Jinx: Hot 🌶️ Sparks 🎇, Feverish 🌡️ Reality (part 1)

Introduction — Dream, Magic, or Something Else?

Many Jinx-lovers were genuinely happy watching how the champion interacted with Doc Dan during that night. He was caring (chapter 86), gentle, attentive (chapter 86) — asking questions instead of imposing answers (chapter 64). For Joo Jaekyung’s unconditional stans (and I count myself among them), such an attitude (chapter 86) can easily be read as proof that the protagonist’s good heart has always been existent, but it was barely visible. Compared to earlier chapters, the contrast is now undeniable. And yet, I would like to pause you right there.

Because focusing solely on the champion’s behavior risks missing the most decisive movement of this night. Joo Jaekyung’s transformation did not begin in episode 86. Long before that, he had already started changing — sometimes suddenly (chapter 61), sometimes awkwardly (chapter 80), sometimes inconsistently (chapter 79), but unmistakably . (chapter 83) Tenderness, concern, even a certain form of devotion had appeared earlier (chapter 40), albeit in ways that were often overlooked, (chapter 18) misunderstood or poorly timed. This night (chapter 86) does not initiate his metamorphosis.

So what, then, makes it feel so different?

When confronted with a night filled with stars (chapter 86), sparks (chapter 86), and softness, many Jinx-philes might instinctively describe it as magical. The imagery invites such a reading. After all, we have seen similar nights before. The night in the States shimmered with illusion (chapter 39); words were spoken, confessions made — only to dissolve with memory. (chapter 41) The penthouse night echoed A Midsummer Night’s Dream (chapter 44), suspended between intoxication and desire, intense yet fragile. Both nights felt unreal, and both were later reframed as mistakes (chapter 41) — moments to be erased rather than carried forward. (chapter 45). This raises an essential question. Is episode 86 (chapter 86) a renewal of those nights? Another dream layered over the past? A repetition disguised as healing? Or, on the contrary, is this the first night that resists enchantment altogether?

This question matters because in Jinx, nights are never judged by themselves. Their true meaning is revealed afterward — in the morning (chapter 4), in the return of light (chapter 66), in what remains once the sparks fade. A dream dissolves with daylight. Reality does not.

This is why it would be misleading to read episode 86 primarily as evidence of the champion’s improved behavior. Such a perspective encloses the night within its warmth and risks mistaking tenderness (chapter 86) for final transformation. The real shift occurs elsewhere — more quietly, and perhaps more unsettlingly. To grasp the nature of this night, we must follow more importantly the doctor and his interaction with his fated partner.

What changes here is not only what Joo Jaekyung does, but how Kim Dan perceives (chapter 86), processes, and responds to it. How he hesitates (chapter 86), reflects, and allows himself to reconsider what this moment can mean — and what it can lead to. (chapter 86) It is through this inner recalibration that we can begin to determine whether this night belongs to the realm of dream, repetition, or reality. Only by tracing the doctor’s perception can we understand what truly starts flowing here.

To approach this question, the analysis will move through several successive angles. It will begin with the symbolic and mythological references that frame episode 86, before turning to earlier nights that echo visually or emotionally within it. From there, attention will shift to forms of communication, considering how speech, silence, and gesture are arranged across these scenes. The analysis will then examine repeated actions and how their placement within the narrative differs from one moment to another. Only with such a progression can the nature of this night be reconsidered.

From Solar Heat to Electric Current

Many Jinx-lovers instinctively read episode 86 as a romantic turning point because the night looks “magical”: stars (chapter 86), sparks, that strange shimmer that seems to hang in the air (chapter 86). Why? It was, as if their dream had come true. However, is it correct? Is it not wishful thinking? What if this night is not magical at all? What if its true signature is not enchantment, but electricity—a current that interrupts, tests, and resets? 😮

To grasp this, we must first return to the symbolic regime that used to govern the champion’s presence. In earlier chapters (think of the awe and distance around chapters 40–41 and again later), Joo Jaekyung often appears as a solar figure (chapter 40) in Kim Dan’s perception: overwhelming, radiant, dominant, a heat-source that does not negotiate. (chapter 41) The sun can be admired, feared, and endured—but it cannot be questioned. (chapter 58) It simply shines, and the one who stands in its light adapts. This explicates why the physical therapist would choose silence and submission over communication. (chapter 48)

The Invisible Energy

Nevertheless, the excursion in episode 83 and 84 begins to dismantle this solar grammar, though at the time, its meaning is easy to miss. (chapter 83)

The shift away from solar symbolism does not announce itself loudly. It is embedded in the setting itself, almost too obvious to be noticed. An amusement park functions entirely on electricity. (chapter 83) Every ride, every light, every scream suspended in midair depends on current: motors accelerating and braking, circuits opening and closing, energy stored, released, and cut off. (chapter 83) Roller coasters do not move by heat, charisma, or sheer physical force; they move because electricity flows through them. The Viking ship swings (chapter 83) because current allows it to swing. The Ferris wheel ascends (chapter 83) because circuits hold — and descends because they release.

And yet, precisely because this energy is expected, it becomes invisible.

Neither the characters nor most Jinx-philes initially register electricity as a symbol. It is too familiar, too infrastructural. Electricity does all the work, but it remains background noise. This invisibility is not accidental. Unlike the sun — which imposes itself visually, hierarchically, almost tyrannically — electricity operates silently, relationally, conditionally. It does not dominate the scene; it enables it. It exists only as long as connections hold.

When Electricity Fails

This distinction matters, because electricity only becomes perceptible when it fails. (chapter 84)

The Ferris wheel breakdown in episode 84 is therefore not a minor technical inconvenience but a crucial narrative rupture. The moment the current cuts out, movement stops. Height becomes dangerous. Time suspends. Panic enters the frame. The announcement that “the earlier technical issues have been resolved” (chapter 84) explicitly names what had previously gone unspoken: the rides function only because current flows. When it disappears, the illusion of effortless motion collapses.

And it is precisely at this moment — when artificial motion halts — that Joo Jaekyung becomes active in an unexpected way. (chapter 84) The Ferris wheel has stopped. The current is gone. The carefully regulated system that lifted, rotated, and sustained them is no longer in control. Yet movement does not disappear entirely. It mutates. When the champion shifts his weight, grips the structure, reacts instinctively, the cabin begins to shake. Panels emphasize instability: creak, swish, ack. The motion is no longer generated by electricity but by the body itself.

This moment is crucial. The shaking exposes a hierarchy reversal. Human strength now surpasses mechanical control. The ride no longer dictates sensation; the occupant does. And this excess of physical force — uncontrolled, unmediated — becomes unsettling rather than triumphant. Kim Dan immediately responds by asking him to sit down, to stop moving, to restore balance. Stillness, not action, becomes the condition for safety.

From Motion to Speech

What follows is telling. Deprived of the park’s mechanical rhythm, Joo Jaekyung does not compensate by acting more. He compensates by speaking. (chapter 84) Stranded above ground, stripped of the park’s mechanical rhythm, he apologizes. (chapter 84) Not theatrically, not performatively, but awkwardly, haltingly. His body exposes his discomfort (chapter 84) and fears. He avoids the doctor’s gaze, crosses his arms (chapter 84) or squeezes his arm (chapter 84). The cessation of electrical motion coincides with a shift in his own mode of action. Where the park depended on current to keep things moving, he now moves without it. The absence of electricity forces something else to surface: responsibility, attention, presence. Additionally, this sequence anticipates what will later unfold more fully. Proactivity is no longer expressed through force or motion, but through articulation. Words stand for action and have weight. The champion’s future action is announced here, quietly: he will no longer push forward by shaking the structure. He will move by sharing thought, by naming feeling, by allowing himself to be affected.

The interruption of electricity does not merely stop the ride. It forces a change in how agency is exercised. Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp the true life lesson the athlete received at the amusement park, the importance of communication and attentiveness.

As a first conclusion, the amusement park juxtaposes two forms of energy: mechanical electricity and human vitality. The first is regulated, automated, predictable — until it fails. The second is volatile, embodied, responsive. When the Ferris wheel stops, the mechanical system collapses, and a different kind of current emerges: emotional, relational, biological.

Yet, only in retrospect does this moment reveal its deeper logic. I am quite certain my followers are wondering how I came to pay attention to electricity which led to new observations and interpretations. It is related to the “electrical night” in the hotel!

Electricity and Sex

What strikes immediately in episode 86 is not tenderness, nor explicit care, nor even novelty of behavior — but density. The night is saturated with sparks (chapter 86), (chapter 86) jolts, sudden contractions of the body (chapter 86). Kim Dan is repeatedly shown convulsing, gasping, losing linear thought, and it is the same for the MMA fighter. Panels insist on interruption: jolt, tingle, broken breath, aborted sentences. The doctor’s body behaves as if struck, especially in this image. (chapter 86) It is at this point that a phrase surfaced in my mind — instinctively, almost involuntarily. A phrase we use in French when something intangible yet decisive occurs between two people: Le courant passe. Literally, the current passes. Idiomatic meaning: they are on the same wavelength, something connects, communication flows. However, here, the current is not the product of civilization, but of nature. Two people interacting with each other. And it is precisely because of the unusually high frequency of sparks and jolts in the illustrations that a belated realization imposes itself: nature, too, produces electricity — through storms, through thunder.

Joo Jaekyung’s Day and the Thunder

This raises a necessary question: where was the thunder before, as Jinx is working like a kaleidoscope?

One might be tempted to point to episode 69. (chapter 69) A storm was announced back then. And yet, upon closer inspection, no thunder was ever shown there. There was tension, there was excess, there were dark clouds (chapter 69) — but there was no strike, no discharge, no interruption. The imagery remained continuous, fluid, enclosed within the logic of escalation rather than rupture.

The thunder appears in the amusement park. 😮 One detail initially seems insignificant, almost too mundane to merit attention: the day itself.

The excursion in episodes 83–84 takes place on a Thursday. At first glance, this appears to be nothing more than a scheduling detail. And yet, Thursday is not a neutral day. Linguistically and mythologically, it carries a charge. Thursday is Thor’s day. This latent mythology quietly materializes through two objects, the drakkar (Viking boat) (chapter 83) and the hammer (chapter 83). In Roman terms, Thursday corresponds to dies Iovis — Jupiter’s day — the god of thunder. Both gods are strongly connected to thunder and as such current.

The narrative does not underline this fact. It does not name the god, invoke mythology, or frame the excursion as symbolic. The reference remains dormant. But dormancy is not absence. It is latency. This is where the symbolism stops being latent and becomes functional.

The reference to Thor and Jupiter (which was already palpable in earlier episodes -chapter 67-; for more read my analysis Star-crossed lovers 🌕) is not decorative mythology; it introduces a dual model of power that the narrative begins to test on Joo Jaekyung himself. Thor (chapter 83) is the son: impulsive, embodied, excessive, a god who discharges energy through impact. Jupiter, by contrast, is the father (chapter 83): regulating, sovereign, stabilizing, the god who governs the sky rather than striking it. Thunder belongs to both, but it manifests differently depending on position in the lineage. What matters is not which god the champion “is,” but that he oscillates between them. This oscillation becomes legible through the hammer.

The hammer game appears after the champion’s moment of physical discomfort and jealousy. (chapter 83). Before striking anything, he is already unwell: angry overstimulated and complaining, visually reduced to a childlike register. This matters. The hammer does not create excess — it receives it. (chapter 83) It offers a sanctioned outlet for surplus energy that has nowhere else to go. However, contrary to the past, the physical therapist becomes the beneficiary of the athlete’s greed and jealousy. He receives a teddy bear. The hamster doesn’t witness the punching incident, he only sees the result: care and affection. (chapter 83)

Unlike boxing, unlike punching a sandbag (chapter 34), the hammer gesture is not confrontational, for the machine is immobile. There is no opponent. (chapter 83) The arm rises and comes down. The movement is vertical, not horizontal. It does not engage another body; it obliterates resistance. This is not combat but discharge.

In that moment, Joo Jaekyung performs Thor. Not metaphorically, but structurally. He channels excess into a single, downward strike. The absurd score — 999 — is not triumph; it is overload. (chapter 83) Too much energy released at once. The system registers it, but cannot contain it. This means, the record won’t be registered and as such “remembered”. In fact what mattered here was the prize, the teddy bear, and restored self-esteem of the athlete. He could offer a present to doc Dan which the latter accepted without any resistance. (chapter 83) The pink heart indicates the presence of affection and gratitude. And crucially, this act restores balance. After the hammer, the champion is no longer visibly overwhelmed. He has expelled what needed to leave. This shows that the champion is learning to manage his jealousy differently.

This prepares the next transition. Once the excess is discharged, he can shift position. The childlike Thor-state gives way to something else: regulation, provision, containment. This is where Jupiter enters — not as domination, but as adaptive authority. The same character who was dazed now intervenes calmly, mediates interaction, hands over the teddy bear, anticipates need. Son and father coexist not as contradiction, but as sequence.

This duality is essential for what follows. Because thunder is not continuous like the sun. It interrupts. It breaks a state, resets a system, and allows a new configuration to emerge. That is its narrative function here. This means that the athlete’s attitude can no longer be generalized, as such reproaches or description wouldn’t reflect reality. But let’s return our attention to the thunder causing a short circuit and reset.

The Ferris wheel breakdown completes the logic. When electricity fails, mechanical motion stops. When motion stops, the champion’s bodily excess becomes dangerous. When excess becomes dangerous, restraint is required. And when restraint is required, speech replaces force. The apology does not come despite the breakdown, but because of it. The system has been reset. This is why the amusement park is not merely foreshadowing but training.

The champion learns, physically and symbolically, that energy must circulate differently depending on context. Sometimes it must be discharged. Sometimes it must be restrained. (chapter 86) Sometimes it must be transmitted through words rather than bodies. This is not moral growth; it is adaptive intelligence.

Doc Dan and the Thunder

And this is precisely what reappears in episode 86. (chapter 86)

There, thunder returns — no longer as mechanical failure, but as biological event. The sparks and jolts saturating the panels are not just erotic embellishment. They reproduce the same logic of interruption and reset as well. Kim Dan’s body reacts as if struck by current. Thought fragments. Linear continuity breaks. “I can’t think straight” is not poetic confusion; it is systemic overload. I would even say, we are witnessing a short circuit which can only lead to a reset.

A thunderstorm does not persuade. It forces a reboot. In other words, this night stands under the sign of reality despite the sparks. Electricity is real and even natural.

The crucial difference is that this time, the current does not come from machines, nor from spectacle, nor from a game. It emerges between two bodies. This is why le courant passe becomes more than metaphor. The current does not dominate; it circulates. It requires two terminals. It only exists because both are present and conductive. And now, you comprehend why the champion was attentive (chapter 86) and asked questions to his sex partner. The current stands for communication. (chapter 86) Therefore it is not surprising that doc Dan starts looking at his fated lover. Imagine what it means for the athlete, when the “hamster” is staring at him, though he is a little embarrassed. Finally, he is truly looking at him. The champion loves his gaze. And now, you comprehend why the “wolf” listened to the “cute hamster” and stopped leaving marks.

In this sense, the hammer returns one last time — transformed. (chapter 86)

What struck metal in the amusement park now strikes the psyche. Not as violence, not as domination, but as reset. The phallus functions here exactly as the hammer did earlier: a tool of discharge that interrupts an old state and makes a new configuration possible. The result is not surrender, not illusion, but recalibration. Joo Jaekyung is once again releasing his “energy” (chapter 85), but this time, its nature has changed. It is no longer jealousy or anger, but love and desire. Hence the current is not colored in red, but white and pink. (chapter 86) It is not a flame like here , but a thunder and as such it is still restrained and regulated.

This is why episode 86 does not feel “magical”, once the structure is visible. Magic enchants without consequence. Thunder alters systems. After a strike, nothing resumes exactly as before.

And that is the point.

The champion is no longer a sun that burns from a distance. He has become a figure capable of switching modes — son and father, Thor and Jupiter, discharge and containment. And Kim Dan, having undergone the reset, is no longer operating on inherited assumptions (chapter 86) or second-hand data. New information must now be gathered. New meanings must be negotiated. Because Joo Jaekyung acts differently (son-father), the doctor is incited to discuss with his fated lover and not to generalize. He is pushed to become curious about the main lead and even adapt himself in the end.

The system has rebooted. What follows will not be repetition — because the thunder forced a reset. What follows will be movement and reciprocity — because current has begun to pass from one side to the other and the reverse. A new circle has been created.

Dream Nights and Drugged Time: Why Chapters 39 and 44 Could Not Last

If episode 86 confronts us with electricity as reset, then we must return to the earlier nights that failed — not because desire was absent, but because time itself was compromised.

Many Jinx-lovers remember the night in the States (chapter 39) and the penthouse night (chapter 44) as emotionally charged, intense, even pivotal. Confessions were made. Bodies responded. Vulnerability appeared to surface. And yet, both nights collapsed almost immediately afterward. What was felt (chapter 44) did not endure. What was said did not bind. What was shared did not accumulate into change.

Why?

The simplest answer would be to blame the champion’s behavior. But this explanation is insufficient — and, in fact, misleading. The deeper issue is not ethical failure alone, but structural impossibility. These nights were built on illusion. And illusion, by definition, cannot sustain time.

Let us begin with the night in the States.

In chapter 39, Kim Dan experiences desire (chapter 39), arousal, and emotional exposure under the influence of a drugged beverage. His body reacts strongly, almost violently. His speech loosens. He confesses. (chapter 39) He voices feelings that he has never dared to articulate consciously. Many readers interpreted this moment as a breakthrough — the first time the doctor allowed himself to want.

And yet, the morning after reveals the fatal flaw: he does not remember. (chapter 40)

Memory loss is not a narrative convenience here. It is the core of the scene’s meaning. Without memory, desire cannot transform into intention. Without intention, intimacy cannot become choice. What remains is sensation without authorship.

In other words, the confession existed — but outside time.

The body spoke, but the self could not claim it. The night produced intensity, not continuity. More importantly, it denied Kim Dan the possibility of return. Because he did not remember, he could not revisit the moment, reinterpret it, or choose it anew. Desire occurred — but never became decision. The night passed through him without granting him authorship. At the same time, Joo Jaekyung made sure with his joke (chapter 41) that doc Dan shouldn’t remember that night. This remark left a deep wound on doc Dan’s soul and mind, thus he hoped not to look like a fool in episode 86. (chapter 86) In this panel, we should glimpse a reference to the night in the States as well, and not just to the night in the penthouse.

The intensity of that night is why the champion’s later obsession with recreating that night is so telling. (chapter 64) Deep down, he hoped that such a night had been real. That’s why he asked shortly after their return about this particular night. (chapter 41) The event floats, unmoored, like a dream recalled only by one participant. I would even add, the amnesia from the doctor even afflicted a wound on the main lead. This explains why in Paris, he keeps asking doc Dan if the later is well and is not suffering from a fever. (chapter 86) He wants to ensure that his fated lover won’t forget this night. He is doing everything to avoid a repetition from that “dream or fake night”, where the physical therapist acted as the perfect lover, but forgot it. However, observe that here, the champion is touching doc Dan’s forehead, a sign that he is making sure that doc Dan is not “lying” by coercion or submission. At the same time, such a gesture reinforces my interpretation: thanks to the “thunder”, heat is generated. “Le courant passe” (the current passes) through physical contact, that’s how they create intimacy and understanding.

The penthouse night in chapter 44 follows a similar structure, though its emotional register differs.

Here, it is Joo Jaekyung who is intoxicated. (chapter 44) The setting is elevated, luxurious, almost theatrical. The doctor is brought into a space of power that is not his own. (chapter 44) By acting that way, the athlete created a false impression of himself, as if he was still rational and clear-minded. Again, desire unfolds. (chapter 44) (chapter 44) Again, closeness occurs. And again, the aftermath reveals the same fracture.

The champion does not remember fully (chapter 45) and later wants to even forget it. (chapter 45) Why? It is because contrary to the night in the States, the MMA fighter left traces on doc Dan’s body (chapter 45) and he can not deny his own involvement and actions. Hence the doctor is left alone. Only he can recall this “dream”. (chapter 44) But memory alone is not power. Remembering without the other’s participation transforms recollection into isolation. Kim Dan cannot confront, confirm, or renegotiate what happened, exactly like the champion did in the past. Meaning freezes instead of evolving. Striking is that he came to associate feelings with addiction. (chapter 46) No wonder why later doc Dan had no problem to reject the athlete. And for him, the next morning became a cruel reality, even a nightmare. It wounded doc Dan’s heart and soul so much that he learned the following lesson: to not get deceived by impressions. Hence in Paris, Doc Dan tries to explain the change of the champion’s attitude with drunkenness. (chapter 86)

What matters is not simply abandonment, but asymmetry of consciousness. While Joo Jaekyung remembers the night in the States, the other remembers the night in the penthouse: (chapter 44) One participant is altered. The other must carry the weight of meaning alone. The night does not end in shared reflection, but in silence and absence.

In both cases, the problem is not sex. It is not even exploitation or ignorance— though both are present. The problem is that time cannot flow forward from these nights.

Why? Because drugs suspend causality.

Under intoxication, actions do not generate obligation. Words do not demand response. Feelings do not require follow-up. The night becomes sealed — intense within itself, but cut off from before and after. This is why these encounters feel dreamlike in retrospect. Not romantic dreams, but dissociative ones.

And Jinx insists on this reading visually.

In both chapters, speech is unstable. (chapter 44) Words blur, vanish, or are forgotten. Even gestures go unnoticed: a kiss, an embrace or a patting. Memory fractures. The morning after is defined not by continuity but by confusion. The body has moved forward, but the narrative has not.

This logic culminates in the fireworks scene of chapter 84 (chapter 84)

Fireworks are often read as romance. But here, they function as warning. Fireworks illuminate the sky briefly, brilliantly — and then disappear. They leave no trace. And crucially, during this display, words are literally blurred. (chapter 84) Speech bubbles lose clarity. Confessions are obscured. The reader is denied access to meaning. Fireworks, like drugs, produce intensity without duration.

This is the crucial distinction that Part I prepared us for: heat versus current. Heat lingers. It can smother. It can burn. But it does not require connection. Current, by contrast, only exists if two points remain linked.

Chapters 39 and 44 are nights of heat. Bodies respond. Desire flares. But no circuit closes. No loop remains intact long enough for time to resume. This is why these nights are doomed — not morally, but structurally.

And this brings us to a crucial observation that many readers overlook.

In both of these earlier nights, questions are absent.

No one asks: “Are you okay?” (chapter 39) (chapter 44) It was as if these nights could only exist under altered states — as if clarity on either side would have made them impossible.
No one asks: “Do you remember?”
No one asks: “Why are you doing it?” “What does that mean to you?”

Speech exists, but it is not dialogic. It does not seek the other’s subjectivity. It spills, confesses, demands, judges or disappears. But it does not circulate. This is why, despite their intensity, these nights do not move the story forward. They collapse inward.

Episode 86, by contrast, will confront us with something radically different: a night that asks questions. (chapter 86)

But before we get there, we must acknowledge what these dream-nights leave behind.

They teach Kim Dan that desire is dangerous when it appears without agency. That closeness can dissolve overnight. That bodily truth does not guarantee recognition or even knowledge. And perhaps most importantly: that remembering alone is a burden. (chapter 86) This is why, when electricity returns in episode 86, it does not revive heat. It interrupts it. (chapter 86) That’s the reason why the athlete stops for a moment and asks doc Dan, if he needs a break. (chapter 86) This question is important because doc Dan admits his confusion and ignorance. He confesses to himself that he “knows nothing” not only about himself, but also about his fated lover. (chapter 86) The night is no longer sealed. It is permeable. Time resumes. (chapter 86) This signifies that thanks to the “champion’s thunder”, doc Dan was able to leave the vicious circle of “depression”. At the same time, such a confession implies that doc Dan’s present is no longer determined by the past and prejudices. And that is precisely why it matters.

From Drugged Time to Embodied Presence

If the earlier nights failed because time itself was compromised, then the question that naturally follows is this: what allows time to resume?

Chapters 39 and 44 taught us that intensity alone is not enough. Desire flared, bodies responded, confessions surfaced — and yet nothing endured. Not because feeling was false, but because consciousness was fractured. Words existed, but they did not circulate. Memory existed, but it was asymmetrical. Each night collapsed into silence the moment it ended.

Episode 86 emerges precisely at this fault line.

At first glance, it might seem quieter. Less dramatic. Less overtly confessional. And yet, this apparent restraint is deceptive. What changes here is not the presence of desire, but the medium through which meaning passes. What circulates between them in this night is not nostalgia, not projection, not even hope — but presence.

The sparks that punctuate episode 86 are not metaphorical excess. (chapter 86) They function as temporal markers. A spark exists only now. It has no duration. It cannot be stored, recalled, or anticipated. It appears — and vanishes. In this sense, electricity becomes the perfect visual language for the present moment itself.

Unlike heat, which lingers and can smother, current demands simultaneity. It requires two points to be active at the same time. The moment one withdraws, the circuit breaks. Sparks therefore signify not passion remembered or desired, but attention shared. This is why the night in episode 86 feels radically different from earlier encounters. At the end of episode 86, Kim Dan is no longer trapped in the past — replaying humiliation, abandonment or knowledge (as such arrogance). Nor is he projecting into the future at the end — fearing consequences, punishment, or loss. (chapter 86) For once, his thought does not spiral backward or forward. It halts. He decides to follow his heart again. (chapter 86)

The phrase carpe diem applies here not as romantic indulgence, but as psychological fact. To seize the day is not to ignore reality; it is to suspend temporal distortion. (chapter 86) In this night, neither character is reliving an old wound nor rehearsing a future defense. They are not remembering a dream. They are not trying to recreate one. They are simply there.

Electricity makes this visible. The body jolts. Thought fragments. Linear narration breaks. But unlike the drugged nights, this fragmentation does not produce amnesia. It produces grounding. Kim Dan’s repeated confusion — “I can’t think straight” — is not dissociation. (chapter 86) It is the absence of rumination.

This is what distinguishes presence from illusion. Illusion detaches the body from time. Presence anchors the body in time.

The sparks, then, do not represent chaos, rather emancipation and liberation. (chapter 86) Therefore the “hamster” can not control his voice and body. The sparks represent contact without temporal displacement. Both characters inhabit the same instant, without substitution, without rehearsal, without erasure. The present is no longer something to escape or survive. It becomes something that can be shared. That’s the reason why the two main leads are talking to each other.

And this is precisely why meaning finally begins to circulate.

If the first part (From Solar Heat to Electric Current) and second part ( Dream Nights and drugged time) traced how electricity replaces heat, and how illusion breaks time, then the next part turns to the most unsettling shift of all: the disappearance of words — and the emergence of the kiss as language.

No Words, But a Kiss: When Communication Changes Form

One of the most striking features of my illustration for episode 86 is the near absence of visible speech bubbles — even when Joo Jaekyung is clearly speaking. His mouth is open, his body leans in, his posture is attentive, and yet language is visually de-emphasized. Words are present, but they no longer dominate the frame.

By contrast, the star with the cut-off speech bubble appears elsewhere — suspended, incomplete. Language has not disappeared; it has lost its authority. It exists, but it is no longer imposed, no longer unilateral, no longer protected by distance.

This visual shift matters. (chapter 86) In earlier chapters, words often preceded erasure: confessions spoken under intoxication (chapter 10), statements blurred by drugs (chapter 43), sentences remembered by only one side. (chapter 39) Language functioned as exposure without continuity. Here, the narrative refuses that pattern. (chapter 86) It withholds verbal dominance so that something else can emerge. Kim Dan’s answer does not come in words. It comes as a kiss. (chapter 86) This gesture must not be misread as avoidance (silencing) or impulsivity. It is neither silence born of fear nor surrender to sensation. It is embodied communication — a mode forged by a history in which words were unsafe, unreliable, or followed by disappearance. The kiss articulates what cannot yet be stabilized in language without being lost again.

It says: I am here. And more importantly: I accept this moment. Not the future. Not the consequences. The present. But this action catches the MMA fighter by surprise, as in the athlete’s mind, Doc Dan has never initiated a kiss before except in the States, but the doctor doesn’t remember it. At the same time, it is clear that the athlete has not been confronted by his own amnesia concerning the night of his birthday: doc Dan had kissed him there too, thus the celebrity had been able to make doc Dan smile (chapter 44) and even laugh…. if only he could remember that night…

Crucially, this act in episode 86 (chapter 86) cannot be neutralized by Joo Jaekyung’s habitual reflexes — the “it’s nothing” (chapter 79), the “never mind”, (chapter 84) or it is a mistake, the easy erasure that once dissolved meaning after the fact. The kiss interrupts that mechanism. It produces a pause that cannot be talked over. It forces reflection. (chapter 86) Joo Jaekyung will have to ponder on the signification of such a kiss.

For the first time, meaning does not vanish once contact is made.

The kiss therefore marks a decisive transformation in how communication functions between them. Words are not rejected; they are postponed. Language is no longer the condition for intimacy, but its consequence. What circulates first is presence.

And this is why the kiss belongs structurally to the logic of current introduced earlier. Current does not explain itself. It passes — or it does not. It requires proximity, consent, and mutual contact. Once established, it cannot be undone by denial. Hence the champion reciprocates the gesture. (chapter 86) He is even kissing with open eyes, as though he desired not forget this wonderful night. In episode 86, communication no longer seeks to protect itself through speech. It risks itself through embodiment. And that risk, precisely because it is accepted rather than anticipated, changes everything.

First Conclusion — When Conditions Change

With the symbolic framework established, the earlier nights revisited, and the forms of communication closely examined, the analysis has already progressed far enough to reconsider the nature of the night in episode 86.

By moving through these successive angles — from mythological and elemental references, to nights compromised by illusion, to the transformation of how meaning is exchanged — one point becomes clear: this night is not just defined by intensity, tenderness, or redemption. It is also defined by changed conditions.

When electricity replaces heat (chapter 86), power ceases to be unilateral and becomes relational (sky and earth). Thunder does not linger or dominate; it strikes, interrupts, and resets. The champion is no longer read as a solar figure imposing force from above, but as a conductor within a circuit that requires reciprocity.

When the earlier nights are reexamined, their failure appears not as emotional insufficiency but as structural impossibility. Desire existed, but time could not flow. Drugs suspended causality, fractured memory, and sealed each encounter inside itself. What remained were dream-nights — vivid, intense, and ultimately unsustainable. Yet, they left wounds. (chapter 86) At the same time, it becomes clear that this moment in Paris embodies the convergence of two memories and two nights which helps them to recreate a new night marked by desires and communication. So this night will generate new memories and push them to redefine their relationship.

Finally, when attention shifts to communication itself, episode 86 reveals a decisive reconfiguration. (chapter 86) Meaning no longer relies on speech that can be blurred, forgotten, or denied. It circulates through presence. The kiss interrupts fear without abolishing clarity. Kim Dan does not forget the future; he accepts the risk of setting it aside. For the first time, current passes while both remain conscious, present, and aware.

One image quietly condenses this transformation. (chapter 86)

Kim Dan almost sits on Joo Jaekyung’s lap. (chapter 86) Earlier in the narrative, this posture belonged to another body. (chapter 19) The grandmother’s lap structured Kim Dan’s understanding of safety, endurance, and knowledge. Sitting there meant being held — but also being taught how to survive through sacrifice, silence, and self-effacement. That worldview sustained him, but it also confined him.

In episode 86, the posture is almost repeated — but the figure has changed.

This is not a romantic substitution. It is a symbolic shift. The body that now supports Kim Dan does not transmit inherited rules or fixed certainties. It asks questions. It pauses. It waits for response. He is actually more sitting between his legs or on his arms. In this moment, Kim Dan is no longer receiving knowledge about how to endure the world; he is participating in how to inhabit it.

From this point, a first answer to the guiding question emerges.

Episode 86 is neither illusion nor culmination. It does not redeem the past, nor does it erase it. It alters the framework within which meaning can circulate. Time resumes not because wounds have healed, but because they are no longer governing the present by default.

What remains unresolved — and what now demands further attention — is what follows from this shift.

If communication has changed form, how does unpredictability change meaning? If presence has been established, how does recognition operate without erasing the past? And if two nights once marked by failure now converge within the same moment, what does that convergence produce?

These questions open the next stage of the analysis.

The following sections will therefore turn away from possibility and toward consequence: how agency is reclaimed, how repetition acquires new ethical weight, and how two previously incompatible trajectories finally begin to add rather than cancel each other out.

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

Jinx: The Sweetest 🍭 Downfall 🧴🪮Ever

Notice: Right now, I am quite overwhelmed with work (grading papers, staff meetings etc), hence I can only write one essay after each episode.

Introduction – Where it begins

I have to admit that I had not anticipated a smut-scene in episode 85. On the other hand, it makes sense, for it is the night before the match, it is jinx-time. At the same time, their physical reunion (chapter 85) represents the positive reflection of this night (chapter 58) (chapter 58) (chapter 58), when the physical therapist chose to give up on the athlete and stop listening to his heart. Here, I am not only referring to the numerical symmetry but also to the doctor’s shifting vision of Joo Jaekyung.

In both episodes 58 and 85 (chapter 85), Jaekyung appears with a towel around his neck. This simple object evokes water and sweat, but in Jinx, these elements are never neutral. They are tied to one of the champion’s earliest traumas: the humiliation of being called “dirty” (chapter 75) and “smelly” as a child. This is why Jaekyung learned to perfuse his body with cologne after every shower (chapter 75) and why physical proximity has always carried the risk of shame. Hence he kept people at arms length. In chapter 40, when he rescued Kim Dan from the security guards, he kept his distance (chapter 40) — he had not yet showered, for the towel on his shoulders was stained with blood. Mingwa was indirectly referring to the champion’s psychological wounds. (chapter 40) It was, as if the fear of smelling “wrong,” of being perceived as contaminated, was still dictating his movements. Hence he could only claim doc Dan as one of his own, but not as his “physical therapist” or even “family”. And interesting is that doc Dan copied his attitude. In the hallway, he maintained a certain distance from the athlete. (chapter 40)

But in Paris, the presence of that same towel (chapter 85) suggests something very different. He has just stepped out of the shower, which means he is clean, his hair hanging down, still wet. (chapter 85) This striking detail is that he clearly left in a hurry: contrary to all earlier scenes where he sprayed himself with cologne (chapter 40) the moment he dried off (chapter 75), here he has not perfumed himself at all. (chapter 85) His hair is unstyled, his scent unmasked — and yet he approaches Dan without hesitation. He even kisses him. The item that once symbolized rejection now signifies trust: without fragrance, he is certain that doc Dan will not call him “dirty,” will not recoil, will not shame him. What once provoked distance becomes an unexpected bridge, revealing that Jaekyung is finally letting someone remain close, when he feels most vulnerable. The night in Paris does not simply suggest a return of desire; it announces the return of hope (chapter 85) and trust — and perhaps even the moment when Dan chooses, for the first time, to be honest with his own body and heart.

And yet — hidden beneath the sensual reunion and the echo of that earlier night — something else begins to unravel. Something softer, sweeter, far more dangerous for a man who once prided himself on standing above everyone else. For the first time, we witness the champion’s downfall — not a collapse of strength or dignity, but the collapse of the walls he spent years building. A downfall so gentle that it goes almost unnoticed, except by the one person who has always watched him closely: Doc Dan. (chapter 85)

After all, it takes a certain kind of irony for a man called “the Emperor” to experience his most significant fall at the very moment he carries someone else to bed (chapter 85) — fulfilling, without knowing it, a secret wish the physical therapist has harbored since childhood (chapter 61) [I will elaborate it further later]. And perhaps this is why the moment feels so disarming: because the downfall is not tragic but tender, not humiliating but intimate. Sweet, even.

But to understand why this ‘downfall’ is the sweetest one Joo Jaekyung has ever lived, we must first return to the moment it truly began — not in the bedroom, but hours earlier at the dinner table (chapter 85), when a single careless comment shattered the champion’s composure and revealed just how fragile his newfound hope really was.

The First Tremors

What caught my notice is that the physical therapist is the only one wearing the jacket with Joo Jaekyung on it! (chapter 85) In contrast, both Park Namwook and coach Jeong Yosep wear generic MFC T-shirts. (chapter 85) Mingwa is not simply dressing characters — she is revealing loyalties. The manager and coach are aligned with the institution MFC; Dan alone is aligned with the man, Joo Jaekyung. This quiet visual contrast already hints at the emotional imbalance that will unfold in the next few panels.

The first tremor begins at the dinner table, where the manager suddenly brings the physical therapist back to reality. (chapter 85) Dan is lost in his thoughts — anticipating the night ahead with the champion — and has barely touched his food. Park Namwook notices this. One might think, such a remark displays the manager’s concern for the main lead’s well-being. However, the manager adds that the other members of the team are all almost finished. With such a remark, it becomes clear that the manager is urging the protagonist to finish his plate. Although Park Namwook addresses Dan as if showing concern, the content of his remark betrays his true priority: not Dan’s well-being, but the team’s schedule. By pointing out that ‘the rest of us are almost finished,’ he urges Dan to keep pace, treating him as staff who had to follow the group rather than someone with personal needs. As you can sense, schedule is essential for the manager. However, because doc Dan couldn’t reveal the true reason behind his behavior, he gives an excuse for his lack of appetite. (chapter 85) He merely says he feels “a little queasy.” The irony is striking. In English, queasy is not a neutral word: it suggests nausea, a churning stomach, a sensation often associated with disgust or repulsion. And although Dan’s discomfort has nothing to do with Jaekyung, the word itself carries an emotional weight the champion is highly sensitive to. It brushes against an old, unhealed wound — the childhood humiliation of being called “dirty,” “smelly,” or somehow “wrong.” But doc Dan was not telling the truth, this explains why the main lead refused the medication from the manager right away. (chapter 85) As you can see, the first disturbance comes from Park Namwook. But this doesn’t end here.
He questions the physical therapist — not the fighter — and asks whether he is nervous about tomorrow’s match. The question is innocent, but its implications are not. By speaking to Dan rather than to Jaekyung, Park is unconsciously revealing his neglect toward his boss and champion. Secondly, with this remark “That’s understandable, since it’s been a while for you”, he reminds the champion of two things which have been tormenting him: not only the last match with Baek Junmin and Doc Dan’s vanishing, but also their night together before the Baek Junmin match, when Dan left after sex without looking back. (chapter 53) The manager’s words bring Joo Jaekyung back to reality and its uncomfortable truth that Dan’s presence now is still bound to a contract — temporary, contingent, never fully his. In other words, with his remarks, Park Namwook is reopening old wounds which shows his total blindness and lack of finesse and of empathy. He treats the last match, as if nothing bad had happened. The incident with the switched spray is simply erased.

Thus Jaekyung’s reaction is immediate: his mouth tightens in visible dissatisfaction. (chapter 85) It is a controlled expression, not a loss of composure, but it reveals irritation and intense gaze — the kind that arises when a sensitive subject is touched too directly. Park’s comment awakens a memory whose meaning has changed: back then, he accepted Dan (chapter 53) leaving without thinking; now, after Dan vanished from his life entirely, that earlier departure feels like a sign he failed to read. Park’s question brushes against this bruise, and Jaekyung’s lips reflect the discomfort.

As for the second tremor, it does not come from Park Namwook. It comes from Potato. (chapter 85) The younger fighter suddenly bursts into panic, declaring how nervous he would be in Jaekyung’s place, how his heart would be pounding out of his chest. His outburst is sincere, naïve, and completely focused on the champion — he never once considers Dan’s feelings. Yet these words strike deeper than he intends. At the mention of a pounding heart, Jaekyung’s eyes lift upward in a brief, involuntary movement. It is the smallest gesture, but it exposes everything he wishes to hide. Because his heart is pounding — but not for the match. It is because of doc Dan!

Potato unknowingly names the very thing Jaekyung is trying to keep steady: the nervousness and anticipation of the night ahead, the fear that history might repeat itself, and the desire that has been building for a long time. Unlike Park’s comment, which triggered irritation, Potato’s words hit the emotional center. This upward glance is the second tremor, the moment the façade slips just a little too far. Surrounded by people who see everything except the truth, Jaekyung reaches for the one thing he can control. He taps his phone and, in full view of the table, sends a message to Dan: (chapter 85) “Come to my room at 11.”

It looks like dominance, but it is driven by something far more fragile: (chapter 85) the need for reassurance, the wish to rewrite the pattern of the past, the quiet hope that Dan will not leave him again — not tonight and not afterwards.

This is where the Emperor’s downfall begins: with a tightened mouth, an upward glance, and a message sent to steady a heart that refuses to stay calm.

The Long Wait

If the dinner scene revealed the cracks in the champion’s composure, it also exposed something equally revealing about the manager. For Park Namwook, the real opponent is not Arnaud Gabriel — it is time. This explicates why the manager announces their departure at 7.00 am sharp, though the Emperor’s match is at noon. (chapter 85) Schedules are his armor, punctuality his hiding place. Whenever something threatens to slip beyond control, he retreats behind procedure.

This is why he suddenly takes an interest in Dan’s appetite. (chapter 85) His comment about the untouched plate is not born of concern; it is born of urgency. The faster Dan finishes, the sooner the table can be dismissed, and the sooner Park Namwook can send the champion to his room under the comfortable pretext of “rest.” (chapter 85) For him, “rest” is not a recommendation —
it is a containment strategy. This explains why the manager is not looking at the Emperor, when he tells him: “Jaekyung, go to bed early tonight, okay?”. Why? Because he doesn’t want a discussion. If he avoids eye contact, Jaekyung cannot object — the instruction is meant to be received, not answered. He is expecting obedience, nothing more. Therefore it is not surprising that the manager smiles (chapter 85), as soon as the athlete stands up right after his recommendation and announces he is now returning to his room.

Once Jaekyung is hidden behind a hotel door, quiet and unmonitored, nothing can be blamed on the manager anymore. If the champion sleeps poorly? Not his fault. If he feels sick? Not his fault. If emotions become volatile? Certainly not his fault. He will always be able to say: “I told him to go to bed early.”

What he wants is not Jaekyung’s well-being. What he wants is a clean conscience. But we have another example for his flaw. (chapter 85) A day and night without complications. A scenario in which no one can accuse him of negligence, if something goes wrong tomorrow. And Mingwa already exposed this flaw only seconds earlier. When Dan finally gives an excuse for his lack of appetite — “I’m feeling a bit queasy…” — the manager immediately reframes it as Dan’s recurring personal weakness: “It’s too bad you have trouble eating whenever we go abroad…” (chapter 85) With this single sentence, he erases the actual causes of Dan’s digestive problems — the fact that the therapist had been mistreated, overworked, stressed, ignored, even drugged during their last trip to the States. None of that exists in Park Namwook’s mind. In his version of reality, Dan’s discomfort is an inconvenience, not a symptom of mistreatment.

And here, his solution reveals everything: he immediately offers medication. Not help. Not care. Not attention. He treats doc Dan the same way than Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 54)

A pill — the fastest way to silence discomfort without having to see it. “Too bad” is not sympathy (chapter 85); it is avoidance. It exposes a man who does not want to be burdened by emotions, who cannot hold another person’s vulnerability without trying to shut it down. To him, Dan’s nausea is a logistical issue, not a sign of human distress.

Park Namwook’s flaw is not malice. His flaw is cowardice toward feelings — his own and those of others.
And this flaw will matter the next morning, when the Emperor and/or the doctor do not appear at 7:00 a.m. sharp, and the manager finally discovers that schedules offer no protection against the consequences of neglect.

But let’s return our attention to the manager’s recommendation to the champion: (chapter 85) He reacts with almost visible relief, when the champion stands up from the table. (chapter 85) He has no idea about the text message — no suspicion of anything planned for later. He sees only what benefits him: Jaekyung leaving on his own. Perfect. The fighter is out of sight, out of reach, and most importantly, out of his responsibility.

He doesn’t ask where Jaekyung is going. He doesn’t check if he’s alright. He doesn’t wonder whether something is wrong. He simply lets him go.

But this is exactly where the real question begins — a question the manager can never ask, only Jinx-philes: If Jaekyung returns to his room so early… what does he actually do until 11 pm?

What makes the evening in Paris so striking is the contradiction between time and behavior.
From the moment Joo Jaekyung sends the text at 7:02 p.m (chapter 85) and leaves the table shortly after, until the doctor knocks on his door at 11:00 p.m (if we assume that he went there at 11 pm)., almost four hours pass. (chapter 85) In theory, this is the perfect window to do what he used to do in the States (chapter 38) and Korea (chapter 48) before a big fight: watch his opponent’s videos, study their habits, rehearse counters. If we only looked at the clock, we might assume he spent the evening thinking about Arnaud Gabriel.

But the narrative context says the opposite.

Just before he leaves the table, Jaekyung has been hit by two painful reminders (chapter 85) linked to doc Dan, not Arnaud Gabriel. First, through Park Namwook’s question and tone, he is dragged back to the night before the Baek Junmin match — the night when sex with Dan was followed by distance, and then by disappearance after the fight. Second, Dan’s “queasy” excuse scratches an old wound: the fear of being perceived as disgusting or unwanted. Both moments are about abandonment and rejection, not competition. It is right after this double sting that he sends the message. In that instant, his thoughts are circling only one point: will Dan come to accept me, or will he pull away again?

That is the emotional seed of the long wait. This explains why they are on the bed, the athlete complained: (chapter 85) He had to restrain himself due to doc Dan. (chapter 85) From 7:02 onward, the question is no longer “How do I beat Gabriel?” but “How do I win doc Dan’s heart?” The clock from 7:02 to 11:00 p.m. stops being a “training window” and becomes an emotional countdown. He is no longer the champion preparing for an opponent—he is the man hoping not to be abandoned again. This is why the later scene at the door feels so contradictory: when Dan finally arrives, Jaekyung behaves like someone who couldn’t wait. (chapter 85) He opens the door and immediately grabs him inside (chapter 85), cutting off any possibility of hesitation. The way he drags him over the threshold, presses him against the wall (chapter 85), kisses him, lifts him (chapter 85) and carries him to the bed — all of that oozes urgency. Hence he doesn’t place his lover delicately on the bed, he rather pushes him down, thus we have the sound PLOP: (chapter 85) This is not the controlled, casual emperor of old; it is someone who has been holding back for hours and refuses to risk even a second in which Dan might change his mind.

And yet, visually, we know he has just finished showering. (chapter 85) His hair is still down and wet; the towel is still around his neck. That detail destroys the idea of a carefully structured pre-match evening. If he truly wanted a calm, professional night, he had four hours to shower, dry his hair, apply cologne, and settle. Instead, he postpones the shower so long that he is still damp when he opens the door.

In other words, he waited until the very last minute to get ready. This creates a striking contrast: he had four hours, yet he looks as though he prepared in a hurry. So what exactly did he do during this lapse of time? 😮

This is what every Jinx-lover should wonder. And given Jaekyung’s personality — his directness, his physicality, his awkwardness with emotional communication — a new hypothesis imposes itself. He did not study Gabriel. He studied how to please doc Dan. I am suspecting that he might have watched porno for that matter. Don’t forget this scene on the beach: (chapter 65) and the comment of the champion in front of this movie: (chapter 29) Moreover, I consider this scene (chapter 85) as a new version of Choi Heesung’s advice: Doc Dan just needs to sit back and enjoy!! (chapter 31) Joo Jaekyung is now doing everything, as deep down he wants to become the perfect lover! And how had I described the night in the States? Back then, the hamster Dan had become the champion’s perfect lover, especially because he had kissed his face, hugged him and confessed to him. (chapter 39) But if his fear to lose doc Dan was so huge, why did he ask him to come so late then? (chapter 85) It is the same hour than in the States. (chapter 38) One might reply that the athlete desired to maintain appearances and as such to hide his suffering and anxiety. In other words, he was hiding his emotions behind routine, Jinx-sex would always start at 11 pm. However, this idea is not entirely satisfying because once doc Dan was in his room, the fighter was no longer hiding his emotions and desires. (chapter 85) That’s the reason why I am suspecting another cause for this time 11 pm. In my opinion, it is related to the athlete’s traumas: the physical abuse from his father (chapter 72), when the latter would return late from his “work” and the death of his father (chapter 73).

After the painful reminders at the table — the allusion to the Junmin night and Dan’s “queasy” excuse that scratched an old wound — his entire focus shifted. He could no longer risk repeating the dynamics of the past. In his mind, the only way to ensure that Dan would not disappear again was to do better, physically, in the one domain where he feels competent. So it is not far-fetched to imagine him watching tutorials or videos, searching for techniques, guidance, or advice he never received from anyone. He has one mentor in intimacy, Cheolmin, but the latter has only appeared once. No model to imitate. No words for tenderness. But he can learn through action, through practice, through imitation. And suddenly, this would explain everything that happens later.

It explains why, once doc Dan stands at his door, he behaves with such urgency. He grabs him immediately, pulls him inside, presses him against the wall while holding his face tenderly (chapter 85), kisses him with a force that has been building for hours. He had been so absorbed — so busy learning, rehearsing, imagining — that he realized only late that it was almost time for Dan to arrive. The rushed shower is not laziness; it is evidence that his preparation was of another kind altogether.

And then Dan appears. And this alone must have boosted Jaekyung’s ego in a way nothing else could. (chapter 85) Because doc Dan could have refused. He could have used his queasiness as an excuse, could have stayed in his room, could have claimed exhaustion. Instead, he obeyed the request — a request sent by someone who had hurt him deeply in the past. Doc Dan’s arrival is proof that he is not rejecting him. Proof that the night is real. Proof that the attempt to do better might actually matter. At the same time, doc Dan couldn’t miss the true meaning behind this text sent in front of others: the athlete’s anxiety and suffering. (chapter 85) This explains why his worried gaze followed his fated partner. (chapter 85) In other words, the text had a different meaning. It was not an order, but rather a wish…and it had nothing to do with his match against Arnaud Gabriel. During that night, Joo Jaekyung is not seeing a surrogate fighter in front of him or a sex toy, but his real partner, his future boyfriend. This means, this night stands in opposition to the one in the penthouse: (chapter 53) He is gradually moving on from his belief and jinx, he is even now prioritizing his love life over work!! If Park Namwook knew, he would get so shocked and scared… he would yell at him for causing a mess, for neglecting his “work”.

Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why Jaekyung takes his time for the first time. (chapter 85) This is why he touches Dan’s face instead of flipping him over.
This is why he kisses slowly, repeatedly, almost reverently. He knows that doc Dan likes nipple foreplay.
This is why he carries him in his arms (chapter 85) instead of carrying him over his shoulder. And this is why he suddenly engages in a new kind of foreplay — licking Dan’s leg (chapter 85) and anus (chapter 85) — something he has never done before. This does not come from instinct. It comes from intention. It comes from effort. It comes from learning. He is indeed showering doc Dan with love and tenderness, therefore it is not surprising that the “hamster” is moved sensually and emotionally. Exactly like during the Summer Night’s Dream, he is reaching nirvana, hence Jinx-philes are constantly seeing stars,. (chapter 85)

In short, the four hours did not shape his body for the match. They shaped his behavior for doc Dan.

The long lapse of time reveals a man who was not preparing for Arnaud Gabriel at all — but preparing for the one person whose opinion governs his heart. And when that person actually stands at his door, the tension of those hours condenses into the urgency of his welcome, the care of his touch, and the new tenderness of his actions. Everything in that moment — from the haste of his shower to the way he drags Dan inside — points toward a single truth: something fundamental in Joo Jaekyung has shifted.

And this brings us to the real meaning of the essay’s title.

The Truth Behind The Title

Many readers, seeing The Sweetest Downfall Ever , might assume that the downfall refers to Joo Jaekyung’s current behavior: his neglect of sleep in favor of desire, his single-minded focus on sex the night before the match, his impulsive decision to carry doc Dan to bed (chapter 85), or even the looming risk of professional failure. Others might think the downfall describes Dan’s new physical position — head lowered, body lifted (chapter 85) — or the emotional slip that comes with resurfacing feelings: the therapist losing distance, falling back into intimacy. All of these readings sound plausible at first glance. (chapter 85) But the truth behind the title is far simpler, far more literal, and yet far more symbolic.

The downfall begins with his hair. For the first time, he is letting his hair down. (chapter 85) This visual shift, subtle yet radical, is the origin of the title.

And under this light, the meaning behind my illustration becomes clearer. This is why I chose pink “hair” for the background — not merely as decoration, but as a visual clue. The color evokes warmth, softness, and vulnerability: the emotional terrain Jaekyung steps into the moment gravity pulls his hair out of its rigid form. But why is this detail meaningful?

Because the idiom “to let your hair down” carries centuries of emotional and cultural weight.

When we read this historical meaning through the lens of Mingwa’s imagery, Jaekyung’s hair becomes more than a style choice. It becomes a confession. (chapter 85)

Letting his hair down means dropping the persona. Letting his hair down means allowing himself freedom.
Letting his hair down means entering intimacy — not performance.

It is the visual act of stepping away from the rigid social restraints imposed by MFC, public expectations, masculinity, and even trauma. And with this understanding, the transition becomes effortless:

For years, Joo Jaekyung’s hair has signified his status. (chapter 85) Styled up, hardened with gel (chapter 30) , perfectly arranged — it is the crown of the Emperor, the symbol of his control, his discipline, and the myth that MFC sells:
Joo Jaekyung, the untouchable. Joo Jaekyung, the brand. Joo Jaekyung, the man who never bends. (chapter 82) When the hair stands, the image stands.

But in Paris, for the first time, the hair falls. (chapter 85)

Even before chapter 85, Mingwa prepares the audience for this silent rebellion. Two days before the match, he wears a cap (chapter 85) — but not the way adults or professionals usually do.
He tilts it up, exposing his entire face. Teenagers wear their caps like this: loose, careless, unguarded, more concerned with comfort than appearance. And suddenly, Jaekyung looks younger — not in age, but in spirit. His gaze is no longer shadowed by the bill. It is fully visible, open, almost soft.

Then comes the wolf-ear headband at the amusement park (chapte 85), a gesture that would have been unthinkable for the Emperor of MFC. It is ridiculous, childish, playful — and he wears it anyway. Not for the crowd, not for the cameras, but because Dan asked him to wear one too. So he placed it on his head. It is the second stage of the downfall: the moment where he stops caring about the star image that has governed him for years. The moment where he allows himself to be seen as something other than a fighter. The wolf ears, like the tilted cap, signal a shift toward youthfulness, toward softness, toward an identity unshaped by branding. And yet, both items share something important: they still control the hair.

The cap hides it. The headband frames it. In both cases, the hair remains managed, held in place, contained.
This means that the “rejuvenation” we observe in these scenes is still superficial — a flirtation with freedom rather than freedom itself. (chapter 85) The cap and wolf ears make him look younger, even boyish, but they do not dismantle the structure around him. They soften the edges of the Emperor, but they do not dissolve the crown.

He looks more approachable, but not yet vulnerable. He looks less like a weapon, but not yet like a man. He looks playful, but not yet liberated. However, when he is seen with his hair down (chapter 85), he looks exactly like the little boy in the picture: (chapter 71) So doc Dan could recognize the little boy in the athlete, the more he sees the protagonist with his hair down. Furthermore, I noticed that contrary to season 1, Doc Dan has now more memories of the “wolf” facing him. (chapter 85) In the past, he would more look at him from behind: (chapter 35) (chapter 35) Seeing his face reflects not only the increasing care for each other, but also the improving communication between them.

And this is also the moment where the narrative contrast becomes striking. While Joo Jaekyung’s appearance is drifting backward toward youth, Arnaud Gabriel’s beard makes him look older, (chapter 85) more mature, more “masculine” in the traditional sense. This explicates why the stylists had to dress him up. (chapter 82) Yet such an intervention did more than prepare him for the cameras — it tightened the restrictions around his own image, reducing the fighter’s rights over how he appears to the world. With the suit, he appeared older and more powerful. The French fighter leans into age, while the Korean champion leans into youth — a symbolic inversion that reinforces the central tension in the Paris arc: Gabriel performs adulthood; Jaekyung rediscovers the adolescence he never lived. (chapter 85) But just as Jaekyung begins to slip into these youthful, softer identities, MFC reasserts control.

But MFC has its own ritual of restoration. At the photo shoot, the stylists immediately return him to form: (chapter 85) hair up, face polished, a look engineered for posters and rankings. He becomes once again the Emperor — the man who must appear older, sharper, more intimidating, more manufactured.

And this is exactly why the next transformation hits so hard. When Dan arrives at 11 p.m., Joo Jaekyung opens the door with his hair down, still dripping slightly from a rushed shower. This is not the Emperor. This is not the brand. This is not the legend presented in MFC 317. (chapter 79) This is the boy from the childhood photograph.

The hair-down Jaekyung is younger, wilder, softer (chapter 85) — someone who belongs not to MFC but to himself. Someone capable of affection. Someone whose emotions sit close to the skin. Someone who has stopped pretending. He is able to smile genuinely.

“Letting one’s hair down” is an idiom meaning to stop performing, to stop controlling oneself, to finally relax into authenticity. As you can see, Mingwa uses the concept (letting one’s hair down”) literally and metaphorically at once. The physical gesture (his hair falling) expresses the emotional one (his defenses lowering).

And suddenly, the birthday illustration released earlier this year makes sense. In the rain, with his hair heavy and unstyled, his gaze dark and sensual, Jaekyung appears nothing like the commanding emperor. He looks free — freed by weather, freed by desire, freed from roles. It was foreshadowing, not just fanservice. It announces the end of the « jinx » in reality.

Which brings us to the second reason “downfall” is the perfect word. “Downfall” often describes the collapse of status — the fall of kings, the ruin of reputations. And here, too, the meaning applies. Because by letting his hair down, Joo Jaekyung risks the downfall of the very myth that protects him.

He is neglecting his work. He is prioritizing Dan over rest. He is engaging in a long, indulgent foreplay the night before his comeback match — a foreplay so attentive and sensual that Dan wonders what changed. This is not the Emperor. This is a man who is slowly abandoning the throne.

And Mingwa multiplies the symbolic echoes:

  • Downfall as rain:
    Heavy rain makes hair fall, obscures vision, exposes vulnerability.
    It is no coincidence that the birthday art shows him wet — nature brings him down to earth.
  • Downfall as emotional collapse:
    His confrontation with memories at dinner destabilizes him.
    His desire for Dan overwhelms him.
    His anxiety about losing Dan drives him.
  • Downfall as public risk:
    If he wins and hugs Dan in front of cameras out of gratitude and affection — a real possibility given his new softness — he could expose their bond publicly.
    This would be the ultimate downfall of the Emperor image:
    the revelation that he is not a remote titan but a man in love.
  • Downfall as liberation:
    The fall from the Emperor’s pedestal is not a tragedy.
    It is freedom.

And this is where the meaning circles back to sweetness. However, this also signifies that he is escaping the control of MFC and as such he represents a source of danger for the organization.

When Jaekyung whispers, “Why the fuck do you taste so sweet today?” he is not describing Dan. (chapter 85) He is describing himself. His sweetness is the taste of freedom — freedom from performance, freedom from control, freedom from MFC, freedom from fear. He is enjoying this moment. Dan tastes sweet because Jaekyung is finally tasting the life he never allowed himself to want.

So the “downfall” of the title is not the fall of a champion.

It is the fall of a mask. A downfall so soft that it feels like surrender, so intimate that it feels like seduction, and so liberating that it becomes — unmistakably — sweet. Because the moment Jaekyung lets his hair down, he becomes someone who can fall in love. And perhaps someone who can finally be loved in return.

And now, you are probably thinking, this is it! But no… because we have the long wait the next morning!

Room 1704: The Number of Unscheduled Freedom

While the night in Paris reveals how quietly the Emperor has begun to fall, the true test of his transformation arrives the next morning. If letting his hair down marks the softening of his identity, what happens next exposes something even more subversive: Joo Jaekyung begins to let go of time itself. Because in Paris, time belongs not to MFC, not to Park Namwook, and not to the match — but to room 1704, (chapter 85) the one place where schedules dissolve, rituals are forgotten, and the fighter finally sleeps like someone who no longer needs to brace for survival.

Room 1704 is not just a hotel room; it is the numerical mirror of Jaekyung’s internal shift. It reduces to the number 12, and this detail offers a far deeper layer of meaning than coincidence. Twelve is the number of completeness. It marks the end of one cycle and the threshold of another. In numerology, it unites the energy of new beginnings (1) with the harmony of partnership (2) to form the creative expansion of 3. This blending transforms 12 into a symbol of spiritual awakening and divine order — a moment where the earthly and the transcendent briefly touch. It is no accident that the number appears in so many foundational structures: twelve months shaping the year, twelve zodiac signs forming the cosmic wheel, twelve tribes anchoring a nation, twelve apostles guiding the birth of a new faith. Across cultures, twelve signifies not closure, but transition: the release of what binds and the emergence of a new form.

Seen through this lens, room 1704 becomes the perfect setting for the champion’s inner shift. He does not simply enter a hotel room; he steps into a symbolic space where an old identity completes itself and a new one quietly begins. Twelve encourages letting go, surrendering rigidity, and allowing transformation to unfold. And this is precisely what happens that night. In room 1704, Joo Jaekyung lets his hair down, lets his guard fall, lets Dan remain close, and lets go — without yet realizing it — of the rituals and defenses that once defined him. The number that governs the room marks the moment where the Emperor’s earthly order dissolves, making space for an awakening shaped not by hierarchy or discipline, but by intimacy and partnership.

And the room itself reinforces this symbolism. Above the couch hangs a painting (chapter 85) The image is dreamlike: there are white horses with wings, a Pegasus-like creatures and angels. Their outlines are soft, almost blurred, as if painted in the air rather than on canvas. This is no random hotel decoration. A Pegasus traditionally symbolizes deliverance from earthly burdens, escape from oppression, and ascension into a higher realm; angels, of course, signify protection, guidance, and spiritual renewal. Together they transform the couch area into a symbolic threshold: the boundary between the profane world (MFC, schedules, fear, trauma) and a space touched by something gentler, freer, almost sacred.

The Pegasus-and-angel painting above the couch does more than sanctify room 1704—it also illuminates something that has quietly shaped Dan’s entire emotional life: his relationship to the couch itself. (chapter 21) The image of winged rescue and divine protection hangs over the very piece of furniture that, throughout the series, has functioned as Dan’s private sanctuary. This is not incidental. In Jinx, the couch is tied to his deepest memories of care and abandonment, and Mingwa activates this symbolism each time Dan gravitates to it.

Why did Dan’s nightmare of abandonment strike precisely, when he fell asleep on the couch? (chapter 21) Why does he consistently feel safer on the couch than in a bed? (chapter 29) Why, after the second swimming lesson, did he refuse to return to the bed (chapter 81), even though he was exhausted? Why does he place the teddy bear (chapter 84) —his last substitute for lost parental affection—on the couch and not on the bed? And finally, why has he always harbored the secret wish to be carried to bed, as confessed through his memory in chapter 61? (chapter 61)

The answers converge: the couch is Dan’s liminal space, the threshold between being left behind and being held, between cold reality and the remnants of tenderness he once knew. Note that there is no couch in the halmoni’s house. (chapter 10) Secondly, at no moment, we ever witness the grandmother carrying the little boy to bed. Either she is rocking him to sleep outside the house (chapter 47) or he is already in the bed. We never see her bringing him to bed.

Thus I came to develop the following theory. In childhood, before everything collapsed, the couch was the place where doc Dan waited for his parents to return from work—the place where he sometimes fell asleep with his teddy bear, only to be lifted and carried to bed by someone who loved him. It was brief, fragile, but it became etched into him as the last ritual of genuine care, before the world turned harsh. This would explain why he has internalized such gestures: (chapter 44), (chapter 44) traces from parents. And now, you comprehend why the hamster could never truly rest in the bed. The couch is therefore not an adult preference; it is a trauma imprint. Resting there feels safe because beds—large, empty, abandoned spaces—became reminders of whoever no longer carried him. Hence it is no longer surprising that he woke up, when he sensed the vanishing of warmth. (chapter 21)

This is why Dan puts the teddy bear on the couch (chapter 84): the bear stands in for a lost comforting presence. It also represents the main lead, Joo Jaekyung. The latter is gradually reentering in the physical therapist’s heart and life. Therefore it is not surprising that there, he squeezes the hand of the toy. It is also why Doc Dan curls around it like a child who deep down hopes to be chosen, lifted, and held. And it is why, even as an adult, his body still whispers the same yearning: someone, please carry me to bed again.

Placed in this context, the painting above the couch in room 1704 becomes profound. The winged horses represent rescue; the angels represent guardianship. They hover above the very place where Dan’s old wound meets the possibility of healing. And on this particular night, the symbolism is fulfilled: the man he once feared, the man who once hurt him, becomes the one who finally lifts him —not to discard him, not to dominate him, but to carry him to bed with the gentleness he has been unconsciously longing for since childhood. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why doc Dan often never realized that the athlete had often fulfilled his wish (chapter 29, chapter 40, chapter 65, chapter 68, chapter 79)

The couch, the painting, the number 1704—all align to mark this night as a turning point. A moment where old scripts collapse, where Dan’s abandonment narrative begins to loosen, and where Joo Jaekyung unknowingly steps into the role that no one has fulfilled since Dan was small: the one who does not leave him sleeping alone, but brings him into warmth.

And this is precisely what the number 1704 suggests. Reduced to 12, it carries the connotations of completion, awakening, divine order, the closing of one cycle and the opening of another. The Pegasus and angels above the couch echo that meaning visually: a silent promise that something in this room will lift rather than trap, heal rather than wound.

It is striking, too, that the imagery concerns flight—wings, ascension, rising above earthly weight. (chapter 85) For Joo Jaekyung, whose entire identity has been built on gravity, discipline, and the hardness of the body, this painting becomes an unconscious prelude to what he is about to do emotionally: let go, descend from the Emperor’s pedestal, and allow himself to be vulnerable. For Dan, the angels evoke the comfort and innocence he lost in childhood, the tenderness he has been deprived of for years. The painting therefore mirrors both men: the fighter who needs freedom, and the healer who needs protection.

Placed above the couch, it becomes the room’s spiritual anchor. It blesses the space without the characters realizing it. It reframes the night not as moral failure but as transformation. In this light, the “downfall” in the title is not the collapse of a champion — it is the completion of a cycle. A descent that is also a rising. A falling-away that creates room for renewal. Twelve crowns the night not with the end of something, but with the birth of something sweeter. Observe that around the painting, the pattern on the wall looks similar to snow flakes. It’s no coincidence… a synonym for “home”. A visual whisper that what happens here is not corruption but ascension and even “Nirvana”. That’s why I have the feeling that both or one of them might not wake up on time.

The first sign that room 1704 operates under new rules appears through a small but powerful object: the Do Not Disturb sign. (chapter 85)

For years, nothing in Jaekyung’s life has been allowed to interrupt the routine designed to keep him winning. His schedule is a fortress — wake up early, drink milk, shower and perfume, style hair, prepare body, prepare mind. Every minute is accounted for. Every ritual restores the Emperor identity. No step can be skipped.

But the moment Dan enters room 1704, the fortress cracks. The DND sign goes up. This implies that Joo Jaekyung might be able to sleep better and longer after this “hot night”.

And this tiny act holds enormous consequences. Park Namwook’s entire identity as manager is built on timing. He hides behind schedules the way Jaekyung once hid behind performance. (chapter 85) His mantra — 7:00 AM sharp — is not about concern. It is about control. If he arrives very early with his star, he believes that he has done his job. It is now MFC and Joo Jaekyung’s responsibility to decide about the match. Striking is that in the States, doc Dan woke up at 10. 26 am (chapter 85) and he was still able to arrive on time in the arena. (chapter 40) For me, it is a clue that the manager would always request to meet around 7.00 am, when the match was at noon. But what should do the athlete do during all this time? He can only get nervous and feel pressured.

This is where the true problem begins. A fighter scheduled to rise at dawn for a noon match is being set up to fail. The human body performs best roughly four or five hours after waking; having a good breakfast, for a match at midday, the ideal waking time would be closer to 8:30 or 9:00. Yet Park Namwook forces the entire team into a rhythm that has nothing to do with physiology and everything to do with his own fear of unpredictability. In other words, he is not managing an athlete — he is managing his anxiety.

The timing is disastrous for someone like Joo Jaekyung, whose insomnia is a recurring wound in the story. Sleep is the one ressource the Emperor chronically lacks, and the one thing he finally has a chance to experience now that doc Dan is beside him. (chapter 81) I noticed that in different scenes from season 2, the athlete started waking up later and even after doc Dan. (chapter 66) But the manager’s rigid schedule threatens even that. An early morning summons drains the fighter’s cortisol reserves before the match has even begun, creating a long, empty corridor of waiting — a period where tension, anxiety, fatigue, and irritation ferment in the body. Instead of resting, centering, and preparing, the champion would spend hours fighting against the clock imposed on him.

And this, ironically, is precisely what Park Namwook wants: a day without surprises, without emotional complications, without having to shoulder responsibility if something goes wrong. By bringing the team down to the lobby at a painfully early hour (chapter 85), he can tell himself that he has done everything correctly. From the moment they arrive, the rest is “not his problem.” His scheduling is a shield — not for Jaekyung, but for himself.

This reveals a harsh truth about his management style. He values predictability over performance, procedure over well-being, optics over actual athletic needs. And because he interprets punctuality as competence, he assumes that an early arrival protects him from blame. Whether the star sleeps well, eats well, or preserves his mental focus does not matter. What matters is that the boxes are checked, the appearance of order is maintained, and the responsibility is successfully transferred upward.

But what happens if the Emperor does not appear at 7:00 AM? (chapter 85) What happens if the room 1704 — with its quietly glowing DND sign — refuses to open?

Suddenly the carefully constructed ritual collapses. The manager may be standing in front of the door early in the morning, but the DND sign renders him powerless. He cannot knock insistently, he cannot demand entry or yell, and he certainly cannot ask hotel staff to open the door or to call the athlete. Any attempt to violate a guest’s privacy would not only break hotel policy — it could lead to a lawsuit, a breach-of-contract scandal, or even an international incident involving their star athlete. One angry complaint from Joo Jaekyung could cost the hotel its reputation, and one misstep from Park Namwook could cost him his career. And because he knows the champion had been drinking after the “loss” (chapter 54) , he might even jump to the wrong conclusion: that Jaekyung drank again — this time behind his back. (chapter 82) The irony is striking. Two days before the match, it was Park Namwook who overindulged with the others, yet he may now project that same carelessness onto the athlete. In his mind, the DND sign does not simply mean “rest”; it becomes a warning signal, a possible confirmation of the irresponsibility he fears but has never actually witnessed. Thus I can already imagine him panicking.

And this is exactly what terrifies him: there is no legal or professional ground on which he can force the champion to obey the schedule he imposed. For once, he cannot hide behind authority. He cannot produce documents or procedures to justify intervention. He cannot shift responsibility to MFC.

He is trapped in a situation where doing nothing is dangerous, and acting is even worse. One might object and say that he can still call the two protagonists. However, the doctor didn’t bring his cellphone to the room. (chapter 85) Secondly, it is possible that the athlete’s cellphone runs out of battery, especially if he watched so many videos the night before. However, if the staff knows about the DND, the manager can not ask the desk to call Joo Jaekyung either.

But the most destabilizing element of all is that he cannot even determine whom to blame — the physical therapist who may have encouraged the fighter to rest longer, or the champion who dared to let doc Dan sleep past the artificial boundaries the manager set in place or even slept longer by inadvertence. Another important aspect is the text from the champion. (chapter 85) Here, it is not written 11.00 pm, so the message could be read as 11.00 am. So this message could be read like this. He wanted to rest till 11.00 am. This could represent an evidence that champion chose to act behind Park Namwook’s back and trust Doc Dan more than Park Namwook.

The hierarchy reverses itself in an instant: the Emperor is untouchable, and the manager is the one who risks punishment.

For the first time, Park Namwook may have to confront the truth he has avoided for years: that his role as manager is ornamental, that he has never truly controlled the Emperor’s time, and that his authority dissolves the moment the athlete chooses to prioritize his own needs or his lover’s needs.

In that paralysis, old coping strategies return. He may blame Dan for keeping the champion awake. He may blame the champion for irresponsibility. He may fear that the match will suffer and that this failure, unlike all the others, will reflect poorly on him. One thing is sure: the manager can not leave the hotel without the wolf, and the latter will refuse to leave doc Dan behind either. As you can see, this night stands under the sign of “partnership” and the manager is now excluded.

However, inside room 1704, none of this external pressure exists. Because of the painting, I deduce that this room stands for intemporality. It was, as if time had stopped flowing. For the first time in years, Joo Jaekyung sleeps without fear. Without nightmares. Without counting breaths. Without bracing for violence. Without packing his trauma into the muscles of his back. Why? Because Dan is there. Not touching him — simply present. The presence alone rewrites the body’s memory.

And here lies the narrative genius: if Dan wakes first, he will instinctively protect that peace. He knows how vital rest is. He knows how Jaekyung has struggled to breathe, to sleep, to function. He knows the psychological cost of insomnia. He may silence alarms, block the manager from entering, or simply remain beside him until Jaekyung wakes naturally.

Which sets up the coming conflict:

If Jaekyung wakes late — later than the 7:00 AM schedule —he will not have enough time for his rituals.

  • No milk to ground him
  • No cold shower to reset his body
  • No perfume to cover the phantom scent of childhood shame
  • No hair styling to reinstall the Emperor crown

But none of this would matter, as long as doc Dan accepts him like that. However, it is clear that the fight will take place no matter what, as this match will be shown on TV! How do I know this? A match scheduled at noon on a Saturday is not designed for a French television audience — it is one of the least convenient viewing times for locals. But it aligns perfectly with broadcast windows in Korea and the United States, which means the bout is already plugged into international programming. In other words, the machinery is running. Cameras will roll, sponsors will expect coverage, and the event cannot be canceled simply because the champion oversleeps. The celebrity can arrive late, for he brings money. Joo Jaekyung will walk into the arena not as the branded champion, but as the man from room 1704 (chapter 85), a man who slept deeply, whose hair still remembers being down, whose body still carries Dan’s warmth. And this is the true downfall: He risks entering a match not as the Emperor, but as himself. And such a transformation could make people realize how young the “MMA fighter” is in the end. At the same time, his late arrival could create the illusion that the Emperor is not mentally and physically ready for a fight so that Arnaud Gabriel underestimates his opponent.

But here’s the irony — this may be the very thing that makes him stronger. Room 1704 becomes the space where the champion’s trauma evaporates, where instinct replaces ritual, where softness replaces armor. If he oversleeps, it means he felt safe — an emotional victory far more significant than a title defense.

For Park Namwook, however, oversleeping is a managerial nightmare. It is disorder. It is unpredictability. It is autonomy — the one thing he cannot manage. And when he stands before the DND sign, powerless, he may finally realize that his control and authority were always an illusion. He is not the boss or the owner of the gym. The Emperor no longer belongs to schedules, rituals, or institutions. He belongs to the one person behind that door. And that would be doc Dan who overlooked everything in Paris: his food (chapter 82), his look (chapter 82), his free time and took care of the champion’s emotional needs. In Paris, the « hamster » became the champion’s manager de facto, the unofficial right-hand. That’s why if they are late and they need a scapegoat, the manager can blame the physical therapist for the « delay », he would always come late to appointments (chapter 17: meeting the doctor) and to the fights (Busan, in the States).

Room 1704 is not the site of a downfall. It is the site of awakening.

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

Jinx: The Words 🎆The Firework 🎆 Stole 🥷 (second version)

Finally a Love Confession?

Among all the scenes in Jinx, none has ignited more speculation than the moment inside the Ferris wheel cabin—those few seconds when Joo Jaekyung’s lips move (chapter 84), the fireworks erupt, and Kim Dan turns his head too late. (chapter 84) Readers have replayed the blurred panel again and again, straining to decipher the muffled shapes of his mouth. Some are convinced that this is the confession, the moment the wolf finally says aloud what his body has been whispering for months. One Jinx-phile, @4992cb even insisted she had cracked the code: five syllables, just enough to match the Korean 좋아해 김단 (jo-a-hae Kim Dan)—“I like you, Kim Dan.”

And truthfully, the scene encourages such a reading. Fireworks often accompany love confessions in East Asian media (chapter 84) —especially Japanese summer festivals where boys and girls, dressed in yukata, confess beneath crackling skies. Fireworks symbolize joy, romance, fleeting courage. It is no wonder many readers assumed that Mingwa was drawing on this cultural grammar: purple night sky, glowing lights, two lonely figures suspended above the world. A confession seems almost inevitable. And if it truly was a love declaration, then the champion’s refusal to repeat himself (chapter 84) would make perfect narrative sense—confession lost, moment gone, courage spent.

But before we accept the romantic surface, we must pause. Something about the staging feels off—deliberately off. Why would Mingwa construct a confession that the receiver cannot hear? (chapter 84) Why give Kim Dan the long-awaited moment he has yearned for, only to snatch it away with the noise of exploding light? Yes, despite his words, Kim Dan still had the hope to be loved by the athlete. Hence he kept thinking about the athlete’s motivations for his “stay and care at the seaside town”. (chapter 62) (chapter 77) Why does Joo Jaekyung speak exactly when the fireworks begin, as if choosing the one moment when he is guaranteed to be drowned out? (chapter 84) And most importantly: what emotion pushed him to open his mouth in the first place? (chapter 84) Was he truly confessing love—or was he trying to verbalize something far more raw, far more primitive, far more difficult?

Before we can decode the stolen syllables, we need to examine the entire machinery around this moment: the champion’s posture, the lighting, the soundscape, the timing, and the emotional triggers accumulated over previous chapters. Only then can we begin to understand what he tried to say, and why the author ensured that Kim Dan—the boy who has always longed to be chosen—could not hear it.

The Mechanics of a Stolen Confession

Everything about the Ferris wheel cabin — the positioning, the posture, the lighting — undermines the idea that Joo Jaekyung was intentionally directing his words toward Kim Dan. The mechanics of his body say more than the bubble ever could. To begin with, Jaekyung is not fully facing Kim Dan when he begins to speak. (chapter 84) How do we know this? His body tells the truth before any words do: his torso is angled half-way toward the window and half-way toward Kim Dan, caught between desire and retreat. His arms remain crossed — a classic defensive posture — as if he is bracing himself against the very feelings he is trying to verbalize. This is not the stance of someone delivering a confident love confession; it is the posture of a man attempting something dangerous, something he is afraid to expose.

Only his head turns slightly toward Kim Dan, a diagonal tilt rather than a direct orientation. (chapter 84) It signals hesitation, testing the water, not a deliberate act of addressing someone face-to-face. And the light confirms this: the violet firework glow still falls on the same side of his face as in the previous panel, proving that he did not rotate his body or head enough to truly face Kim Dan while speaking. (chapter 84) He remains more oriented toward the window, toward the blur of lights outside — toward a safer, less intimate direction.

This halfway posture makes everything clear: Jaekyung is speaking from a place of longing mixed with fear, practicing honesty without yet daring to look directly at the person who provokes it. It is because as soon as his fated partner asks him to repeat, he turns slightly his head away, to the window. (chapter 84) When someone truly wants to be understood, they turn instinctively toward the listener. But when Jaekyung turns away, he is not refusing vulnerability — he is choosing fear. Turning his head toward the window is an instinctive retreat into the only safety he knows: distance.

This is crucial: he begins to speak while refusing to meet the therapist’s gaze. (chapter 84) The words escape sideways — literally.

Then comes the second mechanical detail: timing. He opens his mouth precisely at the moment the fireworks erupt. Deep down, he knows the noise will drown his voice. This is not accidental. It mirrors episodes 76(chapter 76) and 79 (chapter 79), where he “speaks” only when the other man cannot truly hear him. At the hostel, the mumbling was barely audible: yet according to my observation and deduction, doc Dan seems to have caught something. as later we discover this scene from the champion’s memory: (chapter 77) He already knew that the athlete was standing next to him. However, observe that this vision focused on the doctor’s gaze was accompanied with silence. This means, doc Dan acted, as if he had heard nothing. So if he heard, what did the physical therapist catch exactly in the kitchen? “I lost…”, but it was devoid of any context. Doc Dan had no idea what the director Hwang Byungchul had advised to his former student. (chapter 75) He could not know that “I lost” referred to something far more intimate: Jaekyung losing control over his own emotional detachment, he was totally vulnerable in front of doc Dan. His heart was stronger than his “mind and fists”. Naturally, if Kim Dan interpreted the phrase at all, he would connect it to the only “loss” he understood: the tie with Baek Junmin. A humiliating defeat. A source of shame. This misinterpretation perfectly explains why in the cabin, the hamster immediately assumes that the champion is once again determined to regain his title: (chapter 84) He is taking the champion’s words at face-value. (chapter 77) He trusts the explanation Jaekyung himself gave under the tree. And here lies the deeper revelation: Kim Dan’s misunderstanding exposes the true meaning of the tree confession. Why did Jaekyung suddenly accept the match? Why frame it entirely in terms of “I need you for these two fights”?

Because work was the only safe language he had left for reconnecting with the therapist. He could not say, “Please stay with me.” He could not say, “I don’t want to lose you.” So he said the only thing he believed he was allowed to say:
“I need you for my return match… and my title match.”

It is a substitution — a mask — a plea disguised as practicality. (chapter 84) A deadline designed to keep Kim Dan close without revealing the depth of the emotional dependency underneath. Finally, before we even analyze posture or timing, we must acknowledge the ghost that is sitting inside the cabin with them — Jaekyung’s own admission of dishonesty. Just minutes earlier, the narrative revealed again a thought he had never dared to voice aloud: (chapter 84) This line is essential, because it exposes the truth behind every failed confession that came before it: Jaekyung did not rekindle with doc Dan with honesty. His first instinct was deception (lie by omission), not vulnerability. Keeping Kim Dan near him mattered more than telling him the truth. So his “love” was still more influenced by possessiveness.

And that is precisely why his apology in the cabin lands with such weight. (chapter 84) For the first time, he admits wrongdoing without deflecting, without rage, without pride. This apology is not strategic; it is confessional. A tone we have never heard from him before. It is no coincidence that just before, he employed this expression: (chapter 84) This is the language of surrender — not to defeat, but to vulnerability and selflessness. The champion who once insisted on keeping Kim Dan “one way or another” (chapter 84) now articulates the opposite impulse: the willingness to release him, to give him a choice. (chapter 84) Kim Dan can actually never forgive him. He is giving up, on his possessive love — the possessiveness that fueled all his earlier attempts to hold onto Dan through contracts, pressure, intimidation, manipulations or work-related obligations.

Here, his grip loosens. Here, his desire is no longer expressed as ownership, but as remorse. And this shift matters profoundly for the blurred confession. (chapter 84) By apologizing, Jaekyung crosses a threshold he has never crossed before: he speaks without power, without defense, without dominance.
For the first time, he tells Kim Dan something that is not a command, not a justification, not an excuse — but a truth about himself. Yet this emotional shift, as liberating as it is, does not make him ready to say “I love you” or even “I like you” in a clean, intentional, adult way. In fact, the opposite is true. When guilt falls away, he does not step into romantic maturity — he reverts to emotional childhood. This explicates why later he felt so embarrassed on his bed, hiding his face under the pillow. (chapter 84) Thus for me, in the cabin the champion became, for a moment, the boy with no mother’s gaze, no father’s protection, no safe place to rest. He must have said something cheesy, something a young person would say. Purity returns before experience does. Honesty returns before articulation. And in that moment inside the cabin, Mingwa makes a decisive artistic choice: we do not see Jaekyung’s eyes. (chapter 84) The panel hides them completely — not out of convenience, but out of protection. It is as if the author herself shields the wolf’s vulnerability from the reader, granting him a moment of privacy at the precise instant he attempts something emotionally dangerous.

Just as in episodes 76 and 79, his words are not fully directed at Kim Dan. They are spoken near him, not to him.
They slip out sideways — half internal, half external — the verbal equivalent of a heartbeat too quiet to be called speech. In other words, what happens inside the cabin is not the flowering of romantic eloquence. It is the first trembling attempt of someone who has never been loved to express the only version of love he knows: instinctive, needy, unpolished, raw.

This is why he cannot possibly be saying a line as adult and structured as “I love you” or even “I like you.”
Such sentences require three things he does not possess yet:

  1. A sense that he himself is lovable → he does not. Hence he still views himself as nonredeemable and as a burden.
  2. A sense that Kim Dan feels the same → he has no proof. Besides, doc Dan keeps avoiding his gaze, feels uncomfortable in front of him. He is not speaking his mind. He keeps reminding him of their limited contract.
  3. A sense of equality in the relationship → they are not there yet. Joo Jaekyung feels now inferior with all his sins and wrongdoings. Due to his last words, it becomes clear that he is not expecting something in return.

What he can say at this stage — and what fits the emotional mechanics of the scene — is something far younger, far simpler, far more primal, like for example “Stay with me” or “I want to kiss you ” or “I want to hold you”…

These are not love declarations. They are the vocabulary of a neglected child whose first experience of safety has finally returned — and who now fears losing it more than anything else.

And crucially, this would explain everything about the staging:

  • why he chooses fireworks (the sound protects him from being truly heard),
  • why his body angles away (he speaks sideways, not directly),
  • why his voice is blurred (because the reader is not meant to hear it yet),
  • why he panics when Kim Dan asks him to repeat,
  • why he instantly retracts with “Never mind.”

A man confessing love does not recoil. A child confessing need always does. It is also why the author hides the line. Not because it is a grand romantic confession, but because it is too emotionally naked, too immature, too early, too cheesy. A sentence like “I wish to …”, whispered by a man who has never held anyone without ownership, is more intimate than any polished “I love you.”

And Mingwa knows it. The confession is blurred not because it declares love, but because it reveals Jaekyung’s inexperience with love. He can finally be honest — but he cannot yet be articulate.

He can reach — but he cannot yet claim. He is pure — but not ready. Hence later, he is seen wearing a white t-shirt for the first time. (chapter 84) This pigment stands for innocence, purity, new beginnings and even equity.

That is why the fireworks stole the words. (chapter 84) Because they were not yet meant to be received, only meant to be released. The fireworks allow him to finally attempt a more honest sentence, but in conditions where it cannot reach its target.
Noise replaces courage.
Light replaces eye contact.
Fear replaces clarity.
A man who has only just begun to tell the truth about his wrongdoing cannot yet tell the full truth of his love.
His apology creates the emotional opening — but it also exposes how unprepared he is to verbalize the feelings that have been building silently for 84 chapters. So far, he has never verbalized his desires and emotions, hence he kissed doc Dan right away in the swimming pool. (chapter 81) Yet this is also the limit of what he can say.

But let’s return our attention to the scene in the penthouse (chapter 79), which is similar to the scene in the kitchen and at the amusement park. Though the star was once again mumbling, this time Doc Dan reacted to his words. However, Jinx-philes can sense a divergence between the other two scenes (chapter 76) (chapter 84). It is because doc Dan was looking at him this time: (chapter 79) Thus he could see the athlete’s mouth moving and hear sound. Nevertheless, observe that the moment the wolf reached to the doctor’s words, he bowed his head and looked down. From this (chapter 79) to this (chapter 79) As you can sense, he fears his lover’s gaze, a new version of this situation: (chapter 79) However, he doesn’t fear coldness, but ridicule and mockery, the father’s gaze: (chapter 73) Under this light, people can grasp why Joo Jaekyung was not facing doc Dan directly in the cabin. To conclude, the mechanism is identical, but amplified. (chapter 84) Instead of mumbling, he lets the fireworks perform the silencing. It is not that the environment interrupts him; it is that he chooses a moment when interruption is guaranteed. However, one detail caught my attention: he’s getting physically closer to Doc Dan!! The distance is getting reduced. It was, as if he was practicing how to confess his affection. And so far, he never used the words « I love you ». (Chapter 44) (chapter 76) At the same time, Jinx-philes can detect the existence of another common denominator: the physical therapist’s gaze.

The Spark behind the Wolf’s Confession

To understand the blurred sentence — the words the firework stole — we must first shift our attention away from language entirely and back to what truly matters in this scene: vision. What drives Joo Jaekyung to the brink of confession in chapter 84 is not romance, nor timing, nor even the apology he had just managed to deliver. It is Kim Dan’s gaze. (chapter 84) He is moved by such a pure gaze, full of awe.

The panel makes this undeniable. Before speaking, the champion is watching the therapist’s face illuminated by fireworks, softened into wonder. (chapter 84) This is not the gaze of a caretaker, nor a tired worker, nor a subordinate fulfilling a duty. It is the open, trusting gaze of a child witnessing beauty. And for Joo Jaekyung, that gaze is both intoxicating and devastating.

The champion has lived his entire life without soft eyes directed at him. His mother, always drawn from behind, is eyeless — a woman who never truly saw him. (chapter 73) Besides, the head of her position is indicating that she was not looking at her son, the boy was hiding his face from Joo Jaewoong and his mother. Then his father mocked him, degraded him, and used resemblance as an insult: (chapter 73) Moreover, Hwang Byungchul reduced him to a lineage of failure or talent, not a person deserving recognition. He constantly compared him to his father (chapter 74) or his mother (a poor but good mother), he was not seen for whom he was: a child, a boy. Jinx consistently links sight with recognition, and recognition with love. (chapter 53) Jaekyung has never been granted either. (Chapter 45) Thus when he got upset with the present, he indirectly expressed the wish to be « looked at ». Moreover, in his visions or memories, this is what he keeps seeing: (chapter 54) (chapter 75) Doc Dan’s gaze!

This is what makes the locker-room scene in chapter 51 so crucial. Kim Dan looks at him with shock, vulnerability, and a plea: (chapter 51) And for the first time, Jaekyung freezes. (chapter 51) His breath catches; his eyes widen. It is the moment he realizes his mistake. He never thought that doc Dan had been trusting him. That moment marks the first rupture in his emotional armor, not only because it hurt, but because it revealed. He realizes with terror that he wants to be seen by Kim Dan, but when he faced such a gaze, he could only feel guilty and bad. Thus it is not surprising that later, his nightmare let transpire his guilty conscience. (chapter 54) He is the one who made his fated partner cry. No wonder why he first tried to find a new toy, he felt uncomfortable.

In the Ferris wheel cabin of chapter 84, he encounters his fated partner’s gaze again — (chapter 84) but now it is purified, childlike, unguarded. Kim Dan glows under the fireworks, mesmerized by beauty instead of violence, by wonder instead of fear. And Jaekyung wants — desperately — for that softness to be directed at him. Not at his victories. Not at his muscles. Not at the persona he built to survive. But at the man beneath all of it. A man worthy of admiration, affection, safety. A man who could be held, kept, loved. That’s why I wondered for a while if Joo Jaekyung had not copied Arnaud Gabriel’s flirt (chapter 82), as the champion has always used his surroundings as a source of inspiration. (Chapter 29) It would also fit with 5 syllabes in Korean. And it would be cheesy too. Yet, I have my doubts about this theory which I will explain further below. Nevertheless, one thing is sure. The champion loves the doctor’s eyes and they have the power to move not only his heart but also his mouth. He is encouraged to verbalize his emotions.

This is the true trigger of the confession. Not desire in the adult sense, and certainly not a strategic “I like you” or “I love you,” but a longing to be seen — and therefore, to be wanted. Every wound in Jaekyung’s life is tied to vision: the eyeless mother who vanished, the father who asked whether she would even want to live with him if she saw what he had become, the locker-room moment that shattered his self-perception. All of this returns when he sees Kim Dan’s shining eyes reflecting the fireworks.

He wants those eyes turned toward him with love. Not gratitude. Not dependence. Not fear. Love. What he wants most
and what he fears most come from the same place: Kim Dan’s gaze. (chapter 84) The gaze under the fireworks triggers emotions in him. Thus he blurted out something. But for me, he does not know how to say “I love you.” He cannot even say “I like you.” Those sentences belong to someone who has matured emotionally — someone who can identify feelings properly, but so far he keeps saying: “to stay by his side” and his « affection declarations » were all linked to negativity.. Thus my idea was that Joo Jaekyung could have said this: “I want to hold you!” (안고 싶어 너). Let’s not forget that so far, the champion had never expressed such a longing before; a warm embrace. He would always follow his instincts: (chapter 4) (chapter 43) (chapter 69) The hug represents a metaphor for “staying by his side, for home and to be seen”. Moreover, in French embrasser can mean kiss and hug. And strangely, I noticed that the protagonists were never looking at each other during an embrace. (chapter 44) And let’s not forget that such a gesture is strongly intertwined with “childhood”. (chapter 65) It is for “babies”. No wonder why he retracted immediately.

To conclude, the words that escape him in the dark — too soft to be caught, swallowed by the firework’s explosion — become the linguistic equivalent of reaching toward warmth without daring to touch it. The sentence he forms must fit his emotional stage: childlike, inexperienced, driven by instinct rather than maturity. It must reflect longing, not possession; desire, not declaration. And it must match the blurred outline of five syllables we see in the panel. (chapter 84) 안고 싶어 너: I want to hold/hug you!

The Secret behind the Blurred Words

And now, you are wondering what other secret could be hidden behind these words. It is related to the physical therapist him. Why did Mingwa, the goddess of “narrative fate”, ensure that doc Dan couldn’t hear the athlete’s words? (chapter 84) First, recall that in the previous parallel scenes (76 and 79), doc Dan is portrayed as someone who doesn’t hear Jaekyung’s confessions. But as I argued earlier, we must question whether this is truly the case — especially the one in episode 76. The panel arrangement suggests that something was heard, but not acknowledged. Then during the fireworks, he does not say, “I couldn’t hear what you said.”
He says: “I didn’t catch that.” “Catch” implies arms, grasping, holding — the very things stolen from him as a child.

And then comes the detail that betrays everything: the small drop on his cheek. A sign of discomfort… and something deeper: recognition. The drop on his face was not present before. (chapter 84) For me, everything points to the same conclusion: doc Dan might have heard something — but he cannot yet allow himself to process it.
This denial explains his expression in the shower at the hotel: (chapter 84) Here, the doctor looks sad and wounded. His eyes are unfocused — he is not seeing the present. The water running down his eyelashes gives the impression of tears, even though he is not crying. His gaze is distant, fixed on something internal. His mouth looks tense, almost trembling. The mouth especially is a clue: Kim Dan’s emotions always gather there when something from the past resurfaces.This is the expression of someone thrown into an involuntary flashback. He is inside a memory. This explicates why this scene is similar to the champion’s shower after the latter had met Baek Junmin: (chapter 49) (chapter 49) Both scenes show a man pulled violently into a buried memory. Thus, my assumption is simple: the champion said something that pierced straight into Kim Dan’s oldest wound and brought his trauma to the surface. And this brings me to my next observation. Inside the cabin, there are not two people — there are three: the champion, the therapist, and the Teddy Bear. (chapter 84) Furthermore, we have a window. We have a phone (dead, but present). We have a childlike toy — symbol of stolen innocence. (chapter 84) And now, look again at episode 19: (chapter 19) A window with no view. Three figures: halmoni, the boy, and the phone placed between them like a knife. And the sound structure is identical, but reversed:
silence – sound – silence in episode 19
vs
sound – silence – sound in episode 84, as the Teddy Bear is a silent “witness”. In both scenes, something is stolen.
In both scenes, a child loses something he cannot name. Thus, what Jaekyung said must have resembled the emotional tone — if not the wording — of the words spoken over the phone on that catastrophic day.

This explains why Kim Dan ends the scene wearing black instead of white. (chapter 84) It is not a fashion choice. It marks the moment when innocence collapses and the past reopens.

And now compare the cabin (chapter 84) with the memory that precedes the parents’ disappearance. You will notice the huge difference: the overwhelming silence inside the house. The halmoni sits beside the phone. She must have heard everything. She must have heard the child as well, if the latter spoke She holds him tightly by the shoulder — as if trying to support him. (Chapter 19) To conclude, she knew something was happening. This recollection represents a repressed memory, and so far doc Dan has always avoided to face his biggest fear: his abandonment issues and the loss of his “parents”. (chapter 56) In other words, wearing black is more than just a change of personality or mourning. It becomes the color of mystery, the beginning of descent into truth. (chapter 84) However, observe that doc Dan is holding, even squeezing the teddy bear’s hand, a sign that he is rekindling with his lost childhood. We are getting closer to the revelation behind the photograph — the day doc Dan has never willingly shown to Joo Jaekyung.

(chapter 19). Observe that in the penthouse, doc Dan has never placed the frame (chapter 79) on the night table.

And what is the other denominator between episode 19 and the amusement park?

Theft.
Stolen childhood.
Stolen confession.
Stolen clarity. (chapter 84)

Exactly like in the cabin, (chapter 19) the words on the phone are inaudible. And now, you comprehend why I came to link the athlete’s blurred words to embrace and longing, as the grandmother’s embrace couldn’t diminish or erase the child’s pain. Finally, Jinx-philes can detect another pattern, the absence of gaze. Not only the boy can not see the person on the phone, but also the characters are turning their back to the readers which reinforces the mystery surrounding the conversation and the reactions of the listeners.

Now, connect it with the lost teddy bear (chapter 21) and (chapter 47). Dan once had toys — proof that once, someone loved him enough to give him gifts which contrasts to the wolf’s childhood. (chapter 84) Every time innocence is ripped away, a teddy bear disappears from the story.

So what if Jaekyung’s whispered sentence — a gift of raw affection — triggered the memory of another gift? What if the words under the fireworks echoed the tone of something said just before Dan’s world collapsed?

If this is the case, then doc Dan did not miss the confession entirely. (chapter 84) He remembered something far more painful. It is important, because by remembering his past, he can regain his own identity and get stronger mentally and emotionally. The scene in the cabin represents the positive version of the locker room, which signifies the return of “trust”. That’s why I am more than ever convinced that something at the weight-in (chapter 82) will happen linked to the protagonists’ past (recent and childhood). Let’s not forget that doc Dan still has no idea what Joo Jaekyung went through after his departure: the slap, the drinking, the headache and the indifference of Team Black, just like the athlete has no idea about the blacklisting and bullying in the physical therapist’s past. (chapter 84) So by wearing black, doc Dan indicates that he is gradually becoming responsible for Team Blackand Joo Jaekyung the athlete. (chapter 84) They should realize that their life is not so different from each other, in fact they share the same pain and trauma.

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

Jinx: Breathless in the Light 🫀(Part 1)

The Wrong Forecast

Many readers were happy to discover that Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan are about to spend a day at an amusement park. (chapter 82) Jinx-Lovers consider it as their first real date, a long-awaited moment of levity after so much pain. But perhaps we should pause and ask: why this place?

Among the brochures (chapter 82) scattered on the table, one displays the Eiffel Tower — the obvious choice, symbol of mastery and control. Built for the Exposition Universelle of 1889, it was meant to celebrate France’s industrial power and the centenary of the Revolution — proof that bourgeoisie and steel, not kings and nobility, now ruled the sky and ground. It was even supposed to be dismantled after twenty years, yet it remained, and has since become the symbol of Paris and of France. A monument to progress, modernity, freedom, national pride and endurance.

But the man who picked up these brochures was never a tourist. In the past, Joo Jaekyung would not have chosen any destination at all. He would have stayed inside or trained, untouched by the world outside his window or the gym. (chapter 38) Hence in the States he is here turning his back to the window and his only connection to others was through the cellphone. The cities he visited were backdrops, not experiences. He was always alone. And yet, here, something changes in Paris. (chapter 82) His hotel room opens onto a broad window and a balcony — an invitation to look out. Secondly, observe that he only proposed this activity after the other members had fallen sick. When doc Dan barged in his room, the champion was doing a one-handed handstand, holding his entire weight as if defying gravity itself (chapter 82) and proving his recovery. The posture seemed like control, yet it was closer to self-punishment — an immobility that devoured strength. Blood rushed to his heart and head, but his lungs stayed empty. It was, unconsciously, his way of treating his breathlessness. This also shows that he had no real expectation about the “rest” his manager had suggested (chapter 82) — the drinking, the empty and aimless trip (“check out the area”). For the wolf, such a downtime could only mean endurance, not release and excitement. By the way, such a suggestion from Park Namwook borders on stupidity and blindness. How could he propose drinking, when he had seen his “boy” indulged in alcohol before? (chapter 54) I guess, he must have taken the celebrity’s words at face-value. But let’s return our attention to the panel with the brochures selected by the champion. If you look carefully, you will detect the presence of 4 stars. (chapter 82) They reveal the protagonist’s thoughts and emotions. He is happy!! The news brought by doc Dan was actually good news! 😂 (chapter 82) How do I come to this interpretation? We have seen these stars before, during Kim Dan’s Summer Night’s Dream: the same glittering symbols of softness and excitement.

(chapter 44) Yet, this time, the little “stars” belong to the celebrity.
For once, the fighter blushes, smiles, and dreams. (chapter 82) His choice of the amusement park is not really about himself and his desires— it is an act of care, a wish to give happiness to someone else.

And here, I feel the need to add this information. The most famous theme park next to the capital is Eurodisney which is strongly intertwined with fairy tales (The Little Mermaid , Sleeping Beauty and Beauty and the Beast ).Hence there is the castle on the brochure. (chapter 82) This shows that my connection between the fairy tales and Jinx was correct. Eurodisney is a place built for children, stories, and families, where a person’s worth is measured not by conquest but by joy and time shared together. On the other hand, such a funfair cannot be separated from money; it is a space of paid joy, accessible only to families with a certain income. This alone explains why neither Kim Dan nor Joo Jaekyung has ever visited it before. (chapter 82) For both, it was financially and emotionally out of question. It grounds the symbolism of the amusement park in social reality, reminding readers that “fun” is also a form of privilege. This means that the champion is actually on his way to replace this picture: (chapter 65) So yes, this may look like a simple date. Yet beneath its playful surface lies the quietest revolution of all: the man who once ignored every view now opens the window, looks outward, and chooses wonder and fun over war.

When I first speculated about France, I imagined Cannes — the realm of spectacle, trophies, and bright façades. I was wrong about the destination (chapter 81), but not about the geography and air. I had truly detected the importance of this image and its symbolism. The plane that opened this arc spoke not of luxury, but of altitude — of a life lived too high, where oxygen is rationed by pride. Below the aircraft stretch the Alps, which I had correctly identified. From there flows the athlete’s own water – Evian (chapter 82) (written Evien in the manhwa) — drawn from the mountain that sustains him and starves him at once.

And now, let me you ask this: what happens to a candle’s flame at high altitude? It flickers, gasps, and finally dies for lack of air. This is exactly what Mingwa foreshadowed in the promotional poster (chapter 81): the rising smoke, the suggestion of a light already suffocated. The higher they bring him, the closer he moves to extinction. Besides, the higher he climbs, the harder the fall. In other words, they are trying to break him — to make him fall — something the athlete has already sensed. (chapter 82)

It is no coincidence that his opponent in France is an eagle (chapter 82) — a creature of heights and thin air, born to dominate the skies where others can barely breathe. The metaphor could not be clearer: altitude is his arena, but also his undoing.

Now they are in Paris, and it is fall — not yet cold because of the presence of the sun. (chapter 81) The air remains clear and generous, the sky washed in blue as if nothing could go wrong. Yet the trees, touched by the first copper tones, announce the slow turn of the year. It is a calm, lucid atmosphere, the kind of weather that hides transition inside serenity. The unseen Seine glides through the city like a long breath, steady and effortless.

In this luminous stillness, the champion tries, for the first time (chapter 82), to build joy outside the ring (chapter 82) — to borrow light for someone else’s smile. Paris welcomes him not with spectacle, but with ordinary clarity: air that holds both change and peace.

So yes, this may look like a simple date. Yet beneath the gentle brightness lies something deeper: the rest is supposed to treat Joo Jaekyung’s breathlessness. (chapter 82) Everyone has noticed that the athlete has been burning out quickly during training. (chapter 82)
So why is he struggling so much with breathing? It is more than just an altitude question.

Airport – Exhaling for the First Time

Like mentioned in the previous essay, the airport symbolizes transition, a sign that both protagonists are gradually changing, but their metamorphosis is not complete. Interesting is that Mingwa focused on the champion’s reaction at the airport which only Jinx-lovers could notice. (chapter 81) A single breath — huu — escapes, white against the air. It looks like calm, but it isn’t. It’s the sound of a man forcing his body to obey. The clenched fist that follows betrays him: anxiety condensed into muscle. (chapter 81) The champion has descended, yet the altitude still lives inside him.
Every cell of his body is trained to equate success with survival, control with oxygen. Even here, standing on solid ground, he breathes as if a fight were about to begin. His chest expands too sharply; his breath leaves in bursts. The nervous exhale isn’t relief — it’s containment. To conclude, he is tense, because he is anxious. This time, his shoulder is not betraying him (chapter 14), but his lungs and heart. Yet at the airport, the sportsman doesn’t realize it (chapter 81) — he is drawn eyeless, suspended in a state of self-control rather than awareness. His brief moment of meditation is still ruled by habit: the reflex of an athlete who measures calm through dominance. For him, success has always been synonymous with survival and such life. Hence later in his bedroom, he recalls his first tournament and defeat and makes the following resolution: (chapter 82) But there exists another reason why the athlete’s heart and lungs are betraying him.

The truth behind Joo Jaekyung’s breathlessness

Let me ask you this. When did we hear and see the champion’s breathlessness in the past? (chapter 69) Back then, he feared for doc Dan’s life and ran as if his own heart depended on it. His breathlessness wasn’t exhaustion but panic: the instinctive terror of losing the person who keeps him alive. Thus when he saw him alive on the dock, he could start breathing properly: (chapter 69) From HUFF to HAA… exhale versus inhale.

Seen under this light, his current symptoms are no mystery. What burns him out in training isn’t merely overwork—it’s fear disguised as stamina. (chapter 82) His brain and heart remember that night at the dock; every harsh inhale during practice echoes that same dread of separation.

Before his collapse, the opponent Arnaud Gabriel had casually flirted with his “fated partner.” (chapter 82) And how did the champion respond to that provocation? Like a cornered animal. (chapter 82) He became the wolf again, not out of jealousy, but out of survival reflex—his body screaming its panic in place of words. In that instant, he was reminded that he could lose doc Dan as a partner, that the bond he relies on might not belong to him forever.. The roar emptied his chest; his lungs gave out before his pride did. There was no air left in his body… thus the heart and lung couldn’t work properly.

That’s why the “burnout” (chapter 82) after training feels different this time. It’s not a failure of strength but a signal from the body, revealing what he refuses to confess: his greatest fear is no longer defeat—it’s loss. And that’s what makes him so human. For the first time, the indestructible champion stands on the same ground as Oh Daehyun—both breathless, both weary, both trapped between expectation and emotion. The difference is that Jaekyung’s fatigue is not born of rivalry but of love. In other words, this scene announces the vanishing of the monster the manager had tried to create and preserve. (chapter 75) The fearsome beast who once fought for dominance is gone. What remains is a tamed wolf, following his master’s voice (doc Dan) — not out of submission, but because he finally trusts where it leads. (chapter 82) He is now a tamed wolf following his master’s suggestions! (chapter 82) Thus the coach is now facing the couple. And now, my avid readers can understand why the champion seems almost radiant when he finds himself alone with doc Dan at the amusement park. It is not mere joy or freedom; it is the relief of finally acting from desire instead of duty (chapter 82) For once, he can do what he truly wants — to make the man beside him breathe.

The motivation behind this “date” goes beyond playfulness. It is his way of returning the gift he once received. Remember the birthday card (chapter 55): (chapter 55)

“Thanks to you, I finally feel like I can breathe again.” That card became the emblem of hope — a promise of redemption. Joo Jaekyung had been able to bring the physical therapist comfort and support in the past, so he can do it again. If he can help doc Dan breathe freely, without fear or debt, then perhaps he himself can breathe without fear as well. In other words, we should expect a confession in the future episodes.

“I Won’t Fall Again” — Gravity, Shame, and the Vow

Falling is actually the champion’s biggest fear. (chapter 82) That’s why Mingwa confronted him with reality, when she stages doc Dan’s unconscious suicidal attempt in front of the railing: (chapter 79) The scene functions as both mirror and revelation: it forces the fighter to face the truth he has avoided all his life. In the past, he had never truly fallen. His defeats were painful, but never fatal; his failures never signified the end of a life. He could always stand up again — until now. Watching Kim Dan lean over the edge forces him to confront the difference between metaphor and mortality.

But this rises the following question. Why does he associate his first tournament (chapter 82) with fall (chapter 82)? After all, that match ended only in a knockout, not in death. The answer lies at home. The boy’s first image of defeat was not his own body in the ring, but his father’s corpse on the floor (chapter 73) – surrounded by bottles and syringes (chapter 73). Addiction, gambling, and intoxication: all ways of trying to rise above reality, to feel high, if only for a moment. Joo Jaewoong quite literally died from altitude, from chasing a false form of air. His father had tried to climb the social ladder through sport, to escape the poverty that trapped them, but he had failed. Those words (chapter 73), thrown like stones by the father at his son, buried themselves in the boy like shards.. They echoed like a curse — a prophecy Joo Jaekyung would spend his whole life disproving.

The young Jaekyung saw and understood. When he collapsed during his first tournament, finishing third because there were no other opponents (chapter 82), he has the same posture of that corpse — arms spread, breath gone, waiting for someone to call him back to life. Back then, his father was still alive, but didn’t care for him. However, such a position announced the future demise of Joo Jaewoong. He had fallen out of excess; he fell out of weakness. Both were conquered by gravity, one literally, the other symbolically.

But the mother’s departure turned that fall into reality. She left the house claiming that the father’s violence and failure were to blame (chapter 72) (chapter 72), yet she made no attempt to build an independent life. Her survival had always depended on his success — and when his career crumbled, she vanished with it. That’s the reason why the trash remained uncollected — a visual proof of abandonment (chapter 72) But the little boy failed to notice it, because he was suffering from the father’s abuse. Before leaving, she gave her son a phone number, as if absence were only temporary, as if love could be reached through a dial tone. That small gesture sustained an illusion: that she would come back if he became strong enough, rich enough, worthy enough. That illusion became the foundation of his life.
Thus he trained obsessively, demanding to compete even as an elementary student (chapter 72) His first fight was not about trophies — it was an act of filial negotiation: a promise to buy her return. But of course, 300 dollars could not rebuild a family. His first fall became the confirmation of her silence. This explicates why he recalls his first tournament and considers it as “fall”. He had not been able to win, thus the mother could not return. He doesn’t fight for glory or passion; he fights to avoid being discarded again. So, when he says “I won’t fall again,” what he really means is “I won’t let myself be unloved again.”

In other words, he wanted to climb in order to rebuild the missing bridge to his mother. (chapter 72) But the problem is that when he was finally able to reach his mother, the latter answered that Joo Jaekyung was too late. The mother’s words sealed the curse. He was “already grown up now” (chapter 74), hence he no longer needed her — as if maturity meant he no longer needed love. She actually implied that she had been all this time by his side. (chapter 74), while in reality, she had long abandoned him. Her departure turned growth into punishment, and independence into exile. This explicates why as an adult, he used money to buy people and turn them into toys. This could only make appear as a spoiled brat.
He built his entire life around that promise, standing against gravity like an inverted pillar. The body that once touched the ground became a monument to refusal. He had to reach the sky, to remain in the air. Thus he chose the penthouse as his new home.

But defying gravity comes at a cost. He trained to stay upright until breathing became difficult due to the thin air. Breathing itself became rebellion. Every gasp of air reminded him of the father’s last exhale. Every victory was a way of proving that he could resist both descent and inheritance. Yet the same vow that kept him standing also froze him in place: a man always in motion, never resting.

When Kim Dan almost fell from the railing (chapter 79), the scene echoed this primal fear. The champion’s hand reaching out was more than reflex — it was salvation in reverse. By catching the doctor, he was symbolically catching his father, his mother, and the child he once was. In that single gesture, he refused to let history repeat itself.

The sentence “I won’t fall again” is no longer just a boy’s defense; it is a man’s confession. It reveals the weight he carries: the fear of becoming the very body he once found on the floor, the terror of losing the one person who gave him air. Through doc Dan, Joo Jaekyung learns that grounding himself is not failure but healing: he must get closer to the ground to draw air back into his lungs.

And now, we can understand why he chose the amusement park over the Eiffel Tower. The fighter who once chased altitude now seeks balance at earth level. His goal is not to impress through grandeur or wealth, but to care, to laugh, to rebuild joy together.

By choosing play over pride, he is attempting to rewrite his history — to erase the legacy of his parents’ abandonment and failure. What once was a vow against falling now becomes a lesson in how to stand, breathe, and love on common ground. Hence he looked for attractions and found these brochures. He didn’t want to leave it to fate contrary to his hyung.

Breathlessness and Youth

Before focusing on the funfair, I would like to give another explanation for his sudden breathlessness. (chapter 82) In chapter 82, both Yosep and the manager interpret the champion’s shortness of breath in purely technical terms. Yosep assumes it comes from his long absence from the ring, while Park Namwook agrees — eager to reduce fatigue to mere physiology. Their reasoning sounds plausible, yet it misses the core truth.

Joo Jaekyung’s breathlessness was never an issue before. (chapter 79) Even Park Namwook himself, only days earlier, had described the French match as (chapter 81) “a breeze” — a fight so effortless that it would bring some fresh air into the champion’s career. But that metaphor betrays its irony: what was supposed to refresh him is now suffocating him. The “breeze” promised by his manager has turned into lack of air.

If his lungs are giving out, it is not from lack of training, but from an excess of negative feelings. This is the paradox of his transformation. The man who once lived like stone — unyielding, heavy, immovable — is now becoming light, emotional, alive. His body, once used only for control, now responds to affection, anxiety, and loss. He is breathless because he has begun to feel again.

Interesting is that (chapter 79), the break is perceived differently, depending on the situation. (chapter 82) In one scene, the break is seen as a good opportunity, in the other not(“out of the game”). Besides, at no moment, they are using the word “recovery”, as if the man had never been surged.

What neither man notices is that the athlete’s body had already changed during that so-called “break.”
In truth, he had caught a cold (chapter 70) — a detail no one around him ever learned. This simple fact overturns their interpretation. (chapter 70) The breathlessness they see now is not a decline in performance, but the residue of transformation. His body, once trained to suppress every weakness, had finally surrendered to nature.

The cold, therefore, was not an illness but a rebirth — the first genuine sign of rejuvenation.
The first sneeze burst out like a leftover gasp from the night of panic at the dock (chapter 69): an involuntary release of fear and tension. Flooded with air and emotion, his body responded the only way it knew how — by collapsing into vulnerability. It was the moment when the emperor turned into a man, when the monument learned to breathe.

This was not simple fatigue; it was renewal.
For the first time in years, his system behaved like that of a human being, not a machine. The flushed cheeks, the runny nose, the dazed look — all marked a regression to childhood, an age when feelings could still flow freely. Before, he had never been breathless, because he was living like a zombie or a machine ignoring pain. Breathlessness had once been a symptom of repression; the cold became the body’s quiet revenge, proof that he could still react, still feel.

In this sense, the cold acts as metaphorical cleansing — an expulsion of the stale air he had been holding since childhood. The “monster” that Park Namwook wished to preserve (chapter 75) was finally dissolving. What replaced it was something fragile yet alive. But Yosep and Park Namwook, more obsessed with performance and profit, mistook this renewal for decline.

This connection between breathlessness and youth extends beyond Joo Jaekyung. We’ve seen another fighter gasping for air — Seonho (chapter 46), whose clash with the champion exposes two different forms of frustration.

It begins with Jaekyung’s own accusation. (chapter 46) He reproaches Seonho for using his title and image to promote himself, for bragging about their sparring sessions to boost his career. From his perspective, Seonho lacks both endurance and authenticity — he performs strength rather than living it. (chapter 46) For Jaekyung, such behavior is intolerable because it cheapens everything he has sacrificed to achieve.

But Seonho’s retaliation strikes closer to the heart. (chapter 46) He turns on Jaekyung and accuses him of arrogance — of using his champion title to look down on others. What Seonho perceives as disdain is, in truth, the athlete’s defense mechanism. The star’s detachment is not born from pride but from obligation and trauma (abandonment issues).
For years, he has been forced to be perfect — the faultless product that Yosep and Park Namwook can market and control. (chapter 46) His perfection is not freedom; it is captivity.

The irony is cruel: Seonho envies what Jaekyung himself resents deep down. He is not happy.
One gasps because he cannot reach the summit; the other because he can never descend and have a family. Both are breathless — trapped at different altitudes of the same illusion. In this light, breathlessness becomes the shared symptom of youth distorted by ambition. For Seonho, it signals decline — the body’s inability to keep up with the illusion of eternal strength.
For Jaekyung, it marks the end of the illusion itself — the beginning of human fatigue, emotion, and rebirth.

Under this light, it became comprehensible why Seonho (chapter 52) tried to recruit Potato, the youngest member from Team Black. He wanted to become the new idol of Hwang Yoon-Gu. He imagined that he could replace the main lead and Potato would be happy to become the new sparring partner of Seonho.

And this prepares the ground for his encounter with Arnaud Gabriel, the “eagle” who embodies yet another version of false air (chapter 82) — a beauty that glides but never lands. Like Seonho, Gabriel thrives on appearance — on surfaces polished by attention. His beauty, elegance, and social charisma are his weapons. He lives in the air of visibility, relying on wind — the shifting currents of social media (chapter 81) (chapter 82) and press coverage — to lift his name higher. That’s why Mingwa made sure to show him at the press conference. (chapter 82) Every post, every camera flash, every headline serves as borrowed oxygen.

We see him carefully maintaining this illusion of effortless flight: (chapter 82) posing in his new suit for the press conference, his public image as flawless as his wings.

(chapter 82) Yet beneath that composure lies dependency. Gabriel’s power exists only as long as others keep watching, as long as the wind keeps blowing. His world is made of altitude — but the higher one flies, the thinner the air becomes. But if there is no wind or air, the eagle can no longer fly. This is palpable on two occasions, his encounter with the two male leads.

When he flirts with doc Dan (chapter 82), Gabriel still speaks in French — creating an act of exclusion. The physical therapist can’t understand a word, but the eagle doesn’t care; comprehension isn’t the goal, impression is. The wink replaces language, turning seduction into spectacle. It’s not meant for dialogue but for display — a gesture meant to be seen, not felt. He imagines that he has wooed the physical therapist.

He doesn’t wait for a reply; he simply turns away, leaving Doc Dan behind. (chapter 82) The grin that follows is one of self-satisfaction and superficiality, not connection. It’s the smile of a man admiring his own reflection in another’s confusion — proof that he controls both the scene and the gaze. This shows that he had no intention to make the protagonist jealous. And it is clear that he never saw the wolf’s rage afterwards. (chapter 82)

But why did he approach the Emperor, after he had left the spotlight? One might say that it was to get his attention and provoke a reaction. The same arrogance colors his handshake with Joo Jaekyung. Gabriel greets him with a polished smile and an extended hand, yet his words carry a double edge: (chapter 82)

  • “I know this is your return match, but I won’t go easy on you.” Behind the polite phrasing hides mockery and calculation. The smile is diplomatic; the tone, predatory. By choosing to speak in French, through an interpreter, he asserts distance and superiority. It is not a language barrier — it is a form of hierarchy.
  • “Good luck with your training,” he pretends to wish him well while quietly diminishing its target. The implication is clear: you’ll need it. The eagle knows about the champion’s surgery and exploits that knowledge beneath a façade of charm. Every word he utters, whether to Jaekyung or Dan, is a performance — a test of power disguised as civility.

Everything is pointing out that Gabriel knows more than he admits. His remark reveals that he is fully aware of the champion’s surgery and the rumors surrounding it. He could even know about the drinking and his “lack of stamina”. (chapter 82) The line echoes in irony. On the surface, it invokes sportsmanship; beneath it, it suggests that Jaekyung’s previous victories were not clean — that his reign was tainted by aggression or controversy. Yet the true paradox lies elsewhere: Gabriel himself knows that this match is anything but clean. He is exploiting Jaekyung’s weakened condition, confident that he will prevail against a half-healed opponent. That’s why the athlete was encouraged to appear in a suit. (chapter 82) That way, his “vulnerability” would be masked. No one would question the champion’s health. And this brings me to my next observation.

This duplicity mirrors the logic of Hwang Byungchul, the old coach who once criticized Jaekyung for fighting too soon after his shoulder surgery (chapter 70). Both men embody the same cruelty disguised as professionalism — one in the ring, the other from the shadows. They blame the champion for the new match, none of them question the system.

Gabriel’s arrogance, therefore, is not personal but systemic. He represents the world that raised Jaekyung: a world where weakness is mocked, empathy is absent or a lip-service, and “clean fights” exist only as public performances. That’s why he stands for fun. He has never truly challenged “dangerous opponents”. The eagle’s flight is powered by the same wind that once blew through the director’s gym — the cold air of superiority. This means that unlike Joo Jaekyung, the eagle has never faced real turbulence.
Gabriel has lived in an atmosphere of praise, never subjected to the kind of hostility that constantly surrounded the champion. He has not endured the venom of hateful comments (chapter 36) or the media’s harsh verdicts after defeat (chapter 54), when analysts accused Jaekyung of recklessness for returning to the ring too soon, though he had problems with his shoulder. Gabriel’s fame soars above such storms — sustained by admiration, not endurance. Hence he is posting selfies.

(chapter 82) However,, Joo Jaekyung is no longer attached to his cellphone and the virtual world. What he truly wants now is real and true love from doc Dan. (chapter 82) This explains why he is seen interacting more and more directly with fans and this outside! (chapter 82) He is now seen signing autographs (chapter 82), whereas in the past, he was only seen in company of reporters in a secluded area. (chapter 40)

But this match carries a hidden danger. It was secretly arranged by the CEO, a fact still unknown to the public. Should Jaekyung win, the backlash could fall not on the loser, but on the victor. Critics could accuse the champion of avoiding a real challenge — of selecting an easy, lower-ranked opponent (chapter 81) rather than facing the fighters in first or second place. (chapter 69) The victory would be branded as hollow, a publicity stunt rather than an athletic achievement.

Yet this very accusation could threaten Gabriel as well. By calling him weak, the same commentators who once worshipped his image would strip him of his core identity: that of an athlete. (chapter 81) He wants to be admired as the hottest male figure in the sport, but admiration without credibility is only ornament. If his skill is questioned, his entire persona collapses.

Thus, both men stand on fragile ground — one condemned for winning, the other diminished by losing. Gabriel’s elegance and Jaekyung’s strength mirror each other’s curse: both are trapped in a world where value exists only in the eyes of others, and where even victory can feel like a fall. However, this can change, if this fight becomes a true spectacle, and is born out of love! But the air that sustains Gabriel is not the same that now fills Jaekyung’s lungs.
The eagle rises through applause; the wolf begins to rise through love. Liebe verleiht Flügel (German) — love gives wings — but these wings do not lift him away from the world. They carry him closer to it, toward the ground, toward life and fun.

The Amusement Park and its Ferris Wheel — Circles of Breath and Light

If the Eiffel Tower was built to celebrate height and conquest, the Ferris wheel, (chapter 82) first unveiled at the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893, was created to transform height into play. Conceived by engineer George Washington Ferris as America’s answer to the Parisian tower, it sought to outshine France not through steel alone, but through motion — a structure that would rise and fall, carrying ordinary people with it. Unlike the fixed tower, the wheel invited participation: passengers would move together, share the air, rise and descend without fear. It was both monument and moment — a way to democratize the sky.

That is the kind of altitude Joo Jaekyung chooses.
After years of living at the top — in the isolating stillness of the champion’s penthouse, the rooftop — he now turns to a form of shared elevation. The Ferris wheel becomes his antidote to the rigid hierarchy that once defined his life. Here, there are no rankings, no first or second place, only circular motion. One rises while another descends, but both will meet again. It is the geometry of equality — and the perfect metaphor for breathing. This means that, by choosing the Ferris wheel, Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan experience a gentle form of falling — one that no longer hurts.

Each rotation of the wheel is an inhale and exhale; ascent and descent, effort and release.
Inside the small cabin, air is shared. Love and life become visible through motion rather than achievement. The attraction’s design embodies the very thing Jaekyung and Dan have been learning all along: balance.

For the doctor, whose childhood was shaped by financial limits and emotional debt, the wheel offers what he never had — the chance to look at people from above, to rise without cost or guilt. For the champion, it restores what he lost — the ability to enjoy altitude without suffocating, to associate height not with fear, fame, or trauma, but with wonder. In that cabin, surrounded by laughter and sky, they can both breathe again.

But the symbolism extends further.
The Ferris wheel stands in sharp contrast to the highway, the modern symbol of depression and disconnection. As psychologists have noted, this kind of highway thinking characterizes the depressed and overdriven mind. It is the mental state of someone who keeps moving forward in a single direction — not out of purpose, but out of inertia. The brain becomes trapped in one lane, incapable of detouring, exploring, or slowing down. Over time, this creates a kind of perceptual tunnel: a world reduced to one goal, one fear, one story.

I watched this documentary, but it is in French https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5YcH5X5Xgo

In depression, this narrowing becomes pathological. The mind loses its ability to imagine alternatives, to see side roads or landscapes beyond the straight line ahead. Reality shrinks into a one-dimensional track — progress without perspective. The obsession with direction replaces the experience of life itself: one keeps accelerating or slowing down, chasing milestones, yet the inner landscape remains unchanged. This is how I came to connect these three scenes:

Chapter 33Chapter 56Chapter 69

That reflects the champion’s mind-set, his narrow-mindedness. But keep in mind that during that evening, the champion made a detour, he was disturbed by the destination/ goal:
Here the athlete has only one goal: talk to doc Dan and clean the air. He has no intention to truly rekindle with him Thus he is still stuck in a traffic jam. Here, there is a progression, because he can switch the lane. However, he is still driving in one direction, not looking out of the window. He is not taking his time either. These scenes illustrate the champion’s psychological confinement and mirror doc Dan’s mindset as well.

And now, look at the streets of Paris. (chapter 82) They look rather empty, yet we can see a crossroad — a sign that the champion’s mentality has improved. He is no longer narrow-minded or trapped in one lane. However, the high peak ahead represents the amusement park, because there, the destination is not important. There is no order or hierarchy either.

This is why healing requires not just rest but multi-perspectivity — the rediscovery of curves, loops, and crossings. The the funfair and Ferris wheel become the perfect antidote: it teaches that movement can be circular, playful, shared, and above all, reversible. Instead of racing toward a fixed destination, the wheel allows return, variation, and exchange. It reawakens the part of the brain that knows how to wonder. But the funfair offers other possibilities as well: the roller coasters. (chapter 82) The latter teach courage.They carry within them the echo of Jaekyung’s greatest fear: falling. But here, the fall is transformed into exhilaration. What once symbolized loss, shame, and trauma now becomes thrill and laughter. The mechanical descent reclaims the forbidden emotion; it gives the body permission to scream, to release control, to fall without dying.

Joo Jaekyung’s life before Kim Dan was precisely that: a mental highway.
Every victory led only to the next, every title erased the one before. The more he advanced, the less he lived. His body, disciplined into automation, had forgotten the curve of joy — the possibility of turning, pausing, returning. The Ferris wheel and the roller coasters break that pattern. The Ferris Wheel reintroduces circularity, where movement is not escape but rhythm, where the goal is not ascent but repetition with difference and observation. From there, you can look at your surroundings. (chapter 75)

This is where Mingwa’s visual irony reaches its height.
The man who once swore, (chapter 82) now voluntarily steps into a machine that promises nothing but falling — and smiles. What once represented humiliation now produces joy. This reversal is the purest expression of healing: when what once wounded becomes what restores.

Together, the Ferris wheel and the roller coasters offer two complementary forms of breath.
One teaches rhythm — the inhale and exhale of life. The other teaches release — the scream that clears the lungs. And then, it came to my mind that such a theme park could offer bumper cars — small machines of collision and laughter. Unlike the Ferris wheel or the roller coaster, they don’t offer height or speed but contact. Here, impact is stripped of danger; the crash becomes a form of play. The goal is not to avoid others but to meet them — to touch, collide, and burst out laughing. In this attraction, aggression loses its sting and turns into connection.

One shows that peace is possible in repetition; the other shows that freedom lies in motion. Laughter becomes medicine for the two breathless men, but contrary to the past, this time, doc Dan will see the happiness written on his loved one’s face. So far, he has never paid attention to his genuine smiles: (chapter 27) (chapter 80) He has not grasped that he can make the champion happy. In fact, this day would represent a real break and rest, as they would learn nothing, only make new experiences so that life can appear colorful again. Here, we can see two balloons in the form of heart: green and yellow. (chapter 82) Once they enter this world, they will discover a world full of magic and lights.

And now, imagine this. If there was a love confession in that theme park, this could bring tears of joy, the opposite of these scenes (chapter 52) a kid versus a grown-up, both rejected and silenced. (chapter 74) Joo Jaekyung would have achieved his goal: even vulnerable or childish, he is still lovable.

Both stand against the straight line of the highway — the depressive geometry of one-way thinking. The park and its attractions offer circles and loops instead, motions that bring one back to the self, not away from it. They turn fear into fun, control into connection.

If the highway is the architecture of burnout, the amusement park with its attractions is the architecture of recovery.
On the road, time accelerates; in the air, it expands.
On the highway, one is alone even among traffic; on the wheel, one is secluded but among people — the paradox of safe intimacy. Inside the cabin, the couple is both visible and hidden, surrounded by other voices yet enclosed in their own breath. It’s a fragile cocoon where public space becomes private moment, where affection can exist without fear of intrusion.

This is the healing structure of Jinx’s Paris arc. (chapter 82) The wheel is not a symbol of escape from the world but reconciliation with it. At the same time, it feels like a reverence to the fairy tales and their famous ending: (chapter 41) They were destined to be together and lived happily.
It redefines air: no longer something to conquer or control, but something to share. The circular motion mirrors the psychological rhythm that both men have been denied — the ability to rise and fall without shame, to let life move through them rather than resist it.

Even the mechanics of the wheel resonate with their journey. It turns slowly, patiently; it demands trust. Once aboard, there’s no way to force speed or direction. One must surrender — to the mechanism, to the air, to the view. It is the perfect opposite of Jaekyung’s former life, where every second was measured, every breath controlled. Now, he can do nothing but sit, look, and breathe.

And there is more. The wheel’s origin — a response to France’s Eiffel Tower — completes the symbolic circle between the two monuments. The Eiffel Tower represented competition between nations, a masculine monument to progress, mastery, and endurance. The Ferris wheel transformed that spirit into something inclusive: it turned height into experience, individual triumph into collective wonder. Hence the Ferris Wheel exists in France and in other cities. This is exactly the transformation Jaekyung undergoes. The fight is no longer vertical — him against the world — but circular, relational, shared.

Seen from a distance, the wheel glows like a moving constellation — a ring of stars rotating in the night.
In the earlier chapters, stars appeared above Jaekyung’s brochures (chapter 82) to signal his quiet happiness, mirroring the stars that once surrounded Kim Dan’s laugh (chapter 44). The Ferris wheel reanimates that motif. Each cabin is a star, and together they form a galaxy of moments — proof that light can move without burning out, that joy can repeat without fading.

In that sense, the Ferris wheel is more than a date setting. It is a machine of breath: a gentle, mechanical reminder that even steel can carry tenderness, that love — not ambition — is what truly gives flight.
Love gives wings — but not the kind that seek altitude. These wings move in circles, not lines. They return to where they began, bringing both men back to the ground lighter than before. To conclude, the birthday card contained the key how to rekindle with the physical therapist and win his heart: (chapter 55)

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

Jinx: Behind The Emp’s Shadow 😶‍🌫️👻

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

The Poster as a Manifesto of Shadows and Smoke

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Message Behind The Colors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Body That Faces the Crowd – From Defiance to Dialogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

317 — The Date That Isn’t There

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Water, my friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the longer interview of Bruce Lee:

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

Jinx: The Watery Point 🔵 Of No Return ⤵️

Water and Power

Two years ago, I published the analysis At the crossroads: between 🤍, 💙, and ❤️‍🔥 and it has become the most read essay on my blog. [27.3 K views] It traced Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan’s first day off together—the fateful swim in chapters 27-28 —when Joo Jaekyung’s apparent selfishness became the catalyst for Kim Dan’s first spiritual awakening. There, the water served as both mirror and baptism: a liquid threshold through which the doctor began to accept sexuality not as sin or submission, but as part of being alive. I had compared the athlete to a dragon holding his yeouiju. The pool stood for motion, rebirth, and the courage to breathe underwater—to trust one’s body rather than deny it.

Though the grandmother was never mentioned, I had sensed her ghostly presence in the grandson’s thoughts and actions. In her youth, the ocean looked beautiful to her (chapter 53), yet she kept her distance. Observe that she only talked about one time experience. She sensed its danger and built her life on the solid ground of caution, duty, and control. In other words, she belongs to the world of the shore (chapter 53) —the solid, the measurable, the safe. Her fascination with the sea’s beauty reveals the limits of her perception: she judges by what is visible, by surface calm and reflected light. The ocean entrances her precisely because she refuses to imagine what lies beneath. For her, beauty is something to be looked at, not entered. Depth implies risk; darkness suggests loss of control.

That is why she keeps her distance. She fears what cannot be seen or accounted for — the unseen currents, the hidden life beneath the glittering skin of water. Her faith is built on appearances, not intuition; on the stability of the shore, not the movement of the tide. Thus I deduce that she never learned to swim. To her, entering the water would mean surrendering control, accepting fluidity, and admitting the existence of life below the surface. This means, swimming would expose the falsehood of her philosophy. That’s why I come to the following deduction that to her, swimming was unnecessary; one simply had to stay on land and hope never to fall in. But the pool, unlike the ocean, demanded a choice: enter, move, the pleasure of being below the surface (chapter 28) and learn that not everything can be postponed or entrusted to someone else. Water, in this sense, rejects fatalism. It calls for motion, for risk, for personal responsibility.

What the grandmother built on faith in others was quietly undone by breath and muscle. (chapter 80) And that intuition resurfaced and was confirmed in episode 80, when another day off brings the couple back to the pool. This time, the doctor steps into the water willingly. (chapter 80) He is no longer the man waiting to be rescued; he is the man learning how to swim. The champion’s words (chapter 80) distill the new doctrine: don’t wait for salvation (chapter 80), create your own buoyancy. Between the first swim (chapter 27) and this second lies the true point of no return—where superficial judgment turns into reflection, dependency into self-trust (chapter 80) and the rejection of powerlessness, (chapter 80), and fear of closeness (chapter 28) into the first stirrings of love (chapter 80).

Shin Okja’s private religion was one of delegation: wait for the right person, the right moment, the right help to come. That’s why she never got the chance to return to the ocean. (chapter 53) Safety lay in patience and dependence. Even when she later spoke with the champion by the sea, she avoided mentioning the ocean —as if to deny that any movement beyond her control could exist.

(chapter 65)

One might argue that I am overinterpreting, since the grandmother’s presence seems unrelated to the swimming pool and tied instead to her graduation gift—the gray hoodie. (chapter 80) Yet her absence from the pool scene is precisely what reveals her theology of avoidance. The pool was never her domain because her life revolves around work, not pleasure. She has no notion of rest without guilt, no concept of joy detached from utility. For her, swimming would appear frivolous—something “unnecessary” as long as one stays on solid ground. Jinx-philes should keep in mind that she never gave such a task to Joo Jaekyung. Her instructions to him were always practical, delegating care outward: take him back to Seoul, bring him to a big hospital and make sure he’s safe. (chapter 65) When she sees them together, her first reaction is not pride or relief but mild reproach— doc Dan should have left already. (chapter 78) The subtext is unmistakable: she expected obedience, efficiency, not attachment. Furthermore, her final instruction—“Make sure you see a doctor regularly” (chapter 78) sounds like ordinary concern, yet it hides her familiar logic of blame. It is as if she were implying that Joo Jaekyung has failed to fulfill her favor because Kim Dan has resisted care. In her eyes, the grandson is still the one responsible for trouble; the athlete’s role remains that of the dependable proxy who must “fix” him. What makes this moment striking is her tone of urgency, so unlike her habitual fatalism. The woman who once repeated “I’m the same as always” (chapter 65) suddenly speaks as though time is running out. (chapter 78) Her words, however, do not signal newfound insight—they only reinforce her desire to keep control, to ensure that someone else continues her mission of delegated care.

But what she interprets as negligence is actually independence. The champion is no longer following her religion of work and duty; he is inventing a new one based on choice (chapter 77), respect and care. What she calls delay is, in truth, meditation and transformation.

Presents: The Gray Hoodie and the Lady

If the grandmother’s religion was built on work, the gray hoodie was its sacred relic. (chapter 80) It was her graduation gift, yet it had nothing to do with his new profession or status. In contrast, the first episode already shows Kim Dan in a blue therapist’s uniform, name tag neatly pinned — a garment he must have purchased himself. (chapter 1) Traditionally, a graduation present helps the recipient embark on a career — like for example, a watch, a suit, or even a briefcase — symbols of adult entry into the job market. By offering him a hoodie instead, she unconsciously devalued her grandson’s professional worth. The garment belongs to the domestic sphere, not the workplace; it wraps him in comfort rather than readiness. In a moment meant to celebrate his arrival into public life, she reinscribes him into the private one — the house, the caretaker role, the obedient child. He doesn’t look like someone who went to university.

The gesture, whether she intended it or not, tells him that his identity has no market value beyond her recognition. The gift affirms warmth but denies competence; it soothes rather than equips. In addition, the grandmother’s choice of a hoodie exposes her lack of investment in that future. Her pride ended at the diploma; what came next was his responsibility. (chapter 47) There was no curiosity about his career, no acknowledgment of his competence—only the quiet satisfaction that through her endurance, she had produced a “doctor.” In the graduation photo, she even wears the mortarboard herself, smiling with the pride of someone who believes the diploma justifies a lifetime of sacrifice. Her grandson’s success confirms her own virtue; his “adulthood” validates her survival. This question to the athlete exposes her lack of interests in his profession: (chapter 65)

But her act of giving, like her act of living, was book-keeping disguised as affection. (chapter 41) While dying, she reduces love to an equation of productivity: “Dan, it’s important to give back as much as you take.” The verb do anchors her worldview — love must be measurable, visible, earned through action. To do good by someone means to labor for them, not to rest beside them. What caught my attention is that neither doctor (chapter 27) nor the champion employs the expression “vacation” or “break”. (chapter 80) Why? It is because they never experienced a break. We have to envision that the “hamster” must have followed his grandmother, when he was not busy studying or working. Both main leads never experienced a real vacation. They say a day off, as if the day itself didn’t really exist, as if it were a temporary pause between “real” time. In their inherited logic, only work gives time its value; everything else evaporates. The grandmother’s way of loving has turned rest into an absence, something unworthy of being named. However, observe that there’s a gradual change in doc Dan’s vocabulary: (chapter 80) The problem is that for the hamster, only the athlete is worthy of getting his rest. It still doesn’t belong to his world.

Shin Okja’s universe contains no category for leisure, play, or shared time; such things produce nothing, and what produces nothing has no value. Even when she worries — “You haven’t eaten?” (chapter 5) the focus remains mechanical. Eating is fuel; sleep is maintenance. But rest, in the sense of surrender, stillness, or joy, is foreign to her lexicon.

Her self-image as a tireless worker (chapter 47) is, in truth, a legend she wrote about herself. When Kim Dan recalls that “she’s never had a day’s rest,” the statement reveals more about his belief than about her reality. The woman who claimed endless labor also knew the comfort of “weekends” (chapter 30) — she watched The Fine Line, the very drama that made Choi Heesung famous. The detail seems trivial, yet it exposes everything: she had leisure (chapter 30), she simply refused to call it that. Watching television was permitted because it was passive, solitary, and could be rationalized as recuperation, not pleasure. In contrast, genuine rest — time shared, chosen, or joyful — never existed in her vocabulary. What she denied was not the existence of rest but the act of resting with him. She kept her downtime to herself, as if peace were a private possession. For her, love meant providing, not accompanying. Yet true care requires presence — sharing is caring, as the saying goes. [For more read this essay: Sharing is caring ] To share one’s time is to acknowledge another person’s worth beyond utility. Shin Okja never did that; she offered comfort but withheld companionship.This is why Kim Dan later struggles to accept that Joo Jaekyung is willing to spend his own time on him — the champion does what the grandmother never did: he makes room for him in his rest. His attempt is to make the main lead smile, to make him happy.

Her statement in chapter 65 — (chapter 65) displays that she perceives her grandson’s exhaustion not as suffering but as malfunction, as if the human were a device that could be recalibrated through work and pills. That’s why her favors revolves about living conditions, but not about his “happiness”. Perhaps she genuinely hoped that the drugs and the stability of a “regular job” with the champion would realign him, as though routine alone could fix what grief and deprivation had unbalanced.

What she never imagines, however, is that balance might emerge not from regulation but from relationship — not from control, but from the unpredictable rhythm of living. Thus the readers can hear or sense the heart racing of the protagonists.

But let’s return our attention to the grandmother. Because she keeps an account, affection becomes another form of work, and gratitude a form of repayment. She cannot imagine love that simply exists — it must be done. Every gesture had to be accounted for and eventually entered into the invisible ledger of “what I’ve done for you.” For her, a gift was never spontaneous; it was a transactional record. It had to suggest effort without truly requiring it—so she could later recall it as proof of trouble taken. But why is she doing this? Ultimately, Shin Okja’s greatest flaw is not cruelty but distrust. She never truly believes her grandson can stand on his own. She fears that he might take the wrong path. (chapter 65) Her constant bookkeeping—every favor tallied, every gift framed as trouble—betrays a hidden fear: that if she stops keeping score, she will lose him. Rather than grant him autonomy, she entrusts him to another caretaker. Sending him to the champion is not an act of faith but of resignation, a way to offload responsibility while maintaining the illusion of control.

When she “went out of her way,” she made sure the phrase itself became part of the gift. The author let transpire this philosophy in two events. In an earlier memory, the child Kim Dan watches his grandmother return home from the cold night (chapter 11), scarf tied under her chin, carrying a single sweet bun. She doesn’t need to say she “went out of her way”—her action already proclaims it. The effort is the gift. (chapter 11) That simple walk to the store becomes a moral event, proof of affection through fatigue. (chapter 11) Even the smallest purchase is framed as sacrifice. The sweet bread itself—a cheap red bean bun—is less nourishment than testimony: “Look what I endured for you.” If he had followed her, he would have seen that it didn’t take so much effort and money to buy the “present”. Finally, he had to share the sweet bread with his grandmother.

This moment sets the pattern for her entire philosophy of giving. Love must be earned through trouble; care must leave a trace of effort. The gesture matters more than the joy it brings. In her world, affection is always accompanied by labor, and gratitude becomes indistinguishable from guilt.This pattern repeats across her life. To “go out of one’s way” (chapter 80) becomes both proof of care and a claim for repayment. Hence she went to school or university for the ceremonies. However, such an action stands for social tradition and normality. She gives little, but ensures it feels heavy. Each offering, no matter how modest, is wrapped in the language of fatigue and obligation. The child, in turn, learns that to be loved is to feel guilty, and to receive is to incur debt.

The hoodie later inherits this same emotional script. It’s the adult version of the birthday bun: humble, practical, and accompanied by invisible conditions. Both are gifts that measure sacrifice, not joy. When she says she “went through so much” to raise him, she isn’t lying—she is testifying, recording her hardship in fabric and flour. However, pay attention to the picture from the hamster’s memory: (chapter 47) Where is the gray hoodie? That day, he only received a bouquet of flowers. Its absence in the photo is revealing. A gray hoodie would have looked out of place beside formal suits and robes; it would have exposed her thrift. The omission is both aesthetic and psychological: she hides the evidence of small-minded practicality beneath the spectacle of maternal pride. What was invisible at the ceremony later re-emerges in episode 80 (chapter 80), and with it, the emotional economy she built.

It is not far-fetched to imagine that the hoodie came paired with a favor or transaction (chapter 53) —perhaps the signing of the loan. “You’re a doctor now; you’ll pay it off quickly.” (chapter 80) In her eyes, generosity always justified expectation. The flowers were for display; the hoodie was the contract.

That’s why her gifts always come from the same palette: dull, neutral, gray. Even the birthday sequence is bathed in that dim, ochre light where warmth looks like exhaustion. The gray hoodie continues this chromatic philosophy—safety without brightness, affection without ease.

This explains why the hoodie feels less like a present and more like a receipt. At the same time, it denies him “adulthood” too. A sweater, not a suit; warmth, not celebration. Its comfort masked her emotional distance and her disinterest in his career. She gave him something to wear at home—a garment of rest that forbids real rest—because her world allowed no leisure without guilt.

Her sense of time mirrored that logic. She lived oriented toward the past (chapter 65) and the future (chapter 78), rarely the present. Hence she shows no real joy about their visit before their departure. Life for her was a chain of recollections and predictions: what she had done (chapter 65), what he would one day repay (chapter 47). The present moment existed only as a bridge between past sacrifice and future obligation. The embrace is conditional — a rehearsal for independence, not tenderness. In that instant, love is already an investment waiting for return. The teddy bear pressed between them, once a symbol of innocence and comfort, becomes collateral in this emotional economy: the pledge that he will someday “grow up,” earn, and pay back the care that raised him. Even at the graduation, she treated the day not as fulfillment but as record keeping. (chapter 47) The bouquet of flowers visible in the picture served as public proof of pride, while the hoodie—cheap, colorless, and private—belonged to the closed economy of obligation.

The scarf later mirrors this same logic, but in reverse. (chapter 41) When Dan gifts his grandmother an expensive scarf, he hides its true price — “I got it for a bargain” — repeating her own pattern of disguised generosity. She sees through the lie, teasing him for “spoiling” her, yet she accepts the luxury without feeling guilty. The scarf becomes her version of the hoodie: a fabric trophy of moral worth. But its later disappearance is revealing. In season two, she wears it (chapter 56) shortly after her arrival at the hospice, never again. When she greets Joo Jaekyung, the scarf is gone (chapter 61). Why? One might reply that the scarf lost its value, especially since she is living next to the director’s room. I doubt that such men would pay attention to such an object. Another possibility is that she fears its brightness might betray her neglect, for the champion has lived with her grandson for a while. How could she display silk while her grandson owns almost nothing? (chapter 80) The missing scarf thus exposes both her superficiality and exaggerated generosity. Her affection, like her pride, is short-lived — decorative rather than enduring. Should Heesung ever visit her, (chapter 30) one can easily imagine the scarf’s reappearance: the fabric of self-deception, ready to flatter, to perform, to erase guilt under the sheen of respectability. She already acted like a fan girl in front of the celebrity. (chapter 61)

The pattern of her giving finds its quiet conclusion in episode 80. When Kim Dan rediscovers the hoodie, his first smile fades into silence. (chapter 80) The gesture that once symbolized love now feels like pain and loss. The signification of the gift has changed. What once wrapped him in safety now weighs like absence — the fabric retains the shape of someone who is about to vanish. His silence is not understanding but hurt, a wordless awareness that affection can curdle into memory. The audience, not the character, perceives that with the grandmother’s approaching death, her ledger is about to close. The gray fabric, once proof of her sacrifice, will lose its moral weight; her “gesture” will expire with her. Yet Kim Dan may not yet realize that this very ending could one day free him. The book-keeping dies with the bookkeeper.

This moment also reveals why he remains wary of other people’s gifts. (chapter 31) When Heesung offers flowers “to get closer,” Kim Dan’s face mirrors the same unease: affection presented as transaction, intimacy disguised as generosity. What the actor calls closeness, the doctor feels as imbalance — the same emotional distance that Shin Okja’s presents once produced. Her gifts, meant to bind, isolated him instead; they built a hierarchy where gratitude replaced equality. Each present widened the gap between giver and receiver. To be cared for was to be indebted.

From this upbringing stems Kim Dan’s reflexive equation:

Each time someone offers him something, he instinctively feels burdens (chapter 31) and tries to refuse it. (chapter 31) (chapter 80) “You don’t have to go through all this trouble.” The line is not modesty but defense. To him, receiving kindness creates imbalance. His grandmother’s “help” was always instrumental; every act of support came attached to sacrifice: “I went through so much for you.” The hoodie thus becomes a moral anchor, a fabric reminder that love must always be earned and repaid.

Guilt as Love Language.

Because of this, Kim Dan experiences love only through fatigue and suffering. He feels cared for when someone worries (chapter 67), loses sleep, or pays a price. He interprets Joo Jaekyung’s concern as “trouble,” Heesung’s gifts as “too much.” In his mind, affection is inseparable from cost:

If you love me, you must pay for it. And if I accept your love, I’m guilty.

Caretaker Identity and Self-Erasure


To escape that guilt, he lives as a helper. (chapter 80) “I’ll stay in the background.” His self-worth depends on not burdening others. His words let transpire that he has never been Shin Okja’s first priority in the end. The hoodie reinforces that psychology—it is not a professional outfit like a suit or briefcase would have been, but a teenager’s garment, meant for the domestic space rather than the adult world. It literally arrests his growth, keeping him in the house and under her logic. Thus it is not surprising that after receiving his diploma, he still took part-time jobs.

Gifts as Triggers of Anxiety

When others try to give him something—Heesung’s flowers, Jaekyung’s wardrobe—his first instinct is panic. “What do I do? It’s all so expensive.” He expects a hidden price: affection, submission, repayment. Every gesture of generosity recalls the old bargain with his grandmother.

Repetition Compulsion

He repeats the same dynamic with new authority figures. With Heesung, he suspects every gift hides control. With Joo Jaekyung, he accepts care only to reduce someone else’s burden. When the champion lies—“These brands sent the wrong size; I was going to throw them out anyway”—Kim Dan hears not kindness but necessity. Refusing would mean waste, and he has long internalized that nothing must ever be wasted. So he accepts—not out of entitlement, but as an act of thrift, a way to help the giver by taking what is “useless.”

And yet, through this misreading, something begins to shift. The logic of guilt quietly bends toward mutual release. Jaekyung sheds excess; Dan sheds shame. The exchange of clothes becomes an exchange of burdens.

Gray: The Color of Suspension.

The hoodie’s color captures the entire tragedy of their old world. Gray is neither black nor white—it refuses decision, blending work and rest, love and obligation. It is the color of compromise, of deferred joy, of life half-lived. Gray also carries another meaning beyond monotony. It fuses black and white — two opposites that, when mixed, erase each other’s clarity. The hoodie’s color therefore reflects the fused identity of grandmother and grandson: their lives blended until he became her shadow. Her pride shone only through his dimness. To live in gray meant to live as her reflection — never as himself. The color embodies both her dominance and his self-erasure. When Kim Dan finds it again in episode 80, his first smile fades into silence. (chapter 80) The object that once expressed care and promised safety now mirrors grief. The gray fabric absorbs the light around him, turning into the shade of everything unspoken between love and duty.

The hoodie, once a symbol of endurance, now becomes a relic of a world where love meant survival. To wear it again would be to stay in that twilight. To put it away is to risk color, to learn to live in the present tense.

The Wardrobe: Undoing the Gray Religion

If the gray hoodie was the relic of Shin Okja’s work-based faith, Joo Jaekyung’s wardrobe (chapter 80) is the site of its quiet destruction. His act of giving reverses every law the grandmother ever taught. First, he does not “go out of his way.” The clothes are delivered effortlessly, without fanfare or moral accounting. (chapter 80) There is no speech about sacrifice, no self-congratulation. (chapter 80) By erasing the gesture of “effort,” he removes the emotional price tag that once accompanied every gift.

Second, he tells a deliberate lie: that he did not spend a dime, that the brands sent the wrong sizes. This white lie has healing power. It dismantles the logic of debt that rules Kim Dan’s psyche. (chapter 80) If the grandmother’s motto was “I went through so much for you,” the champion’s is “It’s no big deal.” Generosity becomes invisible, unburdened, and therefore trustworthy.

Third, he offers not one item but an entire range. (chapter 80) The row of garments invites choice — a concept absent from Shin Okja’s universe, where love came in single doses and with strings attached. Here, the doctor is asked to select what he likes, to exercise taste, to inhabit preference. The abundance of options grants him agency, dignity, and the right to refuse.

Fourth, note the nature of the clothes: they are not sportswear. (chapter 80) These are professional garments — coats, shirts, and slacks suitable for the workplace, not the gym. They restore the image his grandmother’s hoodie had erased. In offering these, Joo Jaekyung is not only dressing him but reframing his social identity: from dependent to equal, from housebound caretaker to visible professional. This means that they are bringing him into the adult world. Yet this also creates a paradox — wearing such refined clothes will attract attention, making it impossible for Kim Dan to “stay in the background.” (chapter 80) They will incite him to voice more his thoughts, to become stronger as a responsible physical therapist. The wardrobe, like a mirror, forces him into presence. This means that he is losing his identity as “ghost”, which was how the halmoni was perceived by the athlete. (chapter 22)

Symbolically, the location intensifies the gesture: the clothes are placed inside the champion’s own wardrobe. (chapter 80) The two now share a domestic and symbolic space. What once separated their worlds — fame, class, gendered roles — begins to dissolve thread by thread. The actor Choi Heesung’s remark, that gifts can “bring people closer,” (chapter 30) becomes unexpectedly true here. The wardrobe bridges the distance that the grandmother’s gifts had always created.

When the champion remarks, (chapter 80) he implies that these items would just go to waste. Therefore he completes the reversal. Waste, once the grandmother’s greatest fear, becomes the vehicle of grace. By claiming the clothes are “leftovers,” he removes their monetary and moral value; they are no longer costly. In accepting them, Kim Dan does not incur debt — he prevents waste. (chapter 80) This is why his hesitant and embarrassed gratitude, framed against a background of dissolving gray waves, feels so transformative. The air behind him ripples as if washing away the residue of his old faith.

The striped blue-and-white shirt he finally chooses carries its own quiet symbolism. (chapter 80) Yet unlike gray — the color of fusion and loss of identity — these shades remain distinct. They do not blend but alternate, acknowledging the coexistence of two identities: the doctor and the man, the caregiver and the self. In contrast to the grandmother’s world, where love meant absorption and sameness, Joo Jaekyung’s gesture affirms difference. The champion does not swallow him; he gives him space.

At the same time, the stripes hint at the complexity of Kim Dan’s inner life. Beneath his apparent passivity lies rhythm, variation, and resilience — qualities long suppressed by duty and guilt. The pattern becomes a visual metaphor for the layered texture of his heart.

By filling the wardrobe with clothes of different colors, the champion quite literally brings light and time back into Kim Dan’s life. The new hues break the monotony of gray (chapter 80); they mark the passing of days, the return of seasons, the rediscovery that not every morning has to look the same. Variety itself becomes a form of freedom. When the wolf once complained that all his shirts looked identical, he was unknowingly naming what both of them lacked: differentiation, spontaneity, change. Through this act, he restores color not only to the doctor’s wardrobe but to his emotional world — a quiet resurrection through fabric.

Finally, the celebrity’s next gesture — teaching him how to swim — extends this transformation. If the grandmother’s graduation gift (the hoodie) kept him grounded and homebound, neglecting his future and career, the champion’s “lesson” propels him toward movement and autonomy. (chapter 80) Swimming means survival without the shore; it is the art of staying afloat without a hand to hold. In this sense, Joo Jaekyung’s care points forward, not backward. He offers not protection but potential, not memory but future.

The wardrobe, then, is not a storage space but a threshold — between debt and desire, between inherited caution and chosen freedom. And now, you comprehend why the doctor chose to seek refuge and support, when he feared to sink. (chapter 80) The “hamster” had instinctively turned to the only person who had ever offered him help without cost.

In reaching for the champion, he does not regress into dependence; he reaches toward a new form of trust, one that no longer confuses care with control. To let himself be held is not to return to childhood, but to unlearn fear. The act of seeking support becomes the first stroke of a new swimmer — hesitant, but free.

This scene also recalls the image of the Korean dragon and its yeouiju — the luminous, wish-granting jewel said to contain both wisdom and life energy. The dragon’s power is not innate; it is completed and elevated by the jewel. Without the yeouiju, it cannot ascend to the heavens — strength without meaning, force without direction.

When Kim Dan finally pulls Joo Jaekyung into his arms (chapter 80), the myth reverses. The dragon—once feared, untouchable, wrapped in rage and solitude—is suddenly embraced by the very being he once believed too fragile for his world. The power dynamic inverts: the human shelters the beast.

In that gesture, the legend of the Korean dragon and its yeouiju gains a new form. The jewel is no longer an external object of desire, but a state of being—mutual recognition. By holding the dragon, Kim Dan becomes the hand that completes the circle, allowing power to flow again. The yeouiju exists between them, not in either of them: it is the bond itself.

For the champion, who has long carried the invisible scar of disgust— (chapter 75) —this embrace is nothing short of salvation. The man who once fought to wash off shame through endless training now finds himself accepted in his unguarded state. He doesn’t need to mask his trauma with perfume (chapter 75), the imagined smell, or cleanse his skin of battle; he is held and, therefore, purified. Through Dan’s arms, he rediscovers his value and humanity—the dragon touched and not destroyed. He is worth of being embraced, even if he is already so old!

This reversal has immense symbolic power. The yeouiju is no longer something the dragon must seize; it is something that recognizes him back. (chapter 80) When Kim Dan holds him, the light of that jewel shines from within the dragon himself. Power and tenderness, once enemies, coexist in the same body.

For Kim Dan, this act also signals a new allegiance. He is no longer in service of duty or debt—no longer the caretaker bound to an old creed of sacrifice. By choosing to embrace Joo Jaekyung, he chooses his friend, not his “master.” He decides who is worthy of his trust, and in doing so, reclaims his agency.

The dragon, embraced rather than worshiped, rises stronger. The yeouiju—the bond, the shared heartbeat—no longer lies at the peak of a mythic mountain but glows quietly between two exhausted men who have stopped running from touch.

The gray world — the realm of thrift, debt, and book-keeping — dissolves into color and movement. Blue and white ripple through the water, reflecting not fusion but harmony. For the first time, love does not demand payment; it breathes.

Arc 8 – The point of no return

The shape of the 8 itself evokes both the infinity loop and the closed circuit: two halves endlessly reflecting each other, each incomplete without the other’s motion. It is the symbol of reciprocity, but also of a threshold — the moment when balance can no longer be postponed. Once complete, the loop allows no intrusion — it admits no third. The number’s symmetry carries both union and exclusion: whatever falls outside its rhythm disappears.

This is the geometry of Jinx’s emotional world in Arc 8. The loop that once included a third observer — the grandmother’s watchful eye, the manager’s interference, the actor’s rivalry and resent — now folds inward, leaving no aperture for control. The form itself performs the story’s evolution: dependency becomes reciprocity; triangulation dissolves into dual motion. And now, you comprehend why Mingwa included a new outburst of the wolf’s jealousy. (chapter 79) This is one part of the new circle. Jealousy is the residue of imbalance — the echo of the 7 within the 8. In the numerology of Jinx, the 7-chapters, like for example episode 7 (chapter 7), episode 18, where the champion had sex because of this statement (chapter 18),episode 34 with Choi Heesung (chapter 34) or episode 52, where the former members of Team Black and expressed their disdain and jealousy toward the main lead (chapter 52)

But Arc 8 changes the equation. For the first time, both protagonists risk loss because they have something — and someone — to lose. The return of jealousy is therefore not regression but proof of attachment and the occasion to improve their personality (chapter 79), the final test before the circle closes for good.

Eight is the reversal digit, where hidden motives come to light and attachments are tested. Between 7 (chapter 47) and 8 lies that invisible hinge: the death of the old economy of love and the birth of a new one.

Thus, Arc 8 becomes the arena of triangular pressure. The grandmother’s possessive nostalgia (she sees herself as the mother, doc Dan as the boy and the champion as her surrogate husband) (chapter 78) mirrors Park Namwook’s managerial anxiety (chapter 61) and Heesung’s residual rivalry and resent. Each acts as a different face of control: the woman binds through guilt, the manager through hierarchy acting as the owner of the athlete’s time, the actor through charm and deceptions. Together they form the triad that tries to reopen the circle closed in the pool. Let’s not forget that the athlete chose to take a day off on his own accord (chapter 80), but he had just returned to the gym. It is no longer the same training and routine.

Park Namwook in particular represents the system that resists intimacy. His “interference” is not random but defensive: he fears that Jaekyung’s change and his attachment to the physical therapist (the promise to teach the doctor to swim implies that he will focus on other things than MMA) will unbalance the professional order. In the symbolic arithmetic of the story, he inherits the number 7 — the unstable, the one who can no longer maintain symmetry.

Jealousy, then, becomes not corruption but purification. It exposes what still belongs to duty and what belongs to choice. Through these frictions, Kim Dan is compelled to speak for himself, to claim the very agency his grandmother once withheld. It makes the protagonists to perceive people in a different light and move away from their self-loathing, passivity and silence.

When he does, the circle of the 8 stabilizes at last. The old triangle — grandmother, doctor, and debt — gives way to the new one: champion, doctor, and trust. In the Arc 8, the color gray finally meets its antidote: blue. 💙What was once the hue of exhaustion and suspended time becomes the pulse of renewal. The blue heart 💙, which first appeared in my earlier essay At the Crossroad, returns here as the emotional compass of both men.

In Jinx, the white heart with the gray hoodie belongs to the past — to the grandmother’s logic of duty, guilt, and caution. Blue, by contrast, is the color of water, movement, and breath. It signals the capacity to feel without measuring, to give without debt. When Kim Dan accepts the new clothes, he does not merely change garments; he crosses from the gray zone of survival into the blue realm of relation. His heart, long muted by obligation, begins to circulate again.

The blue heart marks this point of no return: once it beats, neither man can retreat into solitude. Its rhythm unites the wolf and the hamster in a shared tempo — one that excludes the third, but not the world. For the first time, affection no longer obeys the law of bookkeeping. It flows.

The ocean, once feared and distant, now extends inward, beating quietly beneath their joined silhouettes. The gray relic of the past lies folded away, and in its place, something transparent begins: a friendship that breathes like water — uncounted, unowned, and alive.

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: Kim Dan 🐹 on Thin Ice 🧊🥶

Introduction: The Return of the Smile

In the essay The Magic Of Numbers I established that Kim Dan’s number is 8. It is therefore no coincidence that the arc from chapter 80 to 89 should revolve around him—his body, his suffering, and ultimately his recovery. The number 8, often associated with balance, renewal, and continuity, here signals not only the doctor’s rebirth but also the gradual thawing of his frozen world. It marks the moment when the past can no longer remain buried, when the last remnants of family and unspoken pain begin to surface. The mystery behind this phone call will be soon revealed. (chapter 19)

But number 8 also carries the shape of infinity—two circles joined together, like mirrored reflections. That shape finds a narrative equivalent in the duality between chapter 26 and chapter 62, two episodes that mirror one another in tone and structure, each revolving around a match between the same pair of men, yet charged with opposite meanings.

In chapter 26, (chapter 26) the sparring between Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan unfolds under the sign of fun and apparent joy, yet its origin lies in jealousy. The champion, unconsciously triggered by the doctor’s closeness with Potato (chapter 25), turns play into a contest—a way to reclaim attention. (chapter 25) The gym, usually a place of hierarchy, momentarily becomes a stage where both can laugh, but beneath that laughter runs an undercurrent of rivalry (with Potato). On the other hand, for the first time, the Manhwa allows both protagonists to exist outside the economy of debt and hierarchy. The gym, normally a place of discipline and work, transforms into a playground of laughter. The champion teases the doctor (chapter 26), and the latter, clumsy but determined, strikes back with surprising boldness. The crowd cheers, not for the fighter but for the therapist—the underdog, the one who usually stands in the shadow. The entire scene feels like a short-lived holiday, a suspension of order and pain. When Kim Dan smiles at the end of the match, the gesture radiates genuine lightness: he has momentarily escaped the burden of fear and experienced himself as a free, living body. (chapter 26) He believes he has accomplished something meaningful and feels, perhaps for the first time, proud of himself. He was taught that he could fight back and overcome his fear.

For Joo Jaekyung, that smile and the embrace are transformative — it increases his longing and jealousy. (chapter 26) He realizes that the hamster can beam at others, that such light has never been directed at him. In that instant, he no longer sees an employee but a companion whose gaze and embrace he covets, whose approval he unconsciously seeks.
The irony is that this entire moment of joy—cheered by the crowd and crowned by Dan’s smile—does not truly belong to either of them: it was sparked by insecurity and ends with displacement, since the prize is not for Dan but for Potato.
The apparent playfulness of chapter 26 thus conceals the second flicker of possessiveness, the growing not of harmony but of desire distorted by envy and insecurities. Under this new light, it dawned on me why the athlete came to accept the day-off shortly after. That way, he could get the doctor’s attention exclusively. The sparring also lets transpire the lack of reflection and communication between the two protagonists: both act on impulse, guided by prejudice and unconscious desire rather than understanding. Under this perspective, it becomes comprehensible why such a day was not renewed.

Its negative reflection emerges in chapter 62. (chapter 62) The atmosphere is brighter in color but colder in tone. There, Joo Jaekyung got to experience how Kim Dan has lived all this time, helping others, making them happy with his assistance. (chapter 62) Here, the protagonist was thinking all the time of his loved one: (chapter 62) Indirectly, he hoped to get the doctor’s attention, but he failed. In fact, none of the wolf’s good actions got noticed by his fated partner. Interesting is that though the characters engage in acts of performance and service—helping others, pleasing strangers— their smiles have turned into masks. (chapter 62) (chapter 62) Where chapter 26 radiated spontaneity, this one reveals calculation and fatigue. (chapter 62) Kim Dan’s expression, caught between mockery and shame, no longer conveys joy but self-devaluation. When he tells Joo Jaekyung that it would be “better to sleep with you and make ten grand more,” his forced smile becomes an act of resistance, an ironic declaration of power from someone who feels powerless. He speaks like a man who has accepted his own degradation, using cynicism to mask humiliation and resent.

To conclude, in episode 62, the positions are reversed—Joo Jaekyung becomes the one giving and laboring, and Kim Dan the one silently “observing” the other. The wolf now experiences what the hamster has long endured: the exhaustion of constant care and absence of true recognition. What had once been play has become obligation. Even the visual composition reinforces the shift—the closed gym of chapter 26 (a controlled microcosm of emotion) (chapter 26) is replaced by the open, sunlit town of chapter 62 (chapter 62), where exposure to others leaves both men strangely isolated. The happiness of the crowd no longer unites; it separates. The champion’s outfit, ridiculous and domestic (chapter 62), underlines this reversal: he has become what the doctor used to be—the invisible worker behind others’ comfort. It is in this time that he first feels something he cannot name—Kim Dan’s coldness. (chapter 62) which is actually his true nature. I will elaborate more further below. For the first time, the wolf looks at his companion and senses distance instead of warmth, as though the man he once touched so easily has withdrawn behind glass. His thought—“Has he always been this cold?”—marks the beginning of introspection, the moment when perception replaces instinct.

This opposition between the lightness of 26 and the heaviness of 62 charts their evolution from instinctive joy to emotional paralysis. It also prepares the ground for chapter 80, which opens under the sign of thin ice. The phrase crystallizes all that has been building: the recognition of distance, the fragility of contact, and the dawning understanding that what lies frozen between them is not hostility—but pain. (chapter 80) To “walk on thin ice” is to approach him gently, without force—a lesson the champion must learn if he wishes to thaw what has been frozen by years of duty and self-denial.

The presence of number 8 reinforces this cyclical motion. Its shape—two mirrored loops—suggests both reflection and reunion. The same way the sparring and seaside episodes mirror each other, the coming arc (80–89) promises to close the loop while opening a new beginning. In the first loop, Kim Dan smiled for the first time; in the second, he must learn to smile again, but this time from within. Likewise, Joo Jaekyung must learn to elicit that smile not through force or gifts, but through fun, patience, attention, and warmth. If the earlier arcs taught him that sex is not intimacy, the “thin ice” chapter teaches him that care is not control. (chapter 80) Hence he made this mistake: he threw the doctor’s clothes without the owner’s consent.

When chapter 80 was released, many readers described their relationship as a slow burn. Yet the expression misleads: to burn implies fire, but the episode’s dominant color is blue (chapter 80) (chapter 80), not red. The atmosphere is fluid, reflective, submerged. Water—not flame—governs this new stage. What we witness is not combustion but fusion—ice meeting water, solid meeting liquid, two states of the same element touching at last. Ice does not just melt under fire; but also in the presence of water. It softens when it recognizes itself in another form. In that sense, Joo Jaekyung’s tenderness doesn’t heat Kim Dan—it mirrors him. The thaw begins not through passion, but through likeness, through quiet recognition. This signifies that Joo Jaekyung is on his way to discover their similarities: they both suffered from bullying and abandonment issues and they love each other.

This new fluidity finds its first visual expression in their smiles. When Kim Dan floats in the pool, smiling (chapter 80) —his joy is spontaneous, detached from duty, born from play rather than service. It is his first genuine smile since the sparring match in chapter 26, but this time it arises not from competition, only from freedom. In the same chapter, Joo Jaekyung’s grin (chapter 80) at the board game table mirrors that moment: his smile is light, childlike, uncontaminated by dominance. Yet, tellingly, they do not smile together. Each glows in isolation, unaware of the other’s joy. Doc Dan has not realized it yet: he is the wolf’s source of happiness, he is the only one who can make him laugh and smile. (chapter 27) Thus I came to the following deduction. This is the emotional geometry of the arc 80–89: two smiles moving toward synchrony, two currents approaching convergence. Both need to experience that they make each other happy. Kim Dan on Thin Ice thus begins where the infinite loop of 8 converges—between warmth and coldness, joy and fatigue, play and labor. It is here, in this fragile equilibrium—where ice and water finally coexist—that both men begin, at last, to thaw. And the latter implies emancipation

The Gaze That Heals

While Jinx-philes were moved by the final scene (chapter 80), I have to admit that my favorite part was this one (chapter 80), as it exposes the real metamorphosis from the “wolf”. The night Joo Jaekyung watches Kim Dan sleep is not erotic; it is revolutionary. For once, his desire gives way to perception and attentiveness. The fighter who has conquered bodies now studies one that is quietly losing its battle. The body before him is not the sculpted strength he knows, but a map of deprivation: protruding collarbones (chapter 80), visible neck tendons, the knobby finger joints and his stiff fingers resting on the blanket as if holding the body together. (chapter 80) The pale, bluish hue of the skin—half light, half illness—tells him what no words ever have.

He sees, with a clarity that frightens him, that Kim Dan’s suffering is written into every small detail: the cracked lip that never healed (chapter 80), the faint opacity of the nails (chapter 80), the uneven pulse beneath thin skin. The dark circles under the eyes look like bruises from sleeplessness and neglect. (chapter 80) In the faint parting of the mouth he sees not seduction, but exhaustion—a man so depleted that even rest demands effort. (chapter 80) Each sign carries both a clinical and emotional meaning: anemia, malnutrition, overwork… but also silence, restriction, and the long habit of disappearing.

For the first time, the star understands that Kim Dan’s “coldness” is not rejection—it is the surface of survival. Like ice, it protects what lies beneath. The doctor’s body is a frozen landscape, and the champion feels its fragility in his own chest. He recognizes the paradox: endurance has become danger. Kim Dan lives, but on “thin ice,” sustained only by stillness, by refusing to move too fast or feel too deeply. From this recognition (“Kim Dan is a mess”) comes a subtle but decisive change: (chapter 80) he begins to treat rest not as weakness, but as reverence. (chapter 13) The fighter who once mocked stillness as laziness now finds meaning in it.

This realization quietly rewrites his routine. The very next day, he takes a day off (chapter 80) — not from exhaustion, but from understanding. The rhythm of his life starts to synchronize with the doctor’s vulnerability. Time, once his most tightly guarded possession, now bends around another person’s needs. Without noticing, he has allowed Kim Dan to become the owner of his hours — a quiet dethronement that signals love in its earliest, purest form. Moreover, Jinx-philes should realize that the moment the star made this decision, (chapter 80), it signifies that he will have to dedicate his time to the physical therapist! Hence his routine and training could get affected, just like their weekends. (chapter 78)

The contrast to their first nights together could not be sharper. Back then, he had stood over the bed with amused irony (chapter 13) Now, the same posture carries care instead of mockery. The body he once saw as an object of conquest has become a presence that dictates the pace of his own life. Watching over him no longer feels like indulgence; it feels necessary. Even his position in the room betrays the transformation.
In the beginning, he stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down—a posture of control, evaluation, and reproach. The man towering over the bed was a passive bystander, not a participant. But now, in episode 80, he takes a place by Kim Dan’s side. (chapter 80) The shift is quiet but momentous: he no longer guards from afar, he keeps vigil.

Standing beside the bed means stepping into the space once occupied by the caregiver (chapter 80) —the doctor (chapter 13), the family member (chapter 56), the one who stays close enough to touch if needed. (chapter 80) Without realizing it,the athlete has inherited that role. His nearness is no longer intrusive but protective. He has crossed the invisible threshold that separates obligation from affection. The fighter who once stood as an outsider in the doctor’s life now finds himself within its most intimate circle.

This spatial change mirrors his emotional movement: from detachment to empathy, from possession to presence. The body language of care replaces the body language of power. In sitting beside Kim Dan rather than standing above him, Joo Jaekyung becomes not the master of another’s body but the keeper of another’s rest.

Interesting is that though he didn’t sleep much, he doesn’t look exhausted and irritated. He seems serene and sharp. (chapter 80) Compare his facial expression to the hamster’s before their first day off together. (chapter 27) That way, Mingwa can outline the champion’s confidence and that the one who needed the rest is the physical therapist and not the champion.

The wolf’s gaze becomes the only warmth in the room. He does not reach out (chapter 80), though every muscle in his body aches to hold the hand (chapter 80) or touch the cracked lip (chapter 80), to convey his feelings. His affection, however, means nothing to the physical therapist’s rest and health. The doctor’s body, frail and still, does not respond to care or desire; it demands only caring silence. In that quiet, Jaekyung learns the hardest lesson of love: that sometimes the truest act of tenderness is restraint.

This moment also reveals something else—the doctor has truly become the apple of the wolf’s eye, the new version of this night. (chapter 69) Every flicker of light falls through The Emperor’s gaze and lands on Kim Dan’s form, transforming weariness into something sacred. (chapter 80) The fighter who once devoured the world with his eyes now looks with respect and affection. For the first time, his vision is not about conquest but about keeping another safe within its circle. His restriction is new. It is care learned through self-control, tenderness born from awe. His breath slows; his eyes soften. The man who once equated intimacy with possession now discovers that looking—truly looking—is the most intimate act of all.

The blue – lavender light surrounding them reinforces the metaphor. It is the color of water and sleep, of cold surfaces beginning to thaw. Kim Dan lies motionless, preserved like something precious yet endangered. The champion’s reflection flickers faintly in his eyes, merging the observer and the observed. For a heartbeat, they exist in a fragile equilibrium: one watching, one resting—both suspended between warmth and coldness, touch and distance.

This scene echoes the earlier moment of thin ice. (chapter 80) The same expression that once described Kim Dan’s emotional isolation now describes the celebrity’s transformation. His vision becomes both diagnosis and confession: he is seeing the cost of the doctor’s gentleness—and his own role in it. But unlike before, he does not panic. His calmness is the proof of change. The fighter who once solved everything through haste and impulvisity now heals through stillness and meditation.

And beneath that calmness, desire hums—not lust, but devotion and gentleness. The longing to touch remains, but it is tempered by something holier: the wish not to harm what is fragile. (chapter 80) His eyes linger on the hand, the mouth, the neck, the pulse, as if memorizing every scar. The desire to kiss or caress or hold becomes indistinguishable from the desire to protect. Watching thus becomes loving.

However, seeing and knowing are not enough. Observation without action leaves the sportsman powerless, and he senses this instinctively. Therefore he decides to become proactive. (chapter 80) This reminded me of his earlier words (chapter 68) in the bathtub (chapter 68) —“I’ll keep him right here in the palm of my hand”—echo now with quiet irony. To hold someone in one’s hand is, paradoxically, to immobilize them; it grants possession but denies agency. The same gesture that promises safety also enacts paralysis. His possessiveness, once mistaken for protection, now appears as helplessness.

In episode 68, the champion’s vow came from the fear of loss: he wanted to keep Kim Dan close, even “in his sorry state.” Yet that very desire to hold became a form of harm, preventing the other from moving, breathing, or healing. At the same time, it implies a certain arrogance, as he saw himself as superior. The scene at the dock taught him two important life lessons: his ignorance and his powerlessness. Therefore it is no coincidence that the couple remained distant despite the athlete’s resolution and desire. (chapter 80) Now, standing beside the bed, the MMA fighter begins to understand the futility of that grasp. He cannot hold Kim Dan; he can only stay by his side and help him to become stronger. (chapter 80) Thus he teaches him swimming. This gesture is not trivial: it marks the moment when care turns into collaboration and liberation, when watching becomes doing.

The champion is now surpassing the halmoni, who is characterized by helplessness and passivity. (chapter 78) She preferred sending her grandson away rather than witnessing his pain, and she delegated all responsibility to Joo Jaekyung and the doctors. Jaekyung, in contrast, remains. (chapter 80) He refuses to look away. His decision to act—to adjust his own schedule, to become the one who teaches and supports—stands as a quiet correction of the grandmother’s withdrawal. Where she turned distance into protection, he transforms proximity into healing.

What Joo Jaekyung experiences that night is not pity, but awakening and true love. The sight of Kim Dan’s frailty lifts the last veil between body and soul. The ice has not yet melted, but beneath it, water is stirring.

The Body on Thin Ice

The hamster’s sleeping posture reinforces the entire metaphor of fragility and restriction. (chapter 80) He lies flat, one hand pressed lightly over his abdomen, as if to hold himself together. The gesture reads as instinctive self-protection — the body sheltering its core. His other arm stretches outward, straight and tense, a symbolic bridge that never reaches. Even at rest, he remains poised between holding and fleeing.

The straightened legs and smooth blanket line betray control rather than rest. The bed looks like a stage where sleep must be performed properly — cautious, quiet, unwrinkled. His facial muscles and neck stay taut; his breathing shallow. It’s the posture of someone who fears danger and never truly stops bracing for impact.

Like Jinx-lovers might have noted, this state of vigilance doesn’t end when he wakes. Kim Dan often jolts (chapter 80) at his fated partner’s approach, flinching when a hand brushes too near and makes a loud sound (chapter 79), (chapter 80) shrinking back when confronted. The body remembers the threat long after the mind tries to forget. (chapter 79) He lives suspended between two survival reflexes: freezing or fleeing. Since the contract binds him to stay, he cannot physically run away; therefore, his body freezes instead. It is his way of obeying while still protecting himself. Exhaustion becomes his armor. And now, you comprehend why the celebrity could detect the coldness in the “hamster” in front of the hospice. (chapter 62) He had sensed that the physical therapist was just surviving. On the other hand, he had perceived a glimpse of the hamster’s true nature. Helping others had never been an act of love, rather the expression of belonging and low self-esteem. In reality, he was quite distant to people. Hence he never meddled with the nurses at the Light of Hope.

Yet, in chapter 79, the polarity inverted. The coldness that once protected Jaekyung — the cold gaze meant to conceal jealousy and insecurities (chapter 79) — now turned outward and wounded the one he wished to protect. (chapter 79) That icy look became a mirror: it froze Kim Dan’s small confidence, reinforcing his belief that he would always displease or fail others. Since his return to the gym, the doctor feared the emperor’s next outburst, walking on eggshells and suppressing every impulse to speak or move freely. (chapter 79) Thus he clinched onto routine to maintain a normal relationship. But once the champion voiced his dissatisfaction (masking his jealousy), the light in the doctor’s gaze vanished. (chapter 79)

This explains why during his dissociative state/sleep walking, he almost fell from the railing. (chapter 79) His unconscious was telling him to flee, as he feared the athlete. To conclude, he was always one step away from collapse. In symbolic terms, he had become ice itself — air and water solidified, transparent yet untouchable. Keep in mind that according to me, the clouds embody the physical therapist. (chapter 38) Born on December 26th, his very birthday ties him to winter, to the paradox of beauty that burns when touched. That’s why I can’t help myself thinking that the physical therapist is actually embodied by the snow. Ice and snow preserve, but they also isolate.

The traces of ice and snow had already been quietly planted before this moment. When the dark-haired little boy stood outside calling his mother in chapter 72 (chapter 72), snow was falling — a silent mirror of his loneliness, the frozen residue of a home that no longer existed. Later, in chapter 77, the motif returned as ice cream (chapter 77): a sweet that melts too quickly to be shared. Neither man truly appreciated it; both were too absorbed in their own thoughts to enjoy the fleeting pleasure. These missed opportunities — to taste, to feel, to be present — form the emotional prelude to the “thin ice” arc.

Now, by recognizing the frost in Kim Dan — his stillness, his cold hands, his distance — Jaekyung stars to grasp the nature of warmth itself. What he once read as indifference, he now perceives as endurance. The discovery transforms him: he starts to blush not out of victory or drunkenness, but out of attraction. (chapter 80) His smile is still too attached to victory. (chapter 80) His decision to teach Kim Dan how to swim grows naturally from this awakening. It’s no longer about strength or instruction, but about movement, fluidity, and shared rhythm — the passage from rigidity (ice) to flow (water), from surviving to living.

In this logic, Kim Dan becomes snow itself — transparent, pure, and painfully transient. Snow is beautiful precisely because it melts; it asks to be held gently, without possession. The author’s gradual introduction of ice, snow, and water thus maps the emotional chemistry between them. Ice was their misunderstanding, snow their revelation, and water will be their reconciliation.

The icy phase reached its climax during the scene in chapters 63–64, when the champion (chapter 63), desperate to restore closeness, mistook passion and pleasure (chapter 63) for repair. Believing that physical heat could melt emotional frost (chapter 64), he tried to burn away the distance through souvenirs (evoking the night in the States) and desire. Yet the more he tried to ignite fire, the more he fed the cold. (chapter 64) The physical act, rather than fusing them, exposed the truth he had refused to see — that his partner was already freezing from within. On the other hand, during this night, the athlete used “self-control” for the first time, his roughness in bed started vanishing. (chapter 64) The wolf’s attempt to “burn the bridge” between them became the very thing that broke it. His flame met ice (chapter 64), and the result was not warmth but steam — a brief illusion of intimacy that vanished as soon as Kim Dan pulled away. His rejection wasn’t cruelty but a cry of despair, disillusion and exhaustion (chapter 64): a body too cold to burn, a heart too tired to love and fight.

That night, Jaekyung finally learned that fire alone cannot sustain love. Real warmth demands attention, genuine selflessness, not possession. Only by recognizing Kim Dan’s fragility — his snow-like transparency, his quiet endurance — can he begin to love without wounding.

Through the act of teaching and learning to swim, Jaekyung will learn what he never knew before: that love isn’t about breaking or conquering (chapter 80), but about melting together, letting warmth and cold coexist without annihilating each other. To melt together does not mean to dissolve into sameness, but to trust that proximity will not destroy one’s shape. True intimacy begins when both accept that they can share warmth without losing form — when fire believes it can touch ice without turning it to steam, and ice trusts it can meet fire without vanishing.

This trust, fragile yet luminous, marks the next phase of their journey. For the first time, neither must perform strength or endurance. They can simply exist side by side — water meeting water — each reflecting the other’s light.

And ice burns — that is the cruel secret. (chapter 61) Touch it bare-handed, and you feel both heat and pain. The same holds true for Kim Dan’s presence: those who reach for him too quickly end up wounding both him and themselves. The sportsman’s early attempts at care followed that pattern — too forceful, too immediate, leaving frostbite where he intended warmth. (chapter 64)

What’s most tragic is that neither man understood this dynamic. The star’s coldness was not cruelty (chapter 79) but anxiety — fear of losing control, of not being seen (chapter 79), of not getting the doctor’s affection. Kim Dan’s coldness was not real rejection (chapter 80) but terror — the instinct to flee before being hurt again. Both used frost as armor, and both mistook it for strength and protection.

The subtle visual cue comes in the unopened board game labeled Ice Breaker (chapter 80). (chapter 80) They never played it — and that is no accident. The title encapsulates the temptation Jaekyung must resist: to treat intimacy as a contest, to imagine that trust can be won through tactics or timing. But hearts do not yield to strategies. The only way to melt the ice is not by “breaking” it, but by warming it, patiently, sincerely.

In other words, the champion must unlearn the fighter’s logic — victory, dominance, control — and replace it with what he has never trained for: honesty and vulnerability. Only by lowering his guard, by divulging his own thoughts and emotions (like for example fear of loss), can he truly reach Kim Dan. Breaking the ice would have meant shattering what little trust existed between them. To conclude, the true task is not to break but to thaw: to melt the distance gradually, to approach without force. Their story is not about smashing barriers but about learning warmth, rhythm, and coexistence.

But in chapter 80, the dynamic begins to thaw. Jaekyung takes the day off — the first visible sign that he now aligns his rhythm with Kim Dan’s. Rest, once equated with laziness, becomes an act of respect and knowledge. The fighter who lived in perpetual heat learns the value of stillness, while the doctor frozen in vigilance learns, little by little, to breathe.

Opening the Wardrobe: The Champion’s First Unscripted Gesture

If the Ice Breaker game represents the failure of strategy, this scene (chapter 80) marks its opposite — a spontaneous act free of calculation. I am not here talking about the purchase of the clothes. When Jaekyung brings new clothes for Kim Dan and places them in his own wardrobe, he is doing something that escapes his usual logic of control. For once, he doesn’t command or anticipate; he simply gives.

At first glance, it looks like another display of wealth — replacing the doctor’s worn shirts with finer fabrics. But the gesture carries a deeper subtext. By hanging the clothes in his closet, the champion symbolically opens the most private space of his home, the same place where he once left the birthday card and key chain. (chapter 66) And this is something the physical therapist could notice, if he enters the room again and pays more attention to his surroundings. This is not about ownership but about inclusion: an unspoken invitation to share a part of himself.

The humor of the series already hinted at this evolution back in chapter 30, when Jaekyung teased the blushing doctor(chapter 30). Even in that comic panel, the imbalance between physical familiarity and emotional distance was evident. Kim Dan’s embarrassment stood for boundaries not yet earned, and Jaekyung’s casual tone for a love not yet understood.

In that moment, (chapter 80) the room becomes more than a storage space — it becomes a threshold. Without realizing it, the wolf allows Kim Dan to enter his personal orbit, to dress and undress within the same walls, to coexist without performance. This is the opposite of strategy; it’s the vulnerability of someone who, for the first time, lowers his guard without noticing.

Through this gesture, Jaekyung experiences that love is not built by “winning over” but by making room. Now, by giving the doctor space in his closet, Jaekyung begins to earn what he once took for granted. Sharing the same room no longer means exposure or domination, but coexistence. Even if they never see each other naked again, Kim Dan can slowly grow accustomed to the champion’s presence — to exist beside him without fear.

In other words, the wardrobe becomes a new kind of training ground: not for fighting, but for trust. Besides, he practices something new — spontaneous care — the kind that arises not from guilt or desire, but from trust.

Mr. Mistake

Before he could learn to warm, Joo Jaekyung had to learn to err. (chapter 80) His first instinct, even when it came from care, was always control. In earlier days, he wanted Kim Dan within reach, in his line of sight — “even in his sorry state.” (chapter 68) That line, half tender and half possessive, reveals the paradox of his love: he equates nearness with protection, yet that same nearness suffocates. Keeping Kim Dan “in the palm of his hand” expresses both care and fear — the terror of losing what he cannot name.

When we see him later, in chapter 80, standing before the wardrobe with his eyes closed, (chapter 80) this gesture repeats the same pattern under a softer guise. Believing he is helping, he decides to discard the gray hoodie — the very object tied to Kim Dan’s past and his grandmother. (chapter 80) His closed eyes are telling: he acts without seeing. The intention is love; the effect is violation. By trying to cleanse Kim Dan’s life of its remnants, he unconsciously repeats the violence of erasure that the doctor has always endured. Keep in mind that the doctor’s teddy bear vanished. (chapter 47) One might say that he no longer needed it, yet this point could be refuted, if it was a present from the parents. Throwing it away is like erasing their existence and affection.

And yet, the champion’s mistake is necessary. It becomes the hinge between old and new love. For the first time, the champion feels the immediate consequence of his actions: Kim Dan’s resistance, his cry of protest, his refusal to be overwritten. (chapter 80) The scene is small but seismic. The camera places Jaekyung slightly behind, his fists curled and his shoulders tense — an instinctive gesture of self-restraint rather than dominance. He is no longer the one towering above, demanding or explaining; he is waiting, watching, enduring the discomfort of having gone too far. His silence here is not indifference but humility — the silence of someone learning, painfully, what boundaries mean.

In this still moment, the main lead looks less like a fighter and more like a chastened pupil. He follows the doctor like a puppy that has just realized his wrongdoing. We could compare his action to Boksoon and her puppies hiding the “shoes” from the landlord and doc Dan. (chapter 70) The athlete’s posture (chapter 80) that once signified control now reads as submission, but also as attention — he is, for once, truly focused on the other’s feelings instead of his own intentions.

This visual shift — from dominance to attentiveness — signals the slow birth of empathy. Love ceases to be possession and becomes recognition. What once would have provoked anger or dominance instead elicits reflection. The wolf no longer bites back; he listens. Through this failure, he begins to grasp the rhythm of mutual existence — one that requires missteps to create harmony. At the same time, this chapter announces the courting from the athlete. He will do anything to win doc Dan’s heart. But for that, he needs to capture his “gaze”. (chapter 80)

Calling him “Mr. Mistake” is not reproach but recognition. Each error brings him closer to awareness, to balance and improve himself. His earlier attempts to help — feeding (chapter 79), dressing, gifting (chapter 80) — were gestures of power. Now, through trial and correction, they evolve into gestures of reciprocity. Besides, to err is human. In learning how to respect and help, he learns how to love.

The irony is that his compassion for Kim Dan simultaneously becomes self-care. (chapter 80) By tending to another’s exhaustion, he faces his own. Each regret (chapter 79), each small act of patience, rewires the fighter’s inner world. If he controls his temper, then he might get closer to his fated companion. He begins to experience calm where there once was only anger or reaction. The man who lived on adrenaline now practices gentleness as a new form of endurance.

These “mistakes” form the second loop of the number 8 — the mirror that completes the first circle. If the earlier arc was defined by desire and misunderstanding, this new one is shaped by humility and correction. Every misstep is part of the dance toward balance, each error a necessary thawing of old reflexes. Through Kim Dan, the champion learns that healing, like love, is never achieved through perfection but through rhythm — through falling out of sync and learning, again and again, to move together.

The Body That Hurts

Kim Dan’s body has always been the battlefield of others’ desires. Even the tenderness he received from his grandmother was tied to expectations of endurance. In the hospital scene, she admires Jaekyung’s physique:
(chapter 21) Behind the warmth of her words lies a quiet wound: she loves her grandson, but she wishes him to be different — stronger, healthier, easier to care for. In his eyes, it’s an unreliable, burdensome shell — a vessel of weakness and sickness. Every protruding collarbone, every cracked lip or dark circle testifies to a deeper wound: the conviction that he is unworthy of care.

This single wish defines his lifelong struggle. He learns that to be loved, he must not burden anyone; to deserve affection, he must be self-sufficient. Strength becomes a moral duty, not a source of pride. The body, instead of being a home, becomes a site of constant correction — something to manage, hide, or silence.

So when his body weakens, he experiences it as failure. Every illness, every bruise, every shiver feels like proof that he is disappointing her again. His need to be strong “for her” transforms into self-punishment — the relentless drive to work, to endure, to never rest. He strives to cause less trouble, to take on more responsibility, to disappear behind service.

Yet the façade of dutiful obedience couldn’t hold forever. As the grandmother herself admits later, (chapter 65) These vices, which she lists as disappointments (chapter 65) are in fact the boy’s first attempts at self-assertion. In a life where every decision has been dictated by duty, poverty, and responsibility, destroying his own body becomes the only act that truly belongs to him. Each cigarette, each drink, is a tiny rebellion — a momentary claim over flesh that has always served others.

Ironically, this rebellion mirrors the very logic he inherited: he still treats his body as an object of control, only now he is the one inflicting harm. What looks like defiance is, in truth, despair dressed as freedom. It’s his way of saying, “If I can’t be loved through this body, at least I can decide what happens to it.”

Thus, long before Jaekyung ever entered the picture, Kim Dan had already split from himself. His body became both prison and protest, both burden and battlefield. So when he later tells Jaekyung in chapter 62, (chapter 62) the weight of that sentence stretches far beyond the bedroom. It carries the residue of every moral, familial, and physical contract that has reduced him to flesh. What the champion hears as accusation is, at its core, a confession of alienation — the echo of a man who has never learned to live inside himself. It’s not only a reproach but a confession. He hates his body because it has become the medium through which he is used, never loved.

This hatred turns cyclical: because he feels unloved, he neglects his body — and because his body weakens, he feels even less worthy of love. (chapter 80) His exhaustion, malnutrition, and chronic tension are not random; they are the physical imprint of a soul that punishes itself. Hurting his body becomes a form of control, a way to pre-empt rejection: “If I break myself first, no one else can hurt me.” And now, my avid readers can sense the hidden symmetry between the two men. Both have used their bodies as instruments of punishment — only in opposite directions.
For Kim Dan, the body collapses under visible exhaustion: pallor, thin hands, terrible nails, the fainting spells that betray a life of deprivation. For Joo Jaekyung, the punishment hides behind power, buried beneath muscle and bravado. His suffering is internal, detectable only through the cold precision of medical imaging — the X-ray that exposes the shoulder strain, the unseen stress beneath the skin. (chapter 27)

The scan becomes the counterpart to Kim Dan’s visible wounds: one man bleeds or bruises where everyone can see (chapter 61), the other where no one looks. Yet, the attitude of people is the same: no one pays attention to them. Both inhabit bodies that have forgotten the difference between endurance and pain. Both mistake self-destruction for strength.

The doctor’s body breaks from overgiving; the fighter’s, from overexerting. Is it a coincidence that the athlete employed this idiom in order to describe his partner’s life? (chapter 80) Naturally, no. In truth, they are two sides of the same fracture — men who were never allowed to rest, to be weak, or to be cared for.

And perhaps this is why the night of chapter 80 matters so deeply. When Jaekyung stands beside Kim Dan’s bed and simply watches, he unconsciously sees his own reflection: a man trapped in survival mode, burning from the inside out.

This silent revelation recalls an earlier moment — that night in front of the hospital (chapter 18) when Kim Dan, bruised, had seized his hand and expressed his concerns. Back then, the gesture had confused the wolf. His hands were made to strike, to defend, to dominate — not to be pitied or protected. He had pulled away instinctively, unsettled by the tenderness and the huge sense of responsibility behind the question. He felt criticized, as if his power was questioned.

Now, in the stillness of the room, he finally grasps its meaning. (chapter 80) Kim Dan wasn’t questioning his strength; he was acknowledging his humanity. He had seen the fighter’s hands not as weapons but as part of a fragile whole — hands that could bleed, hands that could tremble.

That memory quietly flows into the pool scene, where everything changes.

The Body That Learns to Float

In the swimming pool, the same hands complete their transformation. (chapter 80) What began as misunderstanding in episode 1, (chapter 1) and was maintained through the awkward hospital encounter in episode 18, now evolves into dialogue and genuine comprehension. In the beginning, Kim Dan’s touch had been accidental and defensive—a misreading of bodily proximity. When he grabbed the fighter in episode 1, he believed he had crossed a forbidden line, that his action would be seen as insolence or violation. The fear and shame that followed transformed touch into a territory of silence and self-censorship.

Meanwhile, the same gesture had awakened something entirely different in the champion. As revealed later (chapter 56), he had interpreted that touch not as mistake or violation, but as a spark of invitation—proof that the “hamster” might want him after all. His own longing twisted the scene into a fantasy of desire, into a private “game” he wanted to continue in the bedroom. One misunderstanding gave birth to another. By episode 18, the same reflex persisted: he reached out again, asking if Jaekyung was hurt, his hand trembling with the same mixture of care and fear. Once more, touch was misread—offered as comfort, received as intrusion. Thus their relationship began under crossed signals: one moved out of survival, the other out of projection or the reverse. It is no coincidence that their relationship in season 1 was doomed to fail. They never communicated properly, as their perception was influenced by their past and surroundings.

Back then, (chapter 18) Kim Dan’s fingers clung to Jaekyung’s hand out of fear; now they athlete is the one holding them. This panel oozes trust and communication. (chapter 80) The reversal is profound. Outside the hospital, the healer had worried about the fighter’s body; inside the pool, the fighter encourages the physical therapist to trust his own body. He worries about the healer’s soul. The hand that was once proof of power now becomes a bridge of tenderness and reassurance.

The water amplifies this transformation. Around them, the surface quivers like living glass, reflecting their movements in waves of trembling light. It is as though the memory of ice — of distance, fragility, restraint — has melted into fluid contact. Jaekyung’s hands, once hardened by habit, move now with the rhythm of care. They guide, not grab; they support without enclosing. (chapter 80)

When he lets go (chapter 80), Kim Dan panics, convinced that release equals abandonment. (chapter 80) He freezes once again. Yet the water holds him; he reaches onto the champion again — and this time, the embrace stays. What makes this moment remarkable is that the pool is shallow. (chapter 80) Kim Dan could easily stand on his own, but fear has eclipsed reason. His instinct is not to trust his feet, not to fight the water, but to cling to the man before him. (chapter 80) This reveals his low self-esteem and trapped soul.

This difference from chapter 27 is crucial. Back then, in a similar pool scene, the fighter’s reaction was brusque and teasing (chapter 27) His words carried an assertion of superiority, a lack of understanding. But here, silence replaces mockery. (chapter 80) The wolf doesn’t laugh or pull away. (chapter 80) He simply lets himself be held. Why? It is because he is enjoying the moment. For the first time, the physical therapist sought his closeness. (chapter 80) And this has nothing to do with his money and the gifts. This gesture exposes that the hamster does trust the athlete. For me, his passivity is strongly linked to his longing. (chapter 80) He is enjoying the embrace.

Besides, that quiet acceptance reveals more tenderness than any declaration could. The wolf no longer demands, instructs, or tests. He waits. His passivity and silence are an invitation — an acknowledgment that the next move must come from the physical therapist himself. (chapter 80)

For the first time, the champion receives affection without controlling it. He becomes the one who is touched, not the one who takes. His body, usually the tool of dominance, now learns receptivity. And the doctor, trembling yet aware, learns that reaching out will no longer earn him rejection. The gesture that once triggered shame now becomes a wordless dialogue of consent and curiosity.

This reversal implies that their old misunderstanding will dissolve completely. How so? It is because Kim Dan has long internalized touch as a form of communication. Words often failed him, but the body never lied — every gesture became a sentence, every embrace a confession. And perhaps this is where la glace (chapter 16) —that deceptively simple French word—finds its power. It means “ice,” but also “mirror” and “window.” When the champion looks through Kim Dan’s glace (chapter 80), he sees not coldness but transparency: the reflection of a pure soul.

Interesting, too, is that eating glace never burns (chapter 77), unlike the touch of ice. It softens, sweetens, dissolves slowly on the tongue. Likewise, the heat between them no longer needs to scorch; it can melt. And yet, the kiss — once their most volatile exchange — has fallen silent. (chapter 64) Kim Dan had to bite his own lips to make Jaekyung stop, and neither has ever truly spoken of it. Yet, during the night, the athlete could see the remains of that cold war. (chapter 80) In episode 16, the doctor still wondered why the champion had kissed him so suddenly, (chapter 16), just as the champion has never confessed that it was his first kiss. Moreover, during their first day off together, Joo Jaekyung had also initiated a kiss and back then, the doctor never wondered why. (chapter 27) Both men have been staring into the same mirror without realizing that the reflection was shared. They love each other. Joo Jaekyung needs to ponder on the signification of a kiss (chapter 13) and why doc Dan made such a request. (chapter 15) The kiss is more than just fun and pleasure. It is the expression of “love”. And now, you comprehend why I am expecting a huge change in the next episode.

Now, in the water, that glace has turned fluid. The swimming pool becomes both mirror and window — a space where communication finally flows. The embrace could awaken the memory of that second kiss (chapter 28) and urge Kim Dan to ask, at last, the question that remained frozen between them. In doing so, he would not only reopen the conversation but also reclaim the meaning of touch itself: not as misunderstanding or survival, but as curiosity and love.

As a first conclusion, the swimming pool stands for reconnection, communication and as such the vanishing of misunderstandings. What had begun as mockery in episode 27 and confusion in episode 1 transforms into equilibrium in episode 80. The pool, barely chest-deep, becomes a symbolic threshold — a space where both rediscover that safety doesn’t depend on distance or depth, but on trust. (chapter 80) A space where both discovers love, attraction and joy.

Another important detail is the zoom on doc Dan’s feet. (chapter 80) And it comes with a small but crucial instruction. In that single phrase, the MMA fighter encourages Kim Dan to discover his own power and strength without overexercising. His feet, which were once symbolically trapped in the nightly ice, now press against the water with intent during the day. For the first time, his body obeys him, not fear. His movements are neither frantic nor helpless but self-regulated, gentle and alive. That’s why the main lead becomes happy for a moment. (chapter 80)

This moment stands in direct opposition to his sleepwalking — that eerie, unconscious wandering born of repression. (chapter 79) At night, his body moved without will; it was the echo of unspoken pain, a form of survival detached from self. In daylight, under Jaekyung’s watch, he begins to reclaim control. Day replaces night, consciousness replaces compulsion. What was once an expression of emotional paralysis becomes the choreography of renewal.

The difference is elemental. In the dark, his steps wavered because no one was there to steady him; in the water, he finds equilibrium through connection. Fear and joy coexist: he moves forward not because he is unafraid, but because he is finally accompanied. Besides, I am suspecting that his strong desire for an embrace (chapter 21) comes from the early loss of his mother.

His smile (chapter 80), radiant and unguarded, seals this metamorphosis. The body that once betrayed him becomes his ally again — a source of movement, breath, and meaning. The swimming lesson thus becomes a form of therapy: a slow rehabilitation of trust through touch, rhythm, and control. At the same time, should he notice the blushing or the loving gaze from his room mate (chapter 80), he could realize that he means more to the Emperor than he has ever imagined it. Here, I feel the need to add that the athlete’s jealousy and insecurities would vanish (chapter 79), if he knew that the doctor has already loved him for a long time.

Jaekyung learns that release can lead to attachment (chapter 80), for the strength lies in trusting someone. On the other hand, Kim Dan learns that release is not the same as collapse. Between their hands, between the measured strokes and the gentle restraint of “not too hard,” the past softens, and two wounded bodies rediscover what it means to be at home in themselves.

This swimming lesson represents his first step to treasure his own body. Thus it becomes a cure enacted through touch. Both men rediscover the body as a site of reciprocity rather than domination. Consequently, I deduce that the swimming lesson becomes more than physical training — it’s a quiet rite of passage. The pool, shallow yet infinite, mirrors the boundaries of trust itself: one must risk sinking to learn to float. (chapter 80) One must trust in his own body skills. Each gesture between them — the clasp, the release, the fright — traces a movement from fear toward self-possession and emancipation.

And perhaps this is the true meaning hidden beneath the scene’s surface: once Kim Dan can swim on his own, he will no longer fear being left behind. (chapter 80) To swim is to move through the unknown without a hand to hold (chapter 80), yet without panic. It is the opposite of his lifelong reflex to cling.

In learning to swim, he is not merely mastering a skill; he is unlearning abandonment. And now, my avid readers can grasp why he panicked quickly. (chapter 80) The water that once threatened to swallow him becomes his ally — fluid, embracing, and alive. When that day comes, when he can glide freely across its surface, it will mean that the boy who once feared drowning has finally learned how to live.

And then, the title finds its quiet resolution. Kim Dan on Thin Ice was never just about danger or fragility — it was about transformation. The ice that once confined him to stillness has melted into water, and the fear that once froze his body has become motion. Where there was trembling, there is now flow; where there was isolation, there is connection.

He no longer stands on thin ice — he moves through it, guided by the warmth that thawed him. (chapter 80) To swim is to live, but also to trust that even what melts beneath you can carry you forward. In this newfound balance between cold and warmth, fear and courage, Kim Dan finally steps — or swims — into his own life. This means, doc Dan is about to become the owner of his time again. (chapter 80)

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: This has to change 🌬️🌀🍃

Chapter 79 proved my previous interpretation correct: the number 9 announces the end of a circle. (chapter 79) However, let me ask you this. What kind of circle ends in episode 79? Moreover, how is this ending different from the past? Interesting is that episode 79 of Jinx doesn’t end with conflict, but with an awakening. For the first time, Joo Jaekyung does not rise to fight, command, or perform — he wakes up to a realization: “This can’t go on.” In the Korean version, his words carry an unusual clarity. It is not fate that changes, but choice. The champion, who once lived as if enslaved by habit and haunted by ghosts, now chooses transformation. The circle that has defined his life — power, silence, guilt, and repression — finally begins to close.

The decision is quiet but monumental: he will no longer live in a cycle of fear and self-loathing. (chapter 79) Until now, Jaekyung has moved through life as if carrying a curse — the belief that he is unworthy of care and love. (chapter 78) Every match, every order, every touch was an act of penance. Yet, in this episode, that belief dissolves. What vanishes in chapter 79 is not his strength, but the compulsion to suffer for it. Through the unconscious confession from Doc Dan, the wolf discovers that despite his wrongdoings, he is not hated by the “hamster”. (chapter 79)The words carry the same emotional weight as (chapter 39) from the magical night in the States. Both moments unfold in half-darkness, both break through inhibition, and both blur the line between consciousness and surrender. The verbal difference hides a deeper sameness: (chapter 79) is not remorse alone — it is an act of love, an instinctive reaching-out toward the other’s pain.

Mingwa mirrors the composition of these two scenes to stress their equivalence. The parted lips, the contrast between the heavy breath and the mumbling, the closeness of skin — all visual echoes that turn guilt into a language of tenderness. In chapter 39, the confession was drug-induced, raw and unfiltered, but afterward Jaekyung dismissed it with a laugh: (chapter 41) What could have been a moment of truth was repressed through mockery. His body language was betraying him: his closed arms reveal that he was on the defensive. By trivializing love, he protected himself from suffering and as such from facing his own capacity for harm. Behind the joke hid an immense self-loathing: to accept the confession as real would have required believing himself worthy of it. To trust himself…. he is not a loser, a nobody!

Chapter 79 reverses that denial. This time, the athlete cannot turn away or make light of what he hears. (chapter 79) The doctor’s voice — faint, sleep-bound, and sincere — forces him to listen. The “mistake” returns, transformed into absolution. Where laughter once erased meaning, silence now restores it. The champion finally grasps that Dan’s words, whether “I love you” or “I’m sorry,” spring from the same place: care that persists despite injury.

This is why the “blue night” cannot be read as accident or madness. It is revelation. The wolf sees, perhaps for the first time, that he can be forgiven — that love, for Dan, includes compassion for his flaws. The “I’m sorry” becomes the mirror image of the earlier “I love you,” not a repetition but a correction. What Jaekyung once labeled a mistake now stands as proof of connection, as if fate itself were rewriting the joke into a prayer.

The End of a Circle

Each chapter ending in nine has marked emotional completion: chapter 9’s first gesture of care (chapter 9), 29’s confession on the couch (chapter 29), 69’s first expression of feelings in the dark (chapter 69). In chapter 79, the circle closes once more. The night’s palette tells the story — deep blue softens into violet (chapter 64) (chapter 79), the color born from the fusion of blue (Dan’s sorrow) and red (Jaekyung’s intensity). For the first time, in the penthouse the color of their relationship is not pain but balance. And now, you comprehend why in the hallway, the purple had almost vanished: (chapter 79) The light purple – lavender that once filled their world turns (chapter 66) (chapter 79) fades into the cold blue of the night. The light shifts — not toward warmth, but toward fragility. The purple, symbol of fusion, nearly disappears, leaving behind the dominant blue of isolation and fear. (chapter 79) This chromatic regression visualizes what happens next: in the hallway, both men are still haunted by their separate pain. Dan, drawn by the pull of despair and self-loathing, almost falls over the railing. Jaekyung, still guided by fear, rushes to catch him. (chapter 79)

The blue in this scene is not mere sadness — it is the residue of old wounds resurfacing. It unites them through pain rather than peace, yet this unity marks the turning point. The absence of purple is what propels the wolf to make a decision: he is about to drop his routine and as such his past believes, like for example, his life is still his first priority or he is just a shackle. He realizes that color — the life and warmth in Dan — is fading. (chapter 79) To restore it, he will have to speak, to act, and ultimately, to smile again.

What truly ends here is the Emperor’s old language. The vocabulary of orders — (chapter 79) gives way to the silent recognition of fear. When the champion admits, (chapter 79), it is a confession disguised as complaint. For the first time, he voiced his dependency and vulnerability more clearly, as his body language is no longer expressing hesitation and shyness. Imagine that so far, he had lived following the principle of “self-reliance”. Yet when Dan asks, “What?” the champion retreats: (chapter 79) His feelings collapse into the void between words. Above them, the spiral chandelier glows — the perfect symbol of their unfinished circle. His unspoken fear hangs suspended, waiting to be voiced because of someone else’s actions: the doctor’s grin (chapter 79) and fall (chapter 79) That retreat exposes a deeper fear — not of rejection, but of mockery. The man who once endured his father’s contempt and smirks (chapter 54) still equates vulnerability with humiliation. (chapter 73) In the past, every sign of weakness was punished or laughed at; even longing arrived through ridicule. Hence the “grinning” Dan of his nightmare (chapter 79) should be perceived as a distorted echo of the father’s cruel smile. And now, Jinx-philes can grasp why the wolf woke up from this “dream”. (chapter 79) The vision forces him to confront the origin of his shame. He realizes, instinctively, that the real Kim Dan would never smile at his pain — and through that recognition, he begins to separate present from past. He has already experienced a silent, but warm gaze (chapter 77) from his fated partner after admitting his defeat: (chapter 76)

In silencing or voicing his fear, Jaekyung crosses the boundary between guilt and growth. He is no longer haunted by his father’s accusations like “you’re just trash” or (chapter 73) but by a new, fragile dread: the possibility of losing the one person who would never say it. What vanishes in episode 79 is not his strength, but the belief that to need someone is to be weak.

That completion arrives at night. In his sleep, Kim Dan murmurs, (chapter 79) The two halves of their dialogue finally meet: the fear Jaekyung silenced finds its answer in the apology Dan utters unconsciously. One speaks awake but retracts; the other speaks asleep but reveals. The night itself becomes their interpreter — turning “nothing” into meaning.

Until now, Jaekyung’s remorse had lived without a voice. (chapter 78) He has long recognized his wrongdoings — the pressure, the harshness, the selfishness (chapter 76) — but guilt without self-forgiveness remains sterile. What is the point of apologizing to someone when you cannot forgive yourself? His silence, then, is not arrogance but self-condemnation. Beneath his strength lies a man who believes that no apology can redeem him, because no one ever offered him one first. His father’s mockery, his coach’s reproaches (chapter 74) and expectations, his mother’s betrayal (chapter 74), his manager’s slap at the hospital (chapter 52) — none of them ever voiced regret and said “I’m sorry.”

Fighting became his substitute for repentance. (chapter 73) Every punch was an act of self-erasure, every victory a brief anesthesia against the echo of his own self-loathing and regrets. He mistook exhaustion for atonement. But when Kim Dan whispers (chapter 79) in his sleep, something shifts. The word that once chained him to guilt now sounds different — tender, not accusatory. For the first time, he experiences apology as care, not as confession.

That is why this night matters. It teaches the champion what he was never taught: that forgiveness is not granted by punishment, but by connection and communication. Through Kim Dan’s unconscious words, he senses that he can be forgiven — that love does not vanish because of fault. He is still accepted despite his wrongdoings, not because he hides them. For the first time, Joo Jaekyung begins to believe that being loved and being imperfect can coexist. And in that fragile belief, change truly begins.

The Fall of the Angel

The dream of the wolf is not punishment — it is confession. It becomes the space where Jaekyung’s unconscious dares to speak what he hides from waking life. (chapter 79) His vision of Kim Dan’s false grin is not a taunt from the other (chapter 79), but a message from within: You shouldn’t have hidden your fear. You should have trusted me. What appears as irony is, in truth, the echo of a moment that had once wounded him — the doctor’s trembling question, (chapter 51) The dream revives that unspoken answer, revealing that what Jaekyung perceived as danger was, in fact, an offer of trust. In trying to protect himself from mockery, he denied the very connection that could have saved him. The dream reconstructs the very morning he had dismissed his vulnerability (chapter 79)— the breakfast scene (chapter 79) , the casual (chapter 79) By replaying it in this distorted form, his mind stages a confrontation with his own denial.

The wolf’s remorse takes the shape of fear. In his dream, Jaekyung finally admits that he cannot bear to lose the one person who makes him feel human (chapter 79) — yet even there, his confession is shadowed by dread. (chapter 79) The grin that startles him awake is his own projection of unhappiness and shame, the echo of the mockery he once received from his father. But the truth beneath it is different: his soul is telling him that vulnerability is not ridicule, that he must stop silencing himself.

The resemblance between dream and reality is deliberate. The kitchen reappears, the same domestic warmth, the same silence. The unconscious replays what the conscious has failed to complete — the moment he turned away instead of speaking his fear aloud. His body wakes before his mind does, moving instinctively toward redemption. When he finds Kim Dan by the railing (chapter 79), it is as if he is saving not only his partner but the part of himself that used to give up. He was living like a ghost denying his own emotions.

A few days before, the champion had called Dan’s drowning “an accident.” (chapter 78) That word revealed his blindness — the refusal to acknowledge pain that does not announce itself through wounds. The new incident at the railing shatters that illusion. It was never an accident, but the expression of mental illness (chapter 79) Both events spring from the same silent cry for help, the same exhaustion he once ignored. This time, he sees it for what it is: suffering, not weakness. The shock of recognition becomes his wake-up call — not to fight harder, but to understand deeper. The problem is that so far the champion never had a true companion, hence he has not learned how to share thoughts and emotions to others. This explicates why doc Dan is actually the one initiating the conversation. (chapter 77) (chapter 80) Each time, the physical therapist shows concerns for the athlete’s well-being. He perceives this change of behavior as the expression of unwell-being.

Symbolically, the near fall (chapter 80) represents the danger of repeating inherited unhappiness and despair — the impulse toward surrender that has haunted the doctor. Both the ocean (chapter 69), and the balcony (chapter 79) embody the same impulse — escape — yet they reveal two distinct forms of suffocation. In the sea, Kim Dan moves toward the element that promises oblivion through absorption: water swallows, erases boundaries, and offers rest through dissolution. It is the drowning of exhaustion, of someone who wishes to return to the womb of stillness. On the balcony, however, the element shifts to air — the emptiness between life and death. Falling from a high place is the asphyxiation: the lungs collapse not by immersion but by void. Both gestures — walking into the waves and leaning over the railing — spring from the same inner logic: the unbearable weight of pain and expectation. But if water and air unite, they create clouds (chapter 38) — the very image that defines Kim Dan’s being. The clouds on his phone screen are not incidental; they reflect his essence. A cloud has no home, no fixed form, forever moving, dissolving, reforming — just like the doctor’s life, endlessly displaced and redefined by others’ expectations. Clouds embody both dream and danger: they promise transcendence but conceal the storm. Besides, a cloud can fall as rain, return to the ocean, or vanish into the sky — an image of the soul that oscillates between grounding and escape.

As soon as I made this connection, I couldn’t help myself thinking of the painting in the background of chapter 37: (chapter 37) Behind the champion, the Golden Gate Bridge stands as a silent witness — a place where many have ended their lives by leaping into the void between air and water. The bridge fuses both symbols: it is where drowning and falling meet. Moreover, the bridge embodies the connection of two worlds. This backdrop, unnoticed by the protagonists themselves, prefigures the later arcs. Joo Jaekyung is the one standing between the bridge and the physical therapist. It was, as if the author was already announcing the huge depression doc Dan would face in the future. At the same time, I came to wonder if the unconscious suicidal attempts from Doc Dan were actually revealing the biggest secret in his life: the suicide of his parents and their death could be linked to a bridge. Striking is that while the members of Team Black were partying (chapter 37), death was standing behind the celebrity and this reminded me of the champion’s last genuine smile (chapter 73) before he discovered Joo Jaewoong’s corpse. The bridge thus becomes a metaphor for invisible grief: joy and pain occurring simultaneously, one masking the other. And keep in mind that according to my theory, the picture of Dan with his grandmother is hiding a tragedy. This would explain why doc Dan is so obsessed with this picture: (chapter 47) The smiles here are hiding the past reality.

But let’s return our attention to the champion’s vision in episode 79. In that same duality (water/air) lies salvation. (chapter 79) The dream that wakes Jaekyung is not a nightmare but a revelation. He senses that the smirk is not the reality, but also the mask hiding misery. The greeting from the smiling Dan (chapter 79) — so unlike his real, exhausted self — is a vision of peace, of love unburdened by fear, while this grin exposes the truth. The dream, the realm of clouds, becomes a stage where the wolf shows and learns tenderness. The dream’s fear and indirect self-reproach (chapter 79) becomes action; remorse (chapter 79) turns into rescue.

That’s how I noticed that so far, the champion never greeted his room mate with a good morning and smile in the morning. (chapter 41) In other words, the dream is giving him clues as well how to behave: not only greeting, but also talking. What caught my attention is that during their two last breakfasts together (chapter 68), they didn’t talk at all (chapter 79) which contrasts to the star’s vision.

In the dream, he had fallen to his knees — a gesture of humility and unspoken remorse. Yet in reality, the fall takes a gentler form. (chapter 79) He does not kneel; he sits, his body settling softly against the floor as he catches Dan in his arms. The man once associated with dominance becomes a cushion, a pillow, a living anchor. His strength, once used to impose weight, now exists to absorb it. The fall is not toward repentance through pain, but toward tenderness through stillness.

This inversion transforms descent into grounding. The wolf who once incited Dan to kneel (chapter 11) now becomes the one who receives the collapse. (chapter 79) His body — no longer an instrument of violence — turns into safety itself. In that moment, he is neither fighter nor emperor, but a quiet surface where another can rest. The fall that once signified defeat now marks awakening: the champion’s muscles, built for battle, finally serve their true purpose — to hold, not to harm; to bear, to protect, not to break.

The Mercy Of The False Saint

That’s how I detected another pattern. Kim Dan’s speech is tethered to touch — every genuine confession or plea emerges only when he is held. Physical contact functions as emotional permission: the body grants what words alone cannot. His first “I love you” (chapter 39) escapes him in an embrace; his (chapter 66) (chapter 66) trembles out against Jaekyung’s chest; his (chapter 79) is whispered while clinging to the same body. Even as a child (chapter 57), he could only confide while being physically comforted. The grandmother’s embrace in chapter 57 becomes the prototype of this pattern — the last instance of safety tied to voice. Yet, crucially, that embrace was conditional and silencing. She soothed him but redirected his pain: (chapter 57) Instead of validating his pain and terrible experience, she absorbed it into her own narrative of endurance. The physical comfort coexisted with emotional invalidation — he was held but not heard.

And this interpretation (the touch is triggering the doctor’s desire for communication) got even corroborated by the latest episode. (chapter 80) The moment the star was holding doc Dan’s hands, the latter started voicing more his emotions (fears, displeasure). (chapter 80) When Jaekyung takes his hands in the swimming pool, the gesture revives this primal language of reassurance. For the first time, the touch is neither coercive nor desperate; it’s sustaining. The handhold reverses the earlier dynamic — instead of silencing him, it gives him permission to speak. Furthermore, the champion is pointing out that he can rely on two things, the champion’s hands and the kickboard belt. This stands in opposition to the fake promise of Shin Okja. (chapter 57) (chapter 57) In other words, he is inciting the doctor to trust himself more and become independent. (chapter 80) (chapter 80) The champion’s words — “If you ever end up in the water, you can come back to shore as long as you know how to swim” — stand in quiet but radical opposition to the grandmother’s old reassurance: “You still have me.”
Both statements aim to comfort, yet they embody two entirely different philosophies of love. Shin Okja’s version of care was possession and control disguised as protection. Her “You still have me” offers solace by denying reality — her own mortality and it erased the boy’s suffering and loss and his capacity to cope. It promises stability but at the cost of autonomy: he is safe only through her. Love, in her logic, means dependence. Jaekyung’s line, by contrast, offers trust instead of control. (chapter 80) His comfort does not deny danger — he acknowledges the possibility of falling into the water — but he links survival to skill, not assistance and dependency. His statement affirms Dan’s agency: he can save himself. Once he can swim, he is strong enough. Where the grandmother sought to replace the absent parents (chapter 65), the champion seeks to restore the missing confidence.

This is why the swimming lesson in chapter 80 carries so much symbolic weight. It is not only about overcoming fear of water, but about learning to float between love and self-sufficiency. (chapter 80) He just needs to learn and trust his own body and skills. For the first time, someone tells Kim Dan that he doesn’t need to cling to live. The wolf’s hands do not promise eternal rescue; they teach assurance and confidence.

Through this opposition, Mingwa traces the transformation of care in Jinx: from the grandmother’s pitying dependency to Jaekyung’s empowering faith. The very moment the wolf steadies his trembling fingers, the doctor begins to voice his worries and fears, words that previously only surfaced through sleepwalking or half-conscious murmurs. That’s why I believe that this embrace (chapter 80) in the swimming pool carries transformative potential. It is not merely a gesture of survival, but an initiation into honesty. Surrounded by water, both men are stripped of pretense. And observe that Joo Jaekyung is not rejecting the physical embrace (chapter 80) contrary to the past. (chapter 28) (chapter 69) The wolf, who once relied on dominance and silence, is now allowing his fated partner to hug him. (chapter 80) He accepts his vulnerability and struggles. In the swimming pool, the athlete is also learning to reassure instead of command. Dan, who has long associated touch with consolation and suppression, begins to experience it as safety and trust.

In that moment, their bodies speak what their words still resist: trust me. (chapter 80) The embrace might become the very impulse that pushes them toward verbal honesty — toward saying what they have long hidden. For Dan, it means learning to voice his needs and desires without shame; for Jaekyung, it means acknowledging his feelings without fear of losing control or strength.

But let’s return our attention to the physical therapist’s childhood. (chapter 57) Dan came later to associate love with contradiction: touch equals permission to speak, yet speaking never brings resolution. His psyche learned that disclosure leads nowhere — the listener (the grandmother) offers affection, not change. That’s the reason why he came to suppress his thoughts and emotions and project onto his grandmother. Her way of dealing with pain was denial, rooted in her own fear of trouble and probably social judgment. From my point of view, it is related to the secrecy surrounding the family’s past.

Furthermore, for the hamster, the embrace is more than comfort — it is survival. (chapter 21) From childhood onward, being held becomes the only assurance that the world still contains care. When he woke crying and was taken into his grandmother’s arms (chapter 21), the patting gesture did not merely quiet his fear; it taught him that consolation requires contact. Yet this early lesson carried a hidden cost: it trained him to associate peace with submission and silence, and affection with dependency. Therefore the swimming lesson contains another important life lesson: it is about choice! Joo Jaekyung wants to be “chosen” by the physical therapist, hence he wants to conquer his heart. (chapter 80) That’s the reason why he can not change doc Dan’s heart and mind with the new clothes. For that, he needs to reveal his “weakness” to the physical therapist.

When the puppy died, Dan instinctively tried to recreate that lost safety. (chapter 59) His hand resting on Boksoon’s fur repeats the same motion — the pat once given to him, now returned to another being in pain. What he offers the animal is precisely what he has always longed for: warmth without judgment, touch without condition.

This explains why every later confession — “I love you,” “Don’t leave me,” “I’m sorry” — is born inside an embrace. Speech emerges only when his body feels that safety again. Yet, until now, the wolf’s touch has never been a true confession. The wolf initially held him through instinct (chapter 4), not intention: a reflex of possession, not communication. As time passed on, it changed, yet in the bathtub (chapter 68), Dan fell asleep against him so that he could never experience the athlete’s care (chapter 68); in the morning, Jaekyung acted as though nothing had happened. Then on the dock, Joo Jaekyung expressed his relief (chapter 69), yet he never explained the reason behind his behavior. Besides, he removed himself from Doc Dan very quickly. There was no continuity between touch and word, no bridge from body to heart. The embrace between them was marked by silence.

Only now, in the night of chapter 79, does that change. (chapter 79) The embrace that once silenced finally begins to speak. Dan’s trembling body against Jaekyung’s chest reactivates all those buried associations — fear, need, longing — but this time, the silence is attentive. The champion listens. The gesture that once merely soothed now confesses.

When Shin Okja finally apologizes (chapter 53), she frames her guilt in terms of debt, not grief. What she cannot say is: “I’m sorry your parents are gone, and I buried the truth.” Her compassion never touches the core wound. Instead, she redirects her remorse into pity (chapter 65), a safer, one-sided emotion that keeps her in control. Pity allows her to appear virtuous while avoiding responsibility. It transforms shared pain into hierarchy: she the giver, he the grateful recipient.

This emotional economy defines Kim Dan’s childhood. He was loved through guilt, not through recognition. Every tender gesture — the pat on the head (chapter 57), the hug after bullying — carries the unspoken message: “You’re unfortunate, but you still have me.” That is not empathy; as she is not showing any sign of distress and pain. In my eyes, it is containment. It keeps the child dependent, silent, and bound by gratitude.

Hence, her confession to the celebrity (chapter 65) reveal the same mechanism. The focus remains on her heart, her pain, her goodness, not on his loss. She centers herself within his tragedy. Pity becomes a mask for unacknowledged guilt — perhaps linked to the parents’ disappearance or to choices she justified under social pressure. Her “mercy” is, in truth, a way to maintain her moral purity at the cost of his emotional autonomy.

Through this lens, it becomes clear why Dan needs reciprocal touch to speak. Pity silenced him; touch, when offered without pity, finally frees his voice. This is why the doctor’s embrace in episode 79 marks such a decisive turning point: it is the first time doc Dan is holding someone and that person is taking his words and pain seriously. The champion does not silence or reinterpret what he hears; he simply receives it. For the first time, Dan’s trembling voice is met not with pity, denial, or instruction — but with presence. (chapter 79)

Finally, this moment also exposes Jaekyung’s awakening. Until now, he had followed the grandmother’s advice as if it were gospel: (chapter 65); “bring him to a big hospital so that he can take pills” (chapter 65) (chapter 65) He trusted her words and advises. I would even add that he believed that compliance equaled real care. Yet the night by the balcony teaches him otherwise. (chapter 79) Despite doing everything the “saintly” grandmother prescribed, Dan is still suffering. The illusion collapses: her mercy never healed, it merely concealed. Interesting is that she never brought up to the athlete the doctor’s loss of weight in front of the ocean. Yet, she had noticed it. (chapter 57). Everything evolved around his lack of sleep and his dependency on her. (chapter 65) However, in episode 79, for the first time, the champion notices it. (chapter 79) It is important because very early on, the doctor Cheolmin had already detected his malnutrition: (chapter 13) In other words, the physical therapist’s depression and eating disorder were already existent before meeting the “wolf”. And what did the mysterious friend tell to the “wolf”? He shouldn’t wait out of fear that he might regret it later! (chapter 13) As you can see, “sorry” is the link between the two doctors and the celebrity.

Thus, the “wolf” realizes that love cannot be delegated to duty. (chapter 79) What Dan needs is not obedience to the old woman’s script, but presence, dialogue, and trust. The champion must now do what she never did — look at pain without denial, listen without pity, and finally speak from the heart. This means that after that night, the wolf will gradually change not only his vocabulary, but also his tone and gestures. His metamorphosis will be complete with the birth of the kind and sweet Joo Jaekyung! (chapter 21) Imagine that I had written this part before the release of episode 80!

The secret behind doc Dan’s room

Another detail caught my attention in episode 79 which was confirmed with the publication of episode 80. Doc Dan’s bedroom has always been associated with illness and as such rest! (chapter 21) (chapter 29) (chapter 61) Hence it is no coincidence that while sleeping in his own bedroom, the physical therapist had a relapse. (chapter 79) Because the champion had come to the conclusion that his own bedchamber was linked to sex (chapter 78) and as such “wrongdoings”, the next day, he must have suggested to doc Dan to sleep together in his bed. This explicates why both main leads are sleeping in doc Dan’s bedroom at the end of episode 78: (chapter 78) This shows that the star is listening more and more to his fated partner (chapter 78) And though he had another “accident”, the former is never bringing it up to doc Dan. There’s no blame or accusation. The athlete is keeping these accidents as secrets. However, pay attention that he is making sure that doc Dan is resting. (chapter 80) Notice that he joined him later, acting as if they had not shared the same bed. Gradually, the champion is giving back doc Dan’s freedom and privacy. He is guiding him to take care better of himself by using his own words. (chapter 27) Striking is that the champion always chose the left side of the bed (chapter 79), while he came to sleep much better, when he slept on the other side of the bed: (chapter 66) Thus I deduce that doc Dan is destined to take over his grandmother’s position in the bed: (chapter 21) And this observation seems to be validated by chapter 80. (chapter 80) The star was sitting on the right side of the bed while watching his sleeping partner. Why? It is because he can see his face. But by lying on the left side, doc Dan came to turn his back to him. (chapter 78) But if they switch places, the wolf should be able to watch his partner’s face. And now, pay attention to the way Mingwa placed the new embrace in the swimming pool: (chapter 80) Doc Dan is placed on the left side…. and that’s where the heart is placed. Doc Dan’s racing heart is displaying not only the revival of his repressed affection for the champion, but also his desire to live. He is not truly suicidal, as all his attempts were unconscious choices.

The second “accident”

I have to admit that after reading this image (chapter 78), it was clear to me that the doctor would make a new suicidal attempt during his sleep walking. I was already anticipating him to go to the rooftop, thus the new incident didn’t catch me by surprise. Yet, chapter 79 gave us an important clue about doc Dan’s dissociative state (sleepwalking). They were all triggered: (chapter 79) Because of the champion’s cold gaze, doc Dan felt rejected and even hated. (chapter 79) He had the impression that he wouldn’t meet his “expectations”. Observe the parallels between the champion’s dream (chapter 79) and the doctor’s reply in front of Shin Okja: (chapter 57) We have the doctor’s fake smile which is strongly linked to rejection (chapter 57) and expectations. And what is the other common denominator? His self-loathing and immense guilt. He has the feeling that he is not lovable. In my opinion, doc Dan is suffering because no one is listening to him at all. So far, they all projected their own thoughts onto him. The reality is that doc Dan already had a hard time before moving to the seaside town, (chapter 11) yet she failed to notice it or refused to face his struggles, as they were related to their poverty.

Because he lived alone for a long time without any physical touch (chapter 5), he lost his voice and became a ghost. It is no coincidence that in this scene, doc Dan was silent despite the caress. He was avoiding any topic that could trouble his grandmother. He accepted to remain a little boy in her eyes. But thanks to the wolf, doc Dan is learning to become strong and independent so that he can decide about his life. The swimming lesson is pushing him to overcome his abandonment issues.

The Songs of Change

While I was on my way to visit my son ( a 6 hours trip), I listened to an old CD from French singer Jean-Louis Aubert entitled Ideal Standard. While listening to the music, three songs — “On vit d’amour,” “On aime comme on a été aimé,” and “Parle-moi” caught my attention. They reminded me a lot of the main couple.

If the previous night (chapter 79) marked the end of a circle, then the next day announces a new rhythm — one that no longer follows the tempo of fighting or guilt, but of tenderness. These 3 songs form a hidden soundtrack to this transformation. They mirror, with startling precision, the inner journey of the champion and his fated companion.

1. “On vit d’amour” — Living on Love

On vit d’amour / Et d’eau fraîche / On vit d’amour, de rien du tout…
We live on love and fresh water / We live on love, on almost nothing at all.

On vit d’amour FrenchWe live on Love English
On vit d’amour
Dans le regard des autres
On vit d’amour
Dans le mien et le votre
On vit d’amour
Quand il n’y a plus d’eau fraiche

On vit d’amour
Tout au fond de la dèche

Laisse le briller
Éclairer
Laisse le venir
Laisse le aller

Car on vit d’amour
On vit d’amour
Sous le bong et les pluies

On vit d’amour
Dans la boue et la suie
On vit d’amour
Jusqu’au bout de la nuit

Laisse le briller
Éclairer
Laisse le venir
Laisse le aller
Laisse lui vivre sa vie d’amour
Car on vit d’amour
On vit d’amour

Je mens, j’aime tant ta main


On vit d’amour
Et je bois à ta bouche
On vit d’amour
On vit d’amour
Toujours

Laisse le briller
Éclairer
Laisse le venir
Laisse le aller
Laisse à l’amour sa liberté

On vit d’amour
On vit d’amour
On vit d’amour
On en vivra
Toujours (2*)

Laisse le briller
Éclairer
Laisse le venir
Laisse le aller
Laisse lui vivre sa vie d’amour
We live on love
In the eyes of others
We live on love
In mine and in yours
We live on love
When there’s no more fresh water
We live on love
At the very depth of poverty
Let it shine,
Let it light,
Let it come,
Let it go.
For we live on love,
We live on love
Under the bong and the rain,
We live on love
In the mud and the soot,
We live on love
All the way through the night.
Let it shine,
Let it light,
Let it come,
Let it go,
Let it live its own life of love,
For we live on love,
We live on love.
I lie — I so love your hand,
We live on love,
And I drink from your mouth,
We live on love,
We live on love,
Forever.
Let it shine,
Let it light,
Let it come,
Let it go,
Let love have its freedom.
(We
Live on love, we
Live on love, we
Live on love,
And we’ll live on it
Forever.)

This refrain captures the quiet revelation at the heart of Jinx: love is sustenance.
Until now, Jaekyung has lived on adrenaline, duty, and pride — mistaking physical dominance for vitality. His meals with Dan were about nutrition (chapter 79), not communion; his affection, an extension of performance (chapter 79). Yet as the doctor grows thinner and more exhausted, the wolf begins to understand what “starvation” truly means. (chapter 79) Dan’s body becomes a metaphor for their shared deficiency — not of food, but of warmth. Although the athlete’s actions were all well-meant, he failed to touch doc Dan’s heart due to the way he spoke to his loved one: (chapter 79)

In On vit d’amour, Aubert contrasts material survival with emotional survival. “We live on love and almost nothing” rejects the capitalist or competitive logic that defines Jaekyung’s world (MFC, rankings, contracts). The line speaks instead to the simplicity of presence — the kind of nourishment that Dan quietly provides through care, routine, and wordless understanding. No wonder why the athlete failed to move doc Dan’s heart by offering so many clothes in episode 80.

This song thus signals the first shift: Jaekyung begins to eat differently — not just at the table, but emotionally. The wolf who once devoured life is gradually learning to taste it through love.

2. “On aime comme on a été aimé” — We Love as We Have Been Loved

On aime comme on a été aimé We love as we have been loved. English translation
On n’invente pas un sentiment
Les baisers donnent l’alphabet
L’amour nous griffe
Ouvre ses plaies
L’amour nous soigne
L’amour nous fait
On aime comme on a été aimé

C’est cela qui nous fait courir
De reproduire et faire grandir
Ce qui nous a été donné
Sans jamais pouvoir en parler
On aime comme on a été aimé

C’est dans les mains de nos parents
C’est dans les coeurs de nos amants
Regard aimé, regard aimant
C’est le plus clair de notre temps
Le plus obscur de nos tourments
On n’apprend pas un sentiment
Même si on veut faire autrement
On aime comme on a été aimé

On dit les chiens n’font pas des chats
Et que l’on est que c’qu’on connait
Qu’on désire ce qu’on n’connait pas
Un autre chien, un autre chat
On aime comme on a été aimé

Toutes ces secondes de tendresse
Dérobées à  l’emporte-pièce
Toutes les claques, les maladresses
Pour que ça dure, pour que ça cesse
On aime comme on a été aimé

C’est dans les mains de nos parents
C’est dans les bras de nos amants
C’est dans les yeux de nos enfants
C’est le plus clair de notre temps
Le plus obscur de nos tourements
On n’invente pas un sentiment
Même si on veut faire autrement
On aime comme on a été aimé

Et j’aime comme tu m’as aimé
We don’t invent a feeling.
Kisses give us the alphabet.
Love scratches us,
Opens its wounds,
Love heals us,
Love makes us.
We love as we have been loved.

That’s what makes us run —
To reproduce and to grow
What was once given to us,
Without ever being able to speak of it.
We love as we have been loved.

It’s in the hands of our parents,
It’s in the hearts of our lovers.
A loved gaze, a loving gaze —
It’s the clearest part of our days,
The darkest part of our torment.
You don’t learn a feeling,
Even when you want to do otherwise.
We love as we have been loved.

They say dogs don’t make cats,
And that we are only what we know,
That we desire what we do not know —
Another dog, another cat.
We love as we have been loved.

All those fleeting seconds of tenderness,
Stolen in haste,
All the slaps, all the clumsy gestures —
So that it lasts, or so that it ends.
We love as we have been loved.

It’s in the hands of our parents,
It’s in the arms of our lovers,
It’s in the eyes of our children.
It’s the clearest part of our days,
The darkest part of our torment.
We don’t invent a feeling,
Even when we want to do otherwise.
We love as we have been loved.

And I love as you have loved me.

On aime comme on a été aimé / On hait comme on a été haï…
We love as we have been loved / We hate as we have been hated.

This lyric exposes the chain both men must break. The author’s line suggests that love is not spontaneous but inherited — modeled through wounds and care. In his childhood, Jaekyung learned rather hatred and misguided affection as domination, silence, lies and endurance, while Dan learned it as sacrifice and appeasement in his grandmother’s care. Both were taught that affection or recognition was not free — through obedience, perfection, or pain.

Throughout Jinx, each reenacts the love they received: the champion demands submission, the therapist offers self-effacement. Yet chapter 79 introduces a turning point — they begin to unlearn this inheritance. (chapter 79) The unconscious apology “I’m sorry, Mr. Joo” is not submission; it is vulnerability freely given. The wolf’s fears in his sleep are not weakness (chapter 79); they are an echo of the love and tenderness he never received.

In this sense, Aubert’s line becomes prophetic: to love differently, they must be loved differently first. This means that b spending time with each other, they will learn how to love each other properly. This is the essence of growth: transforming the very grammar of intimacy they once feared. The story becomes a re-education of the heart — the rewriting of emotional syntax. And episode 80 is the perfect illustration for this change. In love we can make mistakes, but it is important to detect them and learn from them.

3. “Parle-moi” — Talk to Me

Parle-moi, parle-moi de toi / Qu’est-ce que tu veux, qui tu es, où tu vas…
Talk to me, talk to me about yourself / What do you want, who are you, where are you going…

Parle-moi, parle-moi de nous / Tous les deux, qu’est-ce qu’on veut, qu’est-ce qu’on fout…
Talk to me, talk to me about us / The two of us, what do we want, what are we doing…

Parle-moi Talk to Me
Parle-moi
Ce qui nous vient
Nous vient de loi
Ce qui nous tient
Jamais ne nous appartient vraiment

Ce qui nous tue
Gagné, perdu
Ce qu’on a cru
On en a perdu la vue vraiment

Parle-moi, parle-moi de toi
Qu’est-ce tu veux, qui tu es
Où tu vas

Parle-moi, parle-moi de toi
Qu’est-ce tu dis, fais entendre
Ta voix

Ce qu’on nous vend
Ce qu’on nous prend
Mais qu’est-ce qui nous prend
On dirait qu’on a plus l’ temps
A rien
Perdu de vue
Perdu tout court
Peau tendre, coeur pur
On dirait qu’on a plus l’ goût
A rien

Parle-moi, parle-moi de toi
Parle-moi de tes doutes de tes choix
Parle-moi, parle-moi de toi
Qu’est-ce tu dis, plus fort
J’entends pas
Parle-moi de toi

Alors parle-moi, parle-moi de nous
Tous les deux, qu’est-ce qu’on veut
Qu’est-ce qu’on fout
Parle-moi, parle-moi de nous
Avec toi j’irai n’importe où
Parle-moi de toi
What comes to us
Comes from afar.
What holds us
Never truly belongs to us.

What kills us —
Won or lost,
What we once believed —
We’ve truly lost sight of it.

Talk to me, talk to me about you.
What do you want, who are you,
Where are you going?

Talk to me, talk to me about you.
What do you say?
Let me hear your voice.

What they sell us,
What they take from us —
But what’s gotten into us?
It feels like we no longer
Have time for anything.
Lost from sight,
Lost altogether —
Tender skin, pure heart.
It feels like we no longer
Have the taste for anything.

Talk to me, talk to me about you.
Talk to me about your doubts, your choices.
Talk to me, talk to me about you.
What are you saying? Louder —
I can’t hear you.
Talk to me about you.

So talk to me, talk to me about us —
The two of us, what do we want,
What are we doing?
Talk to me, talk to me about us.
With you, I’d go anywhere.
Talk to me about you.

This is the anthem of the new cycle — the song of conversation.
In the beginning, Jaekyung’s language was pure command: “ (chapter 38) (chapter 79) ,” eat” . (chapter 79) His speech created hierarchy, not connection. Aubert’s plea, “Parle-moi”, reverses this logic: it is a call to dialogue, to mutual self-revelation. It embodies exactly what Jaekyung’s dream anticipates — the moment when he will learn to speak with Dan, not at him.

When, in the vision, Dan smiles and says (chapter 79) the tone has changed entirely. The greeting is not fearful or dutiful; it is gentle, open, normal — the image of domestic peace. The dream thus becomes prophetic: language, once the instrument of control, will become a bridge.

Aubert’s words — “Parle-moi de tes doutes, de tes choix” — invite the very vulnerability Jaekyung has never practiced. The wolf who only barked commands must now learn to whisper doubts. The day he speaks softly — “Parle-moi” — will be the day his transformation is complete. Moreover, observe that his repeated plea, “Parle-moi” (“Talk to me”), moves from singular to plural — from me to us. The pronoun shift is decisive: it marks the passage from individual solitude to the possibility of relationship. As long as the “me” dominates, there is distance; only when they learn to say “us” can love begin to exist as dialogue, not projection.

This last strophe, where me dissolves into nous, mirrors precisely where Jaekyung and Dan now stand. They share space, touch, even breath — but not yet language. They might be sharing the same bed, but they don’t talk really to each other and confide to each other. (chapter 80) So far, the nights were full of gestures, yet empty of conversation. Jaekyung would often command and Dan accept everything. Words, when spoken, were often either wounds or vanished into silence. Thus, Aubert’s refrain becomes prophetic: as long as they do not talk, they cannot become a couple.

The line “Avec toi j’irai n’importe où” (“With you, I’d go anywhere”) contains both promise and condition. It imagines a future that depends on mutual speech. To “go anywhere” is not to flee, but to move together — something the two protagonists have never managed. Their shared journey remains suspended in the present, circling between misunderstanding and longing. The dream in chapter 79 — where Dan finally greets him with a smile and a “Good morning, Mr. Joo” (chapter 79) is the first glimpse of this future tense, a promise that conversation will one day replace command. Strangely, this observation was confirmed the new episode:

For now, the song stands as both prophecy and warning: without dialogue, they remain me and you, parallel solitudes orbiting the same pain. There’s still no “we” between them yet. Only when Jaekyung learns to parler — not shout, not order, but truly speak — will me become us, and their love find a voice strong enough to last.

A Chanson of Renewal

Taken together, the three songs form a triptych of metamorphosis:

  • “On vit d’amour” teaches Jaekyung that love is nourishment and a source of happiness, not distraction.
  • “On aime comme on a été aimé” forces both men to face the ghosts of their past and their abandonment/trust issues so that they can love their partner properly.
  • “Parle-moi” charts the path forward — communication as redemption.

They are not merely songs; they are stages of awakening.
From hunger to empathy, from repetition to reinvention, from silence to speech — Aubert’s lyrics sketch the same arc that Jinx now traces.

If Jaekyung once fought to dominate the world, he now fights to pronounce gentleness correctly. And when he finally dares to speak — not as a champion, but as a man who listens — he will fulfill the promise implicit in Aubert’s refrain:

“Avec toi j’irai n’importe où” — With you, I’d go anywhere.

The biggest wish doc Dan has is to go on a trip and walk through the woods with a loved one. The old circle closes; the new begins — not with a punch, but with a word.

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.

Painter Of The Night/ Doctor Frost: Bad decisions ❌⭕

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 I am also using doctor Frost as reference again.  https://www.webtoons.com/en/mystery/dr-frost/list?title_no=371  

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.

Many manhwalovers were heartbroken, when they witness how the painter ran after Yoon Seungho in order to remain by his side. (chapter 105) Imagine that despite his rush, he was clear-minded enough to take the yellow scarf, a present that the noble had just bought him before. 😢 The item had more value than the mituri (shoes). Thus he was running in socks. His gesture displayed how much the lord means to the painter. He cherishes everything the lord does for him. At the same time, it indicates his heartache. He was so desperate and scared, for he felt that he was about to get abandoned one more time. (chapter 105) According to my follower @katamins, in the Korean version, this is what Baek Na-Kyum yells:

“My lord, let’s go together…you left me behind…let’s go toge-..

One might argue that the meaning is the same, yet in the Korean version, the artist is emphasizing the “we” by employing the expressions “us” (let’s = let us) and “together”. He considers the lord as his family. Moreover, by repeating the same sentence, (chapter 105) it works like a spell or a prayer. The artist is clinching onto this phrase hoping that the noble is remembering his promise. The irony is that the low-born was smiling like a fool, (chapter 105) (chapter 105) masking his anxieties and huge pain… out of fear that Yoon Seungho would still reject him. He acted, as if nothing had happened: he had not hurt his hand, and the lord had done nothing wrong. The smile became the symbol of his agony which reminds us of Yoon Seungho’s. (chapter 83)

1. Smiling like a fool

As you can sense, this scene was a reflection from episode 85. (chapter 85) This means that Baek Na-Kyum was put in the same situation than his lover who wished to keep the artist by his side, but feared to open up to him out of self-hatred and guilt. The painter could get burdened or horrified by his revelations. Hence the painter’s reaction at the end mirrors the yangban’s in the study. Both were or are pleading the partner to stay by their side,. (chapter 85) (chapter 105) Nevertheless, their behavior diverges so much. The aristocrat couldn’t raise his voice or become violent by using his hand, because he could scare the artist and as such break his previous promise. Finally, by destroying the music box, he had already witnessed that he had pushed his lover further away. (chapter 85) At the same time, since he had been taught that no noble should lower himself in front of commoners, it is normal that he couldn’t beg Baek Na-Kyum on his knees. To sum up, the noble had to restrain himself extremely, his face and words were the only way to show his emotions and despair. And the artist sensed it, though the lord was not weeping. The proof is that when the father appeared, the artist changed his mind. He was no longer willing to leave, in fact he chose to look for his lover. (chapter 87) This shows that through communication, the lord had been able to affect the painter‘s mind and heart. On the other hand, we shouldn’t underestimate the lord’s flashback and Na-Kyum’s conversation with the butler which played a huge part in the artist‘s decision to vow loyalty to Yoon Seungho despite the secret.

And this is the same with the painter. The first visible difference is that the artist leashed out his anger mixed with agony, thus he started punching his partner. (chapter 105) Then I noticed that contrary to his lover, the artist asked the reasons for his decision. (chapter 105) Why did he change his mind? Is he responsible for this? As you can see, the painter came to voice his guilt and the remains of his deeply rooted self-hatred. (chapter 105) He must have committed a wrongdoing, he is responsible for the situation. He feels like a burden, for the lord had to take care of him each night. (chapter 104) They are no longer sharing the same bed, the lord is sitting by his side comforting him, when the young man has a nightmare. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible that the artist was working in the backyard. (chapter 104) He wished to help, that way he wouldn’t be seen as a spoiled child. He has to justify his presence in the mansion. Who is he exactly that he is sleeping in the lord’s bed? I am suspecting that there is a rumor circulating within the propriety, a new version of this scene: (chapter 38) which I will explain more in details below. Thus the artist is making sure to cause no trouble to Yoon Seungho and the staff, especially the maids. Hence he folds the cover and clean the bedroom. (chapter 104) Then he washes clothes. He makes sure that he is no burden to anyone. Yet, my impression is that the staff is taking advantage of the artist’s goodness. That’s how they fuel his guilt and shame.

2. Ignorance and secrets

The irony is that the main lead was keeping the artist in the dark about his crime for this exact reason: GUILT. He didn’t desire him to feel responsible. (chapter 104) This intention was again verbalized in the gibang. (chapter 105) In the Korean version, this is what Heena says:

Heena: “So Nakyum doesn’t know a thing? Thank god he didn’t see nor hear a thing about that awful matter”

The painter is left in the dark about the massacre in the shaman’s shrine. The kisaeng and the noble are both following the principle from Kim: Ignorance is a blessing. They imagine that by choosing secrecy, they are able to protect the artist. But the silence and secrecy are the exact reasons why Baek Na-Kyum feels like a burden! He was not allowed to talk about the circumstances of his misery. (chapter 104) He was told not to question what he had heard… he should simply consider everything like a nightmare. However, this method is actually wrong.

“Keeping secrets limits responsiveness by preventing people from acting naturally and sharing freely. […] People who have studied the psychology of secrecy explain that secrets create “motivational conflict,” where the goal to avoid the social costs of the information being revealed conflicts with the goal to connect with others and maintain intimacy by sharing the information. Because keeping secrets can undermine social relationships, secrecy can lead to isolation and feelings of loneliness in extreme cases. Holding secrets also takes energy. It’s tiring, and sometimes impossible, to keep a secret. The exercise of will and vigilance in being careful with what one says uses emotional and cognitive resources and can leave a residue of negative feelings, like guilt.” Quoted from https://medium.com/s/story/how-does-keeping-secrets-harm-us-91978aefed77

Under this new perspective, it explains why Kim aged so much within 10 months!! (chapter 07) (chapter 104) Not only he knows about the lord’s traumatic past, but it is the same for the painter. In addition, we have another explanation for Yoon Seungho’s insomnia and dissociative state. (chapter 57) Not only the latter was turned into the scapegoat for the downfall of the Yoons, but also he was not allowed to reveal the incident, the so-called treason. Why? It is because if he had spoken, the truth would have come to the surface. He was simply a victim. And now, the schemers and accomplices are repeating the same MO. Who suggested to Yoon Seungho to say this to his lover? (chapter 104) Naturally, Kim, because he is now the only one in the mansion who knows his past. Besides, why do you think that the lord’s past is coming to the surface as a nightmare? It is because he was incited to repress everything. But since the painter is going through the same experiences, this is not surprising that the noble’s memory is triggered and the past emerges again.

Thus when I saw this image (chapter 105), I couldn’t restrain myself thinking of the lord and his past martyrdom. Keep in your mind that the artist share the same destiny with his lover. This means that a similar scene must have occurred in his youth: (chapter 27) Put yourself in the young man’s shoes. You suddenly witness how the whole family is moving houses and leaving you behind! This must have been terrible for Yoon Seungho. One might argue that Kim stayed by his side, so he was not alone. But it is false for 2 reasons. The white bearded servant had been working in the mansion (chapter 27), when the other domestics left the propriety. This was his memory. Besides, like the servant confessed to Jung In-Hun, a huge part of the staff got replaced. This means that the lord was suddenly surrounded by people he didn’t know. Because my theory is that the young man was treated as a male kisaeng, this signifies that the new staff could never view the main lead as a noble. Besides, despite the betrayal, the elder master and Yoon Seungwon were his real family. Finally, Yoon Seungho had no saying in this, and I can imagine that the reason for this decision was not explained immediately. This must have been a huge blow for him as well. He must have felt lost and homeless. The result was that from that moment on, he became more dependent on the butler. And we have to question ourselves what the butler did with this huge responsibility, when the elder master moved to the second house.

3. Ignorance and rumors

The lord and Heena assume that the painter has been able to repress this terrible night, and he knows nothing about the lord’s crime. But the moment whispers reach the painter’s ears, he can only feel terrible. (chapter 104) He is treated like a noble, while his lover is acting like a servant. Besides, is it true that the painter knows nothing? Let’s not forget that in the trailer, the manhwalovers discover the existence of a rumor circulating. But who is spreading the rumor and where? Since this phrase appears in connection with the staff (maids and servants) in the courtyard, I come to the conclusion that the authors of this gossip are in the domain. “Fellows” indicate that they are speaking among themselves. But I have two more clues proving that the traitors are the domestics. First, observe how they call the protagonist: Young Master Yoon. So far, people in town only calls the protagonist lord Yoon (chapter 45) (chapter 45) or lord Yoon Seungho (chapter 39) or my lord. (chapter 76) Only the staff addresses him as “young master”. (chapter 103) (chapter 103), and this since season 3. This coincides with the meddling of the Yoons. The servants treat him, as if he was not an adult, no real lord. But they are wrong, because he is wearing the topknot with the gat. Hence he is a lord. Finally, only people close to the couple could know about the painter’s tragedy. , because in the village and town, there exists another gossip: (chapter 104) Thus I conclude that the gossip from the trailer is spread among the staff on purpose. They wished Baek Na-Kyum to hear it so that he will feel responsible, especially after hearing this. He is responsible for the lord’s lunacy. Under this new perspective, it explains why the painter is leaving the bed and working. He wishes to prove the words wrong. On the other hand, I think that Yoon Seungho also heard a grapevine in the domain, but a different one: (trailer). “He has many enemies”. How did I come to this idea? It is because he is addressed as Yoon Seungho! By underlining the painter as his weakness, the author of this rumor wishes to separate the couple. If he were to place the painter elsewhere, not only the latter would no longer be targeted, but also the lord would have no longer any weakness. Since there is always a reflection within the same chapter, I conclude that a second grapevine was spread in episode 104. This happened, while the lord was away. Thus the painter smiled like a “fool”, when he saw the lord: (chapter 104) As you can imagine, for me the maids were the perpetrators, a new version of episode 79 (here, the woman implied that the artist was responsible for Yoon Seungho’s insomnia, thus the painter has a drop of sweat on his face, a sign for shame) and chapter 98 . To conclude, I don’t believe that the artist is ignorant. Besides, it is possible that he saw the trace of blood on his lover’s face, then remember what the servants told their master in the courtyard: (chapter 103) Finally, the staff has every reason to get rid of the artist, for he is the witness of their wrongdoings. They definitely played a major role in the “prank”. They didn’t learn their lesson.

But let’s return our attention to the comparison between 85 and 105. Both are also a reflection of episode 29, the scholar’s betrayal. The latter brought back the painter for his own selfish interests. (chapter 29) This time, the one smiling like a fool (chapter 29) was Jung In-Hun who acted, as if he knew nothing and had seen nothing. (chapter 29) However, I have already pointed out that he was present, when the rape took place, for he knew where Yoon Seungho would meet the artist: the pavilion. And what have all these episodes in common? The first thought would be to say: abandonment and betrayal. The painter in front of the gibang felt “betrayed” and abandoned, but what shocked the lord so much was when the artist started blaming himself: (chapter 105) He never expected this from his lover, as he desired to get the exact opposite. As you can see, the prayer “let’s go home” didn’t work, but the self-blaming had a much stronger effect. On the other hand, what made the lord change his mind was the reminder from the painter: their mutual love confession. (chapter 105) We have to imagine that the painter wanted to say that he regretted to have opened his heart to the protagonist. Thus he said this: (chapter 105) “I had known, I would have never confessed” Nonetheless, he never finished his phrase, for in reality, he had no regret!! He was sure that he had made the right decision. It is because he had pondered a long time about this. He had observed his lover. That’s the reason why he mentioned their mutual love confession and as such their promise to stay together. And this brings me to the next observation. All these scenes have another common denominator: BAD DECISIONS!! The lord had made the wrong decision to entrust the painter to the kisaengs. Thus he came to regret this. He had made his lover cry, and even wounded him, though he desired to do the opposite. Therefore it is not surprising that he apologized to his lover. (chapter 105) This shows that the painter is showing him what true love and loyalty are. Moreover, he is teaching to make good decisions.

But what is a good decision?

4. Good decision versus bad decision

I have to admit that the trigger for this essay was the new chapter from my beloved manhwa “Doctor Frost”. After reading the psychologist’s statement (chapter 246), I realized why Yoon Seungho suffered so much. Self-made decision implies a conscious choice. It is made deliberately and thoughtfully, considers and includes all relevant factors, is consistent with the individual’s philosophy and values. As you can see, it implies knowledge. This definition exposes that making a choice for the sake of another person without his consent or knowledge can never be a good decision. One might argue about this, because children are too young to make decisions. In Doctor Frost, this man (Doctor Frost 246) decided to support a terror attack, and justified this by saying that this was for his daughter’s sake. But like the counterpart pointed out, he questioned his decision. Was it truly his choice, or was he simply following the leader’s suggestion? As you can see, the daughter was used as an excuse, it was never for her sake. This shows that children are the exception, besides they are often raised by two parents. Thus they are making deliberations together. But like the author revealed in Twitter, Yoon Seungho’s mother hated her husband so much that she neglected her eldest son. The patriarch made decisions on his own, but observe that it was always for the Yoons’ sake. This means that the father never took his son’s well-being into consideration, he never asked him about his opinion. He imposed his will, but he listened to others, like we could see in different occasions. (chapter 57) He fed his son with the drug prescribed by the physician, though the latter stated that he had no idea about the illness. Then he listened to father Lee’s complains and reproaches. He never questioned the intentions behind his actions and words. (chapter 82) Here, the red-haired bearded man was encouraging the elder master Yoon to return to the mansion and claim his rights. Finally, the young master admitted this to the messenger: (chapter 80) If someone stroke his ego, he would follow their advice and never doubt their words.

Under this perspective, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungho became the bird of misfortune. He became the scapegoat, for neither Kim nor Yoon Chang-Hyeon accepted to take their responsibility. They had made this decision for Yoon Seungho’s sake!! (chapter 77) Since it backfired, then the protagonist was responsible for everything. And this is what Kim has always been preaching in season 1, 2 and 3: it was the best for Yoon Seungho, or Baek Na-Kyum etc. Nonetheless, since he let others make the decision, he was able to escape “responsibility”, thus the elder master Yoon was blamed for everything. (chapter 86)

The butler’s interventions are based like this: It was for the painter’s sake, or for the lord’s sake, or for the elder master’s sake… One might argue that the valet questioned the lord’s decision to send the painter back to the gibang. (chapter 104) But he simply employed reverse psychology.

Reverse psychology is a manipulation technique that involves getting people to do something by prompting them to do the opposite. Reverse psychology can take various forms, such as forbidding the target behavior, questioning the person’s ability to perform the target behavior, and encouraging the opposite of the target behavior.” Quoted from https://effectiviology.com/reverse-psychology/

And this is what father Lee was doing too, when he visited Yoon Chang-Hyeon. Besides, we shouldn’t forget the power of the grapevines in the mansion. To conclude, making decisions for the sake of others can never be a good decision!! Therefore it becomes understandable why the painter’s request in the study was a bad choice in the end. (Chapter 85) Yoon Seungho was coerced to open up. If he did not, he wouldn’t be forgiven. Naturally, the painter meant it well, yet the main lead was pressured to reveal his „bad action“. The main lead feared his negative judgement and rejection. We could say that the artist had made this request for the lord’s sake, however this was not a conscious and long deliberated decision. And now, you comprehend why the main leads suffered both so much!! Yoon Seungho’s mother neglected her eldest son, but she kept her distance from her husband. They never talked to each other, and as such never made decisions together. And it was the same for the painter. The kisaeng Heena was the one who made the decision without the noonas’ consent and her brother‘s opinion.

5. Heena‘s bad decisions

Secondly, making decisions because you were manipulated, can not be considered a self-made decision. And what did Heena do? She made decisions for Baek Na-Kyum, but she never asked for her brother’s opinion or her colleagues. She made her decision based on her impressions and belief! (chapter46) Even in season 4, she has not changed her mind-set entirely. (chapter 105) She is still viewing the painter’s decision as a bad choice. But she is simply wrong, for the painter listened to her advice and after deliberations, he chose to open his heart. His confession was not made in the heat of the moment. (chapter 62) The lord’s vision (chapter 62) became a reality (chapter 105), though he never expected to be like that: a gaze full of pain and anxiety. To conclude, this night in the barn embodies “bad decisions”. Everything the lord did was under the influence of his unconscious. His abandonment issues clouded his judgement. Yet, despite everything, the noble made one good decision during that fateful night: he chose to never let the artist go!! (chapter 63) Because the painter has always been betrayed and abandoned himself too, such words could only move the artist. There was someone willing to be by his side and to give him a home. Therefore it is no coincidence that the artist brought up these words from that night. (chapter 105) They left a deep impression on Baek Na-Kyum.

But let’s return our attention to the head-kisaeng. (chapter 105) Note that she employed the expression “believe”. This is no coincidence, for it displays her narrow-mindedness. Finally, note that in episode 97, her conversation with her brother was truly a bad choice. She lied to Baek Na-Kyum, she was extremely stressed, scared and angry. (chapter 97) And why did she act like that? She justified that it was for the painter’s sake, and she knew more than her brother. The reality was that it was for her own sake. She was definitely cornered, for she feared repercussions. Moreover, she pushed her brother to follow her advice. And now look at what the noona said in front of Yoon Seungho:

Heena: “So Nakyum doesn’t know a thing? Thank god he didn’t see nor hear a thing about that awful matter”

She is glad that her brother didn’t witness her conversation with Min (chapter 99) and her “fake death”, but as you already know, I think, he heard her during that night. Note that the painter didn’t meet his noona Heena during that day. Since Heena and the staff played tricks so that Baek Na-Kyum ended up going to the scholar’s house, it is not surprising why the staff is putting the whole blame on the painter. However, who is responsible for this? Naturally, the staff, Kim and Heena. The latter made bad choices blinded by her arrogance and prejudices. Thus I deduce that Yoon Seungho learned a good lesson in front of the gibang. He should never make a decision without consulting his partner. (chapter 105) From my point of view, both need to learn to make decisions TOGETHER!! But in order to do so, the two main leads need to listen to each other and communicate. And this is what truly happened in episode 105. The young noble discovered the painter’s low self-esteem and his guilt. That’s the reason why I believe that Yoon Seungho will decide to talk about the scholar. The lord suspects the learned sir, for he thinks that he is still alive. (chapter 105) This signifies that the noble will decide not to follow the noona’s advice: (chapter 105) But by learning about the learned sir’s past, the protagonist will realize that he only knew a side about Jung In-Hun.

On the other hand, since the head-kisaeng agreed (chapter 105) with the noona’s statement, the painter looks happy with Yoon Seungho despite the tears, it looks like the noona is slowly coming to terms with her brother’s relationship. But I have to admit that I believe that her “decision” is just short-lived. First, in season 2, the noona had accepted to let her brother stay at the Yoons’ (chapter 69) But then she had changed her mind after hearing the menace from the servant. However, I have three other reasons to expect a change of heart from the head-kisaeng. First, Heena is the younger reflection of the butler. The manhwaphiles shouldn’t forget that the valet had almost come to terms with the painter’s presence (chapter 65), but the ruckus caused by the kisaeng had provoked a change of heart in the valet. Then, the lord had made the following condition to the kisaeng: (chapter 105) The lord is keeping his lover by his side, as long as nothing happens to him. So if he gets into trouble… she could achieve her goal, the painter is returned to her. But the most important clue is for me the bowl! (chapter 105) While many jumped to the conclusion that this was the medicine sent by the physician, I had a totally different impression. For me, this bowl was used to write a letter!! First, the color is different from the normal “medicine”. (chapter 23) Most of them look dark brown and not black. (chapter 36) (chapter 77) Besides, it never leaves traces on the edge. (chapter 36) The points on the border are the traces left by the brush. She wrote a letter. And I have another evidence for this: (chapter 36) The painter used white bowls while painting. On the other hand, the lord wrote a letter during that time. As you can see, in episode 36, we have the combination of painting, seduction (touching) and medicine… exactly like in episode 105. The artist tried to paint a lucky charm, a tiger, but he didn’t finish it. He got interrupted… which is very similar than in chapter 36. So the letter should represent another common denominator.

This means that Heena made the decision to write a letter before meeting Yoon Seungho and witnessing their interaction in front of the gibang. Finally, let’s not forget that the kisaeng was always brought up in connection with letters:

  • Chapter 68:
  • Chapter 69:
  • Chapter 91:
  • Chapter 97:

Naturally, I can not guarantee 100% this theory… besides, I can not tell the content and the recipient of this message. And if this theory is correct, the head-kisaeng did something which will have repercussions about her „decision“: let the painter live with Yoon Seungho. This means that she will be forced to question her past decision. Was it made deliberately and thoughtfully, did she consider and include all relevant factors, or did she act based on her instincts? In my eyes, Heena has always made such decisions. Every choice was based on hunch, but more precisely influenced by her prejudices and fears. Thus she is projecting her MO (chapter 105) onto Yoon Seungho. Will she come to regret her action or not? One thing is sure, the painter accepted the sincere apology from his lover. How could he not forgive him after calling „Nakyumah“ and embracing him! (Chapter 105) (chapter 105) Both left the gibang together, while the artist was removing his tears. And this leads me to the final observation.

By forcing the painter to remain silent about the last incident, the schemers and accomplices are not realizing that their actions will bring light to Yoon Seungho‘s suffering and its origins. In other words, by burying one truth, they are digging another grave… the secrets from the first past!! (Chapter 76) By making the same decisions, it is not surprising that the same deed can never succeed. It was not a real self-made decision. They simply followed a pattern.

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 riddle of the enigmatic covers🔍🕵️‍♂️ (second version)

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.

The purpose of this essay is not just to interpret the illustrations for each season, but also to anticipate the future illustration of season 4. However, before revealing my new knowledge, it is important to explain how I came to develop these significations. This means that I will present new pieces of the puzzle “Painter Of The Night”. Everything started with this panel. (chapter 9)

1. The slap and hands

The noble with the mole had a red cheek and a bruised lip indicating that he had been slapped. Yet contrary to the painter, he had wounded on his right side. (chapter 1) This means that no one had witnessed the wrongdoing committed on the anonymous lord. However, it is important, because it exposes how a person committing a wrongdoing could escape scolding and punishment, even from the readers. There was no witness! Only an attentive reader could detect this. Hence you have the explanation why Yoon Seungho suffered for so long. There was either no witness or the persons chose to close an eye and remained silent. Since it was the negative reflection from Baek Na-Kyum’s slap and the main lead had used his right hand (chapter 11), I deduced that the culprit was left-handed. That’s how I could identify the culprit, lord Min. The lord was in reality left-handed. We could observe this in chapter 8 , episode 19 , chapter 33 and episode 43, but also in episode 76 , in chapter 96 , in episode 100 and finally in chapter 102 ! Yet, in other occasions like in episode 33 or 43, or 52 , he used his right hand! Thus one might argue that Min was simply ambidextrous. However, I can prove 100% that Black Heart is left-handed!😮 The evidence is the usage of the bow. (chapter 22) This is how a right-handed man shoots an arrow. On the other hand, we never saw Min using the bow. The bird was already wounded by the arrows, when the scene of the second hunt took place. (chapter 41) However, the manhwaphiles can discover the verity thanks to one detail: the bag of arrows. (chapter 22) As you can see, the bag is carried on the right side, but the arrows are almost touching the left shoulder. They need to be on the other side, since the scholar needs his right hand to grab the item. And now compare the position of Min’s bag. It is inclined in the opposite direction, hence the arrows are visible on his right side! (chapter 41) Thus the noble is carrying the bag (chapter 41) differently from the painter too. (chapter 22) Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Byeonduck never showed the Joker’s hunting skills. People would have noticed that he is left-handed immediately. She made sure to hide this important fact, thus within the same chapter Min was often portraying as using both hands. In episode 43, he employed his left hand to pour the alcohol in the glass, but then he switched the hand(chapter 43), when he gave the drink to Lee Jihwa.

This raised the following question. Why is he ambidextrous, though he prefers his left hand? It is because he has been conditioned to use his right hand. In Latin, sinister means left. This explicates why left is associated to sinister, dark and bad omen. Thus there exists this superstition that being left-handed is evil or a bad sign!! Till the end of the 20th Century, people in Europe were encouraged to write with their right hand. And now, if you compare all the scenes, where he employed his left-hand, you will detect that he was acting under the influence of his subconscious. In chapter 8, he was lusting after the painter; explicating why he got mad at his friend. Because of his nagging, Min could no longer ask his host to let the painter join the sex party. Therefore it is no coincidence that he slapped his friend with his left hand. Finally, we never saw his departure from the bedchamber! (chapter 9) Here, he was still present, but even before the end of the sex session, he had already vanished. (chapter 9) Finally, when the noble with the mole visited Lee Jihwa, the latter claimed that he had spent a long time at Yoon Seungho’s. (chapter 9), and his friend never denied it. As you can see, the characters made sure to confuse the readers with the change of the chronology. As you can see, it took me a long time before noticing the bruised face (only during season 3), then to bring up the conclusive evidence that Min was the culprit of the slap. Then in the shaman’s house, he took the dildo with his left hand, because he was angry and frustrated. (chapter 100) With the same hand, he pushed Jihwa (chapter 100) too. This shows that he could barely control himself here. And once he faced the main lead’s sword, he got so scared that he showed Jung In-Hun’s glasses with his left hand again. (chapter 102) Due to stress and his strong emotions, he exposed his true self, but since the readers were more focused on the actions and Min’s punishment, they never paid attention to his hand. This contrasts so much to the way the author portrayed Yoon Seungho. She often zoomed on his hands. (chapter 92) The irony is that in this scene, the main lead employed his left hand too, the positive reflection from the night in the pavilion (chapter 43). While here it was to bring him back to reality, in the pavilion, the Joker had the opposite intention: to lure Lee Jihwa to believe in illusions. (chapter 43).

Why did she confuse the readers then? It was to hide an important information, the culprit is left-handed!! And now it is necessary to examine the lord’s nightmare.

2. The hand in the nightmare

If you read my previous analyses about the visions, you are aware of my following observation. The visions represent not only memories, but also predictions. (chapter 74) They announce the future events, though the information is not given properly. On the other hand, since they are memories either, this signifies that they contain insight about the lord’s tragedy. Thus I noticed that the anonymous perpetrator used his left hand to grab his hanbok!! I deduced that the perpetrator in the past is also left-handed!! Secondly, since this vision can also be seen as the announcement of the painter’s second kidnapping, this is no coincidence that Byeonduck created such panels during the painter’s last torment. (chapter 99) However, in the shaman’s temple, Black Heart grabbed Baek Na-Kyum with his right hand. He was trying to manipulate the artist, he was acting. He was not showing his true self. Yet, the vision was revealing the truth: the future mastermind of the last scheme was in reality left-handed!! It didn’t matter, because at the end, the main lead was able to discern the truth. He sentenced Black Heart, for he believed that he had killed his loved one! That’s how I realized why the author would focus so much on the hands and on the distinction between unconscious and conscious! The hand in Painter Of The Night represents the crucial clue to identify the culprits!!

3. The illustrations and the mystery

Because of these new discoveries, I realized the signification of the covers. In season 1, we had the hands in the illustration. The hands were revealing the crime committed against the main lead. The latter was totally passive in this picture. The hands are touching and unclothing the immobile man. It also shows that Yoon Seungho was at the center of the conspiracy, in the past and in the present! The painting in the background indicates the presence of a hidden painter. Thus Baek Na-Kyum was not drawn in the cover. The painter of the night was in truth someone else, the painter from the past! Nevertheless, the main lead was looking at the readers, indirectly at Baek Na-Kyum, the young painter of the night. This describes the arrival of Baek Na-Kyum in his life. Striking is that the painting in the background was destroyed… indicating that the portrayed relationship was no longer existent. This represents another clue that the lord’s suffering is linked to a previous relationship. Then in season 2, the author revealed Baek Na-Kyum as the painter, who had now become the target of the plot. Yet behind him we see Yoon Seungho’s foot. The latter symbolizes the main lead feared to get close to him, but he wouldn’t leave his side. Moreover, this corresponds to the lord’s impulsive decisions, he let his foot guide him. Thus during the first night of the failed gangrape, he walked towards the study and stopped unconsciously, when he was next to the room. (chapter 53) Due to his strong denial, he was strolling not realizing that his feet were under the influence of his subconscious. And it was the same, when he opened the door with his foot at the Lees’ (chapter 67) Nonetheless, I believe that the author had another reason to draw the foot in the cover. The foot prints are the evidence of the crime, and as such the deceptions and the culprits. (chapter 59) (chapter 60) (chapter 61) The shoes were the clues how to recognize the perpetrators and accomplices. That’s why I compared these feet (chapter 59) with those . (chapter 66) My avid readers are already aware of my theory. For me, we have two kidnappers, and one tried to kill the artist! To conclude, Byeonduck left the clues how to unveil the mystery from the past and the present in the illustrations of each season. The paper in the second cover is a reference to the forged letter (chapter 56), but also to the theft of the painting (chapter 56) and the painter’s break! At the end of season 2, he was no longer painting and in the beginning, he had also stopped due to his heartbreak. Simultaneously, we have the presence of water which serves as a connection to season 1 with the ruined painting and to season 3 with the well and drowning. The dark shades were an allusion to the lord’s darkness and suffering. The latter would come to the surface. However, since the cover only showed the lord’s foot, it exposes that the lord would not divulge his traumatic past. (chapter 78) In season 3, this time the main leads were facing each other, they were recognizing each other: their true self! But this stands in opposition to the deceased people without identity! (chapter 94) We never saw the face of the corpses, as they were either covered (chapter 97) or the manhwaphiles could only view the hand, , the back (chapter 97) or the clothes and shoes (chapter 100)! And since Min had disguised himself as Lee Jihwa, it was clear that the deceased shouldn’t be identified by their clothes, but by their faces. As you can see, season 3 was about the face and identity! This indicates that in the past, someone had been not identified correctly!! Why? It is because the main lead has long repressed this memory. He had forgotten his face out of fear and hatred. The only thing the victim remembers is the BEARD, and old bearded men! (chapter 44) And the nightmare exposed the number of persons involved in his suffering: 4 men!! Here, we have 3 men, and don’t forget the left hand from before. (chapter 74) But if I include the painting, then I come to 6 people: the patriach Yoon Chang-Hyeon and the king. This coincides with the cover from season 1: 3 hands indicates 3 people and we have two lovers in the background. Moreover, we shouldn’t forget the peeper, the person Yoon Seungho was looking at. Hence we have 6 people involved in the conspiracy.

But what caught my attention is that the illustration of season 2 and 3 are showing locations: the painter’s study and the bedchamber. Thus I conclude that Byeonduck was revealing the places where a crime was committed in the past and in the present. In the study, the painter lost his virginity, he was bullied or slapped, while in the past, Lee Jihwa stole Yoon Seungho’s first kiss. So in my opinion, the illustration for season 4 should be the gibang, unless we assume that the cover of season 1 is a reference to the kisaeng house! (chapter 1) Anyway, from my point of view, the cover of season 4 should indicate a location which is connected to the town. Why? It is because now I am suspecting commoners to be involved in the lord’s suffering. I have already expressed my theories about Kim, the guard blacks, Heena and the physician. But there are more suspects! Moreover, observe that the kisaeng house is not only visited by aristocrats, but also by commoners. (chapter 99) That’s the reason why I am anticipating a cover with the gibang. It would be the perfect place to find closure for the couple. It is a place where both suffered. Moreover, I think, belongings should serve as an evidence for the identification of the schemers and accomplices. Remember that we had the glasses as the evidence of a murder in season 3, yet I am sensing that the possession should serve to identify the perpetrators from the past and the present. Since the clothes were used to confuse people in season 3, I am assuming that in season 4, they should help to recognize people, but at the same time, it is totally possible that our main leads decide to employ the same method to fool the schemers and accomplices. And now, we have the cover for season 4. Both protagonists are not only facing each other, but also touching each other. They are no longer hiding their emotions and thoughts. This image represents the opposite to the other seasons. At the same time, the author is again referring to the bedchamber indicating that this place is strongly connected to the protagonists’ suffering. On the other side, since the painter is wearing a silk white shirt, it implies that he is not a commoner. This panel indicates that the main lead was able to the true owner of the study and even bed. However, due to the tears, the beholder can sense that this season will be painful as well. Striking is that in the cover, they were either alone, or they were just looking at each other, hence they didn’t pay attention to their surroundings. Consequently, they couldn’t sense the presence of a plot and the schemers. This indicates that the couple is still not prepared to face new schemes. To sum up, the author selected such covers because she had planned to leave clues there about the mystery! But wait… I had outlined that the person who grabbed the young master Seungho was left-handed, and he played a huge role in the main lead’s downfall and suffering! But who is left-handed in this story?

4. The mysterious left-handed

Naturally, I investigated the matter right away. My first suspect was Kim, but he seems to be right-handed! (chapter 12) (chapter 56). But then I noticed that he carried his master on the left side. (chapter 57) Nevertheless, the person threatening the painter was right-handed. (chapter 66) and since it is for me the butler, he was not the person from the nightmare. That’s the reason why I am excluding him from the suspect list. For me, if he was involved in the past, it is because he lit the candles (chapter 74). Furthermore, don’t forget that in his nightmare, the author exposed the presence of plates with 3 candles (chapter 74) which were also used in the shaman’s house. Finally, in this picture, we have a right-handed person. (chapter 74) So Kim could have been the one silencing him with his hand.

Then I realized that Yoon Chang-Hyeon had also switched his hand. In season 3, he slapped his son with his left hand. (chapter 86) Hence his right cheek was red and he had a wounded lip. (chapter 86) On the other hand, at the doctor’s office, he employed his right-hand to keep his son by his side. (chapter 57). Why is there this change? The turning point was the prank in the bedchamber. (chapter 83) During that scene, the father slapped his son with both hands. First with the right (chapter 83), then with the left! Striking is that the author never showed, when the patriarch employed his left hand. The readers could only hear the sound, and see the result of the beating. Both cheeks were wounded. From my point of view, he was conditioned exactly like Min! He was not allowed to use his left hand, but the angrier he got, the less he could hide his true self: he was left-handed and he was a stupid and brutal father!! (chapter 74) However, note that this switch happened after the sexual abuse had started!! That’s the reason why I conclude that he is not the man from the nightmare. For me, the father is symbolized by the painting, just like the pedophile! So where is the left-handed person? So far, the fake servant smoked with his right hand. (chapter 37) On the other hand, I am doubting that Byeonduck will introduce many new characters in season 4. That’s the reason why I believe that the man with the pipe is the real schemer, as the pipe was in the annex. Since Min grabbed Baek Na-Kyum in the shaman’s house, I am more inclined to think that the perpetrator grabbing the young master Seungho by the collar was just an accomplice and not the mastermind. In other words, he was the helping hand.

And there are two persons left that fit the profile of a left-handed old bearded man. The physician!! 😮Notice that he placed his box on the left side and this twice!! (chapter 57) (Chapter 74) I don’t believe in hazard. Besides, the lord had his nightmare during the same chapter. This means that he could have leaked this information about Yoon Seungho to an outsider, like he did with the painter. As the manhwalovers can grasp, the physician is more suspicious than before.

As for the second person, it is none other than the calligrapher!! (chapter 92) Besides, observe that the angry man put the brush on the left side. (chapter 92) The man is left-handed! And what did Yoon Seungho do? (chapter 92) He grabbed him by the collar! Exactly like in the dream!! (chapter 74) Thus I had this sudden idea: the calligrapher could have been Yoon Seungho’s teacher!! The latter became jealous of the young master due to his talent and notoriety. Another possibility is that he was commissioned by the elder master Yoon to write a talisman, a spring poetry, as we have these writings on the door (chapter 44) or patio of his mansion, similar to Heena’s. And since the young main lead suffered so much, it is normal that he doesn’t have such believes. IT is also possible that the young master Seungho played a prank which made the man angry and humiliated. As you can see, I come to the conclusion that jealousy and resent were the reasons why he got involved in the first place. Moreover, we shouldn’t forget that the calligrapher is linked to the kisaengs! He even recognized Baek Na-Kyum, as he called him a peasant. (chapter 92) Yet, he was either perceived as servant, a noblewoman or as a sir so far! He was never recognized as a peasant. Since he could identify the artist, it is also possible that he was also able to identify Yoon Seungho. But he thought that he was not well educated after living as a male kisaeng for so long. From my point of view, the man could have decided to get revenge on Yoon Seungho and participated in his abduction and gangrape!! Thus his karma was to lose his home! (chapter 91) The fact that Yoon Seungho grabbed him the same way than in the nightmare is not random. It was, as if he was getting justice. Honestly, I am more and more suspecting that in the past, Yoon Seungho got raped by commoners! Naturally, I have not changed my mind that the king was behind this plot: to get revenge on the Yoons! Who benefitted the most from the crime? Definitely the king, as he was able to ruin their influence.

Finally, I would like to remind the readers that according to me, the tailor is involved in the lord’s past suffering. However, according to me, there exist two tailors. While the other called the main lead “lord Yoon Seungho” (chapter 39), the other only recognizes him as master Yoon. (chapter 64) This means that the latter knows about the existence of elder master Yoon. Like mentioned above, the calligrapher, the physician, the tailor, the fake servant and the “shaman” from chapter 29 have all one thing in common: the beard!!

5. The other accomplices: the hanbok and the beards

Byeonduck left pieces of the puzzle in the covers in order to unveil the truth about the past and the present. Hence the moment the illustration is released, try to examine it attentively. It definitely gives clues about the evolution of the story, and the evidences concerning the perpetrators and helping hands. My recent discoveries led me to develop the following theory: the involvement of merchants. This man (chapter 83) disguised himself and hide his true identity behind “lord Song”. But is he the king or someone else? He was definitely a pedophile, but since we can’t see his face, it is not certain that it was the king. (chapter 83) Striking is that he is not “smoking here”, yet I had outlined that one abuser was a heavy smoker due to Yoon Seungho’s behavior. (chapter 83) On the other hand, I discovered that the man with the green hanbok was smoking! And why doesn’t the patriarch suspect the king behind the plot? It is because he was never officially banished or sent to exile. Thus he explains his desertion from the mansion as an absence. (chapter 86) Let’s not forget that in season 3, clothes were used to deceive Yoon Seungho, and the authorities played along. Besides, as the painter had become the love interest of Yoon Seungho and Black Heart, it is very likely that in the past, the victim was exposed to two different abusers, but they all hid behind the name: lord Song. Note that during this feast, one man had a moustache beard which is in Painter Of The Night the sign that he is no yanbang, not even chungin, the upper-middle class. He could be a rich merchant. Just because they are all wearing hanboks (chapter 83) (chapter 87), this doesn’t mean that these men belong to the aristocracy. Furthermore, Kim never said “nobles”, he just said “visitors”!! Finally, I would like to point out that since Yoon Seungho lived secluded for 10 years, I doubt that he had the means and the knowledge to be involved in the trade: (chapter 22) This theory of the participation of a merchant got even reinforced, when I made the following discovery. The wooden boxes in season 1 were present at the tailor‘s shop!! (chapter 39) Thus I am deducing that the barn in season 2 (chapter 51) could have belonged to the tailor or the owner of this shop. And note the couple was in the same position than with the kisaeng with No-Name in episode 51! (chapter 51) This was the negative reflection from episode 39: no penetration versus penetration, no interruption versus interruption, no rumor versus rumor etc. And this contrast clearly displays that the tailor shop is involved in Yoon Seungho’s suffering. And the best evidence for this is the nightmare. The main lead’s clothes had a design. (chapter 74) and the readers never saw the protagonist wearing it so far!! So where is this special hanbok? The latter is the evidence of the tailor’s involvement, as he had to create it. To conclude, there is a strong connection between the gibang, the tailor and the trade. And now, you comprehend why I am more than ever suspecting commoners’ complicity in the main lead’s suffering.

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Painter Of The Night: The secret behind curry🍛 , apple 🍏and butter 🧈 (second version)

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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You are probably wondering about the meaning behind this title, for until now, food never played a role in the story. However, all these words have another common denominator. 😮 The trigger for this essay started, when I discovered the expression “brown-noser” while reading another manhwa. The definition of “brown-noser/brown-nosing” are the following:

Brown-noser: a person who tries to please (esp. one’s boss) so much that their nose turns brown from kissing their ass. Quoted from https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=brown-noser

Brown-nosing: If you accuse someone of brown-nosing, you are saying in a rather offensive way that they are agreeing with someone important in order to get their support. Quote from https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/brown-nosing

1. Brown-nosing and boot licking

This means that the person flatters or humors somebody in an obsequious manner for personal gain. Striking is that if you look for synonyms, this is what you find

That’s how I discovered why Yoon Seungho started licking Baek Na-Kyum’s ass. In the essay “Painful departures”, I had written that the story was constructed like a kaleidoscope, thus it contained so many reflections. Each incident or notion will be reflected in each season twice and within the same chapter, just like there will be an allusion in the previous or next episode. One might say that in season 1, the manhwaphiles never saw the main lead licking the painter’s ass. So it looked like my interpretation was wrong. However, this is again just an deception. Why? It is because the lord was taking these expressions literally. 😂

The verb “brown-nose” has for synonyms “curry favor”, “apple-polish”, “suck up to”, “get on the right side of”, “to kiss someone’s feet” and “butter up”! https://www.thesaurus.com/browse/brown-nose https://www.thesaurus.com/browse/suck%20up%20to Under this new light, the manhwalovers can grasp the other common denominator between the “curry, apple and butter”. They are referring to hypocrisy, power and selfishness. However, in Painter Of The Night, these idioms get a totally new meaning. Yoon Seungho has long internalized that the exchange of favors is based on sex!! He had to do it personally. That’s the reason why he is taking the expressions literally and the painter is responding the same way. Here he is seen as a back-scratcher: (chapter 89) The lord’s back is covered with marks. Yet, he was not brown-nosing here at all, for he was rejecting the lord’s advances. And now, it is time to take a closer look to season 1.

2. Apple and fellatio

When I read the expression “apple-polisher”, I remembered this scene in the woods: (chapter 23) Baek Na-Kyum was seen holding an apple, here it looked like he was indeed polishing the fruit before eating it. Striking is that during that scene, valet Kim was interrogating him. He was acting, as if he was interested in him. It was, as if he was buttering up to Baek Na-Kyum. The purpose was to gain the artist’s trust so that at the end, he would listen to his advices.(chapter 23) However, the reality was that the valet was actually digging for information, spying on the main lead, so that he could create a new incident. As you can see, there were two apple-polishers in that scene, the painter and the butler. This was the reflection within the same episode. While Baek Na-Kyum was literally polishing the apple, the other was just cajoling Baek Na-Kyum in a figurative way. Yet, the former was not truly sweet-talking to the artist. He gave the impression that he was totally honest. And now, it is important to recall what happened to the painter in the next chapter. Jung In-Hun was kissing the painter’s hands.(chapter 24). He was flattering the painter with the hope that Baek Na-Kyum would spy on his account. But the scholar couldn’t succeed with his request. Why? It is because he only kissed the artist’s hands. He never licked his boot or his ass. We could even say that he did scratch his back, but in the wrong way: (chapter 24) In other words, he could never lower himself in front of the low-born. This was too much, explaining why the scholar failed with his request.

Let’s not forget that in the hallway, Yoon Seungho had made the following request to Baek Na-Kyum. (chapter 27) In exchange for saving Jung In-Hun’s life, Baek Na-Kyum was forced to do a fellatio. We could say that the artist was sucking up to the owner of the mansion. But the fellatio is not just an exchange of favors. It is also associated to forgiveness. At the tailor’s shop, the painter had blushed because of Yoon Seungho, The latter had embarrassed him. Thus the lord made the following suggestion: (Chapter 39) This was his way to apologize, though here he was teasing his lover. These were the principles he had been taught, therefore it is not surprising that he applied them for the painter. And now, you comprehend why in episode 71, Yoon Seungho sucked the painter’s phallus in the bathroom, he was also currying the artist’s favors. His goal was not to be pushed away, to be accepted. (chapter 71) He had wronged the painter so many times, that the blow-job was not enough. Thus he licked his ass in the bedchamber. He was hoping to seek his forgiveness. (chapter 71) It was, as if he was lowering his head, the kowtower. In this episode, the lord was on his knees in front of the painter, and this twice. One in the bathroom (chapter 71) and the other time in the bedchamber. (chapter 71) However, his nose didn’t get brown, as the painter is a pure and innocent person. 😉 That’s how I realized why Baek Na-Kyum was sent to the bathroom. His role was to divert Yoon Seungho’s attention from Kim so that the master would forget to ask for the butler’s punishment. In other words, the valet used the low-born to seek his master’s favors. This shows that Yoon Seungho had been taught that the blow-job and the ass-kissing are the means to obtain forgiveness.

And remember what I mentioned previously, the notion “suck up to or kiss ass” will continue to appear in the next episode. This is no coincidence that the author drew such a panel: (chapter 73) He was licking the painter’s foot so that he could keep thrusting. Don’t forget that during the whole night, he behaved like a servant… the one who was “sucking up to Baek Na-Kyum”. (chapter 72) On the other hand, the latter scratched the lord’s back for the first time during that night. (chapter 72) This was the reflection within the same episode, yet the “back-scratcher” was not doing it for his personal gain at all. We couldn’t say that he was currying favor or buttering up Yoon Seungho. He believed that he was just a servant and nothing more. From the outsider’s perspective, he was treated indeed like a favored servant, though in truth Yoon Seungho viewed him more like his new master and lord.

3. Baek Na-Kyum and Kim’s sucking

Episode 71 with the ass-kissing was the positive reflection of chapter 45.

Striking is that in chapter 45, we have an allusion to the teacher’s pet: (chapter 45) In this scene, the lord was acting like a teacher, and the painter was supposed to do a blow-job in exchange for a favor. But since the painter was heartbroken, he was doing it absent-mindedly. Thus the roles got switched. After the noble licked the painter’s ass, and masturbated him anal, the painter was able to confess his pleasure: (chapter 45) This shows that the lord was slowly “currying favors” to Baek Na-Kyum. And this is no coincidence that Kim brought the ink and brushes to the mansion. (chapter 45) Once again, he was acting, as if he was buttering up to Baek Na-Kyum and indirectly to the host. But the reality was that everything was done for Kim’s interest…. On the other hand, we could say that Yoon Seungho was not really different from his surrogate father, for in that scene, Yoon Seungho was more thinking about himself than the painter’s. Yet, there is a slight nuance, the lord was sensing that the painter was not himself. He was talking to him, so licking the painter’s ass was not just done in order to obtain the painter’s support. His true goal was to be noticed and looked by the painter. He desired to have a true exchange of thoughts. Interesting is that by licking briefly the painter’s ass, he indeed succeeded, Baek Na-Kyum started thinking about him afterwards. The irony is that Yoon Seungho was just applying what he had been taught. That’s how I discovered the other reason why the main lead is not suspecting the butler of treason. Contrary to Yoon Chang-Hyeon or the pedophile, Kim was never seen asking Yoon Seungho for sexual favors: no fellatio or no ass-kissing. But this is just a deception, for we could clearly see that the butler is connected to the sex parties: (chapter 33) (chapter 52) He was the one who separated the couple. Because of his intervention, the painter deserted the mansion and got sick afterwards. Then in chapter 50, he revealed the argument between Baek Na-Kyum and Jung In-Hun. Striking is that in that scene, he was standing on the lord’s left side!! (chapter 50) No wonder that Yoon Seungho got furious. Simultaneously, while Kim was acting, as if he was defending the painter’s interest and as such feeling sorry for the painter, this signifies that he was no longer sucking up to his own master. Therefore, it is not surprising that the lord scolded him. (chapter 50) In fact, he should have “buttered up” his master and not pitied the painter. And now, you comprehend why the main lead misinterpreted Kim’s behavior. In his mind, the valet was actually “apple-polishing” to the painter. He had somehow “witnessed” it in the woods. But he had misjudged the situation, in reality he had caught Kim spying. (chapter 23) Unfortunately, the lord was not perceptive at all.

4. The night of Yoon Seungho’s relapse

And this leads me to the following observation. When Yoon Seungho kissed the painter’s ass in season 3 again, it was not done for personal gain. (chapter 80) He enjoyed seeing the painter’s facial expressions and reaction. He looked so shy and pure. (chapter 80) However, during that night, three people were trying to bootlick someone figuratively speaking: the new version of Deok-Jae, Kim and the messenger. Let’s not forget that before the arrival of the messenger, the painter made the following request to the butler: (chapter 79) One might say that he was currying favor to the butler, when he asked the butler about the music box. But what did Kim do? He brought the item to the bedchamber. (chapter 79) But this is not what the painter had actually requested, since the butler said this “I thought”. He had taken the initiative on his own. In my opinion, the painter had just asked that the music box should be brought back to the study. However, Kim brought the expensive present to the bedchamber for one reason. He expected the arrival of the messenger. We could say that he was “ass-kissing” the painter in order to obtain his trust. Kim definitely imagined that Yoon Seungho was sleeping. As you can see, this scene was the reflection of Yoon Seungho’s action in chapter 80. (chapter 80) While Kim had asked the painter’s to clean his face himself, the lord was cleaning the painter’s ass himself. Or we could say that he was polishing the painter’s apples, for he has an apple-shaped buttock. 😂 This clearly indicates that Kim has never washed Yoon Seungho himself. In other words, while Yoon Seungho was totally selfless here, this was not the case for the valet. And this is no coincidence that right after, the new version of Deok-Jae appeared in front of the door calling his master. He was faking loyalty and dedication. (chapter 80) Here, he was acting, as if he was sucking up to Yoon Seungho, but his gaze betrayed him. In my opinion, he had been deceived by the butler, for the latter expected that the painter would open the door. This situation was reflected within the same chapter. Notice what the messenger said to the young master in the study: (chapter 80) He was implying that his father had to bootlick an official in order to hide the incident. And how did the lord react to this? He not only asked the servant to do him a fellatio, but also made an allusion to the sexual favor: (chapter 80) His father must have kissed someone’s ass. But as you already know, Yoon Chang-HYeon is not someone who will do such a thing himself. And this shows that he has definitely used his son in order to obtain favors in such a way. Yoon Seungho had to do fellatios and let people lick his ass for his father’s sake, as he was a uke in the past. This is not surprising that the messenger received such a beating in the end. (chapter 80) He gave an order to the main lead, he threatened him. But actually, he was just a servant. He was not treating Yoon Seungho correctly. Interesting is that he showed more courtesy and respect to lord Lee than Yoon Seungho. (chapter 82) It was, as if the man was hoping to obtain father Lee’s support either. Another interesting aspect is that when the butler approached the wounded emissary, the former was definitely brown-nosing. (chapter 82), until he heard that the scholar Lee had approached father Yoon. On the other hand, his introduction didn’t fool the courier, for he was aware of Kim’s meddling. (chapter 82) In my opinion, Yoon Chang-Hyeon had followed the butler’s suggestion. Since the painter would always sleep in the study alone, he envisioned that the messenger would suggest to the artist to meet Heena. The man could fake that he had been sent by his noona. He was dressed up for that reason!! Observe that the color of the hanbok is similar to this one: (chapter 94) Thus I had this sudden idea. What if the messenger was receiving his karma for beating the painter in the past? Remember how I had deducted that these two men could have been disguised as nobles!! And this new perception would fit my interpretation. But let’s return to our main topic. The courier refused the obsequious and submissive remarks from the butler. He was no fool, for he knew that because of his “plan”, he had become the biggest victim of Yoon Seungho’s wrath. This explicates why the author never revealed the father’s words, because the manhwaphiles would have discovered the valet’s plan and as such betrayal (chapter 82) This means that if father Lee or Yoon Chang-Hyeon are cornered, they could be forced to “ass-kiss” the king.

Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Byeonduck released such panels on Twitter: Baek Na-Kyum is now imitating his lover. He is also licking the lord’s boot/foot. However, contrary to the signification, he is actually making love to his companion. This has nothing to do with selfishness and hypocrisy. We could even say that at the end of season 3, Yoon Seungho had become the teacher’s pet, the yes-man towards Baek Na-Kyum: (chapter 92) He could never refuse his lover’s requests. Thus in the gibang, he encouraged the painter to stay in the gibang. (chapter 93) It was, as if he was seeking the kisaengs’ support. Thus he chose leniency towards these women, though the latter had insulted him. At the same time, he was not hoping to receive any flattery from the noonas. He was the one “sitting on the painter’s right side”. (chapter 93) To conclude, the lord had been “tamed”, he was apple-polishing Baek Na-Kyum, but not in a negative way. It is the positive reflection of Kim who will act behind people’s back, and definitely use sex for his own advantage. We have the perfect example with the 2 sex marathons. He always let the painter suffer in order to cover up his own wrongdoings. But by allowing the main lead to act this way indicates that he was not helping Yoon Seungho. What people thought as assistance was in truth “brown-nosing”.

Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungho questioned the painter’s fellatio in the annex. (Chapter 95) In his eyes, the lord didn’t need it, for he was already aroused. Remember in the beginning of the story, Lee Jihwa had to prepare his lover (Chapter 3) Secondly, the painter was in the position not to ask for favors, to suck up to Yoon Seungho. In their relationship, the low-born had the upper hand. Finally, Baek Na-Kyum had done nothing wrong before, so he didn’t have to beg for the main lead’s forgiveness. That’s the reason why the lord was actually rejecting the blow-job!! (Chapter 95) But his teacher taught him this: the fellatio is there for pleasure and sensuality. (Chapter 95) It is the expression of affection and love.

5. The night in the shaman’s house

In my opinion, we should see it as a reflection of Yoon Seungho’s past. Min was also associating sex to favors. (chapter 101) The painter had to do a fellatio to lord Jang in exchange for protection. (chapter 101) The artist was not acting like the teacher’s pet, (chapter 101), hence he needed to receive some lesson. In their eyes, Baek Na-Kyum should have licked their boot, sucked up to them… due to their power and social status. Therefore, it is not astonishing that at the end, they were executed. Why? It is because Min and the others could never “curry Yoon Seungho’s favor”. (chapter 102) Without the painter, the lord had no reason to continue living. Baek Na-Kyum was his source of joy and of strength. Without him, he was powerless. And this leads me to the following observation. Since we have a situation of brown-nosing concerning Black Heart in the shaman’s house, this signifies that we should have a reflection earlier in season 3. And now look at this: (chapter 92) In that scene, Min was indeed “flattering” his ex-sexual partner, while he was rather dismissing the painter. (chapter 92) He was also indirectly currying the lord’s favor. This was the reflection of the night in episode 52 either. However, contrary to season 2, Yoon Seungho had the upper-hand, as the painter had already sided with him. But one might say that this perception of “apple-polishing and buttering up” stands in opposition to my previous statement: sex is like a battle, a fight where there is only one winner. But that one doesn’t exclude the other, since Min had also tried to eliminate Baek Na-Kyum before changing his mind. This truly shows that we had two different philosophies, yet both were evolving around sex. This truly outlines that someone was “consumed by lust” in the end.

6. The Yoons

This means that Yoon Seungho can only discover the butler’s betrayal, when the latter no longer acts, as if he was buttering up to Baek Na-Kyum. But so far, the lord never discovered it. Even when he thought that the artist was dead, Kim gave him the hanbok. This could only reinforce the impression that Kim liked the artist. (chapter 102) On the other hand, Baek Na-Kyum is slowly sensing the valet’s disloyalty towards the aristocrat. (chapter 86) Since the lord could see through Jung In-hun’s true personality, I believe that it is the painter’s duty to grasp the valet’s treason. In my opinion, since he caught Kim having sex with the maid, it is only a matter of time, until he realizes his true personality. In chapter 77, valet Kim had thought that he could rekindle with the owner of the mansion, hence he brought him tea and the medicine. He envisioned that if he acted like a loyal and dedicated servant, he could regain Yoon Seungho’s support. (chapter 77) In other words, he was buttering up to the young master. But observe that in that scene, he never lowered himself in front of the young man. He didn’t go on his knees or he didn’t bow to him either. This attitude exposes the valet’s true personality. He considers himself better than Yoon Seungho and Baek Na-Kyum, refusing to admit any crime or mistake. In that scene, he never said YES! In fact, he kept contradicting his master. (chapter 77) Under this new light, the avid readers can understand why he contacted the patriarch in the end. He knew that Yoon Chang-Hyeon would listen to him, for he had been brown-nosing him for years. And the color brown of his shirt is no coincidence. Observe that when the father visited the mansion, he was wearing brown and red… (chapter 86) He envisioned that his elder son would return him the seat and as such he would become the owner of the family mansion again. Why? It is because of the main lead’s words in the library. His so-called respect towards the father was just fake. That’s the reason why the father imagined that he just needed to show up and he would get the mansion back. However, in reality, he should have sought his son’s support, and as such kiss his ass in order to achieve his goal. But the man has never done it himself. He has always been used to being fawned and ass-kissed that it is not surprising that he barged in the mansion. And this is the same for Yoon Seung-Won. The latter might have sent letters in order to obtain his brother’s support, but we can’t say that he was sucking up to Yoon Seungho. Thus it is no coincidence that at the end, the latter advised his brother to follow the father’s principles. (chapter 37) Here, he was implying that Yoon Seung-Won should do fellatios and other things in exchange for favors.

7. Conclusions

After these observations, I come to the conclusion that the sexual actions are not only reflecting the lord’s brainwashing, but also they are revealing what will happen in season 4. The more the couple will follow these principles (apple-polishing, boot licking, ass-kissing, sucking up, teacher’s pet, yes-man…) in a literal way, the more we will see the negative reflections of these actions in the other characters. The butler and the other antagonists will try to curry favors to the pedophile at the couple’s expense. And now, here is the question. Who will do it, fellatio and other things in exchange for favors? Yoon Chang-Hyeon? Yoon Seung-Won? Kim? Or Heena? As you can imagine, I am inclined to think that this should be Heena. Why? I can not forget the scholar’s words in the library: (chapter 40) Moreover, according to me, she used the young master Seungho and her brother to avoid sex. Furthermore, I would like to point out that when the kisaeng argued with her brother, this is what she said to her brother: (chapter 97) Here, she was referring to favors. Yet, shortly after she proposed this to her brother: (chapter 97) It is clear that the agreement was not selfless. No nobleman would spend money and energy for nothing. The noona was hiding the content of the deal to her brother, the negative reflection from season 1. And now, you comprehend why I am sensing that since her deal was to sell her brother in exchange of favors, her karma should be that she has no other mean than to sell herself in order to survive, as she is now on her own. And if this truly happen, this can only reinforce her resent and hatred towards the couple. But we will see, if Heena is the one “sucking up” in season 4.

Finally I would add that though Baek Na-Kyum kept saying “no no”, deep down he meant “yes, yes” and the perfect example was during the second Wedding Night: (chapter 73). But keep in mind, this is related to the painter’s education. He had been raised not only to hide his homosexuality, but also to reject sexuality as such. Naturally, in reality a no means no and nothing else.

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: Fortune-telling 🔮 (second version)

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.

After reading such a title, my avid readers are now imagining that the topic of this essay is a prediction concerning season 4. But no… far from it. In this text, I will explain the importance of fortune-telling in Painter Of The Night. But before going into details, it is important to define fortune-telling.

fortune-telling, the forecasting of future events or the delineation of character by methods not ordinarily considered to have a rational basis. Evidence indicates that forms of fortune-telling were practiced in ancient China, Egypt, Chaldea, and Babylonia as long ago as 4000 BCE. Prophetic dreams and oracular utterances played an important part in ancient religion and medicine. Predictive methods of fortune-telling include astrology (interpretation of the movements of heavenly bodies as influences on earthly events), numerology, and the utilization of objects such as playing cards, tea leaves, crystal balls, dice, fire, water, and scattered salt. Fortune-telling as a process of character analysis can take such forms as graphology (study of handwriting), physiognomy (study of facial characteristics), phrenology (study of contours on the skull), and palmistry (study of lines on the palm of the hand). Quoted from https://www.britannica.com/topic/fortune-telling

As you can see, there exist different methods to make predictions, but anyone will say that so far in the manhwa, we only had dreams or nightmares revealing the future.

1. The utilization of objects

However, this is not correct, for the lord had a vision, when he killed the boar. (Chapter 83) But what was the vision telling to the main character? The problem with visions is that their message is never clear. It is up to the fortune-teller. The beholder can interpret the hallucination differently. Here, one might say that the blood let Yoon Seungho see that one servant, in our case Kim, was working against him with 2 nobles: Min and Jihwa. It was already predicting Min’s death, for the blood pond was touching the noble on the right, while the other nobleman with the hat is not connected to the blood. The red-haired master only lost his topknot a second time. This is no coincidence. The vision showed that Black Heart would die by the hand of 2 people, Yoon Seungho the child and Yoon Seungho the adult. Thus Byeonduck created such a panel: (Chapter 102) The lord was in a dissociative state. In his rage, the main lead was brought back to his own past, when he was a victim of gangrape. (Chapter 102) He was acting like in trance, the painter’s bloody face had opened the Pandora’s box. (Chapter 101) Remember his confession in the bedchamber: (chapter 55) Simultaneously, this vision (chapter 83) could display the argument between Yoon Seungho and his childhood friend in front of the scholar’s house. The servant was the witness, and he got spared thanks to the red-haired master’s appearance. (Chapter 100) But if so, this means that the domestic will die, after his master abandoned him and ran away. Remember that the blood spurt is linked to the person without a hat. (chapter 83) Another possibility is that Min was shown in the middle, and he was the puppet of the two elders, father Lee and Yoon Chang-Hyeon. Note that when we saw them in season 3, both were wearing their hat. (chapter 82) (chapter 86) And if I consider that this vision is referring to Kim, then it already announces his doom. Another possibility of interpretation is to say that the boar embodies the king, which Yoon Seungho defeats by removing from his side Lee Jihwa and Min, both were used as tools to control and tame the main lead so that he would remain by the pedophile’s side. This means that the moment he executed Black Heart and cut off the friend’s topknot, he was finally able to escape from the ruler’s claws. And if the noblemen are referring to the elders, the message doesn’t change. The moment the main lead killed Min, he wounded the king so that the elders are affected, one more than the other. And Kim didn’t stop his young master, for the butler thought that with his suicide, he could finally free himself from his task of taking care of Yoon Seungho. With his suicide, Kim would be able to live in peace. He would no longer be tormented by the main lead’s suffering. In his mind, his suicide was the natural outcome of such a long suffering. As you can see, this hallucination can be interpreted so differently. And the more information we will get in season 4, the more precise the interpretation of this vision can become.

Then we have the painter’s vision in the mirror which worked like a crystal ball. Here, the artist saw himself embracing Yoon Seungho which he rejected. (Chapter 28) As you can see, blood and a mirror were used as objects for “fortune-telling“, though the main characters had no idea about their signification. While the painter rejected this “hallucination“, Yoon Seungho had the impression that it was real. Thus he turned around. He imagined that the two nobles were approaching him. (Chapter 83) I have always said that Yoon Seungho and Baek Na-Kyum are shamans, but they have no idea about their true identity. This means, none of them considers himself as a fortune-teller, though both have this gift. They have no one telling them about their skills, they can predict the future and even repel evil spirits.

Yet, the nightmares and dreams represent the biggest part of fortune-telling in Painter Of The Night. On the other hand, it is also possible that Byeonduck reveals later that other skills were used in the past (like handwriting or physiognomy), for face-reading was popular in Joseon (see for example the Korean movie The Face reader), and we have the lord’s beautiful handwriting. (Chapter 92). Keep in mind that since the lord wrote a poem in season 3, this means that he must have done it in the past too, but this twice. In season 1, he wrote one, when he switched the paper, yet it must have occurred before, for we had two circles, which corresponds to two full moons. My friend Luzyla brought my attention that in the whole story, Byeonduck only drew one full moon, and this in chapter 1. This announced the beginning of a new circle!! The third one and observe that the moon was far away, very high up in the sky, while the night sky was very dark. (Chapter 1) There was no moon light which I consider as a reference to the painter‘s absence in Yoon Seungho‘s life. Under this perspective, the manhwaphiles understand why in episode 102, Byeonduck drew such a moon. (chapter 102). Their trust and love had been tested, thus I am assuming that season 4 will be the beginning of the 4th circle, where the protagonist will face the main culprit for his suffering: the mysterious lord Song, the king.

2. Dreams and visions

But let‘s return our attention to the dreams and nightmares of the characters, which were reflecting the future. First, the readers can recall all the painter’s wet dreams. They all became true, like I had written in previous analyses. Baek Na-Kyum dreamed of receiving a love confession from Yoon Seungho and being called tenderly (chapter 56), and it became a reality. (Chapter 91) But the artist never accepted these visions, for he was rejecting sodomy and later he was in denial about his affection for the main lead. Yet this is no longer possible. The artist has already confessed and is determined to remain by the noble’s side, no matter what.

Concerning the nightmares, I am quite certain that you remember the lord‘s which is the longest in the whole story. (chapter 74) Here again, we have an allusion to the bloodbath in the shaman‘s house, for the position of the hands reminds us of Black Heart’s reaction before the main lead stabbed him. (Chapter 102) Nevertheless, I believe that this nightmare was already announcing to the protagonist that he would dirty his own hands, and kill people. On the other hand, the readers should keep in their mind that since the story is going in circle, the nightmare was also a reference to the past and Yoon Seungho’s suffering. But the aristocrat was not the only one having nightmares, the manhwaworms will certainly recall Jihwa‘s torment (chapter 50) and Baek Na-Kyum‘s nightmares in the bedchamber. (Chapter 34) and (Chapter 98) In the last one, he believed to see the scholar’s corpse. The artist had even an auditive hallucination. (Chapter 98) This means that a similar situation will occur. Someone will repeat Jung In-Hun’s words. (chapter 98) How could he be with the man who killed his family (for example Heena)?

3. Dream or nightmare?

However, there exists another person who had a premonitory dream, but I just realized it recently! In addition, you are wondering where this dream was. (chapter 45) Yes, in chapter 45!! How did I come to this conclusion? The first clue is the black frame. (chapter 45) Byeonduck always uses it in order to indicate that we are dealing with a memory or a dream. Secondly, in this scene we are supposed to see Baek Na-Kyum with his lover, both kissing tenderly, yet in the same chapter, the author let us see the reality of their interaction. (chapter 45) The painter was more acting like a robot, he was not able to procure pleasure to Yoon Seungho. He was not talented. As you can see, the introduction allowed us to see the dream of a fortune-teller concerning Yoon Seungho and the painter. But wait… (chapter 45) Who is who here? In this image, the artist is lying on the bed, he is recognizable by his slender and smooth leg and his thin foot. The lord is on the top, the beholder can identify him with his bigger and rounder butt. However, in the second picture, their position is switched. (chapter 45) The painter is on the top, he can be identified by his flat chest, while the lord is lying on the bed. Here, we see the artist showering Yoon Seungho with love, giving everything so that Yoon Seungho feels so good. One might argue that this can not be possible because of the lock of hair on the temple. Baek Na-Kyum doesn’t have one. (chapter 45) But don’t forget that we are here dealing with a premonitory dream. In my opinion, the lock of hair is implying that Baek Na-Kyum will be wearing a topknot in the future, similar to this situation: (chapter 87) This means that the person saw in this dream that Baek Na-Kyum would become the lord’s partner, and he would even be dressed like a noble (a topknot and white pants). Don’t forget that in season 2, he was still wearing grey pants and not white. (chapter 46) And this vision came true in season 3: (chapter 79) This is the same position, but from a different perspective. (chapter 45) But who has been foreseeing this scene or better said, who was recalling this dream, as it was a memory triggered by words? KIM! Don’t forget that he was present, when he heard this grapevine about the fiancée. However, I have more evidences for this interpretation. First, I have already pointed out that the butler was the one spreading rumors. (chapter 45) Moreover, it is related to the vocabulary employed by the commoners: black sheep. It is very similar to a bird of misfortune. Besides, who can call Yoon Seungho the black sheep of the Yoon family? The person behind this insult reveals that he knows the family very well. But why would he do such a thing? The reason is simple. This vision for the butler was not a dream, but a nightmare!! 😮 Why? It’s because it was announcing that Yoon Seungho would cut ties with the pedophile, his unofficial “husband”. Kim had made sure that no information about Yoon Seungho would leak to the outside for almost 10 years, the town folks didn’t know lord Yoon at all. But due to Bongyong and his loose lips (chapter 45), a rumor started that Yoon Seungho had a fiancée. Thus Kim chose to spread rumors in the village to kill the grapevines about the existence of Yoon Seungho‘s fiancée with another gossip. He used Jihwa and the incidents in the past… One might argue that it is not possible, because it looks like the rumor about the existence of Yoon Seungho’s sodomy existed before than the presence of a fiancée.

But please now read carefully chapter 45 again. After hearing this rumor, there was a caesura (the title), which we could judge as an indication for a time jump. Besides, this is what we see right after. (chapter 45) The owner of the stand is sitting and he has a white scarf, but in the next panel, the person is standing, and has a red scarf. (chapter 45) Moreover, the headcover on one player is much slightly darker. This is another indication that there could be a time jump between these two panels. But one might argue that the rumors about Yoon Seungho’s homosexuality were existing before the grapevines about the fiancée. (chapter 45) But not necessarily. Imagine, the butler had such a dream, and his memory got triggered, when he heard the commoner talking about the incident with Bongyong for the first time. But don’t forget that the man is a traveling merchant, so in the butler’s mind, the trader would leave the town and as such he wouldn’t be able to mention this to others. But he never imagined that the man would meet his friend. (chapter 45) In order to ensure that no one would take this rumor seriously, Kim made sure to spread the rumors about Lee Jihwa and Yoon Seungho’s sexuality.

First, we could see in chapter 40 that no one knew the lord in town. (chapter 40) His joke with the red dot was not even noticed by the woman and seller of the mirror!! Both were totally indifferent. Though he had made a joke, his action had caused no wave. Besides, we should question why the man would say that even dogs would know about his homosexuality. This implies the intensity of the grapevines. It displays that someone was deliberately leaking this information to the outside. Furthermore, one witness is saying that Yoon Seungho‘s affairs used to stir up the village… when did it happen? (chapter 45) Moreover, which affairs was he referring to? He has no idea about the masturbation in the tailor’s shop and the red dot on the painter’s face. As for Lee Jihwa’s humiliation, it was definitely not leaked to the outside as well. Besides, remember the comment from the red-haired master’s servant. (chapter 41) Striking is that (chapter 45) this statement was immediately denied by one player. As you can see, people were confused for one reason. Someone had spread a different grapevine as counter-measure. But why did Kim do this?

First, no one should be aware that Yoon Chang-Hyeon had been sent away from the family mansion. From my point of view, no one knew that the protagonist had been abandoned by his family and was the owner of the mansion. But this doesn’t end it. I have already pointed out the existence of a fake marriage between Yoon Seungho and the pedophile. In my eyes, the main character has always been the king’s ghost bride. The rumors about the main lead’s sodomy were there to ensure that no one should expect a marriage of the protagonist. The latter was already married, but the king can not claim him. And now, you comprehend why he has hanboks with designs. He was sending him clothes as a reward and a reminder that he was already taken. Note that he was always wearing a hanbok with a design, each time he had kept his distance from the painter. (chapter 34) (chapter 45) Here, Baek Na-Kyum had just returned to the mansion after his second desertion. (chapter 52) The lord had kept his distance from the artist for one week, though I believe that he still came to see him (chapter 51),(chapter 51) for the painter’s scarf was put on the way Yoon Seungho did in the courtyard in chapter 69. (chapter 69) And now, you comprehend why Kim criticized the painter in the courtyard. The lord would come to see him ensuring that he was well covered. The butler had every reason to view this dream (chapter 45) as a nightmare, for the king would get infuriated, and he could vent his frustration on the butler. He had not done his job properly. Observe that in chapter 45, Kim was acting more like the lord of the mansion, as he left the mansion without permission, he also bought ink and paper without the main lead’s knowledge, and even gave an order to Deok-Jae in order to reinforce his jealousy. (chapter 45) Now, I have the proof for this interpretation. The guardian was on his way back to the gate, so why did the valet ask him to bring the items to the painter’s study? Actually, Kim could have done it himself, it is not so that his master was waiting for him or had been requesting his presence. (chapter 45) Now, you are probably thinking that this essay has reached an end. But no… Why?

4. The other definition of “fortune-telling”

As you can see, this term has another signification which is not well known among people. In truth, this idiom is used in psychology. I discovered this, while I was looking for a word describing the butler’s mind-set. Everything started with this thought triggered by these two panels. (chapter 87) What if the butler had been saying the truth? He had no idea what was going on inside the room of the kisaeng house. But as an outsider, he observed this. Nobles were going to and from lord Yoon’s chambers. The readers had the impression that the young master was getting raped in the bedchamber. Yet, like I had pointed out, this is definitely not true, for the teenager was dressed. (chapter 87) We could detect the presence of a stock, this means that in the bedchamber, he was physically abused. And the butler could have jumped to the wrong conclusion, exactly like in this scene. (chapter 77) He had seen the kiss between the two boys, but because of Yoon Seungho’s smile, he had assumed that Yoon Seungho was consenting. (chapter 77) However, like mentioned before, the protagonist was under the influence of a drug. So in his eyes, it was, as if the young boy had been the one kissing Lee Jihwa. Because of this scene, he assumed that the two boys were fooling around. He jumped to the wrong conclusion that Yoon Seungho was a sodomite, something Kim truly abhors. So my idea was that the butler could have made the same mistake concerning the bedchamber: he made an assumption, and he jumped to the wrong conclusion that Yoon Chang-Hyeon was treating his son as a prostitute for his own greed and ambition. Because of these two expressions “assumptions” and “wrong conclusion”, I started researching for this. And this is what I found:

“As a therapist, I define this pattern of behavior as “making assumptions.” Some cognitive behaviorists call this behavior fortune-telling. Fortune-telling is considered a cognitive distortion leading to depression and anxiety. Cognitive distortions are irrational beliefs that have become habituated because they have been reinforced over time. […] Burns discusses the fortune-telling bias as “jumping to conclusions.” He states that people jump to conclusions because of impatience to achieve a resolution to confusing unresolved situations. In haste, people mentally make inferences without adequate supporting evidence. These inferences and conclusions may be negative or catastrophic, but people draw them in order to feel the situation is resolved.” Quoted from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/sustainable-life-satisfaction/201909/are-you-guilty-making-too-many-assumptions

Striking is that these persons fortune-telling are trying to fill the blanks by their own thoughts and experiences, in order to control their life, yet they have always negative expectations. This shows that they are motivated by fear. While they guess, they believe to know the truth and to know people, thus they can make rash decisions. And now, you comprehend why Kim always says this: “I thought…” And because they think, they know people, they don’t feel the need to talk to others.

“Assumptions damage our capacity to relate to others. If you are always assuming you know how others think and feel, you stop listening and communicating and leave them feeling trapped or misunderstood. And relationship difficulties, whether at work or home, can lead to low self-esteem and depression. quoted from https://www.harleytherapy.co.uk/counselling/making-assumptions.htm

This explains why Yoon Seungho felt so lonely in the end. The butler was not talking to him due to his mind-set. But naturally, he had other reasons to do so. He had to hide his own wrongdoings, he had made wrong decisions. He had jumped to wrong conclusions.

But this doesn’t end here. There exist 10 types of cognitive distortions, and in my opinion, Kim has many of them: All-or-nothing, overgeneralization, arbitrary interpretation/interference, selective abstraction, mental filters, jumping to conclusion (fortune-telling and mind reading), magnification and minimization, should statements, labeling, emotional reasoning, discounting the positive. I am not giving all the definitions of these types, for it would be too long. But you can read them in the links I posted below.

All-or-nothing thinking is also known as black and white thinking or polarized thinking. This type of thinking involves viewing things in absolute terms: Situations are always black or white, everything or nothing, good or bad, success or failure.2All-or-nothing thinking is associated with certain mental health conditions, including narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) and borderline personality disorder (BPD).3 Quoted from https://www.verywellmind.com/ten-cognitive-distortions-identified-in-cbt-22412

The butler only sees two categories: friend or enemy. There’s no between. Hence if there’s a disagreement, he will view the other as an enemy.

“Arbitrary inference is “the process of forming an interpretation of a situation, event, or experience when there is no factual evidence to support the conclusion or where the conclusion is contrary to the evidence” [1]. https://www.psychologytools.com/articles/unhelpful-thinking-styles-cognitive-distortions-in-cbt/

And this is exactly what the butler did, when he saw the two boys (chapter 77) He ran away, and didn’t question the boys in order to discover the truth behind the stolen kiss. There was never a trial, for he had already acted as the judge and the witness. For him, the perpetrator was his master due to his huge smile, but he had not been paying attention to Lee Jihwa’s facial expressions (blushing) and his actions. In my opinion, he was already expecting the worst in Yoon Seungho, though the butler was not conscious of this. He repeated the same mistake, when he went to the shed in chapter 63. He thought that Yoon Seungho was raping Baek Na-Kyum in the shed, which was not the case. He ran away too, thus he assumed that Baek Na-Kyum would decide to leave the mansion.

And now, you have the explanation why the maids asked this to the butler: (chapter 17) This is an expression that he would often use. We could witness this cognitive distortion (should statement) in front of the shed. (chapter 77) This explains too why Yoon Seungho is called a black sheep, a bird of misfortune. (chapter 87, labelling)

Kim doesn’t accept arguments, for him a quarrel is something negative, as he has the impression that his authority is questioned. He is overgeneralizing, for he views nobles as violent liars. Thus he said this to the main lead: (chapter 68) But here, like I pointed out before, he was excluding himself from this incident. Let’s not forget that he had been the one dragging him to the shed.

I have been describing Kim as a fake shaman for quite some time, and now this new discovery reinforces my interpretation. He is a fake fortune-teller, someone who has mental problems. From my point of view, he had already a negative attitude about the young master, when he met him for the first time. Don’t forget that he only served him for a decade, this means that Yoon Seungho’s downfall coincides with Kim’s arrival. In my eyes, it is related to the description father Yoon had made about his own son. Remember what he said to the doctor: (chapter 57) He had been ill, since he was very young. But the physician mentioned the good notoriety about Yoon Seungho: he was intelligent. Striking is that Kim has never mentioned this. Either he is not aware of this, because he only met the protagonist after hearing the negative comment from the father, or as a person suffering from cognitive distortion, he is only remembering the negative aspects. I had already exposed that this was not related to sodomy, for sexuality was not relevant, when he was just a child. From my point of view, Yoon Chang-Hyeon saw in his son’s questioning and critical thinking a problem. He was not respecting the elders, and Kim is definitely a reinforcer of social norms. From my point of view, the drug administrated was not to treat him for sodomy, but in order to obtain his obedience. We were all assuming that the visit to the doctor must have occurred after the stolen kiss, but it could be the opposite. Why? It is because the physician revealed the valet’s second visit which occurred after the incident in the kisaeng house. (chapter 57) And now, imagine this. What if the purpose of the drug was to make Yoon Seungho submissive? Thus the young boy was smiling, and doesn’t remember the stolen kiss. Striking is that cognitive distortion has an impact on memory, it can create distorted memories. And this would confirm my previous assumption that here, the butler was mixing two memories together. (chapter 65) Since the butler has always been expecting the worst unconsciously, I am suspecting that he is the one who offered Yoon Seungho to the king! That way, he imagined that his master would be protected, unaware that he had never been forced to have sex before. There’s no ambiguity that his cognitive distortions led to Yoon Seungho’s suffering. Hence the father and the king will be quite surprised when they discover the verity. Kim badmouthed the main lead calling him a bird of misfortune, though lord Song views him differently, as he keeps sending him hanboks with cranes and phoenix, asymbol for good fortune.

Due to his fortune-telling and mind-reading, the butler had never confided to the protagonist, he was never close to Yoon Seungho. I would even go so far to say that he even tormented him (see the flashback triggered in chapter 81). He had lied, for he had only told what he had already interpreted. The readers will certainly recall his MO: to mix a truth with a lie!! This is the evidence of a cognitive distortion, though in the past it was not done consciously. His so-called predictions were all fake, for he always made a wrong interpretation! This brings me back to the beginning of this essay. A dream and vision are difficult to discern, and they can have many meanings, but the valet only knew one way how to read them: in a negative way. And when it happened, the valet saw his false predictions confirmed, while in truth he had just mixed causes and consequences. Because he had jumped to the wrong conclusion, he had contributed that the tragedy would take place. Deep down, he knows this, but he is refusing to admit it. This explains why he is plagued by his guilty conscience, as long as the young man remains by his side. Thus he said this to the painter: (chapter 87) He was talking about himself here. For the valet, there’s only one solution: “Out of sight, out of mind!” Hence he hoped that the father would take away Yoon Seungho from the mansion.

5. Baek Na-Kyum’s role

The manhwalovers understand the painter’s personality and role. He stands for hope and change, thus his dreams are always connected to something positive. He stands in opposition to the valet. The artist’s role is to teach the butler a terrible lesson which he will pay with his life in my opinion, as the lord’s vision implied in chapter 83. Kim is just an ignorant servant. He can never make real predictions. In addition, he doesn’t know people at all. How so? Don’t forget that the painter is a butterfly, and the moves from a butterfly are never predictable. The butterfly can have a terrible impact on others, the so-called butterfly effect. Therefore all the valet’s schemes were always doomed to failure in the artist’s presence. (chapter 45) And the nightmare Kim had will become a reality, and this shows that he was never loyal to Yoon Seungho. Here, he saw the lord relaxed and enjoying his time, but this couldn’t make the butler happy for two reasons. He feared the king’s reaction. The latter would never accept being rejected. Secondly, he realized that he would lose his position as the ghost lord. The valet rejected this vision exactly like all the other characters, but this was pointless, since he is fighting against the gods. When the butler had a real vision, he denied its existence, he preferred his own fortune-telling and mind-reading. He envisioned that since these two tools had helped him in the past, he could succeed again.

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: Silent light 🕯 and noisy darkness (second version)

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.

As you can see, this new analysis is quite similar to the last two, as I am paying attention to sound and silence again. Nevertheless, there exists one huge difference to the previous essays. I am combining these elements to the darkness and the light. I had already pointed out the contrast between the noble and the painter‘s nightmare. While Yoon Seungho‘s bad vision starts with the appearance of the light (chapter 74), it is the opposite with the painter. (chapter 98) Furthermore, the silence in the noble’s nightmare took over the moment the candle was switched on. That’s how I recognize a new pattern. The combination between silence and light plays a huge role in the story, for it helps to unmask the traitors. Under this new observation, I decided to revisit certain chapters.

1. Lord Song‘s letter

As you can see, I am reexamining chapter 56, and more precisely the scene in the bedchamber. What caught my attention is that contrary to the other chapters, Byeonduck didn’t choose to repeat the ending of episode 55. (chapter 55) The chapter begins in medias res (chapter 56), which means that there’s no introduction, the story starts in the middle of the action. And now, it is important to question ourselves about the intention of the author. Why did she change her MO? I found the answer the instant I realized the importance of the two following aspects. The light… and the sound, in this case: HAA… (chapter 56) In the past I used to think that this scene had occurred early in the morning. But now, I am thinking otherwise. In truth, right after receiving the letter, the butler went to the bedchamber directly and woke up his master!! This signifies that this scene took place during the night. But how did he do it? He just needed to remove the light from the bed and lit other candles. That’s the reason why the candles are positioned like during the night of the brother’s visit. (chapter 56) Besides, the manhwaphiles should remember the way the room was enlightened, when Baek Na-Kyum was keeping company to his lover. (chapter 55) It was quite dark. (chapter 55) And strangely, the main lead could sleep comfortably. He was not plagued by a nightmare. (chapter 55) He could even sense the artist’s presence unconsciously, therefore he confirmed his affection for the painter. And now, you can imagine what happened. Once the valet received the letter, he went to the bedchamber directly and sent Baek Na-Kyum back to his bedroom under the pretense that he would take care of his master himself. However, the moment Baek Na-Kyum had left his side, the valet lit more candles (chapter 74) and positioned them far away, which triggered the lord’s nightmare. But why? It is because the light creates shadows like this one. (chapter special episode 3) Note that there’s no candle placed next to the entrance of the lord’s bedchamber for that reason. The noble only feels comfortable, if the light is situated close to his face, because that way he won’t see any shadow. Thus we have such a scene in the first season. (chapter 35) The candles are always placed next to his bed. And now you comprehend why the lord moved to the patio during their first night together. (chapter 38) He didn’t want to disturb the painter in his sleep, for he needs light during the night, but only next to him. This explicates why Yoon Seungho woke up from his nightmare right away, when the bougie had been blown out. (chapter 74) But how did it happen? Was it the work from the wind or the candle was extinguished by the protagonist’s heavy breath or was Kim behind this? Because I had no answer before, I had not mentioned this observation. Fortunately, my friend Luzyla came to my rescue and gave me the answer which I totally support. Kim must have intervened during that night, because for the first time, the nightmare was becoming more precise. But how did she confirm my suspicion? It is because the butler had this image, when he tried to convince the painter that nothing would change. This panel (chapter 87) represented the butler’s memory. This means that the butler must have seen him from the outside. He didn’t want the painter to discover the lord’s suffering. And it worked, for the lord never let this transpire to the painter after that night. And now, you comprehend why the butler had to make sure that the couple would no longer sleep together at the end of the second season. But let’s return our attention to episode 56.

So when the butler placed the candlestick on the commode, he caused a flashback to the main lead. But the valet knew about this. However, he chose to feign ignorance and must have said something similar: (chapter 34) The entire time he acted, as if Yoon Seungho was fine, for he was conscious. Then he gave the letter to his master and knelt far away from him while looking down. (chapter 56) On the surface, it looked like Kim was showing great respect to his lord. Yet the reality was totally different. He was avoiding his gaze and didn’t want to be near him. The butler’s attitude explicates why in chapter 86, the lord pushed the artist away. (chapter 86) The former has long internalized that he is scary and dirty. Yet the truth is that the butler’s gaze reflects his hatred, for he considers him as responsible for his own misery. Don’t forget that he is tormented in the presence of Yoon Seungho. The latter is a reminder of his own sins. To sum up, for Kim, the reason for his distance and avoidance is simple. He doesn’t want to be confronted with Yoon Seungho’s suffering, for he is refusing to admit his own guilt. The protagonist already knows about this unconsciously. Thus he hid his gaze the entire time. (chapter 56) The first “HAA” weren’t laughs, but the sign of a panic attack. Yes, for the first time the manhwaphiles discovered the lord’s health issue (flashback), but no one truly grasped, not even me. I had imagined that his heavy breathing was related more to pain and his illness. I only recognized the existence of the panic disorder in episode 66, though I was already aware of his PTSD.

In the scene from chapter 56, the valet was following his own philosophy: (chapter 86) He pretended he saw and heard nothing. But how can I be so sure that it was the night? Simply because all the windows were all closed. Thus Byeonduck drew such an image: (chapter 56) Besides, observe that there is more light in the bedchamber, when the butler entered the room later: (chapter 56)

Another important detail is this. Kim was supposed to fetch the medicine for his master, yet when he was kneeling in front of the lord, the manhwalovers can detect the absence of water or teas. (chapter 56) So where is the medicine? But this question only came to my mind, as soon as I realized that this conversation took place during the night.

And now, it is important to determine the purpose of his intervention. Why would he lit the bougies and awaken Yoon Seungho, fully aware that this would trigger a panic attack? Simply because of the letter from lord Song. (chapter 56) He wanted to wash off his hands on this. The moment he conveyed the message to the master, it was no longer his responsibility. If lord Song had truly sent the missive, then Kim could say that this had been his master’s decision to refuse to follow the request, if they were confronted for their disobedience. This means that Kim was lying, when he said, “I am sure lord Song will understand”. He was just expressing an expectation, but there was no guarantee that the mysterious man would be very understanding. In addition, one idiom caught my attention: “If” This was a condition and not a real statement. Kim never said that since Yoon Seungho was ill, he could refuse the invitation. This signifies that the valet refused to confirm the noble’s illness. It was Yoon Seungho’s choice to say if he was feeling ill or not. To conclude, he refused to assume any responsibility. And now, you comprehend why Byeonduck added a drop of sweat on the butler’s face. This was showing his discomfort and deceptions. The man didn’t want to be associated to the noble and become responsible for him.

That’s how I realized another aspect: Kim has always been acting, as if he was helpless. “He couldn’t do anything!” However, this scene exposed his huge hypocrisy. He could have comforted his master with words here and offer real support. He was totally silent in that matter. He chose to occult the flashback. On the other hand, he was definitely good at lip service, for many readers saw his words as genuine concern. People had even the impression that Kim was oozing responsibility, calmness and rationality. But this was not the case, deep down he was so scared, thus the moment the name was spoken, he had some difficulties to swallow his saliva. (chapter 56)

This explicates why at no moment, Kim was willing to protect Yoon Seungho. (chapter 56) The former would give him suggestions, but Kim never made a promise that he would help him as a witness. Note the absence of the personal pronoun “I”, whereas “you” is constantly used. The only time he employs “I” is concerning belief and expectation. But his cowardice doesn’t end here. Once he was asked about the artist’s whereabouts, (chapter 56) he proposed to fetch the boy. Why? It is because the butler didn’t want to be confronted any longer with the lord’s panic attack, though he had been the one to trigger it! But he didn’t care, for his true goal was to save his own skin. Should lord Song get angry, Kim could definitely use the truth to his advantage. He had delivered the letter right away, and the noble had been well enough, since he woke up and read him the content. (chapter 56) 🙄 Under this new light, I couldn’t help myself shaking my head, when I read this from the butler. (chapter 56) His words implied that the lord had woken up on his own, whereas in reality the butler was the cause for this. Kim knew that his master would never go back to sleep after their conversation. This explicates why the candlestick was placed again at the head of the bed. (chapter 56) I can envision that the valet had left his lord behind under the pretense that he should go back to sleep, for he was still sick.

Then I wondered myself why Yoon Seungho would read the missive loud. It is because he believes that the butler can not read. However, what he doesn’t know is that the man can read calligraphes. This explicates why he handed over the letter immediately. He couldn’t keep it, for if the invitation was true, he could have been blamed. And this is important, because in the third season, we have the reverse situation. Kim let the maids deal with the kisaeng’s letters so that if anyone had to become responsible for them, it would be the maids and the lord, but not him. However, as you can envision, Kim must have talked to the maid similarly: “I am sure lord Seungho will understand.” And since the butler got away with it in the second season, it was the same for the maids. Why? It is because it creates the illusion that the maids were taking the lord’s best interests into consideration. However, they had become the painter‘s companions. This means that they had betrayed him. It was not their position to act on their own. As you can see, the maids had a similar behavior than the butler‘s. What caught my attention is that the aristocrat was viewing Kim as accountable for the actions of the staff. Yes, this was the result of Baek Na-Kyum’s desertion and abduction. The moment he used the painter as shield for his own safety and to cover up his disobedience (chapter 68), his fate was strongly intertwined with the artist’s. But it changed, when the lord heard that Baek Na-Kyum was blamed for his insomnia and he hadn’t been able to meet the artist during broad light (chapter 79), he punished Kim. It was, as if the butler had failed to protect the artist. And because the painter‘s visit to his bedchamber had taken place during the day, it revealed his loneliness. That‘s the reason why I believe that this conversation pushed the lord to give the maids to the artist. They should become his ladies-in-waiting so that he had someone he could talk to. However, Yoon Seungho never let the butler know about the true reason for his punishment. He used the father as subterfuge. Finally, we shouldn’t overlook the valet’s pledge: he swore that he would serve the lord. (chapter 77) This means that he was now judged as accountable for his actions in front of Yoon Seungho. However, Yoon Seungho made a huge mistake, because the moment he brought up the father, he was acting as if Yoon Chang-Hyeon was the owner of the mansion. He was now Young master and not Lord Yoon. Yet, his duty was to be a loyal domestic to the protagonist. And now, you comprehend why Kim was reminded of the past, it is because he was put in the same situation than in the past. And what did he do? He made the exact same decision. He sided with Yoon Chang-HYeon, but there existed two divergences from the past. The first difference is that the elder master would listen to his words, and the second is that he lied to his master. (Chapter 77) Here, he was pledging loyalty to Yoon Seungho. Moreover, he is viewed as the eldest servant in the mansion, this means that he is accountable for the staff’s words and actions. However, Kim is making a terrible mistake, for in his mind, past, present and future are the same. (chapter 87) But this is totally incorrect, for the lord is now an adult. Thanks to the painter, Yoon Seungho is on the verge of entering adulthood. Observe that the butler vowed his loyalty to young master Seungho. By calling him “young master”, he treated the protagonist as an infant, but this is no longer possible. This was perceptible, when the main lead met his father. (Chapter 86) He refused to acknowledge him as the owner of the mansion. He took the seat in front of his father. He was now acting as the lord Yoon.

2. Quarrel and darkness

SLAM! What is this sound? I am quite sure that you can recognize it immediately. A door has been opened quite violently. (chapter 85) Strangely is that in that scene, we never heard any STEP, STEP, STEP like here: (chapter 97) There was no sound, therefore I deduced that Kim didn’t run to the study. However, observe that the butler is breathing heavily. It was, as if he was out of breath: HUFF HUFF. (chapter 85) So why would he fake his breathlessness? I am quite certain that you already have the answer. He was hiding the fact that he had been spying on their conversation, which I had mentioned in one of my previous analyses. However, there’s more to it. The other and major intention is to give the impression that he did everything he could for his master. In other words, he is creating the illusion that he could do nothing against the father!! (chapter 87) Yes, that’s his other principle to justify his cowardice, his fear of responsibility. He implied that he had rushed to his master’s side right away to alert him. If asked, he could legitimate his passivity by saying that the father had barged accompanied with 2 guards. But why didn’t he get caught by the protagonists? Simply because he is no longer caring a light contrary to the first season. (chapter 20) (chapter 25) (chapter 36) The night had already fallen, when Yoon Chang Hyeon was present in the mansion. If the butler had carried a chandelier, the painter or the noble would have sensed his presence. Thus I deduce that the butler’s function in the protagonist’s suffering was to lit the room, the moment the pedophile and other sexual abusers approached his prey. That’s the reason why his nightmares are triggered by the sound of a lit bougie and the light accompanied with shadows.

However, this is just an illusion to think that Kim is always carrying a torch. I believe that the butler has more often moved around without light than with. Why? That way his spying activities could not be detected. In truth, he used the light to fake his loyalty and obedience. Even in the first season, he walked in the propriety properly without any candle: (chapter 26) This scene took place in the courtyard. This is the bathroom for the staff which you can see in the background (chapter 30), the grey building with grey bricks. And it happened again in episode 32, in episode 55 and chapter 64: And now look what we have in the third season: (chapter 77) (chapter 82), (chapter 94) and (chapter 98) He is no longer carrying any light, not even for his master. Why? It is because he can spy without being detected. Thus he approached the messenger only after the main lead had left the study. Don’t you find it weird that he acts as if he knew nothing (chapter 82), while he presents himself as the senior domestic in the mansion? (chapter 82) This represents a contradiction. If so, he should have been informed immediately. Thus I come to the conclusion that this scene reveals his incompetence and betrayal. Did he aid the messenger, when the latter got beaten? No, he only made his appearance, after the incident had occurred. And this is not surprising that the other domestic looked down on the butler. (chapter 82) He already knew that he had betrayed his own master through the letters. So I doubt that he viewed Kim as trustworthy. Another important element is that when the butler is seen in connection with the light, he speaks much more, while in the darkness, he remains silent. This is naturally connected to his spying activities. Simultaneously, the words coming from the butler often appear as empty. They remain quite superficial, for the butler is always putting conditions. “If there is anything I can do…”. That’s the reason why the butler doesn’t feel any real concern for the main leads in the end. This is not his business. And now, you are probably wondering why I used “quarrel” in the heading. It is because in episode 85, the butler had heard the argument between the couple. This is relevant, because the butler chose to recreate the same situation in episode 98!! 😲

(chapter 98) In this image, Byeonduck portrayed the servants arguing. They are stressed and screaming at each other: “I told you”. They give the impression that they are trying to do anything for their master. Nevertheless pay attention to the previous image: (chapter 98) The light is coming from the butler’s back. How is it possible, since there is no torch next to the gate? (chapter 98) Besides, you can see their shadows in the ground. And there is no street light either. (chapter 98) In reality, the light comes from the mansion. The domestics are carrying torches behind the door. Thus you can perceive some light coming from the top of the gate. But wait…. (chapter 98) Where is the sound in this panel? There’s only silence except the butler’s voice: “Young master”. If the domestics were so worked up looking for the whereabouts of the painter, then their voices would have been visible in this image. But no… there’s nothing. And this observation leads me to the following conclusion. The butler is trying to fool his master by repeating the prank in front of the study. The servants are supposed to fake their dutifulness. Yes, they are all acting, when the door opened abruptly. (chapter 98) But what are they staging? A fake research, but more they are acting, as if they would do anything for their master and as such as if the painter’s desertion was something they couldn’t stop. YES, the staff is following the butler’s principles. They act, as if they were powerless, there’s nothing they could do. (chapter 87) The painter deserted on his own. And now, you comprehend why the revelation occurs at the door. The gate symbolizes the butler’s deception and hypocrisy.

And observe that the gate could have been opened much sooner. The servants were all waiting for the lord’s return so that they staged this fake search. It was, as if the butler had given the signal by saying “Young master”. (chapter 98)

However, Kim never expected that his students would listen to him too well. 😉They even copied his words. (chapter 98) By using the idiom “damn brat”, the servant reveals that he looks down on the painter. This can give the impression that the latter has been bullied, which is not wrong either. All the servants, including the maids, pushed the artist to leave the mansion. They also abandoned him in the bedchamber, which is something similar to episode 56!! (chapter 98) The women knew that the artist wasn’t feeling well. But they never sent for the doctor and gave him any true comfort. They kept criticizing him. Yes, all the servants bullied the artist. The butler never realized that through his badmouthing, the staff would imitate him. They would chatter idly and fake concern, yet Kim is actually silent in front of his master. He just says the minimum, for the most part, he has to feign ignorance. He acts, as if he was blind and deaf, but in front of the staff he behaves the exact opposite. And this huge gap makes it possible to perceive his conniving personality. However, the main lead didn’t pay attention to the insult („damn brat“), as they had faked their concern. The lord had the impression that they had indeed done their best, hence the main lead felt the need that he had to do the research on his own. (Chapter 99) He believed them.

But why did Kim play such a prank? It is because he had succeeded once. (chapter 85) First, his tricks had not been perceived. Secondly, he had not been punished, though he had disobeyed the lord’s order. (chapter 86) So the valet had the feeling that nothing had changed. However, like I mentioned it above, he never realized that his fate was now linked to the painter’s and as such he was responsible for his well-being. Thus he got surprised with this new kind of order. For the first time, the valet was tasked to investigate outside the propriety. (chapter 98) In town, he can not really fake his obedience and honesty, for his lies can be perceived more easily. He has no control over the town folks. If the lord were to ask the tailor, the latter would definitely reveal that the body was not found in a well in town.

The domestics had to blame someone… and it can only be the kisaeng Heena. The latter is an outsider, she is not part of their “community”. Exactly like the butler had blamed Yoon Chang-Hyeon for his powerlessness.

How did I come to this interpretation? It is because of this scene. (chapter 98) Many readers, including myself, were quite confused first. However, note that there’s light coming from the building. From my point of view, this is the gate. However, this scene took place before the arrival to the mansion. I believe that this scene represents the moment, when the lord left the office of the investigator. But I can not be 100% sure. However, one thing is sure. Byeonduck wanted us to notice the importance of the light and the silence. The lord was pondering deeply, thus he didn’t pay attention to Kim. But now, the noisy domestics brought the main lead back to reality. (chapter 98) The death of the servant does concern him, for it affected the artist. I view this scene as a reflection from the previous chapter, where the gates were left wide opened. (chapter 97) The painter didn’t run away immediately. He remained quite some time in the domain, therefore after the last tragedy, the lord will have the time to ponder about the painter’s question. (Chapter 102) Yoon Seungho was separated from his lover for so long, because he had been deceived. It is only a matter of time, until he realizes that he had been deceived by his own staff. At some point, he will view the staff accountable for their misdeeds.

3. The painter and the darkness

Since I had detected a connection between the darkness and the painter’s nightmare, I realized that the artist must fear the darkness. This is perceptible, when you realize that the painter had problems to fall asleep (chapter 38) and he woke up in the middle of the night. (chapter 84) However, the lord got the opposite impression, for when he entered the study, the painter was sleeping on the floor in the dark. (chapter 02) This explicates why he would always extinguish the candles. (chapter 97) However, he never realized that the painter could only fall asleep in the dark, because he always sensed his lover’s presence. This means that when he reached the aristocrat’s hand, it also gave him some comfort. (chapter 97) Because the artist’s fate is similar to the noble’s, I deduced that this fear is connected to the artist’s past. Why does he fear darkness? It is linked to the vanishing of the candle light!

What caught my attention is that the painter’s dreams are all connected to light. (chapter 6) (chapter 34) (chapter 87) Thus in episode 56, Baek Na-Kyum had this vision too. (chapter 56) In the past, the painter used to sleep with the candle night on. For him, the light gave a sense of safety. There’s no ambiguity that he wouldn’t sleep alone, though we have to imagine that the noonas would leave him behind at some point, if they had to work. Thus I came to the deduction that the candlelight was to create the illusion that he was not alone.

However, observe that in the latest nightmare, the darkness appeared with the entrance of the scholar. (chapter 98) And it was the same in the nightmare of the first season, though it was a little changed. The darkness appeared, for the ghost Yoon Seungho was confronting the painter with the truth. He liked painting erotic pictures of sodomy, which contradicted the scholar’s preaching. (chapter 34) Finally, since the butler is a reflection from the learned sir, this signifies that he is also connected to light.

That’s how I came to develop this theory which is connected to the painter’s past. Why did Baek Na-Kyum appear in this scene? (chapter 68) What made him looking for his noona? What if the bougie was blown out during his sleep and Jung In-Hun was behind this? Byeonduck said that the scholar’s attachment to the boy was genuine, nevertheless there is no doubt that the learned sir was a greedy person. Maybe he woke up, because he detected the absence of warmth, as the noonas had left his side. Hence the painter sensed the abandonment in his sleep, which made him wake up. Consequently, he started searching for his noonas and he opened the door. No one would suspect a young child opening the doors in the kisaeng house. But by opening the door, the artist caused a ruckus, people could hear a protesting child in a room. And during that scene, the artist met Yoon Seungho who was captured by the guard!! This memory represents the night of the sexual lesson. Observe that the color of the hanbok corresponds to the one lying on the floor. (chapter 86) This means that the one trapping Yoon Seungho was not Yoon Chang-Hyeon, for the latter had a green hanbok. Besides, I started wondering why Jung In-Hun carried away Baek Na-Kyum and left the gibang with him. (Chapter 70) Why would he do that? He could have bring him back to his chamber!! Why walk through the countryside and for a long time? It is because he was not allowed to be in the gibang. Remember that he used to sleep in the annex. (chapter 87) From my point of view, Baek Na-Kyum would have heard Yoon Seungho‘s struggling. Besides, we need to question ourselves this: Why is the annex empty?

To sum up my theory again. Jung blew out the candle during the night, the artist woke up and went looking for his noona. He opened the door, when the young master Seungho was protesting. Thus, as soon as they left the gibang, the young noble got tied up, and the „sexual lesson“ was supposed to take place. They used the incident to use violence on the main lead. There’s no doubt that Yoon Chang-Hyeon must have feared for a scandal. Then the father left the building and returned home. (chapter 87) He entrusted Yoon Seungho to Kim. But in my opinion, during the same night, the young noble was dragged to the annex, where the pedophile was waiting for him with probably other guests. That‘s the reason why Jung had to spend a long time outside the gibang. Maybe that‘s how he received his position as teacher. Remember the commoner’s remark: (chapter 29) People believed that he had already passed the exam, while it was not the case. Then I started wondering this. Why does the painter associate the learned sir to the moon? It is because the learned sir would visit him during the night. (chapter 94) The light from the moon comforted the artist, it became his companion, for the artist still feared the darkness. However, since the painter described that he would always cry because of his noonas, I am sensing that the scholar must have dragged the artist quite often outside the gibang. And this could coincide to the sexual abuse Yoon Seungho was exposed to. Kim said that the sexual abuse took place in the bedchamber. (chapter 87) But is it true? I have my doubts about it. By making such a statement, he is putting the blame on Yoon Chang-Hyeon. Note that the start of the sexual abuse began in the kisaeng house. The more I am analyzing, the more I am sensing that the elder master was just a stupid, selfish and violent father. However, if this had happened in the gibang, then he was as guilty as the kisaeng and the other helping hands.

As a conclusion, the painter came to fall asleep in the dark thanks to the lord’s presence. Thus we had this scene: (chapter 50) Both give each other comfort and warmth so that they feel safe. Maybe the FWOP; FWOP sounded like a lullaby to the artist’s ears. (chapter 49) 😂

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