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

When Air Becomes Emotion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because his vulnerability is not merely the byproduct of sport.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ferris Wheel — Where Dream and Reality Finally Meet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinx: Breathless in the Light 🫀(Part 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: The Scent 🧴✨🌸Of The Jinx 🦈⚡☁️

It begins with smoke.
Not the scent of flowers or the sweetness of victory, but the cold breath of a machine crossing an unnamed sky. (chapter 81) No airport appears, no greeting, no applause — only movement, silent noise, and distance. The scene refuses arrival. It’s as if the air itself has become unwelcoming, unsure whether to receive or reject the traveler.

Below, the earth hides beneath a shroud of cloud, half revealing, half concealing its rivers and mountains. It is broad daylight, but only those inside the plane can see the sun. Its rays strike the cloud tops, scattering into pale reflections, almost unreachable from the world below. The light is real yet detached — dazzling, but emotionally cold. The illusion of motion comes not from the aircraft itself, which cuts the sky with mechanical steadiness, but from the slow drift of the countryside beneath — a glimmering landscape that seems to slide away on its own. The plane moves horizontally, neither ascending toward promise nor descending toward rest. It hovers in between — uncertain, as if trapped inside the very act of transition. The white smoke trailing behind is not visible, as if erased by the same sky that carried it — a trace that vanishes before it can mean anything.

How is this calm sky connected to the silence of a phone line from ten years ago? (chapter 74) What does it mean that a man who once reached for his mother’s voice is now suspended between clouds, unreachable himself? (chapter 74) Why does the same stillness that once followed a farewell now fill the air around his flight?

Both moments share the same structure of emptiness: movement without arrival, connection without recognition. Yet the meaning of that emptiness deepens when we remember that death itself is often framed as a journey. (chapter 65) Let’s not forget that the last poster of chapter 81 (chapter 81) echoes Joo Jaewoong’s burial in chapter 74. (chapter 74) In that earlier scene, the smoke rises from burning incense sticks which is linked to scent — the invisible bridge between the living and the dead. Here, it reappears as the airplane’s exhaust (chapter 81), the sterile modern echo of ritual fire. In both, the same element unites mourning and motion: smoke, a symbol that drifts, fades, and carries scent.

The father’s funeral and the champion’s flight belong to one continuous breath — the same air of transition. Each ascent, whether spiritual or mechanical, leaves behind a trace that cannot last. The scent of the jinx begins here: in this meeting of incense and engine, of devotion and pollution, where grief becomes a trail of vapor across the sky.

There is another layer to this scent. Mingwa chose the wolf to embody Joo Jaekyung — an animal torn between tenderness and hunger. In many cultures, the wolf carries the paradox of motherhood and ferocity: she nurses her young yet survives through the hunt. For such a creature, scent is language, memory, and map. It marks territory, reveals threat, and preserves kinship. Like a wolf, the champion used to live by following traces — the smell of victory, of fear, of money.

Now the trail has changed. For years, the wolf used rituals not to appease his hunger but to erase his senses — to make sure he would never taste, smell, or feel again, so that his hunger for warmth and belonging would vanish. Milk (chapter 75), perfume (chapter 75), sweat and sex (chapter 75) became instruments of anesthesia, each meant to silence the body that once betrayed him.That betrayal did not come from the body itself but from what it carried — his father’s shadow. (chapter 75) Every muscle, every breath, every instinct reminded him of the man he swore never to become. The body was a mirror of lineage, and lineage meant failure. In his dreams, that failure still reached for him: black hands emerging from the dark, the father who had lost everything. (chapter 75) The fighter calls it a “dream,” not a nightmare, because fighting was once his father’s dream — a dream of escape, of being seen, of proving that poverty was not fate. But for the son, that same dream turned into a curse. To fight was to repeat what had already destroyed the family.

Thus, he began to punish his own flesh for its resemblance to the dead. Every ritual — milk before a match, perfume after shower, sex before fighting — became an act of denial, a way to cut the bloodline out of himself. The body that once connected him to hunger and memory had to be silenced, sterilized, erased. Yet behind every gesture of control lay the same emptiness: a child’s thirst disguised as discipline. The milk that promised fulfillment was once the prize he had to steal (chapter 75), the forbidden comfort that ended in scolding. (chapter 72) When he finally received it, it was not from a mother but from the director — a man whose gift could fill the stomach but not the heart. From that day, nourishment and submission became one.

Each ritual since then has repeated that confusion. He learned to mistake obedience for care, power for affection, control for love. The milk before a match was not about luck; it was a way to silence the body that once trembled from hunger. The perfume on his neck, the sweat of victory, even the scent of sex — all were substitutes for what he never truly received: the warmth of being wanted and accepted. (chapter 72) And yet every attempt at purification only buried the rot more deeply. The more he washed, the more the stain spread inward — invisible, odorless, yet consuming.

The champion’s hickeys

Now the trail has changed. What he follows is no longer the fragrance of superstition, but the faint, human odor of the doctor. When Jaekyung presses his lips against Dan’s neck (chapter 81) — the same spot where he once sprayed his perfume (chapter 40) — it is more than desire: it is instinct, possession, and search. The gesture blurs the line between hunger and recognition, as if he were trying to inhale and keep what had always eluded him. The scent he once sought in bottles and rituals now breathes through another body, one that refuses to be contained. So when Jaekyung breathes against Dan’s skin, he is no longer trying to mask the stench of loss but to find the source of something living. The doctor’s scent does not erase hunger; it answers it. For the first time, the wolf eats without devouring.

Let’s not forget that during the Summer Night’s Dream, the wolf had already answered that silent call (chapter 44) — nuzzling the one destined to become his anchor. Jinx-philes can observe not only the presence of steam (which is similar to smoke), but also the effect of the scent. Back then, the champion had calmed down thanks to the hamster’s scent. (chapter 44) To conclude, that moment, half dream and half awakening, had already begun to rewrite the map of scent. There, the fragrance from doc Dan had triggered his appetite, hence he couldn’t restrain himself during that night. (chapter 45)

And because of that scent, the wolf will follow his loved one (chapter 65) He will make sure that doc Dan doesn’t smoke again and his scent remains pure. This signifies that the wolf will pursue its source through the smoke of deception, through the perfume of luxury and corruption. The doctor becomes both compass and contrast — the pure odor that exposes every false aroma around him. Through Dan’s scent he will breathe again—through that fragile, living fragrance the wolf begins to track the truth that stinks beneath luxury and lies.

The Plane and its Scent

In order to understand the meaning of this fleeting image (chapter 81) — a plane gliding through a noiseless sky — I had to return to an earlier flight. (chapter 36) When the champion left South Korea for the United States in episode 36, the plane glided through a void of light. There was no sky, no earth, no horizon — only a white expanse pierced by the sun’s glare. Even the boundaries of air and space seemed dissolved. The image radiated purity but felt sterile, stripped of texture. The machine was rising, not toward a destination but away from attachment itself.

That ascent not only announced the future victory, but also represented the Emperor’s ideal: perpetual motion without roots. He was a man of altitude, not of place. The whiteness surrounding the aircraft mirrored his own self-erasure — the body emptied through fasting (chapter 37), the heart disinfected of need. Hence the bed became an instrument of “torture”. The upward flight marked a beginning, yet it already smelled of exhaustion and futility. A life built on departure cannot land anywhere.

Episode 81 inverts everything. The plane is now seen from above, not below. (chapter 81) Clouds and land re-emerge, spreading like a map of memory. Gray veils hang overhead; far below, blue horizon and bright rivers glint in daylight. For the first time, the world has depth again. The point of view tells us two things immediately. First, this aircraft is descending: it is approaching foreign soil, France, a country framed by water and beautiful landscapes. Secondly, the inversion foretells the champion’s own descent — the fall of the myth into the realm of the human. It already implies the existence of a scheme and his anticipated “defeat”.

The earlier plane signified departure; this one signals arrival. What had been an escape from origin becomes a forced return to reality. The hero who once vanished into whiteness now re-enters color, gravity, and consequence. I therefore deduce that Joo Jaekyung’s past will resurface after arriving in France. (chapter 73) His origins—the father who once fought, gambled, and collapsed into addiction before dying of an overdose— will no longer remain hidden. The revelation will spread like a smell the public (Team Black) cannot ignore. Yet this descent is not disgrace alone; it is the beginning of embodiment. Exposure will give him weight. But what did the director say? (chapter 78) Through Hwang Byungchul’s blunt words, the Emperor finally realized that he possessed an identity of his own—one not confined by inheritance or shame. The insults that once defined him, (chapter 75) “smelly bastard,”dirty rat” have lost its power. What once clung to his name as odor now disperses into air. The fall will wash away the false scent of stigma and let the man emerge, bare but clean.

I come to the following deduction: the change of perspective is Mingwa’s quiet confession that the age of flight — of abstraction and denial — is over. The sky of episode 36 concealed both land and direction; the sky of episode 81 exposes them. (chapter 81) Beneath the clouds lie traces of the life he once ignored: the landlord who welcome him with toilet papers and invited him to dinner, the old coach who still mirrors his pain, the grandmother whose endurance defines family, and the doctor whose presence has become home itself. These human coordinates are his new geography.

The palette itself reinforces this shift. In America, everything dissolved into white, a color of anesthesia. Over France, tones mingle: gray above, blue below, gold reflected from the rivers. The air is alive, restless, and uncertain. Clouds thicken like unspoken doubts, yet the blue horizon opens a path. It dawned on me that Mingwa is painting the boundary between dream and danger. The gray warns of turbulence; the blue promises arrival. Between them hovers the aircraft, between illusion and embodiment — just like its passenger. The coexistence of colors and contrasts (light, cloud, turbulence) displays life! Life without pain, fear, struggles, is no life, but an illusion. At the same time, it implies the return of the protagonists’ agency. Their decisions will determine the outcome of this imminent match.

Time, too, changes nature. Both flights are bound to temporal formulas, but their logic diverges — and both are told through the doctor’s eyes. In episode 36, the line (chapter 36) emerges not from the champion’s mind but from Dan’s weary observation. It carries the cadence of someone watching life slip by from the margins, a spectator of discipline rather than its agent. The phrase, neutral on the surface, reveals quiet lethargy: days blending into one another, the monotony of service and the absence of urgency. This indicates the hamster’s distance and a certain emotional indifference toward his VIP patient. No wonder that, at the hostel, he chose the impersonal word “team” (chapter 36) instead of naming Joo Jaekyung himself. He might have stood beside the MMA fighter the entire time, yet he preferred to disappear behind collective language, as if the plural could shield him from personal involvement. It was a professional gesture, an attempt to efface the self, to stand beside the fighter without belonging to him. His role was service, not solidarity; his language confirmed distance. Thus his karma was that he got abandoned by the team after the match, while rescued by the celebrity himself!!

But in episode 81, the tone has changed. (chapter 81) The doctor’s narration “Eight days until his comeback” reveals far more than a schedule. Its tone pulses with nervous anticipation. Time, once something Dan merely endured, has regained texture. Back in chapter 36, he let the “days pass” like indistinguishable shadows — one more sign of his emotional detachment. Life moved, but he did not move with it. Now, every day counts. The number eight introduces tension, a sense of waiting and measure. He is not only aware of time; he feels it. The body trembles, breath shortens, nerves tighten. For the first time, Dan senses temporality the way athletes do: as pressure, as pulse, as future approaching.

His thought at the airport (chapter 81) translates that awareness into sensation. It’s no longer the passivity of a bystander but the heartbeat of someone invested. The count of days becomes a shared horizon between doctor and fighter, a bridge of feeling. (chapter 81) When Jaekyung exhales the same “huu,” their anxiety synchronizes, transforming fear into connection. The loop of repetition (“days passed”) has turned into a countdown of empathy (“eight days left”). Time itself has begun to belong to both of them. The same “team” has become real, but contrary to the past: there are only 2 members, Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. At the airport he wears the Team Black jacket, a subtle but deliberate signal that he has accepted inclusion. The jacket is not uniform; it is recognition. Both form 8, which is a symbol for balance and infinity.

Interesting is that this panel (chapter 81) looked like victory (due to the position of the plane) but smelled of vacancy. However, this trip was not, for the two protagonists, a symbol of rest — quite the opposite. Neither Jaekyung nor Dan ever got the chance to visit the city; the supposed journey abroad becomes another kind of confinement. (chapter 37) The others indulge in small pleasures — snacks, shopping, light rebellion — but the champion and his doctor remain trapped in routine, orbiting one another inside sterile rooms. I am suspecting that doc Dan must have bought the scarf at the airport, a small act of thoughtfulness before departure. (chapter 41) Yet the gesture, though sincere, carries a quiet irony. The scarf is printed with flowers, mostly roses, but as a piece of fabric it has neither scent nor warmth. It imitates life without containing it. What he gives her, in truth, is a copy of affection, not its essence — a bouquet that cannot breathe.

And now you may wonder how this connects to the scent of the jinx. (chapter 37) The answer lies in the contrast between the smell of life and the smell of emptiness. While others seek flavor in hot ramen or the sweetness of snacks, the champion’s room remains odorless, air-conditioned, antiseptic. Then, in the quiet of night, a faint aroma drifts toward him, the flavor of hot ramen. And now observe the progression of scents through Jinx.

Chapter 10Chapter 22Chapter 32

It traces the slow resurrection of a man who had unconsciously silenced his own senses. In chapter 10, the wolf first enters the doctor’s home and flinches even before inhaling. The moment his eyes register the dim light, the narrow hallway, the disorder, his hand rises to his nose — a movement so quick it feels primal. Only once in the room does he mutter, “It reeks in here. The overpowering stench of poverty.” He doesn’t smell first; he remembers first through visuals. The odor exists only because his past floods the scene. The sight of a modest room resurrects the atmosphere of his own childhood flat (chapter 72) — the garbage, the spoiled food, the stale air of neglect. What he truly covers is not his nose, but his fear of returning there. Later, in episode 22, when Dan cooks for him, the champion instinctively associates food with corruption: (chapter 22) Nevertheless, Jinx-philes should realize that for the first time, we had a reference to the ocean through the dishes: fish, seaweed soup. (chapter 22) Interesting is that here fish has a negative connotation: intrusion and thoughtlessness. This shows how detached the champion was from his true self: water and the ocean. Moreover, cooking, warmth, nourishment—all evoked garbage, the chaos of his first home.

The reason lies in his earliest environment. In that cramped room buried in trash, the boy who would become the Emperor once tried to survive on milk—an industrial liquid without smell or taste, the very opposite of maternal care. (chapter 72) His father’s addiction, the filth, the absence of real home made food—all merged into a single sensory nightmare. Odor became shame. Flavor became fear. So he began to build a life that denied every sense. And now, my avid readers can grasp the role of Kim Dan during season 1. It was not just to replace the sex ritual. Unaware, he had replaced the ritual with the glass of milk with his food. So at the beginning of season 2, Joo Jaekyung got to learn that his “glass of milk” (chapter 54) couldn’t nourish him. Hence he replaced it with wine for a while.

So he built a life that denied every sense. That’s why he hates flowers. However, there’s more to it. When the doctor innocently talks about a bouquet he received in episode 31 (chapter 31), Jaekyung’s reaction (chapter 31) reveals more than irritation. For him, floral scent is associated with loss. The fragrance belongs to death. The first time he truly smelled flowers was at his father’s funeral, when incense and blossoms mingled with grief. (chapter 74) Their fragrance became the perfume of loss. To his senses, flowers never meant beauty or love or nice smell; they mean burial and as such pain. Every petal recalls the suffocating smell of the funeral room, the smoke, the artificial but painful peace of goodbye.

And that is precisely where the scent of the jinx begins to unfold. The scarf’s floral pattern recalls everything artificial in both their worlds: Jaekyung’s deodorant, the perfume of fame, the grandmother’s rehearsed kindness. Each object is meant to replace something that once had a natural smell — milk, skin, sweat, breath. The airport gift thus mirrors the champion’s life of rituals: beautiful but airless, made of gestures without fragrance.

The Location And The Fall

In season 1, Mingwa already left clues about a connection between France and South Korea. (chapter 32) The blue tie contains 3 striped colors: red, white and blue, which are quite similar to French flag, though the order has been switched. Secondly, Choi Heesung purchased (chapter 32) Hermès’ item, a French company famous its bags, scarfs and perfumes. So I am quite certain that once Jinx-philes discovered the identity of the next fighter (chapter 81) and saw the plane, they must have jumped to the conclusion that the next fight will take place in Paris! But France is more just than the capital. This country is called the Hexagon due to its form, and this name stands in opposition to the MMA ring, which is an octagon! (chapter 40) Interesting is that the team at the airport is composed of 6 people. (chapter 81) So we could say that despite the disadvantage being in a foreign country, they are “equal”, 6 colors against the team from the Hexagon, the blue light from the MMA ring. But let’s return our attention to Paris. The latter is widely recognized as the symbol of love, the global center for fashion, art, and stardom. The city has a deep historical connection to these fields, being the birthplace of haute couture and home to many of the world’s leading fashion houses and luxury conglomerates. Its cultural scene is equally rich, with a long history as a hub for artists and a more recent reputation for being a center for music and film stars. However, the image with the landing plane is actually revealing the truth. (chapter 81) There are no mountain close to Paris, the river La Seine is much smaller… Finally, the airport doesn’t look like Airport Paris – Charles de Gaulle, (chapter 81) for the hallway is much smaller and it is not crowded.

Finally, observe the vocabulary of the manager: “breeze” (chapter 81) and “splash” (chapter 81). They let transpire the presence of wind and water suggesting the presence of the sea. Thus, I deduce that they landed near the sea. And if one looks again at the image of the plane (chapter 81), the blue at the horizon seems to confirm this intuition: the aircraft is gradually descending toward the coast, not the capital. So for me, the destination is not Paris — the city of revolution and political upheaval representing popular sovereignty, as the schemers are planning a counter-revolution. They stand for conservatism and money. My theory is that this plane is arriving in the South of France, most likely Cannes, where spectacle and wealth converge. But there exists another reason for this assumption. Do you remember where the physical therapist witnessed the match between the Emperor and Randy Booker? It was in Busan, a city situated in the South of South Korea, a city closed to the ocean. (chapter 14) Here, exactly like in the States, his trip to Busan never gave him the opportunity to visit the city and the beach, exactly like the athlete. The next airport to Cannes is Nice- Côte d’Azur and it looks more like the one in the Manhwa. Furthermore, the South of France has a milder climate in the fall, hence it is still possible to swim in September. Besides, in my last essay, I had connected the champion to Bruce Lee and water: Finally, Naturally, here I could be wrong with Cannes. Nevertheless, Cannes, with its glittering shorelines and film festival glamour, symbolizes the marriage of money (millionaires, yachts) and illusion — the theater of appearances. It is where contracts are made, where bodies are displayed, traded, and consumed through the gaze, the very economy that has always governed the champion’s existence. The wolf, once born among garbage and hunger, now finds himself surrounded by luxury, in a world perfumed with artificial success. Yet beneath the surface of that “breeze” and “splash” lingers the scent of corruption. The coastal light hides what the smoke once revealed: exploitation, manipulation, and the unspoken violence of commerce.

And yet, the irony is striking. The Côte d’Azur, world-famous for its vivid palette and sensual abundance — the lavender fields, the herbs of Provence, the shimmer of olive trees, the salt air heavy with Mediterranean fragrance — stands in perfect contrast to the sterile, monochrome world the two protagonists once inhabited in the seaside town. There, the ocean had no scent (chapter 59); silence had replaced air; life was drained of flavor. None of them truly enjoyed the nature: the ocean or the mountain. The seaside town was strongly intertwined with work (chapter 77) or danger. Then, when they returned to that place, their time was limited to visit the grandmother and the landlord. (chapter 81) They had no time to walk through the woods or visit the hills. They had no time for themselves. Consequently, I believe that in The French Riviera, the two of them will discover “savoir vivre”. Everything breathes, glows, and stirs. It is a land overflowing with color, aroma, and taste — precisely the senses that the wolf had long sought to erase through ritual. Doc Dan had led a similar life too, dedicated to his grandmother and work. If they are close to the sea, they might decide to walk on the beach together.

And if my theory is correct, then the choice of Cannes would not be accidental but allegorical. While on one hand, it marks a return to the emperor’s original curse — being admired and used at the same time, it announces an imminent change: his emancipation, for the villains have planned to destroy him. The private match organized there recalls the old underground fights from the Shotgun arc, only now cloaked in legitimacy and wealth. The arena has changed, but the principle remains: rich spectators watching a man’s body perform until exhaustion, while those in charge profit from his pain. And because of his lineage, they could still look down on him. Despite his fame and fortune, the champion does not truly belong among them. To the powerful, he is entertainment — a body to be wagered upon, not an equal at the table.

Look again at this panel. First, you can detect behind the champion the reflection of water, another clue that the protagonist will shine next to the sea. Moreover, it also indicates that doc Dan’s dream is related to water. Furthermore it is not a costume he wears, but an image imagined for him (chapter 32) — the doctor’s vision of what the wolf could become. He doesn’t see the origins of the athlete, but his success: he is not only a self-made man but an artist, a star. The three-striped tie, reminiscent of American designer Thom Browne’s refined style, evokes order, discipline, and self-respect: qualities the doctor unconsciously longs to see replace the chaos of ritual and fight. In that imagined world, Jaekyung is not an object but a person, an artist, a real VIP — no longer the Emperor of violence, but a man capable of standing among other celebrities without fear or shame.

And here, I couldn’t help myself thinking of the movie The French Connection, the parallel deepens. The French Connection (1971) is a crime thriller directed by William Friedkin, inspired by real events. It follows two New York detectives, led by the obsessive Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle, as they uncover an international heroin-smuggling operation linking France and the United States. The film contrasts gritty realism with moral ambiguity, exposing how obsession and corruption blur the line between justice and criminality. That film, too, revolved around illusion and desire — the traffic between authenticity and disguise. The “connection” was both criminal and psychological, exposing how corruption travels unseen beneath surfaces of elegance. Here, the same word gains new meaning: the false connections built on money and fame will give way to a human one, forged through care, scent, and trust.

And now, the reason for setting the match in France becomes clearer. The CEO could no longer exploit the United States (chapter 69); the scandal there had linked the previous incident to the infiltration of a Korean gang. The American branch was compromised, its credibility tainted. France, on the other hand, offers a mask of neutrality — refinement, culture, and distance from scandal. By choosing it, they manufacture the illusion of glamour and innocence, pretending that Baek Junmin and his former hyungs have nothing to do with the coming event.

But the choice of France also hides a darker lineage. One only has to look back to Thailand (chapter 69), where Baek Junmin once fought for the championship belt. Thailand in Jinx is not a paradise but a mirror of corruption — the place where victory turns into prostitution, where the body becomes currency. There, the Shotgun won a crown but not respect; his triumph was drenched in manipulation, spectacle, and moral decay. He was admired by no one, celebrated by ghosts.

Thailand thus stands as the antithesis of recognition. It is the kingdom of false applause, the shadow-market of sport where the price of glory is humiliation. If France embodies elegance masking corruption, Thailand embodies corruption stripped of its mask. Both belong to the same chain of deceit — one refined, the other raw. Between them stretches the moral geography of Jinx: America (illusion of success), Thailand (the sale of the body), and now France (the stage of reckoning). Baek Junmin, out of jealousy, wants Joo Jaekyung to make a worse experience, to be exploited, humiliated,, discarded and forgotten, just as he once was. His wish is not for justice but for repetition: the recycling of pain. Despite his title in Thailand, he still feels unrecognized. He now wants the Emperor to taste the same degradation under the polished surface of France. What he endured in the raw heat of corruption, Jaekyung must suffer in the refined chill of sophistication. He needs to be reminded of his true origins.

Junmin’s resentment is not born merely from defeat but from invisibility. His triumph brought no admiration, no genuine acknowledgment. The crowd that watched him fight was faceless, bought, indifferent. Hence he is not named as “champion” at the restaurant. (chapter 69) He was crowned, yet unseen. In his bitterness, he mistakes vengeance for validation. If Jaekyung falls publicly, perhaps the Shotgun’s own shame will finally be understood. Thus, France becomes his stage of revenge — not through direct confrontation, but through orchestration. The game he once lost in Thailand, he now rewrites from the shadows.

But this repetition will not go as he imagines. The irony of the French Connection lies precisely there: the traffickers think they control the route, unaware that the real transformation is happening within the travelers themselves. The wolf, who once lived by rituals of survival, will now breathe a different air — one that carries both danger and redemption.

While the schemers imagine they are about to succeed and ruin the champion for good, I am expecting the opposite, as they form now a team. Immersed in an environment so rich in colors, fragrances, and tastes (which would be similar to Thailand), Joo Jaekyung and doc Dan may come to enjoy the very senses they both buried to survive. The air of the Riviera — fragrant, tangible, and alive — could become the breath that finally releases him from his gilded cage and fulfills, at last, the doctor’s unspoken vision.

The Airport as threshold

In episode 36 (chapter 36), the transition from flight to arrival unfolds with seamless precision: no airport, no customs, no luggage — only the honk of city traffic and the flags fluttering over a hotel entrance. Everything about that journey screams logistics. It was a corporate trip, arranged, timed, and contained. The athletes passed through invisible gates, their movement stripped of individuality. The champion, like cargo, was transported rather than welcomed. His arrival, though triumphant (chapter 36), was sterile — as if success itself had been reduced to a schedule.

By contrast, episode 81 opens the gates. The author deliberately inserts an airport scene (chapter 81). Airports are spaces of suspension, places where one stands between departure and arrival, past and future. They symbolize journeys, transitions, and connections, representing not only physical travel but also the passage between inner states of being. They are gateways to new experiences, opportunities, and, at times, spiritual awakenings.

That is precisely why we find the champion pausing in quiet reflection. (chapter 81) For a brief moment, he seems to meditate — neither fighter nor celebrity, simply a man caught in the stillness of transition. The gesture of breathing, the soft “Huu,” carries profound significance. It evokes purification, the act of expelling the stale air of superstition, trauma, and fear. What leaves his lungs are not only bad thoughts but remnants of the “jinx” itself — the invisible poison that once ruled his life.

The absence of his gaze does not denote blindness but introspection. His closed eyes signal a shift from vigilance to awareness, from the need to control to the capacity to feel. For the first time, the Emperor does not seek omens outside himself; he listens inwardly, acknowledging uncertainty, fragility, and the quiet pulse of change. In that single exhale, the wolf begins to shed his curse — not through combat or conquest, but through the simplest act of all: breathing. That’s why he looks so determined after this short break. (chapter 81)

And amid that uncertainty, one sound cuts through the sterile air: rattle.

(chapter 81) The suitcase becomes the true protagonist of this threshold. In that small vibration lies all the instability the white air once denied. It is his portable home, his compressed past, the fragile proof that he finally has something to lose. In the earlier arc, he could have vanished mid-flight and no one would have noticed; now, if the suitcase disappears, another heart will break. That difference measures his evolution. Yet it also marks new vulnerability: any hand can touch what he carries.

Like the wardrobe (chapter 41) and the wedding cabinet (chapter 80) before it, the suitcase belongs to the same symbolic lineage. It is the container of intimacy — filled with clothes, precious items like pictures or books, with the silent evidence of presence. But unlike its predecessors, it moves. The wardrobe once stood still, rooted in the domestic; the wedding cabinet invited intrusion within a private world, as it was once discarded. The suitcase, however, carries that vulnerability into the public realm. It is exposure on wheels — the private made portable. (chapter 81)

The object that symbolizes belonging also invites trespass. It holds what makes a person recognizable — garments, scents, textures — yet it can be opened, inspected, or stolen. That possibility haunts the scene. The suitcase is both protection and temptation, security and risk. Its rattle echoes the heartbeat of transition itself: the trembling awareness that what is finally one’s own can still be taken away. And here comes my next question: Whose suitcase is it? One might say, the champion’s naturally. If so, this signifies that in the suitcase, he placed the birthday card and the key chain (chapter 81) (chapter 81) and Kim Dan has still no idea that the athlete has kept them like cherished relics. He might have placed the notebook from Hwang Byungchul as well. However, the person carrying the suitcase is the manager: (chapter 81), while Yosep is pushing a card with the other luggage. By separating one suitcase from the others, the beholder can detect that Park Namwook is separating not only himself from the team, but also his “boy”, if he is indeed carrying his suitcase.

In that sense, the airport does not replace the hotel as a site of intrusion but extends it. If the manager were to open the suitcase by mistake and discover the physical therapist’s birthday card (chapter 55), where he expressed his desire to work for Joo Jaekyung for a long time. What would be the manager’s reaction, when he recalls this incident with the switched spray and Doc Dan’s sudden departure? Moreover, we have here “erased words”: to be ho… The timing of the discovery is really important. This could generate some tension and confrontation between the manager and the physical therapist. Besides, such a birthday card could generate negative feelings (like jealousy), Kim Dan is gradually taking more and more place in the athlete’s life. The violation that once occurred behind closed doors (the penthouse) now could happen in plain sight. The line between private and public collapses, just as the boundary between success and loss blurs.

Secondly, the scene at the airport could actually announces that the team will have some trouble at the hotel… Let’s not forget that in the States, Joo Jaekyung had to argue with one of the local coaches, probably because they needed a place to train: (chapter 37). So when the manager says this, (chapter 81), he is thinking, everything has been well planned and prepared. He has nothing to do, he can relax… and as such he is on “vacation” like in the States. Thus I deduce that the airport has a different signification for the manager: he is about to get confronted with reality.

The Birth of New Rituals

Until now, the champion’s rituals had been prisons disguised as protection. Each one — milk, perfume, sweat, sex — served to silence what his senses once knew. They were mechanical repetitions of comfort that had long since lost their source. But episode 81 quietly introduces a new vocabulary of intimacy: paper, metal, ink, and touch. The birthday card and the key chain, two small, ordinary gifts, begin to form a new scripture (chapter 81) — a Bible of another kind, not written in divine authority but in human handwriting. They contain no promise of victory, only the trace of another person’s care. His words represent now his motivation to win doc Dan’s heart.

The card is a voice materialized, the first object that speaks about dreams and wishes without demanding. IT is not about making history. When he opens it, he does not perform a ritual; he reads. And that simple act of reading — eyes moving line by line across words written for him — marks a profound shift. For the first time, his energy moves inward, not outward. Reading requires stillness, patience, trust that meaning will come. It is an act of surrender disguised as concentration. What once was sweat and breath now becomes quiet and language.

And this scene reminded me of the hyung’s comment: (chapter 75) While he was sick, he could recall this scene. (chapter 75) where the fighter could stay focused, though he was surrounded by noise and people. The advice had seemed trivial, when first given. Now it re-emerges as revelation. The emperor, once incapable of rest, now reads (chapter 81) beside someone who represents safety. The book becomes a bridge between wakefulness and sleep, a ritual that does not erase consciousness but calms it. Where his earlier practices sought to block sensation, this one restores it.

The birthday card and key chain together form a new kind of talisman. They do not protect him through superstition but through memory. One he carries near his heart; the other, in his hand. The materials themselves — paper and metal — symbolize fragility and endurance. (chapter 81) The paper bends, absorbs scent, bears traces of fingers and warmth; the metal resists, reflects light, carries weight. Together they represent the balance between tenderness and strength — precisely what his life has lacked. In contrast to the mechanical milk and odorless perfume, these objects are human, imperfect, touchable.

It dawned on me that these small tokens might become the new Bible for Joo Jaekyung. A Bible not of laws but of gestures, recording moments of real connection. Every page, every object carries a commandment: Breathe. Dream. Gratitude. Trust. Through them, the wolf learns to replace fear with curiosity, repetition with attention.

What makes this transformation more poignant is that it grows in the shadow of the oldest absence — the mother. For years, the wolf’s hunger had another name: longing for a touch that never truly existed. The embrace of the mother (chapter 73), which should have offered nourishment, attention and peace, had been replaced by absence and deceit. Her warmth was an illusion, a posture mimicked but never felt.

That embrace — the promise of milk, scent, warmth and safety — is the first lie he ever believed. The hug is strongly linked to the breast and breastfeeding. I doubt, his mother ever did such a thing. Thus it is no coincidence that later he had to steal milk to feed himself. Later, the director’s milk replaced hers: tasteless, industrial, stripped of scent. It filled the stomach but not the soul. From that moment on, he learned that comfort was conditional and care transactional. He mistook control for love because that was all love had ever resembled.

Joo Jaekyung doesn’t even remember his mother has ever bought clothes for him. (chapter 80) And here, I had imagined that the mother had offered this t-shirt as a birthday present.

Behind the father’s ghost, therefore, hides the true phantom — the mother. Her absence shaped his rage more than her presence ever could have. Let’s not forget that Joo Jaewoong’s resent and mockery toward the champion were triggered by the betrayal of the wife. Secondly, when the father died, she showed no feelings or concerns for Joo Jaekyung. He was the only one who was forced to carry the memory of his father and family. With her abandonment, she pushed him to never “forget” the father. However, since Joo Jaewoong had always been harsh and resentful toward his son, the latter could only repress him. The mother had withdrawn not only her body but also her sincerity. She had long cut off ties with Joo Jaekyung, but deceived him by giving him a phone number. Her last gesture was a symbol of infinite delay — a connection that could ring but never answer. (chapter 72) Each call was a prayer cast into emptiness, the sound of longing echoing against the wall of indifference. She taught him to expect nothing from tenderness. she had implied that she was weak, a victim of the husband’s tyranny, while she pushed the young boy to become a parent: cleaning the house, working, earning money. Her “warmth” had been performance; her concern, deception.

I come to the following deduction: she never gave him a teddy bear or any toy. The reason is not poverty but intention. The child himself had become her only comfort, her shield and excuse against the husband’s failure and disillusion. Instead of protecting her little boy, she used his body as a barrier, turning him into both witness and defense. This explains why, in his later memories, the room contains no bed of his own, no trace of play, not even a corner that belongs to him. (chapter 72) He did not sleep like a child but like an object kept near for safety. The woman lying beside him was a mother in name only — emotionally distant, physically present. No stroke, no kiss, hence the boy had to clinch onto her. (chapter 73) Her warmth was strategic, not maternal.The child might have slept next to her in the same room, she was like a stranger to him, similar to this: (chapter 78), without the good night! That missing intimacy was not a void but a distortion — a tenderness twisted into survival. The mother’s touch, meant to console, existed only to protect herself. She kept the child close not out of affection but out of anxieties and resent, turning him into a living barrier between her and the man she resented. What he experienced as warmth was, in truth, defense and rejection; what seemed like closeness was the choreography of avoidance. Hence she never looked at her child. The body that should have been cradled for its own sake was held as cover, its value defined by its usefulness.

From that confusion emerged the adult’s crisis: he could no longer tell care from control. The gestures of intimacy, once poisoned by self-interest, became impossible to trust. Every caress felt like potential deceit, every act of closeness a prelude to betrayal. This is why, later, the man built his life upon rituals — not to find comfort, but to contain danger. Each ritual became a kind of armor, repeating the same logic his mother had taught him: proximity without safety, touch without love.

Now, for the first time, another presence enters that space. That’s doc Dan. He had to replace not only the father, but the mother. Thus the champion sucked his nipples: (chapter 29) which reminds us of breastfeeding. And now, look at the embrace in the swimming pool: (chapter 80). The hamster was imitating the behavior of the little Jaekyung in the past, clinching onto the “parent” like his life depended on him. But how did the athlete react to this embrace? He looked at his fated partner (chapter 80) and got all warm and fuzzy by looking at him: (chapter 81) A sign that the mother had never reacted the way her son is doing now, the feel to kiss the loved one! The problem is that in the swimming pool, the doctor’s scent and taste are covered by chlorine. (chapter 81) The doctor’s nearness on the couch recreates the missing scene — not through erotic intensity but through quiet continuity. (chapter 81) The wolf falls asleep next to someone, not on top of or apart from them. That small preposition — next to — carries the weight of redemption. The couch, once a site of violation (chapter 61) or solitude, becomes again what it was meant to be: a place of rest and tenderness. Thus he touches his fated partner’s legs over the cover, showing his care and respect. (chapter 81)

By acting like a responsible adult and mother full of gentleness and attention (chapter 81), he can recognize the false nature of his mother’s affection. What she offered was conditional, deceptive and self-centered; what the doctor gives is ordinary and consistent. No grand gestures, no promises — only presence. The doctor does not rehearse concern; he lives it through routine. And this ordinariness, paradoxically, becomes sacred. It was, as if the athlete was treating his own inner child through the physical therapist.

Touch, once an instrument of domination, turns back into a language of reassurance. The warmth of proximity (chapter 81) reactivates a sensory world the fighter had buried: the rustle of sheets, the rhythm of another person’s breathing, the faint scent of human skin. All the senses that the old rituals sought to erase now return — not as overwhelming floods but as quiet reminders that he is alive and no longer alone.

The breathing motif continues here. The earlier “Huu” (chapter 81) that marked his introspection at the airport now finds completion in shared respiration. (chapter 81) Two lungs exhale into the same night; the air that once poisoned him becomes communal. The act of breathing, once an attempt to purge, turns into a sign of harmony.

From this point on, every ritual he creates will carry an echo of this night. (chapter 81) — of reading, of calm, of nearness. The objects (card, keychain, book) become extensions of that experience. They are reminders that comfort does not depend on superstition but on memory and connection. They mark the rebirth of ritual as choice, not compulsion. Moreover, the couch becomes a place for rest and intimacy, the opposite to this scene: (chapter 37)

And this brings me back to the nameless and faceless mother. In a bitter twist, Joo Jaewoong was right in one aspect: (chapter 73): she thought she could become somebody else, but she never truly left. The woman may have escaped the home physically and socially, but she remains chained to it in spirit. How so? Because she cannot erase the child who once called her eomma. No matter how far she runs, Joo Jaekyung’s existence anchors her to the very life she tried to abandon.

Every denial she utters — every silence, every unanswered call — only deepens that chain. Hence she made this request: (chapter 74) At this moment, the page itself turns black, veined with smoky whorls of gray — as though her words had burned into the air rather than spoken. “I can’t live with you… please understand… let’s just go our separate ways.” The sentences rise like vapors, leaving behind the faint residue of a scent that refuses to vanish. This visual texture — half smoke, half ink — captures her true condition: she dissolves herself with every attempt at escape.

The mother’s rejection does not erase her presence; it transforms it into something atmospheric — invisible, invasive, impossible to contain. She becomes the ghost that still clings to the son’s breath, the odor that lingers in every space he enters. In that sense, her words are not final but volatile: they fill the air like perfume and smoke, leaving behind confusion between comfort and suffocation. The same element that once linked incense to mourning now binds her denial to memory. Her refusal to recognize him is not freedom but recoil; it keeps her frozen in the same emotional geography as the husband she despised. By cutting ties, she believed she could reinvent herself, but her disappearance became another form of captivity — the captivity of guilt, of fear, of unresolved motherhood. Under this light, you comprehend why I added a woman with clothes in the illustration. France itself mirrors her — beautiful, perfumed, wrapped in silk and secrecy. She definitely climbed the social ladders through her second marriage, hence she could offer toys to her second son. The nation of couture and fragrance becomes the stage for the mother’s unmasking. Once the name of Joo Jaewoong rises again, questions about her will inevitably follow. And here, she can no longer hide behind silence or excuses. The myth of refinement — both hers and France’s — collapses under the weight of exposure.

The woman who once fled to preserve her image (a victim of abuse, who couldn’t accept her husband’s choices) will now confront the reflection she abandoned: the son who embodies everything she tried to forget. France, the country of elegance, is also the country of appearances. In the 18th Century, the king and the nobility barely took baths, they relied on scent to mask their dirtiness. It is the perfect mirror for her story — beauty masking decay, luxury concealing guilt. The garbage left in the home is a heritage from the mother (chapter 72)

She carries Joo Jaekyung’s name in absence. The facelessness that once belonged to the child now belongs to her. In that reversal, the curse continues: both are trapped by the same invisibility, mother and son reflecting each other’s wounds across distance. And when he next confronts the ghost of his mother, the recognition will be complete. He will finally understand that the real betrayal was not abandonment alone, but false love — the performance of care without its substance. Thanks to his fated partner, he is learning to understand his feelings better and to improve his vocabulary. So he will be able to call things by its true name. Moreover, I am suspecting that doc Dan’s mother will serve as a counter-example. In discovering this truth, Joo Jaekyung will be able to free himself from this so-called love. He will no longer chase the illusion of her warmth; he will cease mistaking submission for affection. The warmth he sought was never hers to give. He will be able to move on and create his own home.

Doc Dan’s presence redefines it. His calm attention, his patience, his refusal to dramatize care — all these form a new maternal rhythm, one that heals without pretending to. Through the doctor, the wolf experiences what the mother only feigned: the safety of reciprocity. (chapter 73) And in that exchange, the jinx finally begins to dissolve.

Thus, new rituals are born — quiet, tangible, human. They don’t require smoke, nor scent, nor spectacle. Only the soft flick of a page, the weight of a key chain, the memory of someone’s voice and embrace. In those gestures, Joo Jaekyung rediscovers the senses his trauma had silenced. He no longer erases the world; he learns to breathe it in.

PS: Since the match takes place in 8 days (chapter 81) , it signifies that doc Dan and Joo Jaekyung won’t be able to visit the landlord and the halmoni like they did in the past. Moreover, I am expecting a new incident. All this could affect the grandmother’s health.

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: 🟦⬛Back to square one? ⬜🟥

Because the manhwaphiles are witnessing the downfall of the protagonist, people get the impression that history is repeating itself. It was, as though nothing has ever changed. Besides, in my previous essay, I had already outlined the similarities between the past and present and explained the reasons behind this resemblance. However, as you can imagine, we are not back to square one. Thus in this composition, I will elaborate the changes. And this can only be possible by contrasting the present with the past.

1. Monsters in Joseon society

1. 1. Yoon Seungho and his peers

The Painter Of The Night-philes can certainly recall how in the beginning of the story Yoon Seungho was perceived. He was introduced as a brutal and bloodthirsty monster, for he killed a servant in the open. (chapter 1) He was even called a psychopath, for he resorted to kidnapping (chapter 1) sequestration, threats (chapter 2) and blackmail and he initially showed no remorse. (chapter 7). On the other hand, he never got into trouble for his wrongdoings. Why? It is because he wasn’t violating social norms. (chapter 10) It was his right to punish servants, for they are not considered as humans but as propriety. As a lord, he could treat commoners, like it pleased him. Though murder is prohibited, even against a lowborn, (chapter 43), the reality is that nobles would never get into trouble!! As you can see, there exists a discrepancy between laws on the paper and the reality which was exposed by the rumors in episode 106. (chapter 107) The fathers would use their position and influence in order to cover up their children’s wrongdoings. And we have the perfect illustration, when the elder master bribes the governor. (chapter 127) That’s the reason why the younger generation could do everything! Though the lord appeared as a monster first, he became a “normality”, the more we got to read this story. Under this explication, it becomes comprehensible why lord Min was so sure not to get bothered by the authorities. (Chapter 101) He had bought the officers (“the guards”). This explains why Black Heart could threaten No-Name. (chapter 76) He didn’t need to dirty his own hands, he could simply frame him. Consequently, I deduce that he had learned this misconduct through the elders’ behavior.

1. 2. The old bearded men and their roles

Interesting is that in season 4, Yoon Seungho gets protected from prosecution by his father’s power, however the latter did not do it for his sake, rather to protect the Yoons’ reputation and influence. (chapter 116) This shows that neither Black Heart’s father nor Yoon Chang-Hyeon truly love their children, as according to Erich Fromm, love is knowledge, respect, care and responsibility. However, the elder master Yoon is totally ignorant about his son’s talents and good nature. Thereby, I see lord Seungho from season 1 as the perfect illustration of the corrupted world of the nobility. The monster “Yoon Seungho” was just a reflection from this ruthless and immoral society. Since he committed wrongdoings, his karma was to pay for his sins. It starts with a murder, and the main lead ended up killing people. He might have not broken “traditions” like the disregard of the yangbans against lowborns, but it is considered immoral. He had sinned and now, he is paying for his sins. Therefore his words in the prison resonate differently. (chapter 126) He expresses regret. He confesses his crimes, he killed people! This means that he is now siding with the lowborns. Their life is as precious as the ones from the nobility. Yet, note that in this image, the author didn’t drew his eyes. Why? It is because in the moment he executed people, (chapter 102) he was either not himself or he did it out of reflex to protect himself. He was influenced by his past experiences and as such traumas. In the shrine, it becomes more obvious, for he has a lost gaze. He is not even looking at his target. Finally, when he met lord Song, he did it to “protect” himself. (chapter 123) For me, in episode 1, the execution was triggered by his desire to protect himself and his traumas. And what is the common denominator between these three scenes? The father Yoon Chang-Hyeon! Don’t forget that the petition was the reason for their meeting. And now look at the actions from the patriarch. (chapter 116) He had given the order to eliminate all the servants, for they could represent a threat to his “treason”. This explains why the butler describes himself as the only survivor and witness. (chapter 86) And we see him giving the order to kill the surviving guard (chapter 125) Besides, he had no problem to order the assassination of his own son which was stopped by the intervention of a helping hand. The father had never asked to spare the main lead’s life. (chapter 124). He was his bad role model. But he is not the only one. There is another one…

And if crimes were to take place, then the nobles would find scapegoats in order to avoid punishment. Hence No-Name got so many tattoos in the end. (chapter 51) Once a criminal, always a criminal… therefore it is not surprising that the joker chose assassination as second work. By working for the nobles, he would be able to escape punishment, because if he got arrested, he could denunciate them. To conclude, justice is inexistent in Joseon. Yes, we are witnessing the downfall of Joseon, or precisely the king’s bad ruling. The latter is not capable of providing justice to anyone. And this coincides with the purge! (chapter 37) What is a purge?

The purge is the symbol for injustice, because it is connected to violence and intolerance. As you can see, the “fake servant” was exposing his true nature through his words. He should have said “sentenced” or “punished” or “executed” but not purged for treason! I am more than ever convinced that the old bearded man in episode 37 is the king. Those two words (“purged”; “treason”) are contradicting each other. In the first case, the authority is committing a crime by abusing its power, while in the second case, a group is plotting against the authority and as such is breaking laws. Finally, I would like to outline that Yoon Chang-Hyeon and lord Song got evicted from the government which coincides with the second signification of “purge” (chapter 107) “Stepping down” was actually an euphemism for removal. The officials were chased out, (chapter 80) but their evictions were turned into stepping down. (chapter 122) No wonder why lord Song came to resent the protagonist. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the purge was not noticed by commoners. There was no fire and the staff was sparred. (chapter 37) And if they knew, people didn’t feel concerned… for they were violent, filthy nobles. Remember how the woman came to curse the gentry: (chapter 106) Moreover, we could see how an official came to murder lord Shin. (chapter 103) The boots were the indication that this person was working for the government. And it was an elder, for he was wearing this particular headgear. (chapter 103) (chapter 67) The murder of lord Shin is the evidence of the anarchy in Joseon. But actually, the monsters are actually everywhere, and not just among the nobility. The Chungin with the scholar and the physicians who have no problem to lie, participate in a kidnapping and drugging people… the kisaengs, the maids, the servants. They are all accomplices, for they feigned ignorance or chose to remain passive, for they preferred avoiding trouble. What people failed to realize is that no one is safe from this tyranny. Hence people could get killed and thrown into a well so easily (chapter 97) (chapter 101) and their perpetrators got scot-free. Why? It is because the mastermind and the helping hands are protecting each other, like we could see in the Joker’s case. However, the latter in season 3 had no idea that they would face divine retribution and pay with their life. (chapter 102) In front of gods, humans are all equal. There is no distinction between gentry, Chungin and commoners. That’s the reason why I come to the conclusion that Yoon Seungho is the divine hand of justice, he is bringing the “divine retribution”. This explicates this vision: (chapter 83) Under this new approach, it becomes comprehensible why he is called “the bird of misfortune”. People around him got to suffer, for they received their karma. Funny is that lord Song mocked him by calling him a grim reaper. (chapter 123) He underestimated his opponent, not imagining that the latter would use his sword against him. So he became a grim reaper. Lord Song Haseon must have thought that his minions, just like his age and status, would protect him. But no, someone had planned his death and counted on the main lead’s decision.

2. Karma and Baek Na-Kyum

What caught my attention is that Min even expressed the disinterest of the authorities towards peasants. (chapter 99) Thus Min’s karma was to die in the total indifference of others. No one is missing him, for he was turned into a brigand himself. (chapter 113) But wait… Why did Black Heart get killed in the end? One might say that it was his karma, for he had planned the murder of Baek Na-Kyum in the past. In my opinion, the uke serves as a representative of the divine retribution. The artist is the “judge” and his lover is executing the sentence: death. And we can detect this gods’ intervention through the learned sir’s case as well. Jung In-Hun had looked down on the artist for his origins and education. When the generous main lead chose to accept his apology (attempted rape), (chapter 120), the latter reminded him that contrary to Yoon Seungho, he was admired. He had such a good notoriety! Since he betrayed the artist and had almost him killed, the scholar ended up losing everything. (chapter 127) He became the scapegoat for this incident, for he played a huge role in the painter’s suffering (kidnapping, assault, murder and brainwashing). His success at the civil service examination was erased within a few weeks and now he is viewed as a brigand. How could such a person get selected as an official? His fate gives a bad impression of the civil service examination. And what is the common denominator between these two villains? They both belong to different social classes. Their cases is exposing the king’s negligence and arbitrariness. The latter is the perfect personification of this corruption. Not even Confucianism is respected, for fathers are abusing their own children or even killing them. Season 4 is exposing the chaos in Joseon. Therefore it is not surprising that the sacred tree and the shrine got burned. (chapter 106) The gods were using the humans to voice their anger. At the same time, when the woman made this comment, the Manhwa lovers can detect the huge gate in the background, the symbol for royalty. And now, you comprehend why Yoon Seungho was pushed to go to Hanyang. It is his fate to face the king! His task is to clean the palace of these old bearded men. (chapter 44) I had already portrayed him as a black shaman in the essay “Spirits and the lustful shaman“. And since he became a believer in episode 126, this means that he can fulfil his task, giving the king’s divine retribution. (chapter 65) Don’t forget that the monarch is the only one who stands above the laws, though he is controlled by social norms and his officials. In my opinion, this can only take place, when a new scheme takes place. How so? Note that in the scholar’s case, Jung In-Hun received his karma, but not real human justice. For me, he is not dead. Besides, don’t forget that someone took the petition from lord Song, before Yoon Chang-Hyeon came to the bloody place. There is no ambiguity that the accomplices and schemers didn’t get happy with the last outcome. The couple might be separated physically, but they are attached to each other by their strong love. And since the main lead kept wearing hanboks with the phoenix (chapter 34) (chapter 45), it indicates that someone saw him as his bird of fortune. And this can not be Yoon Seungho, for the latter was full of self-hatred. Finally, his own father, Kim and Heena called him as a bird of misfortune. As you can see, the king could no longer see the main lead due to the artist’s presence. He is his bird of fortune, for he could live out all his dreams thanks to him, and at no moment he got into trouble. No one is suspecting his intervention.

3. Though fate parts us once more

As soon as I read this whisper from the main lead (chapter 127) I recognized why the painter and Yoon Seungho had to go separated ways. It is because the schemers wanted him to return to Hanyang. Remember the learned sir’s suggestion before his departure. (chapter 44) Why? It is because now the main lead is an adult. Since my theory is that the pedophile is the ruler, he can no longer approach the protagonist like that. The latter is no longer visiting the gibang. He wants their path to cross again so that they can rekindle. Hence he had to create an opportunity proving that their meeting is not a coincidence. Under this new approach, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungwon encouraged his brother to reconcile with their father. (chapter 37) That way, he would be “following” the tradition and become an official. But since Yoon Seungho developed a fear of “old bearded men”, he had no reason to go there. (chapter 44) This exposes that in his unconscious, the young man was aware that his suffering was related to the officials. But in season 1, their attempts (Jung In-Hun and the brother) failed because of Baek Na-Kyum. The latter had to leave the lord’s side. And this brings me to the following observation. Since the beginning of the story, people were used to make the commoner leave the protagonist’s side:

  • Lee Jihwa with the ruined painting and the murder
  • Min: the party at the kisaeng house, the orgy in episode 33, the kidnapping and murder
  • Heena: (chapter 46) (chapter 68) (chapter 97)
  • Jung In-Hun (chapter 111) (chapter 120)

I could mention Ýoon Seungwon, the staff, butler Kim, Deok-Jae and the kisaengs. And now, it is time to examine the circumstances of their farewell. (chapter 127) As you can see, the painter was feverish. Why? From my perspective, he was drugged. He was not allowed to see his loved one, because they don’t want him to remember their departure. The schemers desire him to feel abandoned like in the gibang (chapter 105). The reason why I am suspecting a drug is that this panel (chapter 127) is similar to the first Wedding Night: (chapter 21) At the same time, this scene is also a reflection from the night after the massacre in the shrine. (chapter 103) Back then, he was also under the influence of an aphrodisiac. They don’t want him to remember his last words. And since he didn’t take care of him during that night, though he was unwell, they hope to create the illusion that Yoon Seungho neglected him. He broke his promise. But their trick can no longer work because of the lord’s visitation in the prison and his words. (chapter 126) (chapter 127) The separation arc is there to prove these plotters wrong. Their affection is not trivial and momentary. He is not a plaything, but his “partner”. In fact, they have absolute trust in each other, and their source of strength will be their short happy moments together. Besides, I am quite certain that the artist will remember the lord’s whisper from that night, since he had problems to recall the First wedding Night and the incident in the shrine. Both are related to his bad conscience. Besides, I have another reason for that, the power of the unconscious knowledge.

Thus I am suspecting that neither the painter nor the lord will be in touch through a correspondence. They have to create the illusion that the main lead is forgetting him. This explicates why Byeonduck created 3 episodes where the silence and miscommunication between the two protagonists played a huge role. (Chapter 108) Though both were close physically, they still allowed others to manipulate them, for their trust was not complete. In other words, the schemers are thinking that time is working for them!! On the other hand, since Kim is by his side, the painter can only consider his presence as the evidence of the lord’s care. (Chapter 127) This coincides with the beginning of the Manhwa, when the lord was seen without his butler. (Chapter 1) The latter only appeared in episode 7, and back then Yoon Seungho had to dress himself. (Chapter 7) Finally, I am expecting schemes again.

4. Yoon Seungho a servant again

I have to admit my surprise, when I saw Yoon Seungho’s bow in front of his father. I really didn’t expect this, yet his decision makes sense. He swears to become his father’s servant. (chapter 127) This means that he is giving up on his status and freedom for Baek Na-Kyum’s sake. (chapter 127) And naturally, this reminded me of this scene with the straw mat beating. (chapter 127) Here Yoon Seungho had been treated like a servant, because he had been submitted to the straw mat beating. Exactly like in the past, there was a promise. Notice how similar the words are: “No matter”. (chapter 77) However, there exists a huge difference. Back then, the vow was made between the butler Kim and Yoon Chang-Hyeon. As you can see, Yoon Seungho is now copying his surrogate father’s behavior. (chapter 127) This shows that the young master is following Kim’s path. On the other hand, the domestic employed the future tense in his pledge (“I will do as he commands”), whereas the “spiritual son” is using the present (“I swear to live as you command”). Moreover, the main lead is talking about his way of life and not “order”. And what does the father desire? (Chapter 86) Making connections so that the Yoons can become influential again!! But how can he do that? By showing his talent? I have my doubts about it. Why? It is because in season 1, the lord was having sex with his peers, and back then they were like battles… for an exchange of favors. I hope, I might be wrong, but I fear that he is about to become a male kisaeng again. Or if not, then this is what the king is expecting from him. And we have the best example in this scene: (chapter 80) Sex against favors. Yoon Seungho has become the symbol of nepotism, though in reality he is the biggest victim of this. According my investigations, Yoon Chang-Hyeon was left in the dark about the pedophile. But now by asking his eldest son to “become his servant”, he is now responsible for his fate. This means that he can no longer “feign ignorance”. What is more important to him, his hatred for sodomy or his dream of power? By using his elder son, Yoon Chang-Hyeon can maintain his reputation and have a clear conscience. However, this makes him a hypocrite. Besides, why would Yoon Seungwon keep pestering his brother to change his life and go to Hanyang, when he “succeeded” with the exam? (chapter 118) Why does he need the protagonist? It is because he needs “connections”. And how can he get these connections? Through his brother. But with the last incident, it looks like Yoon Seungwon jeopardized the remains of his influence, for the noble ignored him. (chapter 127)

But let’s return our attention to the contrast between Kim and his adoptive son. (chapter 127) Another common point between Seungho and Kim is the bow. (Chapter 56) Yet, the domestic is only bowing with his head and not his body. The protagonist is dressed exactly like his father. This comparison exposes that my past interpretation was correct: the butler had awakened his master during the night by lighting the candles. And after receiving this letter, Yoon Seungho dressed himself in order to meet his childhood friend, which reinforces my theory that the valet won’t follow the protagonist.

Interesting is that the butler and his “adoptive son” are acting for someone else’s sake. Yet, the second divergence is that the protagonist’s vow is not affecting the painter’s life (chapter 127), while the butler’s oath was describing Kim as the helping hand to “fix” Yoon Seungho! In other words, at no moment, the valet was risking his life, whereas the main lead is now “sacrificing” his own life (“as a willing servant”) for the painter. And this brings me to the following observation. Why did Yoon Chang-Hyeon order the straw mat beating for his own son in episode 77? It is because the latter had failed the father’s expectations. He had not been able to have sex with a woman. (chapter 86) However, back then, he was considered as the eldest son. One of his duties was to continue the lineage (chapter 82) and because of the stolen kiss, the patriarch became obsessed with sexuality. Observe how lord Song Haseon described the father’s attitude. He knew about the atrocities that the young master was exposed to (chapter 123), but he chose to turn a blind eye, for he believed that the end justifies the means. This explicates why he left the room so quickly and abandoned his son. Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s resent for the eldest son came from his high expectations. This can only reinforce my past interpretation that Yoon Seungho is a new version of Prince Sado. Thus the elder master Yoon’s personality is based on king Yeongjo. Moreover, lord Song alluded to the execution of a prince ordered by the monarch. (chapter 107)

Yoon Seungho has a similar disposition. He also hoped to be recognized and loved, thus he was constantly looking at his father’s eyes. (chapter 55) But what did he see in his father’s gaze? Anger and disappointment, for he was never able to satisfy Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s expectations. (chapter 55) With the release of episode 127, I had this sudden revelation concerning this memory. In the past, I used to think that he had been submitted to the straw mat beating. But now, I think that in this scene, Yoon Seungho was forced to bow to his father by the servants or guards!! Yes, the former version of this scene. (chapter 126) This idea came to my mind, the moment Yoon Seungho emphasized his bowing! (chapter 127) The protagonist’s words imply that he had never done it before!! And now, you know why Yoon Chang-Hyeon agreed to make a deal with his eldest son. (chapter 127) Yoon Seungho’s bow and oath stand for blind obedience and loyalty. This explicates why the author drew him without eyes. (chapter 127) He believes that he has finally been able to tame Yoon Seungho. He has become the perfect “puppet or tool” in order to make his dream come true: POWER! Actually, he is hoping to restore the Yoons’ reputation and glory. (chapter 87) That way, he can act, as if the purge and the humiliation had never happened. So by submitting himself to his father’s will, it looks like Yoon Seungho is put in the same position than in the past. He is “exposed” to the harsh judgement from the patriarch. However, it is just an illusion. How so? First, what caught my attention is the absence of the protagonist’s eye. (chapter 127) The blue color and the absence of the eye are displaying the coldness from Yoon Seungho. He is not looking for recognition and love from his father. He is now totally indifferent towards him. Moreover, if you read my previous essays, you already know that the absence of “eyes” is indicating a lie, like here for example: (chapter 11) (chapter 35) Does it signify that the protagonist has the intention of betraying his own father? I don’t think so, but the manhwaphiles shouldn’t forget the lord’s wish in the kitchen: “I shall remember this moment for as long as I live”. (chapter 118) This shows that when the lord bowed to his father, he was thinking of Baek Na-Kyum in the kitchen. His body might be by his father, but his mind and heart were elsewhere. Thus I couldn’t help myself thinking that Yoon Chang-Hyeon will get betrayed and abandoned by his own son. During the same night, he made 2 vows. It was, as though he had two “lords”! His goal is to meet his loved one again. (Chapter 127) Finally, don’t forget that the main lead is following Kim’s path. He will have to choose between his father and the painter. Yoon Seungho is actually applying the father’s principle: the end justifies the means. So if necessary, he can break his vow to his father.

And now, you are wondering why. It is related to the deal between the father and son. (Chapter 127) It is because Baek Na-Kyum represents a leverage for the father to control his son. He is now replacing the petition. This coincides with Yoon Seungwon’s words: (chapter 116) I still believe that the painter has the original petition. And who is by Baek Na-Kyum’s side? Kim!! (Chapter 127) He is now in charge of the painter so that his pledge to the lord becomes a reality. (Chapter 108) By living by his side, he can lead a quiet life far away from Hanyang. However, this signifies that the artist has become a “prisoner”. As long as he lives in Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s claws, his loved one can not return to his side. Interesting is that a carriage was used to carry away the protagonist. (Chapter 127) Such a transportation was utilized for noblewomen. This can only reinforce the rumor that the protagonist has a fiancee! (Chapter 78) But where is the painter going? To the mansion? Or to another secluded place? In my eyes, the location is important. His existence is still a source of problems for the schemers. I see a future conflict in the lord’s life, for one oath stands in opposition to the other. Moreover, should the patriarch lose Baek Na-Kyum, he can no longer control his son. He can not suddenly blame the painter for the death of lord Song, for Jung In-Hun has been now convicted for the crime. (Chapter 127) The latter is now stigmatized as an arsonist and murderer.

Another reason why I believe that the actual situation diverges from the past is that the patriarch becomes “responsible” for his decisions. (chapter 127) He can no longer blame Yoon Seungho, for he is now just a “servant”. The expectations are also much lower. He just needs to follow his orders. Yoon Seungho is exempted from continuing the lineage. Moreover, Yoon Chang-Hyeon is now as the lord responsible for his son’s protection. Since he is his servant, he has to ensure his safety as well. That’s why he can no longer abuse like in the past. He is his tool to become powerful. This means that he is now dependent on him. Moreover, note that the father and son have a deal. (chapter 127) In other words, there is a certain equity. The painter serves as a leverage which reminds us of the deal between Baek Na-Kyum and his fated companion. (Chapter 7) In exchange for sponsoring the learned sir, Baek Na-Kyum had to go to his bedchamber and paint there. (Chapter 7) Now, the positions are switched. He is the one getting coerced! And this brings me to the following observation. Why did the elder master agree to this deal in the end? First, he refused to assist his son. (chapter 127) He believes that he has the petition, therefore he can no longer be blackmailed by his eldest son. The latter has no longer any leverage over him! However, he changed his mind. (chapter 127) For me, it is related to the bow. I noticed that the patriarch pays a lot of attention to “manners” and etiquette. Therefore the guards apologized on different occasions, yet the elder master always accepted their excuses (chapter 125) (chapter 126) Yet, in reality they were fake excuses. I have already pointed out that the servants would act on their own. But more importantly, their fake apology hid their failure as guards. How could they let the young master barge into the lord’s bedchamber? With a simple apology, this wrongdoing was overlooked. And now, observe what happened during the same night: (chapter 127) Yoon Seungho was followed by the guards! It looked like they were serving him. This scene reminded me of the officers’ appearance in front of the mansion. (chapter 94) This can only reinforce my theory that the main lead will turn against his father in the end. Keep in mind that there is a deal, so should the situation change (the painter’s desertion or the discovery of the second petition for example), the lord is no longer forced to keep his vow towards his father. Moreover, since Baek Na-Kyum got lied, “brainwashed” (chapter 125), “drugged” and slapped by Yoon Chang-Hyeon, he is destined to receive his karma through his son. And what was his dream? (chapter 86) He imagined that his second son would bring him fame and power. But now, the main lead is on his way to become “influential” turning the father’s words into a lie. Yes, the father and son needed to be together again so that the patriarch’s life lie would get exposed and ruined. Since he took the bloody paper (chapter 125) and paid the governor (chapter 127), he could get into trouble for it was, as if he was admitting his responsibility.

In addition, I would like to point out that the protagonist’s mentality is different from Kim’s! The latter advocates immobility and resignation., (chapter 87), whereas Yoon Seungho stands for change and hope. (Chapter 127) The latter is neither nihilist nor defeatist, for the painter has become his “god”, his religion. The hope to meet Baek Na-Kyum again will be his source of strength. He believes that the gods will help him again to have his wish come true. It is their destiny to meet again! (Chapter 127) Like announced in the last analysis, the lord is a changed man due to his new found religion. But this is not visible to the eyes. And the schemers are thinking that they are pulling the strings, while in reality they are themselves utilized as pawns by the spirits. Finally, the painter called himself a “plaything”, hence the schemers can jump to the false conclusion that they have still a chance to achieve their dream, like to punish the Yoons or to win the main lead’s heart. Finally, for me, this story is encouraging people to distinguish between fake heroes and from real saviors. (chapter 127) Where was Heena noona, when her brother was in prison? This rumor can only create the illusion that the painter is still devoted to the learned sir. Yet, after the last incident, the painter came to regret to have trust the learned sir. Both characters are now healed from their traumas (abandonment issues) and they are in full possession of their mind. This makes them less weak to manipulations.

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/ 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 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: Nightmare Inn 🏨🍚🍜 (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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In the essay “Breakups, chagrin and alcohol” I had outlined the parallels between Baek Na-Kyum and Lee Jihwa. Both would use alcohol to numb their pain after the separation from their loved one. Thus the painter and the red-haired noble went to the inn and became drunks. (chapter 1) (chapter 36) In addition, after realizing that each location is associated to a certain event in the past, I came to the conclusion that the inn represents no exception. Hence the tavern is full of symbolism too.

1. The significance of the tavern

If the manhwaphiles can recall all the scenes where the inn appeared (1, 12, 36, 56, 57, 59, 75, 92), they get aware immediately that this place is connected to breakups and more precisely to abandonment and rejection. This signifies that the place embodies longing too, for the “betrayed” one is still missing the partner. I also noticed that in all these scenes, there were 3 people! In episode 1, we have the servant, Baek Na-Kyum and Yoon Seungho. In episode 12, Jihwa, the servant from the Yoons and the noble with the mole. (chapter 12) In episode 36, we have Min, Lee Jihwa and the noble with the mole. (chapter 36) In episode 57, the noble with the mole got replaced by Kim: (chapter 57) In episode 59, the tavern owner asked No-Name to take away Lee Jihwa (chapter 59) And in episode 92, Black Heart joined the couple (chapter 92). The only exception seems to be the scene in chapter 75: (chapter 75) However, this is just an illusion, for the ghost Jung In-Hun was present. And even before, the painter kept thinking about Heena noona. As you can see, the painter’s words were influenced by his “surrogate parents”, the third party. But let’s return to the major parallel: the confession leading to a rejection.

In the inn, the red-haired noble suffered a huge humiliation, when he confessed his feelings for his childhood friend and got rejected. (chapter 57) Though Yoon Seungho had punished his friend for his forged letter, he still listened to his confession before rejecting him properly. He gave an explanation why he would never reciprocate the affection towards his friend. (chapter 59) What caught my attention is that Lee Jihwa perceived the rejection as abandonment, while in truth the protagonist was not truly cutting ties with him. The real traitor was someone else: the noble with the mole, who ran away, when Yoon Seungho confronted his friend. (chapter 57) In that scene, the young master Jihwa had drunk before the arrival of his friends, though he was in full possession of his mind. (chapter 56) As you can detect, in this scene, the author employed the following elements: confession, sanity, tears, sadness, rejection, alcohol and abandonment.

Then in episode 1, the painter was sad, because he was forbidden to paint. At the same time, he could no longer live with the learned sir. Thus he said this to Yoon Seungho in the tavern: (chapter 75) He was heartbroken due to the loss of his passion and his loved one. At the same time, he was plagued by guilt. He felt responsible for Jung In-Hun’s failure. This is important, because it shows that guilt is another common denominator. In chapter 57, Yoon Seungho was guilty for the antagonist’s suffering.

Striking is that in episode 75, the painter was drunk again. (chapter 75) Why? It is because he was also rejecting the lord. He couldn’t give him his heart, for the lord had such a fickle nature. (chapter 75) He was responsible that the painter wouldn’t get close to him. He was judged as not trustworthy. At the same time, the painter’s confession in the tavern mirrors that Baek Na-Kyum was not delirious. Despite the influence of the drug, he could think and speak properly about his feelings and thoughts, similar to Lee Jihwa in chapter 57. To conclude, in season 2, the commoner and the red-haired noble were not stoned during their confession, which stands in opposition to the First Wedding Night:: (chapter 21) And this common denominator reinforces my theory that when Yoon Seungho got kissed in the study, he was not in full possession of his mind. (chapter 77) As you can see, the drug is not only strongly associated to rejection and broken heart, but also to delirium and insanity.

And now, look at the lord’s reaction, when he was approached by Min in the inn: (chapter 92) Min was voicing his longing for Yoon Seungho, he was implying that he had been abandoned by the protagonist. However, note that the lord utilized water to reject Black Heart! (chapter 92) It was, as if the noble was now crying. The water was displaying the hypocrisy of Min, the “fake tears”. He was not missing the main lead at all, in reality he was yearning for the painter’s gaze. Thus he expressed this in the shaman’s house: (chapter 99) Striking is that when the lord with the green hanbok complained to his acquaintance, he was also acting as if he was guilt-tripping Yoon Seungho. According to his words, the protagonist had abandoned him. It was, as if he had completely forgotten him. (chapter 92)

The most astonishing is that just after splashing Min with water, the protagonist justified his action. Min had lost his sanity. (chapter 92) It was, as if he wanted to bring him back to reality, similar to this gesture: (chapter 102). He explained Black Heart’s attitude with the alcohol. Due to the liquor, Min had become insane and obscene. He was speaking about sodomy in a public place. Striking is that the Joker was portraying himself as a man consumed by lust. He needed the lord’s phallus to feel good. That’s how I detected another similarity: the presence of sex and sensuality in the conversation!

  • Chapter 1:
  • Chapter 12: Here, the idiom “toy” was implying sex, though the main characters had not sex together yet.
  • Chapter 36:
  • Chapter 57:
  • Chapter 59:
  • Chapter 75: Here, the painter’s reproach was connected to the lord’s change of behavior. He was no asking for sex, but the painter was actually longing for Yoon Seungho’s warmth and phallus. (chapter 74) As you can see, Baek Na-Kyum was craving for sensuality. But he couldn’t voice it like Min! He was paying attention to social norms.

Hence I deduce that this place is also connected to homosexuality.

2. The tavern in the torment

The allusion to insanity made me realize that the tavern is connected to torment and as such nightmare. The painter had become like a zombie, when he met Yoon Seungho, and Lee Jihwa was also devastated to have lost his lover and friend. (chapter 36) He kept crying, as he couldn’t bear the separation. At the same time, he explained his weeping with the main lead’s past. He was a pitiful creature, for he suffered a lot. Indirectly, he was comparing himself with the main figure. He had gone through a lot too.

Later, when the childhood friend confessed to the protagonist, he brought pain to his friend, for the latter had to hear so many reproaches. He was responsible for his misery, he was so pitiful , (chapter 57) On the other hand, with this blame, Yoon Seungho was constantly reminded of the pedophile, lord Song. Thus Yoon Seungho replied this to the antagonist: (chapter 59) He couldn’t even pronounce his name out of hatred and pain. And now, you comprehend why I chose “nightmare inn” as title. This place is connected to Yoon Seungho’s torment and not just in season 2. In my eyes, something must have happened there which changed the lord’s fate for a decade. The other evidence is this: the forged letter from Lee Jihwa requested from the main lead to meet lord Song in that place. (chapter 56) And observe that Kim never doubted the authenticity of the encounter. (chapter 56) This signifies that the pedophile must have gone there in the past. 😮

One might argue that the tavern is not related to nightmare and torment, for Lee Jihwa visited the tavern in order to celebrate the success of his trick in the manhwa. (chapter 12) There was no breakup or rejection in this scene. There were no tears either contrary to the other chapters. Yet, this is just an illusion. The celebration was based on the suffering of Baek Na-Kyum and Yoon Seungho!! Both had been wounded. Then I realized that this scene mirrored Min’s words in the other taven: “Having fun at Yoon Seungho’s expense”. But more importantly, in Lee Jihwa’s mind, this sentence represented the separation of the couple. Due to the ruined painting, the lord felt rejected and betrayed. (chapter 12) Thus in the red-haired aristocrat’s mind, Yoon Seungho would turn his back on Baek Na-Kyum and abandon him. He would imitate the painter. A betrayal leads to a betrayal. There is no forgiveness. That’s the reason why Lee Jihwa never anticipated that he would get abandoned after getting caught in the study. So far, Yoon Seungho had always forgiven him! (chapter 18)

But why? It is because Baek Na-Kyum had revived the lord’s long lost passion: painting! It was bringing colors and as such light in his darkness. If he were to send away the artist, he would lose his soul forever. He would remain trapped in the nightmare forever. This truly exposes that Lee Jihwa hadn’t truly grasped the significance of painting in Yoon Seungho’s life. In his eyes, it was just an important hobby. (chapter 14), whereas in verity, this passion was essential and even vital for Yoon Seungho. In his subconscious, the lord sensed the healing effect. This would make him smile and provoke emotions and arousal!

3. The presence of the Joker

I discovered another similarity between all these scenes: the presence of a trick! You are probably surprised by this connection, but don’t forget that “trick” is a synonym for “conspiracy, deception and illusion”. And the joker embodies these values, especially if you consider Painter Of The Night as a new version of Batman and The Dark Knight.

In chapter 1, I had explained that the painter was supposed to get killed in the inn. Thus the tavern got closed for the night. It is also possible that the lord went there after the curfew. (chapter 1) There was no witness for these reasons. No one should notice the execution of the commoner Baek Na-Kyum. Secondly, the book had been switched. The lord had shown this to the butler (chapter 1), but when Yoon Seungho interrogated the artist, he exposed a different publication: (chapter 1) It was, as if the painter was forced to deny to be the author of this book. There is no ambiguity that the servant had lied to Yoon Seungho, just like the painter was not entirely honest with Yoon Seungho. In my eyes, the painter had not noticed the divergence. As you can see, the meeting was staged. Unknown people were involved in this encounter so that we could say that the protagonists were just pawns during this scene.

In episode 12, the trick had taken place in the mansion, yet the manhwaphiles shouldn’t overlook that Lee Jihwa had been incited to get revenge on the noble with the mole. (chapter 12) The drop of sweat on his face clearly indicates that he was just feigning ignorance. This exposes that the noble with the mole was deceiving his friend and as such betraying him.

In chapter 36, Min definitely lied to the young master Jihwa. (chapter 36) He was inciting the antagonist to return to the mansion so that he would catch the couple having sex together. That’s the reason why Black Heart made such a comment in the pavilion of his friend: (chapter 43) Yet, this trick didn’t work like Black Heart had anticipated. Why? He imagined that the red-haired noble would resent his friend for his abandonment and betrayal. The reality is that the antagonist reproached The Joker for his lies, he had been manipulating him. (chapter 43)

But let’s return to the scene in the tavern. (chapter 36) The noble with the mole remained silent, but he was well aware of his friend’s manipulations. This indicates that he had become his accomplice. We could say that he helped to create an illusion.

In chapter 56, the childhood friend had forged a letter, forcing Yoon Seungho to go to the inn. However, this time the trick was discovered. (chapter 56) Simultaneously, the butler deceived the tavern owner. He portrayed the red-haired master in such a negative light that she had no compassion for him. (chapter 59) She wished to get rid of him as soon as possible. Thus she asked the Joker to take care of him. (chapter 59) This truly exposes the talent of Kim’s manipulative nature. The tricks are exposing the hypocrisy and lack of loyalty among the characters.

In season 3, the manhwalovers could perceive the presence of 2 Jokers: Black Heart who faked that this meeting was just random. (chapter 92) However, he had been informed about the content of the paper, for he could already determine the genre of the text without seeing the writing. At the same time, he also deceived the couple by taking away the Spring poem. (chapter 92) We never saw him returning it. As for the second trickster, it was naturally Kim who hid under the hanbok which had a similar color than Jung In-Hun’s. (chapter 92) He desired to remind the painter of the existence of the scholar. However, this trick failed too. Why? It is because just before the painter had seen a kisaeng wearing the same robe. (chapter 92) He was just reminded of his noonas, and not just Heena and Jung In-Hun. Furthermore, the butler had overlooked another aspect: Yoon Seungho had been wearing a similar hanbok. (chapter 78) This means that the painter was no longer associating the lavender color to the learned sir. Slowly, the main lead was replacing the teacher and as such, he was moving on from his crush. Thus such an attitude could be perceived by a malevolent eye as indifference and hatred. My avid readers can already understand who I am referring to with such a statement. However, we are all aware that the painter is still loyal towards the learned sir. (chapter 94). Nevertheless, I would like the painterofthenight-stans to take a closer look to this image: (chapter 92) Yes, the couple was sitting in an inn eating sweet potatoes. When I saw this panel for the first time, the man in black caught my attention. His presence puzzled me, for he was standing next to a kisaeng working in the inn. This is totally unusual, for no noble would remain immobile close to the fire place and as such the kitchen. Secondly, he was not wearing his gat, indicating that he was violating social norms. [For more read the essay Coming-Of-Ages] Back then, I had thought that this was the scholar. However, the latter would always pay attention to his appearances. Moreover, he embodies social norms, so he would never move around without his hat. Was he a Joker spying on the couple? For me yes, especially if you take into consideration that there were always 3 people in each scene taking place in the inn. One thing is sure: Min had been informed about the painter’s desire for a Spring poem and his visit to the calligrapher. This means that during their stay in the tavern, the painter had talked constantly about this. So the kisaeng could have heard about the content of their conversation. One might argue that this stay stands in opposition to the other scenes. In this inn, there was no tear, no alcohol and no “betrayal”. But the manhwalovers shouldn’t forget that during that scene, the lord was actually rejecting the suggestion of the painter. The former saw no reason why they should look for the calligrapher!! Yoon Seungho was on the verge of breaking his promise, a “betrayal”. The irony is that he was so annoyed by the painter’s words, that at the end he gave in. (chapter 91) He was on the verge of losing his “sanity”😉, for the painter kept talking how important it was to protect from bad luck! As you can see, this scene is not different from the others: insanity, longing, trick, betrayal and rejection! The absence of tears and alcohol is easily explainable. The painter was not heartbroken, he just saw this as a necessity. Furthermore, this scene made me realize that the tavern is connected to arts. In almost all the mentioned chapters, the characters implied the erotic publications or arts. The spring poem is compared to a drawing by the painter, the calligraphy reminded him of snow flakes. Once again, the exception of this element is chapter 36! Here, Black Min and Lee Jihwa were only referring to sex and nothing more. (chapter 36) This outlines that sodomy had replaced the lord’s original passions: poetry and painting. Yet, the manhwaphiles shouldn’t forget that in chapter 36 the author had included a scene with painting. This is no coincidence that during the same night, the lord took the brush and created a orchid on his lover’s stomach. (chapter 36) From my point of view, Lee Jihwa was aware that his friend had been forced to renounce on his passions. Thus he said this: (chapter 36) To conclude, there is a strong connection between the tavern and arts. The manhwaworms will certainly recall that many kisaengs would start working in taverns, once they reached a certain age. And look at this: (chapter 74) I had already explained in a different essay that in chapter 75, the painter had been thinking about his noonas and in particular about Heena, because he had seen the kisaeng. Thus he kept thinking about his sister’s words: (chapter 75) However, observe that in chapter 92, he was so focused on the Spring poem that he didn’t see the kisaeng in this tavern. (chapter 92) Thus I come to the conclusion that the schemers must have played a similar trick later. However, this time, there was not just one kisaeng, but two! Moreover, these were still active kisaengs which is visible due to the colors of their hanboks. (chapter 92). That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the man in the black hanbok was connected to Min.

Thus I am deducing that in the past, one of the characters in the tavern got deceived by his companion. And here, I am thinking of the patriarch Yoon Chang-Hyeon. In my eyes, he must have committed a wrongdoing there, but he never realized it. I would even add that he never recognized that his mistake would have terrible consequences for his family and in particular for Yoon Seungho. This explains why the location embodies guilt either. Moreover, don’t forget that according to me, the mysterious lord Song must have visited this place in the past.

4. Humiliation

By contrasting these scenes, I came to recognize another pattern: pride which led to humiliation. In chapter 1, the lord executed the servant, for he had “fooled” him. His honor had been soiled. (chapter 1) In chapter 12, the childhood friend praised the main character. He had acted like a true lord with the sentence. (chapter 12) Furthermore, the noble with the hunting outfit had been avenged, so his honor had been restored. In chapter 36, the red-haired master had first acted like a prideful master. (chapter 36) He would only forgive his friend, if the latter would come to see him. Furthermore, when the latter confessed to his friend, he threw his pride over board: (chapter 57) He was willing to accept this humiliation, if in exchange he could rekindle with Yoon Seungho. He hoped by lowering himself that his friend would come to save his honor. He wouldn’t reject him due his title and social norms. Yet, his dream didn’t come true, so we could say that he had the impression that he was sent to hell. Then in chapter 75, the learned sir’s pride had been wounded because of the erotic paintings. (chapter 75) As for Black Heart, he got insulted in the tavern. He was splashed with water. And what did the noble with the green hanbok reply to this insult? He announced that he would seek revenge on Yoon Seungho (chapter 92) Lee Jihwa was also full by resent and revenge, when he realized that the lord had made love to the painter after he had been rejected. (chapter 60) Thus shortly after, the young man had a weapon in his hand (though according to me, this tool was placed by Kim) (chapter 60). His intention was to kill the painter, though here he was just acting on affect. As you can see, the inn is in reality connected to a crime, and the desire of revenge! Don’t forget what Yoon Seungho said to the messenger: (chapter 80) According to his words, he had insulted the king by not utilizing the correct title. BUT we shouldn’t take this declaration as face-value, for the main lead is just repeating what he has been told. I have always said that the pedophile had been motivated by revenge and lust. The latter had been humiliated! Now, for the first time, I see a strong connection between the tavern and the wrongdoing linked to the mysterious lord. But what is the common denominator between all these scenes? CONFESSION! In chapter 1, Yoon Seungho confessed his admiration for the artist. In chapter 36, Lee Jihwa admitted the existence of a secret and his friend’s torment. In chapter 57 and 75, both ukes confessed their love (the main lead and painting). On the other hand, confession has a different meaning: admission of a crime! Thus I am suspecting that “lord Song” got rejected in this place. Thus he felt humiliated and his thirst for revenge took over. And it is related to arts!!

5. The guests in the inn

First, we have the presence of the noble with the mole who keeps wearing a purple outfit. The color reminds me of this guest. (chapter 83) This reinforces my conviction that lord Song visited the tavern once.

Secondly, I detected the presence of a servant in the inn: 1, 12, 57, 59 and 92. In episode 59, I had already pointed out that a servant from the Lees had visited the inn, for there were foot prints in the snow. (chapter 59) Then in chapter 75, we should consider Baek Na-Kyum as a servant due to his clothes. (chapter 75) And now, if you take into consideration that the servant from episode 1 and 12 were acting on Kim’s behalf, you will realize that the servant in the past can only be KIM. And he was present in episode 92. (chapter 92) Furthermore, according to my observation, he was working with No-Name during the night of the abduction. This means that Kim witnessed something. And since he is seen tattling to Min, I come to the conclusion that he denunciated someone!! This represents the confession of a “crime”. And this can only be the Yoons in my opinion. Servant in episode 1 had spied onto Baek Na-Kyum, and the servant from episode 12 had also reported to Lee Jihwa. Kim in episode 57 and 92 left the mansion without permission, and this was the case for the domestic in episode 12 either.

What caught my attention is that Min got more and more involved with the tavern. In chapter 12, his friend was the only one present. Then in chapter 36, he appeared for the first time. There he faked his understanding and concern for Lee Jihwa (chapter 36) In season 2, the Joker didn’t follow the red-haired master to the inn, yet there is no doubt that he sent the noble with the mole in his place. As you can see, the noble with the mole was Min’s emissary. He was supposed to manipulate his friend to follow Min’s request. Min knew about Lee Jihwa’s hesitation. (chapter 57) Thus he vanished, when he saw Yoon Seungho’s reaction. He realized that the protagonist could detect his presence. He feared that Yoon Seungho could recognize that they were the ones behind the letter of lord Song. Finally, in chapter 92, Black Heart joined the couple for the first time there. He definitely hoped to drive an edge between them. He hoped to get the attention from Baek Na-Kyum in the end. But he never succeeded. Thus I came to realize that Black Heart was preparing the arrival of the mysterious lord Song. The latter will replace Min.

6. Conclusions and predictions

The tavern doesn’t just symbolize confession, longing, rejection and abandonment, but also it is strongly connected to a wrongdoing. Thus the place is connected to humiliation, guilt and punishment. Moreover, I also discovered the link between the inn and arts. Consequently, I came to the following conclusion: everything started in the tavern which led to Yoon Seungho’s downfall and suffering. THUS the title is NIGHTMARE INN! Observe that Lee Jihwa’s reputation got ruined within a day after Kim spread this rumor about him: (chapter 59) His despair was fake, hence he was abandoned by the inn owner. This would explain why no one remembers the lord’s past good reputation. (chapter 57) This incident mirrors the past, the only difference is that the main lead was totally innocent contrary to Lee Jihwa, who had been partially responsible for his friend’s suffering. Under this new perspective, it becomes understandable why the author would start the story more or less in the tavern. But since the place is associated to sanity versus insanity (losing the wits), I am suspecting that the “wrongdoing” from the patriarch never deserved such a “punishment”. This sentence was out of proportion.

Because I made a connection between Heena and lord Song, I am expecting that we will see them there at some point. For me, there is no ambiguity that the woman is not dead. Besides, the painter needs to confront his noona about her lies and manipulations in the past and present. Heena, as a former kisaeng, could earn her living by working in the tavern. (chapter 01)

Finally, let’s not forget in this place, the painter had been betrayed by the noona and the scholar. How could Baek Na-Kyum live as a drunk, when he was no longer painting? Moreover, keep in mind that the vow was connected to erotic paintings. (chapter 34) Technically, he could paint other things (plants, animal etc), like in his childhood. Hence I have the impression that he had been pressured to become a painter of erotic paintings… the former version of season 1. And for me, Heena was behind this. Yet, the painter confessed in the tavern that he could no longer paint. (chapter 75) This means that he had forgotten how to paint nature or landscapes, and this reminds me of Yoon Seungho’s destiny. Note that he first started drawing erotic paintings (chapter 23) before drawing the orchid! (chapter 36) So when the painter was heartbroken and sad, drowning his sorrow in alcohol, someone had to pay for the bills and for me, this can only be the head-kisaeng. In my eyes, Heena and Jung In-Hun knew how and where the painter was living, but this was not their problem.

As a conclusion, expect another confession and rejection in the tavern, when season 4 is released. At the same time, I have the feeling that the authorities will get involved in this place. Why? Because of this: (chapter 1) and the element “confession” which is associated to crime. Back then, there was no witness and this scene took place during the night. No ruckus!! People in Joseon were not allowed to walk during the night due to the curfew. This stands in opposition to these scenes: it was not too late, thus the tavern was not closed yet (chapter 59) And this made me realize that the scene in the tavern from season 3 took place during the day contrary to season 1, while in season 2, we have both: the day and the night! Thus I am expecting that two scenes in the tavern will take place, one during the day and the other during the night in season 4. Let’s not forget that in chapter 75, the couple had remained there until nightfall.. (chapter 75) Finally, I believe that this scene in the tavern is linked to Kim, he will report the painter to the authorities. However, this night won’t end like a nightmare, for the circle is about to get closed, the end of ouroboros, the circle of revenge and hatred!! .

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