Please support the authors by reading Manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the Manhwa: Jinx But be aware that the Manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link of the table of contents about Jinx. Here is the link where you can find the table of contents of analyzed Manhwas. Here are the links, if you are interested in the first work from Mingwa, BJ Alex, and the 2 previous essays about Jinx The Song Of Life (locked) and The Fabric of Silence
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People might have been wondering why I haven’t published anything after the release of episode 78. My silence is linked to my health. I was sick exactly like Joo Jaekyung. I had to remain in bed for a while. But enough about me.
When Doc Dan returned to Team Black, the fighters were so overjoyed that they immediately proposed to celebrate his comeback with a party. 
(chapter 78) Their noisy excitement — hugs, wishes, smiles, jokes, even talk of meat — gave the impression of a long-awaited reunion. Yet the suggestion was cut short by Jaekyung, who rejected it like this: 
(chapter 78) In other words, a party was “missed.” At first glance, this might appear to be an exception, a rare moment of denial in a story otherwise filled with shared rituals. Readers might recall the welcome party
(chapter 9) in episode 9, the champion’s birthday dinner 
(chapter 43) in episode 43, the talk of hospital get-togethers 
(chapter 61), or the festive tone of fighters after director Choi Gilseok’s victory 
(chapter 52).
But the closer one looks, the clearer the pattern becomes. The missed party is not an isolated accident; it is the rhythm of Jinx itself. Whenever celebration hovers near — a victory, a birthday, a reunion, even a funeral — someone is not present. In addition, the celebration arrives too early, too late, in the wrong place, or in the wrong form. Jaekyung wins titles, but the gym shares the glory while he remains uncelebrated. 
(chapter 41) Why did they not organize a party in Seoul to celebrate his victory in the States? Dan devotes himself to work, but his departures are marked by silence 
(chapter 53) rather than farewell. 
(chapter 1) The few rituals that do occur — a premature birthday cake, a noisy hug, puppies chasing after a car — 
(chapter 78) always miss their mark, either hollow in substance or unseen by the very people who should be honored.
The title The Missed Party therefore names more than one canceled occasion. It captures the way the two protagonists move through a world where rituals of belonging are constantly distorted or denied. And in a culture where such celebrations carry deep social weight, the absence is all the more striking. The missed party becomes the haunting motif of their lives: recognition always promised, but never truly given.
The Meaning of Parties in Korea
In Korean culture, parties and team dinners (hoesik) hold a strong ritual function: they create bonds, display hierarchy, and confirm belonging within a group. Farewells, birthdays, and victories are all expected occasions for collective recognition. Yet in Jinx, these moments of celebration are strangely absent or hollow. When Jaekyung wins, his fee doubles, but no feast marks his achievement. Instead, the manager presents the “wolf” as his “trophy”. To conclude, others share in the reflected glory while the champion himself remains excluded, a fighter without a banquet. (Chapter 41) And this absence of recognition and respect is mirrored in the physical therapist’s position. He is not surrounded by the fighters and included by the manager. He is standing on the sideline. It was, as though his good work was not recognized 
. (Chapter 43) Even the “dragon’s” birthday, supposedly a day of personal celebration, is reduced to an awkward dinner at his expense, with a cake arriving a day too early 
(chapter 43) or gifts from sponsors and fans he never wanted. 
(Chapter 41) In Germany, it is considered as a bad omen to celebrate a birthday too soon. Rituals that should affirm intimacy instead expose distance and lack of respect.
A striking contrast appears in chapter 52, when the fighters from King of MMA (chapter 52) gather at the very restaurant used for Jaekyung’s birthday. This time the feast is paid for not by him, but by Choi Gilseok — the rival director who had just won money betting against Jaekyung. The excuse for the banquet is twofold: the humiliation of the champion’s tie and the arrival of new members. Yet the sponsor of the event is absent, his presence felt only through the bill he covers. Unlike the wolf, whose victories go unmarked, Choi Gilseok uses food and drink to project power and buy loyalty. Yet, this celebration with the absent director displays not only hypocrisy, but also resent and jealousy due to the selection of the location. The cruel irony is that Jaekyung’s fall is more celebrated than his rise. 
(Chapter 52)
This cultural backdrop makes the silences and absences in the Korean Manhwa all the more striking. Parties are repeatedly mentioned but rarely materialize, and when they do, they are strangely hollow. In chapter 61, for instance, a nurse suggests inviting the star to their next hospital get-together. (Chapter 61) The excitement is palpable — “loyalty” and celebrity sparkle in their eyes — but what stands out is the way Dan is erased in the process. They do not invite him; they want access to the famous fighter through him. His role is reduced to a conduit, the man who happens to be “close with Mr. Joo.” The irony is brutal: after two months of work in the hospice, Dan has never once been shown attending such gatherings himself. His own belonging is not on the table. He is used as a bridge to someone else’s fame, while his own exhaustion and lowered gaze silently testify to his exclusion.
But wait — is Dan not also responsible for his isolation? At no moment does he try to be close to them. He avoids their chatter, keeps his distance, and carries himself like someone already half absent. Chapter 56 seems to confirm this impression: even approached by one of the nurses, doc Dan uses work to avoid their company. 
(chapter 56) However, this is just an illusion. What caught my attention is that the nurses wondered themselves why such a skilled therapist would come to a small-town hospital.
(chapter 56) They speak about him, as though he had no reason to stay there, as if he were a stranger passing through. Right from the beginning, he was treated unconsciously as temporary, someone whose presence required explanation rather than welcome. Finally, no party was held for him, no ritual of inclusion was offered. His distance and their detachment mirrored each other, producing the silence that would later define his departure. 
(chapter 78)
The paradox becomes even clearer when we turn to the star himself. Despite his status as champion, he never receives a proper victory celebration. After each match, we never see a celebration. 
(chapter 5) It ends either in the car or in the locker room. 
(chapter 15) The high peak of his celebrated victories takes place at the gym where Park Namwook gather the fighters in front of the Emperor congratulating himself for his “good work” and the spectators for belonging to a winning team. (chapter 41) Yet no feast is held for Jaekyung, no toast to his perseverance. The two men at the center of the achievement are left without ritual acknowledgment, while the institution absorbs the honor. They remain a wolf and a hamster without a feast — fighting, winning, but never celebrated for who they are. And now, you understand why the manager could make such a suggestion at the hospital: 
(chapter 53) For him, the physical therapists were just tools and as such replaceable.
Even Jaekyung’s birthday party in chapter 43 reveals this paradox. 
(chapter 43) A birthday, especially in Korea, is typically a family-centered celebration, held at home or among close friends. Yet Jaekyung’s “party” takes place in a restaurant, under Yosep’s casual announcement that they would be having a “dinner party.” (chapter 43) The phrasing itself is odd, almost bureaucratic, as though the event were an obligation rather than a gift. Jaekyung himself had to pay the bill, reversing the usual logic of being celebrated. They even started eating before which is actually a huge violation of social norms. The cake appeared the day before his real birthday, an empty gesture more about timing than sincerity. And while fans and sponsors showered him with gifts throughout the month, Jaekyung revealed that he didn’t want any of them. The ritual forms were there — cake, dinner, presents — but the meaning was absent.
But there is another telling absence: Dan himself was left in the dark about the “surprise.” (chapter 43) The fighters never included him in the planning, as if they feared he might leak the secret. In reality, this exclusion only repeated his deeper past: once again, he was not considered part of the group’s inner circle. Had he been told, he might have brought the card and the gift of his own, softening the sting of Jaekyung’s reaction. 
(chapter 45) By keeping Dan in the dark about the “surprise,” the fighters created another problem. Their silence pushed him to offer his own present on the same day as the gifts from sponsors and fans — exactly the kind of attention Jaekyung resented. He had already said he did not want those presents, and now Dan’s sincere gesture was placed in the same category, indistinguishable from the flood of unwanted offerings. What could have been a private, meaningful moment was absorbed into the hollow ritual of the group. Hence the champion never got to read his card! (chapter 43) In trying to celebrate, the team only ensured that both Jaekyung and Dan felt more isolated than ever. Instead, his silence reinforced the impression that he was peripheral. Unconsciously, Team Black treated him not as one of their own, but as an outsider to be managed. And even within the celebration, another absence was visible: Potato was missing, and no one seemed to notice. (chapter 43) The party did not affirm Jaekyung’s existence, nor Dan’s place beside him. It only reinforced their shared isolation, hidden under the noise of clapping and cheers.
Thus, Jinx presents us with a paradox: in a culture where parties are essential rituals of belonging, both Dan and Jaekyung remain excluded. They are surrounded by the signs of festivity, but the substance is always missing. Their lives are structured not by recognition but by its absence, not by celebration but by silence.
Dan’s Missed Parties
If the star’s parties are hollow, Dan’s are almost nonexistent. The only party where we see him smiling is his birthday, when he was a little boy. 
(Chapter 11) One might think, this celebration embodies a perfect birthday party. However, observe the absence of friends. It took place during the night too, a sign that his birthday was not celebrated properly. Everything implies his social exclusion. This made me wonder if this memory represents the only birthday party he ever had with Shin Okja. His life is a sequence of departures without ritual, absences without acknowledgment. Each time he leaves a place of work or community, he slips out like a ghost, denied the closure that parties are meant to provide.
At the hospital in Seoul, where he endured the predatory advances of the director, his dismissal was brutal and final. (Chapter 1) He was not only fired but blacklisted, erased from his profession’s networks. No farewell dinner was organized, no colleagues thanked him for his work, no one marked his departure. 
(Chapter 1) His stay had been so brief as well. Besides, his absence was engineered to be total, as though he had never existed. The very ritual that should have affirmed his contributions instead became a ritual of erasure.
At the gym, the pattern repeated itself. The spray incident turned him first into a scapegoat. Park Namwook yelled, the fighters remained passive, and even Jaekyung rejected his presence. In the space of a few minutes, Dan was ostracized, his innocence ignored. 
(Chapter 50) Then later the athlete questioned the physical therapist’s actions and told him this 
(chapter 51) out of fear and pain, the physical therapist thought, he was fired. Once again, he left in silence, unacknowledged. No one stood up for him, no one tried to reintegrate him, no farewell was offered. (Chapter 53) And keep in mind that according to me, in this scene, the manager already knew the truth. So he had a reason to dismiss a farewell party. The absence of ritual here was particularly cruel: Dan had given his skills and energy to the fighters, but his exit marked him only as disposable.
The hospice, where he briefly found genuine warmth, provided no closure either. When he left for Seoul, the staff were shocked, even saddened — but his departure was so sudden that no send-off was possible. (Chapter 78) Their affection was genuine, but the ritual was missing. Dan slipped away in silence, just as he had at the hospital and the gym. In the panel, what caught my attention is the reaction of the director. He is crying while keeping his distance, a sign that he is the one the most affected by doc Dan’s departure. For me, the author is alluding to the director’s regrets. If only he had treated doc Dan better… only too late, he had recognized that he had become accustomed to his presence. Doc Dan had always been a silent but active listener.
This absence of farewell may stretch back to his earliest traumas. If his parents truly died by suicide, it is possible that Dan never attended their funeral. Poverty, shame, and debt may have erased even that ceremony, leaving him with no closure for the loss of his own family. We can use Joo Jaewoong’s funeral as a source of inspiration. 
(chapter 74) The silence of his grandmother on this point suggests that even the most basic ritual of mourning was denied him.
The pattern becomes symbolic in the death of the puppy. 
(Chapter 59) Only Dan and the landlord marked the event with a quiet burial. Since no one knew about it, it left the ritual incomplete. For Dan, the small act was meaningful, but its invisibility to the larger community echoed his own life: recognition always hidden, always partial, never public.
Even in moments that looked like parties, Dan was left on the margins. Jaekyung’s birthday party, with its cake and noisy cheer, contained an intimate truth: Jaekyung’s sudden, raw confession, “
(chapter 43) This was the real heart of the evening, the only moment where ritual turned into intimacy. And yet even this was missed by Potato, who was absent at that crucial moment, lingering elsewhere with Heesung. The party’s form was there, but its essence — the recognition of Jaekyung’s loneliness and Dan’s importance — was overlooked by the two men at its center due to the presence of alcohol.
Thus, Dan’s life is a chain of missed parties. At the hospital, the gym, the hospice, even at funerals, he departs without recognition. And when celebrations do occur, the essential truth is missed — noticed only by those who are absent, while those present look away.
The Puppies’ Party
Nowhere is the irony sharper than in chapter 78, when the puppies run after the departing car. 
(Chapter 78) To them, departure is not tragedy but play, a noisy farewell parade. Their barking and chasing become a spontaneous party, a joyous ritual of attachment. (Chapter 78) It is pure, instinctive, and alive. And yet, neither Jaekyung nor Dan sees it. Shut in the car, burdened by urgency, contracts, and exhaustion, they miss the little parade given in their honor.
The contrast is devastating. Humans, with their expectations of formal ritual, repeatedly fail to mark Dan’s contributions. They miss every opportunity to acknowledge him. But the animals, in their innocence, succeed where people fail: they celebrate simply because they care. The puppies recognize bonds better than the humans who claim to love him.
What makes this little parade even more striking is that the puppies do not separate between wolf and hamster. Their joy is directed at both men together, at the bond symbolized by the car’s departure. (Chapter 78) In this sense, the puppies achieve what the humans cannot: they recognize attachment without division, gratitude without debt. Their farewell is not tied to work, contracts, or hierarchy, but to presence itself. (Chapter 78) By running after the car, they express loyalty and responsibility, acknowledging the care they have received. It is the only party in Jinx that includes both protagonists as they are — not as worker and champion, not as scapegoat and boss, but as a pair worth celebrating. Finally, they have no idea that the couple plans to return soon, as they have no notion of time.
(Chapter 78) Striking is that here, doc Dan is making a promise to Boksoon and her puppies, but the latter have no idea. Therefore imagine this. On the weekend, the moment the car approaches the landlord’s house, the puppies will recognize them and celebrate their return! And this time, both characters will witness this welcome party: (chapter 78) How can doc Dan not be moved and even smile? Why did the champion reject the landlord’s suggestion (taking a puppy)? He had no time… Having a puppy will not just force him to slow down and take his time, but also attract real and genuine attention from the members of Team Black. (Chapter 78) The animals would even change Joo Jaekyung’s behavior and the fighters’ perception of their hyung. 
(chapter 78)
The Illusory Reset
When Dan returns to the gym, the fighters smother him with hugs and noisy affection. They beg him not to leave again, propose a welcome party, and act as if everything is back to normal. 
(Chapter 78) But this “reset” is an illusion. Dan is only contracted for two matches. Interesting is that no one is capable of perceiving the truth, as the main lead’s explanation is ambiguous.
(Chapter 78) He doesn’t limit the number of matches, only that he will focus on the “wolf”. So for them, his return is not limited in time. Nevertheless, his paleness and dark circles speak louder than their words: he is exhausted, fragile, still haunted.
The fighters, however, do not see his state. 
(Chapter 78) They are more worried about another possible departure than about his condition, as though his leaving again would be a greater tragedy than his ongoing suffering. This exposes that the members are not totally oblivious and their reunion is not a repetition of the past. On the other hand, warm words and a noisy welcome are enough for them. They take his generosity for granted, just as they always have. Therefore they ask for his magic hands. (Chapter 78) Their celebration is shallow, a ritual meant to restore their own comfort rather than acknowledge his reality.
Here, the cultural weight of parties in Korea sharpens the irony. Gatherings are strongly intertwined with alcohol
(chapter 9), and abstaining from drink often means being excluded from group belonging. Yet Dan, on medication, cannot drink. His doctor’s recommendation makes it impossible for him to participate in such “public” rituals. Even the customary sharing of a huge bowl — a symbol of intimacy and unity — must be avoided. For Jaekyung, who once used alcohol to dull his own struggles, 
(chapter 54) this becomes another reason to refuse such parties: they risk exposing Dan to temptation and harm. Park Namwook, knowing Jaekyung’s history of drinking, has no interest in promoting such events either. 
(Chapter 78) Hence the latter has no interest to organize a welcome party and even maintain the ritual with the bowl!! What might appear to others as grumpiness or stinginess is in fact a form of protection.
In contrast, Potato embodies another response. 
(Chapter 78) Having missed Dan most deeply during his absence, he now wishes to spend as much time as possible with his hyung. His longing shows that no party with Heesung and the landlord — no noisy drinking night — 
(chapter 58) could fill the hole left by Dan’s departure. But his form of attachment is still caught in the ritual of surface-level affection. What Potato craves is real closeness, hence he keeps hugging the physical therapist, (chapter 78) but what he proposes are the same shallow gestures that miss the truth of Dan’s fragility. The chow chow’s words — “Nothing beats seeing you at the gym” — unintentionally reveal this dependence. On the surface, it is a casual expression of joy and longing. Yet beneath it lies another truth: if the hamster were to leave Team Black for good, the gym would eventually lose all its members. From the start of the story, Dan has embodied teamwork. He is the glue that holds the fighters together, not by authority or charisma, but by care. Without him, unity dissolves into rivalry and noise. The irony is that the fighters sense this truth but cannot articulate it. They attempt to celebrate his return with hugs and the promise of a party, as if rituals could substitute for recognition. In reality, what they crave is not the feast but the fragile cohesion that Dan alone brings.
Striking is that Jaekyung’s refusal of the welcome party is linked to his position as director of the gym. It marks a turning point. Indirectly, he rejects the idea by redirecting the fighters’ attention. He points out their indifference toward him. For the first time, the athlete is voicing his dislike openly, he felt excluded. Due to this combination, the athlete doesn’t realize that he rejected the party, as if he refused to participate in hollow rituals that only disguise exhaustion and perpetuate harm. (Chapter 78) It becomes clear that for the athlete, such parties built on illusion can only harm Dan further. To conclude, thanks to his intervention, he protected the hamster from rituals that mistake noise for acceptance and even care. 
(chapter 9)
Park Namwook’s position within Team Black also sheds light on the dynamic of missed parties. In earlier chapters, he was the one who orchestrated gatherings 
(chapter 26), or allowed whether welcome parties or surprise celebrations or pre-match meals 
(chapter 22). These events were never about genuine recognition but about maintaining power and appearances, boosting morale, or reminding the fighters of their dependence on the team structure he managed. The “surprise” birthday party in chapter 43 bore his fingerprints, (chapter 43) yet he stayed conspicuously absent when the cake was presented, only appearing later at the restaurant. 
(chapter 43) This absence is revealing: Namwook preferred to avoid direct conflict with Jaekyung’s visible displeasure, leaving the awkward burden of paying and performing to the champion himself to Yosep. In other words, his parties were tools of control, not gifts of belonging. By chapter 78, however, the balance has shifted. 
(chapter 78) Standing in the back, Namwook watches as Dan returns and is embraced by the fighters. He notices a “different vibe” between the two leads, but fails to grasp what it means. Doc Dan is actually free and has the upper hand in their relationship. Hence he can no longer ask this from doc Dan: 
(chapter 36) Doc Dan should put up with everything. What he cannot admit is that Dan is no longer replaceable. (chapter 78) Once erased, the therapist now belongs; once central, the manager is now the outsider. Namwook is pushed into the very silence he once imposed on others. The irony is sharpened when Jaekyung openly asserts his authority: (chapter 78) With that, the wolf reclaims his rightful place. In other words, by respecting the hamster, the protagonist is learning to protect his own dignity and interests. (chapter 78) Namwook’s illusion of control dissolves, his “decisions” and rituals losing their force. Even the proposed welcome party collapses in an instant when Jaekyung refuses, proving that Namwook no longer directs the rhythm of the team. The missed party is thus his own as well: the final chance to assert authority through ritual slips away before his eyes, leaving him stranded on the margins of the very world he once managed. And in this reversal lies a striking symmetry: the silence that once excluded Dan now excludes Namwook, completing a cycle of poetic justice. What Dan endured in season one (chapter 41), sidelined and voiceless, is now mirrored in the manager’s quiet erasure.
If Dan’s health were to worsen, the most striking reversal might occur: a match could be cancelled not because of the champion, but because of his therapist. Such a possibility would mark a profound shift in the logic of Team Black. In season one, Jaekyung fought regardless of his condition; his insomnia, shoulder injury, foot injury and depression were ignored, never reasons to stop the machine. Dan was expected to keep patching him up in silence while the show went on. But if a fight were cancelled due to Dan’s weakness, it would confirm his irreplaceable place in the system. The team’s future would depend not only on the fists of the champion but on the presence of the man who heals him. For the wolf, this would be more than logistics: it would be a choice of care over profit, proof that he has reclaimed his authority to protect rather than exploit. And for Namwook, such a cancellation would represent his ultimate defeat. A missed party of the grandest kind — a fight night erased from the calendar — would signal the collapse of his management logic. 
(chapter 69) Yet unlike all the hollow celebrations that came before, this missed event would finally have meaning. It would not be absence through neglect, but absence as recognition: proof that Dan’s life matters more than ritual, profit, or performance.
The Real Parties They Missed
If there was ever a “real” party in Dan’s life, it was the small gathering by the seaside with Heesung, the landlord, and Potato. (chapter 58) A simple evening of drinking and laughter, it gave him a fleeting taste of inclusion outside the world of gyms and hospitals. Yet even this was flawed: Dan’s health made alcohol dangerous, and Jaekyung never knew of the event. For him, it became another missed party, a moment of warmth hidden from his eyes.
The traces of this seaside evening resurface in chapter 78, when Potato joins the fighters to welcome Dan back. Unlike the others, however, he arrives noticeably later. 
(chapter 78) This delay suggests a split loyalty: while the team is already celebrating, Potato is likely still tied to Heesung, perhaps even speaking to him on the phone. His tardiness betrays how his heart is pulled in two directions — caught between the actor’s orbit and the gym’s renewed center around Dan. Yet the embrace of the fighter, and his tearful reaction at seeing Dan again, show that his real place lies with Team Black. (chapter 78) The return of Dan shifts Potato’s focus: he no longer has to trail after Heesung, but can make his hyung and his own career a priority once more.
And here lies the seed of conflict. In chapter 59, 
(chapter 59) Potato had made a promise to treat Dan to a meal if he ever returned, squeezing his hand with the sincerity of a puppy. That promise, innocent as it seemed, carried a hidden trap: in Korea, such “treats” almost always involve alcohol. And he could try to recreate the party on the coast. Potato, unaware of Dan’s medical restrictions, may offer him exactly what he must refuse. Only Jaekyung knows the truth of Dan’s fragile health; only he can act as his shield against such misplaced affection. Secondly, Potato possesses pictures of the puppies 
(chapter 60), which he took on the day one of them died!
What makes this tension more explosive is the role of Heesung. He alone knows that Jaekyung resorted to drinking after Dan’s departure 
(chapter 58), and his presence ties alcohol directly to the champion’s vulnerability. At the same time, Potato’s loyalty is beginning to shift. He once orbited Heesung like a hidden lover, but Dan’s return rekindles his attachment to the gym and as such will affect his relationship with the gumiho. (chapter 78) The “puppy” now prefers Dan’s company at the gym to the actor’s beck and call. The small seaside party that once united them may become the fault line that divides them: an invitation, a bottle of soju, a clash between past habits and new priorities. For Jaekyung, it will be the ultimate test — not whether he attends the party, but whether he transforms it into something different, a celebration without alcohol, a ritual of care rather than destruction. As you can see, I am expecting the return of the fox Heesung.
And yet, even beyond the noisy welcomes and the hidden seaside gatherings, the theme of absence reaches into the most intimate farewells. When Dan prepares to leave the hospice, he leans toward his grandmother, seeking an embrace, a moment of warmth that could ease the separation. 
(chapter 78) But she does not return the gesture, as she might believe that he is just holding her straight. Her arms remain still, her body heavy with silence. Instead she talks, urging her grandson to leave the place as quickly as possible. So she doesn’t enjoy this moment. What should have been a small celebration of love — a hug of recognition, a party for two — dissolves into emptiness. Halmoni, who had always claimed to be his anchor, fails to give him the ritual of belonging he craves. The one gesture that could have affirmed their bond is withheld, turning tenderness into yet another missed ceremony.
Hwang Byungchul mirrors this failure in his own way. 
(chapter 78) Sitting stiffly in his hospital bed, he waves away any possibility of affection. His body language, arms crossed, his words reduced to commands about training, erase the emotional bond that might have connected him to Jaekyung. Where halmoni’s silence is passive, Byungchul’s is active — he refuses intimacy, replacing it with obligation. For both figures, farewell becomes an empty form, stripped of the recognition that makes partings bearable. In these moments, the absence of a hug, the denial of tenderness, is more devastating than the loudest rejection. It is a party that never begins, a rite of passage left unspoken.
This is crucial, because in Korean culture, embraces are rare, and when they occur, they carry profound weight. To hug someone is to cross into genuine intimacy, to declare loyalty and affection without words. The absence of such a gesture from halmoni and the director therefore marks not just emotional distance but outright exclusion. They cannot — or will not — celebrate Dan or Jaekyung as individuals worthy of deep affection. they only know pity, pride or annoyance. Their failure underlines the story’s central rhythm: the rituals that should affirm identity are constantly missed, postponed, or corrupted.
Placed against these failures, the quiet “parties” between Jaekyung and Dan acquire even greater weight. A home-cooked meal,
(chapter 22) 
(chapter 13) a breakfast in silence 
(chapter 68), the embraces in the dark 
(chapter 66) (the wordless recognition of suffering) — these become the true celebrations of Jinx. They lack alcohol, noise, or spectacle, but they carry sincerity. They reveal that belonging can be built not through grand gestures but through repetition, through the transformation of fleeting kindness into ritual. This implies the existence of conscious and choice. And yet, these moments remain fragile. After their return to the penthouse, there is no shared meal, no laughter, only nostalgia and sadness. 
(chapter 78) Even Jaekyung is troubled by the reminder that Dan’s stay is temporary, as if the very walls of the penthouse resist turning into a home.
(chapter 78) In other words, the wolf’s task is no longer to win battles in the ring but to protect these fragile celebrations — to make Dan feel at home, to turn missed hugs into embraces, missed parties into warm meals, missed gestures into habits of care. Only then can the cycle of exclusion be broken. Only then can “The Missed Party” become, at last, a real one.
Conclusion
Both protagonists are marked by missed celebrations. Dan’s life has been a chain of exclusions: fired without farewell, blamed without defense, departing without closure. Even in death — (if we include the theory of his parents’ vanishing), the puppy’s burial — rituals of belonging were denied. Jaekyung, for his part, wins victories without feasts, carrying glory without intimacy.
The fighters and nurses offer illusory parties, mistaking noise for recognition, affection for change. But the true parties are elsewhere: in the puppies’ joyous run, in the hidden rituals of wolf and hamster [the embrace, 
(chapter 68), the shared meal (chapter 68) and in the landlord’s quiet kindness
(chapter 78). For me, it is no coincidence that the senior followed them to the street and waved at them! 
(chapter 78) He expressed not only his genuine feelings, but also his longing: he hoped to see them soon. He had come to appreciate their presence which is not related to their work. The Missed Party becomes not a single absence, but the haunting rhythm of the entire narrative: recognition always arriving too late, always seen by the wrong eyes. And perhaps the story’s promise lies here — that one day, the real party will finally be held, not in karaoke bars or gym halls, but in the unbreakable bond of two men who learn what true friendship and belonging mean. This means, the more the champion and his fated partner develop new routines, the more it will affect the gym and as such Park Namwook, which can only feel more and more excluded.
PS: If in the next chapter, the night continues, then I can’t shake the feeling that Joo Jaekyung might pat doc Dan’s head and not yank his hair, like he announced it. 
(chapter 78)
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(chapter 76) This admission is no mere reversal of pride. It gestures toward something Jaekyung has never known: an exchange that does not end in domination or silence, but in dialogue. For Kim Dan, too, it marks a turning point. 
(chapter 76) For the first time, he uses the expression you’re right in front of his fated partner. He seems to concede with this idiom. Yet this apparent submission hides a deeper reversal. By admitting Jaekyung never asked for his help, he redirects the exchange toward his own truth: the loneliness of having no one to care for you. 
(chapter 76) What unfolds in the kitchen is not a quarrel about porridge but a fragile recognition. Dan’s “You’re right” acknowledges Jaekyung’s perspective without bitterness, while Jaekyung’s “I lost” 
(chapter 9) 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 76) The kitchen scene closes one cycle and announces another. 
(Chapter 76) In this view, his fixation would be the product of ambition, pride, or ego: the expected cost of survival in a cage where only victory pays. 
(chapter 76), because the adults in his life cut them off before they could exist. Winning became his only mode of survival because every formative argument in his youth ended in defeat, and not the kind decided by a referee. With his father, mother, coach, and manager, words never led to recognition — only to insult, silence, utility, or obedience. He learned early that dialogue could not protect him; only victory could. His victories were not chosen freely, but forced into being by guardians who made him feel like a burden, until relationships themselves became burdens.
(chapter 73) He was a loser because of his mother. To lose meant humiliation and rejection; to speak at all meant to invite contempt. The only possible rebuttal was victory — to prove through strength that he was not the pathetic, worthless child his father saw in him. Winning became his sole argument against a man who would never listen, the only way to resist being branded a loser. 
“(chapter 73). It was not just defiance; it was a vow that victory would silence abuse once and for all. When he returned with the trophy, he shouted triumphantly, 
(chapter 73) ready at last to claim, “I was right.” Yet reality betrayed him. His father’s death denied him the only acknowledgment he had sought. 
(chapter 73) The words “I was right” died in his throat. He had proved himself, yet there was no one left to recognize it. His own prediction — that his father’s death would mean nothing — proved false. The absence cut deeper than the insults had, leaving Jaekyung not with triumph but with the bitter aftertaste of self-loathing. Victory had silenced his father, but it also silenced the son. He had proved himself, yet there was no one left to hear it. 
(chapter 74) At the funeral he remained dry-eyed, his face locked in shame (ch. 74). No one saw his guilt, but it consumed him: the one man he needed to hear “I was right” from could no longer answer. At the same time, his smile and laugh were also linked to misery. For Jaekyung, laughter was never the sound of joy, but the echo of mockery and rejection due to the father. Just as tears became tied to betrayal and abandonment through his mother, so too did his father twist laughter into a weapon 
(chapter 73) — every laugh at his expense reinforcing the verdict that he was weak, pathetic, a loser. In Jaekyung’s childhood vocabulary, neither laughter nor tears could carry warmth. Both were stripped of comfort and redefined as signs of humiliation and pain.
(chapter 72) To the boy, she was not silent at first: she must have definitely told him to become strong, to endure, to wait. She gave him her number, leaving the illusion that her departure was not abandonment but necessity. Victory and wealth became her conditions for love. That is why he swore over the payphone to work hard 
(chapter 72) and “make money” so she could return, and why after his father’s death he still hoped for her homecoming. 
(chapter 74) But when the calls went unanswered, her silence became the sharpest weapon of all. Her eventual reply 
(chapter 74) confirmed that his effort had never mattered. For the first time, he cried 
(chapter 74), his tears expressed not just grief but the recognition of betrayal. From then on, tears themselves became equated with loss, weakness, and abandonment. This is why, in the wolf’s nightmare, Dan’s crying form 
(chapter 76) appears: the sight of tears recalls the moment he unconsciously realized that even his mother’s “you’re right” was a lie. At the same time, those tears function as a mirror. The champion projects onto Dan the very weakness he has always forbidden himself to show. 
(chapter 76), the boy he once was who longed to weep but had to swallow it down. At the same time, Jaekyung himself occupies the place of the “adult” — 
(chapter 74) Hence the wolf’s tears were quickly replaced by rage and violence. 
(chapter 74)
(chapter 76) His trembling hand upon waking 
(chapter 76) shows the yearning to be held, comforted, reassured — something he never received from either parent. He is not entirely responsible for the physical therapist’s suffering. And here lies the difference: Dan’s tears are not manipulative or hypocritical , like the ones Jaekyung suspects from his mother, but unfiltered honesty. He expressed his emotions, not just through tears, but also through body language! 
(chapter 1) He was shaking, he was bowing and asking for forgiveness! Dan embodies a form of vulnerability that is real, legible, and forgiving contrary to the mother. When the teenager heard his mother’s voice after such a long time, the latter never brought up her past action. She never asked him for forgiveness. 
(chapter 74), whose quiet devotion and silence kept the gym alive, nor Jaekyung’s, whose absence he accepted without challenge. 
(chapter 72) In fact, his own mother’s submission reinforced this flaw: her blind trust in her son, her refusal to question his choices and the boxing world, taught him that authority need not be examined, only endured or seen as trustworthy. For him, hierarchy was unquestionable, and so he perpetuated it. Thus he stands for lack of critical thinking. This is why, with Hwang, the vocabulary of “right” and “wrong” was never about dialogue but about obedience. No wonder why he became so violent at the police station. 
(chapter 74) Unlike Jaewoon’s domination or the mother’s evasive silence, Hwang cloaked his authority in the language of advice — yet beneath it lay a black-and-white dualism: winners and losers, villains and victims. Thus Joo Jaewoon was blamed for becoming a thug 
(chapter 74), while the wolf’s mother was a victim. He viewed her as a selfless and caring mother: 
(chapter 74)And observe how he provoked the main lead. 
(chapter 74) When Hwang sneers, “What, am I wrong? Come on, answer me!” he is not inviting dialogue — he is staging a trap. The question is rhetorical, a demand for submission. Let’s not forget that he had witnessed the phone call in front of the funeral hall, but back then he had done nothing. And when the boy hesitates 
(chapter 74), unable to answer, Hwang strikes him in the chest. 
(chapter 74)and justifies his action behind social norms. 
(chapter 74) In that instant, he takes the role of judge, referee, and executioner, collapsing “argument” into violence. The very words “Am I wrong?” contain the irony: the coach is less interested in truth than in reasserting his own authority. Silence is treated as guilt, hesitation as defeat.
(chapter 74), he effectively admitted “you’re right” to the coach. Yet this wasn’t simply genuine agreement — it was submission, respect mixed with survival. The director misread it as validation of his worldview. This only reinforced his certainty, encouraging him never to reconsider his role. 
(chapter 74) When the protagonist finally left, the director could declare with satisfaction: 
t(chapter 74). 
(chapter 74) The reality was that the old man had never truly become the star’s home and family, which explains why he constantly leaned on other adults, the mother or the father, to provide the guidance he himself refused to give. At the same time, I come to the following deduction: he must have lost his boxing studio, and with its vanishing, the elder was forced to face “reality”: loneliness, sickness and absence of happiness in his life! 
(chapter 70) Once again, Jaekyung is reduced to “that bastard” — a label, not a person — while Dan is framed as the pitiable victim. The old coot remains the righteous observer, untouched by guilt, protected by a rhetoric that always shifts responsibility elsewhere.
(chapter 75) He was happy again, though he initially tried to hide it. We have to envision that before the wolf’s visit, the elder had to face what his own life outside the gym looked like: sickness, solitude, the collapse of the studio that had sustained him and came to resent the main lead. Yet, Joo Jaekyung’s behavior changed everything: 
(chapter 71) 
(chapter 71) Only during the champion’s visit, did his words alter.On the rooftop of the hospice, he finally tells Jaekyung: 
(chapter 75) This shift did not come from wisdom gained in the ring but from loss — the loss of health, the loss of the gym, the loss of illusions — and from Jaekyung’s loyalty, which pierced through his blindness. Interesting is that this time, he doesn’t give the answer to the athlete. He stops thinking “I’m right, you’re wrong”. He treats him as an adult, as a mature and thoughtful person. Through that fidelity, Hwang glimpsed at last what he had denied both himself and Jaekyung for decades: that victory alone cannot sustain a life.
(chapter 76) It is not too late. The question “Am I too late?” is the consequence of Hwang byungchul’s words and it gradually indicates the switch in the champion’s mentality. It is no longer about being right or wrong. However, the nightmare reveals another aspect: the world is not black and white, but grey. 
(chapter 76) Hence he remained silent and avoided his gaze. But like the director showed it, it is never too late: 
(chapter 76)
(chapter 69) Thus my avid readers might jump to the conclusion that his biggest flaw is blindness, similar to the director. Besides, I had often criticized him for his blindness and ignorance. However, this is just a deception. The manager’s real defect is actually his deafness. How so? He does not hear Jaekyung’s words 
(chapter 17) at all. The verity is that he refuses to listen to his thoughts and emotions 
(chapter 31) in good 
(chapter 45) or in bad times. It goes so far, he does not take his silences seriously, and does not register his pain. This explicates why the manager saw in the champion’s silence at the restaurant as an agreement for a new fight! 
(chapter 69) His role is not to guide or protect, but to extract: money, victories, publicity. 
(chapter 75) In my opinion, he is fighting against oblivion through the star. This hidden disability explains why the coach can never truly connect with the champion. He listens instead to other voices – the CEO of MFC 
(chapter 46), the media 
(chapter 52), the sponsors 
(chapter 41), the spectators or “authorities”
(chapter 36) — and reacts to them, even violently, as in chapter 52, when public criticism painted Jaekyung in a negative light. 
(chapter 52) The slap was less about Jaekyung’s behavior than about Namwook’s own fear of outside judgment. He was not listening to the man in front of him but to the noise around him. He feared losing control in the end, especially after the athlete’s words let transpire his true position at the gym: 
(chapter 52) His question is not mere anger. It is a confession of position — an inadvertent acknowledgment that he knows he is the true backbone of the gym. He is the one responsible, the one carrying the burden that Namwook refuses to admit. These words crack the illusion: the fighter is not subordinate, but owner. The gym lives because of him.
(chapter 52) He acted as a child, faked “tears” in order to use empathy to his advantage. 
(chapter 71), hence he tried to help in his own way. On the other hand, Park Namwook shows clearly no sign to be interested in the private life of his boss. He is preferring ignorance over “knowledge and connection”. 
(chapter 66) Despite the incident, the manager hasn’t changed yet. He clinched onto the past, thinking that everything will be like before, as soon as the athlete enters the ring. He images a return to normality with the next match. 
(chapter 66) For years, he had accepted his manager’s judgments out of habit, mistaking silence for consent. But here, for the first time, the repetition feels deliberate — not resignation, but reflection (“though”). The phrase becomes a question more than an agreement: is he truly right? He is admitting this out of habit. 
(chapter 69) His silence has shifted from obedience to suffocation. The weight of Namwook’s deaf authority is no longer bearable. And yet, even here, his confession is muted, confined to the private space of his car. He is not yet ready to speak the words aloud — not until someone appears who will listen. 
(chapter 48) This scene was observed by Kwak Junbeom, so the latter could have reported it to the coach. If it truly happened, this would expose the coach’s deafness and cowardice. He chose passivity instead of confronting the doctor or the champion. That way, he avoided responsibility. And this brings me to my final conclusion concerning the deaf manager. His main way to contact the celebrity is the cellphone: 
(chapter 66) It is both his mask and his crutch — a tool for barking orders, never for dialogue. The moment the line goes dead, his authority collapses, for he has no other means of contact. His power depends on Jaekyung’s reception, not his own strength. In truth, the manager’s disability is exposed here: deaf to Jaekyung’s voice, he has trained himself to hear only the ring of a phone. A fragile authority built on silence, ready to crumble the instant Jaekyung decides to switch it off.
(chapter 76) must be read not as pride, but as a desperate shield against annihilation. In other words, in episode 76, the athlete is too harsh on himself, though I am not saying that he is innocent either. He only thought of himself because he had taught to behave that way. He was just mirroring the adults surrounding him who hid their weaknesses and wrongdoings behind “lies, social norms and hierarchy”. 
(chapter 57) With his grandmother and with every authority he encountered — doctors, employers, even predators — he believed unquestioningly that others were right and he was wrong. Hence he trusted others blindly. He was trained to accept decisions made for him or against him. 
(chapter 70) Thus he accepts criticism with defending his own interest. He was not taught how to fight back or resist or even argue. 
(chapter 6), both were forced to discuss with each other about the “content of the agreement”. That’s where the champion was trained to communciate with the physical therapist. Thanks to the champion, because of this victory/loss mentality, the doctor learned gradually to argue and “reply” with his “boss. However, due to his childhood, he couldn’t totally drop his old principles like for example “saying no”. 
(chapter 34) To conclude, before their fateful meeting, neither man had learned how to argue as equals. But in the kitchen in front of the stove, this changed: both are right and wrong! 
(chapter 76) He speaks like someone expecting rejection. Hence he keeps his distance. Yet the very fact that he says it at all signals change. Where once he would have doubled down — by barking an order, by firing Dan, by retreating into silence — he now admits defeat. The vocabulary of winning and losing, inherited from his father and reinforced by every adult in his life, collapses in the presence of Dan’s quiet honesty.
(chapter 76) — an acknowledgment that he can no longer keep his walls intact. He is now willing to rely on doc Dan exclusively.
(chapter 76). His confession reveals not strength but guilt. Kim Dan’s suffering was the price of his victories, and he knows it. “On the other hand, his mea culpa should be relativized, for both were the targets of a plot!
(chapter 76) These words expose both responsibility and shame: he had prioritized survival over connection, career over compassion. What boils under his skin is not pride but remorse.
(chapter 76) The star’s thoughts in the kitchen are actually mirroring the ones in the bathroom: 
(chapter 68) In the bathtub, he still saw himself as the one in control, with the upper hand… but this is no longer the case in the kitchen. Through the physical therapist, the wolf is learning that even being in a vulnerable state doesn’t mean that this person is powerless. It is just that his “strength” lies elsewhere. In other words, someone struggling can also give comfort to another person in pain. 
(chapter 72) a place of solitary consumption rather than shared meals, the bed was the place where the little boy would drink his milk. 
(chapter 72) It is interesting that actually, Doc Dan wanted to bring the porridge to Joo Jaekyung to his bed during that full moon night, thus the latter made the following request: 
(chapter 76) But the wolf didn’t understand the hamster’s intention and followed his “hyung” to the kitchen. That’s how a misunderstanding was born which is also reflected in this interaction:
(chapter 76) However, doc Dan agreed to this, he remained calm. 
(chapter 41) The latter actually represented a hindrance between them, it marked their relationship: boss and “employee” (servant). Moreover, since the table in the champion’s childhood was linked to one person (the father), it is clear that the champion has never shared a table with someone. And this aspect brings me to my other observation. 
(chapter 46) It was a place where others dictated terms, while Jaekyung’s silence was mistaken for consent. And now, you comprehend why the two main leads could get closer in front of the stove in the kitchen. This place stands for warmth, care and family. 
(chapter 13) a meal after his collapse. He refused to bring a meal to the bed, he asked him to join in the dining room and sit at the table. And what did they do there? The champion talked about his career, his fight etc… 
(chapter 13) the champion has long associated the table to business and not “care”. That’s why it is important for him to remember the significance of the bed in his childhood. It was the place where he could feel comfortable and safe, where he would eat! 
(chapter 75), the perfume 
(chapter 75), the nights of sex before a fight 
(chapter 75). His words seemed like a confession, a key to the riddle of the Night Emperor. But do we truly know him now? Yes and no. Yes, because his testimony reveals patterns we had only noticed before. No, because those patterns are only the ones he decided to share. The tattoos 
chapter 75) that suddenly appeared on his body 
(chapter 75), for example, were left unmentioned — proof that silence still surrounds him.
(chapter 75) Why fight as though every match were a matter of life and death? Why keep repeating the same acts, long after survival was secured? 
(chapter 75) What does the jinx truly represent for him — mere superstition, a ritual of control, or something he himself has not yet dared to name? For Jaekyung himself cannot fully explain it. He confesses what he knows — that sex steadies him, that milk soothes him, that perfume sharpens him — but he does not grasp what lies beneath these habits. The origin of the jinx remains hidden, lodged somewhere between memory and trauma, where even he cannot follow. Are these rituals mere superstition, a desperate bid for control? Or are they fragments of something deeper — pieces of a story he has never fully told, even to himself?
.(chapter 75) They are the product of a long chain of humiliations, betrayals, and systemic exploitation, each layering onto the next until a young man’s raw talent was encased in a carapace of compulsions. To understand the jinx is to understand how the protagonist’s life collapsed around the word loser, and how the fighting industry transformed his private shame into public myth.
(chapter 72) Even before stepping into a professional cage, his life had been a series of trials to prove he was not worthless. 
(chapter 74) Hunger, poverty, bullying, insults— each branded his body with a language of violence. Among them came his father’s words, spat like a curse: loser. 
(chapter 75)
(chapter 75) — a boy who fought with the desperation of someone who had nothing else. Victory after victory gave him the illusion that he had escaped his father’s shadow. As long as he was winning, he could suppress the pain, bury the insult loser, and silence the memory of that cursed night when his father died and his mother abandoned him. Triumph became his shield, proof that he was not what he had said he was.
(chapter 75) 
(chapter 75) To them, a fighter’s struggles had only one explanation: weakness. Park Namwook and the other coach dismissed his losses as nerves 
(chapter 75), as if the only measure of worth were what happened under the spotlight. They never thought to ask what kind of weight he was carrying, what kind of nights he was surviving before he entered the cage. While the other fighters were well aware of the champion’s insomnia 
(chapter 75), Park Namwook still has no idea of the champion’s struggles. This shows how disconnected he is from his “boy”.
(chapter 74) bodies to be tested, pushed, and discarded if they broke. Where Jaekyung’s defeat cracked open childhood trauma, they saw only performance failure. What he lived as suffocation and despair 
(chapter 75), they reduced to cowardice, bad luck or lack of discipline.
(chapter 75) Shadowed hands stretched over his body, pressing down, suffocating him as he tried to sleep. The man was dead, but still he choked the air from his son. It was, as if the father wanted to bring his son to the afterlife.
(chapter 75) Even before his first loss, Jaekyung fought like a cornered animal, pouring every ounce of strength into proving he could not be beaten. That’s why he rose so fast. But why? The reason is that all his opponents were reflections of his “father”. 
(chapter 29) Hence all the challengers have empty eyes and a smirk on their face, just like Joo Jaewoong. 
(chapter 75) Consequently, his matches always looked like life-and-death struggles. He wasn’t strategizing against a specific fighter; he was exorcising a ghost. That’s why he never refused a challenge. His opponent never mattered. Besides, as long as he could win, it didn’t matter. 
(chapter 75), the more the cracks showed — and the ghosts of his father and mother made every fight feel like a replay of abandonment and accusation. The five losses 
(chapter 75) were not just setbacks in his career; they were the repeated reopening of a wound that would never heal. Each one confirmed his father’s curse. Each one reinforced the sense that he was marked, that no matter how high he climbed, he would always be dragged down again.
(chapter 73) To the boy, it was a cry for pain and survival — an instinctive urge to escape despair and criticism. To the father, it was betrayal. Already emasculated by failure and drink, he was reminded of his wife’s discontent, the specter of another abandonment. He lashed out the only way he knew: 
(chapter 66) — speaking not with fists or insults but with tears and an embrace. 
(chapter 66) His sleepwalking reacting to a simple touch 
(chapter 65), his dissociative pleas 
(chapter 66) give Jaekyung the words his father could not say. Where the father’s unconscious leaked out in aggression, Dan’s unconscious offers gentleness and honesty. Both men speak from a place deeper than reason; one chained Jaekyung to guilt, the other opens the possibility of release. In Dan’s trembling body, Jaekyung sees the tender reflection of his father’s hidden plea 
(chapter 73) Why does the champion have no grand-parents?
(chapter 72) His violence expressed his powerlessness. And when his son shouted his desire to leave the “dump of a house,” 
(chapter 57) Violence and insult became his only idiom. “Loser” was not simply an accusation, but the displaced confession of his own defeat: I was abandoned. I failed. I have nothing.
(chapter 73) The boy’s boxing talent was a source of pride — proof of strength — but also a threat. Strength meant escape. Escape meant abandonment. The father, who had already lost his wife and his dignity, projected onto his son the terror of losing everything once again. His resentment was not born of disappointment alone but of recognition (unconsciously): you are me, and you will leave me too.
(chapter 65) The absence is not an oversight but a theme. Jaekyung comes from severed roots: no grandparents, no siblings, no extended family to lean on. Hence he was alone at the funeral. 
(chapter 74) His father may have been an orphan, just like his mother too. Therefore the latter was emotionally unavailable, and so he inherited not only trauma but also silence. By contrast, Dan has at least one surviving figure — flawed as she is — who keeps the family thread intact. That contrast makes Jaekyung’s bond with Dan all the more significant: it is not just romance, but an attempt to build a family line that never existed before him.
(chapter 73), while keeping Jaewoong’s own origins shrouded. Hwang had someone by his side — gentle, quiet, but present — while Jaewoong had no one, as according to me, the mother was counting on her “husband”‘s success and dream. The director’s stability, however fragile, was rooted in that maternal figure. Jaewoong had no such guide, and without it, he simply made the wrong choice.
(chapter 73). To win was to prove his father wrong, but to stand alone in victory was to prove his mother right. Success and emptiness became inseparable.
(chapter 56), seemingly fragile and dependent. But unlike her, he stays. Where the mother left, Dan endures. He only left because of the champion’s final words: 
(chapter 73) mirrors what the director later whispers to Jaekyung: 
(chapter 75) This is the wolf’s ritual in front of the tender mirror: the fighter who lived by curses and silence finally meeting their reflection transformed into gentleness and endurance.
(chapter 75) This man’s jinx was startlingly simple: he read the Bible before every match. One book, one ritual, one anchor. To outsiders, it may have seemed quaint, even laughable, but to Jaekyung it was enviable.
(chapter 75) When he prayed, it was not only for victory, but for coherence. Win or lose, the ritual bound him to a sense of belonging that Jaekyung had never tasted.
(chapter 75) If ritual could bend fate, he would build his own. But where the Bible fighter had a single, unifying story — scripture, God, fellowship — Jaekyung had nothing to draw on. No faith to lean on, no parental blessing to inherit, no safe home to return to. Instead, he began to stitch together a mosaic of rituals, each one disguising a different childhood wound. To outsiders it looked obsessive, neurotic, almost superstitious. To him, it was survival. Each gesture was both repression and remembrance, a scar disguised as armor. And this is the paradox: the rituals made him strong enough to survive, but too broken to live. 
(chapter 75) By using another body, he cleared his head, numbed the loneliness, and convinced himself he was in control. But it was also a grim reenactment of abandonment: he could take without being left, dominate rather than risk being deserted. At the same time, he considered his sex partners as toys in order to avoid guilt. A toy can not die, it can be “thrown away”.
(chapter 75) But in truth it was a disguised memory of hunger 
(chapter 75) To drink milk was to rewrite the past: I will not go hungry again. Yet the act was also a reminder that he once had.
(chapter 27) , self-punishment, the willingness to suffer endlessly for the cage. He didn’t fear pain. Their sudden appearance 
(chapter 75), a reminder that he had entered a machine in motion, a system that swallowed fighters whole and spat out statistics. From that point, the acceleration was merciless: by April, he was in the 272nd bout against Randy Booker 
(chapter 14); by June, the 293rd against Dominic Hill 
(chapter 40); and by July, the 298th against Baek Junmin. 
(chapter 50) 
(chapter 75), he had not merely “built” a career, he had been consumed by one. There was no time to recover from injuries, no space to process victory, no room to integrate defeat. No wonder why his shoulders were in bad shape. 
(chapter 75) Every fight blurred into the next, every opponent older, stronger, more experienced. And yet Jaekyung fought them all with the same desperate, survival-driven ferocity.
(chapter 71) and Dr. Lee 
(chapter 27) still called him an athlete — someone whose body required balance, protection, recovery. But MFC and KO-FC never did. For them, the main lead or his colleagues were addressed as 
(chapter 14) “The Emperor”, “a crazy bastard”
(chapter 40), “my boy”, 
(chapter 47) “a potential star.” Not a person, not even a professional, but branding material — a body to be consumed by audiences and discarded once spent. The absence of the word athlete marks what he lost: recognition as a human being. And guess what? 
(chapter 47). Thus only doctors are allowed to do them officially. But Jaekyung’s rise shifted that meaning. As “The Emperor,” he normalized tattoos for the new generation of fighters, transforming what once marked marginality into a badge of visibility. This is why even Oh Daehyun, one of his admirers and members of Team Black, now carries one: 
(chapter 8) The celebrity’s suffering literally redefined the aesthetic of the sport. His body, turned billboard, became part of the league’s branding.
(chapter 14) ripping open the scar of his father’s “loser” and his mother’s absence and silent parentification. Not long after, an article exposed his shoulder injury 
(chapter 35), reducing years of discipline to a liability on the page. Later came the suspension narrative 
(chapter 54), his temper framed not as the product of exploitation and scheme but as proof of unfitness, as if his rage were a crime instead of a symptom. 
(chapter 54) Even the match with Baek Junmin was twisted against him — accepted under pressure, then reframed as recklessness. To the system, his crown had been too secure, his presence too dominant. He had been champion for “too long.”
(chapter 5) the name Seo Gichan appeared here for the first time… a faceless name!
(chapter 69) The danger lay in the very identity of his next challenger. If they pitted him against a newcomer who had rocketed through the ranks as quickly as Baek Junmin once did 
(chapter 47), questioning the selection of Baek Junmin, is so crucial. It shows that the manipulation of opponents was no accident — it was systemic. Matches were not about fair combat but about narrative management: making sure the emperor’s story served the company’s balance sheet.
(chapter 51) On paper, it was a draw. In practice, it was soon reframed as a loss 
(chapter 57). By late August, Jaekyung had slipped to third place. 
(chapter 75) Here, it looks like a mirror, but naturally it is a fake one. It was not earned with fists alone; it could be stripped, reassigned, reshaped at will. One tie, one whisper, one adjustment in the rankings, and the Night Emperor was dethroned without ceremony.
(chapter 75), not for intimacy but to clear his head and stave off loneliness, emptiness and his abandonment issues.
(chapter 75) must be read in this light. It is not a relapse into the system’s treadmill, nor a blind return to the pitfall laid before him. Notice that he does not say he will fight in the fall, nor does he mention the upcoming match that everyone else is waiting for. 
(chapter 71) Instead, he frames his goal with a word that changes everything: reclaim.
(chapter 73), but he lost his father and his mother abandoned him. 
(chapter 51) When his world threatened to collapse again — the tie with Baek Junmin, the looming humiliation — he erupted in rage. He screamed at Dan, he let the words spill out violently, breaking the silence that had once shackled him. It was an act of defiance against the curse: if he could not silence the nightmare, he would shout it down.
“Don’t you trust me?” (chapter 54) That moment reverses the old script entirely. Where his father’s last word was condemnation, Dan’s is invitation. Where his father’s voice ended the dialogue forever, Dan opens one. Where his father made trust impossible, Dan asks for it. Besides, the latter encouraged him to reflect on himself. 
(chapter 51) The mirror is clear: the cycle can be broken, but only if he dares to answer the question that was never asked of him before. Therefore it is not surprising that the physical therapist’s question appeared in the champion’s vision: 
(chapter 54) His unconscious was telling him to have faith in his “doctor”. Thus later, the champion told the director of the hospital this: 
(chapter 61) He was acknowledging the main lead as a real physical therapist. 
(chapter 62)— and even to those closest to his body — it looks like nothing more than sex. That was all the uke from chapter 2 saw, and it was enough for him to sneer:
(chapter 2) The insult landed with devastating familiarity, not as a new wound but as an echo of his father’s curse: “loser.” Both words reduced Jaekyung to nothing — not a man, not an athlete, just a fraud kept alive by crutches.
(chapter 2) In slamming his former partner against the wall, he was not merely silencing a lover’s cruelty. He was fighting the ghost of his father, the voice that had branded him weak, cursed, unworthy. The jinx that kept him alive was being twisted into proof of his failure, and he could not bear it. 
(chapter 2)
(chapter 62), Dan recoiled. 
(chapter 62) To him, “jinx” meant objectification, a reduction of their bond to sex. 
(chapter 62) but as a therapist he trusted. His words about wanting to return to the “usual pre-match routine” 
(chapter 62) were, in his mind, a way of saying: I need you to bring back wholeness, to help me steady myself again. But because Dan only knew fragments of the jinx, the message landed with devastating distortion. 
(chapter 62) For Jaekyung, the plea was about coherence; for Dan, it sounded like reduction.
(chapter 22) He cooks breakfast for Jaekyung, offering something warm, homemade, human — a substitute for the cold, industrial glass of milk. 
(chapter 54) throws the plate away 
(chapter 54), or sits at a vast table in silence. 
(chapter 54) But when Dan cooks, Jaekyung is surprised, even touched. For once, nourishment is not consumption but connection. The milk was always a disguised memory of deprivation; Dan’s meal becomes the antidote — food as presence. So for him, the prematch-routine was also referring to the meals prepared by his fated partner. And I feel the need to bring another aspect. Since there was no “family” in the athlete’s life, he never got the chance to discover the joy of the table. 
(chapter 22) Hence it is not surprising that he looked at his phone, while the others were eating and discussing. He never had a real conversation with a family member around the table. 
(chapter 40) Perfume was one of Jaekyung’s protective rituals — masking shame, creating an armor against the memory of bullying and ridicule. Yet Dan shows that none of this is necessary. The panel where he clings to the bedsheets after their Summer Night’s Dream together 
(chapter 45), whispering that he misses Jaekyung’s warmth, reveals that the champion’s natural scent is already enough. He never gets to see this — Jaekyung doesn’t know how deeply Dan treasures his smell.
(chapter 40) Here he turned around and placed his lover in the middle of the bed. He even let him rest. 
(chapter 2), and not the other rituals? Because to admit the rest would be to expose the origin of the jinx: the father’s insult, the mother’s abandonment, the hunger, the bullying. Sex was the only ritual that could be spoken without directly dragging the past into the room. It was the “safe” shorthand — though tragically, it became the most dangerous. Homosexuality is definitely a stigma among boxers and MMA fighters.
(chapter 68) In his own way, he was showing him that he did care! He was more than just a body… or even a physical therapist!!
(chapter 35) It is the steady mirror of Kim Dan.
(chapter 13) — helpless, cornered, often pleading. Thus the champion taught the doctor to overcome his fear and fight back: 
(chapter 26) This imbalance was no accident. It replayed Jaekyung’s own childhood roles: he became what his father had been to him (the better version naturally, for he is the mirror of truth), and forced Dan into the position he had once held himself. Through Dan, Jaekyung unconsciously re-enacted his trauma, reversing their positions as if to master what had once mastered him. That way, he was pushed to mature emotionally! That’s why he could connect with the main lead unconsciously. His trembling words in Chapter 51 
(chapter 71) He believes to know the truth, while he is ignorant. He is insecure, extreme in his behavior (drinking)
(chapter 71), but also selfish and questioning, still fragile yet capable of protest. He is struggling with his own emotions and thoughts. 
(chapter 71) How can he trust the athlete, when he doubts himself so much? From my point of view, he is on the verge of become “mature mentally” and as such “responsible”. At the same time, Jaekyung is revealed as the adult in crisis. His exhaustion 
(chapter 70)
(chapter 74) It is because thanks to the director’s confession, the “hamster” is able to see the champion as a “a kindred spirit“, an orphan and as such as the younger “boy”. 
(chapter 7) 
(chapter 26), because it is play, because it is chosen.
(chapter 69) It is not about treatment or jinx, but about presence. This hug reframes the meaning of strength. True strength is not the ability to fight endlessly, but the ability to hold and be held, to mirror” is like touching oneself! Let’s not forget that the mirror represents the reflection of a person. Respecting the physical therapist signifies respecting oneself!
(chapter 36) He can remain indifferent to their “provocations”, as he has long matured emotionally. 
(chapter 36) He can retaliate differently. With his money and power, he can prove to them, he is no loser! 
(chapter 40) 
(chapter 53) 
(chapter 75) His eyes open after the dream, and they open to the same light. It’s the opposite of every earlier awakening 
(chapter 54) —no gasp for air, no clutching his throat 
(chapter 75), no father’s voice strangling him. This sudden awakening embodies enlightenment. 
(chapter 75)
(chapter 70) He knows the athlete from the past. The latter was attached to people and not to places. Why does he speak of “something” rather than “someone”, if he knows? The lesson is not about fixing a new goal or object to chase, but about discovering how to live differently — how to live happily. 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 75). Even before, he could only mutter to himself this: 
(chapter 70) The negation indicates denial, but observe that he couldn’t even use a noun. He cannot yet translate this vision into words, because he has never heard “I love you” himself 
(chapter 39). The only one he heard was diminished to a mistake
(chapter 41), and doc Dan claims to have no recollection of it. His father left him with mockery, his mother with resignation, his coach in the past with discipline, the grandmother-figures with burdens (honor, debt, favor). 
(chapter 75) The openness is what makes it love — it is respect.
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 65) Halmoni believed she already knew the solution to Dan’s suffering: sacrifice yourself, work hard, pay the debts or make money, endure. She closed off alternatives by imposing her narrative on him. Her love was distorted into certainty. The director, by contrast, recognizes the limit of his role. He has learned (belatedly) that he cannot dictate meaning for someone else. Instead, he tells Jaekyung: 
(chapter 75) His love is expressed through humility — through not knowing. At the same time, his words and facial expression ooze trust and confidence. 
(chapter 29), Joo Jaekyung opened up a little to doc Dan! Thus the next morning, he visited the bathroom where doc Dan was! 
(chapter 30) It was just an excuse to spend more time with his fated partner. 
(chapter 74), no “dear,” no “I love you.” In the father’s memory, she used the child as an excuse to distance herself from her spouse. In that moment, Jaekyung is not a son to be cherished but a barrier in an adult quarrel.
(chapter 67) His question is really an appeal for recognition. If Jaekyung answered yes, Dan could interpret it as proof of love, because in his own distorted framework being worried about equals being cared for. But Jaekyung answered with silence. 
(chapter 67) Not because he felt nothing, but because he lacked the language to connect worry with love. In his conscious mind, conception of care was still bound to usefulness — Dan mattered because he was needed for training, not because he was loved as himself, while deep down, he had already moved beyond this aspect. He was just in denial in this scene,
(chapter 74) On one level, she does not recognize his voice. But on a deeper level, her words ring as truth: she does not know her son. She has no idea who he has become, what defines him, what characterizes him beyond money and survival.
(chapter 74), promising to provide for her if she returns home. He unconsciously appeals to the only logic he has ever known: that love equals provision, that affection is secured by usefulness. 
(chapter 42) His father’s voice was violent and scornful, but its framework remained lodged in him.
(chapter 62) That way, he can still be “free”. 
(chapter 74) She expected him to follow her request. I can definitely imagine her trying to reconnect with Joo Jaekyung, the moment he became a celebrity. 
(chapter 75) Keep in mind that we have these mysterious phone calls: 
(chapter 37)
(chapter 43) 
(chapter 49)
(chapter 75) 
(chapter 34), Jaekyung assumed later that the actor would have helped doc Dan to hide. 
(chapter 58) His violent intrusion into the actor’s home was the natural outgrowth of Namwook’s teaching: if love is real, it must show itself as service.
(chapter 45), Jaekyung struggled to even recognize it. Giving him a gift and expressing gratitude was not “helping the fighter”. 
“ (chapter 75) There’s a life outside the ring and the spotlight. 
(chapter 72) was quite futile, for at the end, he ended up alone and felt lonely.
(chapter 68) 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69) And that’s what makes him so human. 
(chapter 71) This means that he lives now in the present. It looks like the “old coot” has been tamed by the “gentle hamster or duck”. 
(chapter 41) He didn’t know how to judge such a confession. Hence these words were reduced to a mistake! 
(chapter 19), and has been unable to say it since.
(chapter 65) We know he once had toys (teddy bear,car)
(chapter 21) , little signs of comfort that suggest he grew up in relative security, even if his parents were often absent for work. For me, his childhood was not defined only by poverty but by rupture: love was present, then violently cut short. To a child, such a disappearance feels like betrayal, even if it was no one’s fault. Dan would have been left with a terrible contradiction — that “I love you” was true, and yet those who said it abandoned him forever.
(chapter 66), whispers through tears 
(chapter 44) Dan once received love of a different kind — playful and tender. A kiss cannot have come from the grandmother, who expressed affection only in gestures of care, never of intimacy. That kiss belongs to his mother.
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 31)— which he associates with unbearable debt. His mother’s final “gift” of love was one he could never repay. Any present risks reopening that wound: “What if I can’t repay this? What if I lose them too?”
(ch. 47) throws this into sharper relief. There, Dan imagined taking her on a trip after the hospital, walking side by side, giving her what she never had: rest, companionship. The problem is that this image was still mixed with repayment, nevertheless doc Dan was gradually realizing that spending time together was important. This vision displays the importance of walking together. When Jaekyung dreams of Dan waiting in the sunlight, 
(chapter 74) — the quiet sign that the sun is about to rise. Dawn is not just a natural detail in Jinx; it is a symbolic hinge. It is the moment when night meets day, when moon and sun overlap, when endings bleed into beginnings. In myth and fairy tale, dawn often marks metamorphosis: the Little Mermaid turns to foam, the enchanted sleepers awaken, the beast becomes a prince. For Jaekyung, too, dawn is the threshold. His father cursed him at dawn 
(chapter 73), stripping him of worth, tying the rising sun to shame. But in this new dawn, another voice will have to intervene. Only Dan can replace the curse with a blessing. Only “I love you” can undo “you are not special.” And if it is not “I love You”, then it could be a kiss, the symbol of “affection”. 
(chapter 41), an invitation to walk together. Namwook’s long presence embodies the trap of quantity without substance. Dan’s brief but luminous presence reveals the power of quality: the kind of attention that transforms.
(chapter 75) Namwook’s whispers, too, keep him chained to that rhythm of urgency — rankings, titles, deadlines. But once Dan’s whisper replaces Namwook’s, time itself shifts. The future is no longer a debt to repay but a horizon to approach slowly, hand in hand.
(chapter 27), joked 
(chapter 27), even rediscovered his love for swimming. Water, his true element, was reclaimed as play rather than punishment. 
(chapter 27) That single day was a seed — a foreshadowing of what life might look like once the curse is broken for good.
(chapter 74) What do they share? You might already have noticed it. At first glance, the answer seems obvious: each sentence turns around the word after. But if we pay closer attention, it is not just after that repeats, but after all. And here, the “all” quietly carries the weight of everything. A slight shift, but one that feels significant. But why this expression, and why here? Why does it resurface precisely in the context of Jaekyung’s family and past?
(chapter 70) For the first time, the flow of time shifted. Besides, no explanation, no certainty—just an admission that something happened beyond his planning or reasoning. Where the earlier lines spoke with closure, this one arrived without a verdict. But what does this “confession” signify for the athlete now? 
(chapter 73) locked in confrontation, while in the past, the woman had already shown her back — a gesture of refusal that foreshadowed her desertion. She had withdrawn in silence; the man, however, lashed out in noise. Both abandon, but in different registers: hers in silence and absence, his in noise and abuse. But the father’s gaze was selective. 
(chapter 73) — all were rewritten into a story where the woman was the sole traitor, and the child nothing more than her extension. In this way, the boy was denied recognition as a victim in his own right. He had been abandoned too. He had been abused either. He became instead a mirror in which his father projects the wound of being left behind. 
(chapter 73) To speak was to wound, to be wounded in return. Besides, the boy could never speak of this truth. He carried the memory of that last conversation in silence, crushed by the belief that he bore guilt for his father’s death. Shame and responsibility bound his tongue. That is how words, once used against him as weapons, became impossible for him to wield in his own defense. However, this was only the beginning of his withdrawal into silence. His fists would become his language, his body the only safe instrument of reply.
(chapter 73) The betrayal he lamented was nothing more than the logical outcome of his own principle. There had never been a we — only a man clinging to his pride, a woman turning her back, and a child caught in between. His after all 
(chapter 74) In the past, the boy had dialed her number from the same public booth 
(chapter 72), clinging to the hope that she might answer one day. Eventually, those attempts ceased — but not the attachment. What remained was the number itself, saved under “Mom” on his phone 
(chapter 74) Here, he was old and rich enough to buy his own cellphone. The phone number was no longer a channel of communication, only a relic: a fragile thread he could not sever, because the fact that she never changed her number sustained the illusion that reunion was still possible. That dormant hope was shattered only when she finally picked up — not out of recognition, but by mistake, assuming the unfamiliar call must be important. 
(chapter 72) neglect, starvation, abuse, loneliness, betrayal — and yet the parents invoke it not to acknowledge his pain, but to hide their wrongdoings (justify their betrayal) and as such their failure! By placing after all at the front of her sentence, 
(chapter 74) In a city of anonymity, hearsay cannot replace documents. She left a paper trail — a legal identity that binds them together. Should the champion cause trouble in Seoul, or even become the victim of a crime, the police would have to turn to his legal guardian. And that can only be her. 
(chapter 26). Oh Daehyun mentions that the young fighter broke the punching machine so many times he was blacklisted. Such destruction could easily have brought police intervention — and if it had, they would have been forced to search for his legal guardian. That guardian is none other than the mother who abandoned him and her new family. In other words, her erasure was never complete: every act of the boy risked pulling her shadow back into the open. Furthermore, this is what Kim Changmin revealed to his friend and colleague: 
(chapter 26) But Joo Jaekyung had long discovered sports and MMA, when he arrived in Seoul and met Park Namwook for the first time. 
(chapter 74) who redirected him before he was swallowed by the wrong path. The discrepancy between these accounts exposes more than just the manager’s manipulation: it points to the shadow of another intervention. How could he afford to destroy machine after machine without consequence? The only plausible answer is the “mother” and her new family, whose money and silence allowed him to pass as the “self-made” Emperor while erasing their own responsibility from the tale. And now, you comprehend why The Emperor was made voiceless. [For more read 
(chapter 74) For doc Dan who embodies the present, such a statement can only become the ultimate truth: the star had been an orphan like him.
(chapter 74) Once again, the director was there — but his presence was mute. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, yet he never lent him an ear. He never invited the boy to speak, never created a space where grief, anger, or longing could be put into words. In other words, he was present in body but absent in voice and heart. Thus the director’s pat was a gesture of pity. It was a substitute for words, a way of saying “poor boy” while protecting himself from deeper involvement. But precisely because he withheld speech and listening, it denied Jaekyung the chance to articulate his own grief. It comforted without connecting.
(chapter 74), through fighting. Thus the director’s quietness, his refusal to engage, became a formative wound in itself. He chose the safety of distance over the risk of involvement, and in doing so, left the boy’s cries unanswered. 
(chapter 74) 
(chapter 74) He was given a chance to step in, to finally become the guardian he had failed to be on the night of the boy’s deepest collapse. Therefore it is no coincidence that he claims to have raised him, while the readers are well aware of the truth. 
(chapter 74) The father was dragged into memory as a warning: “Do you want to end up like him?” The mother, already gone, was turned into a conditional model: “Would she even want to live with you if she could see you now?” In both cases, the boy was denied his right to grieve. His parents were not mourned, but transformed into instruments of discipline. He was forced to run from one shadow and to chase another, leaving him no space to simply exist. The director maintained the future champion trapped in the chains of the past. 
(chapter 74) For him, discipline was always bound to her presence, her food, her care, her silent labor that sustained the gym. By invoking “the mother” as a motivator, he was, in truth, repeating the only model of loyalty and endurance he had ever known. But this was borrowed authority, not Jaekyung’s. What may have given the boy a flicker of purpose in the moment — to endure, to fight “for her sake” — 
(chapter 54) The director’s form of guidance could not sustain him; it was external, borrowed, conditional. Therefore, it is not surprising that he was never contacted after the main lead’s departure for Seoul. By then, the director had already become like his own mother — reduced to a memory 
(chapter 70) and nothing more. He neither possessed the boy’s number nor showed the desire to stay connected; worse, he had told him explicitly never to return. 
(chapter 56) 
(chapter 52) That way, he could divert attention from the “before and circumstances”. And in season 2, the man hasn’t changed at all. Instead of asking what caused Jaekyung’s crisis, he chides him for straying from the routine — for not showing up at the gym, for being absent.
(chapter 52) The slap at the hospital was more than a physical outburst; it was the eruption of long-repressed truth. Where he once swallowed pain in silence for his mother, and later endured fists in silence for his coach, here he answers back. Lately thus marks not only Namwook’s delay but also Jaekyung’s refusal to bear the weight alone anymore. 
(chapter 45) 
, (chapter 70), while remaining oblivious to the rot within their own world and the medical world. The director accused Joo Jaewoong of “choosing the wrong path,” 
(chapter 69): for the first time, a figure of authority assumed responsibility, however insincerely. What to others looked like shallow PR, to Namwook appeared as a dangerous break with the rule of denial. It highlighted the emptiness of his own guardianship, where reproach replaces protection and victims are erased from the narrative.
(chapter 74) Honestly, it would be funny, if the champion used the same words than his own mother against the manager 
(chapter 70) Thus the manager is confident that the star can return to the ring. By cutting the manager off in such a moment, Jaekyung would be affirming that he no longer accepts neglect disguised as toughness. Both “directors” are trapping the champion in the chains of the past and the future. For them, there’s no present and as such no happiness or fulfillment. Hence Hwang Byungchul is even bored, when he watched the MFC match. 
(chapter 70) As you can see, it is never too late… Thus we saw this on the roof of the hospital: a real and intimate conversation between the “guardian” and his pupil: 
(chapter 71) The director has changed!
(chapter 65) She can appear as the perfect role model in the athlete’s eyes. No wonder why he listened to her and brought doc Dan to a huge hospital in Seoul. But here is the thing…. 
(chapter 65) The grandmother’s narrative culminates in a deceptively simple phrase: “And then, one day, he just grew up.” Unlike after all, which implies endurance, patience, and a long lapse of time, her then one day compresses everything into a brief, almost casual instant. In her telling, there is no slow accumulation of wounds, no process of wear, no history of pain to be endured. The transformation is presented as sudden and natural, as if nothing of significance had preceded it.
(chapter 57), and his forced maturity to a single, fleeting day. No trauma, no endurance — just inevitability. By collapsing years of hardship into a harmless “day,” she erases both the past and the victim. And now, you can understand why doc Dan is trapped in the present! By erasing the “before” (abandonment, trauma) and trivializing the process of “becoming an adult,” she collapses time into a single, static present. Kim Dan is not allowed a past that hurts (because she erased it), nor a future that could unfold differently (because “he just grew up” is presented as inevitable).
(chapter 62) cannot, by themselves, sustain love. Emotions flare and fade, tied to the immediacy of the present. Thus the mother could break her promise and even lie to him later. What endures is not emotion alone, but the principles that Fromm identified as the essence of love: care, responsibility, knowledge, and respect. These qualities stabilize the fleeting nature of feeling and transform the present into something continuous, something that can grow. In this sense, the teddy bear bridges the gap between “present” and “future”: 
(chapter 65) it transforms the fleeting moment of emotion into a promise of constancy. After all, before it’s too late, what both men longed for was never glory or escape, but a home where they could rest — not alone, but in each other’s arms. By discovering emotions and learning to live in the present, the champion also rediscovers his inner child. His line — “Is this a joke?” — marks that shift, since jokes, like emotions, only exist in the immediacy of the moment. It is only a matter of time, until he laughs because of a joke. By embracing doc Dan like a teddy bear, he allows himself to cling and regress, no longer the wolf or the Emperor but simply a boy seeking warmth. Even his cold becomes symbolic: 
(chapter 70) illness forces him to slow down, to be vulnerable, and to receive care — something denied to him in childhood. In this way, love turns the regression into healing, transforming weakness into the possibility of renewal.
(chapter 23), memorized his moves and titles, and repeated the anecdotes told in gyms and on TV. They’ve heard how he was “saved” by sports from a darker path, and cheered for him as the “Emperor” — the handsomest fighter, the man who broke the arcade’s punching machine 
(chapter 30) lies a past left unspoken, a silence so complete that his own history became an empty space others could fill as they wished. This essay brings these two “stories” together — the Emperor and the boy. And now, you may be wondering how I came to connect the champion’s trauma to his future career as an MMA fighter. The answer lies in Joo Jaekyung’s own voice. 😮
(chapter 70) To him, it looked as though Jaekyung had made the reckless choice to return to the ring so soon. That was the trap: the headline and phrasing were designed to make it appear that the decision was the fighter’s own. The opening line alone 
(chapter 69) It was as if the main lead, backed by his team, had personally approached MFC to request the match — an illusion strengthened by the opening line, “MFC’s former champion Joo Jaekyung will be returning to the ring this fall after serving his suspension.” This way, if the decision draws criticism, the CEO can retreat behind the fighter and his team, like they did in the past. 
(chapter 41) But that excuse would be a fiction: Jaekyung hasn’t even met those doctors or talked to the MFC match manager 
(chapter 67) That’s the reason why this suggestion from the CEO appeared the very next day. 
(chapter 61), it was paired with a recommendation for rehabilitation — not an immediate return to competition. This was actually a condition for his total recovery. On the other hand, the doctor imagined or suggested that his patient wished to return to the ring so soon. No medical professional ever signed off on an autumn fight. Yet the date is already set, and the headlines frames it as a confident comeback without any medical backup. The Emperor’s name is splashed everywhere, but none of the words belong to him.
(chapter 57) with one of his close associates — a man whose face was hidden, speaking as though he were the athlete’s voice. That interview was accompanied by a familiar victory image 
(chapter 41), while the image released with the fall match announcement was the one from when he first won his champion title. 
(chapter 12), never mind that he hardly drinks. The gesture fits the fantasy they’ve built around him, not the reality of a man who rejects alcohol due to his addicted father, a reminder that even the tokens of admiration are shaped by the image, not the truth. So who is this so-called close associate or “Joo Jaekyung’s team” exactly that decides for him, speaks for him, and hides behind his title? Besides, why did the journalist change from “one of his close associates” to “Joo Jaekyung’s team”?
(chapter 57) The nickname, played for entertainment value, was another way of turning the champion into a caricature — a marketable, amusing persona instead of a man with a past and agency. It is quite telling that Park Namwook’s interview aired immediately after the anchor referred to Jaekyung as “Mama Joo Jaekyung Fighter.” This was not the lofty “Emperor” title repeated in gyms and ring intros — it was more a mocking nickname, a deliberate jab meant to provoke. In that moment, the Emperor was verbally pulled down from his pedestal, yet the images shown alongside the segment told a different story: carefully chosen shots of him as a champion, a visual echo of his marketable persona. The dissonance was striking.
. (chapter 54) In my opinion, the man is trying to return to the past, thinking that his “popularity” can come back, not realizing that he is being manipulated himself. On the contrary, he stepped into the role of spokesperson without hesitation, speaking as if he were Jaekyung’s voice while keeping his own face and name hidden. He only speaks, when he feels safe. He can not be responsible for the champion’s recovery. 
(Chapter 52) This framing lets him claim the prestige of leadership while leaving himself room to withdraw if things go wrong. Yosep was the one notifying MFC and reporting the incident to the police, Potato explaining his discovery to Joo Jaekyung and blaming the star. 
(chapter 73), by becoming a boxer, the champion wouldn’t make a lot of money. With this comment, he implied that boxing in South Korea had been losing popularity 10 years ago. This explicates why gradually, the members from Hwang Byungchul left the studio. And it was likely the same in the illegal fighting circuit. 
(chapter 73) The popularity of MMA in the States gave them the opportunity to revive fighting sports, a figure who could draw crowds and sponsors, making such events fashionable again.
(chapter 72) instead of “hard-working,” a man who “chose sports over a dark path.” Yet if you look closely, this celebrated “ascension” 
(chapter 72), the scars of his family history, and the years of survival before the cage. This is history rewritten, his boxing past and family erased. Why? His origins could expose the ugly verity: the link between criminality and boxing (as such fighting sports). Secondly, because his real story, though moving, lacked the glamorous allure needed to market him. His real story would have revealed that to rise to the top, you need relentless work, not a miraculous moment. That version was never going to sell as well as the “genius” myth.
(chapter 46) Most of them thought that by staying close to him, they could benefit from his popularity. To conclude, for many of them proximity to the Emperor wasn’t about learning discipline or technique; it was about absorbing his fame by osmosis. Hence they complained and accepted the gifts and money so easily. 
(chapter 46) And, like any product, once it was seen as damaged, its value plummeted. The moment he “lost” his title and suffered injury (chapter 52), the dream began to unravel. 
(chapter 52) He chose silence, and later avoidance, staying away from the gym. That silence was not weakness, but choice: he would listen less and less to his hyung. 
(chapter 36)
(chapter 72) We don’t know how many times he called, but each time we see him do it, his face is injured. 
(chapter 72) The phone calls are therefore intertwined with the boxing studio, as though pain itself pushed him toward her. At ten, he picked up the receiver and let it ring only a few times before hanging up. The next time, in the dead of winter, he finally spoke, promising that if she returned, he would protect her from his father and make enough money to keep her safe. 
(chapter 55) 
(chapter 2) — a space where he could act without having to speak. In the bedroom, as in the ring, the body could carry the conversation. Here, he could dominate, control, and release tension without the risk of verbal damage. His partners became surrogate opponents: sparring substitutes in a non-lethal match. Treating them as “toys” wasn’t only objectification; it was a form of control that, in his mind, protected both sides. Toys don’t demand answers, don’t talk back, and don’t leave you cursed with regret. They remain safely outside the territory where his voice had once done harm.
(chapter 27), spent time with him, asks questions, confronts, and refuses to be reduced to a body in the room. He breaks the rule of silence. With him, Jaekyung can no longer hide behind the physical alone; he is forced to speak, to explain, to voice desires and fears. He pushes Jaekyung to engage in ways he’s spent years avoiding. In this way, Kim Dan becomes the first real threat to the system the champion built after those two curses — and possibly the first person who could prove that words can be safe again. And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung was moved by the birthday card
(chapter 62) To most, it might look like a simple gesture, but for him, it was a rare and precious thing — a voice that had taken the time to shape itself into words just for him. 
(chapter 55) After years of associating speech with either silence or harm, receiving a long-winded, carefully written message felt almost unreal. He saw the effort behind it, the deliberate choice to put thoughts and emotions into language instead of letting them fade away or turn into weapons. In that card, Kim Dan offered something neither of his parents had managed: a voice that reached him without wounding. No silence, no insult. For the champion, it wasn’t just a card — it was proof that words could be built into a gift, not a curse. The latter expressed his dreams and gratitude. Thus I deduce that the Emperor’s curse will be broken by a spell: words!
(chapter 55) The “spell” to break it is not some grand external event, but the simple, sustained act of honest communication — something that has been denied to him since childhood.
. In this way, the curse that began when his voice was silenced and his hands were weaponized will only be broken when those same hands learn to speak tenderness. Look how doc Dan reacted to his public embrace: 
(chapter 71) He saw affection in the hug, but he still doubted the champion’s action. 
Until now, the design’s images have played a secondary role, yet the answer lies in a single scene from chapter 41. 
(chapter 41) Under the bright sunlight, Kim Dan reached out toward the leaves, his hand open and unguarded, as he silently thought of the man he loved. This gesture, so simple yet so revealing, became the unspoken confession that marked the start of a different kind of freedom—the freedom to feel. 
(chapter 53) The glass was an invisible barrier, offering the illusion of freedom while keeping him trapped in the moment of his unresolved trauma. The closer he stood to it, the further he was from true release, his gaze fixed outward to avoid looking inward. That’s why he had no eye in that scene: 
(chapter 55) 
(chapter 71)
(chapter 70) the night can also be alive, communicative, protective. In that moment, the moon becomes more than a distant light in the sky: it is a patient witness, a calm listener in the stillness, reflecting the truth he has yet to voice. 
(chapter 70) Its soft glow contrasts with the blinding glare of the cage lights, suggesting that under the moon, there is space for gentleness, for hearing one’s own heartbeat and another’s words. Just as the moon guides travelers through darkness, it can guide him toward a night that does not suffocate him with loss, but offers orientation and connection.
(chapter 60) they were his own form of therapy. In saving someone else in the night, 
(chapter 65) he could prove to himself he was not powerless, he was valuable, capable of protecting what mattered. 
(chapter 69) He was not too late either. And the moment doc Dan discovers what the silent hero has done for him so many times, the former will realize that he has always been special to the Emperor. Moreover, the latter had never abandoned him in the end.
, (chapter 9) as if the champion’s volatility were a quirk (the actions of a spoiled child) to be managed rather than a wound to be healed. It is because he never talked to the champion or investigated his past. It was only about money and glory. The manufactured image of the erratic, temperamental fighter served Namwook well; it excused rough handling, justified bad press, and kept Joo Jaekyung dependent. Once the Emperor can name the truth of that night, the fiction collapses — and with it, Namwook’s control. He can only be judged as a liar and even a traitor, but we know that Joo Jaekyung has a big heart. He could love his father despite the abuse. Now, the missing link is Cheolmin! 
(chapter 13) Observe that this name is a combination between Hwang Byungchul and Baek Junmin! Under this light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete kept his existence in the dark for so long! It is because the latter belongs to his past and knows the truth behind the Emperor! He was aware of his suffering. For him, he is not just a fighter, but someone who needed FUN in his life! 
(chapter 1) If Hwang Byungchul gave Jaekyung the tools to fight, Baek Junmin gave him the reason to fight like a bloodthirsty tyrant. He did not simply scar the soul — he engraved rage into the champion’s core. The tragedy is that Joo Jaekyung never even learned his name. Thus he didn’t react to his name, only to his face and his smile. 
(chapter 47) And yet, Baek Junmin reappears, not as a stranger, but as the remnant of a past that refuses to stay buried. Additionally, he appears only through the narration of others (fighter) 
(chapter 47) or in flashes 
(chapter 73) — a gesture here, a line there 
(chapter 73) — before vanishing again. To understand him, we have to read between the panels, compare the boy we meet in episode 73 
(chapter 73) to the man who resurfaces much later. 
(chapter 49) Jaekyung’s ears mark him as a champion who faced real opponents in real matches, many of them brutal. His injuries are the price of transparency, visibility, and legitimacy. They are scars earned in the light, while Baek Junmin is supposed to be a novice. 
(chapter 47) His damage was earned in the shadows and in staged fights manipulated by higher powers. 
(chapter 47)
(chapter 49) His cheeks have sunk, his jaw stands out more sharply, and his features seem carved by something deeper than age. This is not the look of someone forced to cut weight for competition, 
(chapter 37), for the new rising star is already much smaller and thinner than the protagonist. 
(chapter 49) It’s more likely the result of long-term stress, emotional corrosion, or drug use.
(chapter 73) This line is telling. It reveals not only the normalization of drug use among these teenagers, but also how intimately it’s tied to fighting. Juho isn’t offering an escape—he’s offering a tool. For him, drugs aren’t about rebellion or recreation; they are a performance enhancer. They’re marketed as part of the fighter’s toolkit.
(chapter 44) His skin is clearer, his features softer, and his face shows fewer signs of internal collapse. This is the effect of healthy food, structured discipline, clean training, and perhaps even emotional restraint. While Junmin’s face has been thinned by chaos, Jaekyung’s has been preserved by control. Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the athlete fell in love with doc Dan at first sight. Despite being older, 
(chapter 7) the “hamster” still carries a baby face: a visual marker of youth, innocence, and gentleness. He embodies everything the Shotgun does not: vulnerability without corruption, softness without vice. If Baek Junmin stands for a corrupted adulthood — weapons (The Shotgun), shadows, and counterfeit gold — then Kim Dan, by contrast, becomes the sanctuary of all that was lost: the child, the smile, the safe bed.
(chapter 49) reveals that anonymity was never his desire. It was his sentence.
(chapter 18) criminals don’t want attention. They avoid the law. They train their subordinates to vanish, to move through shadows, to speak only when spoken to. Baek Junmin wasn’t just playing a role —he was surviving a system that required him to erase himself. His hoodie was not simply clothing; it was a muzzle, a shadow he had to wear. That’s why the protagonist has not made a connection between his nemesis Baek Junmin and a Korean gang yet.
(chapter 69) How is this possible, when it is clear that the antagonist is already a thug? It is because Joo Jaekyung has no idea about his true identity. He only knows him as a cheater and liar!! 
(chapter 73) he blends in by choice. Black is not a neutral here; it is a decision to recede, to be part of the backdrop. The fabric pools around his hands, hiding the skin, while the hood hangs like an unspoken “no comment.” Even when he speaks, it is without volume or force. 
(chapter 52) Note that Director Choi Gilseok doesn’t express concern for Baek Junmin, his attention is on the Emperor! 
(chapter 47),he doesn’t take pride in killing someone.
(chapter 49) and there was no direct interaction between them in the street, I come to the conclusion that their past must have crossed a second time between these two meetings. If we take the hallway encounter as their third meeting 
(chapter 49), there must have been at least a second — brief, sharp, and wounding enough to carve itself into Baek Junmin’s memory while leaving no conscious trace in Joo Jaekyung’s. The difference is telling: what the champion repressed, the Shotgun carried it like a scar. It means Baek Junmin knows more about him than the reverse, and every glare, every barb he throws later is sharpened by a history Joo Jaekyung couldn’t anticipate they share
(chapter 73) lit only in patches, with more shadow than clarity. In this kind of setting, the black hoodie becomes something more than clothing — it is camouflage. He is not merely wearing the dark; he is using it, letting the folds of fabric and the absence of light blur his edges. It is as if he intends to merge with the scenery, to be just another shadow leaning against the wall. This double concealment — in time and in space — ensures that, for now, he remains invisible to the one person whose attention he will one day crave. He began in the shadows not just by circumstance but by mandate. Yet as the boy in the hoodie fades into memory, a new figure will eventually emerge from those shadows—not to hide, but to strike. And he will no longer wear a hood. He will wear scars.
(chapter 73) in the present timeline, but an assault there can happen any time.
(chapter 17) And what did the loan shark tell him before provoking him? 
(chapter 17) Based on the champion’s facial expression after hearing Heo Manwook’s questions, it becomes clear that Joo Jaekyung experienced in the past a scene where he faced a knife and his head was smashed with a bottle of soju. The criminals are recognizable due to their tattoos and their weapons, the knife! And the logic of the knife in this world is telling: as Heo Manwook showed
(chapter 17), it appears when a fight is already lost. It is not a weapon of open combat, but of pride and desperation — a way to cheat fate when skill is not enough. Moreover, he was particularly vicious here. He attacked the champion from behind, a treacherous move. As you can see, the knife is strongly intertwined with the underworld, deception and cowardice.
(chapter 73) 
(chapter 17), a head injury 
(chapter 73), insults and provocations 
(chapter 17) and finally an allusion to the “maker”, god versus father. 
(chapter 73) Over time, the champion chose protective symbols— clouds and a dragon-like mask—tattoos designed not to intimidate but to shield. 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 17) They represent protection, not aggression. Where Baek Junmin’s tattoos speak of death and destruction, Jaekyung’s express escape, survival and resilience. Even in their body art, the two boys tell opposing stories: one driven by resentment and darkness, the other by endurance and self-preservation. 
(chapter 69) Nevertheless, they are here buying time. How so? If the champion were to fight again and even lose, they could bury the investigations. They were also biding time in order to stop investigations and the involvement of the media. 
(chapter 73) No… he is copying others and in particular Joo Jaekyung whom he resents. Thus their attitude in the ring is similar (ruthless), yet both act that way for different reasons: pain and seriousness 
(chapter 15) versus fun and schadenfreude 
(chapter 47). His new persona feels exaggerated, theatrical, hollow. He wanted to become unforgettable, but ended up being another disposable fighter in a system that only remembers champions. Now, his face is ruined: he lost teeth and has a broken nose. 
(chapter 57) Hence the nurse felt sympathy for him. At the health center, he received his long due punishment. Baek Junmin learned through the hard way what it means fighting without rules. He got deceived himself, thinking that his “hyung” would have his back.
(chapter 54) These words imply that the outcome was predicted… That’s the reason why Joo Jaekyung needs to remember the past. There lies the truth: they are “rigging the games because of bets! 
(chapter 54) and Joo Jaekyung’s father, Joo Jaewoong. 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 54), the father with his fading trophy, Baek Junmin with his own unspoken history in the underground ring and the ghost’s words linked to the champion’s hands. Together, they symbolize the toxic underbelly of combat sports, the place where dreams are sold and consumed.
(chapter 73) He had a past worth remembering—something he even clung to in his ruined apartment, preserving his medal and document like a relic. Baek Junmin, by contrast, never belonged to the gym. He wasn’t trained. He never received formal recognition. He fought in shadows, kept to the margins, and remained a “legend” only in the backrooms of Gangwon’s illegal rings because he trusted his “hyung”.
(chapter 49). he desired to have a real title and admiration. 
(chapter 51) all along—a spectacle, not a coronation. Hence director Choi was overjoyed when he heard the verdict.
(chapter 52) That’s why he earned a lot of money. They used this fight to remove the Emperor from the stage quietly. It was time for him to give up on his throne. If they had let Baek Junmin win the fight, people would have questioned the referees. The Shotgun was there to prepare the coup d’Etat, hence the new champion is someone else. Joo Jaekyung wouldn’t remain so calm hearing this: 
(chapter 72) This explicates why Hwang Byungchul condemned the man and sided with the mother. But while Joo Jaewoong and Baek Junmin tried to escape through the sport, they both ended up in the criminal network. And neither made it out.
(chapter 73) In chapter 73, Joo Jaekyung is shown as a first-year high school student—meaning he was sixteen. I suspect this turning point occurred in May, since the earlier fight happened on May 16th. 
(chapter 72) Additionally, the tournament he won was the 17th boxing competition 
(chapter 73), suggesting he had likely participated from the very beginning of the event’s history. This places his debut—and symbolic birth as a fighter—at the very origin of the tournament itself.
(chapter 72) This becomes painfully clear in the call to his mother, when young Joo Jaekyung promises to become strong, 
(chapter 65) Unlike Kim Dan’s grandmother—who is shown gazing downward at the baby she holds, visibly burdened yet emotionally present—the champion’s mother stares straight ahead. 
(chapter 73) However, what remains unspoken in this sentence is that she did not just leave her husband—she left her son too. Hwang Byungchul fails to mention this because he, too, is a man who has lived alongside a woman without truly giving her an official recognition. His own mother lived in his shadow, cooking for fighters, breathing life and love into the studio, yet she remained unnamed. Like Jaekyung’s mother, she was reduced to a supportive function. The crucial difference is that Hwang’s mother lived through her son, and stayed until her death. 
(chapter 73) Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why the man would avoid to meet his wife’s gaze and why the author hid Joo Jaekyung and his mother’s gaze in the last memory from Joo Jaewoong. Her gaze was for him painful, full of rejection. Consequently, I think that when Mingwa created this image for the champion’s birthday 
, she was revealing the arrival of the mother and her traits in her son: humbleness, water, darkness, a daring gaze and uncombed! But let’s return our attention to Joo Jaewoong and his vision: 
(chapter 73), cleaning the house. He felt like a kept man, emasculated by the very woman he expected to serve him. That’s why he says this to his son: 
(chapter 72) He desired to be greeted properly, to be recognized as the head of the family. However, this is how the loser’s mother acted, when he returned home. 
(chapter 73) He didn’t greet him either and avoided to talk to him (points of suspension). This could only infuriate Joo Jaewoong, as the latter felt as a failure and denial of being a husband and father. And now, you comprehend why I see this picture as the evidence 
It is no coincidence that the main lead has a similar vision than his own father about the mother.
(chapter 55), but she gave him the necessary push to reconnect with doc Dan. 
(chapter 55) In this scene, 
(chapter 55) we can detect similarities with the former home from the main lead: 
(chapter 1) . And now, compare this to the 26-year-old champion standing beside his father. His face mirrors the father’s almost exactly (jaw,nose), except for the eyes. 
(chapter 72)
(chapter 73) However, like mentioned above, their toxic relationship played a role. Another is money. Observe how the the 10 years old boy added right after: 
(chapter 73) became his curse, as his dream had become a reality. 
(chapter 7) and possessiveness. 
(chapter 34) I had already portrayed the ghost as a person suffering from narcissistic personality disorder, and since the ghost shares common traits with the father, I am assuming that the father is the ghost. Jaewoong’s narcissism was not simply paternal in my opinion. 
(chapter 31) He didn’t support him to become independent professionally. That’s why I feel like the insecure boxer must have acted the same way, not allowing his wife to become successful in the end. 
(chapter 42) the jealous and regretful ex-lover told him otherwise. How did the father describe his son? 
(chapter 33) This chapter stands not only under the sign of jealousy, but also of motherhood due to the number 6. If this theory is correct, then it signifies that he kept his promise. He gave her a place, but he didn’t want to return to her side for two reasons: her abandonment and his guilt concerning the death of his father. As for the mother, I would say… out of guilt and shame due to her “pride”. She knows that she did hurt her son. Naturally, I could be wrong… but I hope if she is alive so that the champion can talk with his “mother”. This will help him to move on. Breaking the silence between them would put an end to his self-loathing and misery
(chapter 73), gradually fell into decline after the death of his mother. She had been its soul, offering invisible support, care, and emotional warmth to the fighters. 
(chapter 72) onto Shin Okja 
(chapter 61) due to her similarities in age, gender, gestures and words. However, he failed to detect her flaws, as he trusts seniors too much. I guess, it is related to Jaewoong’s death. Nevertheless, it becomes clear that doc Dan had become the soul of the gym: 
(chapter 26), but the latter was not recognized as a real member of Team Black. Besides, let’s not forget that he was only working for the champion and not Team Black!
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 26), to play, even to feel embarrassment—emotions far removed from the sterile discipline of professional sport. Through Doc Dan, the athlete briefly recovered his lost passion. Not just for boxing, but for being human.
(chapter 62) So far, doc Dan hasn’t heard what his fated partner did while waiting for his “return from work”.
(chapter 27) Where and how did he learn swimming? Moreover, observe that he connected it to relaxation and fun. “This feels good”. This contrasts so much to the interaction between Hwang Byungchul and the little boy with the teddy bear. 
(Chapter 72) The man doesn’t know that the athlete can swim, he only knows the boxer, as he was only able to see him on TV. 
(chapter 71) Interesting is that Jinxphiles followed Kim Dan’s school career 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 47), yet the latter can not swim! 
(Chapter 47) 
(Chapter 72) Nevertheless, with this panel, Mingwa indicates that the protagonist was visiting the Elementary school. The neighborhood he grew up in — as described by Hwang Byungchul — was “cutthroat.” 
(Chapter 60) These aren’t casual skills. They’re not the product of school curriculum or street wisdom, especially not in a neighborhood described as “cutthroat.” These are taught skills — and not by someone who saw Jaekyung merely as a fighter. Swimming and first aid reflect something else entirely: a commitment to preparedness, not just for survival, but for helping others.
(Chapter 27) That Jaekyung carries this knowledge — and uses it without hesitation — reveals a deeper emotional structure. 
(Chapter 13) His vocabulary revolves around water: “pond”, “fish”! Besides, I have already connected to him Poseidon, the god of the ocean. Moreover, this man is strongly intertwined with fun, a notion that doesn’t belong in Hwang Byungchul’s world! And now, you understand why this man could touch Joo Jaekyung’s shoulder 
(Chapter 13) He knew about the existence of the Teddy Bear inside the champion. And is it a coincidence that both men have the same name “Chul=Cheol”, though the order diverges: Cheolmin versus Byungchul? And both are connected to the color “green”. 
(chapter 72)
(chapter 60) There was no witness, no coast guard, no institutional figure involved in his rescue. He was alone, only saved by one person. His generation was expected to take responsibility — to succeed, to repay debts, to endure hardship — but they were given no tools to survive when crisis struck. They were neither protected nor prepared.
(chapter 14) This fight took place in April… the same month than the Sewol ferry tragedy. And the color of the poster is once again green. Is it a coincidence? I have my doubt here. And what did Randy Booker say to his opponent? He called him a baby 
(chapter 14) That’s how I realized that water is an element linked to childhood and as such motherhood! 
(chapter 56) Moreover, he gets the opportunity to understand why “usefulness” became so important in the MMA fighter’s life. Through this confession, the other teddy bear gets to perceive that he has so many things in common with his fated partner. Both experienced abandonment, loss, poverty, bullying and only worked in their life too! They never got the opportunity to enjoy life to the fullest.
(chapter 72) —and not with fists, but with fabric. 
(chapter 11) Each boy is introduced wearing a shirt adorned with a teddy bear, a symbol that quietly carries the emotional weight of the entire narrative. 
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 66): a source of comfort, loyalty, and belonging. To follow the teddy bear is to trace this emotional path—from abandonment to connection, from injury to intimacy, from being held once to being held again. 
(chapter 47), and then claimed, just like his teddy bear. The fate of doc Dan’s toy bear reflects the boy’s. The former was pushed outside the embrace and bed before disappearing. 
(chapter 72) The shirts are not only outgrown 
(chapter 72) but also replaced with t-shirts without any design alluding to the vanishing of their identity and forced maturity. 
(chapter 57) For Jaekyung, the beanie-wearing bear with its wounded arm and wise glasses is the last trace of comfort before reality hardens. What remains is not the child, but the instinct to survive. From the moment the bear vanishes, a new figure begins to emerge—not one held, but one who fights. The boy with the teddy bear becomes the man who can’t rest, who equates existence with usefulness, and usefulness with victory.
(chapter 7) The cliché used by Park Namwook in chapter 7 is revealed to be not only ignorant, but cruel. Jaekyung had no home, no real guardian, no one to defend or guide him. He didn’t grow up in the wild—he grew up alone, navigating between violence (abuse and bullying), hunger, and neglect without true protection. This reframes the champion’s identity: not as someone untamable, but as someone who was never tamed because no one cared enough to try. What we witness is not savagery, but simple survival. Thus he had no friend. 
(chapter 71), performative masculinity and high expectations of Park Namwook, and the explosive violence of his father. 
(chapter 5) His behaviors—his hot temper, cold demeanor, blunt speech, and instrumental approach to others—were not innate traits. They were learned strategies, adapted from men who had likewise buried their vulnerability beneath strength or stoicism or brutality. Hence he brought no present to the patient at the hospice. 
(Chapter 72) Much earlier, in the summer night’s dream (Chapter 44), Kim Dan sensed that hidden nature: not the predator, but the man longing to be held.
(Chapter 44) Doc Dan had sensed the real person behind the legend.
(chapter 29) And so, like a child learning a new language, Jaekyung begins to mimic him too. 
(chapter 62) The change is gradual but visible: helping the townspeople, accepting rest, asking to stay close, even touching and speaking more gently. 
(chapter 71) With Kim Dan, the fighter who once only mirrored power begins to echo tenderness.
(chapter 62) 
(chapter 68). These are not just words—they’re the building blocks of intimacy, borrowed from the only person who ever saw through his armor. From mimicking strength, Jaekyung has begun to mimic care. 
(chapter 72) So he fed him. But he never saw the deeper hunger: the absence of love, of being wanted. The coach assumed the problem was solved with food—because he had never gone without care. 
(chapter 72) He lived with his mother. He was never truly alone. And so he projected stability onto the boy’s silence.
(Chapter 72) Instead, he redirects the situation: 
(chapter 22) There is no joy in eating, no comfort at the table. His body becomes a tool, and pain becomes the currency he pays to keep it running.
(chapter 72) The expression (“But reality was like a punch to the gut”) suggests that even the coach himself was struck by how wrong or harsh the outcome turned out to be, but that realization came too late. Yet he blamed the young boy instead of convincing the young boy to postpone the fight. This scene shows that the man’s form of “help” was not rooted in empathy or protection—it was rooted in opportunity and perhaps even short-sighted hope for glory through the boy’s talent. He turned pain into performance.
(chapter 71) why Joo Jaekyung never visited him or expressed his gratitude towards the boxing coach more openly. 
(Chapter 71) He became successful thanks to his own hard work. It was, as if he had followed the advice to the letter—make it on your own. I am suspecting that the charity event is linked to poor neighborhoods and children, so he didn’t totally erase the man from his memory, he just repressed him. However, it is not astonishing why the director is resentful and even bitter towards Joo Jaekyung. It was, as if he had never helped him. While he blames the man, the coach never recognized his own shortcomings. He didn’t see that his assistance was actually conditional. 
(chapter 72) They are all rivals. But from my perspective, there exists another reason why the main lead didn’t keep in touch with Hwang Byungchul exposing the director’s blindness. The adult Joo Jaekyung admits that seeing the director’s face brings back “old memories”—not of comfort, but of trauma. 
(Chapter 71) The implication is unmistakable: Hwang Byungchul reminds him of his father and the abuse. And the latter is strongly intertwined with the mother’s abandonment.
(chapter 72) The other is Jaekyung himself. How can we tell? Because the scene of the phone call contains no narration, no framing voice. 
(Chapter 71) But here, doc Dan was making a huge mistake: he was just projecting his own feelings and relationship with him onto theirs. But he was behaving exactly like the former director: simplification. 
(chapter 61) In the panel where he sighs, “Haa… I have no idea what’s going on in that guy’s head,” he unintentionally exposes the shallowness of his approach. He imagines that by looking at Jaekyung’s brain—by cracking his psychology—he’ll “understand” him. That way, he can regain control. But this isn’t curiosity. It’s a veiled form of control-seeking. Namwook doesn’t want to know Jaekyung as a person—he wants him to be predictable, manageable, marketable. That line doesn’t reflect concern. It reflects frustration that the human being in front of him refuses to fit the role he’s been assigned. Hence it is logical that his solution to force Joo Jaekyung to return to the gym is to accept a new match. 
(chapter 65) Her mindset follows a consistent logic: one problem, one person, one solution. Kim Dan is overworked and sick? 
(chapter 65) Then someone stronger should carry him. That “someone” becomes Jaekyung. The doctor should take pills and that’s it.
(chapter 65) she doesn’t know anything about his life. That’s the price of simplification: you get a clean answer, but not the truth.
(chapter 70) He judges him without knowing the circumstances. This projection is not new. In the past, he blamed the father, 
(chapter 17), it becomes clear that there exists a recurring link between athletic decline and criminal paths. The man fails to notice this connection. He sees these outcomes as individual moral failings, not systemic failures. 
(chapter 64) He reproached him about being used and abandoned. But he was forgetting his own actions. He had also used the athlete, he had also left the bed in a hurry the next morning. Yes, he, too, simplified Jaekyung. That night, he said nothing. And in doing so, he confirmed the belief Jaekyung had internalized: I’m not someone who gets cared for. I’m someone who is tolerated, used, replaced. Like mentioned above, his mind-set was strongly influenced by Shin Okja. On the other hand, I noticed that the protagonist embodies complexity. How so? On the surface, he appears simple: obedient, quiet, weak, submissive, passive. 
(chapter 70) But beneath that surface lies a dense emotional world— love, grief, guilt, exhaustion, intelligence, empathy and moral clarity — that few characters in Jinx truly perceive. He stands for the heart! And everyone knows that “the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” (Blaise Pascal) Because he acts from a place that defies the cold logic of power, hierarchy, and survival, he operates on emotional intelligence 
(chapter 71) —unspoken understanding, silent resistance, instinctive empathy. It’s no coincidence that his presence disrupts every system he enters: the gym, the hospital, the champion’s life.
(chapter 70), and starts being a person. The racing heart… which has already happened. And this observation leads me to this scene: 
(chapter 58) Kim Dan was erasing this memory, he wanted to forget the star The Emperor. This act of forgetting wasn’t an escape from pain; it’s an active rejection of a myth that was keeping him emotionally paralyzed. As long as Jaekyung remained “The Emperor,” he could not be touched, questioned, or truly known. By forcing himself to forget that image, Kim Dan was making space for something more vulnerable and human to emerge. To conclude, thanks to this painful decision, he was able to perceive Joo Jaekyung the man. That’s why he acted so fiercely in front of him later. So by meeting the director, doc Dan is now able to see the child or the “cat” in his fated partner. That’s how it dawned on me why Mingwa let doc Dan suffer from addiction, depression and insomnia. Because these afflictions defy simplification. They resist instant solutions (pills). They demand patience, presence, and a refusal to look away.
(chapter 72), his bruises 
(chapter 72) and asked for his name. This exposes his priorities and his blindness. He didn’t truly perceive the child in him, he was seeing him through the lenses of a boxer and director. Hence he underestimated the absence and abandonment of the mother. 
(chapter 21) Unlike Kim Dan, who grew up falling asleep next to his grandmother, accustomed to someone sharing his blanket, Jaekyung was emotionally and physically on his own from the start. Moreover, observe that the little boy had toys 
(chapter 53) He is a physical therapist. He had also arranged his books together: 
(chapter 53) And what did the hamster think while gathering his belongings? 
(chapter 53) So I deduce that the woman left them behind because she didn’t need them, she had enough or she no longer cared. But there is more to it!
(chapter 27) There are no toys, no supplies for a child—just quiet evidence of a woman focused on herself, her escape perhaps already underway.
(chapter 53) The jacket… Because of these parallels, I come to develop the following theory. Joo Jaekyung knew his age, because he had just celebrated his birthday. This scene definitely took place in the summer. 
(chapter 53) must have triggered the champion’s abandonment issues. He had the impression to relive the past. The mother had left him behind in the dark unexpectedly.
(chapter 45) And now, you comprehend why I wrote above that I was not giving up on the idea that the champion could belong to a different world too. She was not accustomed to take care of a household. She wasn’t used to cook either. She would order food, hence we have the empty bowls. 
(chapter 72). In other words, the mother was already emotionally absent long before she physically vanished. The bandaged bear thus becomes a silent accusation: you saw, and you left. Therefore it is not astonishing that Joo Jaekyung made such a mistake: 
(chapter 72) Joo Jaewoong—whose name literally evokes the bear (웅, 雄 or 熊)—was not a gentle protector, but a violent alcoholic and drug addicted, a man who “strayed from the straight and narrow” 
(chapter 54) —Team Black—bears symbolic weight. Unlike other athletes who proudly attach their names to their legacy, Joo Jaekyung avoids personal branding. He doesn’t call it “Jaekyung’s Gym” or “Joo Athletics.” Instead, he opts for anonymity, for darkness. It’s as if he’s building a fortress rather than a legacy, a space that offers power and protection, but no trace of where he came from.
(chapter 71) I am quite certain that her vanishing must have pained him. She embodies the only good motherly role model in his life which explains why Joo JAekyung has a soft heart for Shin Okja. He knew to speak prettily and gently because of her. It is clear that the director influenced his dream, creating a gym where his mother would be part of it. 
(chapter 70), the other a former “boxing” coach and Jaekyung’s ghostly mentor figure, now terminally ill and confined to a shared room.
(chapter 71)These two older men mirror different systems of power: the current director, a seemingly kind authority figure who represents institutional control masked as care; and the former coach, a fallen patriarch whose past decisions shaped Jaekyung’s identity and pain. This part of the essay focuses first on the hospice director, and how his interaction with Kim Dan reveals the young man’s invisible burden and social isolation. In the final section, we will turn to the old coach, now reduced to a ghost in his own story, and explore how the symbolism of owls, coots, and crickets illuminates his emerging relationship with Kim Dan. 
(Chapter 70) The director doesn’t say, “We’ll adjust your schedule,” or, “Let me talk to HR.” He simply tells Dan to take a day off 
(Chapter 59) This reinforces the idea that Dan is not covered by the same protections, and that he operates outside the stable framework of regular employment.
(chapter 66) to visit a sleep specialist, where Dan received a diagnosis and first treatment for his “sleepwalking” condition. The two spent the night in Seoul. Upon returning to the seaside town, Jaekyung received a call 
(chapter 69) and left again the next morning for Seoul in order to meet the CEO, marking a separation between the two after their return.
(chapter 71) and night hours 
(chapter 71), suggesting his ongoing pattern of overworking. In episode 71, Kim Dan is seen walking alone through the hospice hallway—unaccompanied, unnoticed. This quiet image stands in stark contrast to the earlier scene when, after nearly drowning, he was carried in by Joo Jaekyung and immediately met by a nurse and the hospice director, both actively working together that night. 
(chapter 60) Back then, his suffering was visible, his crisis institutionalized. Striking is that after that night, the hospital director never asked doc Dan to take a sick leave or to a day off. In fact, it took some time before making such a suggestion. Moreover, as if a single day off would make a huge difference. But now, despite his clear exhaustion and illness, doc Dan moves through the same space in silence 
(Chapter 57) his grandmother would worry about him. Yet, during that night, Shin Okja doesn’t seem to be plagued by worries for her own grandson’s health. She sleeps peacefully.
(chapter 70) only after the Seoul trip. This must mean that his conversation with the hospice director—where he was urged to rest—took place between his return from Seoul and the announced day off. We also know that 
(chapter 69) the champion came back from Seoul in the evening and found footprints near the house, suspecting Dan had wandered to the ocean while drunk. These prints were left that same day 
(chapter 70), when Kim Dan chased the puppies that had stolen the shoes. Based on the shadows and the position of the sun
(chapter 70), I am deducing that this scene took place during the afternoon. I used these images as a contrast, where the author made it clear that these scenes took place in the morning. 
(Chapter 65) 
(chapter 57) We can determine the time based on the position of the sun and the shadows.
(Chapter 13) But when Kim Dan drops a patient Dan by mistake 
(chapter 59), the director acts immediately—not because of concern for the elderly man, 
(chapter 59) but because he fears that the patient’s family might sue the hospice. The elderly man’s condition was formally assessed, documented, and protected. This scene exposes that they can act in an emergency (taking tests). In contrast, Kim Dan—who is visibly unwell—is not offered even a basic check-up. His illness is reduced to tired eyes and missed sleep, framed as personal negligence rather than systemic failure. He is looked at, not truly seen. While the patient is treated as a legal liability, Dan is treated as disposable labor—an expendable worker whose wellbeing doesn’t justify institutional resources. Thus in my opinion, the director of the hospice suggested that doc Dan took a day off in order to ensure that he had done his duty, taking care of his employee.
(Chapter 70) His distinct appearance—bald with tufts of grey hair—makes him easily recognizable. What stands out this time is not the accident, but the aftermath of it. 
(Chapter 70) When Kim Dan, again lost in thought, almost bypasses his room, it is this very patient who gently brings him back to reality with the teasing words, “Earth to Doc Dan.” His tone is not accusatory. On the contrary, it’s forgiving—light-hearted even.
(chapter 62) However, the main lead was still working, thus the athlete concluded that he had made a mistake. He probably assumed that he had the afternoon shift. Hence Joo Jaekyung only returned to the landlord’s house at sunset! So during that day, he must have worked for the morning and afternoon shift. Even here, the doctor was suggested to give a special treatment to the star. 
(Chapter 62) Then in episode 71, we see him working in both afternoon 
(Chapter 71) Therefore we see him in company of different nurses. 
(Chapter 57) He moves between teams, unanchored and isolated. This also explicates why the nurses still have no name. To conclude, his contract implies that Dan is paid by the hour or per shift, without salary-based benefits. I am suspecting, the regular nurses likely operate under different contracts, which could include fixed shifts, team integration, and better protections. 
(Chapter 57) Finally, we shouldn’t overlook that his job is strongly intertwined with his grandmother’s situation. He needed to get a job there, hence he couldn’t negotiate his contract. As long as he had a job as physical therapist, he could only be “happy”.
(Chapter 71) in a room designed for six patients—indicated by the six plastic protections outside the door. 
(chapter 65), while the former coach shares a room with three others and lacks personal care. 
(Chapter 71) Shin Okja lives like a VIP. Yes, the new version of this situation: 
(chapter 52) That’s the reason why Mingwa made another allusion to this particular scene (chapter 52) in episode 71: 
(chapter 65), and he has now a cold.
(chapter 53), become lopsided forms of dependency. And his unspoken needs—his own exhaustion, grief, and longing—are never tended to, not even by himself. He is present for everyone, yet no one is truly present for him. That’s the reason why Shin Okja knows nothing about her own grandson’s interests and dreams. 
(Chapter 71) In German, he would be an “alter Kauz”—an eccentric owl. But this metaphor reaches deeper than mere strangeness or aging. 
(chapter 65) Dan was found wandering the night in his sleep, pulled by unconscious fears. 
(Chapter 65) These moments mirror the owl’s behavior: navigating darkness, moving alone, and being misunderstood. Thus, the owl becomes a powerful symbol not only of the former coach but of Kim Dan himself—both are creatures of the night, shaped by what they see and endure in silence. In contrast to the chattering coot, the owl watches and remembers. And perhaps, the presence of both birds suggests that the coach, once a loud and reckless coot, is beginning to see with the quiet eyes of the owl—finally noticing the suffering he once overlooked. Their shared nocturnality ties them together: one hoots and curses, the other drifts wordlessly—but both are left behind by the daylight world.Doc Dan’s nightly behavior made me think of an owl. 
(quoted from 
(chapter 71) suggests that communication doesn’t always have to be soft to be sincere. It is precisely the coach’s lack of elegance that makes him relatable to Dan. 
(Chapter 71) This dynamic becomes especially meaningful when we recall that Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck—a creature often seen as passive or domesticated, gliding over water while paddling furiously underneath. As discussed above, the duck stands for Dan’s silent endurance, his ability to move between unstable emotional terrains without ever making a splash.
(chapter 22).
(chapter 71), a joke. But there’s another side to the owl—the side that watches the night, that sees what others do not. And in this hospice, maybe for the first time, the former coach becomes something more: a witness who is no longer silent. An old man who still has eyes.
(Chapter 71) The latter didn’t receive proper treatment for his woundsAnd this brings me to my final interpretation, the absence of a physical therapist or doctor in the director’s world and life! His body got broken so many times, indicating that he never had a doctor by his side! . 
(Chapter 70)He never had a companion or friend in his life, which is also mirrored in the picture. 
(Chapter 71) The other carries bitterness and the guilt of watching too long without speaking. In this dim hallway of illness and endurance, their connection becomes a muted call for dignity. 
(Chapter 69) from the physical therapist is more than a startled greeting — it marks a critical shift in the psychological and emotional trajectory of both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. Standing at the dock, doc Dan, still recovering from his depression and trauma of the switched spray incident, sees the champion not as an invincible athlete, but as someone equally unmoored. He is surprised and confused by such a behavior. Why would he act that way? Hence the author added right after this image: 
(chapter 69) Striking is that the champion has a similar reaction. He never expected that he had misjudged his fated partner. Both characters are forced to face their own prejudices and bias. 
(Chapter 69) This moment is less about resolution and more about recognition: two men, shaped by different paths of burnout, collide again — but this time not as patient and caregiver, predator and prey, but as human beings in crisis.
(chapter 57) that go unnoticed to dealing with the emotional numbness of detachment, Kim Dan begins to resemble the article’s description of someone silently breaking down. 
(Chapter 59) Although he didn’t face difficult patients at the hospice
(chapter 57), he approaches his work like a robot, emotionally disconnected from those in his care. The burnout is not only shaped by the hospital environment — it’s also deeply tied to his role with Joo Jaekyung. The champion became, in many ways, his most demanding patient 
(Chapter 14), with unrealistic expectations 
f (chapter 45) rom superiors, he fits the article’s description of someone burdened by a toxic professional environment. More importantly, in episode 57, a nurse casually mentions that he might be suffering from burnout. 
(chapter 56) and isolates himself emotionally. Therefore he doesn’t engage in a conversation with the nurses. 
(chapter 49), or that in the aftermath of the suspicious match, he blames him 
(chapter 19) and relational isolation all echo the article’s diagnosis:
(chapter 59) — and any deviation from it is interpreted as personal failure. Here, it’s important that the hospice took advantage from the overworked protagonist. No one paid attention to the double shift. (Naturally, I am not saying that the main lead is blameless either). For Kim Dan, the patient’s fall in episode 59 
(chapter 59) and the sabotage incident destroyed his self-perception as “doctor” and “helper”. 
(Chapter 59) This is reflected in the image where the author zoomed on the “main lead’s” hands or when he is holding the dead puppy. 
(Chapter 59) The hands have become the symbol of his powerlessness. For the wolf, the tie in his last match is perceived not as resilience, but as loss. 
(Chapter 51) Neither of them has been taught to see difficulty as an invitation to adapt. They both cling to a fixed mindset — until crisis breaks the pattern.
(Chapter 60) Though Dan has long suffered from low self-esteem, he has never questioned his sacrificial identity. It is as if he were destined — or conditioned — to care for others without regard for himself. 
(Chapter 29) He sees selflessness not as a virtue but as a default mode of survival. This explicates why he blames himself for the puppy’s death. Observe how Mingwa implied the relevance of the doctor’s hands while he was holding the poor puppy. 
(Chapter 1) — a way to repay debts. And it is the same, when he accepts his contract with the wolf. 
(Chapter 65) These words reveal what truly matters to her: material provision and financial compensation. She does not seem to register the emotional toll the job may be taking on Dan, nor does she question the ethics of the contract or his living conditions. What she values is that her grandson is being paid and housed — signs of visible, quantifiable success.
(chapter 62) the athlete’s success gave him a sense of purpose. No wonder why he took everything so personally. 
(chapter 60), functions as a form of emotional absolution, though doc Dan is not aware of it. This job offer is an indirect proof that he is still seen as competent and trustworthy. 
(Chapter 62) If Jaekyung had not come himself, it would have confirmed Dan’s worst fears: that he was to blame, that he was discarded. The first crack in his fixed mindset comes from this gesture — an external acknowledgment that the so-called “sin” may not have been his at all. This explicates why Kim Dan can give him the cold shoulder and even ignore him. 
(Chapter 69) His stunned reaction — “
(Chapter 69) Dan’s very presence communicates something new: emotional steadiness, however tentative. And for the first time, Jaekyung doesn’t respond with control, but with vulnerability. 
(Chapter 69) The hug becomes a form of speech — an action that acknowledges fear, relief and desire for connection.
(Chapter 65) — yet she changes nothing. How so? She could have talked to the nurse, and the latter would have brought up the possibility of “burnout”. She frames her grandson as a victim 
(chapter 61) , and approaches Dan not as a star reclaiming property, but as a person reaching out.
(Chapter 67) Meanwhile, Jaekyung drops his script of invincibility and openly acknowledges his need for Dan. Neither of them says the perfect thing — but they are no longer using self-talk to punish themselves.
(Chapter 69) begins to receive it. It is not a grand declaration, but a quiet shift: you can fail or cause a ruckus, and still be loved. Hence he doesn’t push away the wolf on the dock. 
(chapter 69), the star begins to extend that care inward. Each gesture of empathy toward Dan becomes a step closer to self-compassion. In learning to protect someone else without demanding perfection, the wolf is learning, perhaps for the first time, that he too deserves kindness — not just from others, but from himself. He models what the article calls a true “growth mindset” — one that sees failure not as final, but as a catalyst for relational and emotional evolution.
(chapter 65) corresponds to the release of Jinx Chapter 70, which marked the series’ return after a three-month hiatus. This observation is more than clever numerology—it mirrors the manhwa’s deeper message: the past always haunts the present, and at times, it even foreshadows the future. And that’s exactly what I will do in this essay. I propose that the key to understanding the protagonists and characters’ evolving identities lies in the overlooked architectural and administrative details—especially the house numbers, door placements, and legal ownership of space. These seemingly minor visual cues are in fact loaded with meaning, offering insight into how home, memory, and identity are fragmented and reassigned across time and place.
(chapter 61) For readers unfamiliar with Korea, this looks quite bizarre. In most European and American countries, street addresses follow a linear order; house number 12 would typically be located between 10 and 14. But in Korea, especially in rural areas, many towns use the older jibeon (지번) land-lot numbering system. Here, numbers are based not on street sequence but on the chronological order of land registration and subsequent subdivisions.
(chapter 62), newer developments, or administrative restructuring rather than deep-rooted inheritance. In this context, a higher subdivision number implies not only later division, but also the erosion of legacy and the weakening of kinship-based territorial claims—an erosion especially poignant in the context of Confucian traditions that once emphasized multi-generational cohabitation and patrilineal inheritance. In classical Korean society, a home was not merely a shelter but a physical emblem of familial continuity, with ancestral rites often performed within the same household across generations. As addresses fragment and land parcels divide, so too does the symbolic structure of the family unit. The once-cohesive ideal of the extended household dissolves into isolated, rented spaces, reflecting not only economic realities but also the fraying of intergenerational bonds and filial authority.
(chapter 61) Though Jaekyung is a wealthy celebrity, he inhabits a parcel of land that speaks to impermanence and anonymity. Meanwhile, Dan shares space with someone who quietly represents legacy and transparency.
(chapter 62) However, this “dynamic” (distinction) began to shift the moment Jaekyung started working for the local residents. 
(chapter 62) No longer just a “guest” or a “tourist,” he earned their recognition and acceptance through acts of service and humility. 
(chapter 62) As he helped them with manual tasks—such as lifting goods or assisting the elderly—they started seeing him not as an outsider, but as one of their own. However, it is important to note that these gestures of inclusion occurred while Jaekyung was outside the blue gate 
(chapter 62) —beyond the formal boundary of the rental property. 
(chapter 62) In this way, the gate truly functioned as a symbolic threshold: only once he crossed it through action and humility, the community began to approach him. This change in perception was symbolized, when he received vegetables from the townspeople, a traditional gesture of inclusion and local acknowledgment. 
(chapter 62) Nevertheless, the best sign that he has been accepted by the community is when he received traditional welcome gifts: the toilet paper and detergent. 
(chapter 69) [For more read 
(chapter 65), the elderly neighbor chose to open the blue gate shortly after: 
(chapter 69) Thus I deduce that the blue gate lost its purpose. The champion definitely saw the advantages of the absence of a gate by his neighbor. He could arrive there at any moment 
(chapter 62) and the landlord never rejected him. In fact, he was always welcome. 
(chapter 66)
(chapter 59), and townspeople instinctively report Dan’s behavior to him. 
(chapter 61) That’s the reason why the author included this scene. Even if someone had disclosed Dan’s address, the GPS in Jaekyung’s luxury car would not have been able to guide him there. Like mentioned above, the streets have no names, and the numbering lacks logical sequence. Thus, we have to envision how the Emperor followed Dan on foot, observing where he went. In doing so, he not only located the general vicinity. Afterwards, he must have contacted a local and requested for a vacant house close to 33-3. That’s how he found the “hostel” right next door. 
– chapter 69) and walking through the confusion himself.
(chapter 65) Though she insists this seaside town is where she “grew up,” she never identifies a lot number, street, or ancestral parcel. In a rural system where numbers are more than logistical—they are signs of rootedness and intergenerational presence—her vagueness stands out. Everyone else is connected to a numbered gate, a registry, or a mailbox. She alone floats in narrative space, clinging to emotional claims without material proof: no concrete location is brought up. 
(chapter 57) The contrast becomes sharper when she refers to Seoul only in generic terms. She never mentions a district, 
(chapter 56), a neighborhood, or specific location. This lack of detail, especially when juxtaposed with the specificity of the rural jibeon system (where even a subdivision number implies lineage and ownership), exposes her rootlessness. It reinforces the idea that her ties to place are performative rather than grounded. Even her nostalgia for Seoul is flattened 
(chapter 17) As Jinx-lovers can detect, next to the entrance of her apartment, there is no blue house number plate or street name. How is that possible in a metropolis where every residence should be digitally registered? And now, pay attention to the house where the “goddess” and her “puppy” lived. 
(chapter 1) The building had not only two doors, but also the plaque is placed next to the other door. It is also partially visible in this image: 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 11), we naturally assume he is returning home—entering the same shared space he and his grandmother inhabit. But is that actually the case? A closer look reveals he is using the other entrance. On his right side, we see the electricity meter, the mailbox, and the window—the signs of an inhabited and administratively recognized unit. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. Once again, I am showing the view of the same building from a different perspective, 
(chapter 57) where the mail box and the electricity meter are. But I have another evidence for this observation. During that night, the hamster got assaulted by Heo Manwook and his minions. 
(chapter 11) And keep in mind that after getting beaten by the Emperor, anyone could recognize the grandmother’s place from outside due to the broken window. 
(chapter 19) The moment I made this discovery, I couldn’t help myself wondering why doc Dan would go to the other door and not to the halmoni’s room.
(chapter 11) The voice on the phone reveals something legally crucial
(chapter 11): Kim Dan is the last remaining resident in that building. That one line reframes everything. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. 😮 In fact, the building features 
(chapter 5) When the loan shark came to collect the interest of the debts during Kim Dan’s childhood, he went straight to her door 
(chapter 5) —the door that, at the time, likely bore the blue house number plaque. 
(chapter 5) the door associated with Kim Dan in later episodes—particularly the one through which the champion entered during the confrontation with the thugs —opens inward and is placed in the corner of the right wall. The interior layouts and door directions don’t match, though the furniture is similar. This strongly suggests that these are two different units within the same building, exactly like I had observed before. The “goddess” and the hamster’s house had two doors and as such two units. 
(chapter 19) had a recollection of this moment, when he was about to leave this humble dwelling. 
(chapter 65) and Kim Dan the immature child, whereas according to my observations, she is legally dependent on the “hamster”. She is just a household member. As you can see, I detected a contradiction between her words and “hidden actions”, all this triggered because of the closed door. By transferring the address and registration to the physical therapist, she made it possible for him to inherit not just the space, but also the liability. That’s why he’s now the only registered person.
(chapter 11) When he says “home,” he is referring not just to a physical place, but also to a legal and emotional placeholder—a registration number that ties him to bureaucratic existence, familial duty, and emotional manipulation. With her promise to return in that home, Shin Okja is essentially demanding he remains the legal anchor—the one who stays behind, the one who remains registered, the one who continues to carry the official burdens, even as she herself fades into invisibility. That’s how she became a “carefree” ghost in the end. It wasn’t just a promise of care, but a submission to being tethered—not to belonging, but to obligation masked as love. The irony is that by remaining legally “present,” Dan was emotionally erased.
(chapter 65), in the eyes of the system, merely lodging in his shadow. She is indeed a ghost. 
(chapter 22) This architectural division is deeply symbolic. Despite being the dependent, Dan is the one bearing responsibility—both financially and administratively. Shin Okja, on the other hand, manages to live without accountability. 
(chapter 65) Joo Jaekyung is almost her grandson!! It was, as if she was about to adopt him. Let’s not forget that he embodies all her ideals and dreams: strong, healthy, rich, famous, generous, polite and gentle! And according to my observations, she knows that the athlete owns a flat in Seoul, big enough to take a room mate. 
(chapter 16) He even showed the amount Kim Dan owned with his cellphone to the Emperor 
(chapter 17) That’s how the champion internalized that the hamster was the one with debts. This theory explicates why doc Dan is not blaming his grandmother for the debts in the end, as he signed himself loans. And now, you can imagine what happened in the past. Once he became 17 years old, she asked him to get a resident registration number. With this, he could apply for a loan in order to reimburse the grandmother’s debts. This must be one of her favors from the past: 
(chapter 5) His words imply that he had done something in the past for her. And that would be to become her guardian and take her debts. This hypothesis explicates why only in episode 11, Doc Dan was comparing the progression of the interests with a snowball system, something unstoppable. 
(chapter 11) His thoughts reflect a rather late realization that he is trapped in a system and he can not get out of it. In other words, this image oozes a certain innocence. This also explained why Joo Jaekyung had to confront him with reality in front of the hospital. 
(chapter 18) The location is not random: for the halmoni, such a work place symbolizes respectability, power and money. The problem is that in the hospice, Doc Dan is not well-paid. 
(chapter 56)
(chapter 11) And now, it is time to return our attention to my illustration for the essay: 
As my avid readers can observe, the panel with the champion facing the blue door comes from episode 69, while the one with doc Dan comes from chapter 11. These scenes are mirroring each other. It is about concern and danger! While in episode 69, the athlete got worried, as he imagined that doc Dan’s life was in danger, in episode 11, the hamster was about to face an old threat: Heo Manwook and his minions! 
(chapter 11) But back then, he was on his own and no one paid attention to his health. Not even Shin Okja… He was truly abandoned, while the episode 69 exposes the opposite. Society in this little town takes care of people in general. 
(chapter 11), he jumped to the conclusion that Dan was either prostituting himself or laundering funds. Why? It is because he had taken odd jobs, until he got hired by the dragon, Joo Jaekyung, and had such a huge income. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Heo Manwook knew how to use the old lady in order to threaten doc Dan. 
(chapter 16) Like I wrote in a different analysis, I doubt that the grandma would have signed a loan by Heo Manwook. This reveals how Dan entered the contract in obscurity, without recognition or protection. He did it for Shin Okja’s sake to repay her for her support and “love”. 
(chapter 57) Therefore I am expecting an argument between the halmoni and the inhabitants of 33-3. The landlord embodies the opposite values of Shin Okja. 
(chapter 16) Dan repeatedly calls it his grandmother’s and even dreamed of finding a new place that could house it—a gesture that underscores how much he believed she treasured the object, even though she herself never mentions it. But she never once references it, not even when returning from the hospital. The absence of interest is striking. What if the cabinet didn’t belong to her at all? Its size suggests that it predates the division of the house. Besides, according to my observation, she used to live in the other unit and I can not imagine, the halmeoni moving this furniture from one unit to the other. Perhaps it once belonged to Dan’s mother—a remnant of the original household, now misattributed to the woman who unofficially took over.
(chapter 19) onto the object just as he projects loyalty and gratitude onto his guardian. But the silence around the cabinet speaks volumes: it is not treasured by Shin Okja, only by Dan. Much like his name on the loan, or the house number on the door, it could be a misplaced inheritance. At the same time, such an item could serve to identify doc Dan’s true origins, if the Wedding Cabinet belonged to his true family.
(chapter 66) Changing his registration would mean stepping outside of the institution’s control and surveillance. 
(chapter 62) Without Dan, Seoul held no meaning. But if he remains in the town past the statutory threshold, it would imply that he is ready to leave behind the world of contracts and competitions. It would mean he is now rooted—not by career, but by choice. Not by obligation, but by emotional truth.
, released in anticipation of Chapter 70, is more than a promotional teaser. It is a moment frozen in time, yet brimming with motion—emotional, symbolic, and narrative. We see Joo Jaekyung embracing Kim Dan with both arms, pressing him tightly against his chest. There is no resistance, no distance, no tension in the frame. The palette moves from gray and brown fading into violet and pink, blooming into soft light. There is vapor, there is breath, an allusion to life. And most strikingly, there is stillness.
(chapter 11), every glare, and every awkward silence 
(chapter 68) and the public hug on the dock in Chapter 69. 
(chapter 68) He rests his chin not on Dan, but on his own hand, his arm propped on the edge of the bathtub. This detail is telling: even in a moment of supposed closeness, Jaekyung relies on himself for support, not on Dan. He is physically near but emotionally braced—still holding himself apart. His thoughts are private, tender, and possessive. In a rare moment of introspection, he confesses that 
(chapter 69) The illusion of control dissipates, revealing that his earlier vow, however heartfelt, was not yet unshakable. 
(chapter 69) that Jaekyung is wearing it, the change in angle—viewing the hug from behind—deliberately conceals it. 
(chapter 55) In the new illustration, the hamster’s back is no longer representing anonymity and indifference, but visibility and care, for the champion is now facing his fated partner. In other words, doc Dan’s back in the teaser stands for uniqueness and high value. He can not be replaced. Moreover, doc Dan is not walking away, nor is he asleep. 
(chapter 45) Back then, the champion refused the expensive key chain, symbolizing a missed opportunity for emotional connection. Both men yearned for attention and affection, but failed to express it. Here, in contrast, the champion offers something far more meaningful than a 14,000₩ and free lodging —his unguarded embrace. And Dan, by remaining still, appreciates the moment. 
(chapter 21) Dan became fluent in a silent, physical language of care. She often asked him not to cry 
(chapter 47) and composed embraces—gestures repeated with calm precision. These touches were predictable, rhythmic, and soothing, but they also suppressed genuine emotional exchange, the symbol of toxic positivity.
(chapter 57) the momentary pause of a hand
(chapter 5) never still—giving the impression of involvement, of care in action. But this motion avoided vulnerability and responsibility in reality. She never clung, never trembled. Her gestures conveyed comfort but not surrender, presence but not change, and not support either. They were not truly emotionally together. 
(chapter 47) to hold her hand, to initiate closeness 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 57); I’ll come back home, once I am all better”
(chapter 47), to stabilize the person meant to support him. Now, he is receiving without shame or hesitation. The Emperor’s silent desperation, his refusal to hide behind ritual or false strength, creates the space for Dan to feel treasured—not pitied, but wanted.
(chapter 65) or stand-ins 
(chapter 29), ignoring Dan’s presence and concern. His rejection of the doctor’s offer of comfort or companionship underscores not only his emotional detachment but also the absence of true support from his supposed team. The manager, Park Namwook, is nowhere to be seen, 
(chapter 66) or use violence to “tame the wolf”. That’s the reason why he is accepting the offer from the CEO of MFC. He is pushing the Emperor to return to the ring, but the problem is now that doc Dan was officially recognized as a member from Black Team. 
(chapter 69)
(chapter 14) For the physical therapist, this moment would later be confirmed. 
(chapter 16) —haltingly and with a trace of disbelief visible thanks to the points of suspension —as his first kiss ever. His stunned reaction and eventual admission offer a compelling lens through which to explore the symbolism of kissing in Jinx, but also the emotional landscape the two men must navigate. 
(chapter 14) If it was his first, the gesture carries a far deeper meaning than either man realizes in the moment. And if it wasn’t, then why does this kiss—with Kim Dan—resonate so differently?
(chapter 15) she showed more than the physical therapist’s confusion with the interrogation marks, she added his inner thoughts. This question (“What’s this?”) already hinted that he had never experienced a kiss before. The ambiguity of his reaction suggested that the moment was unfamiliar, and not immediately recognizable as a kiss at all. 
(chapter 30) Recognizing his face, Dan mentions that his grandmother used to watch the drama A Fine Line, and that he had seen it with her. 
(chapter 30) The author even includes a framed shot from the fictional show, depicting Heesung as the smiling son-in-law in a multigenerational family. This visual insert is subtle, but telling: it wasn’t the story that stayed with Dan, but the faces—the aesthetics of family structure and polite emotional decorum.
(chapter 16) it frightened him. The kiss broke an invisible boundary—one his upbringing had silently enforced. That’s the reason why he wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
(chapter 30) He blushes and wonders why. 
(chapter 30) It’s a telling moment: Dan isn’t used to feeling attraction and desire, let alone recognizing it. He never bought posters of celebrities, never fantasized. That world—the glamorous world of affection, attention, and beauty—was never his. 
(chapter 30) —despite already having been seen naked by Jaekyung 
(chapter 30) —suggests something deeper than modesty. When he rushes to hide his underwear and blushes merely at brushing his teeth next to someone 
(chapter 30), it becomes evident: Dan is not accustomed to physical closeness or shared domestic spaces. These are not reactions of a man with just sexual trauma—they point to someone raised without the warmth of daily intimacy.
(chapter 5) He had to take care of himself, dressed on his own. He had to act like an adult, as his role was to assist his grandmother: 
(chapter 44) For me, without realizing it, Dan reproduced those gestures. These actions can not come from Shin Okja, as we only see her caressing or patting her grandson. The progression is striking. It moves away from eroticism (kiss from the lips) 
(chapter 44) and toward something far more intimate and protective. These are not the kisses of seduction, but of affection—almost maternal in their tone. Hence the MMA fighter got patted later: 
(chapter 44) They suggest care, comfort, and emotional presence. This is crucial, because it reveals that for Dan, a kiss is not about arousal or conquest. It is a language of love. They carry the flavor of instinct. These are the kinds of kisses a child might have once received, or given, in moments of safety and connection.
(chapter 44) is a behavior shared by felines and wolves alike: a subtle act of comfort, trust, and bonding. Wolves nuzzle to soothe and reassure. Leopards nudge to display affection without threatening dominance. Dan’s pecks 
(chapter 57) (chapter 57)—licking them not out of instinct alone, but to reassure and bond. 
(chapter 57) During that summer night’s dream, Dan’s body mirrored this wordless care. That’s why he could laugh so genuinely like a child after witnessing his “pet’s reaction”. 
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 14) Therefore the physical therapist astonishment, “What’s this?” was not naïve; it was disoriented. Somewhere deep within, Dan had internalized a different model of kissing: one that reflected comfort, not conquest; affection, not arousal. The kiss he received was too strange, too fierce—it violated a definition he didn’t even know he had. His body knew how to kiss, but it remembered a different type of kiss altogether. The latter stands for love and as such emotions. Under this new light, my avid readers can comprehend why the physical therapist made the following request from his fated partner: 
(chapter 15) He needed to be “warned” in order to control his “heart”. As you can see, doc Dan had an innocent definition of the kiss. Therefore it is not astonishing that the wolf’s first kiss confused him so deeply: it shattered the only blueprint he had for intimacy.
(chapter 14) Jaekyung repeated such a gesture, as seen in chapters 24
(chapter 24), and again in 64 
(chapter 64). These gestures were not expressions of tenderness, but acts of dominance, mirroring how the celebrity was taught to treat intimacy: not as an exchange, but as an imposition. His behavior echoes Cheolmin’s earlier suggestion 
(chapter 63) Fun is not the same as love, and this distinction matters deeply for someone like Kim Dan, who associates kissing with emotional safety and love, not performance or play. This explicates why he refused to be kissed in episode 63: 
(chapter 63) 
(chapter 44), Dan’s were soft, exploratory, almost reverent. His lips touched not just his lover’s mouth, but his cheek and ear—tender sites that bypass eroticism in favor of emotional intimacy. These weren’t prolonged, devouring kisses. They were pecks, small and deliberate. They mirrored affection, not possession. 
(chapter 3) —it forces the wolf to ponder on the meaning of a kiss and his relationship with the physical therapist.
In that iconic artwork, the man does not kiss the woman on the mouth, the traditional locus of erotic desire. Instead, his lips are placed upon her cheek—a gesture that suggests reverence, not possession; vulnerability, not domination.
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 45)
(chapter 54) When he was young, he had to face an abuser. Notice that the man’s face was very close to the champion’s 
(chapter 44) Joo Jaekyung is leading the kiss, he is regaining control over their relationship. It reinforces the idea that the wolf’s kiss was not merely about passion, but about reclaiming dominance and halting a shift in power. Just moments earlier, Kim Dan’s laughter had opened a space of emotional intimacy and lightness, which the champion was not prepared to face. The kiss, now prolonged and intensified, becomes the sportsman’s way of reasserting control over a situation that was slipping into unfamiliar emotional territory.
(chapter 45) The marks on the doctor’s body were evidence that he was no longer in control. They weren’t just signs of a physical encounter—they were witnesses to something far more threatening: vulnerability, softness, and reciprocity. In the night, swept up by instinct and unspoken longing, the wolf had allowed himself to be touched—not just physically, but emotionally. But by morning, the spell was broken. His gaze didn’t linger on Kim Dan with affection—it darted instead to the bruises and scratches as though they were accusations.
(chapter 45) wasn’t just the pain he might have inflicted—it was the realization that the balance of power had subtly shifted. The man who had always dictated the terms of their relationship had surrendered to something unfamiliar: tenderness, emotional closeness, and shared desire. The fact that Kim Dan initiated affection, even kissed him voluntarily, shattered Jaekyung’s script. For someone who conflated feelings with threat, and dominance with safety, this reversal was unbearable.
(chapter 37), and kissing becomes his emotional brake pedal. It’s not simply an act of love, but a means to regulate, or even drown out, what he cannot yet name or accept: that he is being loved. It is not random that I included the scene from episode 37: he heard laughs from the other room. For him, such a noise must have sounded like a disrespect and mockery, triggering his past trauma. And he was not entirely wrong in the sense that they were eating behind his back 
(chapter 37) It was, as if they were mocking him because of his forced “diet”. No wonder why the champion is barely seen laughing and prefers seriousness. At the same time, I can grasp why the athlete feels close to Park Namwook, as the latter stands for these exact notions: work, money and seriousness. Fun is not part of his world and vocabulary, therefore he punished Joo Jaekyung for sparring with doc Dan.
(chapter 2) Though his face was close to the star’s, he didn’t attempt to kiss him. In fact, he proposed him a fellatio, a sign that the champion had never allowed anyone to get close to his “face”. Finally, observe how he reacted, when the uke in episode 55 attempted to kiss him: 
(chapter 55) Not only he rejected him, but also he pushed him violently so that the latter was on the floor. 
(chapter 55) The celebrity even ran away: a sign that the allowing someone approaching his face is perceived as something uncomfortable and threatening. At the same time, that moment exposes the kiss as something sacred—one that cannot be duplicated without emotional violation. This shows that for the champion, the meaning of a smooch has evolved. It is no longer perceived as a source of fun and a mean to gain something.
(chapter 55) He couldn’t forget doc Dan’s face, the latter excited him, a sign that for the champion, the face in general has been a source of pain, yet thanks to doc Dan, the latter has become a source of “comfort and joy”. 
(chapter 66) When he saw his face for the first time, he didn’t realize that he was already under the hamster’s spell. Striking is that he even focused on his chin and lips, a sign that he desired to kiss them. One thing is sure. The champion treasured the doctor’s face. After their separation, it is not surprising that the wolf felt the need to see his face. 
(chapter 39) before requesting a fellatio: 
(chapter 39) The main lead’s head was very close to the champion’s face, thus he must have felt uncomfortable. Secondly by acting this way, the doctor was gradually gaining power over their relationship. For the wolf, dominance is everything, an indication that in his past he felt defenseless and weak. His “opponent”, the mysterious ghost, had the upper hand. Moreover, the fellatio created a distance between them, where the fighter could expose his superiority. And note how doc Dan behaved under the influence of the drug: 
(chapter 39) He caught his fated partner by surprise, when he suddenly kissed him, mirroring the champion’s past behavior. This panel corroborates that for the doctor, a kiss is the symbol of love. The champion was not happy with this kiss too, for the latter meant that he was no longer controlling their relationship. Yet, after hearing the doctor’s confession during that night, the athlete no longer resisted his partner’s kisses. 
(chapter 39) For the first time, he accepted Dan’s initiative—both physically and emotionally. Compare it to his attitude before: 
(chapter 39) here, he still has his eyes wide open, a sign of vigilance. These kisses from doc Dan 
(chapter 39) mark a turning point in Jaekyung’s arc: he begins to lower his defenses, allowing Dan not only into his personal space but also into a position of gentle agency within their relationship. The kiss no longer represents a threat; it becomes an opening and a sign of trust. 
(chapter 55) These memories represent the moment where the athlete felt strong and had the upper hand in their relationship. These images reveal that Joo Jaekyung hasn’t realized the signification of the kiss yet. For him, they don’t seem important. This exposes that the athlete has not associated kiss with love and affection yet. At the same time, we have to envision that a smooch is strongly intertwined with equity and trust. 
(chapter 28) And in episode 14, it was clear that the star still felt superior to his companion, therefore the kiss had no special meaning. As you can see, everything is pointing out that Joo Jaekyung had never been kissed before. And what does a kiss symbolize? Not only attachment, but also purity and innocence. 
(chapter 42) According to him, doc Dan was not different from him. However, he was wrong. It is because the champion had kissed him!! Moreover, the celebrity had allowed doc Dan to kiss him as well. Besides, how did the champion name his past lovers? They were toys… normally people don’t kiss playthings. And now, imagine that doc Dan were to discover that Joo Jaekyung had his first kiss with him. This revelation would not only make him realize that Joo Jaekyung loves him, but also he could be wondering why the athlete had never done such a thing before, though he had past lovers. YES, the “first kiss” could be the trigger for both characters to question their respective past and perceive their fated partner correctly. 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 52) In that context, a kiss could never be affection, but vulnerability. A risk.
(chapter 3), based on Dan’s vague claim of prior partners. Yet Dan has never kissed anyone before. The kiss becomes his true moment of loss, a quiet confession through action. Conversely, Jaekyung’s own discomfort shows that he, too, is untouched in this particular way. When Dan tries to kiss Jaekyung again, and he instinctively rejects it, it reveals just how unprepared he is for affection. They are both unaware that the other is emotionally “pure” in this regard, and that makes the kiss a shared revelation.
(chapter 67), Jaekyung must reinvent his approach. He cannot rely on dominance, strength, or sexual performance to win Dan’s heart. If he wants true connection, he must learn a new language—one built on gestures of affection, softness, and presence. This process also involves separating his public persona from his private longing. Joo Jaekyung, the champion, cannot seduce with spectacle. But Jaegeng, the man, might learn to express love through a simple touch, or a well-timed kiss. The redefinition of seduction is not just about Dan’s healing; it is about the wolf’s reclaiming his own right to feel and give love. And in my opinion, that process has already started: 
(chapter 29: note that he did not select this scene to rekindle with the doctor, but the other scene) He will learn it from life, from watching how the innocent express care without shame or purpose.
(chapter 27) In Jaekyung’s past, laughter had been a weapon—an expression of ridicule and cruelty from an abuser. 
(chapter 47) and denial for strength 
(chapter 61), Park Namwook 
(chapter 53) all operate within survival mechanisms shaped by trauma, guilt, and fear. They choose the illusion of control or calm over genuine healing. But as the story unfolds, these strategies begin to unravel. Each character must confront the truth behind their emotional habits, learning that happiness isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the result of confronting it with clarity and purpose. 
(chapter 34) 
(chapter 1) Thus for the first time, Jaekyung had to develop a new strategy in order to meet him again: one that doesn’t rely on intimidation, but on communication. The problem is that since he saw the physical therapist running away after their first session 
(chapter 1), he knew that he needed to lure him with something: money 
(chapter 1). Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete played a trick on the phone, though we have to envision that here the celebrity’s thoughts were strongly influenced by his bias and prejudices. He imagined that Doc Dan had made a move on him.
(chapter 5) That retreat doesn’t mean failure—it can be an act of self-preservation. However, the champion experienced that he needed to speak with doc Dan in order to keep him by his side. This lesson became a turning point. Jaekyung started to speak more. 
(chapter 18) Therefore it is no coincidence that in episode 18, right after the celebrity spoke, Kim Dan’s reply was strongly intertwined with flight: 
(chapter 18) The denial of kindness from the champion made the doctor uncomfortable, the latter felt the need to leave the penthouse as soon as possible. The lesson for the star was to realize that words are powerful and can affect people. But Joo Jaekyung didn’t grasp it, as he chose to use sex to „submit“ his fated partner. 
(Chapter 18) Nevertheless, as time passes on, the wolf asks more and more questions. He reacts to emotional discomfort not only with physicality but with hesitation, introspection. He is no longer reacting as the ghost once taught him; he is arguing and as such adapting, growing. Thus we could say, he is less passive.
(chapter 3) or table, in showers 
(chapter 7), against doors, or walls 
(chapter 34). On the surface, it may seem like a gesture of dominance or desire, but symbolically, it reflects silencing.
(chapter 51) They stand in the middle of the room—an open space—symbolizing emotional emancipation. When Dan questions the celebrity 
(chapter 69) That silence could easily be mistaken for submission, for the same old performance of the compliant athlete. 
(chapter 69) After all, to those still invested in dominance hierarchies, leaving the capital after a public defeat seems like the behavior of someone who’s been defeated mentally as well. But the truth is the opposite. This “retreat” is actually an act of autonomy. For the first time, Jaekyung is giving himself space—not to run, but to reflect. 
(chapter 36), or MFC’s decisions. 
(chapter 25: here the protagonist was replacing Yosep and Park Namwook), hires professionals to manage damage 
(chapter 47), and hides behind administrative actions. 
(chapter 60) 
(chapter 60), a sign that he is neglecting the other members. The absence of his star fighter removed his most convenient scapegoat, forcing him to face the consequences of his own mismanagement—though he is not yet ready to truly question it and change his mindset, denial, and dependency. This was not just a geographical disappearance—it was a strategic psychological rupture, meant to destabilize Park’s illusion of authority.
(chapter 47) Finally, he can testify not only as a fighter, but as a representative of the institution they tried to exploit. That elevates his voice: from a disposable athlete to a legal opponent with organizational standing.
(chapter 7) For a moment, he was fighting.
(chapter 57), one no longer shaped entirely by duty or guilt. The grandmother, however, is blind to this change. She continues to speak to him as if he’s the same self-sacrificing boy 
(chapter 57) —it is a rejection of the belief that he exists only to serve. In Season 2, Dan says “no” repeatedly:
(chapter 67)
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 57)
(chapter 53) Unlike Park Namwook who uses blame and delegation in professional settings, she applies emotional avoidance in private and familial spaces. Much like the manager, she outsources responsibility, asking others to step in 
(chapter 7), medication, comfort 
(chapter 21), and other people (nurse, Joo Jaekyung) —to maintain her emotional balance. But as doc Dan himself once observed, she is ultimately on her own in her battle. No system can fight it for her.
(chapter 7) His grandmother was not truly abandoned; she simply equated his physical absence with neglect, ignoring the emotional and financial burden he already carried. Like Park Namwook, she prefers others to carry the discomfort while maintaining a façade of suffering and sacrifice. 
(chapter 47) , and her narrative of selflessness becomes another form of emotional pressure. She does not yell, she does not accuse directly, but her avoidance is equally powerful in shaping Dan’s self-image as a burden. Doc Dan came to internalize that she suffered because of him.
(chapter 57) —his visible exhaustion, disconnection, and quiet suffering—becomes a thorn in her eye, a reminder that her peace is not whole. As long as he suffers, she cannot entirely escape the shadow of her own regrets. Sending him away to Seoul represents a new of flight. Out of sight means out of mind. That way the grandmother wouldn‘t have to worry about doc Dan, as he has been entrusted to the athlete. 
(chapter 163) and supported by the article on confirmation bias, human survival was deeply dependent on mental shortcuts. Biases were not flaws, but adaptive tools — heuristics that helped our ancestors make quick decisions under threat. Faced with a potential predator, they could not afford the luxury of curiosity or debate. Run first, think later. 
(chapter 163) In this sense, biases were effective precisely because they increased the chance of survival.
(chapter 41) he recommends the opposite at the restaurant because the idea comes from the CEO! 
(chapter 67) His survival bias told him: “Don’t trust a man who once treated you violently.” or “Doctors are ignorant, they don’t know me“. It was easier to discredit the source than to weigh the merit of the message. Likewise, in Season 1, the champion dismissed doc Dan’s medical opinions 
(chapter 65) or a support network. It is not her fault, if she never met doc Dan’s friends in the past while hiding the fact that he had been bullied by his peers. Her request for him to return to Seoul, a place he has no roots, only furthers his habit of isolation. Similarly, when she asked Jaekyung to bring him to Seoul and have him diagnosed, she implicitly discouraged any shared decision-making. Like Park Namwook, she bypassed dialogue in favor of directive control, reinforcing the habit of emotional withdrawal.
(chapter 67) That shift marks a turning point from survival to conscious thought. The mind cannot reflect when it believes it is under attack. The tragedy is not that these characters are irrational — it’s that they were taught fear before they were taught trust. Thus I come to the following conclusion. As soon as both are curious about each other 
(chapter 69). For the first time in this story, we as readers were allowed to hear Joo Jaekyung’s heart 
— not in battle, not in passion, not in rage — but in that suspended instant when he imagined Kim Dan missing, possibly forever. Since the author linked the BADUM with doc Dan 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69), she created the illusion that the physical therapist was embodying the MMA fighter’s heart. This scene resonated with me long after I closed the chapter.
(chapter 69) Suddenly, the pieces clicked: the heartbeat in Jinx is not just a narrative sound effect. 
(chapter 14)— yet no heartbeat is heard. One might think, the absence of the heart racing implies the lack of fear. His emotions are real, but they do not connect him to life or to others. Why?
(chapter 14) — GUOOO, metal dented, yet no pain. Yet, Jinx-philes can see Badum Badum in that picture. Nevertheless it is connected to the physical therapist’s heart: he is scared of the athlete’s strength. On the surface, the champion’s gesture appears reckless — an act of a man who does not care for his body. But this is not pure “fearlessness.” In truth, the celebrity’s anger is masking deeper fear and suffering.
(chapter 44) BADUM BADUM from Kim Dan’s heart as Jaekyung makes a move on him. His blushing face, wide eyes, and parted lips all signal that this is not fear — it is love, excitement, and emerging attachment. 
(chapter 44) and tried new things. He gave his lover pecks on his cheeks and ear 
(chapter 34), we see the actor’s confidence gradually vanishing. His mask begins to crack. In that moment, he realizes that in the VIP spa his celebrity status offers no protection. No manager, no Park Namwook, no audience is present. He is utterly exposed to the raw force of the champion’s anger and fist — and the physical threat is real.
(chapter 34) — a clear sign of excitement, not fear. And still, his heart remains silent. This raises the question. Why was the actor not afraid of the MMA fighter? Because even if the words echo the previous threat, the perceived danger has changed. With doc Dan standing between them 
(chapter 34), the actor subconsciously knows: “He will not attack me here.” The champion made it clear that the physical therapist shouldn’t detect the actor’s presence. Doc Dan acts as an emotional shield, preventing true panic. The body no longer signals mortal danger — and so, no BADUM sounds.
(chapter 43) Here, the doctor feared the celebrity’s rejection. This scene was actually announcing that doc Dan was already in love with the “wolf”. 
(chapter 21) — having a nightmare. It is only when the grandmother returned to the bed and began to sing that his body calmed. 
(chapter 21)
(chapter 21) — one that later echoes in his adult struggles with attachment and loss.
(chapter 58) “I am happy and at ease, but… why does my heart feel so heavy?” — it is as if the external music has replaced his internal rhythm. The joyous sound outside contrasts painfully with his own muted emotions. The music underscores his emotional disconnection and the inner weight he carries.
(chapter 65) finds his way back to the man he cares for.
(chapter 65) is more than noise. It’s a resonant signal — not unlike the heartbeat. When she barks, it alerts Jaekyung to Dan’s trance. 
(Chapter 65) Moreover, the dog is capable of expressing her „worries and pain“. And for the first time, the champion follows a sound not of the crowd, not of a bell, but of life calling to life. 
(Chapter 65) Her bark anchors him, just as Dan once did. And it marks the moment Jaekyung becomes emotionally receptive not only to Dan, but to care itself — puppies, vulnerability, connection. In other words, her presence foreshadows Jaekyung’s emotional readiness to care for others beyond the ring. Having rediscovered and embraced his own vulnerability, his heart is gradually open to softness — to animals, to dependency, to affection.
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 44) What were those buttons? His heart. His breath. His body’s fear that Dan might vanish.
(chapter 45), his heart raced. But he mistook this for irritation 
(chapter 45) — not attachment. That is why he threatened to hire another doctor the next morning: he feared dependency and as such vulnerability. 
(chapter 45)
(chapter 65)
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 