the hospice in episode 56: (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.

The grandmother’s insistence on Kim Dan “living his life” (chapter 65) and going back to Seoul under the guise of freedom and career advancement takes on a deeper meaning when viewed through the lens of emotional avoidance. Her words may sound supportive, but they conceal a subtle attempt to sever the emotional tie without taking responsibility for its existence. Now, rather than confronting this vulnerability head-on, she shifts focus to the one thing she believes can replace human closeness: work. A busy man has no time to wallow, no time to drink, no time to remember the empty bed. A man with a career won’t ask for someone to hold his hand at night. In that sense, her vision of “a good life” is one of functionality, not emotional fulfillment. If he works, he won’t be a burden. If he’s successful, she doesn’t have to worry. Yet this approach doesn’t cure the root wound — it just redirects it. This situation mirrors the wolf’s: (chapter 19) The latter is obsessed with work, while he is suffering from insomnia.

The tragedy here is that in encouraging him to grow up through labor, she’s also denying him the right to be a child — something he never got to be in the first place. Her version of love is sacrifice and survival. (chapter 65) And the best evidence for her selfishness and neglect is her ignorance about her grandson’s plan for his future. She is not discussing with him about what he likes or dislikes. She is directing his life, like she did it in the past in the end. And while she may think she’s doing what’s best, her silence about his fears, her ignorance about his true conditions (no home, blacklisted in Seoul) and her refusal to discuss his emotional future reveal a lingering discomfort with the very idea of dependence — perhaps because it reminds her of her own failures or helplessness as a parent figure.

In the end, her encouragement to “live his life” isn’t truly about Kim Dan finding happiness or chasing dreams. It’s about the grandmother relinquishing responsibility — an emotional handoff wrapped in the language of care. (chapter 65) By urging him to return to Seoul and focus on work, she’s hoping that if he stays busy enough, he won’t have time to feel the crushing loneliness that has always shadowed him. She wants him to mature overnight, not because she believes he’s ready, but because she can no longer carry the weight of his dependency. One might say, he is already 29 years old, so she is right. In truth, this isn’t guidance — it’s guilt management. Notice that she is entrusting the main lead to the champion which is not pushing Kim Dan to become „independent“. Her attitude, summed up by the phrase “out of sight, out of mind,” unintentionally mirrors the same abandonment he experienced in the past. She is refusing to worry about him, her peace of mind matters more than his well-being and the champion’s. (chapter 65)

This connects directly to one of the most telling moments in Chapter 67, (chapter 67) when Kim Dan, eyes wide and voice trembling, asks Joo Jaekyung: “Are you saying you brought me here because you’re worried about me?” His expression reveals everything — a fragile hope for genuine concern. But the only response he gets is silence. (chapter 67) This unspoken answer reverberates with painful familiarity: from his vanished mother, from his halmoni who rarely expressed love (rather gratitude and pity), and from a world that reduced him to his usefulness. What he really wants to know is: “Do I matter to you as a person?” And just like his grandmother, the champion fails to offer direct emotional reassurance. Yet unlike her, Joo Jaekyung is still learning. His silence isn’t rejection, but emotional illiteracy — a work in progress.

The irony is that while Park Namwook represents over-control disguised as concern, Shin Okja represents detachment masked as selflessness. She doesn’t want to worry anymore, so she chooses to send Kim Dan away — to someone she thinks should take over. Nonetheless, in my eyes, this isn’t responsibility; it’s avoidance. And for someone like Kim Dan, who already associates nighttime with abandonment, silence with rejection, and empty beds with death, being handed off again only reinforces his unconscious belief: I’m jinxed to be left behind.

The grandmother may never have raised a hand against him, but her silence, her emotional evasiveness, and her idealized image of herself as a “sacrificing protector” created a one-sided bond rooted more in guilt than in love. Her presence was constant, but the emotional quality of her care — the nurturing, the honest affection — was lacking. Hence she still doesn’t know that Kim Dan has no home in Seoul. (chapter 65) And when we remember that Kim Dan tried to call her, she (chapter 65) replied with a silence. Here, she claims that he addressed her as “mom”, but it is possible that she was just projecting her own fears onto her grandson. Since she was by his side all the time, she feared to be seen as his mother. Like mentioned above, the mother might have been busy due to work (or sick) and asked her relative to take care of her grandchild.

Ultimately, what he longs for is simple: to be seen, talked, loved, and to be chosen — without conditions. But those around him have always expected him to be strong, quiet, grateful. So he became all of those things… at the cost of his own soul.

Shin Okja never kissed him like a mother. (chapter 57) Yet in Chapter 44, Kim Dan kisses Joo Jaekyung with soft, maternal gestures—on the cheek, on the ear. (chapter 44) These gestures suggest he had once received such kisses, most likely from his mother. It means he remembers love, even if he doesn’t know how to process its loss.

Her insinuation that Kim Dan owes her everything created a myth of self-sacrifice—one that replaced genuine emotional closeness. She demanded gratitude, not emotional connection. She lived in the mindset of having, not being. As a result, Kim Dan grew up confusing love with obligation, gratitude, and performance. His difficulty in expressing love isn’t due to coldness or immaturity—it’s the byproduct of a dysfunctional emotional education.

This is why, even though he once confessed “I love you” to Joo Jaekyung in the States (Chapter 39), the moment is tainted. It occurred under the influence of an aphrodisiac, intertwining love with sex. Furthermore, he has never voiced this sentiment to his grandmother—perhaps because she never said it to him. It was never modeled. While others might judge Kim Dan’s emotional restraint, I desire to stay neutral. He is not an emotionally stunted adult by choice—he is a product of emotional neglect. That’s the reason why Mingwa has associated him with an angel. 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.

He’s carrying the sins of adults: – A school which allowed bullying
– A grandmother who turned emotional dependence into silent expectation.
– A mother who vanished, whether through death or abandonment.
– A society that reduced him to labor, debt, and obedience.
– And even a partner, at first, who used his body without recognizing his soul.

Interestingly, his emotional jinx is also spatial. When living in the penthouse, Kim Dan began to sleep peacefully (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 51) The penthouse was never truly his. It was borrowed space. This explicates his refusal to spend the night there. (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 65) Even the family photo (where and by whom it was taken is unclear) emphasizes the fragility and incompleteness of his sense of belonging.

The Secret Jinx That Must Break First

Each major night scene—Chapters 2, 44, 66, and 67—reveals another layer of the doctor’s jinx. Chapter 2 introduces the concept of the jinx explicitly: Joo Jaekyung believes he must have sex before each match, regardless of partner. This idea of impersonal routine and bodily sacrifice mirrors Kim Dan’s own subconscious belief: (chapter 61) that he must sacrifice his “needs” and identity to be accepted.

Yet in order to truly break Joo Jaekyung’s so-called “jinx”—which, as theorized, may stem from rigged matches and trauma masked by routine—the doctor’s hidden curse must be broken first. As long as Kim Dan sees himself as inherently unworthy and destined for abandonment, he will unconsciously reinforce a dynamic where emotional distance feels safe and predictable.

Chapter 44 shows the beginnings of intimacy (chapter 44), yet even then, it is expressed through regression. Kim Dan’s kisses are gentle, reminiscent of a child seeking comfort, not a lover expressing desire. (chapter 66) Therefore it is not surprising that he laughes like a little child during that night. (Chapter 44) Chapter 66 represents its negative reflection, the emotional climax of this regression: (chapter 66) he cries, begs, (chapter 66) holds on—“Don’t leave me.” (chapter 66) His squeezing fingers holding onto the athlete’s shirt (chapter 66) and desperate pleas are not about romance—they’re about survival, longing and regret. Deep down, he wished, he had hold onto his “mother” in the past, stopped her from leaving him. Is it a coincidence that this gesture from that night mirrors the one during their first night? (chapter 2) And what had the protagonist said right after this gesture? (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 53)

Then comes Chapter 67. Though no longer crying, he submits once more (chapter 67), but this time, with eerie detachment. He kneels before Joo Jaekyung like a servant, (chapter 67) asking for sex again. Yet the power dynamic is not as it seems. Though Kim Dan is physically lower, it is Joo Jaekyung who ultimately submits: (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.

Ultimately, this mirrors Chapter 2 once more. Back then, Kim Dan surrendered his body, believing it was his only tool for survival. But Chapter 66 reveals that even in moments of closeness (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.

This is why he fears being alone after dark. This is why he clings to those who stay past midnight. And when Joo Jaekyung, the one person who broke that pattern, walked away, even briefly, it fractured him. (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.

So while the champion’s jinx revolves around physical ritual and control, Kim Dan’s is rooted in emotional suppression and dread. Both stem from the same core wound: fear of abandonment.

But Chapter 67 deepens the tragedy: this time, he doesn’t just mourn: he gives in. The act is no longer about clinging to someone or begging them to stay. Instead, it is performed with emotional detachment, a mechanical reenactment of what once held meaning. His internal monologue (chapter 67) makes it clear: he isn’t trying to survive, he’s quietly unraveling. His decision to mix alcohol with medication is not rebellion (chapter 67), it’s resignation. Hence he is not expecting to be cured with the pills. (chapter 67) Thus, chapter 67 reveals the darkest layer of his jinx: not fear of abandonment, but the numb certainty that love, safety, and home are illusions that always vanish with the night.

Observe the decoration on the wall: (chapter 67) It looks like the moon and Saturn are meeting each other. For me, the moon imagery in Chapter 67 is not accidental. Saturn, the planet of hardship and emotional lessons, casts its shadow over this night, mirroring the heavy atmosphere between them. When Kim Dan asks Joo Jaekyung if he brought him here out of concern, the champion remains silent—a silence louder than words. That silence is devastating. In that moment, Kim Dan’s deepest fear is realized: he is not loved, merely tolerated. And so, in an act of resignation rather than seduction, (chapter 67) he offers sex to “settle up,” citing his own preparations like a transaction. (chapter 67) The room’s muted lighting and circular wall decor even evoke the image of an eclipse—as if the moon (emotion) is being overshadowed by Saturn (cold logic and debt). This alignment encapsulates the heart of the scene: vulnerability eclipsed by duty, affection swallowed by silence. That’s the reason why I can’t help myself thinking that Kim Dan might end up in the emergency room later. Besides, we never saw him eating before taking his 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.

A Split Between Night and Day

One of the most striking revelations is the emotional split between the protagonists. Joo Jaekyung acts like a child during the day (chapter 7), while Kim Dan becomes a child during the night.

By day, Jaekyung seeks routine, praise, validation, and control. His outbursts, tantrums, and need for order mirror the emotional needs of a child. He’s the performer, the strongman, but behind that exterior lies someone seeking parental structure.

At night, Kim Dan’s walls crumble. His trauma surfaces. He cries, begs, trembles—not for pleasure, but out of fear. These breakdowns are not romantic; they’re regressive. And until these wounds are addressed, he can’t become the nurturing figure Jaekyung truly needs. This explicates why during the day, Kim Dan tries to act like an adult and rejected the champion‘s help. (Chapter 66)

For their relationship to heal, Kim Dan’s nightmares must be addressed. Only then can he grow into the “motherly” role he’s beginning to fill during the day—someone who can offer stability, not just silent service. Until the end of season 1, his care was more rooted in duty, than real love and genuine concerns. He didn’t argue with the fighters (chapter 47), when the “wolf” was portrayed as a thug, though the latter had assisted him on multiple occasions.

Conclusion: It’s Happening Again

Now, the imminent death of the grandmother and the puppy bring everything back. Kim Dan isn’t just afraid of the future—he’s haunted by the past. Their death isn’t merely a loss—it’s a reawakening of everything he suppressed. The loneliness, the silence, the night—“It’s happening again.”

But this time, he’s not numb. He’s unraveling. His subconscious belief—the doctor’s secret jinx—is finally being revealed. He is destined to be abandoned… unless something breaks the cycle. It is clear that Joo Jaekyung will be that person, but this change is definitely linked to pain. In chapter 66, for the first time, the doctor’s jinx had a voice. And it sounds a lot like: “Please… don’t leave me.” The problem is that Joo Jaekyung chose to listen to Shin Okja, rather than talk to Kim Dan.

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

Jinx: Perfect 👼🏼 Defect 😈 🥺🥀❤️‍🩹

The recent developments in Jinx Chapters 65 and 66 provide a striking insight into the ongoing inner turmoil between Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan. Many readers have long labeled Joo Jaekyung as a ‘red flag,’ and as such as a demon. Therefore when he used the idiom ‘defect,’ (chapter 66) they saw it as further confirmation of their perception—reinforcing the idea that he is terribly flawed. However, a deeper analysis suggests that this term reflects not just his character but also his evolving mindset and struggle with emotional vulnerability. This essay will explore the paradox at the heart of their dynamic—how both men refuse to acknowledge the emotional weight of their relationship, leading to a cycle of denial and misperception. It will examine how the concept of the jinx evolves, the continued influence of Park Namwook’s manipulations on Joo Jaekyung, and the role that mutual ingratitude plays in their emotional stagnation.

The Evolution of the Jinx: From Powerlessness to Repair

Initially, Joo Jaekyung’s jinx was a ritual designed to maintain control and secure victory. (chapter 2) This belief system dictated that, no matter what, he had to have sex with a man before every match—reinforcing the illusion that he could manipulate fate through repetition. The identity of his partner was irrelevant; what mattered was the act itself, which he perceived as a necessity rather than a choice. This routine provided him with a sense of control, but it also underscored a fundamental reliance on external factors rather than his own abilities. In Chapter 65, however, a subtle shift occurs. While the champion has not dropped his belief yet: (chapter 65), the nature of his principle has changed: (chapter 65)The athlete is admitting his dependency on doc Dan. The jinx is now directly tied to Kim Dan, not just as a concept but as a tangible element of Joo Jaekyung’s career stability. The second switch is that sex is no longer a condition to ward off bad luck. In fact, the celebrity is recognizing the importance of his daily training and, as such, his hard work. (chapter 65) The inner thoughts of the sportsman reveal that the champion is feeling less powerless than before. His champion status is no longer reliant on superstition but on tangible efforts—his “old routine” and, crucially, Kim Dan’s expertise as a physical therapist. This marks a significant transformation in his perception of Kim Dan, whom he now values for his professional skills rather than as a mere tool for maintaining a ritual. Thus, Joo Jaekyung should be less inclined to request Doc Dan’s sexual services. Then, in episode 66, a new change became visible. (chapter 66) The term defect emerges in his inner monologue, marking a transition from viewing the jinx as a form of dependency to seeing Kim Dan as someone in need of repair. This linguistic change is crucial—jinx implies something external, uncontrollable, and tied to fate, whereas defect introduces the notion of something that can be fixed or even improved.

Joo Jaekyung’s use of the term ‘defect’ stems from his deeply ingrained perception of both himself and others as products rather than individuals with intrinsic worth. Instead of saying that Kim Dan is ‘sick’ or struggling, he labels him as ‘defective,’ mirroring his own self-perception. The champion has long seen himself as nothing more than an athlete, a machine built for fighting—functional when at peak performance, broken when failing. This perception is reinforced by his manager, Park Namwook, who treats him as nothing more than an ATM (chapter 11), a tool to generate money and maintain the gym’s reputation. Hence he blames him, when members leave the gym. (chapter 46) The manager used the incident with Seonho to justify the desertion of the other athletes. However, it is clear that some left the gym because they didn’t become successful like Joo Jaekyung. However, their lack of success is explained by their lack of talent (chapter 46) exposing the lack of ambition and commitment from the two hyungs. It is clear that Joo Jaekyung’s wealth and fame was used to attract the sportsmen creating a myth that they could experience the same success. Nevertheless, as time passed on, the fighters were confronted with reality. It was, as if the athlete’s achievement had become a curse for Team Black. Nonetheless, neither the manager nor the coach can admit it, the champion’s bad temper is utilized to cover the mismanagement within the gym. Striking is that by portraying the protagonist as a person with a bad temper and personality , (chapter 9) the manager and his colleague described their boss as defective. The contrast between Joo Jaekyung’s perception of ‘defect’ and the coach’s view of him as a ‘maniac’ is particularly telling. When the protagonist refers to Kim Dan as having a defect, there is an implicit acknowledgment that something can be repaired or improved. In contrast, Park Namwook’s statement about ‘handling that maniac’ suggests that the star is beyond fixing—someone who must be tolerated and controlled rather than understood or helped. This fundamental difference in perspective reveals how deeply the manager has shaped the champion’s self-perception, reinforcing the idea that he is nothing more than a force to be managed rather than a person who can change or grow.

Ironically, (chapter 11) Joo Jaekyung once accused Kim Dan of seeing him as an ATM back in Chapter 11, but in reality, it is his manager who exploits him as a financial asset rather than recognizing his humanity. Hence he wants him to return to the ring as soon as possible. (chapter 54)

Under this new light, Jinx-philes can grasp why the “demon” (chapter 66) refers to Kim Dan’s condition as a ‘defect’ rather than acknowledging that the doctor is unwell. In doing so, he mirrors how he has been conditioned to see himself—not as a person who can be sick or in need of help, but as something that must either function or be discarded. The paradox is that without him, the gym can no longer attract members, hence Team Black would be forced to close its doors. That’s the reason why the manager is inciting the athlete to return to the gym. (chapter 66) His presence is necessary to maintain the “myth” alive.

But let’s return our attention to the fighter. (chapter 66) Notice that the champion doesn’t say that Kim Dan is sick or suffering from sleeping problems. His words expose that Joo Jaekyung still views life through the lens of having rather than being, seeing both himself and others as assets to be maintained rather than individuals with intrinsic worth. Furthermore, this label is deeply connected to Kim Dan’s own sleeping problems, which mirror Joo Jaekyung’s insomnia.

By recognizing a flaw in Kim Dan, he unconsciously acknowledges his own suffering without explicitly confronting it. Therefore he is accompanying the protagonist to the sleep specialist. (chapter 66) In calling Kim Dan ‘defect,’ Joo Jaekyung is unknowingly projecting his own self-perception onto him. The term suggests something broken but also something that can be repaired, reflecting an unconscious shift in his perspective. Instead of simply using Kim Dan as part of a superstition, he is beginning to see his vulnerability, perhaps even recognizing a parallel to his own struggles. His choice of words also reveals his deeply ingrained belief in self-reliance. (chapter 66) Kim Dan’s nighttime distress contradicts this principle, as it suggests an inability to be alone. This mirrors Joo Jaekyung’s own realization in the garden (chapter 65), where he admitted to himself that he was no longer entirely self-reliant. By calling Kim Dan ‘defect,’ he not only acknowledges the therapist’s struggles but also his own growing dependency on him—though he remains unwilling to fully confront it.

This shift is significant because it alludes that Joo Jaekyung is beginning to see himself as capable of affecting change. For someone conditioned to endure suffering without seeking help, viewing another person as defective paradoxically offers him a sense of power and responsibility. (chapter 66) Hence it is no coincidence that he chose to bring himself the “hamster” to the hospital. (chapter 66) Nevertheless, the idiom (“he’s got a defect”) reveal that Joo Jaekyung is still under the manager’s influence. This means that this shift is not immediate or conscious; it is restrained by his continued loyalty to Park Namwook and his ingrained avoidance of emotional vulnerability.

The Manager’s Manipulations: Control Through Information

Striking is that in season 2, the champion is almost never seen with the other members from Team Black. (chapter 60) This scene represents the exception. For the most part of the time, the star only visited the gym because Park Namwook had contacted him. (chapter 54) (chapter 66) Striking is that by each meeting, the champion was alone with the manager. The latter was no longer followed by coach Yosep. It was, as if Park Namwook wanted to have some privacy with the celebrity. However, through this contrast, Jinx-lovers can detect a certain MO from the manager: he is isolating the champion, limiting his interactions with other members. This explicates why he remains a pivotal force in Joo Jaekyung’s stagnation.

A clear example of Park Namwook’s manipulative tendencies emerges in his interactions with Joo Jaekyung in Chapter 66. He subtly pressures the champion to return to the gym by implying that his current behavior—isolating himself—is not normal. (chapter 66) Yet, just moments later, he tells him that he can take more time to rest, as if feigning concern. This contradiction is striking because it exposes his underlying agenda: he wants Joo Jaekyung back in the gym but doesn’t want to appear forceful. Instead, he makes it seem like Joo Jaekyung is the one making the decision, fostering guilt by implying that his long absence is unnatural.

What makes this irony even more apparent is that Park Namwook has, in the past, dismissed Joo Jaekyung as a ‘spoiled child with a bad temper.’ (chapter 52) His sudden shift—acting as though the champion is no longer himself—reveals his inconsistency. When Joo Jaekyung was compliant, he was simply a reckless athlete with an attitude. Now that he is exhibiting autonomy, Park Namwook implies that something is wrong with him. It was, as though he was missing the old version of the champion. 😂 But this is what he complained about him in the past: he was a workaholic! (chapter 27) This double standard highlights Park Namwook’s true role: he is not a supportive figure but a handler, ensuring that Joo Jaekyung remains under control and fulfilling his duties as a fighter. His words are not meant to provide genuine support but to keep Joo Jaekyung tethered to a system where his worth is defined solely by his success in the ring.

His subtle manipulations ensure that Joo Jaekyung remains dependent on his management, discouraging emotional entanglements that might threaten his control. This is evident in the way he frames Joo Jaekyung’s return to training in Chapter 66, focusing on ensuring compliance rather than addressing the champion’s personal struggles. (chapter 66) Park Namwook ensures that Joo Jaekyung remains confined within the narrow definition of an athlete whose sole purpose is to generate victories and revenue. By subtly invalidating the fighter’s autonomy, he fosters a cycle of dependency, discouraging any form of emotional connection or self-reflection that might lead Joo Jaekyung to question his control. The manager’s contradictions—both urging him to take his time yet implying his behavior is unnatural—serve to reinforce this conditioning, ensuring that the champion remains locked in a pattern of obligation rather than self-discovery. In doing so, Park Namwook not only suppresses Joo Jaekyung’s potential for growth but also reinforces the deeply ingrained perception that his worth is conditional and transactional.

His tactics extend beyond mere coaching—he controls information, as seen in his omission of lost sponsorships (chapter 54) or (un)favorable interviews about the athlete. (chapter 54) (Chapter 57) As a manager, Park Namwook’s role involves overseeing Joo Jaekyung’s career, securing contracts, and ensuring his reputation remains intact. Yet, as seen in Chapter 66, his actual concerns seem remarkably narrow in scope. (chapter 66) When speaking to Joo Jaekyung, Park Namwook focuses exclusively on the gym—as if the athlete were merely a member rather than the actual owner. This detail is particularly ironic, as it reveals that the man with the glasses sees himself as the one in charge, entitled to dictate Joo Jaekyung’s movements and decisions. His fixation on the gym exposes why he shows no interest in other crucial aspects of the champion’s career, such as contracts, endorsements, or emotional and physical recovery. His management is driven not by genuine concern for the fighter’s well-being, but by a desire to uphold the gym’s operation and reinforce his perceived authority within it. To conclude, his true motivation lies in preserving the gym’s function and image, treating Joo Jaekyung as a means to that end rather than supporting him as a multidimensional individual with emotional and professional needs. That’s the reason why he shows no curiosity about his star’s private life: “I don’t know what you’ve been up to lately”. (chapter 66)

Because his failure to reveal lost sponsorships and unfavorable interviews in Season 2 suggests a pattern of withholding critical information, I couldn’t help myself thinking to see as another clue that his omission extends to the fateful meeting between Choi Gilseok and Kim Dan, which took place in front of “HIS” gym! (chapter 48) Back then, there was a witness, Kwak Junbeom and the latter could have reported to the “hyung”. These incidents indicate a consistent effort to control what the champion knows, raising the critical question: why?? His silence on this matter suggests not only a strategic decision to keep the star uninformed, but also an attempt to avoid responsibility. The supervisor often hesitates to make decisive choices (chapter 50), preferring instead to remain passive so that any negative outcomes can be blamed on the champion. At the same time, this passivity helps him maintain control—as if Joo Jaekyung, without his guidance, would be left ‘alone’ and directionless. In this way, the man with the glasses sustains a dynamic in which the champion feels dependent on his presence, even as he is subtly undermined. By neglecting to inform him of these events, Park Namwook ensures that the champion remains unaware of external factors that could influence his choices. This pattern reinforces the possibility that Park Namwook was aware of the meeting with Choi Gilseok and deliberately ignored it, likely expecting that Joo Jaekyung would take care of it, while absolving himself of responsibility.

Park Namwook’s motivations become clearer when viewed through this lens. In his eyes, Joo Jaekyung is now physically perfect (chapter 66) —his shoulder has healed, and he should be able to return to the ring. However, at the same time, he regards him as defective (chapter 66) because he no longer displays the same single-minded devotion to fighting. Joo Jaekyung’s emotional distance from the gym and his growing attachment to Kim Dan mark a transformation that the manager interprets as a threat. Instead of embracing this evolution, the “supervisor” views it as a flaw—proof that the champion is no longer operating under the selfish, work-driven mindset he once encouraged. This contradiction reflects the “hyung”’s twisted priorities: he sees the gym as the center of value and promotes an ideology of workaholism, selfishness, and emotional suppression. Since he has no one by his side, he should come to the gym, as if he would nurture relationships there. To him, the ideal fighter is one who exists solely for the ring, forgoing connection or personal growth. In that sense, the protagonist becomes the Perfect Defect—flawless in form but, in Park Namwook’s eyes, failing in function by daring to become more human. The manager’s repeated emphasis on the gym reveals his narrow view of the champion’s purpose, treating him as a member rather than the rightful owner. This misperception reflects Park Namwook’s deeper worldview: he represents workaholism, selfishness, and greed, believing that the only acceptable behavior is unwavering devotion to the gym and career success.

The Slow Burn: Why The Characters’ Mindset Is Not Changing Abruptly

Despite these moments of introspection (chapter 65), the “wolf” does not immediately alter his behavior. (chapter 66) This hesitation stems from deeply ingrained beliefs about relationships and fidelity. His loyalty to Park Namwook prevents him from fully confronting the possibility that his manager may not have his best interests at heart. Moreover, his own emotional repression makes it difficult for him to recognize his evolving dependency on Kim Dan as something beyond physical necessity.

But there exists another reason for his slow transformation, the influence of the location. Notice that he agreed to his hyung’s statement, when he was in the penthouse. The latter stands for civilization and as such “corruption”. Thus I came to the following interpretation. The penthouse represents the manager’s power over the champion, which explicates why Oh Daehyun and the other fighters spoke about that place in admiration in front of their coach. (chapter 22) They had heard about his place, for the manager must have talked about it. The protagonist is not someone who will talk about his private life to others. The manager must have dangled promises in front of them, making them believe that if they’re lucky enough, they too could live like the champion. However, their reactions reveal something crucial—they are not motivated by greed but by genuine admiration. They simply want to experience the luxury once in a while, reinforcing that their bond with Joo Jaekyung is rooted in camaraderie rather than material envy. This further highlights the contrast between Park Namwook’s manipulation and the sincere regard his teammates have for him. This scene is important, because it exposes the manager’s prejudices and lack of discernment. (chapter 46) Not everyone is the same and more importantly like him! It is clear that the man is projecting his own principles onto others and in particular onto the champion.

His reluctance is further reinforced by the lack of validation from Kim Dan. (chapter 66) Neither of them fully understands how to acknowledge care or support. Just as Joo Jaekyung struggles to recognize his actions as stemming from concern (chapter 66) rather than routine, Kim Dan fails to see Joo Jaekyung’s interventions as genuine help. This mutual misunderstanding deepens the emotional rift between them, ensuring that both remain trapped in their own perceptions of obligation rather than connection. In Chapter 66, he openly expresses frustration, stating, (chapter 66). This moment highlights a rare glimpse of honesty: he is not acting purely out of self-interest, but he frames it as an obligation rather than a choice. From my point of view, such a statement could only reach the physical therapist’s mind, for in the latter’s eyes, the champion has always been a “demon”: self-centered and inconsiderate. Observe the absence of reply from the “hamster”. He couldn’t contradict the star, as the latter was using this negative image: bad tempered and selfish.

Mingwa has long associated doc Dan with an angel. . The reason is simple. He was portrayed as someone who would do favors to people constantly: his grandmother (chapter 53), the manager (chapter 9), the fighters (chapter 7) and even Choi Heesung. Hence the latter called him like that: (chapter 30) Kim Dan’s perception of himself as an “angel” has long shaped the way he interprets his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. Reinforced by his upbringing and Park Namwook’s subtle manipulation (chapter 36), he has unconsciously placed himself in a position of moral superiority. He is the patient, understanding figure, while Joo Jaekyung, in contrast, is violent (chapter 1), selfish, and emotionally stunted. However, this self-perception is deeply flawed. By believing himself to be inherently better (chapter 64) than the champion, Kim Dan avoids confronting his own emotional repression, his weaknesses, and his own form of “defectiveness.” He fails to see that he is just as human—just as fragile—as the man he silently judges. (chapter 66) The expression “Really…?” is not just about disbelief but also about a moment of confrontation with reality. Up until this point, Kim Dan has been dismissing his own suffering, suppressing his struggles, and functioning on autopilot. However, hearing a professional confirm that he is indeed sick forces him to acknowledge what he has been denying.

The word “really” acts as a bridge between doubt and acceptance, signaling that reality is crashing down on him. This corresponds to the downfall of an angel. He can no longer minimize or rationalize his exhaustion as something temporary—it’s a legitimate condition, one that requires attention. This realization is significant because it directly challenges his self-perception. He has always seen himself as someone who must endure, someone who cannot afford to be weak. But now, he is faced with undeniable evidence that he is not just tired—he is unwell.

This moment marks a turning point, where the truth of his condition is no longer something he can push aside. So far, he has always dismissed the champion’s remarks as “lies”: (chapter 60) or exaggerations. (chapter 66) It also forces him to consider that others—especially Joo Jaekyung—were right to be concerned, which in turn may lead to a shift in his perception of the champion’s actions.

Furthermore, Kim Dan grew up in an environment where repressing his desires was not just expected but necessary for survival. He was conditioned to associate sex (chapter 20) with shame, something impure that should be avoided or hidden. This internalized belief made it difficult for him to separate his own experiences from moral judgment. When he encountered the champion —who treated sex as nothing more than a professional ritual (chapter 2)—this stark contrast reinforced his existing worldview. He saw the celebrity as reckless, immoral, and impulsive, someone who lacked restraint and viewed intimacy as just another means to an end. In contrast, Kim Dan unconsciously positioned himself as purer—someone who was above such base instincts.

However, this sense of superiority is deeply paradoxical. While he judged Joo Jaekyung for his behavior, he was also the one who allowed himself to be drawn into the transactional dynamic without resisting it. Instead of questioning or confronting the situation, he passively accepted it, reinforcing his own role within the dynamic. His moral disdain for Joo Jaekyung did not stop him from complying with the athlete’s demands. This contradiction highlights Kim Dan’s deeper struggle: he is caught between his ingrained judgment and his own passivity. He wants to believe he is different from Joo Jaekyung, yet his actions—or lack thereof—suggest otherwise. This explicates why he is projecting his own behavior onto the athlete’s: (chapter 66) He assumed once again that the star had taken advantage of his “drunkenness”, something Kim Dan had done himself in the past.

This internal conflict plays a crucial role in why he struggles to acknowledge the changes in Joo Jaekyung’s behavior. If he were to admit that the champion is not just a brute, that he is capable of genuine concern, it would force him to reconsider his own beliefs—not just about Joo Jaekyung, but about himself. To do so, however, means dismantling the rigid perception of morality and purity he has clung to for so long. Until Kim Dan comes to terms with his own contradictions, he will continue to misunderstand Joo Jaekyung’s intentions, keeping them both trapped in a cycle of mutual misperception.

Mingwa has frequently associated Kim Dan with angelic imagery, but this serves as a double-edged sword. While it elevates him in the eyes of others, it also creates a psychological barrier that prevents him from recognizing his own suffering. His insomnia, his malnutrition, his growing depression—these are all things he ignores or downplays (chapter 66), even as they take a visible toll on his body. If he were to acknowledge his own vulnerabilities, he would have to admit that he is not above needing help, something he has spent his entire life avoiding. Instead, he clings to the idea that he must endure in silence, reinforcing the very behaviors that keep him trapped in a cycle of self-neglect.

This ties directly into the slow transformation of both characters. The angel needs to be reminded of his own true nature: he is human, and like any human, he can get sick, he can struggle, and he can fail. On the other hand, the champion, who has long internalized to see people through the lens of function and utility, has to recognize that being “defective” can represent a source of strength. So far, for him defect meant being worthless. Their reluctance to break away from these ingrained perceptions of themselves is precisely what keeps them at odds. Kim Dan resents Joo Jaekyung for his supposed lack of morality, yet he does not realize that his own self-righteousness blinds him to the reality of their relationship. Likewise, Joo Jaekyung, having always been valued for his physicality rather than his emotions, fails to grasp that true strength lies in acknowledging weakness—not erasing it.

This is why their transformations are not immediate. Their beliefs have been deeply ingrained through years of conditioning, and it takes more than a few interactions to dismantle them. Imagine this: a demon speaking to an angel, it perfectly encapsulates why they struggle to find common ground. Their fundamental worldviews have been shaped by entirely different environments—Kim Dan, who has been conditioned to suppress his desires and associate sex with shame, and Joo Jaekyung, who treats it as a necessity detached from emotion. This contrast creates a deep chasm between them, where one views the other as morally inferior, while the other sees emotional attachment as unnecessary or even a weakness.

Yet, the only place they can truly meet is Earth—neutral ground where neither absolute morality (Heaven) nor pure instinct (Hell) dictates their actions. And that would be the little town on the coast. (chapter 65) Symbolically, this reflects their respective journeys. The demon (Joo Jaekyung) is slowly leaving the underworld of detachment and blind routine, stepping toward vulnerability. Meanwhile, the angel (Kim Dan) is descending from his idealized, self-righteous perception of himself, recognizing his own flaws, desires, and limitations. Both must step away from their extremes—Kim Dan from his unconscious moral superiority and passive victimhood, and Joo Jaekyung from his emotional repression and transactional mindset.

Until they meet in the middle—on Earth, where human connection, vulnerability, and compromise exist—they will continue to misunderstand each other. Their so-called defects are what ultimately bind them together, but until they acknowledge them, they will remain locked in their cycle of denial and emotional stagnation. Kim Dan must first recognize that his suffering is valid, that he is not above pain, and that needing help does not make him weak. Likewise, Joo Jaekyung must learn that genuine care is not a transaction, nor is vulnerability a flaw. Until both confront these truths, they will continue to misunderstand each other, pushing one another away even as they inch closer to genuine connection.

The Missing Gratitude: A Two-Sided Problem

The absence of gratitude on both sides serves as the linchpin of their emotional stalemate. Joo Jaekyung, for all his power and success, has never been properly acknowledged outside of his career achievements (chapter 40) , while Kim Dan, conditioned by years of emotional neglect, sees gratitude as a transactional exchange rather than an expression of genuine appreciation. (chapter This creates a vicious cycle—Joo Jaekyung continues to view Kim Dan as a ‘defect’ (chapter 66) because Kim Dan does not recognize his efforts, while Kim Dan cannot see past his own survival instincts to notice that Joo Jaekyung’s actions are slowly shifting from obligation to care. Kim Dan, conditioned by years of neglect and survival-driven thinking, does not see Joo Jaekyung’s actions as genuine care. (chapter 66) He assumes everything comes with a price, failing to recognize moments where Joo Jaekyung acts beyond obligation.

Conversely, Joo Jaekyung, still in denial about his emotional investment, refuses to acknowledge any deeper attachment to Kim Dan. (chapter 66) And now, you comprehend why the champion employed the idiom “defect”. As long as Kim Dan does not express gratitude, Joo Jaekyung can continue convincing himself that his actions are dictated by habit or self-interest rather than care. Their inability to recognize and articulate their changing dynamic keeps them locked in a cycle of emotional detachment. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that this vicious cycle will stop, as now these two men are little by little influenced by the nice landlord: (chapter 66) And the latter can see beyond the appearances.

Conclusion: The Perfect Defect

In the end, the irony is that both characters see the other as defective in some way—Kim Dan as someone who is broken and in need of fixing, and Joo Jaekyung as someone incapable of expressing genuine care. Yet, it is precisely their emotional shortcomings that make them a perfect mirror for each other. The evolution of the jinx into defect signals an impending shift, but until gratitude is exchanged—until one of them acknowledges the other’s role in their life—the cycle will persist. As long as Kim Dan remains emotionally detached, Joo Jaekyung will continue denying his own feelings, making them each other’s Perfect Defect.

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

Jinx: Wheels 🛞 and Waves 🌊〰️- part 1

The title Wheels and Waves – part 1 captures the tension between confinement and freedom, vulnerability and strength, appearances and hidden truths. Finally, readers could see the grandmother leaving the hospice for a stroll. The irony is that she was not accompanied by her grandson or a caretaker, but by the champion himself. (chapter 65) At first glance, the grandmother’s wheelchair and the ocean seem to represent opposing forces, yet they also reveal a complex relationship between power and vulnerability. Thus in this analysis, I will explore how these elements, rather than simply contradicting each other, might actually reflect a struggle to find balance between dependency and independence.

The grandmother’s conversation with Joo Jaekyung by the ocean raises unsettling questions. Her gentle words suggest concern for Kim Dan’s future (chapter 65), yet her portrayal of him seems unexpectedly harsh—emphasizing his flaws (smoking, drinking). (chapter 65) This description stands in opposition to the gumiho’s statement: he was an angel. (chapter 30) It is because Kim Dan didn’t ask for money or recognition, this gesture was entirely selfless. Why would the lady badmouth the protagonist, when she requested from the champion that he brings the doctor back to Seoul? (chapter 65) Is she genuinely worried for him, or is there a hidden motive behind her request to send him back to Seoul? And why does Joo Jaekyung, usually so straightforward, respond with silence and hesitation (chapter 65) or with shock? (chapter 65)

Meanwhile, Kim Dan’s nocturnal walks seem to oppose the grandmother’s immobility. (chapter 65) His bare feet on the cold ground (chapter 65) suggest a longing for freedom, yet the direction of his steps remains uncertain. Whereas these walks reveal about his inner struggle, they don’t reveal the destination of his nightly strolls. Where was he going during that night? Was he going to the ocean—vast and untamed— like in episode 59, (chapter 65) or had his destination changed? These questions will be answered in the second part.

By examining the tension between appearances and reality, the contrast between confinement and escape, I hope to uncover the true nature of sacrifice and survival in the characters’ life. Wheels and Waves invites you to question what it really means to move forward—and at what cost. But let’s start with the interaction between Shin Okja and Joo Jaekyung.

The grandmother and the ocean

Between CREAK, STEP and TAP

First, it is important to realize that the champion was the one who chose the ocean as a destination. The nurse had only planned to walk around the hospice: (chapter 65) This destination reflects the athlete’s desire and mind-set. He likes this place because it is quiet. (chapter 62) From my perspective, the man has now internalized the beach to nature and privacy. Striking is the way Mingwa introduced the scenery. First, she focused on the wheel and Joo Jaekyung’s feet. (chapter 65) The contrast between the creaking wheels of the grandmother’s wheelchair and the steady steps of the champion immediately establishes the theme of control versus freedom. The wheelchair’s wheels represent civilization, immobility, passivity, and the grandmother’s obsession with control—over her own fate (chapter 65) and Kim Dan’s future. In contrast, Joo Jaekyung’s feet symbolize the potential for naturalness, movement and agency (chapter 65), emphasizing his ability to choose and act, even if he is currently unaware of the extent of the grandmother’s manipulation. I will explain further why I see the grandmother’s conversation as a deception. On the other hand, the rhythm of two steps per two creaks reflects how, despite his apparent strength and independence, the champion is unwittingly aligning himself with the grandmother’s pace and will. He is not realizing that he is actually slowing down, an indication that he will getting closer to rest for real this time. Note that he is no longer running and his steps are more “gentle”. We don’t have any TAP TAP TAP anymore, but STEP STEP.

The focus on the wheels and feet also serves as a prelude to the conflicting worldviews of the two characters. While the grandmother’s immobility reflects her fear of facing reality and her reliance on others to push her forward—both literally and metaphorically—Joo Jaekyung’s steps suggest a willingness not only to move forward, but also to impede. Little by little, he is getting closer to the ocean which means that he is about to confront the unknown represented by the ocean. Yet, the irony lies in the fact that despite his steady steps, the champion is the one being emotionally led by the grandmother’s words and direction.

Furthermore, the choice to highlight the wheels and steps before revealing the larger scenery suggests a gradual unveiling of the truth—both about the grandmother’s intentions and the emotional journey that awaits Joo Jaekyung.

“It’s a nice little town, isn’t it”

By choosing the ocean, Joo Jaekyung subconsciously aligns himself with nature, emotions, and freedom—the very things the grandmother seeks to avoid by emphasizing the beauty of the town. (chapter 65) His choice of destination foreshadows a deeper conflict between confinement and escape, between facing the truth and continuing to live under the illusion of control that the grandmother represents. Another relevant detail is the moment Shin Okja praises the town. Observe the position of her head. We don’t see her gaze because of her hat. But since the town is on the right, this signifies that she isn’t truly looking at the town. (chapter 65) In fact, she is just looking ahead of her. The “nice little town” is reduced to the pathway next to the beach. This observation exposes her narrow-mindedness. Because she is not truly admiring the place, I feel like she is praising the town more based on her childhood memories. This explains why she mentions her youth afterwards. Moreover, the fact that she employed the expression “isn’t it” with her description, reveals her tendency to lead the conversation. It was, as if she pushed the young man to agree to her claim. The irony is that she didn’t even wait for his reply. She explained why she was so fond of the place: her childhood memories. In her eyes, because her companion didn‘t spend his youth here, he can not connect to this town, overlooking that people can create new memories anywhere. Moreover, they are not obliged to live in the same town their whole life or to live where they spent their childhood. In other words, this frail lady has no real notion of time as such. I would even say, her gaze is not truly directed in the present or the future, she is rather obsessed with the past.

The grandmother and the beach

But let’s return our attention to this panel. (chapter 65) Here, the ocean dominates the frame, uncontained and powerful, suggesting that the control and order symbolized by civilization are ultimately limited. The receding wharf becomes a metaphor for the boundaries of this control, emphasizing that beyond a certain point, civilization’s reach falters in the face of nature’s raw power. This shift in focus—from the orderly path along the shore to the turbulent waves beyond— accentuates the futility of the grandmother’s obsession with control, medicine, and structured living. But there’s more to it. Mingwa added the onomatopoeia “Whoosh” in order to indicate the presence of wind. The latter is responsible for the “waves”. Funny is that the halmoni is not paying attention to it at all. We could say that the absence of comments about the ocean and wind divulges her blindness and deafness, and the falsehood of her “wish” expressed in the hospital. In addition, this image is announcing the way the conversation will take place. There won’t be any real exchange of thoughts and as such active listening from her part. She will lead the conversation.

This image contrasts so much to the scene with Kim Dan on the beach: (chapter 59) The contrast between these two images—one of the halmoni accompanied by Joo Jaekyung and the other of Kim Dan sitting alone by the ocean—exposes the stark difference in their emotional worlds and the dynamics of control and isolation that define their lives.

In the first image, (chapter 65) the halmoni’s presence with Joo Jaekyung creates an illusion of support and control. (chapter 65) The sunlight high in the sky bathes the scene in brightness, suggesting a façade of warmth and clarity. This lighting aligns with the halmoni’s belief that she can influence Kim Dan through the champion, using Joo Jaekyung as an intermediary to extend her authority. The fact that she is in a wheelchair, however, subtly contradicts this impression of power, revealing her true state of passivity and reliance on others to act on her behalf. The ocean, tamed by the pathway, symbolizes her attempt to domesticate nature— (chapter 65) just as she tries to domesticate Kim Dan’s emotions and decisions. At the same time, it exposes that the champion is still far away from his true self, but he is getting closer to become “reborn”.

In contrast, the second image of Kim Dan alone at sunset paints a completely different picture. (chapter 59) Here, the setting sun hints at the end of the halmoni’s control over his life, casting a melancholic glow that embodies both the beauty and isolation of freedom. Unlike Shin Okja, doc Dan faces the ocean directly, unprotected by railings or pathways, exposing his vulnerability and willingness to confront the unknown—his emotions, his trauma, and his desire for escape. The absence of others highlights his profound loneliness, a loneliness that even the vastness of the ocean cannot fill but seems to reflect. The parasol, standing solitary like Kim Dan, reinforces the sense of isolation amidst an open space. On the other hand, the walk with the grandmother exposes the superficiality of the champion’s connections. He might know many people, but they aren’t his friends or family.

The sound effects further emphasize this dichotomy. The “whoosh” accompanying the halmoni and Joo Jaekyung suggests the wind—a natural element that moves freely despite the artificial path, subtly mocking the halmoni’s illusion of control. Meanwhile, the “shaa” with Kim Dan reflects the waves, raw and untamed, symbolizing the overpowering emotions he battles alone.

Joo Jaekyung’s perception of the halmoni’s influence over Kim Dan is thus an illusion: (chapter 65) the same illusion that the high sun implies. The latter can not shine if there are clouds. (chapter 65) My avid readers know that the latter usually stand for danger. Thus I come to the following deduction: the clouds represent the doctor’s untreated wounds. The champion’s assumption that the halmoni can sway Kim Dan is a misunderstanding of the true nature of Kim Dan’s struggles. While Joo Jaekyung might see the halmoni’s appeals as genuine, I don’t think, he grasped entirely that her words are merely another form of control, one that Kim Dan subconsciously rejects as he continues to seek solace by the ocean, far from the halmoni’s reach. (chapter 59)

In essence, the halmoni’s daytime stroll represents a false clarity and a temporary illusion of control, while Kim Dan’s solitary sunset confrontation with the ocean was foreshadowing a breaking point—an inevitable dusk for the halmoni’s authority and a prelude to a night where Kim Dan chose escape and freedom but at his own life expense.

Another important detail is the way she initiated the conversation. It was about this pretty community and not her grandson. Why? (chapter 65) It is because she is trying to incite the athlete to return to Seoul. He doesn’t belong here. Her statement, “This is where I grew up. But you’re from Seoul, so you probably don’t see what the fuss is about,” dismisses Joo Jaekyung as an outsider while subtly reasserting her authority. Yes, she is using the same MO than with Kim Dan. (chapter 57) By telling him that he had no ties here, she effectively erased their shared past and portraying him as a stranger in the very place she calls home. Thus I deduce that she is aware that she is racing against time. The longer the athlete stays in that place, the lower are the chances that her grandson will leave this town. She has to ensure that Joo Jaekyung doesn’t feel like settling here. I don’t think, she heard about the athlete’s involvement in the little town, for her only source of information comes from the staff (chapter 65) and the residents from the hospice. She has no connection to the town chief and other inhabitants. This exposes how small her world is and little her knowledge is. However, her ignorance doesn’t make her an innocent “lady”, quite the opposite. – Don’t get me wrong, I don’t see her as a malicious person, just as a selfish person suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome.

Let me give you an example. (chapter 65) Here, she claims that she only knows about the sportsman’s job thanks to the patient next door. However, she is lying, because she watched his match in the States. (chapter 41) The irony is that she is not realizing that she is showing her true colors. (chapter 21) In episode 21, the halmoni’s description of the champion as a “good friend” was, in hindsight, a superficial and self-serving characterization. At that time, she likely saw Joo Jaekyung as someone who could be beneficial for Kim Dan’s financial situation without truly caring about who he was as a person. Her interest in him was more about what he represented—a source of money and stability—rather than any genuine appreciation of his character or the impact of his presence in Kim Dan’s life. Thus she said this in front of the ocean: (chapter 65) If he was a good friend, then why didn’t she show more interest in him before? It is because she needs him now. Yes, this woman is a good-weather friend in the end. The term “good-weather friend” refers to someone who shows interest, support, or kindness only when it is convenient for them or when they stand to gain something. Hence she goes outside, when the sun shines. This perfectly encapsulates the grandmother’s attitude towards Joo Jaekyung. But it is the same with the champion. He only visited her, (chapter 61) when he thought, he needed her assistance. He used her to appear as a friend. (chapter 61) Yes, the conversation at the beach played an important role, for Shin Okja’s behavior serves as a distorted mirror to Joo Jaekyung’s actions and mindset, exposing the flaws and contradictions in both. When she voiced this wish (chapter 65), she exposed her belief: money and big hospital are the symbol for care. That’s exactly what the champion had done in the past.

In episode 22, when Joo Jaekyung paid the bills for the halmoni, (chapter 22) he acted out of a simplistic view of good deeds—believing that financial support alone could resolve problems and fulfill his moral obligations. His subsequent failure to visit her again reflects his tendency to distance himself emotionally once he has performed what he sees as his duty. This is reminiscent of his behavior towards Kim Dan: helping him materially but avoiding deeper emotional involvement or responsibility.

Shin Okja’s current behavior mirrors this mindset but in a more manipulative and self-serving manner. Her sudden interest in Joo Jaekyung now that she needs him exposes how she, too, equates support with utility rather than genuine care. She projects a generous and sacrificial image (chapter 65), much like how Joo Jaekyung likely saw himself when paying her bills—believing that fulfilling a material need is equivalent to showing genuine concern. Park Namwook is a representative of this mind-set too.

  1. Transactional Attitude vs. Emotional Avoidance:
    • Shin Okja’s willingness to praise Joo Jaekyung now that she needs him mirrors how the sportsman’s sense of duty stops at financial aid without further emotional involvement. (chapter 45) Both characters avoid deeper emotional connections, opting instead for transactional solutions—she with her manipulations and he with his money.
  2. Superficial Care:
    • Just as the star’s one-time payment was a way to offload guilt without genuine interaction, Shin Okja’s praise (chapter 65) is a way to offload responsibility for doc Dan while maintaining an image of concern. Both display a form of care that lacks true depth.
  3. Avoidance of Accountability:
    • Shin Okja’s deflection of her failures as a guardian (chapter 65) reflects Joo Jaekyung’s reluctance to confront the emotional and mental consequences of the star towards Kim Dan. Besides, Jinx-lovers should keep in their mind that the champion is the owner of the gym. The incident with the switched spray was swept under the rug, just like the drugged beverage. Everyone involved acts, as if nothing had happened or by saying that the doctor was innocent, the witnesses believe that the damages has been repaired. (chapter 62) Both avoid the emotional accountability that comes with their actions, preferring to distance themselves once a material obligation (debts)(chapter 60) is fulfilled.
  4. Perception vs. Reality:
    • The fact that Joo Jaekyung thought he had done a good deed by paying the bills contrasts sharply with Shin Okja’s sudden friendliness, (chapter 65) which is merely a cover for her self-serving motives. This contrast highlights the theme of perception versus reality: both characters’ actions appear kind on the surface but conceal underlying self-interest or emotional avoidance. Yet, there is a difference between them. The champion had sacrificed his time for the doctor, he made sure to keep the elderly woman company so that Kim Dan could rest. Moreover, he had made her happy, that’s the reason why doc Dan was so grateful. (chapter 22)

In this sense, the halmoni serves as a mirror reflecting the champion’s own flaws back at him—his tendency to equate care with material support and his discomfort with emotional intimacy. The paradox here is that while Joo Jaekyung might see the halmoni’s behavior as genuine concern, it is actually a reflection of his own transactional approach to relationships. Recognizing this mirror might be a crucial part of his redemption arc, forcing him to confront the superficiality of his past actions and understand the difference between real care and transactional gestures. However, it is relevant to recall that the star’s past behavior was nurtured by his own surroundings. MFC and the members from Team Black also treated him as a tool for success and money.

So, the mirroring aspect adds a deeper layer to the conflict between civilization (control and superficial care) and nature (authentic emotions and freedom), reinforcing the idea that Joo Jaekyung must break away from this mindset, if he is to truly connect with Kim Dan.

One might think that they are both shallow and selfish. Yet, there exists a huge difference between them. Joo Jaekyung embodies action and he is now embracing changes. Thus he is willing to do anything to improve their relationship, whereas the grandmother is just waiting at the hospice for the “right time” and the “right person”. She is just reacting to an uncomfortable situation than becoming proactive like the champion. She sees the decline of her grandson’s health, but she is reducing it to insomnia which can be treated with pills and a stay at an expensive hospital. (chapter 65) She is not mentioning his loss of weight on the beach contrary to her comment at the hospice. (chapter 57) This displays that she is not entirely honest. She is not reaching out to Kim Dan in the end. Her excuse is that he refused to see a doctor(chapter 65), but so far we never saw her making such a suggestion. It is possible that she jumped to this conclusion because she heard about this incident: (chapter 60) If my assumption is correct, the woman didn’t realize that this rejection was linked to Joo Jaekyung’s intervention. So if she had talked to her grandchild himself, she could have had an impact… But they are actually avoiding each other. One thing is sure: the absence of communication and avoidance between these two family members reinforced the doctor’s suffering. Imagine the consequences of her request: she is preferring locking him up in a hospital receiving drugs than giving what doc Dan has been longing: warmth, love and a home.

Another contradiction is that while she praised the “little town” in the beginning, she was looking down at this place, when she said: (chapter 65) It was, as if she was insulting the hospice where she is staying and as such the staff (which included Kim Dan).

The problem is that the grandmother has long forgotten this day, (chapter 65) where both were happily smiling. The picture is the evidence that she could make Kim Dan smile despite their poverty. Moreover, it is important to recall that she introduced Kim Dan as an orphan from birth: (chapter 65) According to my hypothesis, this image (chapter 19) is linked to the doctor’s abandonment and betrayal. I have to admit that her attitude and words reminded me a lot of the director Choi Gilseok’s offer. (chapter 48). Both the halmoni and Choi Gilseok embody betrayal and the theme of acting behind the back (chapter 48), weaving a web of deception under the guise of care and concern. The halmoni’s betrayal is subtle but profound—she presents herself as a self-sacrificing guardian, but her true motives are revealed through her willingness to entrust Kim Dan to Joo Jaekyung without genuinely considering his well-being. Her criticisms of Kim Dan’s habits, her attempts to send him back to Seoul, and her selective truths paint a picture of a woman more interested in relieving herself of a burden than providing real support. Her actions behind Kim Dan’s back—discussing him negatively with Joo Jaekyung—further emphasize her betrayal, showing a willingness to manipulate perceptions for her own convenience.

Similarly, Choi Gilseok’s offers of lodging, financial help (chapter 48) and superior medical care (chapter 48) mask a deeper betrayal. His real aim was never to assist but to control, using offers of support as bait to tie Kim Dan into a powerless position. The parallel between his proposition to Kim Dan—promising a better life in exchange for leaking information and compliance—and the halmoni’s push for Seoul’s hospitals underlines their shared strategy: make the target believe they have a choice, while the outcome is already decided. The fact that Heo Manwook, who collects Kim Dan’s debts, called Choi Gilseok “hyung” further hints at a deeper conspiracy, suggesting that the offer might have been a tool to ensnare Kim Dan from the start. He would have committed a crime (illegal drugs).

Both characters act behind the scenes, manipulating others to achieve their goals while maintaining an outward appearance of concern. This duplicity can only deepen the sense of betrayal felt by Kim Dan, whose struggle for freedom becomes not just a battle against overt control but also against the subtle, insidious influence of those who pretend to care. Moreover, she broke her promise, but chose to walk to the ocean with the star. It was, as if the grandmother had been ashamed of her own grandson. The halmoni’s and Choi Gilseok’s actions reveal the painful truth that sometimes, the worst betrayals come from those who claim to love and protect. I made this connection for another reason. The director of the gym is actually the one behind the debts and loan. I doubt that Shin Okja would have trusted Heo Manwook for example. It is important, because the loan is the reason why the champion became a target of schemes. But since the doctor refused to abandon his lover, I am convinced that the champion won’t follow Shin Okja’s suggestion.

Moreover, contrary to the grandmother, the star wants the doctor to agree on his own accord. (chapter 62) That’s the reason why he was seeking the grandmother’s support. He was hoping that she could influence him. But what he hears, shocks him: (chapter 65) She desires the same as him, but she is in the same position than him. She is powerless in front of the doctor’s will. It looks like this walk to the ocean was pointless for the champion. However, it is not true, as the athlete got to see a glimpse of the verity in front of the ocean. He is surprised by this request, because unconsciously he senses it as a “betrayal” and “abandonment”. And keep in mind that the ocean represents freedom, the unconscious mind, emotions, death, and the unknown. The wolf was encouraged to perceive the falsehood of his past believes. Moreover, he was incited to question his own past behavior.

Striking is the way both were placed on the beach. (chapter 65) Though they are next to each other, they are not sitting together. The wheelchair represents the invisible barrier between them. This scene contrasts with the conversation in the penthouse. And what had the athlete done during that night? He had not only shared his thoughts and issues to doc Dan, but he had asked for his wish and opinion. (chapter 29) He had even advised to think of himself first. As you can see, the fact that the two characters were just sitting next to each other reinforces my previous interpretation about the conversation. The grandmother was the one who had been leading the conversation, there is no real exchange of thoughts. In episode 29, the champion refused to accept the doctor’s help and suggestion. That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the star won’t listen to the grandmother.

In other words, she was acting like in the past. How so? (chapter 53) She was asking for a favor again, but this time, she was begging for someone else’s generosity. No wonder why she said that she was still the same! (chapter 65) 😉 And what is her MO? She uses pity and vulnerability to her advantage. Since she is so old and weak, she can not do much for her grandson. In other words, she is showing to the celebrity that vulnerability can be a source of strength, that’s how she could turn her grandson into an obedient puppy. However, this can only work, as long as the “target” is listening to his heart and has not developed his own identity and strength. The wheelchair is the symbol for her powerlessness and passivity. Hence she needs the involvement of a third person. The twist is that her wheelchair is the evidence of her dishonesty. How so? She could go to the beach (chapter 53) and watch the ocean with her grandson (chapter 53), but they never did it. Why? One might respond that she refused to do it. (chapter 57) But it is only partially correct. The doctor only suggested this walk to the ocean much later, when he was already suffering emotionally. This means that the grandmother would have not been able to enjoy this walk. Yes, the timing played a huge role. In fact, she confessed her crime to the star: (chapter 53) She never had any intention to spend some time with him. Notice the personal pronoun “we” vanished. It is only about her request: “I wanted to see the ocean”. This means that at the hospital, she never had any intention to keep Kim Dan by her side. She employed the “with you, we” in order to achieve her goal. She acted, as if they were a family. She used her illness for her own advantage. In my opinion, her request was an excuse to avoid to return to the old broken home. For her, home is a place and not a person. Therefore she couldn’t love Kim Dan properly. Her “I’m so sorry” was actually fake. She had only thought of herself… She never thought of her grandson’s future at all. This observation corroborates my previous statement: she is unable to plan for the future. What only matters to her is the past or the present. Why? It is because she doesn’t want to be plagued by remorse or regrets. And now, she is doing it again with the champion. Using emotions and fragility for her own benefits. The paradox is that this is something Joo Jaekyung has always feared his whole life. Nonetheless, he doesn’t react so violently like in the past: rejection or outburst. One might say the reason is that she is weak and terminally ill. (chapter 65) However, I believe that her words reached the champion’s third eye. The latter was not focusing on the grandmother, but on his fated companion. He was trying to understand why he had changed. This question was already on his mind before: (chapter 62) And notice that the words from the grandmother (chapter 65) in front of the water reflects the champion’s intentions: (chapter 62) Once he has achieved his goal (reclaim his champion title), they will depart from each other. He would treat the doctor the same way than the grandmother! No wonder why doc Dan is getting angry and rejecting the offers from his destined partner. IT is only about his own selfish desires and not about doc Dan’s future and desires. Both have a similar mind-set: they don’t know what doc Dan plans to do with his life and the future…. And it shows that Joo Jaekyung was imitating the grandmother, though this suggestion was born from the following thought. Since Doc Dan was no reluctant to work for him, he imagined that maybe he would still accept to work for him for a limited time. But that’s not what Kim Dan is looking. He is longing for a home and at the same time for freedom.

On the other hand, though Shin Okja tried to use the same MO with the celebrity, it is clear that she is destined to fail. Let’s not forget that his private conversation took place outside, in front of the ocean, and the latter represents reflection and unconscious. Hence Joo Jaekyung voiced his hesitation constantly: (chapter 65) (chapter 65) The points of suspension are indicating that he is meditating on her words and suggestions. This stands in opposition to his past behavior where he got manipulated so easily. (chapter 36) The reason for this huge metamorphosis is that because of the lavender-tinted night, he learned to control his emotions. (chapter 65) He was forced to admit that he needed the “hamster”. He knew that if he reacted on these negative emotions, doc Dan would have another reason to put the blame on him. Consequently, his goal would be much further away. Secondly, though the conversation was private, their encounter was far from secretive. Both were visible, as it took place during the day. This means that the grandmother’s words in front of the ocean symbolize that they are in the open. (chapter 65) So they should reach the doctor’s ears. And this observation leads me to my next connection, the grandmother’s deceptions.

Shin Okja’s lies

What caught my attention is this image combined with the grandmother’s claim (chapter 65) According to her, Kim Dan has never introduced her to any of his friends. The celebrity would be the exception! But she is lying here. How so? Joo Jaekyung introduced himself to her on his own. It is because he answered a call from the nurse. (chapter 21) It happened behind doc Dan’s back in the end. The latter was sick, but the old lady didn’t seem concerned. The second lie is this statement which is exposed with the memory: (chapter 65) The panel depicting the halmoni holding an infant Kim Dan offers a complex portrayal of her character—one that blends guilt, self-victimization, and manipulation. Her downcast eyes and the way she cradles the child suggest a mix of regret and weariness, but this expression lacks the warmth expected of a caring guardian. She is not smiling, only feeling pity for the “poor child”. Instead, the scene gives off a performative air, as if she is convincing herself (and, by extension, Joo Jaekyung) that she was indeed a dedicated guardian who did her best. The dark, muted background only deepens this impression, isolating her and the child in a way that hints at unresolved guilt and a lack of genuine affection.

Her words, “I tried my best to raise him, but it was never enough,” carry a double meaning. On one hand, they paint her as a martyr who struggled valiantly despite overwhelming odds. On the other, they imply a subtle judgment of Kim Dan, as if his troubles were a reflection of his own failings (greed) rather than a result of her negligence. The emphasis on “never enough” shifts the focus from Kim Dan’s suffering to her own perceived sacrifices, turning the conversation away from her shortcomings and towards her self-proclaimed burden. This choice of words aligns with her tendency to externalize blame, presenting herself as a victim of circumstances rather than acknowledging her role in Kim Dan’s suffering.

The portrayal of Kim Dan as an infant rather than as the grown man he is now exposes a deeper layer of control. By framing the memory this way, the halmoni preserves her position as the ultimate decision-maker in his life, reinforcing the notion that he is incapable of making his own choices. This imagery ties directly into the theme of Peter Pan Syndrome—the idea that Kim Dan, in her eyes, is perpetually a child who must be protected and guided, even if this means denying him the agency to confront his past and shape his own future. However, this is just a projection of herself. This infantilization serves her interests by keeping him emotionally dependent and by masking her own failings as a guardian.

Moreover, the halmoni’s repeated use of the word “never” (chapter 65) (chapter 65) (chapter 65) is not a mere slip of the tongue but a deliberate linguistic tool to control the narrative. In this context, “never enough” serves a dual purpose: it downplays her own responsibility while subtly casting Kim Dan as a source of endless trouble and dissatisfaction. This manipulation of language highlights a broader pattern in her behavior—her use of selective truths to paint herself as a victim of fate, rather than a participant in the decisions that led to Kim Dan’s suffering. Her words echo the myth she has carefully constructed of herself as the sacrificing grandmother who did everything she could, even as the dark atmosphere of the panel suggests otherwise.

The dark background, devoid of warmth or light, not only isolates the halmoni and Kim Dan but also symbolizes her repressed guilt and closed-off perspective. By presenting herself as the victim of an ungrateful or inherently troubled child (chapter 65), she avoids confronting the real roots of Kim Dan’s suffering—such as the bullying, the debts, and the truth about his parents. For her, it would have been better if he had been raised by his parents. This is what she implied: she could never replace them. (chapter 65) It is important because it exposes her traditional mind-set overlooking that certain parents are unfit guardians. Secondly, with her own words, she legitimated the kids’ bullying. This explicates why she didn’t intervene in the end. What I had interpreted in the past was confirmed in this episode. She represents civilization and as such social norms. Therefore she is a representative of herd mentality. She accepted the kids’ bullying as truth which led to Kim Dan’s isolation. And now, you comprehend why she is not mentioning the harassment from the past. (chapter 65) Here, note that the little boy is wearing the same clothes than in the doctor’s nightmare. (chapter 57) She claims her ignorance why the little boy acted like an adult at such a young age. The reality is that she hasn’t forgotten the incident at all. This explicates why she confessed this to the “wolf”: (chapter 65) And who is to blame for her seclusion? Kim Dan who refused to introduce her to his friends. The irony is that Kim Dan mentioned her to the actor Choi Heesung, (chapter 30) a sign that she was never a source of embarrassment for him. (chapter 65) The truth is that she wanted him to mature quickly so that he could take her burden. (chapter 47) Her refusal to address these deeper issues reveals that her sacrifices were less about genuine care and more about maintaining her self-image as a righteous guardian. (chapter 65) The absence of any visible light or open space in the panel reinforces the idea that her perspective is narrow, unwilling to confront the broader context of Kim Dan’s pain and isolation.

In essence, this panel illustrates how the halmoni’s portrayal of herself as a sacrificing guardian is a carefully crafted narrative. Her use of language, the infantilization of Kim Dan, and the dark visual elements all work together to expose the underlying hypocrisy of her actions. She is not seeing Kim Dan as a man in the end (“sweet boy”). By framing herself as a victim of circumstances, she manages to absolve herself of guilt while keeping Kim Dan emotionally trapped in a narrative of helplessness and dependency. Far from being a scene of genuine regret or love, this moment reveals the true nature of her sacrifices—self-serving acts designed to control the narrative and shift the blame away from her own failures. That’s the reason why she is not bringing up the debts either. Under this light, you comprehend why she portrays Kim Dan in such a negative light: he is a drinker and smoker. (chapter 65) It is because of his personality: he was an orphan and had no real parents to guide him properly. Hence he didn’t listen to her nagging. The irony is that readers never saw her showing concerns about his drinking or smoking habits before. For me, it exposes her passivity and accountability. And what is her MO? She uses the past to justify her request. But the past is no longer valid, for the doctor has grown up. He is no longer smoking for example. She can only use the past, because she stopped living with him. Hence she has no idea how and where he is living right now. She is overlooking that she could have done something: refuse to let him carry the bags or take his hand (chapter 65), talk to him properly and listen to him. But she did not, she used food as a diversion. Walk silently by his side… Like expressed before, this senior stands for secrecy, shame and taboo.

As long as Kim Dan was working and paying off the debts, everything was fine. But now, she is noticing that he is showing signs of illness, but she doesn’t want to feel accountable for that. But there is more to it. In my eyes, Shin Okja never trusted the main lead. It is because of her own lies. She had told him, if he kept working, he would be able to pay off the debts. (chapter 18) What caught my attention in her revelation is her lack of enthusiasm for her own grandson. (chapter 65) “Is he that good?” exposes a lack of faith in her grandchild, a remark which caught the athlete by surprise. For me, he unconsciously sensed this negative aspect. (chapter 65) While this image is actually humorous, the grandmother’s words don’t match her body language. She is not showing any joy or smile. Therefore I comprehend why Kim Dan was so hurt by the champion’s behavior: (chapter 51), the absence of trust because of MONEY! She knew, he was drinking and smoking. Yet according to her, she couldn’t stop him, as she was powerless. He wouldn’t listen to her nagging. But here is the thing. She never asked him why he would act this way. Drinking and smoking were the only things he could allow himself as “fun and diversion”. In her long confession, she is diverting the attention from the causes for this rebellious behavior. Indirectly, she is portraying him as a stubborn boy who can not live on his own. In reality, she is just projecting her own desires and thoughts onto her grandson. For her, the city stands for wealth, fame, success and power. (chapter 65) I am suspecting that deep down, she wants him to shine for her own peace of mind. (chapter 41) Don’t forget that she has been living through him. But Seoul is related to Kim Dan’s suffering: the debts, sexual assault, violence from the loan sharks, the bullying, ,, his “failures” (prostitution, the switched spray), mockery and rejection. So he has nothing there that would draw him back to the city so far. On the other hand, her words imply that the doctor can not lead a good life here (chapter 65), as if there was nothing good in this place. So is this little town nice or not? She is looking down on that place, though she doesn’t realize it.

Captain Hook and his t-shirt

Since the grandmother is suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome, it becomes clear that she views Kim Dan as a lost boy. But she considers the athlete the same way: (chapter 65) Observe that she employed the expression “almost” here. This idiom is even recurrent in her vocabulary (chapter 65) and it is not anodyne. It symbolizes her conditional love and support. That’s why the athlete is almost a grandson. The paradox is that the champion embodies adulthood and as such Captain Hook. That’s why he was racing against time in season 1. Hence he is responsible for the grandmother’s deteriorating health, as the expensive treatment was more an experiment. But here is the thing. Notice what the young man is wearing. (chapter 65) The T-shirt that Joo Jaekyung wears, emblazoned with the words “Peek a Boo” in a spiral pattern, is far from a random detail. Its presence in the scene with the halmoni adds a layer of irony and serves as a visual metaphor for the nature of deception and hidden truths. The game Peek a Boo is typically associated with infants— a playful way for parents to teach children about object permanence, the idea that things continue to exist even when they are out of sight. However, in the context of this scene, it takes on a darker significance, highlighting how the halmoni manipulates what is seen and unseen to maintain control over Kim Dan’s life and, now, over Joo Jaekyung’s perception of the situation.

The spiral arrangement of “Peek a Boo” mirrors the cyclical nature of the grandmother’s manipulation tactics. Much like the game itself, where the face reappears only to disappear again, the halmoni presents selective truths, allowing glimpses of her vulnerability and supposed selflessness while concealing the deeper reality of her motives. This back-and-forth between what is shown (chapter 65) and what is hidden keeps Joo Jaekyung—and even Kim Dan—in a state of uncertainty and guilt, making it difficult for them to see through her facade. The spiral could also represent a descent into deeper layers of deceit and emotional entanglement, suggesting that the more Joo Jaekyung becomes involved, the harder it will be to hide the truth.

On a symbolic level, Peek a Boo ties directly to the halmoni’s treatment of Kim Dan. As a child, Kim Dan was deprived of a real parental figure who could engage with him honestly and lovingly. When he talked the first time, she didn’t reply or smile. His words were met with silence. That’s how he created a negative perception of himself. The halmoni’s refusal to play simple games like Peek a Boo—games that help children develop a sense of identity and emotional security—suggests that Kim Dan’s early emotional needs were systematically neglected. The memories are revealing her passivity and negative thoughts. This absence of genuine interaction is paralleled by her current behavior: her reluctance to openly discuss his past, the bullying, and the truth about his parents. By avoiding such confrontations, she has effectively kept Kim Dan in a state of perpetual insecurity and self-doubt, much like a child who has not yet grasped the concept of object permanence.

Moreover, the game Peek a Boo also involves a degree of deception—the face that disappears and reappears, creating a mix of surprise and relief. This aligns with how the halmoni reveals just enough of the truth to seem trustworthy, while keeping the more damaging parts hidden. Her feigned helplessness and the way she strategically reveals information to Joo Jaekyung—such as her portrayal of Kim Dan’s drinking and smoking habits—are part of a calculated act to elicit sympathy and compliance. By making Kim Dan appear troubled and unreliable, she diverts attention from her own failures as a guardian. Her trust is conditional: (chapter 65) She wants him to follow her request. So what will she do, if he refuses? Moreover, she doesn’t know that the athlete has already created connections with the local inhabitants. The landlord and neighbor has an interest to keep these two young men in that place: he feels less lonely. (chapter 61) Finally, it is important that the athlete never agreed to her “demand” or suggestion. (chapter 65)

Ironically, Joo Jaekyung’s naive acceptance of her words shows that he, too, is caught in this game of Peek a Boo. He believes that by getting through to the halmoni, he can reach Kim Dan’s true feelings, not realizing that the halmoni is using this access to manipulate both of them. The T-shirt becomes a bitter reminder of the gap between appearances and reality—how the champion’s straightforwardness is no match for the halmoni’s subtle control of the narrative.

In essence, the Peek a Boo T-shirt encapsulates the main themes of deception, control, and the struggle to see past appearances. It reflects how the halmoni’s manipulations are not merely a means of survival but a way to maintain her dominance over both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. Just as in the game, the truth is never fully revealed—only glimpsed in fleeting moments, distorted and reshaped to serve her ends.

Conclusion

This selective blindness extends to her treatment of Kim Dan. She speaks of his smoking and drinking habits with a judgmental tone, implying that his actions are signs of moral failure rather than coping mechanisms for his trauma. Her refusal to address the bullying incident—a pivotal moment in Kim Dan’s life—is part of this broader pattern of denial. If she cannot acknowledge the cause of his suffering, she can continue to frame herself as the sacrificing guardian who did her best. This evasion is also evident in her avoidance of the ocean, a symbol of emotions, danger, and the freedom that she refuses to confront. That’s why her request is doomed to fail. But there is another reason why Shin Okja’s favor won’t be fulfilled. (chapter 65) It is because she doesn’t care about the champion’s mental and emotional well-being. By making such a request, she is pushing him to return to work and as such disregard his mental and emotional issues. Just like Kim Dan, the wolf needs vacancy and rest. He needs to enjoy the present and make good memories so that he can finally sleep properly. Nevertheless, I do see a small change in her, because for the first time, she asked for someone else’s help. Moreover, she is mentioning her death (chapter 65), a sign that she is gradually accepting her mortality. On the other hand, her statement “I’ll go, when my time comes” is linking walk with death, But here, she is not walking, she is using the wheelchair! This means that as long as she is not walking, she won’t die. It is her effort to push away the inevitable. She is giving the impression that she has control over her life, but deep down, she knows that she is powerless. Therefore I perceive her final words as a deception as well. But there’s more to it. The fact that she is expressing her fear that her grandson might die before her is exposing her fear of responsibility. I would even say, her words imply that she has already witnessed the suicidal tendencies of a person in the past (that would be the parent). That’s why she suggested to the owner of Team Black to send him to a huge hospital and drugs (confinement).

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

Painter Of The Night: Dropped amusement 😞

I have to admit that when I read chapter 126 for the first time, I was disappointed. Why? It is because Yoon Seungho appeared so stupid and weak. He kept running from one place (chapter 126) to another (chapter 126). He allowed his father to humiliate and abuse him (Chapter 126) once again. It was, as if the story was back to square one and the protagonist had learned nothing at all. Under this perception, my avid readers can comprehend why I selected such a title. However, instead of thinking that the author was a bad writer, I decided to ponder on the following question. Why did the author choose such an evolution?

1. The fools in love

First, since it is Baek Na-Kyum’s destiny to go through the same experiences than his loved one, I deduce that the main lead is now following Baek Na-Kyum’s path. In other words, they are switching their fate. This explicates why the lord is naïve, blinded by his love for the painter. Yes, Yoon Seungho is a fool in love too. (chapter 7) Like Baek Na-Kyum, he rushed to his loved one’s side. However, he was first stopped (chapter 126), because it was not the right time. How so? Notice that his brother had fetched him at the port (chapter 125), but he never followed him to the bureau of investigation. And the same happened later. Why didn’t he go to his shed, when he was trapped there? Where was he, when the eldest son visited the father? (chapter 126) His absence exposed his passivity and betrayal. However, at no moment, Yoon Seungho noticed this. To conclude, Yoon Seungho was so worried for the painter that he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, just like the painter didn’t see the learned sir’s disdain expressed through the cold gaze. (chapter 07) Therefore Yoon Seungho didn’t notice the presence of a civilian next to the governor. (chapter 126). Striking is that the governor knew about Yoon Seungho’s whereabouts before his arrival: the coast. As you can see, I am detecting a link between the governor and the younger master Seungwon. Yet, it was disguised as a rumor behind the expression “I had heard”. My assumption is that Seungwon came from the bureau of investigation in order to inform his brother. Therefore it is not surprising that Seungho was invited by his brother to visit the prison during the night. (chapter 126) And the moment I perceived the protagonist as a fool in love, I realized that chapter 126 is a reflection of episode 7, 29 (chapter 29) and 40 (chapter 40). Here, the painter was trying his best to protect Jung In-Hun’s interests (life, high position). Moreover, in episode 40, the painter had a dream, when he saw the announcement for the civil service examination. He smiled, for he was looking forward for the future. (chapter 40) And what have these episodes more in common? A betrayal, abandonment from a loved one and a paper (painting, poem). Hence I am more than ever convinced that the petition will resurface very soon and play a huge role in the downfall of the schemers and haters. Besides, chapter 40 represents the negative reflection of the conversation in the prison. (chapter 126) Though they are in a tough situation, Yoon Seungho is not leaving his side contrary to episode 40. (chapter 40) There is neither disdain nor mockery. The mentioned scenes are similar, for the present resembles the past. And this brings me to the second reason for the Webtoonist’s decision.

2. Past, present and future

It is because Byeonduck is now mixing the past with the present indicating that the future will be different. Let me elaborate my thoughts more precisely through the relationship between the protagonist and his father. First, when the incident with the stolen kiss was reported, (chapter 123), Yoon Chang-Hyeon considered Yoon Seungho as a human, for he employed the personal pronoun “he”. He was still his son. Then in episode 77, he judged him as a slave (chapter 77), hence he was submitted to the straw mat beating and was held captive. He even refused to send for a physician. (chapter 83) Here, the father is denying his humanity, he is just an animal. In their next confrontation, he describes him as a monster, hence he wished that he had never been born. (chapter 86) However, his words exposed that he was still viewing him as a living being. Therefore it is not surprising that he accepted lord Song’s request to order the murder of his son! In the gibang, he decided to no longer acknowledge Yoon Seungho as his son. (chapter 107) The tragedy is that the protagonist still viewed the Yoons as his family because of Yoon Seungwon, who keeps calling him “brother”. This explicates why Yoon Seungho sponsored his brother to have an official position. (chapter 115) Therefore it is not surprising that he followed Yoon Seungwon’s advice again. (chapter 120). He would bring the petition to his own father. This means that he is acting like the painter who listened to his noona Heena so well. (chapter 46) But now, Yoon Chang-Hyeon believes to have the petition. (chapter 125) This explicates why the patriarch is now calling the main lead “nothing”. (chapter 126) He is not even a thing. This means that he is actually discarding him. This explicates why he sent him to the shed. (chapter 126) It was, as if he had become a merchandise. Or we could say that the elder master had been using him as a tool, which he can now abandon. (chapter 126) Interesting is that the idiom “plaything” has for antonyms tool, implement, instrument and utensil. And this brings me to the following remark. The father’s words are reflecting the last scheme. Yoon Seungho was used as the sword to get rid of an enemy, lord Song. It was, as if someone had decided to get rid of lord Song, for he represented a danger or threat. It also mirrors the trick in the shrine. Min and the others got killed, because Lee Jihwa went to his childhood friend. And who had seen the main lead using this sword, when he was enraged? Father Lee! (chapter 67) But let’s return our attention to the patriarch and his son. Yoon Seungho is no longer recognized as a Yoon member. Therefore I come to the conclusion that Yoon Seungho will make the following decision: to become an orphan. And this is symbolized by the loss of hair. I am expecting him to cut off his hair, something the painter has been doing for a long time. That’s why Byeonduck showed us the lord without a topknot. (chapter 126) This would coincide with my previous statement. The lord is going through the same experience than his loved one. However, people will come to the conclusion that this was done by the father. How so? Remember how each rumor became a reality. (chapter 1) I had already demonstrated that Yoon Seungho was not a fiend for sodomy with no regard for time and place, until he met Baek Na-Kyum. But once a deed is done, it can never be repeated. (chapter 101) So should Father Lee claim that he has long disowned Jihwa by cutting off his topknot, no one will believe him, for the young master was still seen with a topknot after confessing his feelings in public. (chapter 57) In other words, the topknot incident at the kisaeng would be brought up. It is impossible for 2 fathers to act the same way. Besides, the loss of the topknot has another signification: Yoon Seungho would cut off ties with valet Kim, for the latter was the one who gave him the topknot. And episode 126 reflected one more time his position: (chapter 126) He is the one dressing him. It was, as if he was the pope.

3. Abandoned plaything

Because of my initial disappointment, I examined the chapter more closely. This sentence from the patriarch caught my attention (chapter 126) Why would he call Baek Na-Kyum a “plaything”, when before he viewed him as a servant? (chapter 116) It is because someone had reported to him the conversation between lord Song and the painter. (chapter 122) There was a spy listening to their conversation. Since all the guards died (chapter 124) (chapter 125: I am assuming that the survivor got executed), I am suspecting the scholar. Moreover, why would Yoon Chang-Hyeon accuse his son to have abandoned Baek Na-Kyum? It is related to this departure of the staff and Yoon Seungho. (chapter 120) And who was present there? Jung In-Hun! But there is more to it. Since leaving Baek Na-Kyum behind is considered as an abandonment, it means that the patriarch abandoned his son too. (chapter 27) By speaking to Yoon Seungho, the elder master Yoon didn’t realize that he was admitting his own wrongdoings. Actually, he had abandoned him many times… like here for example (chapter 87) Therefore his words will come back to bite him. But these words are also exposing the valet’s betrayal and abandonment towards Yoon Seungho!! How so?

Where was he, when the protagonist was looking for Baek Na-Kyum? (chapter 125) Where was he, when the latter visited the patriarch’s home? Why did he only appear during the night? One might argue that he needed to wait the night in order not to be detected. But since Kim was supposed to be with Yoon Seungwon and the staff (chapter 122), then he should have been at the patriarch’s house. The absence of the valet is the evidence of his treason. For me, he is now working for Jung In-Hun which explains why he never mentioned his presence in the mansion, only lord Song. Besides, keep in mind that once deed done can not be repeated. In episode 27, the lord was too angry and busy to notice the learned sir’s spying activities. (Chapter 27) Moreover, Kim didn’t report the interrogation to his master. This means that the butler covered up for the teacher’s wrongdoing. But here is the deal: (chapter 120) The library was ransacked, hence this crime is bound to be discovered. Finally, his intervention in the shed is exposing his deception. (chapter 126) He could do something in the past! He entered the shed, and even brought him clothes. This stands in opposition to this scene: (chapter 83) That’s why I am convinced that these words (chapter 126) are reflecting the butler’s actions. He treated Yoon Seungho like a tool which he could use. In verity, he could have helped his master in the past by telling the truth!

Because my theory is that the lord was the king’s male kisaeng, the noble could utilize this principle against the monarch. Since he always left him behind, he just treated him like a plaything and not like a loved one and allowed others to use him.

4. The return of Yoon Seungho’s strength

Finally, I believe that Byeonduck had another reason to turn the table so that Yoon Seungho would appear as powerless. It is to outline his desire to live. (chapter 126) He is no longer suicidal, in fact he is full of hope! Though he was sent back to hell for a short moment, he came out of this as a winner. My evidence is that the lord has now become a believer. (chapter 126) Yes, episode 126 exposes the return of his faith! And where could we see the atheism of Yoon Seungho in the story? In chapter 92! (chapter 92) He didn’t believe in the spring poetry to ward off bad luck! That’s why he was sent back to the past. He needed to lose everything in order to find hope! In his darkest moment, he expressed a wish: to meet his loved one! And where did he pray to the gods? In the shed! (chapter 126) Observe how he is kneeling in direction of the bars. He is hoping to meet Baek Na-Kyum again. As you can see, though this scene (chapter 126) seems to be a repetition from the past, (chapter 83) it is not! The reality is that in episode 83, Yoon Seungho had lost all hope. This explains why he showed only resignation in front of his father. (chapter 83) However, the Painter Of The Night-philes certainly could observe how he had reacted, when he was put down by the guards. (chapter 126) He was showing resistance and anger towards his father. Moreover, he was no longer shaking in front of the patriarch or the guards. (chapter 86) Thus I deduce that though he was mistreated and insulted like in the past, he was no longer suffering from his traumas. He is healed. His will is now really strong, supported by his new found faith.

Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungho sent the painter to the shed after the so-called desertion! (chapter 62) Even if they were hugging, they were not close emotionally and mentally. This stands in opposition to the scene in the jail. They might be separated by the bars, but they are touching each other tenderly. (chapter 126) They are able to see each other.

What to Do When You Feel You Are Losing Your Faith

Acknowledge and Accept What You Feel (…) (chapter 126) Try Meditation (chapter 126) or Prayer (chapter 126)

Count Your Blessings (chapter 126)

Talk It Out

Spend Time With Loved Ones (chapter 126)

Consider Counseling

Take a Break

Take The Time to Reflect (chapter 126) Quoted from https://www.verywellmind.com/losing-faith-definition-suggestions-and-take-away-5214137

As you can detect, Yoon Seungho did everything to revive his faith. He didn’t listen to his father’s words in the end. He chose love over hatred. He might be a sinner, but he is no longer self-destructive. But more importantly, he went to jail while carrying the light. (chapter 126) It is relevant, because light represents knowledge and truth. He is now the bearer of the truth. And he got his blessing from Baek Na-Kyum, when he touched his hands. (chapter 126) Because he came with the candle, Kim had no reason to follow him. In other words, Yoon Seungho no longer needs the butler by his side. But why didn’t the domestic follow him to the prison cell? It is because he feared that if the painter were to see him, his memory could get triggered. The artist could ask him where he was, when the scholar came to the mansion? (chapter 120) Yes, chapter 126 mirrors 92! This somehow confirms my theory that the butler was the one hiding under the purple hanbok. (chapter 92) Moreover, we have another reference to this episode, the pouring of alcohol! (chapter 92) (chapter 126) It was, as if someone wanted the lord to pay for Min’s insult! That’s the reason why I come to the following conclusion: Yoon Seungho is now opening up to Baek Na-Kyum. He is confessing to the painter about his wishes. (chapter 126) Therefore I am suspecting that the lord will reveal his past to his loved one, something he never did before. (chapter 85) The manhwaphiles should keep in mind that the request from the artist in the study was strongly connected to forgiveness. And Baek Na-Kyum could also confess what happened in the past: his guilt and regret asking for the lord’s forgiveness. Right now, both are blaming themselves for the incidents, although they got fooled by many schemers. Because the lord proved his loyalty and blinded trust in the painter, I see the scene in the jail as a new version of this confession: (chapter 75) Thus I consider the prison cell as a sacred place, where both characters are about to be freed from their guilt! (chapter 126) That’s the reason why now I view the lord’s short torment as a necessity. His faith was and is tested through the trials which coincides with the upcoming trial. Through his love for the painter, he found support and strength. He is not resigned, though their situation looks terrible. He is now true to himself. This means that he chose to drop his life lie for good.

And what was his life lie? To be powerful… (chapter 11) thus he could escape justice! (Chapter 11) Simultaneously, the first definition of life lie corresponds to Yoon Chang-Hyeon. The latter blames his eldest son for the downfall of the Yoons. ! (Chapter 86) Secondly, he still thinks that he is powerful. But it is just an illusion. (Chapter 126) How so? The guards are able to manipulate him. He has become their puppet, for he follows their suggestions. Hence they make decisions on their own (chapter 125). They fail their duty, for they allowed the main lead to barge in the room. (Chapter 126) Finally, observe how they keep apologizing without giving any explication. (Chapter 125) Their apology is fake. As you can see, the patriarch is living in an allusion. He is powerless, and the best evidence is that he doesn’t have the petition. (Chapter 125) He took the paper full of blood, the evidence of his involvement. This means that in this scene, (chapter 126) the elder master Yoon chose to maintain his life lie. This explains why he blames Yoon Seungho one more time. And this coincides with his speech about hatred. (Chapter 126) He is actually encouraging his son to hate himself and indirectly his own father! However, the son made the exact opposite decision: love!! Hence I am more than certain that the elder master is about to experience a harsh awakening.

On the other hand, the Manhwa lovers can grasp why I selected the title “dropped amusement”. Faith is something serious which stands in opposition to the gangrape in the shrine. Here, the lords had made fun of the spirits and gods. (chapter 101) Thus they got punished. And now, the two main leads are about to face human justice. (chapter 65) But strangely, the painter is showing no fear at all. (chapter 126) He is ready to sacrifice himself. So why was Yoon Seungho dressed up in the end? One might say that with the topknot and the hanbok, the abuse from the patriarch got covered up. That way, Baek Na-Kyum wouldn’t detect Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s lies and abandonment! (chapter 125) The latter brainwashed him to take the fall for everything, implying that way, his loved one would be protected! However, I am suspecting that if the lord were to leave the prison, he could meet someone in the office. That way, this person is not confronted with the reality: the main lead was “abused”. According to the butler, he was supposed to meet his brother at the office. (chapter 126) If the noble encounters his brother there, then Seungwon would appear as hypocrite, for he would feign “ignorance”. He was not there, when he got insulted by their father. However, he could meet someone else. (Chapter 92) In episode 92, we have a mysterious man in the background dressed in black, but he is not wearing his gat. Besides, I would like my avid readers to remember this image from the trailer: which reminds us of the office: (chapter 98) This place symbolizes power and strength. And because episode 126 is a reflection of chapter 7, 11, 29 and 40, I think, Yoon Seungho is about to receive a deal, for these episodes are focusing on the deal between the painter and the protagonist: protection from the father and punishment in exchange for entertainment. He would appear as a fake savior in the end. Remember what in episode 11 the artist said in front of his fated partner: (chapter 11) He would do anything except painting!! He was not willing to give up on this principle, which reminds us of faith. So when Yoon Seungho faced his father, he experienced powerlessness for one reason. (Chapter 126) They wanted to corner him, to make him desperate so that he would look for a way to become powerful! Moreover, they desired him to resent his father more than before. To conclude, he was pressured on purpose. And this brings me to the following remark. Why did the father describe the painter as “Plaything”? It is to minimize Baek Na-Kyum’s value in the lord’s life. However, if this theory about a new deal comes true (pedophile rekindling with him), then I believe that exactly like in episode 11, the lord will choose to follow his conscience and integrity over power and torment. He will make the same decision than his partner which corresponds to a rejection. However, I don’t think that he would make it obvious. He could fake submission.

5. Quit smoking

In fact, I have the impression that his memory could get triggered. What caught my attention is the absence of the pipe! According to me, the pedophile is a smoker, that’s how the main lead started smoking. But so far, the lord was not seen in connection with the pipe in season 4. This tool appeared on this drawing making fun of officials and the king (Chapter 105) Then in episode 122, we discover that lord Song employed the pipe to beat the painter. Moreover, I detected a progression. In season 2, Yoon Seungho was still smoking. (Chapter 74) But once the painter showed that he didn’t like smoking, Yoon Seungho stopped taking the drug. This explicates why in season 3, he was no longer seen with the item in his hand. Even under stress, he chose to hunt instead of smoking in front of the window. We have two scenes where the pipe is present. One is when the lord is throwing it out of anger,: (chapter 86) which reminded me of the incident with the music box. (Chapter 85) This shows that this item had no value to the protagonist. Then the pipe appeared in the gibang on the table. (Chapter 96) However, here the lord had only eyes for the painter or Heena. Hence I have the impression that the pipe could resurface and serve as an tool to identify the perpetrator, just like the glasses were used to recognize the scholar. (Chapter 102) Finally, since the pipe appeared in the gibang twice, it indicates that this hobby is linked to the kisaeng house!! And this brings me to my final observation: the pipe is connected to paper (chapter 121), just like in the erotic book of sodomy! (Chapter 1) (chapter 1) However, there exists two books!! And one has no PIPE! This coincides with the decision of the painter to stop drawing erotic pictures! Yes… dropped amusement! At the same time, Yoon Seungho has long lost his interest for erotic publications. He also dropped this hobby. On the other hand, the books were dropped in front of the painter. (Chapter 1) Finally, the petition was dropped in front of lord Song (chapter 123) which announced his death sentence. To conclude, the papers have a strong connection to punishment and death.

As you could see, Byeonduck had many reasons to create such a chapter in the end. We are definitely getting closer to the end. And before closing this essay, I would like to point out that the Yoons’ mansion had been left empty, yet neither his father nor his brother moved in!! (Chapter 126) Yoon Seungho went to the father’s mansion, and it didn’t take him that long! As you can see, I consider this trip with Yoon Seungwon as a diversion. (Chapter 121) So why didn’t the elder master return to his old home? It is to drive the Yoons out of their propriety. In other words, the lies from the past are becoming a reality exposing the liars in the end. Their life lies will be ruined.

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

Painter Of The Night: The shadow 👤 behind the shrine ⛩️

Please support the authors by reading the manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the manhwa. https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/painter But be aware that this manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. If you want to read more essays, here is the link to the table of contents:  https://bebebisous33analyses.wordpress.com/2020/07/04/table-of-contents-painter-of-the-night

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Lezhin Korea released a few panels from season 4, thus we could discover that lord Shin got into trouble. He is on the ground, his face bruised and bloody, while he is asking an anonymous man for help. He is mentioning the shrine. As he is wearing the same hanbok, we can definitely assume that this scene takes place during the same night. The irony is that each time Byeonduck offers a new piece of a puzzle, she also creates a new riddle or mystery. How did the young master get wounded in the first place? And who is the person facing lord Shin?

1. The shoes and the weapon

First of all, I would like to point out that this image confirmed my results from my ongoing investigation. The author is using the shoes and clothes to give clues about a person‘s identity. Thus I was definitely right to say that during the abduction in season 2, there were two perpetrators. (Chapter 59) (chapter 66) The size and length of the protections and the cords around the pants were different. Besides, the masks were also different due to the form of the mouth.. (Chapter 61) (chapter 61) Finally, I had also detected his presence next to the barn because of a time jump. First, the manhwaphiles saw Lee Jihwa sitting on the floor, (Chapter 60), then shortly after he was standing at the entrance of the storage room holding a fireplace poker! (chapter 60) His position indicated that the young master had shortly left the building. However, the readers had not witnessed his move, for the author had diverted their attention by exposing the character‘s inner thoughts. He was recollecting the past, while talking to himself. (chapter 60) However, how did the fire poker end up in his own hand? The last time this tool was seen, it was in the kitchen. (chapter 60) As you can see, each image has its importance! However, I doubt that the upset aristocrat had this sudden idea and returned to the kitchen and take the fire iron. His mind and heart were definitely elsewhere, while such an action exposes the intention of hurting someone. Jihwa was acting, as if he was in trance, the moment he saw the hickey and heard the painter’s scream. His long lasting stupor was visible in this image. (chapter 60) That’s the reason why I had developed the theory that someone was hiding in the shadow, next to the barn and observing the evolution of the event. [For more read the essay “No matter what… Baek Na-Kyum must vanish“] For me, it could only be Kim. The latter had put the fire iron in the young man’s hand with the hope that he would strike Baek Na-Kyum. My conclusion was that he was not just involved in the painter’s abduction. However, all these were minor circumstantial evidences. Now, I found more concrete proofs for this hypothesis. Thanks to the new release, I can corroborate my assumption! 😱 The fireplace is the evidence of his involvement during that night! Why would Byeonduck zoom on the furnaces? (chapter 57) It is because they serve as a clue for unveiling the truth. (chapter 60) And now take a closer look at the stove in the storage room! (chapter 62) It is the same furnace! 😨We all assume that the lord prepared the fireplace, because he put his clothes on his lover. But is it true? We were all jumping to this conclusion, but actually we never saw it. Our brain was led to fill the blanks. (chapter 61) Finally, the readers were all assuming that the butler had never entered the storage room due to this image and his action before. (chapter 61) But is it true? He could have opened the door before, and go to the lord in order to explain his intervention. Faking his concerns for the painter. Why would he place the fireplace there? He wished that the warmth from the fire would wake up the painter. Hence he remained close to the gate of the storage room. That way, he had a reason to visit his master. Moreover, the author exposed that the valet had been keeping an eye on his master for a while too. (chapter 62) Because the valet went to his master, we got the impression that the valet had followed his master’s instructions. (chapter 61) In fact, this request could be perceived differently. The lord had seen the butler’s intervention, hence he expressed this wish. From my point of view, the butler must have brought the fireplace to the barn, and he left the poker there on purpose. I am quite certain that some people will think that I am again exaggerating. But why did the butler put a fireplace with a fire iron in the lord’s room, when the coal was not properly lit? (chapter 86) Compare the fire to this one: (chapter 62) But note that in the furnace, there was a fire iron too. (chapter 88) Consequently, I am suspecting that Kim had expected an outburst from Yoon Seungho. The latter could hurt his father with the fire iron. But none of this happened, for the lord preferred playing a comedy.

But let’s return our attention to the fireplace in the storage room. My theory would explain why Kim encouraged his master to go to the barn. (chapter 61) He hoped that Yoon Seungho would become so enraged due to the betrayal that in his violent outburst, he would grab the tool and wound the artist!! Thus he said this the next morning: (chapter 65) He had expected that the lord would hurt the main lead. But how was he supposed to harm Baek Na-Kyum in the end? With the fire iron… This signifies that he had been present in the barn during the abduction, and even knew the place of the sequestration. Thus he took the furnace and the fire iron to the shed.

And now, you have the explanation how lord Shin was wounded. He got beaten with a fire iron! This explicates the cut on his nose. Compare his face to the painter’s who got wounded by wooden sticks. (chapter 99) The painter’s head was bleeding, but his face and nose remained intact. (chapter 99) Besides, this theory also explains why the shrine is set on fire. (chapter 103) The fire iron is connected to a stove. Finally, I would like to outline the absence of the furnace in the shrine, though it was very cold outside. (chapter 99) So when the lord said this to his lover (chapter 88), we could interpret it the following way. It was once again a vision from the future, he was seeing from lord Shin’s perspective the betrayal. To conclude, I am sensing many parallels between the noble’s death and the night of chapter 86/87/88.

But I have another evidence that the butler had been spying on Jihwa and No-Name. How is it possible that Lee Jihwa had such a vision? (chapter 60) (chapter 60) At no moment, he was told that his childhood friend had been brought to the physician’s. He just heard him leaving. Moreover, the joker never mentioned the place where the couple was fooling around. (chapter 60) He didn’t even admit that he had seen them himself. These were memories from someone else! One might assume that these could represent the criminal’s recollection, but I don’t think so. He arrived much later to the physician’s house. If he had been present right from the start, he could have kidnapped Baek Na-Kyum on his way to the restroom. (chapter 59) To conclude, the person with such memories (chapter 62) had been at the doctor’s office before. This stands in opposition to the false memory the red-haired master had in the study. (chapter 43) Here, he had visited the place, hence he could imagine what had happened, though he never saw their encounter according to me. [For more read the essay “The liars in front of the mirror of truth: Lee Jihwa and Yoon Chang-Hyeon”] This explains why he created a false memory. However, in chapter 60, it is simply impossible for him to have such a vision, for he was not there. And in the propriety, only two people could know about their love session, the doctor and naturally the valet. For the latter is constantly seen with the bucket of water, I conclude that this can only be the butler. (chapter 58) He had left the bucket of water in the patio! But note that when the painter left the room, the item had simply vanished. (chapter 59) The painter was not supposed to detect his presence.

2. Identifying the shadows

Since I recognized the presence of a third person involved in the kidnapping from season 2, I come to the deduction that we have in this scene 3 people. And if the release is not changing, and these panels are still framed in black, this signifies that the readers are dealing with remembrance again. So we could say that we are seeing the event from the perpetrator’s perspective. But we will see. On the other hand, why am I so sure about the presence of 3 people? First, don’t forget that the story is going in circle, thus the author is working with reflections. The manhwaphiles will certainly recall that lord Shin had been made unconscious by No-Name, when he had approached Lee Jihwa. (chapter 100) The manhwaworms can grasp the similarities. Back then, the lord had refused to help Baek Na-Kyum, thus he was even encouraging Lee Jihwa to return to the shrine. Hence he had acted as a willing accomplice and perpetrator. Thus his karma is to be denied any assistance, he is punished the same way than his friends, Min and the other nobles. Finally, observe that the red-haired master (chapter 100) was lowering himself in front of No-Name which reminds me a lot to lord Shin’s situation. However, the naïve yangban is not suspecting the person facing him. He has the impression that the latter will listen to him and assist him. Thus I deduce that he was assaulted by someone else, the third person… I am excluding 2 people with the beating, for the noble was not unconscious in contrast to the scene in front of the scholar’s house. Besides, this person was not strong enough to kill the noble and had not tied him up either. (chapter 66) (chapter 99) Lord Shin was still conscious, and he could still run away, until he met this mysterious person. Why do I think so? It is because lord Shin is not suspecting the one standing in front of him. If they were together, he would have recognized the betrayal. From my point of view, he didn’t see them together. And I have another evidence for this interpretation. This picture is a reflection from this one due to the presence of the shadow. (chapter 88) Abandonment and rejection versus embrace and acceptance. And what had Yoon Seungho said during that fateful night? (chapter 88) (chapter 88) But while the painter was exposed to sexual abuse, lord Shin had indeed left his friend’s side. In my eyes, lord Shin embodies treason. As you can see, I conclude that lord Shin is about to get assassinated and from the person he expected the least. Why? It is because no one has to realize that lord Shin ran away from the shaman’s shrine. (chapter 102) He was a survivor. The opposite from this scene. They faked the painter’s desertion, (chapter 60) hence in episode 102 they had to mask his escape, for this would have exposed the involvement of other people, like Lee Jihwa, the doctor with the drugs and Heena. And now, you have the explanation why the shadow hidden behind the tree had put mattresses on the soil. The desertion and survival from lord Shin should not be detected. But who is this person facing the weak lord? And who is the third person who hit the young man? First, I would like to answer the second question.

3. Identifying the helping hand

We have to suspect a rather frail person who can be reckless and even stupid. As you can envision it, I am now suspecting the kisaeng Heena. Not only her philosophy allows her to be blinded by hatred, but also she witnessed herself her brother’s terrible condition. (chapter 99) Secondly, the moment she hears from someone that she got betrayed, for her brother died, she could definitely resent Min and his friends. But one might argue that she was killed by the two guards, or if she is alive, she was held captive by them. However, it is important to recall the following rules: the clothes and shoes are revealing the character’s identity. Both men are not wearing robes. Besides, they are not wearing black shoes like the other black guards! Yet, note all the black guards from chapter 7, 64/65 and 86 were wearing black shoes (chapter 7), (chapter 65) or boots (chapter 86), a sign for a high position. They even had all a sword. Why would the guards from chapter 99 use a wooden stick? In my eyes, it is because they are no real black guards. Besides, I detected that one man had a scarf similar to the butler’s, from lower quality. Thus I am suspecting that these two men are more servants than trained black guards. In other words, they are commoners. This would explicate why they didn’t know how to tie Heena properly. Her mouth was not covered, her feet were not tied. Thus they covered their face. That way, Baek Na-Kyum wouldn’t recognize them. And if he were to survive, then he could blame it on Yoon Chang-Hyeon, as their uniform was similar. During the assault, he couldn’t pay attention to such details and question their true origins. Besides, don’t forget that so far, the beating was tasked to the staff: (chapter 13) (chapter 77) As you can see, the wooden stocks were present during the first straw mat beating.

Under this new light, the manhwalovers can grasp why their face was masked. If they had to be identified, then by the clothes… that way they could mislead the investigation and frame innocents. We could detect their involvement in this scene, (chapter 101), but here Min thought that he was capable to frame the Lees. The other evidence for this interpretation is the presence of two servants during the main lead’s hunt, while he was wearing the suspicious boots. (chapter 83) As you can detect, I see a strong connection between the new panel and the hunt from chapter 83. And here we have 3 people again.

But let’s return our attention to the kisaeng who I am suspecting to be behind the noble’s wounds. What caught my attention is that the woman has always been involved in kidnapping and immobility (being tied up). She was present, when the lord was dragged and tied up. (chapter 68) She was again a witness, when her brother was tied up in the bedchamber. (chapter 66) Finally, when her brother was on the verge of getting abducted, she saw him lying unconscious with a bloody face. However, she never considered it as an abduction, for his hands and feet were not tied up. (chapter 99) That’s the reason why she blamed him with her questions. She implied that he shouldn’t have fought back. As you can see, I detect a common thread between Heena and her presence in different scenes: sequestration and a bloody face. But this doesn’t end here. When the young painter got beaten in the gibang, there was a furnace on the left side. (chapter 94) For me, this incident was to push the painter to leave the gibang and as such to listen to Heena’s suggestion. Furthermore, the man on the left side was wearing a white headband, though he was dressed like a noble in a hunting outfit! The hair dress and his moustache [for more read the analysis “Painful departures”] led me to the following assumption: He was just a commoner in the end, impersonating a noble.

The other clue for Heena’s involvement in lord Shin’s demise is her presence in chapter 88. (chapter 88) She was supposed to discover a crime scene. But what did she do? She didn’t report it to the authorities. Why? It is because the schemers implied that she would never get justice. As a kisaeng, she was totally powerless.

Thus the moment someone tells her that her brother died by the hands of nobles, the young woman’s hatred for yangbans can only increase. At the end of season 3, Yoon Seungho and even the shadow behind the shrine believed that the painter had died too. Consequently, the painter was just given a purple hanbok, and the main lead went to the mountain. Since the protagonist was under such a shock and pain, he never pondered why there was a person helping him. He was behaving like Lee Jihwa during the night of the abduction, the hanbok was put in his hand. The sword, the scholar’s glasses and even the painter’s clothes vanished from the shrine. (chapter 102) This is the evidence that someone had manipulated the crime scene. The clothes from the painter could serve as evidence of her brother’s curtains. Heena could come to the conclusion that Min had gone back on his words, and her fake death, which had definitely shocked (chapter 99) and bothered her, could only be perceived as real at the end. But this means that while Yoon Seungho had murdered the nobles, there was someone hiding in the shadow , exactly like in season 2. He had not stopped the execution either. He could have faked his late arrival and the shocked lord would have even believed him. This time, the man in the shadow had covered the bloody traces and had thought that the noble outside had died from cold. (chapter 61) And according to me (chapter 61) the second Joker (Kim) had tried to murder the painter, but he had failed, for he had covered the painter’s head. (chapter 66) However, his new attempt to have the painter vanished failed again.

4. The “trustworthy” disguised man

What caught my attention are the pants. The form and color remind me a lot of the painter’s. (chapter 97) It could be the same, though I have my doubts. Secondly, I suddenly got aware that the painter had 3 different grey pants at least. (chapter 4) This one had a cut just below the knees, though the color is much brighter. (chapter 84) This is the third one I detected, as the shape of the pants diverge once again. This explicates why Baek Na-Kyum chose to change his clothes before leaving the mansion. (chapter 85) And because his pants are very similar to the painter’s, I deduce that he must be close to Baek Na-Kyum or at least he has a spy informing him about the artist’s clothes. Compare his pants to other servants: (chapter 97) (chapter 61) (chapter 67) (chapter 67) Their pants have either a different pigment (white, black, khaki, or light grey) or the shape is different. That’s the reason why I am assuming that the person was wearing these trousers on purpose. A new version of this scene: (chapter 98) The only difference is that the disguised person is alive contrary to the corpses in the wells. But the problem is that the shoes are betraying him. The boots resemble a lot to Yoon Seungho’s which the latter utilized during the hunt. (chapter 83) What did the lord see back then? Three shadows, two men wearing a gat and one caught in the middle with a topknot. Since I consider Yoon Seungho as a shaman, I believe that this vision was not only referring to the past and the incident in the shrine. It exposes the immutable truth, the involvement of three people, either. This is no coincidence. Thus imagine one moment that this illusion was referring to lord Shin’s murder. He is about to get murdered because of a new conspiracy. From my point of view, the man is disguising himself. However, I doubt that he is wearing the lord’s boots. The latter could be “couple boots”, just like the lord and the painter had couple hats. (chapter 91) And note during that day, Baek Na-Kyum was called sir due to his hat and clothes. (chapter 91) However, if the woman had paid attention to his shoes (mituri), she would have realized that our beloved painter is just a low-born. One might think that I view Kim as the one facing lord Shin. Strangely, I am suspecting the involvement of someone else. One thing is sure. The person in front of lord Shin is disguising himself, and the latter trusted the man in front of him. But his misfortune was not to identify correctly the person, for he didn’t detect the contrast between the clothes and the shoes. And the author left us another clue that disguise plays a huge role in our protagonists’ suffering. Why is Kim wearing a gat with a headband for nobles, when he is dressed like a servant? But there is another detail what caught my attention. He is wearing a bag. It was, as if he had packed his belongings before leaving the mansion. This means, he is taking his brown hanbok, but he is not wearing it. He reminded me of Deok-Jae. (chapter 44) (chapter 54) But the readers should question themselves this: why did Kim dress like this in the first place? From my point of view, the schemers have already planned to frame Baek Na-Kyum for the murder of the nobles and even of Jung In-Hun. Kim is trying to separate the couple so that the artist can be arrested easily and sentenced immediately. By burning the place, the evidence that Baek Na-Kyum was a victim vanished. That’s how they can manage to turn a victim into a perpetrator. They wanted to erase every trace of the crimes, but then the return of the painter will force them to change their plan. The fire can help them to turn Baek Na-Kyum into a scapegoat. That’s the reason why the anonymous shadow is wearing clothes similar to the painter’s. No one should recognize him. Later, Baek Na-Kyum can be “identified” as the culprit. And any blood trace on his clothes could serve to incriminate the painter. They could use the resemblance of the clothes as a proof for his crime. That’s the reason why lord Shin had to die in the end. And if lord Shin never doubted this person, I am suspecting that the latter is working with the authorities. Kim is not the only suspect, for according to me, there always exist a conspiracy of 3 and even 5 people. This observation leads me to create a list of suspects. First of all, Yoon Seungho’s confession to the learned sir should help us to determine the schemers and culprits. (chapter 44). A synonym for old bearded men is “elders”. The latter are supposed to serve as role models. That’s the reason why the young man didn’t suspect the man. With his beard, he must have oozed “responsibility” and even “selflessness”. But who are the suspects?

  • The officer from the bureau investigation is definitely involved. Thus he misled Yoon Seungho. Besides, observe that the officers are connected to fire! (chapter 94) Secondly, his explanation implied the involvement of a physician. (chapter 98) Though he had been found in a well, the lord’s comment insinuates that “Deok-Jae” had been stabbed. Striking is that the lord didn’t show any interest in the violation of clothes and the servant’s death. This reaction surprised the yangban which left him speechless. It is important, because this shows that the schemers were trying to direct the lord’s attention to a certain person: Lee Jihwa. They were trying to instill the thought that Lee Jihwa had planted a professional spy in his household. And after his betrayal, Deok-Jae had run away with the money earned from his work.
  • The physician: What caught my attention is that the author focused on the fire place at his office. (chapter 57) Why? There has to be a reason. I don’t believe in coincidence in Painter Of The Night. Furthermore, observe that both men, Kim and the doctor, were sitting in the kitchen, similar to Jihwa and No-Name. (chapter 57) Finally, the painter met the Joker again on the same day he visited the physician. (chapter 75) Finally, why was the doctor never brought to the mansion again after his last visit in chapter 57? And it looks like he was not there to treat Baek Na-Kyum. The latter is suffering from PTSD. Thus the painter had a nightmare. Hence I have the impression that the butler’s intervention and suggestion to Yoon Seungho will fail. The lord won’t be able to leave his side. Moreover, I would like the readers to recall that when Baek Na-Kyum got sick, a different physician was fetched. (chapter 33) Different clothes displays a different identity. From my point of view, the doctor doesn‘t want to be connected to Yoon Seungho. Finally, don‘t you find it weird that he was not by his side in chapter 57? He literally abandoned the young master in the room with the painter (chapter 57), though the latter was a patient too. He had a wounded wrist. The physician should have controlled Yoon Seungho’s fever, brought him water and even an infusion. His absence and passivity caught my attention. So what was he doing in the kitchen? Finally, the doctor is also connected to the shaman. Not only he mentioned him, but also there is the symbol of shamanism in his kitchen. Why did the gods want our couple to have their first “true” love session at the physician’s office? Somehow, it was to confront him with the truth. Finally, don’t you find it weird how Kim reacted (chapter 82), when the new version of Deok-Jae made the following suggestion to Kim: (chapter 82) Hence the doctor is not off the hook, quite the opposite.
  • Father Lee: he has a huge motivation to eliminate not only the painter, but also Min. The latter had denunciated Lee Jihwa’s crime to Yoon Seungho. Since I judge father Lee as someone suffering from Machiavellianism, he certainly plotted something behind Yoon Seungho, and not only once, but at least twice. Moreover, someone could have divulged to the patriarch that Black Heart had been responsible for the loss of his son’s topknot and his manipulations. Besides, Black Heart had witnessed the altercation between the Lees and Yoon Seungho (chapter 67), and discovered Lee Jihwa’s sodomy which was supposed to be a secret. The father is well aware that the main lead’s suffering is linked to the young master’s sexual orientation, which the father had always denied. His involvement could be detected, when he allowed one of his servants to be dragged to the gibang. (chapter 99) Finally, The Joker also heard father Lee’s humiliation and powerlessness. (chapter 67) He never asked for the authorities’ assistance, for his son’s crime could have come to the surface. And since there was a ruckus in the gibang, where his name was mentioned, he had another reason to kill lord Shin. With his disappearance, his son’s “crimes” would be buried. Moreover, his son never went to the bureau of investigation to clear his name. (chapter 101) Thus the fire could be seen as a desperate measure to cover the Lees’ culpability.
  • Because people are violating code dress, and they are wearing similar clothes to deceive people, I think that we should include the tailor in the list of suspects, but the one I am referring to is the one from chapter 64. (chapter 64) He can play a huge role by making a false testimony, as he can recognize the clothes ordered by the clients.
  • Finally, I would like to include these two men. (chapter 37) The latter had already disguised himself in season 1, and due to his age, no one would suspect his real nature or power. Then we have this faceless man from chapter 83: (chapter 83) I am not including Yoon Chang-Hyeon in this list, for he is not intelligent and cunning enough to develop such a plan. For me, he is just a pawn. Thus he never intervened on his own. He was always pushed by others’ suggestions. Yet, there is no ambiguity that the elder Yoon will be involved in a new plot.

To conclude, I am suspecting many people involved in lord Shin’s struggle and curtains. Thus expect in season 4 new plots again. Finally, I would like to underline the butler’s hypocrisy one more time. While he keeps saying to his master that he is a bird of misfortune, why is he remaining by his side? Dedication or love? I have my doubt, for he keeps badmouthing him. If this “curse” was true, how come that he did not suffer like the painter? And note that he has a drop of sweat on his face, the symbol for manipulations and lies. In my eyes, the words from the publication are reflecting the butler and Heena’s philosophy. Why? Both are trying to hide their own wrongdoings and bad choices. They are still in denial to admit their responsibility.

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

Painter Of The Night: Yoon Seungho and his puzzled physician 🩺

This is where you can read the manhwa. https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/painter But be aware that this manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. If you want to read more essays, here is the link to the table of contents:  https://bebebisous33analyses.wordpress.com/2020/07/04/table-of-contents-painter-of-the-night

It would be great if you could make some donations/sponsoring: Ko-fi.com/bebebisous33  That way, you can support me with “coffee” so that I have the energy to keep examining manhwas. Besides, I need to cover up the expenses for this blog.

Announcement: Byeonduck tweeted that season 4 will star in February! 🥳 The essay “Sexual education and love” has been updated.

I would like to remind my readers that for me, Byeonduck introduced three different physicians. [For more read the essay The mysterious doctor] On the other hand, the manhwaphiles already know which doctor I am referring to, the physician from chapter 57 and this because of this expression: “I am still puzzled”. (chapter 57) So in this short essay, I would like to present my new observations and interpretation concerning this intriguing man.

1. His beard

What caught my attention is his beard (chapter 57), as it resembles a lot to the ones from the yangbans. (chapter 67) . (chapter 86) His beard is so different from the commoners’. (chapter 45) This is important, because it reveals that the doctor belongs to a different social class: Chungin, the upper-middle class.

Chungin (중인) Chungin” was the second-highest class in the society. People belonging to this class were considered as upper-middle-class of the society. It consisted of highly educated specialists, artists, astrologers, physicians, accountants, and low-level bureaucrats. To belong to this class, one had to pass the technical efficiency examination, called the Chapkwa, and hence, could become a Chungin. Chungin, similar to Yangban were also exempted from military service and paying taxes.” Quoted from https://hallyuism.com/2021/05/10/the-korean-society-during-the-joseon-dynasty/

It exposes that this man has a higher position than peasants and small merchants, the sangmin. The reason is simple. Since they had to pass an examination, this indicates that they have a certain knowledge. In other words, education serves as a mark of distinction among Joseon’s hierarchical society. It explicates why the calligrapher insulted Baek Na-Kyum. (chapter 92) The lords and chungin can look down on the commoners, sangmin and cheonmin, as the latter are not considered as educated, since they never had to pass an exam. Striking is that the physician voiced his ignorance in front of the painter which stands in opposition to his social status. (chapter 57) He was not able to diagnose Yoon Seungho’s illness. Thus the doctor could be perceived as selfless, honest, dedicated and humble. He is determined to do anything to find the proper solution. Thus many readers came to like the clueless physician. However, in my eyes, it is just an illusion again!!

2. The physician’s testimony

First of all, I detected a contradiction. The doctor claimed that he had not been able to help the father (chapter 57). But this is not correct, for he prescribed and gave the drug to the butler and as such the elder master Yoon. That’s why he said this: (chapter 57) Note that solution has two meanings, thus it has for synonyms answer and elixir/extract!! He did give him a solution, the drug!! This truly shows that the physician was lying to the painter. 😮 But this doesn’t end here.

He also contradicted himself, when he first stipulated this. (chapter 57), With the idiom “strong”, he was implying that Yoon Seungho had always been quite in good health. On the other hand, he said later that he had always been puzzled about the mysterious illness.

Striking is this description of the main lead. (chapter 57) He is the only one who portrayed the protagonist in a positive light. Why? In my eyes, it was to gain the painter’s trust. That way, the doctor would appear as impartial and neutral. Thus he said the truth first in order to divert attention from his own actions. He had been the one supplying the drug to the butler. (chapter 57) I had already criticized the doctor in the past, for he kept giving the medicine to the valet, and never made the connection to his “hot-headed” temper. He appeared as quite stupid. In my eyes, he already appeared as a passive accomplice, but mainly due to his lack of discernment. He would trust the butler too much. Thus in the composition „the purge“, I had predicted his involvement in a plot which would bring to light his complicity.

Yet, note that during his confidence, he portrayed Yoon Chang-Hyeon in a bad light. He was ignorant (“he would say strange things”), he was brutal with his son (chapter 57). This shows that right from the start, he was already putting the whole blame on the elder master Yoon. That way, the physician was avoiding to become responsible. He had been giving the drug to the butler for a long time, while claiming that he had not been able to diagnose the illness. Besides, we shouldn’t overlook that in this chapter, we only have the physician’s version!! We never heard the testimony from the father. Just because we saw the bruises and the hand on the main character’s neck, this is no real guarantee that the father said this to the doctor. (chapter 57) That’s how I realized that the doctor had been deceiving the painter all along. He lied by commission, but also when he talked about the visitation, he was actually delivering the truth in delay, paltering!! He used the same MO than Kim. He feigned ignorance, and mixed a truth with a lie!! This is no coincidence. This leads me to the following question: why did he talk about the past to Baek Na-Kyum? (Chapter 57) Yes, it was to protect himself!! He was diverting the painter‘s attention. From that moment on, I could no longer judge him the same way. He was now an active and smart accomplice, who would utilize innocence, truth and knowledge to his advantage.

Besides, the manhwalovers can note that he employs the same expressions than the valet: “it seems”, „always“… He is referring to appearances, a sign that he is aware of the importance of impression. As you can see, he was acting exactly like Kim. Thus we should see this conversation as a reflection from this scene: (chapter 12) According to my interpretation, here the butler wished the painter to desert the mansion. Thus I conclude that at the physician’s office, the doctor had the opposite task: he should ensure that Baek Na-Kyum doesn’t run away. It was important that the artist was by the lord’s side the moment he gets kidnapped. That way, Yoon Seungho would only blame himself and the painter. Yet, I don’t think that he knew everything about the future abduction. Secondly, why did the doctor bring up Yoon Seungho’s health and his medicine to the painter? He was actually a stranger, even a „servant“. (chapter 57) First, notice that Kim had already implied that he would bring his master to the doctor’s office. (chapter 57) However, the office is actually far away from the mansion. (For more read the essay The hidden shaman) From my point of view, the revelations from the doctor had two purposes. Baek Na-Kyum should not wonder why the butler brought his sick master to the office. Secondly, he had to gain his trust so that he would feel safe there. Moreover, I think that the butler must have realized that the artist had heard the exchange between the second physician and Kim. So he knew that the lord was supposed to take some medicine: (chapter 55) But like I have always pointed out, Yoon Seungho had no idea about the drugs and medicine. He was totally left in the dark, for the valet would call the drug ” medicinal tea”. (chapter 35) He employed an euphemism. This truly shows that the doctor and the valet were partners in crime, both accomplices due to their passivity, knowledge and silence. Nevertheless, I don’t think that the physician was directly involved with the kidnapping and assassination plot. The conversation between the valet and the physician displays the lack of honesty coming from Kim. (chapter 57) The latter portrays himself as a victim.

Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why he never revealed anything after the abduction. (chapter 63) He felt bound by secrecy to the bearded man. On the other hand, this incident must have worried him, as it had taken place at his own mansion. Thus he could get into trouble. Kim realized that he needed to reassure the doctor. If the latter started speaking, he could get into trouble, for he had left the propriety during that night. He had no real alibi. Hence the valet visited the doctor during that night, but he never threatened him. (chapter 65) The doctor believed that the moment someone talked, someone could take the fall. Observe that in the yard, the butler followed the physician’s advice: he should say nothing. (chapter 65) This truly exposes that the doctor is not just a naive man, but an accomplice not only due to his silence and passivity, but also due to his own manipulations. He described himself as a concerned observer who had done nothing wrong. But no, this is not true, as the drug is the evidence of his participation. Who paid for the drug/medicine in the end? Since the elder master Yoon was no longer living in the mansion, the valet was the one responsible for the expenses. I doubt that Yoon Seungho would take a closer look to the accounts. Then when he said that he only saw the protagonist twice (chapter 57), this doesn’t mean that he was not involved in the main lead’s suffering. He could have affected Yoon Seungho’s life differently. We have the perfect example in season 3: he treated the butler (chapter 77), while he neglected the lord’s hand (chapter 84) But like I pointed out, who gave the aphrodisiac to Lee Jihwa? This is a medicine!! To conclude, the physician was involved in the main lead’s suffering, though he only met him twice. (chapter 57) The reason why I started examining the physician again, is because he was the first person to mention the shaman. (chapter 57) But since my theory is that Kim was a shaman, this signifies that he should have recognized Kim as the shaman!! In that case, I deduced that the physician had been lying to the elder master Yoon by omission. Naturally, it is also possible that the father had hired the shaman, but out of fear for his reputation, he acted, as if he had no idea about the butler’s true identity. In other words, all three men acted, as if they knew nothing. This would explain why all the characters had no eye in the last picture. Anyway, because of my latest theory, I reexamined the physician‘s statement and found more incongruences

Moreover, just because the doctor made this statement, this doesn’t signify that we should take his words as face-value. Like pointed out above, the physician was not honest, and he was definitely putting the whole blame on Yoon Chang-Hyeon for malpractice, while he was hiding his own malpractice. He acted as an ignorant and naive man. Striking is only the nobles were described in a rather negative light: Yoon Seungho as a hot-tempered man, Yoon Chang-Hyeon as a violent, untrustworthy and ignorant father. (chapter 57) Here he doubted the elder master Yoon’s words, for he stated as a fact that the young master Lee Jihwa was not mentally sick. Keep in mind that according to the doctor, the protagonist was described as someone suffering from a mental illness. And this detail caught my attention: the physician took the Lees’ side. Furthermore, the patriarch Lee was thinking similarly than the doctor: the shaman and the mental illness. (chapter 82) Finally, I would like to point out that in that chapter, the physician was mentioned too, and this next to the patriarch Lee. (chapter 82) Thus I believe that the physician’s fate is linked to Lee Jihwa and his father.

3. Conclusions

To conclude, since he feigned ignorance and hid his participation, I deduce that he will pay for his wrongdoings. His karma should be to become denunciated as an accomplice of a plot and even sentenced, though this time, he had truly been left in the dark, similar to Lee Jihwa. However, the physician won’t be able to run away. And remember the lord’s statement: (chapter 44) We should never trust the old bearded men, not even the doctor. And ignorance can not serve as an excuse for covering up wrongdoings. As a conclusion, the physician was more acting in chapter 57, he rather expressed a fake concern towards the main lead. (Chapter 57) Finally, the manhwaphiles should detect that the doctor never mentioned the presence of the servants in the bedchamber. Both were restraining the wounded lord. (Chapter 57) This is also no coincidence that he didn‘t point out the absence of the elder master Yoon during the second visit. He couldn‘t, because his tactic to put the whole blame on the patriarch would have totally failed. And this leads me to the following observation: (chapter 74) The doctor was not honest here either. Exactly like in episode 57, he was faking his worries towards Baek NA-Kyum. First, we have the presence of the drop of sweat on his cheek, a sign of dishonesty, but more importantly, his question was just theoretical, he was influencing the painter. The latter just needed to agree. He hoped that the artist would never bring up the incident in his mansion, and as such would wonder about his whereabouts and his responsibility concerning the kidnapping. At the same time, he could have asked this with the hope that the painter would blame the protagonist for his misery. He would use the painter‘s suffering (the unfair judgement leading to his imprisonment) in order to divert attention from his own wrongdoing: his silence, his passivity and his lack of commitment. He never tried to look for Baek Na-Kyum‘s vanishing. He never felt responsible. But he had to give up, because the artist was truly ignorant. (chapter 74) He never made any reproach towards the main lead.

As a conclusion, it is important to contrast the characters’ testimonies, to compare the images with the texts. That way, the readers can detect the deceptions through the contrast. Moreover, this shows that the physician was more than just an ignorant doctor, he was an accomplice. First, ignorance can not be an excuse for crimes. Secondly, we should question if he was truly ignorant. Yoon Seungho has not talked to him so far, hence this should happen in season 4. Therefore I come to the deduction that the physician will play a huge part in season 4, for he remained hidden in season 3. But he was definitely present because of the split, the aphrodisiac and the opium. The latter was often used as a medicine in China. Finally, it made me realize that season 4 will expose the participation of the commoners in the lord‘s suffering. Not only the aristocrats like Yoon Chang-Hyeon and father Lee were to blame for his misery, but also the servants, the tailor and the doctor. The latter played a role, as they never divulged their knowledge. The tailor could have noticed that he was no longer creating new clothes for the young master Seungho. The physician and the staff could have exposed the abuse to the authorities. Children were not supposed to be exposed to the straw mat beating.

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

Painter Of The Night: Happy laughter 😄 and fearful agony 😧

This is where you can read the manhwa. https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/painter But be aware that this manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. If you want to read more essays, here is the link to the table of contents:  https://bebebisous33analyses.wordpress.com/2020/07/04/table-of-contents-painter-of-the-night/ 

It would be great if you could make some donations/sponsoring: Ko-fi.com/bebebisous33  That way, you can support me with “coffee” so that I have the energy to keep examining manhwas. Besides, I need to cover up the expenses for this blog.

What is the common denominator between all these images? The painter’s mouth is wide open. This implies that the painter is laughing! In other words, these pictures are showing a happy Baek Na-Kyum. The laughter is not just a symbol for joy, but also an indicator for social bonding, cooperation and as such social acceptance. Note that in all these scenes, the painter is not laughing alone. He is either facing his lover and the “witnesses” of his marriage.

On the other hand, what caught my attention is that in the story itself, the manhwaphiles never saw the painter laughing in the present!! The only time, he was caught laughing happened during a dream. (chapter 87) Naturally, this vision reflected the past due to the presence of the noonas. But if you read my previous analysis, you are aware that the painter’s nocturne visions are always composed of three elements: memory, nightmare and desires which will come true at some point. The readers will certainly recall the painter’s wish in the bedchamber: (chapter 81) However, here again, this was not real, for he was imagining it. He had restrained himself, for he felt that his actual life was like an illusion. It was too good to be true. Thus I conclude that in both visions, the painter wished to laugh and as such to be happy. And this observation led me to the following deduction. In season 4, the manhwalovers will witness Baek Na-Kyum’s laughter. But this doesn’t end here. All the quoted pictures share another similarity which is the absence of the sound!! There is no HA, HA, HA…. Thus I deduce that in season 4, the readers will even hear Baek Na-Kyum’s laugh!! 🤣

1. Evidences for this prediction

First, I would like to remind my avid readers the following rules: Yoon Seungho’s actions will always be reflected by the painter’s and the reverse. Secondly, each scene in a season will be mirrored in other seasons. Striking is that the readers could witness Yoon Seungho’s joy and laugh in season 1. Thus this means that the painter should laugh in season 4. Interesting is that the author had separated the lord’s laugher in two different scenes. In episode 1, the protagonist had his mouth wide open, because he was so happy to meet his idol. (chapter 1). His mouth was exposing his emotions: happiness. It was, as if he was laughing internally out of joy. Then in the pavilion, the author let us hear Yoon Seungho’s laugh, while we couldn’t see his face. (chapter 25) As you can see, Yoon Seungho was not truly seen “laughing”. This is what we saw right after: (chapter 25) Either the sound was missing, or the readers couldn’t see his open mouth. Then in chapter 51, Byeonduck created an ambiguous situation. (chapter 51) Who was laughing here? The main lead or Min recognizable with his green hanbok? This confusion was deliberate. It was to give the impression that the lord had moved on, he was not missing his partner. This image served to divulge the reality: this happiness was fake. Another interesting aspect is that we couldn’t see the lord’s mouth, for it was too far away. It was more or less drawn from the painter’s perspective who was walking in the courtyard. (chapter 51) The purpose of this trick was to deceive the painter, Yoon Seungho would no longer care for him. However, this trick didn’t work out like imagined due to the maid’s words. She wished that he would remain in the mansion. But let’s return our attention to the laugher in this panel. I would even add that there was no real social bounding, for Black Heart was enjoying about Yoon Seungho’s misery and loss. He believed that the painter had died. And if it was Yoon Seungho who laughed, then this was to mask his pain. Then in chapter 70, he was caught laughing. And observe that the author separated the sound from the face: (chapter 70) Yoon Seungho would even hide his face from the painter, as he was looking down. His laugh was barely perceptible, and when the author revealed his face, Yoon Seungho used his hand to mask his smile. (chapter 70) It was, as if Yoon Seungho was not allowed to smile or to laugh at all. I would even go so far to say that laughers were actually forbidden in the mansion. Striking is that in season 3, for the first time, we could see and hear the lord’s laughter contrary to season 1 and 2.. (chapter 78) This illustrates the progression of the lord’s healing. He was getting happier, and he would interact more and more with people. Yet, in this scene, the lord’s laughter was not loud contrary to the one in the pavilion. Then in the gibang, his laugh was also fake, for he was masking his pain. (chapter 93) Thus the author didn’t let us see his mouth once again. But the painter could see the difference between a sincere laughter and a fake one, as he had already heard and see the lord’s true laugher! Because the lord laughed in all 3 seasons, I could only assume the painter’s laughing in season 4. But I have another proof for this prediction. In season 3, the painter’s laughter was shown in visions (chapter 81, 87) or through the testimony of the maid. (chapter 91) However, the manhwalovers have to envision that, when he caught the pervert with the maid together, he was totally embarrassed. Hence his laugh was fake! In other words, I am doubting that he truly laughed. That’s the reason why Baek Na-Kyum denied to find the situation funny. (chapter 91) As a conclusion, expect a picture with Baek Na-Kyum ‘s laughter reflecting his happiness and sincerity. And this is definitely related to his marriage: I have another proof for this expectation, the lord’s mouth in this scene: (chapter 87) Here, he was making fun of his father, and used the rumors about his imminent marriage. That’s how I realized that in season 3, the lord had often played the role of the Joker (chapter 78-79; 87; 89-90-91), until he was replaced by Black Heart. That’s the reason why I have been predicting that in season 4, Yoon Seungho will play a huge prank on the old bearded men, especially the mysterious lord Song, with his marriage. But while making this connection between the lord’s laughter and the painter’s, I had another revelation: the mouth wide open is not just the expression for laughter, but also for fear and suffering.

2. Anxiety and torture

Look at this image: (chapter 102) There is no HAHA, this shows that this situation is not funny. Yet, Black Heart is still smiling, he is even explaining that they were just playing. However, this smile is totally fake, for he is already scared. Hence he is stuttering. Moreover, he is trying to downplay the whole situation, as he describes it as a game. But the closer Yoon Seungho got to him, the more the villain got scared. (chapter 102) On the other hand, Black Heart’s mouth remained wide open, but it slowly exposed his true emotions. As the manhwalovers can detect, the sound “Haa,” is not expressing joy or happiness, but huge anxieties. Thus I couldn’t help myself thinking that in season 4, the painter’s laughter will be reflected with the heavy breathing from fear and pain. Someone will have a mouth wide open out of fear!! And this connection was already present in chapter 1: (chapter 1) versus (chapter 1) Baek Na-Kyum and Yoon Seungho had both flashbacks (chapter 66), while Min was smiling. He was internally laughing, for it found it entertaining. [For more read the essay HAHA Flashbacks”] And this fear was exposed by the sound: HAA (chapter 99) But this doesn’t end here.

The sound HAA is just associated to anxiety, but also to moan. Hence I couldn’t restrain myself thinking that the wide open mouth can not only express pleasure, but also pain caused by TORTURE! Let’s not forget that the painter had been hiding his moaning out of pleasure in the past (chapter 84), but in the gibang, he dropped this habit for good: (chapter 96) This connection between pain, pleasure and laughter appeared in chapter 91, as the story is based on the following rule: there is always a reflection within the same episode. I would like the manhwaphiles to observe this image: (chapter 91) Here, the lord had changed position provoking pleasure to the artist. Before, the maid had laughed so loudly in order to get the painter’s attention. (chapter 91) According to my interpretation, she hoped that Baek Na-Kyum would discover the existence of the kisaeng’s letters so that the painter would feel betrayed by Yoon Seungho. He had ordered to hide the correspondence. But for that, she needed to explain the reason for her loud laughter. Hence she revealed the incident with the pervert. The irony is that due to his pleasure and embarrassment, Baek Na-Kyum didn’t pay attention to her words. He already felt ashamed, after the servant had exposed the situation in the bathroom. (chapter 91) Thus he avoided his lover’s gaze. And note that in chapter 25, the lord laughed, before he raped the painter. (chapter 25) This episode exposes the connection between laugh and pain. Here, you can see that the painter is also screaming out of pain, the negative reflection of Yoon Seungho’s laugh. Baek Na-Kyum’s mouth was wide open. When people are tortured, they will usually scream their pain and fear.

The last image is taken from Dong-Yi, a historical k-drama, which I am employing as a reference. The beholder can detect a huge difference between this scene (chapter 37) and the one from Dong-Yi. The absence of the sound. Moreover, the manhwalovers can not see the mouths from the victims either. The torture was already finished, for they had removed the tools and the „suspects“ were covered with blood. And this leads me to the following observation. The author selected a perspective from far away, and didn’t add the sound on purpose. This shows that the pedophile was not present, when the torture took place. He only arrived afterwards. This exposes his cowardice. Secondly, since I had outlined that the author had separated the sound (HA HA) from the lord’s mouth concerning the laughter, I am quite certain that she will use a similar processes for the torture. Naturally, I am also assuming that torture from the past could be slowly revealed. Consequently, my prediction is that the negative reflection of the painter’s laughter will be the yelling combined with fear and pain. This signifies that people will suffer in season 4 and probably die. Another evidence for this prediction is that the author often focused on the characters’ mouth. And this is what we have: (chapter 77) (chapter 86) (chapter 98) In the last scene, Heena was sort of “punished”, when she confessed to the main lead. That’s the reason why I believe that in season 4, we will see people screaming out of pain and fear. It can be in the present or in the past. The interrogation and torture should be exposed in my eyes contrary to chapter 37. Why? It is because Baek Na-Kyum needs to know what happened to Yoon Seungho to understand him. There is no ambiguity that the painter will suffer again, for in this work “pain” is necessary to change the painter’s mind and heart. Remember that he was “tormented”, when he finally admitted that he believed in his lover’s innocence. (chapter 99) Despite the “torture”, he still claimed that Yoon Seungho was no murderer. Thus I conclude that in the next season, it should be the reverse. Yoon Seungho has to make a new leap of faith believing in the painter’s innocence and purity. Hence I am expecting an arrest in season 4. Finally, we shouldn’t overlook that each word Yoon Seungho said became the truth, so when he stated this (chapter 65), he was already warning the sister. She could face human justice. However, this idiom suddenly caught my attention: “the wrath of humans”. It can be a reference to the authorities, but also to the inhabitants. The latter could get infuriated by the police work and put the officers under pressure or in the worst case, the inhabitants could decide to do their own justice: lynch mob. According to me, many commoners died in season 3. Hence this could upset the town folks who would ask for real justice. And if Yoon Seungho’s fiancée is acknowledged by them, then it will be impossible for the pedophile to use the authorities to achieve his goal, separate the couple and hide his own crimes. Thus his last puppets will have to take the fall. Another important aspect is that when Yoon Seungho warned the kisaeng, Kim was also present, though he still remained in the background. (chapter 65) As you can imagine, I am already sensing a bad ending for Heena and Kim. Striking is that in this scene, while the noona was seen constantly with her mouth wide open, yelling at the host and calling for her brother, the latter was having a flashback. This is no coincidence, especially if you recall that Heena was connected to Baek Na-Kyum’s tears: (chapter 68) (chapter 94) In fact, this reinforces my conviction that the painter’s laughter will be contrasted with people’s moaning and yells out of agony. At the same time, I think that Heena is connected to scandal, but in season 2 and 3, she failed to create a ruckus. Why? It is because in the past, she had helped to cover up the crimes committed in the kisaeng house.

3. Conclusions

Under this new perspective, the manhwalovers can comprehend why I used the following emojis in the title: 😄😧 Both of them have a open mouth, the only difference are the eyes. Out of fear, the eyes get bigger, because the body is in survival modus. On the other hand, when these persons got tortured, they closed their eyes out of agony,

reminding us of the painter’s suffering in the gibang. Yet, the closed eyes and the open mouth is quite similar to the painter’s laughter: The readers can grasp why I made this connection between suffering and happiness in the end.

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