Jinx: Breathless in the Light 🏰😶‍🌫️ – part 2

Since today, a new chapter will be released, this second part can not be long. Yet, I wanted to share my latest observations before the publication of chapter 83.

In the first part, I focused on the origins of the champion’s breathlessness and its cure: the amusement park. However, the air was not the only important element in episode 82. Let’s take another look at this image: (chapter 81) The plane soars not only above the Alps, but also above a vast river (probably the Rhône)— two landscapes that silently echo the dual composition of breath itself. Breath is made of air and water: oxygen and vapor, wind and moisture. (chapter 82) In that sense, the clouds surrounding the aircraft are not mere weather; they are the perfect union of the two elements that sustain life.

Joo Jaekyung’s breathlessness, then, is not simply a physiological lack of oxygen — it is the absence of water, the missing element of tenderness and flow. The champion has spent his life breathing air devoid of moisture, surviving on discipline, pride, and control — a dry atmosphere where emotion cannot condense. (chapter 82) That’s why, when Potato offers him a bottle of Evian, he doesn’t even look. He doesn’t need the water from the mountain and as such the world; he needs the water of the body — the intimacy, the shared moisture that reconnects him to life itself. What he truly longs for is Kim Dan’s saliva, the living trace of water transformed into affection, into care, into exchange. (chapter 81) He is longing for his lips and as such a kiss.

Only through that bodily element — through the return of water inside air — can he breathe again fully. Dan’s body literally rehydrates him. The vapor that once escaped his lungs returns as mist, as breath shared between two beings. At the same time, it teaches him how to breathe properly, the reverse of this scene in the locker room. (chapter 15)

And this elemental union anticipates the next landscape: the amusement park, where the air is filled with laughter, humidity, and movement. (chapter 82) Many attractions — the Ferris wheel, the fountain rides, the water park zones — combine air and water, height and spray, just like breath itself. And now, you understand why the champion got wounded with the spray (chapter 49) It corresponds to the negative version of the “breath”.

Another possibility is that they first share the same drink or the same ice cream (epilogue), because doc Dan wants to ensure that the drink or the ice cream is okay. (chapter 82) When Jaekyung and Dan enter the funfair, they’re not simply having fun; they’re reliving the chemistry of respiration and affection — the inhalation of joy, the exhalation of fear, the splash of renewal. The park becomes an externalized lung, a circular world of rides where water and air, play and life, are finally reconciled.

The Castle as Fairy-Tale Threshold

In the amusement park, the castle (chapter 82) stands as a replica of every child’s first dream: a place where danger ends, where curses lift, where the beast becomes human. In this new setting, the ring is replaced by an amusement park — a space where joy is no longer born from suffering. (chapter 15) The arena that once fed on pain, blood, and hierarchy gives way to a landscape of shared laughter, circular motion, and renewal. Here, entertainment is not built upon the exhaustion of bodies but upon their liberation. The crowd no longer watches to see who will fall; they rise and descend together. (chapter 82) People are more focused on their own emotions and experiences.

For Joo Jaekyung, this shift marks a fundamental redefinition of performance itself. The fighter who once turned agony into spectacle now experiences movement as play. The wolf who fought to survive in the ring learns to live among rides, fountains, and lights — spaces where the body moves not to conquer, but to feel.

Thus, the amusement park becomes his anti-ring — a sanctuary of reciprocity, where elevation and descent belong to everyone, and no one bleeds to entertain the rest. For Joo Jaekyung, who has spent his life trapped in the cycle of competition and rage, walking into that space with Kim Dan is an act of symbolic initiation. He brings the doctor — his witness and healer — into a world he has always avoided: fantasy, gentleness, illusion.

The wolf who once prowled in underground gyms now enters a castle built for children, and in doing so he accepts the possibility of becoming a fairy-tale prince — not by winning, but by transforming.

Why the “First Kiss” Matters Here

A fairy tale’s turning point is always the kiss — the moment when the spell breaks. And you might recall that I came to associate Kim Dan with Sleeping Beauty and in the illustration of that analysis, I I placed the doctor’s birthday. And that’s how I remembered here the boy’s huge smile and joy. (chapter 11) And now, pay attention to the number of the next episode: 83! The two numbers combined together make 11! As you can see, the amusement park is the most natural setting for a smile and kiss. Joo Jaekyung could even speak about his first kiss, an intimate secret that even Kim Dan doesn’t know. Confessing it there would align his personal myth with the fairy-tale architecture around him. This would make doc Dan realize that he is special contrary to the green-haired ex-lover. (chapter 42). But there’s more to it. In episode 81, Doc Dan rejects the champion’s advance — he turns his head away (chapter 81) letting the lips slip past him like water. Yet, in the very same scene, he allows a kiss on the neck, a place where breath, warmth, and pulse converge. (chapter 81) He never pushes him back. The doctor resists with the face — with speech, with identity — but not with the body. (chapter 81) And so, at the end, the athlete moves upward, trying to reach the mouth, trying to taste what remains forbidden. But he fails. (chapter 81) Why? Because the lips are not mere flesh; for Doc Dan, they are the visible border between desire and love. Jinx-lovers will remember his quiet request in the locker room (chapter 15): he links the lips to the heart — and through it, to the notion of consent. (chapter 15) To kiss him there is to ask for entry not into his body, but into his feeling.

That is why the scene at the pool stops at the threshold. The champion can touch his skin, but not yet his soul. (chapter 81) The water envelops them both — fluid, intimate — yet the final element is still missing: agreement, the meeting of air and will. Until Jaekyung learns to ask, to replace taking with invitation, the kiss will remain suspended, like a breath held underwater, waiting to surface into love. And now, you comprehend why he couldn’t achieve his goal in the swimming pool. It was, as if he was trying to recreate the situation in season 1. In other words, I deduce that there will be a confession before a kiss happens!!

From Wolf To Prince

A Jinx-lover noticed the similarities between this scene (chapter 17) and the one in front of the amusement park: (chapter 82) The two scenes mirror each other like opposite poles of Joo Jaekyung’s evolution. In both, he is dressed in black — a color that once signified anonymity and danger, but later becomes the mark of calm confidence.

In episode 17, the champion hides behind darkness. The cap pulled low conceals his eyes, his face is half-shadowed, and his clothes absorb light rather than reflect it. (chapter 17) When he intervenes to save Kim Dan from the loan sharks, he is first mistaken for one of them — a predator among predators. The irony is sharp: the man who comes to rescue looks indistinguishable from those who harm. The fighters’ world has taught him that power and fame must be hidden; he was encouraged to hide, as if the fans would attack him. He chose anonymity, unaware that this would not only isolate him but also make him appear as a thug. And don’t forget how the manager called him initially: (chapter 75) He is a monster. It was, as if the manager wanted to hide the “wolf” from people out of fear that he might attack people randomly. But the problem is that by dressing like that, he was no different from Heo Manwook. Therefore his heroism passes unnoticed, interpreted as violence and intrusion. (chapter 18) Like Batman, he moves in secrecy, protecting without ever being thanked. The outfit explains why his good deed leaves no trace of gratitude — the savior looks like the aggressor.

By episode 82, the transformation is complete. (chapter 82) He still wears black, but the darkness no longer hides him. The cap now sits higher, revealing his eyes and mouth — the organs of emotion and speech. A necklace gleams at his throat, a quiet emblem of openness. He walks beside Kim Dan in daylight, not to fight but to share joy. The man who once lurked in alleys now stands beneath the sky of the amusement park, where black absorbs light rather than extinguishes it.

The contrast encapsulates the metamorphosis of the wolf into a prince. And how did Heo Manwook call him? (chapter 17) A princeling! He was mocking him, because he knew that the fights were actually rigged. That’s why he called him fake. (chapter 17) This new connection reinforces my theory that the schemers are anticipating the Emperor’s demise. (chapter 82) Thus Arnaud Gabriel’s words are full of irony. There’s no luck in this match. However, the antagonists are not anticipating a metamorphosis. The wolf hides and strikes; the prince reveals and protects. The wolf saves without witnesses; the prince loves in full view. In the ring’s darkness he fought to survive; in the park’s brightness he learns to live and love. And the moment Joo Jaekyung is freed from his curse and can breathe, his next game will be different. Why? It is because the champion has another reason to make doc Dan’s wish to come true: they should work together for a long time! And observe the power of Doc Dan’s angel on the Emperor after spending his first night with his “bride”. He was full of energy!

Where his earlier anonymity made his goodness invisible, his new transparency makes tenderness possible. The same man, once mistaken for a criminal, now smiles like a fairy-tale hero. The cap lifted from his eyes symbolizes the lifting of his own blindness — he can finally see and be seen.

The Floating Duck Syndrome

However, contrary to the Sleeping Beauty or the Mermaid, we have two men as protagonists. So there is no princess. It is important because it signifies that we should expect two metamorphosis at the amusement park. That’s why it is difficult to say who will confess first. Nevertheless, this weekend, I discovered the following article: Floating Duck Syndrome. Psychologists use the expression floating duck syndrome to describe people who appear serene on the surface while paddling frantically beneath the water to keep themselves afloat. The image is both graceful and tragic: calm above, exhaustion below. It captures the condition of those who have learned to survive through composure — who equate love with performance and stability with silence.

This is Kim Dan’s illness in miniature. Ever since childhood he has floated through life without showing the effort beneath. The grandmother’s silence taught him that visible pain is shameful; the bullying taught him that vulnerability invites attack. So he learned to glide — polite, deferential, self-effacing — while his legs beat desperately under the surface. His smiles are survival reflexes, not joy. His stillness is not peace but tension. And we should see the picture of Kim Dan with his grandmother as a reflection of this Syndrome. (chapter 65) so he is not standing on his own two feet. And remember that according to me, Shin Okja stands for shore. He is smiling as if everything is fine, but the reality is different. When Dan sits on her lap wearing the duck shirt, he seems safe, grounded, “held.” Yet the shore (the halmoni) isn’t truly stable — it’s brittle earth pretending to resist erosion. She gives him the illusion of safety, not the reality of it. The hydrangeas stand for temporality. The body contact replaces emotional transparency. What he learns in that moment is: “If I stay still and quiet, she’ll hold me.” Thus, his first emotional rule becomes immobility and silence. That is how the floating duck is born — not by moving freely in water, but by learning to suppress movement to preserve attachment.

The floating duck explains why he could live beside death for so long — the dying grandmother, the dying puppy, the dying parts of himself — without ever asking for help. He confuses endurance with dignity. When the champion first meets him, he sees only the surface: the quiet doctor, calm as water. (chapter 56) He doesn’t yet see the storm and suffering beneath.

Parallel Currents: The Prince and the Duck

As Joo Jaekyung rises from wolf to prince, he travels from hidden aggression to open affection. And by doing so, he encourages to see activities as something fun. So far, Kim Dan sees such a day more as a burden and not as a source of joy. Why? It is because he still views himself as the champion’s physical therapist and nothing more. (chapter 82) But in such a place, it is, as if time was stopped. Thanks to the many emotions and sensations, his body and heart will be revived. Through fun, the duck will change. As Kim Dan ascends from floating duck to swimmer and to a flying duck, he moves from hidden suffering to open breath. Thus the Ferris Wheel will have definitely an impact on him. Both arcs revolve around air and water — the two elements that make up breath and emotion. Don’t forget that the doctor embodies the clouds as well, while the athlete stands for steam.

In the early episodes, Dan’s relationship to water is defensive: he stays afloat but never dives. He cannot trust the element that once carried his grief. Jaekyung, conversely, dominates air — he owns every breath in the ring but cannot breathe freely outside it.
When the champion teaches him to swim and later to have fun, their roles merge: the man of air brings air to the man of water. Dan’s first genuine strokes are also his first act of rebellion against quiet despair. He is no longer a duck faking serenity; he is a swimmer choosing motion. Thus he can start flying. And now, you comprehend my illustration.

From Survival to Freedom

The floating duck syndrome ends the moment visibility becomes safe. For Kim Dan, that safety arrives when Jaekyung learns to play — when the arena turns into an amusement park, when life stops demanding perfection and begins inviting joy. Play, after all, is what ducks do when they are no longer afraid of drowning: they splash.

Thus both men’s journeys converge.

  • The wolf learns tenderness.
  • The duck learns courage. Hence he has the strength to fly on his own and can join the clouds.
  • The air learns moisture.
  • The water learns breath.

Together they compose the complete lung of the story — two halves finally synchronizing. The one who once hid in darkness now walks in light; the one who once floated in silence now swims toward sound. And this can only happen, when both feel grateful toward each other. (chapter 45)

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

Jinx: The Watery Point 🔵 Of No Return ⤵️

Water and Power

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

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

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

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

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

(chapter 65)

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

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

Presents: The Gray Hoodie and the Lady

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From this upbringing stems Kim Dan’s reflexive equation:

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

Guilt as Love Language.

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

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

Caretaker Identity and Self-Erasure


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

Gifts as Triggers of Anxiety

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

Repetition Compulsion

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

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

Gray: The Color of Suspension.

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

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

The Wardrobe: Undoing the Gray Religion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arc 8 – The point of no return

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinx: The Missed Party 🥳🎉

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)

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

Jinx: Following The Teddy Bear 🧸🧸- part 1

The Shirt with the Bear—A Child Marked for Longing

In Jinx, the story of two men begins not in the ring, but in childhood (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 11) [For more read The Missing Teddy Bear] These bears do not speak, but they tell us everything: about love received and love lost, about betrayal and comfort twisted into burden, and about two boys growing up in the absence of safe arms. (chapter 72)

The first bear appears on Joo Jaekyung’s summer tank top, worn by a small child peeking out from behind a wall. It’s a soft image against a harsh backdrop. (chapter 72) But look closely: the teddy bear wears a blue beanie, a casual hat suited for the outside world—not rest, but readiness. It also has a pair of glasses, a symbol of alertness, self-control, and forced maturity. Most strikingly, its right arm is wrapped in a white bandage. [I can’t recognize the writing below] This is no untouched toy. The bear, like the boy, is already injured. Even comfort is expected to survive harm. To wear such a design is to walk into the world marked not only by childhood, but by pain, exposure, and abandonment.

The second bear belongs to Kim Dan, who wears it not on a summer shirt but on winter pajamas, as he sings joyfully with his grandmother on his birthday. His teddy bear is unadorned, uninjured, and suited for rest. The night setting, the blanket, and the candlelight create a small cocoon of warmth. Yet this moment, too, is fleeting. The very love that nurtures him will later trap him—hoarded, isolated, and turned into duty.

What connects these two images is more than coincidence. Both boys wear gray and blue. While the first color indicates the loss of innocence and depression, the other stands for trust, responsibility, care and tenderness. One is dressed by a mother who vanished too soon. The other is dressed by a grandmother who seems so gentle and caring. Yet, the reality is that doc Dan has also been abandoned. One bear is already broken, the other seems to be still whole. One is worn in daylight, the other in the dark. But both children are being slowly stripped of the right to be protected. Their teddy bears will vanish—replaced by fear, control, and survival.

And yet, this is not just a story of loss. It is also a story of return. By meeting each other, Jaekyung and Dan begin to recover what was buried or better said repressed. The teddy bear reappears—not on fabric, but in gestures of touch, presence, and care. (chapter 68) In time, each man will become the other’s bear (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 11) [For more read The Missing Teddy Bear] He too was once held (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 21) That’s how the toy bear vanished from the little boy’s life. Thus I deduce that the teddy bear on the pajamas was the last traces of his “childhood”.

Across seasons and silences, both boys are linked by this shared emblem of care—care that was once given, then distorted, lost and finally rediscovered. They are united by the same experience and pain: a phone call linked to a missing mother. To follow the teddy bear is to trace this journey back to tenderness: the long path from abandonment to being held again.

But the presence of the teddy bear, even in symbolic form, does not last. (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.

The Vanishing of the Teddy Bear: The Birth of a Self-Made Man

In episode 72, readers are finally granted a glimpse into the long-obscured past of the champion. Some of my earlier hypotheses are confirmed—most notably, that Jaekyung’s father was an abusive alcoholic. Others, like the assumption that Joo Jaekyung belonged to a wealthy chaebol family or that the director’s name was Park Jinchul, are clearly disproven. (Though I’m not entirely ready to give up on the rich family theory just yet.) Interestingly, the name of the former coach appears indirectly, displayed on a sign outside the boxing studio: Hwang Byungchul. (Chapter 72) This subtle insertion suggests that the gym wasn’t just his workplace—it was his whole life, his identity, and even his home. Therefore it is not surprising that his name was not mentioned by doc Dan or the other patients. His stay at the Light of Hope implies the loss of his “home”, the gym and as such his identity. At the same time, this image reveals that Jinx-philes should examine each panel very closely, that there’s more than meets the eye.

What the chapter made unmistakably clear is that Jaekyung grew up in poverty and was abandoned at a very young age. His early life was marked not by privilege or education, but by neglect, hunger, and silence. (Chapter 72) This episode doesn’t just show how Jaekyung became a self-made man (chapter 72) (chapter 72) —it makes one thing heartbreakingly clear: he wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves; he raised himself. (chapter 7) The cliché used by Park Namwook in chapter 7 is revealed to be not only ignorant, but cruel. Jaekyung had no home, no real guardian, no one to defend or guide him. He didn’t grow up in the wild—he grew up alone, navigating between violence (abuse and bullying), hunger, and neglect without true protection. This reframes the champion’s identity: not as someone untamable, but as someone who was never tamed because no one cared enough to try. What we witness is not savagery, but simple survival. Thus he had no friend.

That’s how I realized that in such a barren emotional landscape, the “Teddy Bear” learned by mimicking others. With no safe adult figure to model affection or emotional intelligence, he absorbed what was available: the yelling or silent toughness of Hwang Byungchul (chapter 71), performative masculinity and high expectations of Park Namwook, and the explosive violence of his father. (chapter 72) (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 71) He became a wolf because he was surrounded by wolves—but deep down, his true nature is closer to a cat’s. This contrast becomes visible in Chapter 72, where his external persona appears as a shy, quiet, more sensitive self. (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.

But this pattern began to change the moment Kim Dan entered his life.

Unlike the men of his past, Kim Dan shows his emotions (chapter 1), as he treats them as valid, not shameful. He cries, trembles, runs away, he apologizes… He asks questions rather than issuing orders. He names feelings (chapter 45) and respects boundaries. He listens. (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.

The transformation is not only behavioral—it is linguistic. His vocabulary evolves. Once dominated by words like “fight,” “win,” “useful,” and “fuck,” his speech begins to include softer terms: (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 71) Jaekyung is not just echoing concern—he is taking gradually responsibility for someone fragile, someone he once overlooked: the “hamster.”

And this is why Chapter 72 strikes with such force. It takes us back—not to his ambition, but to his origin, where the myth of the self-made man begins. We see now that his athletic mindset was not forged in aspiration but in desperation. His worldview was shaped not by hunger for greatness, but by starvation in all its forms.

(Chapter 72) The tragedy is that Hwang Byungchul misread that hunger. When he first met the boy, he saw dirty feet, an empty stomach—literal poverty. (chapter 72) So he fed him. But he never saw the deeper hunger: the absence of love, of being wanted. The coach assumed the problem was solved with food—because he had never gone without care. (chapter 72) He lived with his mother. He was never truly alone. And so he projected stability onto the boy’s silence.

What he thought was grit was grief. What looked like strength was only ever survival. We finally understand why he treats his own body with such brutality, (Chapter 27) because the body, from the very start, was only a tool for survival.

In chapter 72, the young Jaekyung is offered boxing not as sport, but as salvation. The former coach doesn’t comfort the bruised boy or confront the abusive father. (Chapter 72) Instead, he redirects the situation: (Chapter 72) Fighting, from the very beginning, is not about glory—it is about survival. What replaced the teddy bear was not another form of care—it was a system. Cold, brutal, and inescapable. In Jaekyung’s world, money means food, and food means strength. Fighting becomes synonymous with feeding himself. But this isn’t nourishment—it’s maintenance. Thus a nutritionist was hired later. (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.

It’s a vicious circle: he fights to eat, and he eats to fight. Every gesture is bent toward usefulness. His wounds are not treated for healing, but for returning to combat. That’s how he lived all this time. His body is not loved, only weaponized. Even food—the most basic form of comfort—is absorbed into the logic of performance. The equation is cruel but clear: to be seen, you must be useful. And to be useful, you must win. This means that the director’s suggestion and principle was pushed to the extreme. That’s the reason why I come to the following conclusion: there’s someone else involved in the birth of Joo Jaekyung, the Emperor. The evidence for this hypothesis is the champion’s belief: his jinx which is strongly intertwined with sex. Back then, the little boy was too young for sex.

This is the emotional core of the episode: Jaekyung internalizes the idea that his worth is conditional. He is not loved simply because he exists—he is noticed because he punches. (Chapter 26) This is how he enters adulthood, though he was still a child: not through love, but through function. The moment he steps into the ring, he’s no longer a child. He becomes, in the eyes of the adults around him, a product. (Chapter 72) This explicates why Hwang Byungchul never confronted the father or called the cops or the social services. The fact that he asked the little boy (chapter 72) indicates that he was not scared and was envisaging to intervene, until he changed his mind. He hoped to have found a “gem”, a future star. (Chapter 72) This interpretation gets reinforced in the following panel: (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.

But there’s a deeper, more insidious lesson embedded in this worldview—one the coach failed to recognize. (Chapter 72) By instilling in the young athlete the belief that survival depends solely on usefulness and performance, he unwittingly fostered a radical sense of self-reliance. The champion learned not only to fight, but to survive alone. If he became rich or succeeded, it wasn’t because of guidance or teamwork, but because of his own strength, talent, and determination. Thus he only employs the personal pronoun “you” and not “we”. In this cold logic, there is no room for mutual dependency, emotional support, or even loyalty. The coach, unconsciously, excluded himself from the athlete’s inner world. He trained a boxer, not a partner. And in doing so, he guaranteed his own eventual irrelevance.

Therefore it is not surprising that he was not contacted after the protagonist moved to Seoul, (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) His goal was to create boxers and promote his gym. (Chapter 72) This explicates the absence of real support among the little kids in the end. (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.

That’s why I believe that going to Seoul wasn’t just about chasing success and looking for the mother—it was an act of escape, a way to break free from the past and its shadows. Joo Jaekyung needed distance not only from his hometown but from everything linked to his father, including boxing. The coach, in offering boxing as salvation, unknowingly tethered the boy to his abuser. (Chapter 72) The coach believed he was giving him a lifeline—but what he gave was a continuation, not a release. This could only increase Joo Jaewoong’s resent and jealousy towards his own son, if the latter became more successful.

Under this new light, we would have an explanation why Jaekyung ultimately chose MMA over boxing. MMA became his attempt to reclaim his body and forge a path not dictated by paternal legacy or the coach’s limitations. It was a way to fight, yes—but differently. On his own terms. This is the bitter irony: Hwang Byungchul believed he had rescued the child, when in reality, he kept him imprisoned in the very logic of pain and survival that was nearly destroying him. He didn’t free him—he simply refined the chains. On the one hand, the father got constantly reminded of his own failure, which could only poison the relationship between father and son, it created a common denominator between them.

This leads to a structural insight: episode 72 actually features two parallel narrators. One is Hwang Byungchul, whose commentary frames most of the memory sequence. (chapter 72) The other is Jaekyung himself. How can we tell? Because the scene of the phone call contains no narration, no framing voice. (Chapter 72) It’s a raw memory—silent and personal—untouched by the coach’s perspective. . (chapter 72) Thus I deduce that the other scenes are a combination of the champion and director’s memories. This would explain such scenes, where Hwang Bung-Chul is not present. (chapter 72)

Besides, Hwang Byungchul believed food and discipline were enough. He never noticed the emotional void beneath Jaekyung’s fighting spirit. What he interpreted as drive (ruthlessness/hunger) was, in truth, longing. He was hoping to have a true home again, to live with his mother. (chapter 72) The contrast between these two memories outlines how the coach misunderstood the athlete. Interesting is that doc Dan assumed that Joo Jaekyung had cut off ties with the former coach due to a quarrel. (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.

Simplification as the Real Barrier to Care

Once again an article from Jennifer Delgado caught my attention: You don’t need to simplify your life: you need to eliminate the useless – and it’s not the same. The article warns us about the danger of simplification. In a turbulent world, we long for a sense of order. To achieve this, we construct simple narratives that comfort our self-image, ease our emotional stress, and help us sidestep ambiguity. However, this approach has a downside. By oversimplifying, we sidestep genuine engagement with complex issues. We overlook inconsistencies, reduce individuals to stereotypes, and avoid the demanding work of truly understanding others.

Instead of asking why, we label. (chapter 9) Instead of listening, we assume. We choose clear lines—strong or weak, good or bad, useful or useless—over the tangled, uncomfortable truth that everyone is both hurting and trying. This refusal to reflect doesn’t just distort reality—it perpetuates it. When we simplify, we don’t heal; we reenact.

In Jinx, all the major characters fall into the trap described in the article on simplification. But here, we’ll focus on four: Park Namwook, Hwang Byungchul, Shin Okja, and Kim Dan. Each, in their own way, simplifies Joo Jaekyung. They misread his strength as certainty, his body as armor, his silence as consent, and his volatility as mere rudeness. They reduce complexity into caricature—and in doing so, they fail to see the man behind the myth.

The manager and the brain scanner

Let’s begin with the manager, Park Namwook. In Chapter 52, (chapter 52),

he blamed Jaekyung for the entire “fiasco” with the post-fight scandal—even though he knew full well that the spray had been tampered with and that a conspiracy was in play. Why blame the victim? Because that’s what simplification offers: a way to avoid moral discomfort and responsibility. Namwook projects his own spoiled, self-centered logic onto Jaekyung, interpreting his athlete’s breakdown as immature drama, rather than what it actually was: the collapse of someone who had been manipulated and betrayed.

This moment reflects exactly what the article warns about: in the face of complexity, people seek easy answers. Instead of facing the multicausal reality—schemes, mistakes, exploitation, emotional exhaustion—Namwook reduces the problem to one person, one reaction, one scapegoat. That’s why the scene from Chapter 61 is so revealing. (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 69) Namwook’s failure is a professional one, but it’s also deeply emotional: he simplified Jaekyung into a product or spoiled child. And when the product malfunctioned—when pain erupted from silence—he didn’t ask why, he suggested how to make it stop. This is simplification in its most insidious form: not out of malice, but out of discomfort with emotional reality.

Shin Okja: One Problem, One Person, One Solution

If Park Namwook reduces Joo Jaekyung to a tool of success, Shin Okja turns him into a quick fix. (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.

In Chapter 65, she urges the champion to take Dan back to Seoul. (chapter 65) Her logic is deeply utilitarian—Jaekyung is rich, strong, and dependable. Therefore, he must be fine. She does not consider whether he is emotionally stable, available, or even willing to carry such a weight. The haunted look in his eyes that Hwang Byungchul noticed in Chapter 72 (chapter 72) is invisible to her. She sees a man who has succeeded—and assumes that means he is thriving.

But her pattern is older. If doc Dan had parents, he wouldn’t be suffering so much. Her presence could never replace the parents. (chapter 65) This is totally naive, because certain parents like Joo Jaewoong are not capable of offering love and support. In Chapter 57, when Kim Dan was a child, bullied and humiliated, she told him: “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You still have me.” (chapter 57) This line, though comforting on the surface, is an act of simplification. She makes herself the sole solution to Dan’s complex emotional wounds. Her message: You don’t need justice, friends, or understanding. You need me. That’s how doc Dan was taught not to argue and not to fight back. He just needed to accept the situation.

In doing so, she creates a binary world: safe vs unsafe, solution vs threat. There is no room for nuance, community, or uncertainty. And this has long-lasting consequences. Dan grows up believing that support must come from one person, that relationships must be compensatory and binary. When the grandmother sends him away again—this time to Jaekyung—it mirrors the same pattern. “You need help? You’re sad? Then go with him.” That’s the reason why she is treating him as a “child”.

Like the article on simplification warns, such narratives are comforting but misleading. They prevent people from seeing the full scope of reality. Shin Okja never asks Dan about his friendships, his boundaries, his career goals. As she admitted herself in Chapter 65, (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.

Gloves Instead of Grace: Hwang Byungchul’s Simplified Salvation

The “old coot”, too, clings to the myth of the invincible fighter—hungry, gritty, unstoppable. He fondly remembers the wounds, the sweat (chapter 72), the hunger, as if these alone forged greatness. But he fails to see how the very system he created helped drain the boy of more than just his tears—it emptied him of safety, of rest, of care. He only addressed the visible wounds and stomach pangs. (chapter 72) The gym’s director gave food and gloves, but not love. This was relegated to his “mother”. (chapter 72) He never addressed emotional starvation because he never recognized it; he himself was never truly alone—he always had his mother. And his misjudgment started from the very first encounter: seeing Jaekyung as a fierce cub (chapter 72) or as Joo Jaewoong’s heir rather than a hurt child.

Even in the present, the former director continues this pattern of simplification. He blames the champion for returning to the ring (chapter 70), as though he chose freely, overlooking how coercion and image control operate in their world. He accuses him of ruining his career with the suspension, even though it was orchestrated by others. (chapter 70) He judges him without knowing the circumstances. This projection is not new. In the past, he blamed the father, (chapter 72) Joo Jaewoong, for becoming a thug—but when another former wrestler also ends up as a loan shark’s lackey (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.

That’s why he never judged the mother for abandoning her child. (chapter 72) In his eyes, her departure was understandable (“of course”), even rational—because the father was “rotten.” But by justifying her decision, he erases the damage it caused: a bleeding, unconscious boy left to fend for himself. (chapter 72) In his worldview, offering a meal and a pair of boxing gloves should suffice to compensate for parental abandonment and violence. As if a jab and a protein shake could replace a mother’s embrace. This reveals the core of his failure: he confused intervention with salvation, and survival with healing.

So in the end, Hwang Byungchul didn’t just witness the system—he upheld it. (chapter 72) He became its idealistic defender, blind to its contradictions. He believed the gym could cure what society broke, but all he taught was how to endure, not how to recover. I would even add that when the boxers didn’t succeed in their career, they could end up using their skills for the mafia. This worldview is a product of his own simplification, his refusal to examine the deeper rot within the system he served. He didn’t suggest school and titles in order to escape poverty. And this is why he never truly saw the boy disappear. He missed the moment the light faded from Joo Jaekyung’s eyes, because he was never watching for it. In chasing strength, he forgot to safeguard the soul.

The tragedy is this: while he wanted to save the child (chapter 72), he trained the champion instead. That’s why the previous panel resembles a lot to this one. (chapter 40) Kim Dan saw the result and got fascinated. And what we’re left with now is a man whose pain and exhaustion are almost unseen (chapter 72) —until Hwang Byungchul notices the change and confided it to doc Dan. Someone should start listening to the silence after the spotlight vanishes.

This is where simplification becomes most tragic—not only because it hides pain, but because it reinforces it. It keeps people locked in roles, acting out silent scripts they never chose. To truly follow the teddy bear—to return to care, to softness, to a place where people are held and not used—each character must confront the simplifications they relied on. They must admit what they refused to see.

Kim Dan: The simple complexity

And then there is Kim Dan, who utters the most painful truth. In a moment of illness and exhaustion, he says, (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.

By following his heart (even when that heart is heavy, broken, or exhausted), he becomes the very element that exposes the inadequacy of every simplified explanation—whether it’s Park Namwook’s control, Shin Okja’s projection, or even Jaekyung’s own self-image.

In short: Kim Dan is the counter-force to simplification because he lives in the in-between—where care and contradiction, pain and tenderness, duty and desire coexist. And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung needs to realize the existence of his heart and as such his love for doc Dan. Only then, both will be able to understand each other’s pain and heart.

Healing can only begin, when Jaekyung stops being a performance (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.

Kim Dan, in a sense, becomes the embodiment of complexity. While others in Jaekyung’s life simplified him—manager, coach, fans—Kim Dan’s own struggle becomes the key to unlocking the champion’s inner contradictions. He doesn’t just offer pills; he becomes someone who stays through the night. That’s the true antidote to trauma: not fixes, but presence. But he is sick now too. (chapter 71)

Hwang Byungchul and the spotlight

Since the start of Jinx, I have been examining names, as the author made it clear that they carry symbolic weight and the former coach’s full name—Hwang Byungchul (황병철) is no exception. He encapsulates both his past role and his evolving narrative function.

Hwang (황) means yellow, a color tied to imperial symbolism but also to artificial light, visibility, and performance which is reflected in his offer: (chapter 72) Fittingly, Hwang Byungchul believed that survival came through being useful and seen. His guiding principle was clear: become a champion to put food on the table. Fighting was a mean to escape poverty, and success was measured by status, not inner healing.

But the given name Byungchul (병철) reveals even more.

  • Byung (병) includes the meanings:
    • Soldier → He encouraged Jaekyung to train with military-style rigidity, enforcing a code of strength over vulnerability.
    • Jar/container → He emotionally bottled things up, never showing weakness or affection.
    • Disease → A symbol of his terminal condition, but also the philosophical “illness” he passed on—survival at the cost of love and life. Joo Jaekyung was never taught how to enjoy life.
    • long, hunger → Perhaps the most revealing meaning. He is a man of long hunger—not necessarily for food, which he did provide to the children in the neighborhood, but for recognition, belonging, and emotional acknowledgment. He hoped to create a talent. He stood in the background, feeding mouths but staying unnamed, invisible. This hunger lives on in his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. He could never claim the boy as “his” athlete—not publicly, not even privately. Hence the picture remained in his notebook hidden. Because Jaekyung never spoke of his past, never acknowledged the gym, never looked back. It looked like the boy who was fed did not remember the man who fed him. The silence wasn’t just about pride—it was about pain. In a way, both of them were waiting for the other to speak first. Thus, Hwang Byungchul’s name becomes a silent confession: he symbolizes the emotional and symbolic hunger that surrounded Jaekyung’s early life—one that was addressed physically but never emotionally. The coach’s spotlight was always directed outward, toward performance, visibility, survival—but what he longed for most was to be seen by the one he helped raise.
    • To scold or punish → A reflection of the discipline and shame-based teaching he used.
    • To end or exterminate → This meaning could refer to his imminent passing, but it could allude to something else. Once a guardian of the system, he may unwittingly become its undoer. While he never openly questioned the structures of boxing or the MFC, he long dismissed corruption as the fighters’ personal failing—not a systemic flaw. He maintained a clear-cut divide between the “glamorous” fighting world and the criminal underworld, but reality has proven more entangled. In his final days, by being confronted with the truth and with Kim Dan’s care, he might symbolically put an end to the illusion that sustained his lifelong simplifications.
  • 철 (Chul / Cheol) was already examined before (see Park Jinchul)
    • Iron → Symbol of cold strength, discipline and inflexibility.
    • Philosophy → He lived by a code, but one that lacked space for human frailty.
    • To pierce → He trained the champion to break through his limits, but also inflicted wounds he never tended to.
    • Season/time → A fading era. His presence now marks the end of one ideological “season” and the start of something else—perhaps more human.

Together, Hwang Byungchul stands for a legacy of rigid survivalism under the spotlight, but also for the potential to expose its limits. His name doesn’t just mirror what he was—it foreshadows what he might help undo. His final lesson may be the most important: that the system he clung to was always built on a false binary. Striking is that when the director interacted with the main lead in the beginning, he didn’t pay attention to the boy’s clothes and as such to the teddy bear. He only looked at the boy’s body (the gaze (chapter 72), the size (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.

The Absent Embrace: Of Bears, Mothers, and Fathers

If the teddy bear symbolizes maternal protection and warmth, then its absence in Joo Jaekyung’s childhood flat speaks volumes. (chapter 72) The boy didn’t have a blanket. He slept beside garbage. His father lay drunk and sprawled out, blind to his child’s needs. There was no teddy bear, no shared bed, no real cover. (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 21) contrary to Joo Jaekyung.

And yet, there was that one telling detail: the young Jaekyung once wore a shirt with a bandaged teddy bear on it. (chapter 72) Far from offering comfort, it mirrored his own battered condition. The implication? Someone saw—and chose not to act. That shirt represents the mother’s only trace. She was likely the one who picked out his clothes; an abusive man like Joo Jaewoong wouldn’t bother with childish designs. Which means the mother did witness his suffering or anticipated his fate, but chose to simply walk away without leaving a letter. IMO she didn’t leave an explication for her departure, hence the little boy came to imagine that she had left because of his addicted and violent father. (chapter 72) However, it is clear that here the protagonist was simplifying his mother’s decision, just like Hwang Byungchul. If she had truly cared for him, she would have taken him, but she did not.

She didn’t take her books either. (chapter 72) We see them wrapped up, left behind in the trash-littered apartment. This suggests she had been educated, possibly a nurse or a doctor. How did I come to this hypothesis? It is because this image reminded me of doc Dan’s departure from the penthouse. (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!

Among the garbage (chapter 72), there are parcels stacked on the commode and table—some of them are wrapped and seemingly untouched. Their presence is striking. Unlike the strewn bottles and plastic bags, these boxes don’t speak of decay, but of intention. They hint at a moment when someone had plans—however fleeting. And yet, their sealed state raises unsettling questions: Who were these parcels for? And why were they never opened?

Two possibilities emerge.

First, the parcels might have belonged to Jaekyung’s mother. She came into that apartment with books and packages, suggesting she was educated and had once imagined a different life. But she never unpacked. The fact that the books remained sealed indicates she was already preparing to leave or they had moved recently. These were not signs of building a home, but of biding time. If she made purchases, they were not for her son. (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.

The second possibility is darker still: that even while living there, she bought things—but not for Jaekyung. She may have tried to create comfort for herself, or imagined she could still pursue personal goals, all while ignoring the battered child in the room. This would explain the absence of affection and the lack of a maternal trace. The teddy bear on his shirt, with its bandage, might have been an unconscious projection of his condition—but it was never followed by comfort or care. In contrast, when Kim Dan orders board games for the adult champion in episode 27, it is the first time we see a parcel meant for joy, connection, and healing. What the mother withheld, the doctor finally provides.

Remember how I connected the two teddy bears together! (chapter 72) (chapter 11) Is it a coincidence that we have age and a birthday together? And what had doc Dan left in that house? (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 72) And in my opinion, she must have offered him this t-shirt before her betrayal and abandonment. And she had definitely planned it. That’s why I believe that doc Dan’s departure (chapter 53) must have triggered the champion’s abandonment issues. He had the impression to relive the past. The mother had left him behind in the dark unexpectedly. (chapter 53) Thus Joo Jaekyung started drinking and recalling his repressed traumas. This explains why he didn’t look for doc Dan at first and why he hates his birthday and presents. (chapter 45) And now, you comprehend why I wrote above that I was not giving up on the idea that the champion could belong to a different world too. She was not accustomed to take care of a household. She wasn’t used to cook either. She would order food, hence we have the empty bowls. (chapter 72) Remember how the champion reacted, when he tasted his cooking for the first time? (chapter 22) He feared deception here, a sign that he must have experienced such a lie before. For me, everything is pointing out that this woman was incapable of becoming responsible for her own child. She left quietly and early enough that even Hwang Byungchul, who knew of her departure, didn’t recognize the boy (chapter 72). In other words, the mother was already emotionally absent long before she physically vanished. The bandaged bear thus becomes a silent accusation: you saw, and you left. Therefore it is not astonishing that Joo Jaekyung made such a mistake: (chapter 68) His mistakes concerning doc Dan are the evidences that he was not taught how to take care of someone. His errors indicates his innocence and purity.

This motherlessness is the defining wound of Jaekyung’s early life. No pictures, no memories, no bedtime rituals. In contrast, Kim Dan’s early childhood, while also marked by loss, retained traces of maternal love. His duck-print shirt, the framed photo with his grandmother, and the teddy bear he once held—all speak of touch, affection, and care. Dan was kissed (chapter 44) before he was abandoned. Jaekyung was never treated properly before. He was not claimed at all. It is important because the champion mentioned the word “home” (chapter 43) for the first time shortly after receiving a mysterious phone call. (chapter 43) And it is linked to his birthday. This resembles a lot to this scene: (chapter 72) That’s the reason why I am coming to the following hypothesis. The mysterious caller must be related to the “sulky cat” or “wolf”. (chapter 37) (chapter 49) Is it the mother or someone acting as an invisible guardian who knows the champion’s past? What do you think?

Now let’s turn our attention to the father. (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 72). (chapter 72) A fallen boxer whose strength devolved into brutality. He started working for the mafia, but became entangled in their web. (chapter 72) The bear here is not a comforting toy but a dangerous beast. He loomed large over the child’s life not as a shield, but as a shadow. It is important because doc Dan is hearing for the second time that fighting has connections to the underworld. (chapter 47)

Even the name of the gym (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.

This choice could reflect a deep desire to erase or hide his family history, especially from his father. The name “Joo Jaewoong” still echoes in the neighborhood (chapter 72), tied to shame, alcoholism, and downfall. Naming the gym after himself might invite that past back into the spotlight. Worse—it might give his father, or others like him, an opening to claim a share in his success.

Moreover, we should not overlook the emotional contradiction: Jaekyung’s former coach and his coach’s mother once formed a kind of surrogate household. They cooked for the boys, gave them structure, and in doing so gave Jaekyung a place to belong. But that environment was also where the champion was “trained,” not truly raised. The tenderness was limited to the mother, who is now dead and Joo Jaekyung knows it. Hence he didn’t ask about her. (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 72) By not naming the gym after his mentor, Jaekyung draws a clear line: this is mine, but not a home—not for children, not for mothers, and not for fathers. Thus I came to deduce that Joo Jaekyung must have experienced something related to his mother, which Baek Junmin must know. But after the release of chapter 73, it becomes evident that their short but painful encounter took place shortly after the father’s death.

In this light, Team Black isn’t just a gym. It’s a sealed space—unbranded, unsentimental, and deliberately impersonal. A hidden monument to the self-made man who refuses to be claimed. The irony is that this name helped Park Namwook to claim the gym as his own. (chapter 22)

Thus, Joo Jaekyung’s story becomes one of inverted symbols. Where a bear should offer comfort, it signals danger and suffering. Where a shirt should offer warmth, it marks injury. Where a home should provide shelter, it holds darkness, silence and hunger. No wonder why the man fears the night! And this is why the champion had to become a bear himself—not the soft kind, but the feared kind. His “taming” by Kim Dan is not just romantic; it’s reparative. The man who never had a teddy bear may yet become one. I would even say, he is on the verge of becoming a mother bear defending her “curb”.

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

Jinx: The Other, Hidden Door 🚪 to the Past 🏛️

The composition opens with a visual puzzle: a collage of doors, house numbers, and figures caught mid-motion. At first glance, the images appear disconnected, yet the arrangement and title invite my avid readers to look again. What connects the blue gate in the seaside town, a young man hesitating before a door, and two house number plaques: 7-12 and 33-3? One Jinx-phile on X, @Jaedan4ever, insightfully noted that “7-12” (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.

A Mysterious Numbering System: 7-12 vs. 33-3

While the reader focused on 7-12 and the publication of episode 70, something else caught my attention. (chapter 57) The landlord’s house has the number 33-3. Why do two neighboring houses bear such disconnected numbers: 7-12 and 33-3? (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.

At first glance, parcel 7 appears to be registered earlier than parcel 33. Yet there is a twist: the subdivision number attached to 7—namely 12—implies that this plot has been split far more frequently than 33, which is only on its third subdivision. In rural Korea, early subdivisions often indicate inherited land, long-term residency, or family continuity. Later, higher subdivisions tend to signal commercial fragmentation, detachment from familial lineage, and transient habitation—often reflecting rental properties (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.

This contrast is reflected in both setting and narrative. Kim Dan lives in house 33-3 with the elderly landlord—a man who is not just a neighbor but likely an old local landholder. (chapter 57) In contrast, the house numbered 7-12, which Jaekyung rents, (chapter 61) has been transformed into a tourist hostel. (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.

The Blue Gate 7-12

The spatial layout reinforces this: the landlord’s house opens directly onto the street—there is no gate. (chapter 57) This openness reflects a traditional mindset rooted in hospitality and community. By contrast, 7-12 is sealed by a blue metal gate, a clear symbol of privacy, control, and urban values. (chapter 65) But here’s the irony: the gate does not protect the landlord’s legacy from encroachment—it shields the outsider from the town. The presence of the blue gate enclosing 7-12 speaks volumes. In contrast to the landlord’s open home, this barrier reflects the mindset of its builder—the town chief (chapter 62) —who likely anticipated that visitors from the city would prefer privacy. But in attempting to accommodate their expectations, he inadvertently created a symbolic divide. The gate does not just offer seclusion; it enforces a boundary between the guests and the local community. This spatial arrangement, then, subtly underscored the champion’s outsider status. Despite his wealth and fame, he remained separated—literally and figuratively—from the rootedness and communal life that defines the town. This explicates why his direct neighbor didn’t reach out to him right away. He was the last to ask for a favor. (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 Unseen 👀 Savior🦸🏼‍♂️ : The Birth Of Jaegeng (locked)] His physical strength, once used for spectacle and entertainment, now becomes a bridge into the fabric of rural life, exposing his true personality: he is generous and modest. The closed blue gate of the hostel might have marked him as a city dweller at first, (chapter 65) but his actions gradually dissolved that boundary. Therefore it is no coincidence that after the wolf took care of doc Dan during that night (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)

But let’s return to the house numbers and its signification. In this way, 33-3 stands at the crossroads of tradition and change: it is old, but not untouched by rupture. It represents a home that has endured change while maintaining its emotional and social value. This makes it an apt setting for the star and the physical therapist, two individuals who themselves come from fractured emotional lineages—both wounded by broken familial bonds, yet gradually learning to rebuild a form of kinship. That number becomes a silent metaphor for their coexistence: the wolf and the hamster, sharing not blood but space, trust, and now roots.

Father, Son and Ancestor: 33-3

Numerologically, “33” itself can evoke multiple layers of meaning. In some interpretations, 33 is a master number, associated with healing, altruism, and emotional growth. It is also a number of spiritual maturity—hinting at a kind of “final trial” before enlightenment. That fits the evolution of both characters. And the number 3, repeated, might subtly allude to the Christianism (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) or Confucian triad—father, son, and ancestor—or more abstractly, to harmony among heaven, earth, and humanity. With Jaekyung and Dan forming a new domestic unit under the benevolent yet quiet watch of the elderly landlord, we can almost see 33-3 as a broken but reassembled version of the traditional multigenerational household—one not bound by blood, but by mutual recognition and earned care.

Thus, 33-3 becomes more than an address. It’s a compact expression of the characters’ trajectory: from scattered and rootless to housed and healing—not in a perfect family, but in a fragile, evolving one. The wolf’s integration is not based on lineage or history, but on community and contribution.

Another layer to the contrast is the identity of the landlord. While the owner of 7-12 is the town chief—someone with institutional power—he is not necessarily the town’s patriarch. His propriety, 7-12, suggests his roots are more administrative than ancestral. He is in charge, but he does not represent continuity. On the other hand, the landlord of 33-3 is mistaken by Choi Heesung for Dan’s grandfather (chapter 59), and townspeople instinctively report Dan’s behavior to him. (chapter 69) I would like to point out that the kind man said “villagers” and not “villager”, a sign that he was contacted by many people. Such recognition is reserved for those woven into the community’s long memory.

This dynamic becomes even more intriguing when we consider how the wolf might have ended up in house 7-12 in the first place. (chapter 61) Given that the rural address system is based on the older jibeon model—and most GPS systems now rely on the newer road-based address format— it is unlikely that Jaekyung could have located Dan’s home through navigation alone. (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 62) No wonder why the athlete stopped his training for his benefactor, the town chief. His act of renting that space was not just about proximity—it was a quiet, determined form of emotional pursuit, bypassing digital maps in favor of personal presence. Once again, this mirrors the emotional structure of the story: Jaekyung could only find the hamster by leaving behind his car (the older version of episode 69 – chapter 69) and walking through the confusion himself.

Finally, this rural numbering system is placed in relief by an urban counterpart. In episode 1, (chapter 1) we see Dan walking under a blue plaque labeled “24”—the newer, street-based system introduced after 2013. This number, part of Seoul’s revised address format, contrasts sharply with the rural jibeon model. Where 7-12 and 33-3 reflect layered histories and family division, “24” is precise, administrative, and arguably impersonal. The place is no longer connected to family and traditions, rather to migration and anonymity. The juxtaposition between systems emphasizes not only physical distance but emotional dislocation.

Shin Okja’s Childhood Town and Numbers

Yet among all these numbered spaces, one person remains strangely untethered: Shin Okja. (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 65), a person (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 65) into a symbol of urban superiority—money, prestige, modernity—without anchoring it to a real “home.” In short, she idealizes Seoul the way she romanticizes the countryside—selectively, superficially. At the same time, she is giving the impression that she is erasing her stay in Seoul, as if her past there, too, is unmoored. Because of this observation, I realized why the nurse never questioned the senior’s statement. (chapter 56), though she expressed some doubt. By asking for more details, she imagined that she could touch a sensitive topic, like for example loss of her home etc. Shin Okja‘s inability—or refusal—to locate herself within a concrete building and specific numbered system of belonging hints at a deeper truth: Shin Okja may perform the role of native and guardian (chapter 57), but the land does not affirm her story. In Jinx, numbers are roots, and she is rootless. The more she talks about places, the less we see of her in them. She becomes a woman suspended between two worlds, belonging to neither.

Finally, the narrative suggests with the Emperor’s example, rootedness is not determined by a map or a deed, but by how much responsibility and memory one carries. And so far, the halmoni is not contributing much to the little town. She remains in the confines of the hospice. Hence no one among the inhabitants noticed her so-called return to her hometown.

A Numbered Home in Seoul: Whose Name, Whose Burden?

But since the new system is used in Seoul, I wondered about her address and house number. So what was the house number of Shin Okja`s home in the capital? (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)

This raises a series of subtle but important questions. When we see Kim Dan standing in front of the darker, metal-framed door in episode 11 (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.

And this thought led me to the following deduction. He had been triggered to go to that place because of the phone call from the redevelopment association. (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 57) only one house number plaque, one mailbox, and one electricity meter. These markers aren’t decorative—they are infrastructural indicators tied to administrative systems. In a city like Seoul, this configuration implies a single legally registered unit. So despite there being two entrances, only one household is formally recognized by the system. And since the resident registration system restricts each individual to a single verifiable address, this means only Kim Dan is recorded as the building’s legitimate occupant. The other door—the one associated with Shin Okja—exists outside the scope of legal recognition. She may live there physically (her belongings are still there), but bureaucratically, she doesn’t exist in that space.

Under the Korean Resident Registration System, every citizen must register their place of residence with the local government. Since 1994, this data has been digitized, allowing all state institutions to access and verify a person’s registered address electronically. This information is not symbolic—it is legally binding. Your registered address determines where you pay taxes, vote, access services, and claim benefits. Moreover, because so many government processes now rely on digital access to this central database, only one person can be officially tied to any residential unit at a time. Crucially, it is also a prerequisite for accessing financial credit. One cannot take out a bank loan or act as a legal guardian without a valid, registered place of residence.

This means that in the past, Shin Okja must have been officially registered at the address. (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.

However, attentive readers will notice a striking detail: the door seen during this childhood memory opens outward toward the viewer and is positioned closed to the left corner, (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 1)

These architectural clues support a subtle but significant shift: Shin Okja once resided in the main unit, the one connected to the official registration and legal address, in other words her initial flat was there. (chapter 11) At that time, Kim Dan, as a child, must have lived in the other unit, the one without number. She was probably taking care of him. However, at some point, she must have switched the place and moved to the other unit. This would explain why doc Dan (chapter 19) had a recollection of this moment, when he was about to leave this humble dwelling. (chapter 19) His move to the penthouse triggered another “move” from the past. Consequently, I am deducing that this souvenir represents the moment of the grandmother’s arrival and the departure of the hamster’s parent(s) from the other unit. But there’s more to it.

Since people are obliged to get a residency number with 17, I am assuming that the halmoni ceded legal registration to him, once he reached his 17th year. Kim Dan took over the smaller, neighboring room officially, and with it, the burden of formal residency. When she relinquished her official role, the system would have required a transfer of household headship and residency—most likely to Kim Dan. In my opinion, she became listed as household members (세대원, saedaewon). They are fully registered, just not as the head. It is important, because in front of the champion, she acts, as if she is still the head of the household (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.

Thus, by the time we see Kim Dan revisiting the building (chapter 11), the name tied to the legal system, to the loan, and to the state’s digital records, is his—not hers. This administrative shift allowed Shin Okja to become legally invisible while Dan remained trapped in a place that was once hers, yet bore no official acknowledgment of her presence.

In short, the building’s physical structure masks a deeper displacement. (chapter 1) What appears to be a modest shared home conceals a painful history of passed-down burdens and reallocated responsibilities. The grandmother’s true door is off to the side, connected physically but separated in symbolic meaning. It has no number, no mailbox, no markers of legal presence. This hidden door is a perfect trompe-l’oeil: it masquerades as the heart of the home, but it’s actually a legally invisible annex. The framing invites the viewer to overlook it, just as the narrative invites us to overlook the grandmother’s evasions. And ironically, the one who stayed—the “last resident”—is also the one who was slowly pushed into the background, into the unnumbered space, into silence. And now, you comprehend why the grandmother asked from him this: (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.

To conclude, Kim Dan was not just the last physical inhabitant—he is the last legal one. His mailbox, his electricity meter, his official records—all point to the metal-framed door. (chapter 11) That’s where his address was, until he moved to the penthouse. But that’s where the loan is linked. That’s where the city saw him. And because the resident registration is necessary for work and taxes, Kim Dan had to change his resident number, when he moved to the penthouse or to the seaside town. That’s how I came to the following conclusion: Shin Okja must have known about his stay with the champion in the end.The Korean Resident Registration System is the evidence. This shows how important this scene was in season 1. (chapter 11) (chapter 65) In this panel, her words in English were ambiguous, while in the Korean version, the grandmother exposes that she was well aware that her grandson and the emperor would live together.

Still, he gave Dan a place to live, and even a salary…”
“I’m truly sorry and thankful—what can I say.”

This means that the halmoni must be well aware where her grandson is staying in her “hometown” in the end!!

Don’t forget that in South Korea, when a person enters a hospice or hospital, they must provide a valid registered address for several reasons: Health insurance eligibility (National Health Insurance Service); Billing purposes; Coordination of long-term care or welfare benefits; Resident registration confirmation (especially in hospice care, where end-of-life planning intersects with legal identity). She is legally totally dependent on him, and not just financially. So when she suggests to doc Dan to return to Seoul, she is actually denying the existence of a relationship between the physical therapist (chapter 57) and the landlord from 33-3. In fact, she was indirectly expressing a lack of gratitude toward the elderly man.

This realization, the existence of two units within the same building, subtly destabilizes the commonly accepted idea that Shin Okja is his grandmother. I have to admit that while reading episode 57, doubts (chapter 57) about their parentage came to my mind, especially when she claimed that doc Dan had different roots as hers. However, so far, I could never find an evidence for such a theory and imagined that my mind was simply too creative. Yet, with this new insight her role begins to look less like that of a familial guardian, and more like that of a caretaker, a nanny, or even an intruder—someone who moved in but was never truly rooted in Dan’s legal or emotional household. This theory would explain why the grandmother is not talking about doc Dan’s parents, why she remained passive, when he got stigmatized as orphan. She had every reason to suggest that she was enough for him, he just needed her. (chapter 57) That way, he became attached to her. It’s a startling reversal: the woman who claims maternal authority is (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.

And perhaps it’s no coincidence that the Seoul house (chapter 1) resembles the configuration in the small town. (chapter 57) In both cases, the boy lives next to someone who is older, legally distinct, and spatially close yet administratively separate. However, in the capital, the room with the second door is much smaller, as if doc Dan was the “servant”, though he was the main resident and the household head. In the countryside, this creates a healing bond with a benevolent elder. In the city, it sharpens a sense of entrapment. The echo between the two homes becomes a subtle commentary on the difference between chosen family and imposed family, between true guardianship and the performance of care.

And what did Shin Okja say to the Emperor? (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.

The invisible chain between the door and the sharks

The silent yet stark detail about the two units (chapter 1) also reshapes our perception of Shin Okja. This singular registration setup does more than highlight Dan’s bureaucratic burden—it reframes the nature of the doctor’s relationship with Shin Okja. (chapter 11) But why did she ask him to become the household of this unit in the past? For me, the answer is quite simple. She had already planned that the young boy would take over her debts. One might argue that the debts might have been related to the hamster’s family. Yet I can refute this point. How so?

First, according to my previous observation, Shin Okja was living in the other unit, and the thugs went straight to her flat, the one with the sign on the wall. (chapter 5) They were looking for her and not “doc Dan” or his family. Unfortunately, the little boy was present. Because they were seen together, people assumed that they were together, a family. But like mentioned before, there was a move within the same building. Moreover, as a child, Dan was exposed to violence from the loan sharks. He couldn’t have signed any documents at the time, for a resident registration number is required and the other place is not registered; the grandmother was the official borrower. But later, Heo Manwook declared that Kim Dan is the named debtor. (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 53) So far, in season 1, she had made only one (chapter 41) before her request to visit the West Coast. The most plausible explanation is that Shin Okja persuaded him to take over the loan. She likely presented it as a necessary sacrifice, something he could manage given his income as a physical therapist. This explains why the elderly woman is no longer asking about the debts or loan. It is no longer her main concern, she is not the household head either. And don’t forget what the physical therapist thought, when he heard from Kim Miseon the bad prognostic about his grandma. (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)

And so, when he returns to that door after the triggering phone call (chapter 11), it isn’t just a physical movement—it’s a re-entry into responsibility and also past. The metal door doesn’t lead into a shared home, but into a legal burden. It is the entrance not to comfort or care, but to debt, disrepair, and abandonment. No wonder why during that night, the hamster had to face Heo Manwook and his minions. (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.

Striking is that Heo Manwook does not even know about Dan’s profession. When he sees the influx of money (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 65) No wonder why Shin Okja never mentions the loans when speaking to Joo Jaekyung, thus erasing her responsibility. And imagine this: Doc Dan is now living with an elderly man who is a farmer. She might suspect that the senior is trying to take advantage from her “grandsons”. If this is true, then she would just be projecting her own thoughts and fears onto the landlord. Since she connects the city to success and money, I am quite certain that she doesn’t judge farmers in a positive light. For her, doctors or celebrities are much more recommendable persons.

In the following article, the paper’s data underline a social reality: farming in Korea is struggling, and its practitioners—despite their essential role—are economically marginalized. In 2022, average agricultural income per household dropped to just KRW 9.49 million (~US $7,300)—under the 10-million-won mark for the first time in 30 years. Farming households earn only about 20–27% of what they once made, a steep decline from over 50% in the 1990s. Structural issues—aging farmers, small-scale plots, high material costs, and price volatility—have trapped many in long-term economic strain. Far from being a supplement, farming is often no longer a primary income source, pushing many rural households into poverty, with younger generations fleeing to cities. This evolution is reflected in the Korean manhwa. The room of Doc Dan contains traces of a teenager who left the house. (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.

The Cabinet’s Silence: Misattributed Memory

This layered confusion about the flats extends to the objects within the home, especially the massive mother-of-pearl bridal wardrobe. (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.

Dan’s reverence for the cabinet mirrors his longing for stable familial identity. He projects value (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.

The Wolf’s residence: 7-12

In contrast, Jaekyung’s initial intention was to stay in the seaside town only temporarily. (chapter 61) He claimed the move was for recovery and recuperation—a short break from his life in Seoul. Yet Korean law requires anyone staying in a location longer than a month to officially change their resident registration. If he were to do so, this would not just signal a change of address but a severing of administrative ties with Seoul—and by extension, Park Namwook and MFC. (chapter 66) Changing his registration would mean stepping outside of the institution’s control and surveillance.

However, I doubt that the star has ever officially registered his stay. Like Kim Dan before him, he exists in a limited legal space—present but not formally tied. This ambiguity mirrors his emotional state. His real return to Seoul was always conditional—it depended on Dan’s willingness to follow him. (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.

In this way, the law becomes a mirror: resident registration, typically viewed as bureaucratic red tape, becomes a metaphor for chosen identity. The champion’s choice to return straight to the seaside town displays his psychological transition. He is no longer the man who moved through cities on training schedules. He is beginning to act like someone who stays—and stays for someone. And that someone is Kim Dan.

Conclusion: Opening the Right Door

The titular “hidden door to the past” is not just a visual motif—it is the emotional architecture of Jinx. By attending to overlooked details—address numbers, cabinet placement, financial responsibility, and architectural sleight-of-hand—we can trace the emotional fault lines that run beneath Dan’s quiet suffering and the champion’s slow awakening. The question is no longer just where they live, but who gets to call it home. The essay began with an image collage, but what it truly offers is a blueprint: not of real estate, but of memory, grief, and quiet resilience.

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

Jinx: Illuminated 🌥️🌤️Silence and Lingering 🫶 Warmth 🔥

The Tenth Embrace – Stillness, Light, and Transformation

This image , 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.

For my fellow Jinx-philes who have followed every bruise (chapter 11), every glare, and every awkward silence (chapter 67) between these two, this hug feels monumental. Why did the author choose this scene to announce the new chapter?

One might reply that it serves as a summary or visual recollection of the final moment in Chapter 69. And yes, it does that. But there’s more to it. The embrace is, in fact, a confession—one expressed not through speech but through touch. It may seem like a simple hug, yet it conveys something deeper and more vulnerable than any spoken admission. This is body language at its most honest: a quiet gesture that communicates all the things Jaekyung cannot articulate. Though words are absent, emotion is not. Silence, in this case, becomes a medium of connection rather than distance and lack of communication. Joo Jaekyung’s embrace reveals anxiety, tenderness, affection and the desire not to dominate, but to remain – to protect and to hold. And that is precisely why the author chose not to depict a kiss. A kiss would have shifted the tone toward romance, toward desire. But what Dan needs first is not romantic affection—he needs enduring, reliable friendship, a different form of love. Until now, he has only known fair-weather companions like Heesung or Potato. (chapter 58)

This embrace gestures toward something deeper: a bond built not on conditions, but on presence. Hence in this illustration, we also glimpse the athlete’s watch strapped to his wrist—a detail that may seem minor, but resonates with meaning. It subtly grounds the scene in time, discipline, and routine, reminding us of his physical life as a fighter. Back then, the wolf was always preoccupied with the future (chapter 29) —the constant possibility of being challenged, of losing ground, of falling from his throne. Time meant pressure. It meant movement. But now, in this image, the presence of the watch highlights how far he has come. No longer ruled by future threats, he chooses to pause, to stay grounded in the present. But in this moment, time is suspended. The watch becomes not a symbol of training, but of waiting—of calling time, of taking a breath, of choosing to be fully present for someone else. It marks a shift: he is no longer racing the clock, nor following the flow and facing the pack of challengers. He is here, holding, breathing, staying while keeping doc Dan in his sight.

This embrace is not just a recap of Chapter 69. It is a culmination. A reversal. A reflection. And above all, a threshold.

The date itself whispers symbolism. July 12. Add the digits: 1 + 2 + 7 = 10. In numerological terms, 10 signals the end of a cycle and the quiet promise of a new beginning. The “1” stands for rebirth, while the “0” opens the door to uncharted emotional space. We are no longer in the territory of possessiveness or pain. We are stepping into breath, presence, and vulnerability. It is the start of a real friendship and healing.

But how do I see all this in a single image? Naturally through reflections and comparisons. This essay will trace how this embrace reverses earlier dynamics—from the grandmother’s false comfort to the star’s previous grip of control. We will revisit the broken sandbag, the Emperor’s red backlit inner thoughts and visions (chapter 29, 55), and even the slap that echoed too loudly in the hospital. Because when Jaekyung finally hugs Dan with this kind of fragile openness, it doesn’t come from nowhere.

It comes from loss. From growth. From choosing stillness when everything in him was taught to keep running.

Revisiting the Embrace: From Control to Reciprocity

To truly grasp the emotional weight of the teaser hug , it must be examined in contrast with two pivotal earlier moments: the bathroom embrace in Chapter 68 (chapter 68) and the public hug on the dock in Chapter 69. (chapter 69)

In Chapter 68, the setting is intimate and vulnerable—a dim, wet bathroom. Kim Dan is asleep in the champion’s arms. Jaekyung holds him tightly from behind, but his own posture reveals something unresolved. (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 68) This line (“I’ll keep him right here in the palm of my hand”) is deeply revealing. The champion frames care through the language of possession. The palm is open but hierarchical; it suggests that Dan is small, fragile, and dependent on Jaekyung’s will to hold or release. He does not yet see Dan as an equal. Even as he softens, his emotional vocabulary is shaped by superiority and containment. The hug is real, the sentiment sincere, but the dynamics remain unbalanced. And since Dan is asleep—unable to reciprocate, respond, or challenge—the embrace becomes more about the wolf’s soothing himself than forming a mutual bond. Furthermore, Dan is not even facing Jaekyung. (chapter 68) His head rests in the crook of the champion’s shoulder, turned away, a spatial choice that subtly reinforces the lingering emotional distance between them. They are close—but not yet connected. Initially, Dan’s profile is visible, resting gently against Jaekyung’s chest. However, as the moment progresses, Jaekyung subtly shifts Dan’s position. (chapter 68) In the next panel, we see Dan’s head from behind. This small but deliberate movement suggests a dynamic effort to hold onto him more firmly—to assert closeness, perhaps, but also to reposition him as something to protect and possess. The scene is filled with motion, both physical and psychological. And this motion, this shifting, stands in direct contrast to the stillness of the teaser image. In fact, the contrast goes deeper when considering the celebrity’s body language: (chapter 68) in the bathroom, we see only one of his hands holding Dan, while the other remains out of frame. Crucially, the watch he normally wears is missing. The absence of this item—one that often symbolizes the passage of time—hints at a suspended moment, an emotional pause where time no longer governs the champion’s thoughts. This subtle omission underscores how, in that quiet resolve to ‘keep him in the palm of my hand,’ Jaekyung momentarily abandons all concern for his career, his schedule, and the ticking clock of an MMA fighter’s short-lived prime. (chapter 68) It is no coincidence that the next morning he receives a new match offer: a test of that very resolution. (chapter 69) Yet, when faced with renewed pressure and stress, he falters—leaving Dan behind. (chapter 69) The illusion of control dissipates, revealing that his earlier vow, however heartfelt, was not yet unshakable.

Under this new light, it becomes clear why Mingwa let Jaekyung make this silent resolution (chapter 68) without a witness. Had the athlete expressed his thoughts directly to Dan, they might have come off as arrogant, performative, or even hypocritical later. The quietness of his resolve shields it from judgment (chapter 68) —it’s neither a promise nor a performance, but a deeply personal moment of self-reflection. As such, it doesn’t demand perfection, only sincerity. And when Jaekyung breaks from it later, readers are invited to empathize rather than condemn. This unspoken vow belongs to him alone, and its failure stings not because of broken trust, but because we witnessed its honesty.

By Chapter 69, we see a notable progression. On a stormy night under a clouded sky, Jaekyung embraces Dan again—this time fully clothed, in public, and face-to-face. (chapter 69) The posture is protective, with Dan still clutching shopping bags. Much like the embrace in the bathroom, this one also unfolds under the moonlight and carries a strong sense of motion. Jaekyung acts on instinct and emotion, reaching out without hesitation. His gestures are protective, but still driven by impulse rather than reflection. This hug is no longer one-sided: Dan leans in, allows himself to be held. It marks a moment of shared emotional exposure. Still, it remains reactive, a response to emotional tension (chapter 69) rather than a moment of mutual resolution. Jaekyung offers no words, yet a silent gesture of care and vulnerability.

Notably, the watch is no longer visible in this embrace. Although we know from earlier panels (chapter 69) that Jaekyung is wearing it, the change in angle—viewing the hug from behind—deliberately conceals it. (chapter 69) This compositional choice signals a subtle shift in perspective. Where the teaser centers the champion’s hands, the public embrace instead centers the environment, the setting, and the societal gaze. Dan’s face and back are hidden. Jaekyung’s back is turned to the viewer, signaling that this moment, while emotionally meaningful, remains partially opaque. Yet his vulnerability is visible—not through facial expression, but through posture. The tightness of his arms, the way he bends to reach Dan, the absence of hesitation—these all speak to a man laying down his guard. He is not posturing; he is clinging. And in doing so, he exposes his attachment and dependence.

By hiding Dan’s expression and placing him at the center of the frame, the author may be pointing to a new phase. Dan becomes the emotional axis, the silent center of Jaekyung’s emotional storm. As if to say: it is now Dan’s turn to interpret, to react, and eventually—to decide. The author thus repositions agency subtly but clearly in the teaser.

The embrace in episode 69 contrasts powerfully with the teaser image, which is defined by stillness. If the embraces in Chapters 68 and 69 are guided by nighttime instincts and lunar passivity, the teaser hints at something new—a quiet morning, or the symbolic arrival of sunlight. The glow on the left side of the illustration resembles the break of dawn, suggesting not only emotional warmth but also a conscious awakening. It is no longer about impulsive action in the dark; it is about holding on to someone in the light. The embrace is no longer a reaction—it is a decision.

The teaser embrace transcends both prior instances, not only in composition but in emotional clarity. The colors purple and pink respectively symbolize enlightenment, maturity and innocent love. Unlike the bathroom scene in Chapter 67, both men are now awake, and crucially, mutually present—not just physically, but emotionally. And unlike the last hug of Chapter 69, this embrace is not reactive; it is not prompted by surprise, fear, external danger, or a crisis. It emerges from stillness, from a shared decision to remain close. Yet within that stillness, it also oozes quiet determination (holding him tight)—a commitment not only to care, but to remain. The embrace becomes an embodiment of the unspoken motto: enjoy the present. It reflects a decision to prioritize presence over performance, commitment and connection over conquest.

Jaekyung’s posture is especially telling. His arms are wrapped tightly around Dan, but more than that, his entire body curves inward, as if folding into the space between them. His head rests against Dan’s neck or shoulder, a gesture that carries vulnerability, not dominance. This is not the body language of a man in control—it is that of someone seeking emotional grounding. He is not bracing Dan against the world; he is clinging to him, quietly, with all defenses down.

Dan’s body, too, speaks volumes. His back is visible, but this time, it is not a symbol of detachment. Compare it to the champion’s thoughts in the past. (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. His hands are not visible—an intentional choice by the author. (chapter 69) By omitting them, the scene removes any external excuse for passivity, such as the black shopping bags seen in Chapter 69. Instead, it emphasizes Dan’s quiet agency. He is not weighed down or obstructed; he is simply there, choosing to stay. His stance is soft and grounded. He accepts the embrace—not out of resignation or shock, but through silent recognition. This marks a radical departure from earlier chapters where he either endured touch or froze under its weight. This time, he receives it—not as someone overwhelmed, but as an equal participant. That’s why I see the new illustration as the positive reflection of their argument in episode 45: (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. His quiet presence, free of obligation or material offering, affirms that emotional closeness has replaced transactional gestures.

The setting amplifies this transformation. The pink and purple tones that bathe the scene suggest warmth, serenity, and renewal. These colors have replaced the earlier palettes of red (associated with lust and violence – chapter 29) and black (linked to isolation and fear – chapter 55). The two main leads are no longer alone. This is what transpires in the new drawing. The faint mist or vapor in the air suggests breath, life, and emotional release—it is as if they are finally exhaling together after holding so much in.

This embrace, centered in the teaser, is not just a gesture of reunion—it is a visual representation of mutual recognition and emotional rebirth. It marks a turning point where neither man seeks to overpower or please the other. Instead, they allow themselves to be seen and held. The result is not control, but reciprocity—a new balance where love is no longer a struggle for dominance but a shared space of refuge. This moment also represents the birth of a true team: both are relying on each other. Dan becomes Jaekyung’s anchor, the grounding force he never knew he needed, while Jaekyung stands as Dan’s shelter, his unwavering protection. They no longer orbit each other in isolation—they have become interdependent, attuned, and quietly united.

The Hamster’s Gift: Reading The Unspoken

Dan’s stillness in the teaser illustration should not be mistaken for passivity. It is a deliberate act of emotional reception—something he was trained for from childhood. Raised by a grandmother who rarely expressed affection through words, (chapter 21) Dan became fluent in a silent, physical language of care. She often asked him not to cry (chapter 57), unable or unwilling to face his vulnerability. To her, composure meant strength, and emotion—especially in the form of tears—was something to be managed or tucked away. Her love came in the form of caresses, pats (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.

Dan learned early to interpret every small shift in touch: the rhythm of a pat,(chapter 57) the momentary pause of a hand (chapter 19), the direction of a gaze. Here, she was not looking at her grandchild who was talking on the phone. It was, as if she was excluding herself from the conversation. These gestures became his emotional compass—not because they were transparent, but because they were all he had.

Her hand was always in motion—patting, caressing (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 57) Dan was never permitted to break down fully—he was urged to quiet his feelings rather than explore them. Thus it is no coincidence that the halmoni has no idea about the incident with the switched spray. Moreover, later the protagonist was often the one to reach for her, (chapter 47) to hold her hand, to initiate closeness (chapter 47) (chapter 56). This reversal of roles placed the burden of emotional stability on his young shoulders.

And layered into this physical restraint were her verbal reassurances—”You still have me,” “Grandma will always be there for you” (chapter 57); I’ll come back home, once I am all better” (chapter 11) —promises that sounded protective but masked emotional denial. Her words were spoken to soothe, not to reassure with truth. These assurances were emotional illusions—comforting on the surface, but hollow in substance. They created the illusion that she was always strong, ever-present, even immortal—an anchor that would never be lost. Over time, this illusion cemented itself in Dan’s mind. She became a fixed point of emotional gravity, (chapter 65) a mythic figure whose emotional distance he interpreted as noble sacrifice. Her constant reassurances and carefully controlled gestures fed into this perception, convincing Dan that love meant loyalty, restraint, and silent endurance.

This formative training becomes key to understanding why he doesn’t resist Jaekyung’s embrace. He does not shrink, flinch, or cling—he simply stays. Unlike in Chapter 69, where he clutched shopping bags that might serve as a pretext for his inertia (chapter 69), in the teaser his immobility is unburdened. The absence of his visible hands and possessions symbolically removes all excuses. Dan is no longer reacting out of confusion or fear. He is choosing to be held.

This emotional acuity is especially visible in Chapter 35, when Dan observes the aftermath of Jaekyung’s violent outburst at the sandbag. (chapter 35) Instead of recoiling in fear or admiring his strength, Dan quietly states, “I think I really need to focus on Mr. Joo right now.” He does not focus on the strength or aggression, but on the pain beneath it. The burst sandbag, for him, is not a threat—it is a symbol of Jaekyung’s emotional unraveling. This silent recognition mirrors Dan’s interpretive skills developed in childhood. Just as he once learned to read a shift in his grandmother’s hand or the silence after a broken promise, he now interprets the damage to the sandbag as an unspoken plea for help. This sensitivity continues to define his bond with Jaekyung.

He recognizes the depth behind Jaekyung’s gesture —the trembling edge of desperation, the quiet need to be reassured. The celebrity’s grip is neither calculated nor repetitive. It is raw, clingy, and intense—each finger clutching as though Jaekyung fears losing him again. Unlike his grandmother’s composed movements, Jaekyung clings with both arms, as if to say: I need you to stay by my side. The absence of ritualized comfort, the lack of rehearsed gestures, tells Dan this is something radically different: not performance, but presence. There are no words exchanged—no hollow reassurances, no immortal promises. This is vulnerability in its purest form: exposed, messy, urgent.

For Dan, who was trained to perceive the emotional weight of silence and motion, the difference is staggering. The wolf’s embrace does not soothe from above—it clings from within. He doesn’t place himself above Dan like a guardian or caretaker. He reveals himself as someone who needs Dan’s presence, someone who trusts Dan with his own fragility.

This moment reshapes Dan’s emotional experience. In the past, stillness came from suppression. Now, it emerges from choice. In the past, he was the one to reach out (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.

Dan was conditioned to listen with his eyes, to decipher emotion from gesture. That gift has become the foundation of their bond. This time, silence is not loneliness—it is intimacy. Jaekyung’s embrace asks for nothing and gives everything. It is not a gesture of power or protection—it is a surrender. And the master, for the first time, accepts it as his own. Jaekyung and Dan do not need to pretend. They offer presence, not perfection. And Dan, trained to hear meaning in silence, receives the hug as something more profound than any spoken vow. It is not just a sign of Jaekyung’s attachment—it is an invitation, which Dan, for the first time, accepts freely.

Letting Go of the Guardians: From Slap to Embrace

The teaser leaves no room for misunderstanding: this embrace belongs to no one but them. There is no space for a third party to intervene, mediate, or translate. The intimacy captured in the image signals not only mutual acceptance, but also a decisive boundary—an exclusion of external authority. With this embrace, the narrative quietly removes the former guardians—Shin Okja and Park Namwook—from the emotional core. Their time as intermediaries (chapter 65) or stand-ins (chapter 36) for affection has ended. The spotlight now belongs solely to Jaekyung and Dan, who no longer require mediation to reach one another. This shift becomes particularly evident when contrasting the teaser with earlier moments of evasion, silence, and misplaced dominance—especially through the lens of Park Namwook’s slap and Jaekyung’s own past deflections.

In Chapter 29, Jaekyung is depicted as a hunted predator (chapter 29), constantly pursued by younger fighters—“a pack of hyenas” nipping at his heels. Yet beneath this portrayal of endless motion is a deeper emotional truth: Jaekyung is running not just from competitors, but from his own solitude. That night, he refused to rest (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 29) and Jaekyung operates in isolation—more fighter than partner, more machine than man. No man is watching his “back”. It is precisely this disconnection that prevents him from relaxing or recharging. He is trapped in a cycle of movement without relief, because he lacks the emotional foundation of trust and interdependence that the teaser illustration later comes to embody. In other words, behind this image of motion (chapter 29) lied an emotional stagnation. The champion was running from something internal, not just external. When Dan attempted to ask questions or reached out, Jaekyung frequently shut him down (chapter 42) or offered silence in return. He had no teamwork ability in the end contrary to the hamster who “assisted” his grandmother. But it is not surprising, since Park Namwook has always relied on his boy. (chapter 40) Each time, they faced a problem, the athlete had to resolve it. He was the problem and the solution for everything. (chapter 17)

This emotional avoidance culminates in a pivotal rupture: Park Namwook’s slap in Chapter 52. (chapter 52) Surrounded by others, the manager attempted to discipline Jaekyung not with understanding, but through force. The slap was not an act of care—it is an assertion of dominance. It reduced Jaekyung to a volatile asset and spoiled child, not a man in pain. Striking is that this gesture actually exposed the manager’s weakness and anxiety. He was the one reacting as a spoiled child, for he masked his wrongdoing with tears. (chapter 52) The reason is that he couldn’t face the terrible outcome and his own responsibility. He needed a scapegoat. Thus he blamed the champion for everything. But by doing so, he refused to share the burden and the athlete’s unwell-being. Striking is that this slap served as a wake-up for the athlete. From that moment on, he stopped relying entirely on his “hyung”. He was pushed to make decisions on his own. This harsh gesture mirrors Shin Okja’s attitude toward Kim Dan, (chapter 57) who was often comforted only when he concealed his distress. Both guardians acted as strong persons, while in reality they were hiding their own helplessness and anxiety. Both suppressed vulnerability (chapter 52), seeing it as disruptive or shameful. Their guidance demanded emotional control, not emotional honesty.

Yet while the manager relied on open scolding and explosive gestures, Shin Okja’s strategy was the opposite: she smothered emotional crises with fake promises and quiet patting. Where Park Namwook used confrontation and order, Shin Okja relied on evasion and emotional sedative. Both mechanisms served the same purpose—denying the “boy” the freedom to feel and process complex emotions. Both were forced to deny the existence of “evil” in the end. “They don’t know” or “because of your temper”… Both guardians expected their wards to be functional rather than fragile. The reason is that they were expecting blind loyalty and submission. Naturally, since the grandmother was more gentle, her actions created an invisible chain between her “puppy” and her, while the slap from the manager caused an invisible riff between him and the Emperor. Park Namwook can no longer raise his voice (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)

Herein lies the most profound contrast with the teaser embrace. The slap (chapter 52) is loud, performative, and corrective—a punishment wrapped in hierarchy. It takes place in a closed space—a hospital, ironically a place meant for healing. And yet, this act of violence is anything but restorative. Though members of Team Black are present, the moment remains confined, unspoken beyond its walls—a private humiliation masked as internal discipline. It does not foster intimacy or catharsis; instead, it isolates Jaekyung, stripping him of dignity both as an athlete and as a patient. In contrast, the embrace in Chapter 69 (chapter 69) occurs on a public street, before any audience. Its openness transforms what could have been a moment of embarrassment into a declaration. Jaekyung’s vulnerability becomes visible and valid—an indirect public confession that replaces the secrecy of the slap with the courage of connection. In fact, this scene displays the irrelevance of PArk Namwook in the “champion’s life”. He was never seen in the little town following his MMA fighter. So in the eyes of the inhabitants of this remote town, the doctor becomes a VIP. The embrace, by contrast, is quiet and egalitarian—a gesture of shared vulnerability and mutual respect. Where the slap severs emotional expression, the embrace enables it. Jaekyung does not mask his emotions or deflect responsibility with aggression; he leans into them, exposing his dependency and yearning without shame. This moment oozes closeness and intimacy, while indirectly their “secret” is exposed. They are important to each other.

This quiet exposure reverses the legacy of his guardians. Jaekyung does not slap, silence, or manage. He holds. And by doing so, he invites Dan to remain—no longer as a passive caretaker, but as someone who matters. The embrace thus becomes an answer to years of silencing: an offering of closeness where there was once only control.

By staging this gesture in full view—yet focused only on the pair—the teaser signals that no outsider can step in to define or distort their relationship anymore. Guardians are no longer needed. The embrace is their language now. Through the touch, both are feeling the warmth from each other. They are now friends and even family. Let’s not forget that the landlord saw them as “friends” (chapter 66) the moment the Emperor carried away doc Dan. This looks like an “embrace”. (chapter 66)

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Jinx: The Secret ㊙️ Doctor’s Jinx 👄

In the world of Jinx, superstition often masks deep psychological wounds. Readers are well aware of Joo Jaekyung’s belief in a hex: (chapter 2) his ritualistic sex before fights, his fear of losing control, (chapter 5) his reliance on routine. Yet there is another jinx in this story, one far less visible and perhaps even more tragic: Kim Dan’s.

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

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

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

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

His whispered fear in the dark — “I’m scared… of being alone” — is the clearest window into his hidden jinx. And perhaps the most heartbreaking part is this: he voices it not, when he is abandoned, but when someone is still there. That’s how deep the fear runs. (chapter 21) And this issue didn’t begin in adulthood. In Chapter 21, Kim Dan dreams of a night from his childhood: he wakes up alone, glances around the room in quiet confusion, and softly calls out for his grandmother. The room is dim, the bed beside him empty. This image carries more than just childhood anxiety: (chapter 21) It weaves together absence, silence, and the specter of loss. What’s striking is that the nightmare surfaces, not when he’s alone in the present, but after he has just returned from watching over his hospitalized grandmother. (chapter 21) He lies on the couch and dreams of a night when she vanished from their shared bed. (chapter 21) This reveals how, in Kim Dan’s subconscious, the night and an empty bed have become synonymous with death. The trauma is deeply embedded, where even temporary absence is tied to the irreversibility of loss. For Kim Dan, solitude at night (chapter 67) is not mere loneliness—it is abandonment, it is death, it is the erasure of home. It is repressed, hidden beneath his quiet demeanor and years of survival-based behavior. Rather than a rational belief, it is a subconscious wound that only surfaces in moments of extreme vulnerability—especially at night.

So while Joo Jaekyung’s curse is shouted and choreographed (chapter 2), the doctor’s is secret and involuntary. His actions—his fearful expressions (chapter 57), his pattern of emotional detachment (chapter 67), and his obsessive loyalty to his grandmother (chapter 10) signal a suppressed conviction: that he is destined to be left behind. What seemed like devotion now appears as coping; what appeared stoic was survival. And with the impending death of his grandmother, the anchor holding this hidden jinx in place is slipping away.

A Jinx Rooted in the Night

The key lies in the night. The most pivotal emotional regressions in Kim Dan’s life happen after dark. Whether it is the first night with Joo Jaekyung in Chapter 2 (chapter 2), the trembling kiss (chapter 44) and touch (chapter 44) in Chapter 44, the complete breakdown (chapter 66) in Chapter 66, or the transactional submission (chapter 67) in Chapter 67, nighttime becomes the stage for his unresolved trauma. These nights mirror one another and suggest an origin story that predates them all: a night when Kim Dan was abandoned by his mother.

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

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

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

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

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

Her infantilization of him is also telling. (chapter 53) (chapter 65) One might argue about this, for in this scene, (Chapter 56) he tucks her in. Their roles are reversed. He behaves like a parent, whereas in truth, he is reverting emotionally to a child terrified of being alone. This reversal highlights the internal dissonance between his outward behavior and emotional reality. Though he was forced to grow up quickly (chapter 65), he still carries the emotional wounds of a child. And from my point of view, the grandmother knows it, therefore she treats him as a child. And this observation led me to the following question: why does she still view him as a “boy”, though he has been working since his youth? It is because he can not sleep alone! What caught my attention is that she never stated, when the doctor started smoking or drinking. (chapter 65) Was it the moment, when she went to the hospital? The timing is crucial, as it can give clues about the main lead’s sleeping trouble. In episode 67, the protagonist finally exposed his cause: (chapter 67) This reinforces my hypothesis that his bad drinking habits are related to the absence of a loved one next to him.

In other words, he can not sleep alone and from my perspective, Shin Okja knows it, but is refusing to become responsible for this situation. (chapter 47) She witnessed this since he was a child, which explains why she never truly addressed his fear of being left behind. This would explain why the halmoni tried to send him away from the hospice in episode 56: (chapter 56) Imagine what it means for her: her grandson is already 29 years old and he can not sleep alone. Under this perspective, Jinx-philes can grasp the relative’s reasoning. The problem is that her knowledge is actually wrong! How so? It is because the protagonist was able to sleep so well alone in the penthouse, to the point that the athlete was envious of him. (chapter 29) That’s how it dawned on me why Shin Okja was so determined to send back her grandson to Seoul.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is why, even though he once confessed “I love you” to Joo Jaekyung in the States (Chapter 39), the moment is tainted. It occurred under the influence of an aphrodisiac, intertwining love with sex. Furthermore, he has never voiced this sentiment to his grandmother—perhaps because she never said it to him. It was never modeled. While others might judge Kim Dan’s emotional restraint, I desire to stay neutral. He is not an emotionally stunted adult by choice—he is a product of emotional neglect. That’s the reason why Mingwa has associated him with an angel. He is carrying the sins of “adults”. By likening him to an angel, Mingwa frames his pain not as weakness, but as unjust burden. He embodies purity, sacrifice, and resilience, not because he was allowed to thrive, but because he endured. The angel metaphor becomes even more striking when you think about traditional symbolism: angels don’t belong to Earth, yet they walk among the living, often suffering in silence and helping others. That’s exactly Kim Dan — out of place, bearing the consequences of others’ choices, carrying guilt, debt, and unspoken grief that were never his to begin with.

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

Interestingly, his emotional jinx is also spatial. When living in the penthouse, Kim Dan began to sleep peacefully (chapter 29) —not because of physical intimacy with Joo Jaekyung, but because he felt safe. For a time, the place became his illusion of home. But when the champion showed mistrust, the illusion shattered. (chapter 51) The penthouse was never truly his. It was borrowed space. This explicates his refusal to spend the night there. (Chapter 67) Observe how Joo Jaekyung called the penthouse: not home, but his place. Due to the last altercation, the emotional safety collapsed. This experience reactivated his fear of abandonment and solidified the belief that he has no home. (chapter 65) Even the family photo (where and by whom it was taken is unclear) emphasizes the fragility and incompleteness of his sense of belonging.

The Secret Jinx That Must Break First

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

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

Chapter 44 shows the beginnings of intimacy (chapter 44), yet even then, it is expressed through regression. Kim Dan’s kisses are gentle, reminiscent of a child seeking comfort, not a lover expressing desire. (chapter 66) Therefore it is not surprising that he laughes like a little child during that night. (Chapter 44) Chapter 66 represents its negative reflection, the emotional climax of this regression: (chapter 66) he cries, begs, (chapter 66) holds on—“Don’t leave me.” (chapter 66) His squeezing fingers holding onto the athlete’s shirt (chapter 66) and desperate pleas are not about romance—they’re about survival, longing and regret. Deep down, he wished, he had hold onto his “mother” in the past, stopped her from leaving him. Is it a coincidence that this gesture from that night mirrors the one during their first night? (chapter 2) And what had the protagonist said right after this gesture? (chapter 2) He wanted the champion to keep his promise. From my point of view, the parent’s vanishing is strongly intertwined with a broken promise… And that’s exactly what the grandmother did to her own grandson: she didn’t keep her words either. (chapter 11) (chapter 53)

Then comes Chapter 67. Though no longer crying, he submits once more (chapter 67), but this time, with eerie detachment. He kneels before Joo Jaekyung like a servant, (chapter 67) asking for sex again. Yet the power dynamic is not as it seems. Though Kim Dan is physically lower, it is Joo Jaekyung who ultimately submits: (chapter 67) his arousal betrays a loss of emotional control. Though he is on his knees, it is Joo Jaekyung who is emotionally yielding. His body betrays his composure, responding to Kim Dan’s touch and gaze. Kim Dan, watching the tremble in the fighter’s expression and the rising heat in his body, feels the shift. His soft blush is not simply one of affection or embarrassment—it’s a flicker of recognition. (chapter 67) He senses that the one usually in control is now unraveling. Appearances deceive: beneath this scene lies a quiet reversal of power. The blush on his cheeks is a trace of a brief moment of clarity: he sees that the person who once held all the control is now faltering.

Ultimately, this mirrors Chapter 2 once more. Back then, Kim Dan surrendered his body, believing it was his only tool for survival. But Chapter 66 reveals that even in moments of closeness (chapter 66), his body is still a vessel for mourning. Hence there is no kiss during that blue night. Each night carries the residue of that first trauma: the night he was left alone. Whether his mother disappeared or passed away in the night, the result is the same—nighttime became synonymous with loss.

This is why he fears being alone after dark. This is why he clings to those who stay past midnight. And when Joo Jaekyung, the one person who broke that pattern, walked away, even briefly, it fractured him. (chapter 63) His so-called jinx is not some irrational superstition. It’s a scar. It’s the quiet belief that the people he loves will vanish the moment he lets his guard down.

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

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

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

A Split Between Night and Day

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

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

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

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

Conclusion: It’s Happening Again

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

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

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

Jinx: Perfect 👼🏼 Defect 😈 🥺🥀❤️‍🩹

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

The Evolution of the Jinx: From Powerlessness to Repair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Manager’s Manipulations: Control Through Information

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Missing Gratitude: A Two-Sided Problem

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

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

Conclusion: The Perfect Defect

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

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

Jinx: A Body’s 👂🏻 Worth 💵 ❤️‍🩹

The Commodification of the Body

Throughout Jinx, the concept of value is inextricably linked to the body. (chapter 27) This aspect becomes particularly evident in Kim Dan’s perception of himself and his interactions with Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 62) In episode 62, Kim Dan reproached the champion for only being interested in his body, reflecting his own inability to see his body as something valuable. Hence he never wondered about the true cause for such a huge bruise. (chapter 61) While with his words, he implied that his fated partner was a man obsessed with sex, his complaint reveals his mindset. First, he is the one longing for human warmth (chapter 59), hence he felt terrible sleeping alone. Secondly, he does not attribute worth to his own physical being beyond its utility for others. This explains why he has consistently neglected himself—avoiding food, disregarding his own injuries, and refusing to seek medical help when necessary.

This cyclical pattern suggests that Kim Dan’s actions are not just self-sacrificial but deeply ingrained behaviors passed down from his upbringing. Mingwa’s decision to portray Kim Dan’s declining health is crucial. (chapter 60) It underscores the reality that without his body, he cannot work. In this way, his physical deterioration forces him to confront an undeniable truth: (chapter 59) his body is not just a tool for others, but the very foundation of his survival. I would even so far to say that his sick and stressed body would question his identity as PT and caregiver.

As my avid readers can sense, the doctor is going through a similar path than the celebrity’s. Both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung struggle with their own worth, but their journeys take vastly different paths. While the champion has learned to commodify his body, turning strength into currency and dominance into power, he has also been conditioned to disregard his own well-being. MFC viewed him as a commodity, using him as long as he remained valuable in the ring. Once his body is worn out (chapter 43), they will replace him with a new ‘doll.’ This exploitation shaped his relationship with his own body—one that prioritized its use over its care.

Unconsciously, Joo Jaekyung projected this treatment onto his partners (chapter 2), using sex as an extension of combat, mirroring the way MFC dehumanized him. His encounters were never about intimacy but about exerting control, reinforcing the notion that his body—and by extension, others’—only mattered as long as it served a purpose. Under this new light, Jinx-philes can grasp why the identity of the sex partner didn’t matter in the past too, for the champion avoids to fight against the same opponent in the ring.

Kim Dan, on the other hand, internalized a different form of self-neglect, seeing his body as an instrument of service rather than a source of personal value. As I analyzed Jinx, I noticed striking parallels between episodes 26 (chapter 26) and 62 (chapter 62) that highlighted a crucial shift in how each of them perceives their own worth—and, more importantly, each other’s. The mirroring of these two episodes suggests a deliberate narrative structure that showcases their evolving dynamic, with each character taking on a role the other once held. This realization led me to explore how their perspectives on strength, vulnerability, and agency transform over time.

Episode 26: The Submission and the Challenge

Episode 26 presents a crucial turning point in Kim Dan’s journey, one that lays the groundwork for the mirrored themes in episode 62. Several common denominators connect these two episodes: the imbalance of power, the nature of the challenge faced, the poor health condition of the doctor (chapter 26) (chapter 62), Kim Dan’s smile (genuine versus fake) and the characters’ shifting roles in confrontation and protection. The numerical structure of this episode—where Joo Jaekyung (2) represents dominance (chapter 26) and Kim Dan (6) embodies the nurturing, protective role—establishes a foundation for their evolving dynamics. (chapter 26)

But there’s a reason why I connected these two episodes together. Beyond the nature of their respective battles, another common denominator is Joo Jaekyung’s implicit care for Kim Dan, which is evident in both episodes despite his usual harsh demeanor. In episode 26, this care is symbolized by the red protective gear Joo Jaekyung gives Kim Dan before their sparring session. (chapter 26) This small yet significant act reveals that the champion does not see Kim Dan merely as a ‘sex doll’ but as someone worth protecting, even when challenging him. The protective gear is a contrast to Joo Jaekyung’s usual treatment of his one-night stands, reflecting an unconscious distinction between how he views Kim Dan versus his other partners. Finally, this sparring day exposes the doctor’s biased perception about the athlete in episode 62 once again. (chapter 62) Though he is portrayed as an arrogant man who had no respect for Kim Dan as doctor, he was only invited for sex services. (chapter 62) It was, as if he had no real talent. But let’s return our attention to the safety gears. The latter underline the high sense of responsibility of the champion, which readers could detect in episode 62. With the red accessories, Joo Jaekyung was showing his respect to the doctor as a man. In that scene, Kim Dan could choose his destiny. It is clear that “the hamster” has long forgotten this happy day (chapter 26) – he was smiling genuinely here- , and has reduced his time spent with Joo Jaekyung to sex:

One of the clearest parallels lies in the nature of the trial each character undergoes. In episode 26, Kim Dan was pushed to face his biggest fear (chapter 26) —a powerful, intimidating man who mirrors the threat of Heo Manwook (chapter 16) and his minions. At the beginning of the fight, the doctor was not fighting for himself but for someone else, reinforcing his deep-seated belief that his worth was tied to service and sacrifice. However, during the match of the century, there was a short change. Kim Dan was reminded of his own past and fears. Thus, I deduce that in episode 62, it is Joo Jaekyung who must face his own greatest challenge—not a physical opponent, but the emotional vulnerability that comes with loss and uncertainty. Though he helped others, his generosity remained unnoticed by Kim Dan. Hence the latter was still unwilling to return to Seoul. (chapter 62) On the surface, it looks like Joo Jaekyung lost. (chapter 62) More importantly, Kim Dan’s words (chapter 62 push Joo Jaekyung to confront his deepest fear—his own self-perception. Kim Dan has depicted him as a ruthless, inconsiderate man who views him purely as an object, reducing him to someone fixated on sex and control. This challenges Joo Jaekyung’s fragile self-worth, compelling him to question the unsettling possibility that this is how others and in particular Kim Dan see him. That’s why it was important for the champion to help the inhabitants during that day. The genuine admiration and constant requests from the community could only boost his ego. Thus he remained calm, when he heard the doctor’s blame. If Kim Dan’s accusations hold truth, then Joo Jaekyung has indeed been embodying the ‘spoiled brat’ Kim Dan claims he is (chapter 62) —exploiting people without genuine regard. This reckoning is not solely about emotional vulnerability but about identity itself. If Joo Jaekyung wants to validate his worth beyond his physical abilities, he must present his authentic self, proving his depth not just through his body, but through his emotional sincerity.

And what happened in the ring? The celebrity talked to Kim Dan, (chapter 26), was happy to demonstrate his talents and kept smiling all the time: (chapter 26) For the first time, fighting had become a source of joy for the athlete. He felt not only good, but confident about his skills, as a teacher and fighter. In both instances, this moment serves as a turning point, pushing each character to redefine their role and perception of self.

Though in episode 26, Kim Dan took on a maternal role toward Joo Jaekyung and Potato, prioritizing another’s well-being over his own, it is important to recall that the starting point for the challenge was “envy”. (chapter 25) Kim Dan was interested to know more about this sport for the protagonist’s sake, whereas Potato was jealous of Kim Dan’s closeness to the star. How did the celebrity react, when he heard the doctor’s desire to learn fighting moves? He was totally pleased, hence he lowered himself smiling (chapter 25) before returning to the ring: (chapter 25). Notice that he employed the word “happy” here. This shows that the athlete liked to be a teacher and mentor to a novice.

Later, Kim Dan knelt before Joo Jaekyung (chapter 26), reinforcing his belief that his worth lies in service, and he requests an opportunity for someone else. The physical challenge that followed, in which the champion invited him into the ring, was meant to teach Kim Dan to overcome fear, though the original idea was to learn jujitsu moves for the champion’s sake. As you can see, there was a switch in the intentions for the “lesson”. This moment also highlights Joo Jaekyung’s approach to the body—power, physicality, and dominance, which will later be subverted in episode 62 when emotional resilience becomes the true test of strength.

However, Joo Jaekyung forced Kim Dan to step into the ring, forcing him to confront this fear head-on. (chapter 26) Though the doctor was initially immobile and passive, the experience became a significant lesson: fear was something that could be faced and overcome. From that moment on, he became more proactive (chapter 26), though he lacked speed, strength and endurance. (chapter 26) This is a moment of physical initiation for Kim Dan, teaching him resilience. Nonetheless, he was still fighting for someone else, still locked in his pattern of self-neglect.

To conclude, though Kim Dan was taught an important lesson, he didn’t drop his belief that his body existed for others. His actions were still revolving around providing care, whether for his grandmother or, in this case, for Joo Jaekyung or Potato.

Episode 62: The Reversal of Roles

Episode 62 inverts the roles established in episode 26. Here, Kim Dan (2) and Joo Jaekyung (6) switch positions, with the champion now assuming a protective and caring role (chapter 62), although he has yet to fully recognize the reason behind his behavior. He is now imitating the doctor, as if his body is there to provide assistance and care for others. The people of the small town rely on Joo Jaekyung, placing him in an unfamiliar caretaker position. (chapter 62) This shift highlights a deeper irony: while Joo Jaekyung has always prided himself on his physical strength, he is now being tested in a way that cannot be resolved with fists.

Unlike episode 26, where Kim Dan was forced to confront his greatest fear, Joo Jaekyung must now face his own test: emotional resilience and identity. Just as Kim Dan had to fight an opponent he thought he could never defeat, Joo Jaekyung is confronted with a battle he cannot physically win—the fear of loss, rejection, and self-worth. His low self-esteem is linked to the ghost from the past, something he has not revealed to anyone yet. (chapter 54)

(chapter 62) Joo Jaekyung is caught by surprise with such a comment, because he always saw himself as a victim of “exploitation”. People approaching him were only interested in his money or status. More than just vulnerability, this moment exposes a deeper layer of his insecurities. Until now, his body has been admired for its strength (chapter 34), wealth (chapter 42) and title (chapter 55), not for its attractiveness or desirability. His reputation in bed has been poor; (chapter 33), he was never seen as a man with sex appeal or sensuality, but merely as a fighter who could endure. Sex was another form of exertion, a display of control and dominance rather than a pursuit of pleasure.

Now, Kim Dan’s words and request introduce a shift in perspective. (chapter 62) By implying that Joo Jaekyung can ‘use’ him as a sex doll, Kim Dan indirectly introduces the idea of sensuality—foreplay, caresses, enjoyment rather than performance. Sex is no longer work, but fun and entertainment. It is not for the doctor’s sake (chapter 13), but for his own pleasure. The defy incites the fighter to make a conscious choice contrary to the day, when both main leads took the day off: (chapter 27) (chapter 29) On the other hand, this suggestion challenges Joo Jaekyung’s previous experiences, forcing him to realize that he has never had to woo or seduce anyone before. This was the only time, where Jinx-philes could see him using his sex-appeal- (chapter 34) He got confident, because he had played a trick on his room mate. His physicality has always been his defining trait, but for the first time, he is being confronted with the question: does he have more to offer beyond brute strength and money? If he wants to prove his worth, he must do more than rely on his body—he must reveal his true self.

On the other side, Kim Dan’s actions reinforce this dynamic shift. No longer seeking validation through self-sacrifice, he is finally fighting for himself. He does not kneel (chapter 26); he stands. (chapter 62) He does not plead; he challenges. This reversal is significant because it places Joo Jaekyung in the uncomfortable position of emotional uncertainty. In episode 26, the champion was confident in his control over the situation. In episode 62, he is on the verge of losing control—not over a fight, but over a person. Hence he can no longer control his erection. (chapter 62)

The problem is that his “doctor” and partner has a rather negative opinion about him. This means that the star needs to change his mind and heart. In addition, money is now used against him: (chapter 62). Even if they have sex, he can not expect feelings or attachment from Kim Dan – though it is clear that the doctor is deceiving himself. Through this suggestion, the physical therapist is not realizing that he is learning how to love properly: unconditional love. Having feelings without any expectation. He won’t give anything to Joo Jaekyung, he will be passive and actually receive affection. But naturally, here it just represents the first step to unconditional affection. To conclude, through the challenge, Joo Jaekyung is incited to question the nature of his feelings for Kim Dan. (chapter 61) Why does he want him to return to Seoul? Is he really looking for a physical therapist or something else? It is clear that he is longing for companionship.

This shift reinforces the idea that true strength is not just physical but emotional. In episode 26, Kim Dan learned how to face his fears. Now, in episode 62, it is Joo Jaekyung’s turn to confront his own weaknesses. The outcome of this “fight” remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: for the first time in his life, Joo Jaekyung is facing an opponent he cannot simply overpower—his own emotions and past believes.

But there exists a huge difference between 26 and 62: the location. Whereas the physical therapist entered the ring for the first time (chapter 26), which represents the MMA fighter’s world, the wolf is now the one penetrating Kim Dan’s world: the treatment table! (chapter 62) (chapter 62) The latter was brought to the hostel. I know, here I am more speculating about the next episode. However, keep in mind that the hamster brought up the past to his destined partner. (chapter 62) He mentioned their first night together forgetting their first true interaction at the gym. (chapter 1) The blue treatment table is the witness and proof that the champion never saw Kim Dan as a sex doll. So far, they never had sex on it, a sign that he respected not only Kim Dan as PT, but also the profession as such (chapter 27) Here, the champion suggested to have sex at home, and not on the table. On the other hand, Jinx-philes will certainly recall this scene where the doctor begged on his knees for money: (chapter 11) That’s how I discovered a strong connection between this item and sexuality. First, the one fantasying about the champion’s body on the treatment table had been Kim Dan (chapter 1). (chapter 1) The massage must have felt like caresses to Joo Jaekyung. So when the main lead made this mistake (chapter 1), it is very clear that Joo Jaekyung could have interpreted it as a sign for seduction later. Moreover, don’t forget the mysterious incident concerning the previous physical therapist: (chapter 1) It is no coincidence that Park Namwook’s words have a sexual connotation reviving my theory that a doctor might have made sexual advances there. Here, I feel the need to add another observation which came to my mind, the moment I focused on the blue treatment table. (chapter 37) In the States, the athlete received his treatment on the floor, a sign of a disrespect for that profession from the manager and even MFC. They somehow knew that the fighter had brought his “sex partner” for his jinx, but they had no idea about his identity. By paying attention to the blue treatment table, I realized that this item stands for power, secret, courage and vulnerability.

It is important for the two characters to clear up the misunderstandings from the past, especially if you recall the champion’s reaction, when he heard the doctor’s reproach: (chapter 62) According to my interpretation, Joo Jaekyung had interpreted the mistake for some advances and keep in mind that the fighter felt also attracted to the physical therapist. (chapter 56) In other words, he projected his own desires onto the “hamster”. But since he was still with the green-haired guy, he needed to mask his true intention: (chapter 1) -thus he asked for a treatment. He was about to drop the man.

So if they don’t move to a different location or remove the treatment table, the latter will serve as a place for a new experiment. Joo Jaekyung could become a “PT” and Kim Dan is the “patient” who receives a full body massage. (chapter 1) However, contrary to their first encounter, the champion would be talking to his neighbor. While the doctor is thinking, he will relive his first night in the penthouse, the other might reproduce his first treatment, though it should be certainly combined with the intercourse on the couch: . (chapter 29)

Finally, since the doctor brought up sex in front of the treatment table (chapter 62), it actually reveals the doctor’s lack of respect for his own profession and low self-esteem. I believe that he has the impression that he never improved the champion’s form and skills. He came to this perception because the athlete has expressed the following wish: once he wins back his title, they go separate ways. (chapter 62) But he made such an offer, because he thought, he was respecting the doctor’s wish. This shows that the athlete needs to converse properly with the doctor and not just make assumptions (MO from his manager). Moreover, the star has never expressed his gratitude and admiration towards Kim Dan concerning his talents and efforts openly. The problem is that he can not compliment him yet, because Joo Jaekyung is trying to “forget” the past and as such he is repressing the fight with Baek Junmin. I feel like the champion is on his way to discover the medical world and chapter 62 represents a prelude.

The Importance of Balance

Just before his suicide attempt, the doctor was plagued with regrets and remorse. He felt guilty because of his grandmother’s illness. (chapter 57) He should have sent her to the hospital and ensure that she received treatment. Notably, after the sea incident, Joo Jaekyung took Kim Dan to the hospital, but the latter rejected the champion’s advice and help. (chapter 60) Later, when Joo Jaekyung expressed concern over his bruise, Kim Dan once again pushed him away. (chapter 61) Should Kim Dan eventually fall ill, he cannot place blame on his fated partner—he is ultimately responsible for his own well-being. On the other hand, through his own circumstances, Kim Dan may come to understand that he was never responsible for Shin Okja’s health issues as well. As an adult, she should have taken responsibility for her own medical care, rather than relying entirely on him.

However, Kim Dan would not be truly responsible for his illness, because the physical therapist doesn’t know about Cheolmin’s intervention and recommendation. (chapter 13) So it dawned on me that if the doctor gets sick, Joo Jaekyung will be fueled with regrets and guilt, as he didn’t listen to Cheolmin’s advice. So this could lead him to apologize to Kim Dan. On the other hand, his illness could serve as a reminder to the fighter that he needs to treat his physical therapist and friend better. He only sent for the doctor because of “sex”. To conclude, both would be responsible for this terrible situation, a balance of responsibility.

I have to admit that thanks a student, I had a huge revelation. I discovered that human body has 6 senses in reality: hearing, sight, touch, taste, smell and finally sense of balance. That’s how I realized that a crucial theme in Jinx is the sense of balance, both physically and metaphorically. Kim Dan’s dizziness (chapter 57) is not just a symptom of overwork and lack of sleep—it symbolizes the deep imbalance in his life. His world consists only of work (chapter 62), without fun, rest, or emotional fulfillment. He has no hobby, no personal joy, and no real human connections. He is suffering from depression. Interestingly, the sense of balance is directly tied to the ear, which aligns with his emotional “deafness”—his lack of true contact with others. (chapter 61) His mind and heart are no longer listening; he is trapped in his own darkness. His dizziness and fainting spells mirror this imbalance, making his physical weakness a reflection of his emotional detachment.

Similarly, Joo Jaekyung experiences his own imbalance, reflected through his headaches (chapter 54) and drinking habits. (chapter 54) His entire life has been dedicated to work and physical prowess, leaving no space for genuine happiness or emotional well-being. His drinking is not just an escape—it is a manifestation of his need to silence his thoughts and emotions. In episode 44, when Kim Dan expressed admiration for his body, he patted his head (chapter 44), he caressed his cheeks (chapter 44) and kissed his ear (chapter 44) —a moment that could be seen as an attempt to restore balance, to bring warmth to the parts of Joo Jaekyung that had been ignored emotionally. However, during that night, Joo Jaekyung was drunk, further disconnecting himself from reality.

After Kim Dan’s departure, Joo Jaekyung instinctively turned to drinking. (chapter 54) His headaches intensified, and he isolated himself, mirroring Kim Dan’s earlier state of detachment. His drinking hadn’t just become a habit—it was mourning, a sign of his internal loss. It was, as if deep down he wanted to forget this intoxicating feeling of happiness from that night in the penthouse. The departure of Kim Dan caused both of them to lose their already fragile balance, reinforcing the idea that their dynamic, as unhealthy as it had been, was stabilizing them in ways they never acknowledged.

Joo Jaekyung’s needs and desires

While the doctor said such words (chapter 62) to his fated partner, the celebrity was turning his back to the doctor. He was not looking at his physical therapist. However, if you recall his request to the manager, he expressed the desire to see Kim Dan’s face. (chapter 56) It was, as if the champion no longer needed to see his former room mate. Note that he even waited for the evening before approaching doc Dan again. (chapter 62) How do we explain this evolution?

Though in episode 56, he claimed to Park Namwook that just seeing Kim Dan’s face would be enough, the moment he saw the doctor’s visage in the photo (chapter 60), he immediately went to the town. This contradiction reveals that mere visual presence was never sufficient—what he truly longed for was something deeper. And as soon as he saw him, he felt much better, (chapter 61) hence he could remove his splint. That’s how powerful drug Kim Dan is. 😉

Secondly, his experience at the hospice solidified his need for companionship. (chapter 61) While undergoing treatment, he saw Kim Dan every day, yet he remained unsatisfied due to the silent treatment. It was not enough to simply observe him; what Joo Jaekyung truly craved was conversation, interaction, and recognition. This explains his decision to move into the town, settling near Kim Dan as his neighbor. (chapter 61) It also sheds light on why, during their latest encounter, he chose to turn his back on Kim Dan—he no longer needed to ‘see his face,’ he wanted acknowledgment and his return to the penthouse. He has not grasped it yet, but he already views the protagonist as his family and home.

The problem is that the champion has never had a companion before. Besides, Park Namwook in that aspect is no role model. (chapter 46) He is full of prejudices and not willing to listen to his boss. Therefore Joo Jaekyung doesn’t know that in order to become close, conversations must never be one-sided and have to be free from prejudices and assumptions. Joo Jaekyung needs to listen and show an interest in his partner. And now, observe the communication between the two main leads in the room. (chapter 62) He only talks about himself and his future. This stands in opposition to the doctor’s exchange in front of the hospice: (chapter 62) He asked a question, while the other did not! He just made assumptions from his part, hence he suggested “separate ways”. It was naturally his way of being considerate. That’s why I have the feeling that two words could move Kim Dan’s heart: “HOME” and “HYUNG”. If he calls him that way, the doctor is now recognized as a family member, even as a senior. Hence he needs to be treated with respect.

Inside the room, Joo Jaekyung is compelled to admit a truth (chapter 62) he had previously ignored—he is undeniably attracted to Kim Dan’s body, particularly his nipples, which have repeatedly (chapter 27) triggered strong reactions in him. (chapter 62) This moment directly ties back to Kim Dan’s earlier reproach: ‘You only want me for my body.’ However, the irony is that this confession forces Joo Jaekyung to recognize that his attachment is not just physical. His actions—moving closer, watching over Kim Dan, seeking his presence—reveal a much deeper longing. In acknowledging his attraction, he also faces the realization that his desires are no longer as simple as they once were. He is no longer in control of his body, he has now become dependent on Kim Dan physically and emotionally. And now, you comprehend why I connected this episode to chapter 29 too: (chapter 29) That’s the moment he expressed his interest in the doctor’s nipples for the first time. This even became a habit: (chapter 44). And what did the doctor whisper during that magical night? (chapter 44) He wanted him to treasure his body!! In my eyes, Kim Dan’s suggestion in episode 62 is hiding another intention, though it is definitely unconscious: (chapter 44) He wants to relive that night (chapter 44), though in his mind, he desires to have a bad experience so that he can erase him from his mind. Finally, what do the nipples symbolize? Motherhood and nurturing. (chapter 57)

Emotional Growth and the Concept of Losing

The ultimate irony is that while Joo Jaekyung has spent his life proving his worth through his body, Kim Dan is the one who now forces him to confront what lies beyond it. Episode 26 showed that losing a bet was no great tragedy; it is about timing and seizing the opportunity. (chapter 26) Moreover, it was thanks to a trick that Kim Dan won: (chapter 26)

Thus I deduce that it is now the champion’s turn to bite the bullet. If he wants to understand his sex partner, he needs to talk to him and ask questions. And this brings me back to episode 26. Back then, the fighter’s comments were full of bias. (chapter 26) He felt superior and strong, whereas his rival was weak. Moreover, he imagined that Kim Dan would ask for money for the bet. (chapter 26) That’s why I believe that in the next episode, the roles should be switched. Kim Dan always saw himself morally superior and caring to the star, but in truth, his care was rather superficial, for he also showed no interest in the champion’s past and family. Thus I come to the following deduction that episode 62 suggests that arguing is not about losing or winning, but about listening. The champion has unknowingly become a caretaker, not only to the people of the town but, potentially, to Kim Dan himself. The question remains whether he will recognize that Kim Dan’s provocation is not just another fight lost (cutting off ties) —it is a seductive challenge to redefine his understanding of worth and their relationship. What are they to each other? A client and a prostitute? A fighter and a doctor? Or simply two men who are longing for the same: belonging and love. Nevertheless, due to their past, they are unable to detect the true source of their misery: their lack of reflection, own bias and anxieties.

The Path Toward Mutual Understanding

Kim Dan’s trembling fist (chapter 62), his voice speaking up for himself, his refusal to negotiate his body’s worth (chapter 62) —these are not just acts of defiance but of transformation. He is becoming proactive sexually (initiative, seduction). By stepping away from Joo Jaekyung, he forces the champion to consider whether strength and money alone are enough to hold onto what truly matters. And in this, Jinx presents its most profound challenge yet: can a man who has spent his entire life fighting with his body learn to fight for something greater?

PS: I am expecting in episode 63 reflections from episode 29, 36, 39 among others.

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

Jinx: Bruised 🩸 by Choices, Bound By Sacrifice 😭

Exploring Kim Dan’s Psyche

In the complex narrative of Jinx, Kim Dan’s psyche is an intricate web woven from his upbringing, life experiences, and conditioned beliefs. Episode 61 serves as a focal point for understanding his internal struggles, particularly through the symbolic appearance of a bruise on his arm. (Chapter 61) However, this moment is not isolated—it reflects patterns in his personality that have appeared throughout the series. (Chapter 11) (chapter 18) This essay delves into the significance of Kim Dan’s physical and emotional bruises, examining how they symbolize his suffering, internal conflict and transformation. I will examine Kim Dan’s conflicted emotions surrounding gratitude and debt, contrasting his interactions with Joo Jaekyung and his grandmother, Shin Okja. Additionally, I will explore how Kim Dan’s conditioned identity as a caregiver drives his choices, even in his current living situation with the landlord, where he unconsciously replicates past dynamics. Ultimately, I will elaborate how Kim Dan’s newfound awareness could reshape his identity and relationships moving forward.

By comparing Episode 61 to earlier scenes, we can uncover recurring themes of sacrifice and rejection of help, shedding light on how Kim Dan’s mindset continues to perpetuate his suffering. This essay aims to unravel his internal contradictions, demonstrating how his struggles with gratitude, self-perception, and consent are deeply rooted in his past and manifest in his present relationships.

Bruised Flesh, Silent Cries

The bruise on Kim Dan’s arm in episode 61 (chapter 61) serves as a profound symbol of his neglect, overexertion, and silent suffering. More than just a physical injury, it reflects his exhaustion, malnutrition, and inability to recognize his own limits. Despite being a visible mark of his struggles, it goes unnoticed, until the champion, Joo Jaekyung, becomes the first to see it. (Chapter 61) His unexpected reaction catches Kim Dan off guard, further emphasizing how disconnected the doctor has become from his own well-being. However, contrary to the past (chapter 11), Kim Dan is truly responsible for the contusion. He caused the injury by removing the needle from the drip. (chapter 60) By taking this action, he absolved Joo Jaekyung of any responsibility for the injury, but this is merely a superficial conclusion. (Chapter 61) On the hand the circumstances surrounding the bruise, where Kim Dan removed the needle on his own, provide insight into his psyche. The deeper cause of the bruise lies in Kim Dan’s declining health, which is intrinsically connected to his malnutrition and the neglect he faces from those around him. It is important to recall that Joo Jaekyung was explicitly informed that Kim Dan needed rest (chapter 60). Yet, with his insistence, (chapter 61), he forced the physical therapist to keep working, adding even more strain than before. Though the physical therapist attempted to voice his disapproval, (chapter 61), he ultimately had no choice but to comply, as his order came from the hospice director. (Chapter 61) And why did the director override Kim Dan’s need for rest? Money and free PR. Joo Jaekyung’s influence secured the director’s approval, disregarding the doctor’s well-being in favor of business interests. This conversation at the director’s office makes one thing clear: words hold no power against profit. An d that realization led me to another connection—every one of Kim Dan’s bruises is linked to exploitation, whether by authority, obligation, or financial influence.

Chapter 11Chapter 18Chapter 43

To summarize, all his bruises were linked to money. In episode 11 and 18, it was related to the debts and the loan shark Heo Manwook. Then in episode 43 it was because of the expensive present Kim Dan wanted to offer to his boss and idol. However, notice that just before making the decision to offer a birthday gift, Kim Dan had been encouraged by his grandmother to show his generosity and gratitude towards the athlete. (Chapter 41) It is clear that she was inciting him to work harder than before. This displays that Kim Dan was not allowed to rest. During this encounter, she didn’t ask him about his well-being either. And what is the link between these 3 episodes? The grandmother and her poverty. The latter was responsible for the loan.

And because of money, Kim Dan never went on his own to the hospital in order to get treated. That’s how it dawned on me how the halmoni’s neglect could be exposed. No hospital or doctor has a file about Kim Dan as patient. When Shin Okja was transferred to the hospice, the hospice director and doctor received her patient file, hence he could make the following prognostics: she didn’t have much time to live. (chapter 56) Kim Dan has only visited the hospital once, and this was solely due to Joo Jaekyung’s intervention. The latter needed medical attention himself (chapter 18) and took Kim Dan along, ensuring he was seen as an emergency patient. However, this visit was brief and lacked any comprehensive medical examination—no blood samples were taken, and his underlying health concerns remained undiagnosed. This omission further underscores the neglect Kim Dan has suffered, as even in a medical setting, his long-term health issues were overlooked.

In other words, the moment the main lead’s health condition worsens and he is brought to the hospice, it is likely that the medical staff will seek details regarding his medical history. Given that he has never received proper care, they may turn to his grandmother, Shin Okja, for information about his past treatments and health status. And what did the old woman confess to the gentle and kind celebrity? (chapter 21) He had never been healthy and strong. Moreover, when he joined them, at no moment the senior asked if he had gone to the doctor, though he had been sick before. (chapter 21) But back then, the champion didn’t pay too much attention to it. In my opinion, her response will likely reflect her established pattern of emotional detachment and deflection of responsibility. Rather than admitting her lack of concern for his well-being, she may shift blame onto the staff or Kim Dan himself (chapter 57). In the last case, she will downplay the severity of his condition, insisting that he has always been stubborn and independent. She could even mention her conversation, when she tried to convince Kim Dan to return to Seoul, but the latter refused to listen to her.

Shin Okja might express surprise or even mild indignation at the idea that Kim Dan has been suffering in silence. She could feign ignorance, claiming that he never shared his struggles with her or that she assumed he was capable of handling his own affairs. Her response may also reveal an attempt to protect her own image, deflecting any potential criticism of her negligence. At the same time, she might subtly imply that Kim Dan’s health issues are the result of his own choices—his insistence on working tirelessly, his rejection of her past attempts to offer him food (chapter 5), or his general reluctance to ask for help. He rejected the athlete’s help and concern. (chapter 60) In addition, Jinx-philes should recall how the nurse 1 reacted to doc Dan’s dizziness and workaholism (chapter 57). She blamed the main lead, because she imagined that Shin Okja would worry about him. However, it becomes clear that the halmoni is not worried about her grandson at all. She is acting like a fan in front of the athlete. (chapter 61) One might argue that based on this scene, the grandmother didn’t see him with the bruise on his arm. (chapter 61) He only remained at the door. However, observe that there was a cut between this image (chapter 61) and the conversation between the main couple in front of the hospice. (chapter 61) So he could have made his presence known to his relative before asking Joo Jaekyung to follow him because of his treatment. To conclude, I believe that she had the time and occasion to see her grandchild and his bruise.

This confrontation with the hospice staff may serve as a pivotal moment, not only in exposing the extent of Kim Dan’s suffering but also in highlighting the grandmother’s true nature. If the medical professionals press further, requesting past medical records or details of where he had been treated, it will become evident that there is little to no documented history. She had never been worried about his health, since he was young. This realization could solidify the perception of Kim Dan as someone who has been neglected for years, forcing those around him—especially Joo Jaekyung—to reevaluate their understanding of his struggles.

And now, you know why Cheolmin is so important. (chapter 13) He is the only doctor who has ever examined the protagonist so closely and even paid attention to his fingernails! (chapter 13) At the same time, the chingu from the club was the first one pointing out that his wounds were never treated!! Furthermore, I realized that the doctor’s lies from episode 11 (chapter 11) could appear in a different light: he was not beaten by Heo Manwook, but he truly tripped on the stairs due to his weak constitution, a new version of this scene: (chapter 59) He would space out and even fall asleep at any moment.

Secondly, by contrasting these bruises, I noticed a pattern. First, it was the doctor’s left eye, then the right eye. The bruises on the eyes symbolized the doctor’s blindness. The latter had been avoiding reality. At the same time, the purple eyes exposed people’s sightlessness and indifference. Later the physical therapist injures his hands and knee, but no one intervened again. (chapter 43) They imagined that rest was the best solution, something the champion had heard from Cheolmin before. That’s why he listened to his manager’s suggestion. He let him sleep instead of urging him to eat something. He had heard that rest was crucial forgetting that Kim Dan was suffering from malnutrition. (chapter 13) The latter was the cause for the severe exhaustion. However, like mentioned above, the doctor is not blameless either, because he never questioned why his wounds on the hand were bleeding again. (chapter 43) He thought, it was related to the massage, yet the reality was that this incident showed that he had coagulation issues. To conclude, all the bruises could have always been noticed by people due to their locations (eyes, hands, arm)! (chapter 11) While the manager and Kwak Junbeom saw the injury and accepted the “excuse”, the nurses are now no longer paying attention to Kim Dan’s well-being contrary to the past. The bruise on the doctor’s arm reflects the staff’s neglect: they are not helping him. They are now more obsessed with handsome guys (chapter 61) and his relationship with Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 61) That’s how I recognized why these women’s warm welcome and curiosity about Kim Dan were rather superficial. (chapter 56) His arrival stands for novelty and a breath of fresh air at the institution. However, with this change, the female staff is forgetting their original duty: they need to pay attention to their colleagues. They are behaving like the grandmother (chapter 61): fangirling over the handsome guys visiting their little town. That’s why Mingwa drew flowers in the last two images. No wonder why no one around Kim Dan is observing the bruise and his deteriorating condition. Moreover, since the physical therapist has a relative at the hospice, the staff is envisioning that Shin Okja is doing “her work”, she is paying attention to Kim Dan’s mental and physical conditions. On the other hand, there is no doubt that the grandmother has already delegated her own responsibility onto others, Kim Dan and the hospice. It is a medical institution, therefore they should pay attention to his working conditions. In other words, since no one feels responsible for the protagonist’s health, no one is worried about Kim Dan at all. At the end of episode 61, he is even so pale and breathless (chapter 61) that I am anticipating a terrible incident leading to a rude awakening for everyone.

Furthermore, the bruise (chapter 61) also reflects Kim Dan’s personality—marked by his selflessness, deep-seated low self-esteem and sacrificing tendencies. His inability to prioritize his own well-being is a recurring theme throughout the story, and it is intrinsically linked to his perception of self-worth. Conditioned by his upbringing, he has internalized the belief that his existence is burdensome, reinforcing his tendency to endure pain in silence. The fact that he was never taken to a doctor only strengthened his negative self-perception—medical care was seen as an expense he was unworthy of, a burden his grandmother should not have to bear.

The doctor’s bruise and Shin Okja’s education

In reality, Shin Okja’s supposed sacrifices were not genuine acts of selflessness but a carefully maintained illusion. While Kim Dan grew up believing she had given up so much for him, the truth was that she consistently prioritized herself, shaping his perception of responsibility and guilt. By neglecting his health, she subtly ingrained in him the notion that he was undeserving of care, further reinforcing his compulsion to sacrifice himself for others. This duality—the physical fragility of his health and the emotional scars of a neglected childhood—underscores the profound symbolic weight of the bruise, marking not just his external injuries but also the wounds inflicted upon his psyche.

Furthermore, in Chapter 61, (chapter 61) Shin Okja offers her yogurt to Joo Jaekyung, expressing concern over his weight loss. This small act of care stands in stark contrast to her treatment of Kim Dan, who has visibly suffered from weight loss and paleness too. In season 2, she no longer asked him if he would eat or if he desired to eat the yogurts.

Her neglect does not merely stem from past interactions, such as when Kim Dan dismissed her offerings, claiming he was no longer a child. It is rooted in a deeper belief that her responsibilities toward him have ended. (chapter 47) For Shin Okja, raising him to adulthood marked the completion of her duty, and his current struggles are no longer her concern. This perspective becomes evident in her words from Chapter 57, where she tells him, he can’t stay here forever, and it’s not like he’ll stick around after she dies. (chapter 57) By declaring that Kim Dan is now responsible for his own life, she emotionally detaches herself, absolving herself of any accountability for his deteriorating condition. However, she is forgetting (chapter 56) that she is still relying on him, as he is the one paying her hospice bills. Besides, she still doesn’t know that the loan is no longer existent. It was, as if he had to clean up her mess before her death. At no moment, she asks about the loan or the doctor’s future. She is not thinking about his future at all.

Moreover, Shin Okja’s earlier acknowledgment of Kim Dan’s worsening health condition (chapter 57) —coupled with his refusal to heed her concerns (chapter 57) — reinforces her conviction that she has fulfilled her role. In her mind, his rejection of her advice places the burden of care entirely on him, allowing her to dismiss any further involvement. This emotional withdrawal directly connects to the symbolism of the bruise: (chapter 61) it signifies not only Kim Dan’s physical neglect but also the absence of meaningful support from those who should care for him. The bruise becomes a manifestation of his grandmother’s abdication of responsibility, leaving him to bear the weight of his sacrifices alone, even as his health visibly deteriorates.

The bruise also holds significance in the context of the debts. (chapter 18) In episode 18, when Joo Jaekyung confronts Kim Dan about the loan, the doctor has a bruise on his left eye, symbolizing his entrapment and helplessness. This earlier injury highlights how Kim Dan has been conditioned to view himself as responsible for burdens that are not his own, perpetuating a cycle of sacrifice and self-neglect. And a new bruise appeared just after the athlete reminded the physical therapist of his past promise: (chapter 61) His grandmother’s disregard for his well-being amplifies the injustice of this situation; she allowed him to shoulder the debt despite knowing it was never truly his to bear. The bruise becomes a recurring motif, a visual representation of how others have imposed their responsibilities on Kim Dan, leaving him physically and emotionally scarred.

Shin Okja’s role in Kim Dan’s life is pivotal in understanding his psyche. Her methods of control were often passive-aggressive, characterized by guilt-tripping and emotional manipulation. In flashbacks, we see her imposing adult responsibilities on Kim Dan at a young age, reinforcing the idea that he must grow up quickly to alleviate her burdens. This dynamic is exemplified in Chapter 47, where she remarks, “You still have a lot of growing up to do, don’t you?” (chapter 47) In Chapter 57, Shin Okja’s detachment becomes more evident as she advises Kim Dan to leave the hospice. (chapter 57) These words strip Kim Dan of any sense of belonging or familial connection, further isolating him. Her suggestion that he move on reflects her mental and emotional withdrawal from him, leaving him adrift. This detachment, however, creates an opportunity for Joo Jaekyung to step into her place. As Shin Okja relinquishes her hold over Kim Dan, Joo Jaekyung’s role in his life becomes increasingly significant. The question remains whether Joo Jaekyung will rise to the occasion, offering Kim Dan the emotional support and respect he has long been denied.

The Symbolism of the Setting

The hospice, Light of Hope, serves as a symbolic backdrop for Kim Dan’s journey. It represents both a place of healing and a stark reminder of his sacrifices (chapter 60). The juxtaposition of the vibrant environment with Kim Dan’s deteriorating health underscores the neglect he faces. The hospice is meant to be a sanctuary, yet it becomes a space where Kim Dan is further burdened by the champion and his grandmother’s expectations (chapter 61) and the weight of his past.

The setting also reflects the champion’s role in Kim Dan’s life. Joo Jaekyung’s presence at the hospice symbolizes a potential turning point (chapter 61), where Kim Dan might finally confront his suppressed emotions and begin to heal. However, the pivotal detail lies in where Joo Jaekyung first notices the bruise on Kim Dan’s arm—not within the hospice but outside, in front of the building. This distinction is significant, as it suggests that Kim Dan’s true healing will not occur within the confines of the hospice itself, but in the broader expanse of nature, away from the constructed sanctuary. It hints at a deeper connection to the natural world as a source of renewal and recovery, a theme subtly woven into Kim Dan’s earlier reflections.

The imagery ties back to Kim Dan’s own words about Joo Jaekyung: (chapter 55) This line “I finally feel like I can breathe again”, written by Kim Dan, reveals a subconscious acknowledgment that his relationship with the champion represents a breath of fresh air, a chance to escape the suffocating expectations and burdens he has carried for so long. The bruise, a physical manifestation of his struggle, signals the breaking point of his role as a selfless caregiver. It challenges the illusion of invulnerability that Kim Dan has maintained and forces those around him to confront his vulnerability.

Furthermore, this notion of healing outside the hospice aligns with the setting of Kim Dan’s unconscious cry for help—the beach. His suicidal disposition in that scene reflects a desperate need for release, a yearning for an escape that the structured environment of the hospice cannot provide. (chapter 60) The beach, with its open and untamed expanse, symbolizes freedom and a return to the self. It foreshadows that Kim Dan’s true journey toward healing will require him to step outside the roles and confines imposed upon him, finding solace not in what is expected but in what feels authentic and liberating.

The Burden of Debts and Sacrifice

Kim Dan’s relationship with the debts encapsulates his conditioned belief that he must bear burdens alone. (chapter 18) His grandmother, Shin Okja, played a significant role in this mindset by fostering the illusion that hard work and sacrifice would erase the debts. However, as revealed in episode 18, this was a lie. Shin Okja made the choice to take on the loan and not to seek help (chapter 5), yet she burdened Kim Dan with it, using his sense of duty and gratitude against him. Her statement in episode 57 (chapter 57) —“This place isn’t your hometown, and you don’t have any ties here”—further reinforces the emotional distance she has always maintained, treating him more as an obligation than family. However, she is forgetting that as a senior, she still has obligations towards her grandson.

Joo Jaekyung’s decision to pay off the loan (chapter 18) in Episode 18 introduces the theme of gratitude (chapter 18) —or, more accurately, the lack thereof. The champion’s actions were motivated by a desire to help (chapter 18), hence the star was waiting for a smile from Kim Dan. Yet the latter perceived it as meddling. His immediate response (chapter 18) —shock, disbelief, and rejection—revealed his inability to accept help. This reaction stems from his upbringing, where he was conditioned to equate self-worth with self-reliance. Even after moving into Joo Jaekyung’s penthouse, Kim Dan insisted on repaying the loan (chapter 53), leaving a note when he moved out that promises to settle the debt. However, by Episode 61, Kim Dan is no longer mentioning the debt, signaling a shift in his priorities and a possible breaking point in his adherence to his grandmother’s expectations. (chapter 61)

Kim Dan’s lack of gratitude toward Joo Jaekyung also stems from a deeper existential crisis. When the champion repaid the loan, he unknowingly deprived Kim Dan of what had become his sole purpose in life: assisting his grandmother. (chapter 47) The physical therapist’s entire existence had revolved around fulfilling her needs, from managing the debt to taking care of her health. With her now approaching death and actively pushing him away, Kim Dan is left grappling with a profound sense of meaninglessness. (chapter 60) He had never been given the opportunity to develop dreams or ambitions of his own, as his life was entirely defined by his grandmother’s circumstances. This lack of agency further explains his rejection of Joo Jaekyung’s generosity in Episode 18 and his later promise to reimburse the loan. Clinging to this promise was Kim Dan’s way of creating purpose and meaning in a life that had otherwise been dictated by others. It highlights how deeply entrenched his self-sacrificing tendencies are, as even his attempts to assert independence are rooted in his conditioned need to serve others. That’s why I come to the following prediction. Kim Dan needs to get confronted with illness and death (he could lose his life) so that his will for life comes to the surface. Right now, he imagines that since he is young, he will outlive his relative, but the death of the puppy was a warning to him that youth is no guarantee for a long life. (chapter 59) Death can take away anyone and at any moment. In my eyes, if Joo Jaekyung uses his own body to save the doctor again (like for example blood transfusion and CPR), this time Kim Dan would feel truly grateful towards the champion. So far, the doctor has not recognized the star as his savior yet. By removing the needle, he denied the protagonist’s intervention on the beach: (chapter 60) Hence his arm got bruised. The contusion was a reminder that something had happened during that night, but Kim Dan chose to ignore the incident. He never questioned why he was on the beach, he acted, as if Joo JAekyung had lied. (chapter 60)

The Hypocrisy of Gratitude

Kim Dan’s inability to express gratitude towards Joo Jaekyung is rooted in the hypocrisy of his situation. (chapter 18) Deep down, Kim Dan knows that the debt was never truly his responsibility, making it difficult for him to view the champion’s actions as a genuine act of kindness. This inner conflict is compounded by his suicidal disposition, which renders the concept of repaying the debt meaningless.

Additionally, Kim Dan’s relationship with gratitude is further complicated by his grandmother’s influence. Shin Okja used pity (chapter 53) and guilt to manipulate Kim Dan into fulfilling her wishes, framing his sacrifices as acts of love and duty. Her neglect and disregard for his well-being, even as he deteriorates physically and emotionally, highlight her selfishness. Through his past memories, readers can get a glimpse of his misery. (chapter 59) He worked so hard, was even beaten, but he could never voice his torment. (chapter 59) Why? It is because the grandmother was no longer by his side and she never talked to him either. The absence of communication indicates her lack of interest in Kim Dan. And it becomes comprehensible why during that night, he felt the need to go to the ocean and drown himself. It is because he was gradually realizing his loneliness. With his relative’s death, he would only keep living a terrible life determined by work and nothing else.

And because Kim Dan made the promise to the champion to reimburse him, it is clear why the fighter reminded him of the “unpaid debt” after their reunion. (chapter 60) (chapter 60) Since Kim Dan had not accepted the fighter’s generosity and even reaffirmed the need to pay back the “loan”, Joo Jaekyung imagined that his fated partner was very principled about money. The latter was used to drive an edge between them. However, the MMA fighter made a terrible mistake at the hospice. With his remark (chapter 60), he created the impression that he was impatient, expecting to be paid back, and as such his past generosity was in truth fake. He never desired to assist the doctor with this problem. And note that from that night on, the physical therapist is no longer bringing up the topic of the unpaid debts. (chapter 61) In my opinion, the physical therapist has now internalized that he is not responsible for the unpaid debts. It is only a matter of time, until Kim Dan confronts the fighter with his biased prejudices (chapter 11) and even uses his own words against him: (chapter 22) The loan was the result of his grandmother’s decision. He never helped him, rather his grandmother.

The dynamic between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung also reveals the former’s hypocrisy. Despite feeling trapped and powerless, Kim Dan had choices. He could reveal the truth to the athlete, when he begged for his help: (chapter 11) However, he never explained his circumstances to the generous athlete. By keeping him in the dark, he reinforced his negative disposition about the doctor. And chapter 61 exposes this reality. His suffering was the result of his own decision. (chapter 61) Do you recognize the room? That was the doctor’s (chapter 19) (chapter 53) His decision to allow Joo Jaekyung into his bedroom in episode 61 demonstrates that he consented to the relationship, even if begrudgingly. (chapter 61) However, his reaction afterward (regret) suggests that he struggles to take ownership of his choices. The fact that he recalled this sex scene in the restroom divulges a certain resent towards the athlete. The latter abandoned him right after their interaction. Hence I come to the following deduction. In reality, he is projecting his frustrations onto Joo Jaekyung, masking his true feelings about his grandmother, who is the root cause of his conditioned self-sacrifice. And this observation brings to my next remark. People wondered when this intercourse took place. One might think that this took place rather early in the story because of the way Joo Jaekyung acted. He didn’t remove his pants (chapter 61) and acted like in episode 6. (chapter 6) or 8 (chapter 8) where he would abandon the protagonist right after the climax and not care about his partner’s conditions and feelings: (chapter 61) I might be wrong, but for me, it took place much later in the story, around the time the athlete was about to face Alfredo. Why? First notice that they had sex in the doctor’s bedroom. This means that Kim Dan was already living in the penthouse. The words from the champion implied that he would return to his own bedroom, where the doctor’s thoughts implied that he was standing close to his bed. However, so far, they only had sex in the champion’s bedroom, when it was the evening before the match: (chapter 13) Since the doctor mentioned that a match was right around the corner (chapter 61) It leaves us four possibilities. Randy Booker, Dominic Hill, Alfredo (chapter 47) and Baek Junmin. However, for the intercourse took place in the doctor’s bedroom (he wished to be carried to his own bed) (chapter 61), I am already excluding Randy Booker. Secondly, this sex session can not have taken place before his match with Dominic Hill (chapter 36), for they had sex every day. However, in episode 53, we discover their night before the match against the Shotgun (chapter 53) So this scene can only have taken place in chapter 47, when the match with Angelo got canceled and Kim Dan had been confronted with the terrible news about his terminally ill grandmother. (chapter 47) In the previous part of this essay, my avid readers could see the strong parallels between 61 and 47. But there exists another reason why I am inclining to think that the sex scene took place later in the story. It is because during that “magical night” (44), Kim Dan learned the notion of “consent”. (chapter 44) During that blue hour, Kim Dan discovered that he could say no! And notice that in his memory, he clearly thought that he could have rejected the athlete’s advances. (chapter 61) The other reason for this theory is Park Namwook’s advice at the gym: (chapter 46) He should mistrust the members from the gym and keep his distance from people. So during that time, Joo Jaekyung did follow his hyung’s advice (chapter 47), yet I can’t imagine that this man could become abstinent like in episode 19. Hence at some point, he must have felt the urge to possess Kim Dan, a mixture of fear and dominance. He imagined that way that he could impose his will onto the doctor and control his “loyalty”. With this submission, he would force the doctor to remain by his side. But naturally, this sex as “power play” could increase the gap between the main leads.

Interesting is that in episode 53 (chapter 53) doc Dan was copying the champion’s behavior from episode 61. Right after the sex, he would leave the bed and return to his bedroom. How did Joo Jaekyung recall this night? (chapter 53) He saw his attitude as a sign of disloyalty and “abandonment”. And that’s how Kim Dan is feeling in the restroom: (chapter 61) The darkness around the eyes is a metaphor for his resent and anger. And the moment you contrast the two memories (53 and 61), you can detect the hypocrisy of the two main leads. They only recall scenes where they were hurt and felt betrayed. However, in reality, they were both victims and perpetrators, because none of them chose to open up and talk to each other. Why? It is because both chose to listen to their “guardian” and their “favor”. Like mentioned before, in a quarrel, no one is right and wrong. The purpose of an argument is to listen to the counterpart and view incidents from their perspective. Finally, the physical therapist’s recollection serves as an important evidence that he had never been powerless and helpless. He could have refused all the time because their deal was never official.He could have used the contract as a shield. But the best evidence of Kim Dan’s power is this rejection: (chapter 61) I had already pointed out the increasing resistance and resilience from Kim Dan in episode 60: (chapter 61) My prediction came true. In the past, he could have denied the existence of the deal, Joo Jaekyung was free to seek another physical therapist. He never realized that he had some leverage. Yet he still followed the athlete’s requests. He saw himself bound by obligations. However, this was just an illusion. Hence in episode 61, we see him legitimating his consent that there was an imminent fight. (chapter 61) This shows that he always used others to justify his choices. That way, he could portray himself as a dutiful and loving person, while his sacrifices would all go unnoticed.

The doctor’s fate: a reflection of Joo Jaekyung’s life

Kim Dan’s bruises are more than just marks of exhaustion and overexertion; they symbolize the way his body is used for the benefit of others. (chapter 61) He is expected to work despite his declining health, his suffering dismissed by those around him. (chapter 61) His well-being is secondary to business interests, whether it be the hospice director valuing money and PR over his need for rest or Joo Jaekyung imposing additional strain despite knowing better. Every bruise on Kim Dan’s body is a reflection of a system that prioritizes productivity over humanity.

This, however, mirrors Joo Jaekyung’s own existence. (chapter 40) He is paid to receive bruises, to push his body past its limits (chapter 50), to endure pain while the public watches and profits are made. His suffering is entertainment, a spectacle that fuels the business of MMA. Though he is a champion, he is still a commodity, expected to perform regardless of his condition. (chapter 61) He understands, better than anyone, what it means to be physically used for the sake of others, yet he remains blind to the fact that he has placed Kim Dan in the same position. While one has no file about his health condition, the other has many files, but they are not studied, because this would push the manager to question his decision and even ruin the business: (chapter 17) I doubt that Park Namwook studied them, and notice that the recently hired PT didn’t ask for the champion’s files first: (chapter 54) Thus I deduce that the champion’s files are in reality a subterfuge. They give the impression that the doctors and Park Namwook truly care for his well-being, but it is not correct. They are only interested in his body because of wealth and reputation. But let’s return our attention to episode 61 and the champion’s attitude towards Kim Dan.

The hypocrisy is undeniable. (chapter 61) Joo Jaekyung pressures Kim Dan to work through his pain, (chapter 61) despite living a life where he is forced to do the same. He became what he despised—someone who forces another to sacrifice their well-being for business. (chapter 60) The reality is, both of them exist in a world where their worth is determined by what their bodies can endure. Kim Dan’s value is measured by his ability to work, just as Jaekyung’s is determined by his ability to fight. They are both trapped in a system that demands their suffering for profit, used by those in power who see them as tools rather than individuals.

If Joo Jaekyung fails to recognize this parallel, he will only perpetuate the very cycle that has shaped his own pain. But if he does, it could be the key to not only freeing Kim Dan from this exploitation but also breaking himself out of the same cycle. The question remains: will he see the truth before it’s too late? (chapter 54) It is clear that the manager wants Joo Jaekyung to return to the ring as soon as possible to erase the last “debacle”. In my opinion, the doctor’s illness could serve Joo Jaekyung as an excuse to delay his return to the ring and even not to accept the next challenge.

A Caregiver’s Identity

Kim Dan’s choice to rent from an elderly landlord (chapter 57) is another manifestation of his conditioned role as a caregiver. By living with an older man, he creates the illusion of a familial bond, mirroring the dynamic he shared with his grandmother. This decision highlights his struggle to break free from the identity imposed on him—one defined by servitude and selflessness. He assumes that he should take care of the landlord, offering to cook and expressing guilt for not fulfilling this perceived duty. Yet, the landlord subtly challenges this narrative. By inviting Kim Dan to eat breakfast (chapter 57) and dismissing his apologies, the landlord treats him as an equal rather than a caretaker. This dynamic forces Kim Dan to confront his false perception of himself.

The landlord’s care, though understated, contrasts sharply with Kim Dan’s expectations. In Episode 57, the landlord observes Kim Dan’s declining health and attempts to address his drinking habits. (chapter 57) Despite this, Kim Dan rejects the advice, demonstrating his resistance to being cared for. This moment underscores his internal conflict—he craves independence yet clings to the role of the selfless provider. The landlord’s actions expose the fallacy of Kim Dan’s identity, revealing that his caregiving is not always necessary or effective.

Kim Dan’s Transformation: From Self-Sacrifice to Self-Awareness

Chapter 61 marks a significant shift in Kim Dan’s psyche—he begins to view himself with self-pity. That’s why he recalled the sex in the restroom. (chapter 61) He was not feeling well, yet the champion still demanded to have sex with him. (chapter 61) However, like pointed out above, he could have objected and even explained the situation. But no… he chose silence and submission in the end. This exposes the long internalized belief that Joo Jaekyung is stubborn and won’t listen or even get angry. Moreover, it is related to the grandmother’s education which privileged money, obedience, silence and taboo. However, the recollection (chapter 61) is indicating the increasing resent and anger towards the star. Joo Jaekyung is no longer seen as a celebrity and idol, but as a inconsiderate man. This transformation is subtle but meaningful, as it reflects his burgeoning awareness of his own worth and the unjust treatment he has endured. For the first time, Kim Dan acknowledges himself as pitiful (chapter 61), a clear departure from his habitual role of unquestioned self-sacrifice. This moment signals the emergence of a new identity, where Kim Dan starts “treasuring” himself, even if only as someone who deserves more respect than he has been given. In his recollection, he has a wish: to have a companion who would take care of him.

Kim Dan’s realization that he was not respected by Joo Jaekyung (chapter 61) parallels the emotional and mental detachment of Shin Okja. While his grandmother had long imposed the role of a caregiver upon him, (chapter 61) her current disregard for his health and well-being forces him to confront the fragility of his own existence. His bruised arm and poor health serve as physical manifestations of this awakening—he is no longer the tireless, invincible caregiver but a vulnerable human being who could fall gravely ill (chapter 61) or even abandon others first. (chapter 53)

The Emotional Transition: Joo Jaekyung’s Role in Kim Dan’s Life

This transformation in Kim Dan reflects a deeper narrative shift in Jinx: the exploration of self-worth and emotional reciprocity. It signals that relationships should not be defined by obligation and sacrifice alone but also by mutual respect and care. As Kim Dan begins to recognize his own worth, the dynamics of his relationships with both Shin Okja and Joo Jaekyung are poised to change dramatically. (chapter 61) This chapter sets the stage for a redefinition of Kim Dan’s identity (chapter 61), no longer bound by the roles others have imposed on him but shaped by his own choices and growing self-respect.

Shin Okja’s emotional detachment opens a door for Joo Jaekyung to step into her place, but this transition is contingent on Joo Jaekyung admitting his feelings for Kim Dan. (chapter 61) The physical reminder of Kim Dan’s poor health is not only a wake-up call for Joo Jaekyung but also for Kim Dan himself. It emphasizes that caregiving cannot define his identity entirely, and he too needs care and consideration.

This dynamic creates a powerful opportunity for growth in their relationship. If Joo Jaekyung is to fill the void left by Shin Okja, he must evolve from a figure of dominance to one of emotional support and genuine affection. Similarly, Kim Dan must shed the remnants of his belief that his only worth lies in what he can do for others. His growing self-awareness, catalyzed by his deteriorating health, paves the way for this mutual transformation.

The Role of Health as a Narrative Reminder

Kim Dan’s health, deteriorating as it is, serves a dual purpose. For Joo Jaekyung, it is a stark reminder of the consequences of his past neglect (chapter 13) and the fragility of Kim Dan’s existence. For Kim Dan, it challenges his self-perception as an indestructible caregiver. This realization could lead him to an inevitable conclusion: his own needs and well-being are just as important as those of others.

Ironically, this reversal also suggests a possibility that Kim Dan could be the one to abandon his grandmother first—not out of malice but as a natural consequence of his newfound understanding of his humanity. He wants to live, he doesn’t want to die now. His physical limitations and emotional exhaustion could compel him to prioritize his own survival over the expectations imposed on him, marking a definitive break from his past.

To conclude, Kim Dan’s deteriorating health presents a pivotal moment in his journey, marking a potential shift from mere survival to truly embracing life. His identity, long defined by caregiving and sacrifice, could face a profound challenge if his condition worsens, forcing him into a role of dependency. Joo Jaekyung’s role in this transformation could be equally transformative. Witnessing Kim Dan’s vulnerability might inspire the champion to step into the role of a true caregiver, fostering a deeper emotional connection between them. This shift would starkly contrast Kim Dan’s relationship with his grandmother, where care was one-sided and manipulative. Instead, it could establish a foundation of mutual respect and shared responsibility, breaking the cycle of transactional relationships that have defined Kim Dan’s past.

Ultimately, Kim Dan’s illness could become a catalyst for healing—not just physically but emotionally—for both him and Joo Jaekyung. It sets the stage for a relationship rooted in genuine care and respect, underscoring the broader theme of personal growth and the rediscovery of self-worth.

Conclusion

“Bruised by Choices, Bound by Sacrifice” encapsulates the complexities of Kim Dan’s character and his relationships. The recurring motif of the bruise serves as a powerful symbol of his struggles, reflecting both his physical pain and the emotional scars left by his upbringing. The debts, gratitude, and the hospice setting further illustrate how Kim Dan’s sacrifices have shaped his identity, forcing him to navigate a path filled with contradictions and unspoken resentments.

This examination also underscores the profound link between silence and sacrifice in Kim Dan’s journey. His suffering largely went unnoticed not just due to external neglect but because of his own choice to remain silent. Kim Dan never expressed his thoughts or emotions, choosing instead to endure in silence to avoid burdening his grandmother. Ironically, this silence was unnecessary, as Shin Okja herself was blinded by his youth, assuming that his vitality ensured he would outlive her. This assumption prevented her from recognizing his vulnerabilities, highlighting yet another layer of neglect in their relationship.

Through this lens, Kim Dan’s journey becomes a poignant exploration of the cost of selflessness and the courage it takes to reclaim one’s agency. His silence, once a symbol of sacrifice, now stands as a barrier he must overcome to truly heal and redefine his life on his own terms. By breaking free from the constraints of unspoken expectations and misplaced gratitude, Kim Dan’s transformation holds the promise of a future where his choices are guided by self-respect and a newfound understanding of his worth.

In earlier chapters, such as Chapter 57, Kim Dan’s landlord invited him to share breakfast, showing a degree of care and concern. However, Kim Dan deflected this gesture, maintaining his self-imposed role as a caregiver. In Chapter 58, despite sitting at a table with Heesung, Potato, and the landlord, Kim Dan’s disengagement from the meal—leaving most of the chicken untouched and avoiding the rice wine—highlighted his hidden struggles with both malnutrition and alcoholism. His deliberate avoidance of the rice wine reflects an effort to conceal his drinking habits, adding another layer to his isolation.

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

Jinx: Starving 🍬 For Light ☀️ – part 2

After the release of Starving for Light, I made very important discoveries and as such new connections between Kim Dan’s eating disorder, his workaholism and the grandmother’s neglect. However, since the original essay was already very long, I decided to add a second part. According to my observations, Kim Dan is suffering from ARFID (Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder). The latter is an eating disorder characterized by an extreme avoidance or restriction of food, leading to nutritional deficiencies, weight loss, or dependence on supplements. Unlike other eating disorders, ARFID is not related to concerns about body image or weight but instead stems from factors such as sensory sensitivities, fear of choking or vomiting, or a lack of interest in eating. It often begins in childhood and can significantly impact physical health, social functioning, and emotional well-being. Treatment typically involves therapy, nutritional counseling, and addressing underlying causes of food avoidance.

Evidences of the grandmother’s neglect

In the first part, this is what I wrote:

This suspicion got confirmed while rereading the story. Shin Okja has never shared a meal with Kim Dan together. One might argue about this statement because of his memory concerning his birthday. (chapter 11) Here, she offered him a sweet bread as present, but since it was his birthday cake, he had to share his “own present” with his grandmother. The little he possessed was given to his grandmother, a new form of this scene (chapter 43) In other words, he was the one sharing his food with her. But there exist more conclusive evidences. (chapter 5) When he visited her in episode 5, the main lead was the first one to bring up the topic “dinner”. How did the grandmother respond to his question? “You know your granny never skipped a meal”. Her statement is implying that someone else skipped his meals before. That can only be the doctor. So she knows that he has not been eating on a regular basis. And what is the opposite of “never”? ALWAYS! Yet, observe that she is smiling, when she is saying this. It exposes that she never saw the doctor’s skipping meals as worrisome. She must have probably thought that her grandson was a picky eater.

Moreover, I would like my avid readers to keep in mind that Kim Dan was eating his snacks alone, when she was standing next to him: (chapter 57) So she was not sitting down to a meal with her grandchild literally. In addition, when she suggested snacks to console him, she didn’t realize the terrible consequences of her decision. Once it was dinner time, Kim Dan would no longer feel hungry. With the introduction of such a ritual (eating became the synonym for repressing negative emotions), it is normal that the little boy would stop eating with his grandmother. That’s how the routine of eating on a regular basis got dropped, as it was strongly intertwined with his negative emotions and terrible incidents.

But let’s return our attention to the scene in episode 5. (chapter 5) Notice that she only asked him if he had already eaten after hearing his question. In other words, if Kim Dan had never inquired about her meals, she would have never shown an interest in his meals. Only after hearing that he would eat later, she got worried: (chapter 5) Thus she offered him two sweet yogurts. (chapter 5) Her words “You used to love these when you were little” are alluding that she perceives the main lead as a picky eater. As a child, he would never refuse the drinks. So when she offers them to him, she is sure that he will eat these. Finally, when she saw the celebrity, she indirectly put the blame on her grandson. He is thin and weak, because he didn’t eat properly. (chapter 21) In her eyes, Kim Dan’s habit for skipping meals was the expression of an avoidance of certain foods. It was because he was a picky eater. This shows that she never questioned herself and her past decisions. Then in the latest episode, she is seen eating her lunch, (chapter 57) yet at no moment she shares her food or questions him if he has already eaten. For me, this scene exposes her neglect. Her focus lies elsewhere: (chapter 57) She asks this question, because she has already witnessed him sleeping next to her. She associates tiredness with lack of sleep, but she is not making the connection between malnutrition and his exhaustion. (chapter 57) On the other hand, the expression “wasting away” displays her realization. She is seeing how Kim Dan is losing weight!! To conclude, she is not totally blind. Her grandson is not eating properly. But why is she not questioning her grandson about his meals? It is because he is working at the hospice where lunches are provided to the staff. (chapter 56) In other words, she is relying on the hospice, while the staff is too busy and overwhelmed with work to notice that Kim Dan has been working too much and even avoiding lunches. (chapter 57) It took them days before the nurse noticed that he shouldn’t be there. Interesting is that the nurse “Mind” is starting to put the blame on the physical therapist (chapter 57) for his attitude and is now siding with the grandmother. They assume “burn out”, while the reality is that he is suffering from different traumas. But notice that he was only sent away, after Kim Dan got dizzy. (chapter 57) This shows that Kim Dan had become a ghost at the hospice for the last few days, and no one paid attention to him. He was invisible because it was his way to be “accepted” and not stigmatized as “bun” or “orphan”. People only noticed him, until he created some ruckus at the institution. However, this means that the man must have spent the night with his grandmother. Yet, at no moment she sent him away or even shared her meals with him. This shows her indifference and egoism. She contrasts so much to the protagonist’s landlord.

The landlord in the doctor’s life

Though the latter doesn’t know him that well, he is paying attention to his every move: (chapter 57) He noticed right away that he was missing. Why? It is because his room was empty. (chapter 57) This scene represents the man’s new routine. He would go to Kim Dan’s bedroom and ask the protagonist to eat breakfast with him. On the other hand, though he noticed the doctor’s absence, he jumped to a false conclusion. He imagined that his new room mate had returned to Seoul. This raises the following question. Why is this caring man assuming that Kim Dan moved to that small and insignificant town just for a short moment? (chapter 57) And why did he think that Kim Dan had left for good? First, I can imagine that the doctor looked for a place without deposit. (chapter 16) But more important, it is because the physical therapist only arrived on the West Coast with two small bags. (chapter 53) And now pay attention to the PT’s departure on the day he was sent back: (chapter 57) He had gone to the hospice with all his belongings, a sign that he had planned to stay with his grandmother until his “death”. In other words, his “workplace” would have become his tomb. This means that the landlord already noticed that the main lead only had a few belongings, and the moment he didn’t see the black bag with the halmoni’s picture, he assumed that Kim Dan had returned to the city. Thanks to the introduction of the new landlord, my interpretation about the champion’s biased judgment got confirmed. (chapter 19) When Joo Jaekyung saw the huge Wedding Cabinet, he thought that Kim Dan had many clothes. Thus he saw it as a sign of “greed”, Kim Dan was poor, because he was not able to save money. And this observation brings me back to the landlord: (chapter 57) In my opinion, this man doesn’t know the real profession of Kim Dan. Notice that he is talking about “work” in general. He can not understand why his tenant would work for days so much. Another evidence for his ignorance is that he never went to the hospice to ask if the physical therapist was there. I would even add that this man is also ignorant about the existence of Kim Dan’s grandmother. How did I come to this deduction? It is simply that the old man is anticipating the doctor’s departure. Who would move to that little town with only two bags? It is important because despite his mistakes (chapter 57; here he used guilt and shame to incite Kim Dan not to drink), he is attempting to be close to his new room mate, to understand him. The problem is that the protagonist is keeping everything to himself. He is not speaking about himself and his past. This is quite understandable, as the grandmother keeps telling him that he has no roots here. (chapter 57) I would even add that with this advice, she was restraining him from becoming close to people in this hometown. It is her place, not his… In other words, she was forbidding him to make friends here and have a good relationship with the staff. Finally, when the grandmother says Kim Dan has no ties here,” it mirrors the hurtful stigmatization he faced as a child when he was labeled as an orphan, a “bum.” (chapter 57) Her words inadvertently repeat the narrative of abandonment and lack of belonging that has followed Kim Dan throughout his life. It feels as though she’s repeating those same accusations, reinforcing the idea that he is rootless, unworthy, and out of place. Instead of acknowledging the sacrifices Kim Dan has made for her, the grandmother dismisses him as someone without meaningful ties, perpetuating the feelings of invisibility and worthlessness he’s battled since childhood. So with this declaration “This place isn’t your hometown and you don’t have any ties here” she was triggering his abandonment issues and low self-esteem. This outlines her lack of empathy, self-centeredness and ignorance. Thus I have to admit that I am even wondering if he has not been adopted by Shin Okja.

And because the halmoni claims to be part of this hometown and the landlord belongs to the same community, I can’t help myself thinking that once he hears about Kim Dan’s true job and his halmoni, he will go to the hospice and meet her. Let’s not forget that no one recognizes or remembers her. Why? My explanation is simple. This is the place where her maiden family has been buried, but like her words display it: she never went to the hometown to visit the graves of her ancestors. The grandmother is projecting her own history of not “sticking around” for her deceased relatives onto Kim Dan. Just as she distanced herself from her family in the past (e.g., after their deaths), she now assumes that Kim Dan will do the same to her, reflecting her awareness of how such disconnection has defined her relationships. We could say, she “forgot” them, but once she is about to die, she wants to be remembered as a part of this community. This shows that this woman values tradition and the past, but in a superficial manner.

However, since the doctor has become the symbol of her past suffering, she would like to send him away. She is refusing to be burdened by worries and a guilty conscience. To conclude, she is rejecting her past and as such her responsibilities. She is now advocating “self-reliance”, while in the past, she used to ask him for favors. (chapter 53) On the other hand, the landlord embodies the opposite notions: (chapter 57) Care, curiosity and responsibility. Here he is asking for help as well. Nevertheless the nature of his request is different, for it is not about himself, but about Boksoon and her puppies. As you can see, he is making sure that she gets the best environment to raise her puppies. On the other side, Shin Okja used to prioritize herself and her own suffering. Notice that the doctor was resting under a tree in the yard (chapter 57), until the owner appeared. Thus I couldn’t restrain myself thinking that this man is strongly associated with the sun (fatherly figure) and life, whereas the grandmother stands for darkness (chapter 57), night and death.

The sequels of traumas

Since I detected symptoms of ARFID, it occurred to me the significance of the drugged beverage. (chapter 37) Kim Dan has never associated food with pleasure, love and happiness. Yet, for the first time, someone paid attention to his eating habits and suggested him to drink this nutrition shake. So the food became “poison” to him, this could only reinforce his negative disposition about eating. Is it a coincidence that soon after, he is seen sleeping and skipping meals? (chapter 43) No, his avoidance of eating increased. Park Namwook and the others assumed like many readers that it was related to his overwork and exhaustion, but it is only partially true. Sleeping was also his way to avoid food in the end. And this brings me back to the incident with the switched spray: (chapter 57) This crime triggered a trauma in the doctor. Hence his hands were shaking, and he is plagued by a huge guilty conscience. It was, as if his hands had become poison too. However, hands are necessary to eat. To conclude, this could only worsen his condition. And notice that even with the landlord, he is not seen eating. In fact, he is patting the dog. (chapter 57) That’s the reason why I don’t think that Kim Dan’s ARFID can be suddenly cured, the moment Potato reveals the truth about the incident. He has to develop a routine around eating. Someone has to put food right into his mouth, to feed him literally. On the other hand, I can imagine that a change will take place, when he sees his fighter totally diminished. He would serve as a reminder and reflection to himself.

And what is the common denominator between the switched spray and the drugged beverage? They reinforced his mental issues: ARFID, his depression and his low self-esteem. But the problem is that MFC , (chapter 41) the doctors and the authorities diminished the importance of such a wrongdoing, because they denied the existence of psychological sequels. Thus they only investigated it from the athlete’s perspective: (chapter 52) He was the only target and victim. Therefore it was reduced to the work of a hater and rival. Nevertheless, they didn’t interrogate the real victim of the crime correctly. Either he was about to get framed or his involvement was totally denied. It was, as if he had not been present. By not taking the physical therapist’s psychological damages into consideration, they actually expose their true nature. They don’t care about mental health at all. This explicates why the athlete had to prove his worth constantly. We should see these comments as a new form of bullying (chapter 36), which were supported by MFC, the Entertainment agency and Park Namwook. Joo Jaekyung had to prove them wrong: his career is not finished yet. So when the couple meets again, they should quickly realize the importance of mental health, as both are definitely at their lowest point in their life. In other words, the mental issues from Kim Dan serve a purpose in this story: people close to him should come to the realization that mental health is essential in life, something they neglected before. Either they didn’t feel concerned or they were biased or simply ignorant. Thus the athlete in the illustration for season 2 is looking at his fated partner’s face : He is now paying attention to his facial expressions and trying to discover his thoughts. Moreover, note that he is also grabbing his wrist, which could be interpreted like this. On the one hand, he is attempting to stop Kim Dan from working, as the symbol of a PT is the helping hand. He should relax and rely on the fighter’s care and protection. He is his shelter and home. On the other hand, it could be seen as his attempt to stop Kim Dan from using his wrist against the sinners and criminals: Kim Miseon who used her halmoni as guinea pig, Choi Gilseok who tricked him etc… Yes, I have the impression that at some point, the physical therapist could end up feeling like his fated partner: (chapter 41) Kim Dan is looking for light, because he has been trapped for too long in that darkness: (chapter 57) Because of ostracism and bullying, invisibility became his copying mechanism and the absence of shared meals could only reinforce his negative perception of himself. At the same time, the grandmother’s existence became his only source of life. So his meeting with Potato and Heesung is to remind him that he is not alone. (chapter 57) He was not forgotten, he left traces in their life. He was their sunlight, their angel.

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

Jinx: Burning Up🔥, Losing Control 🛞

Behind the wheel

In episode 56, we could see Joo Jaekyung losing his cool, the more he tried to find Kim Dan. This huge transformation can be detected, when Jinx-philes compare these two following images. (chapter 56) and (chapter 56) While in the first picture, Joo Jaekyung is calm, concentrated and silent, in the second one, the fighter is agitated, lost, breathless and yelling. These two mental dispositions are reflected in the location. In the first image, the MMA celebrity appears behind the steering wheel, which is a symbol for power, determination and control, whereas in the second panel the champion is wandering alone in the street. This running is no longer part of his training and routine, but it exposes his powerlessness, loneliness and despair. He has no idea where to go contrary to the first picture. This means that the latter embodies goal and destination, whereas the second image represents the opposite values: beginning, start, ground zero and source. In other words, the end of episode announces the athlete’s rebirth or better said, the start of a new life. I will elaborate further below. But let’s return our attention to the symbolism of the auto.

As you can see, the latter stands for success, wealth, authority and domination. (chapter 56) (chapter 56) Even if the main lead is moving among other cars, people can recognize that the owner of such a car is rich and probably famous due to the brand and design. On the other hand, by roaming in the street, the champion blends into the background and as such to the mass. (chapter 56) Because Joo Jaekyung doesn’t want to be recognized, he is wearing a mask and a cap. This gesture stands for anonymity, hence no one is paying attention to him. Contrary to his frenemy at the cafe (chapter 35), Joo Jaekyung succeeded. He is just a passerby. In other words, the avenue indicates not only his failure to find Kim Dan, but also his loss of power and status. He has just become a nobody. Thus we should consider this as the athlete’s karma for thinking that Kim Dan could be replaced, because he was just a nobody: (chapter 55) It is no coincidence as well that the author showed us the star’s back, when the latter called his hyung Park Namwook. (chapter 56) Moreover, the shades are quite similar: red/orange and brown. Without his car, he is like everyone else: a human with his flaws and imperfections.

I have to admit that when I read episode 56, I couldn’t restrain myself connecting episode 56 to chapter 33 and in particular due to my essay called: These two chapters are similar, for they convey the same emotions: anger, anxiety, frustration and despair of the fighter. In the car, the champion attempted to control the doctor’s libido. (chapter 33) On the one hand, he appeared calm and concentrated like in 56, yet deep inside, he was burning up. The pink dildo was used as a tool to voice his negative emotions (abandonment issues, insecurities and jealousy). With the release of episode 56, another reason came to my mind why the athlete proposed to drive the physical therapist to Choi Heesung. (chapter 32) First, he switched the car in order to demonstrate his wealth and status. It was, as if he wanted to show off to his fated companion, which reminded me of the actor. The latter would bomb doc Dan with “presents”, an indirect demonstration of his fortune. In addition, Jinxphiles will certainly recall that during the same day, the comedian came to fetch the physical therapist with his white Porsche. (chapter 32) Consequently, I came to the following deduction. The man selected the gray car in order to distinguish himself from his rival, to impress his companion.

Secondly, it was the wolf’s way to keep the doctor in check, to control the situation. He is behind the wheel, hence he takes the lead and had the saying in their relationship, like we could observe it in another situation: (chapter 42) And what was his attitude there? He would not listen to his passenger. Moreover, he would separate his job from his roommate’s. It looked like they were living in two different worlds, though they were sharing the car. This scene exposes miscommunication, lack of faith, stubbornness and prejudices. The fighter was not willing to accept the physical therapist’s doubts and chose to go through with the training and match.

Thus I deduce that the vanishing of his car is indicating that the athlete is now ready to LISTEN! He is no longer cut off from the world, he is moving among humans. His penthouse and his car were the reasons why he kept people at arms-length and why he preached self-reliance. They were the symbols of his success and identity: (chapter 2) (chapter 32) So by leaving them behind, it indicates that Joo Jaekyung is transforming and as such maturing. But why is he so desperate to control his life and even Kim Dan’s by leaving no room to change or “surprise”? I believe to have found the answer: chronic abuse. I know that the quote is quite long, but in this description, Jaekyung-addicts can recognize their beloved character:

After reading this, my avid readers can grasp why the champion’s past has been kept in the dark by the author and why the athlete dislikes it, when his past is mentioned: (chapter 26) First, he repressed it, but thanks to doc Dan, he is encouraged to face his traumatic past. But for that, he needs to trust someone, a person who wouldn’t judge him and would show understanding. He came to associate “pity” (chapter 37) with arrogance and weakness, but this is not true. [For more read this https://psyche.co/ideas/pity-is-an-emotion-easy-to-scorn-but-central-to-our-humanity]

This new discovery reinforces my previous hypothesis that the main lead was exposed to chronic abuse (emotional abuse, parental criticism and probably bullying), which remained undetected. So by “losing his car”, he is gradually giving up on his control issues. At the same time, it gives him the opportunity to redefine his own life. What does he want from life and his career as MMA fighter? Consequently, I come to the deduction that Joo Jaekyung is about to become the true owner of his time and as such of his own life. Let’s not forget that even in season 2, his manager is still the one “controlling” his time. (chapter 54) (chapter 56) This signifies that the champion is about to discover that in reality, he was not truly free. While he thought, he was controlling his life behind the wheel, in verity, he was just a puppet, for his decisions were influenced by his fears and past. I would even add that the loss of his routine announces his willingness to accept changes and surprises in his life. The latter are no longer perceived as a threat.

The champion’s car and his hyungs

Because Joo Jaekyung connects car with power and leadership, I came to realize why the champion trusts so much coach Jeong Yosep and his other hyung: (chapter 5) He allows the coach to drive the car and the manager to sit in the front. Thus they represent the higher authorities. However, so far, the doctor had only been his passenger. Thus a new idea popped up: what if the athlete let the physical therapist drive his car? Let’s not forget that the loner wolf shouldn’t be driving on his own, for his shoulder has not healed properly yet. I already pointed out the wrongdoings from the two hyungs. (chapter 53) They should have brought him home. They stand for neglect and indifference due to their passivity and routine. In my eyes, they are happy at the gym, the latter represents their second family. So they imagine that it is the same for their boss. In other words, they projected their own thoughts and feelings onto the celebrity. They embody silence and lack of communication and this is actually palpable in the car. In episode 5, the manager and the MMA fighters lied to each other: (chapter 5) Then in episode 49, the champion kept The Shotgun’s words as a secret, while his coach confessed his trust in his “boy” (chapter 49). Yet, he revealed his true thoughts at the hospital: (chapter 52) He has no real trust in the athlete. Finally, my avid readers should notice that we never heard coach Jeong Yosep speaking up or exchanging his thoughts to the other members there. To conclude, I interpret the car as a symbol for censorship, silence, miscommunication, stubbornness and deafness. In other words, this place is also polluted. (chapter 53) So when the champion returned home on his own after the surgery, it displays the high peak of the censorship and uncommunicativeness from the two hyungs. They didn’t bring up the eventuality that Kim Dan might have moved from the penthouse. They kept doc Dan’s departure under wraps and waited for the right opportunity. But the best evidence for this interpretation is the absence of Jeong Yosep after episode 52. From that moment on, he is no longer present in the star’s life. But there’s more to it. I noticed the absence of Jeong Yosep’s phone number. At no moment, we see him contacting the protagonist through the phone. (chapter 52) Imagine that he only reported his investigation and actions afterwards. Then on the athlete’s birthday, he didn’t send any private message as well. (chapter 45) It gives the impression that he owns no cellphone, especially if Jinx-philes recall this situation in the States: (chapter 37) He was using the landline telephone. This observation is relevant, because it exposes the coach’s dependency on Park Namwook. The latter’s task is to keep in touch with his boss and champion, for he has his cellphone number. Nevertheless, how do we explain the absence of the coach’s cellphone? I have the feeling that this could be related to his divorce. (chapter 5) When his wife suddenly blocked him, he got shocked and hurt. And don’t forget that we have another person traumatized with a phone call: Kim Dan, who got abandoned during that day. (chapter 19) Thus this observation made me think that the coach could have something in common with Kim Dan. And that’s how the champion will demonstrate his strength to his hyung. Contrary to him, he didn’t accept the divorce so “easily”. In fact, he is fighting for the doctor in his own way. The problem is that he is his own worst enemy.

Interesting is that each time the MMA star was seen in the backseat(chapter 49), Jinxphiles could never view the driver. (chapter 5) According to my theory, this should be the coach. And the latter lost his wife despite his success. Now, Jinxphiles can grasp the discrepancy. Though the coach is the driver, he is not the one with the upper hand. In reality, he is putting his faith and trust in his passenger, Park Namwook. How so? It is because he is viewed as the counselor and expert. And how is the manager reacting to the fighter’s change of behavior? (chapter 56) He doesn’t look worried, scared or despaired. In fact, he is pretty calm, the opposite to this scene: (chapter 13) His question “Is everything okay with you?” is purely mechanical and as such meaningless, for he doesn’t inquire, when he hears a silence from the other side of the line. I would even say that he doesn’t really wait for his boy’s answer as well. (chapter 56) Finally, his comment is full of hidden criticism: “I haven’t heard from you…; You haven’t been coming…”. He is reproaching his star to neglect his work, though he is still in recovery. I have to confess that Park Namwook’s short scene drove me hot and crazy 🔥😂 One thing is sure: Despite the outcome of the last match, the hyung has not made up his mind to change his routine at all. But he is not realizing that this phone call represents a turning point in their relationship. How so? It is because if the champion switches his phone number (chapter 56), he could end up in the same situation than the protagonist. And keep in mind that the coach Yosep is actually relying on the manager. Thus I reckon that the champion’s other source of power is actually his cellphone! Without him, he has no connection (chapter 5), no money (chapter 32) and no power. His call to the manager during that evening represents his last resort. Thus he is calling the manager “Namwook hyung” contrary to episode 5. (chapter 5) This title is indicating that the champion is opening up, and willing to show his vulnerability and despair. On the other hand, this change also implies “expectations” from the fighter, (chapter 56) just like the doctor tried to show his appreciation to Joo Jaekyung with the gift: (chapter 55) The physical therapist hoped to get recognition, gratitude and acceptance from his soulmate. That’s the reason why I perceive this conversation over the phone as a reflection from that scene: (chapter 46) Keep in mind that at the gym, the athlete denied the relevance of information. Though both hyungs were warned, the reality was that they got off scot-free. They never received any blame for failing to protect him and this twice. And now, he is looking for intel about the doctor. Indirectly, fate is teaching him to recognize his error. In fact, information can procure a good insight about people’s behavior and as such fears. Let me give you an example: if Joo Jaekyung were to hear about Kim Dan’s first employment as PT, he should understand why the PT made mistakes, why he took odd jobs and why he “left” Seoul. If he wanted to work as PT, he needed to go elsewhere.

But let’s return our attention to the champion. In episode 46, he denied the importance of intel on the impact of a match. Hence I deduce that with the doctor’s vanishing, he is learning another tough life lesson. It is important to get to know his roommate and even to converse with him. This is something he didn’t do in the past. I will explain below why. On the other hand, the contrast between 46 and 56 reinforces my conviction that one of the schemers knows about the champion’s fears and past. Thus the fighter was more and more confronted with the past thanks to doc Dan. So by unlocking his past, the fighter not only gets released from his mental prison, but also will be able to detect his enemies in the future.

To conclude, the car and the phone in Jinx symbolized not only the champion’s powers, but also his “identity”. When he was driving his auto, he thought, he was independent and as such the owner of his “life”. He thought, he was controlling his life. He was the famous and rich MMA fighter. Yet, this was just an allusion. The routine was there to make him forget his painful childhood. So by seeing him alone in the street (chapter 56), I feel like he is about to lose everything. Destruction is necessary so that the sportsman can rebuild a new life. The vanishing of his routine was also a necessity, because the athlete needs to include Kim Dan in his life. That’s the real definition of “living together”.

Back, silence and prejudices

Though the athlete is appearing lost and weak on the street, his mind-set oozes the opposite. Determination!! He knows what he wants: (chapter 56) He wants to meet his companion again. He already describes him as a need. This implies that the hamster has almost become a “necessity ” for the celebrity. On the other hand, these words expose that the fighter is still not ready to meet his fated partner. How so? It is because his words divulge the absence of “conversation”. In the beginning, he wished to talk about his feelings to Kim Dan so that he could get closure. (chapter 56) He somehow expected doc Dan to listen to his words and accept them. That was it. Then at the end, it is just about seeing doc Dan and nothing more. At no moment, he voiced the desire to get to know his partner or to listen to his side of the story. Why? It is because he had strongly internalized that the man was a liar. He never questioned his perception and detected his own prejudices. It is important to recollect how Jinx-philes could sense a positive change in the physical therapist: (chapter 22) Yes, it is the view with the star’s back. The author selected such a position on purpose. The face represents the character’s identity and as such his personality. By showing the back, Mingwa is implying that the beholder is full of prejudices and doesn’t know his partner that well. That’s why I judge this image (chapter 55) as a reflection from the one in episode 22. Nevertheless, this represents the sportsman’s prejudices about the doctor. But contrary to doc Dan in episode 22, the wolf wanted to forget him. In other words, he refused to become curious about doc Dan. This means that he initially regressed, as he made the wrong decision. However, it was a necessary step for the fighter, for the latter has always put himself under pressure: he was such a perfectionist. That’s the reason why I interpret the following image (chapter 56) as a mini-confession from the manager. He is gradually admitting that he doesn’t know his boy that well. Yet, he still puts the blame on the main lead. On the other hand, I believe that the manager in this picture should be seen as a reflection from the champion’s mind: (chapter 56) He believes to know his hyung, that’s why he trusts him so much. Hence he is willing to expose his vulnerability and despair: (chapter 56) He expects no contempt or shock from him. He anticipates acceptance and tolerance. But is this man willing to overthrow his conscience and integrity for his “champion’s sake”? Since he is portrayed as eyeless, it implies the champion’s prejudice and blindness. He doesn’t know his manager that well either: the man is rather a coward and a child than a mature father. Thus I started wondering how Park Namwook would react to this request. Will he accept it? Keep in mind that the main lead is not saying that he wants to hire doc Dan, it is only about seeing him. And this aspect made me realize why Joo Jaekyung got so upset and scared in the past: (chapter 7) (chapter 32) (chapter 37) (chapter 40) (chapter 43) (chapter 45) (chapter 46) (chapter 47) Looking at his face had become his new secret ritual and as such his source of joy. Naturally, his heart and unconscious were the causes for this new habit. This explicates why he hated hearing the doctor leaving the penthouse during the night: he feared that he would no longer be able to see his cute face. That’s also the reason why Joo Jaekyung got angry/upset, when he saw the doctor turning his head away (chapter 37) or the shocked and wounded doctor’s visage: (chapter 51) Kim Dan’s face which had become his secret source of joy, became a weapon suddenly! It brought him pain. And what did he say afterwards to the doctor in the locker room? (chapter 51) He wished not to see his “face”. The latter had become his “addiction”. Thus his face in tears came to haunt him. (Chapter 54) This nightmare exposed his regret which he tried to deny and bury. At the same time, I have the feeling that his secret desire was to wipe away his tears as well. Nevertheless the problem is that such a love is rather superficial, for people’s body deteriorate over time. What matters in love is a good personality and a good heart. According to Erich Fromm, love is knowledge, respect, care and responsibility. Hence this separation became a necessity for the fighter. Fate had to force him to admit this: (chapter 56) He needs to see his face. A picture won’t be enough or even hear a report about him. Furthermore, he imagines that if he sees Kim Dan doing well, he can get closure and move on. That’s the reason why I think that Joo Jaekyung needs to get a new insight about the doctor or about himself before meeting him. He needs to admit his ignorance and bias. So far, he felt more “pity” and showed more understanding towards the grandmother than towards Kim Dan. The evidences for this perception are the way he behaved towards her: he was gentle, he paid her bills (chapter 21) and almost got shocked (chapter 56), when he imagined that she had died. In reality, he helped financially more the grandmother than Kim Dan himself. Kim Dan is the one he should really empathize with. He has always been a victim of circumstances.

Joo Jaekyung, a human, a dog or a wolf?

Nonetheless, we could see his wandering in a positive light: (chapter 56) Joo Jaekyung is slowly turning into a real human. At its core, to be “human” involves:

  • Emotional Vulnerability: Humans are not perfect; they experience pain, fear, despair, and helplessness. And that’s how the champion feels in that moment.
  • Complexity and Depth: A human being is defined not only by their achievements but also by their struggles, flaws, and relationships. Interesting is that the reproach from the manager doesn’t get noticed by the champion, as he is too obsessed with doc Dan.
  • Empathy and Connection: Becoming human often involves acknowledging one’s need for others and accepting imperfection.

For Joo Jaekyung, being a star or fighter meant embodying strength, invincibility, and control. These traits distanced him from others, presenting him as more of an ideal or symbol rather than a person. Despair often marks a catharsis or turning point in literature and character arcs. It is the moment when a person realizes their limitations and confronts their authentic self. By experiencing despair on the street, Joo Jaekyung steps away from his constructed image and embraces his real identity. He is no longer just “the fighter” or “the star”; he is a man who can lose, suffer, and feel deeply. This coincides with the dropping of his routine and the neglect of his duties. His life is now chaotic, as the protagonist started forgetting his title and career. The manager could think, his boy lost his sight on what truly matters. The reality is that his life has always been meaningless and aimless. He always felt emptiness, but the title masked this emotions. His obsession with the doctor is bringing to the surface his hidden struggles and fake believes.

However, I don’t think that the man has reached the bottom yet. How so? It is because he is still relying on his “hyung”, money and power: (chapter 56) Moreover, by utilizing the expression “by whatever means necessary”, he is asking his hyung to disregard morality and laws. It was, as if he was encouraging the manager to throw over board his conscience and integrity. It looks like he is encouraging his manager to behave like Director Choi Gilseok: spies and connections. (chapter 46) But the hyung stands for “conformity and social norms”. Moreover, observe that Joo Jaekyung is turning his search of Kim Dan into a manhunt “Track him down”. His vocabulary evokes a predatory, almost feral quality, suggesting desperation and a lack of integrity. Readers know why he became obsessed with doc Dan, but is it the same for the manager? The main lead’s words reminded me of the loan shark Heo Manwook, which could let his enemies misunderstand the athlete. He resents the PT and wants to put the blame on him. This moment highlights a significant shift in his character: rather than adhering to rationality, morality, or compassion, he is overtaken by raw instinct, much like a wolf hunting its prey. This explicates why the author created such a panel: (chapter 56) Desperation can strip away the higher faculties that make us human—reason, empathy, and self-control—exposing something primal. (chapter 56) In this moment, Jaekyung’s words highlight his transformation into someone governed by instinct (desperation to find the doctor at all costs), which challenges the notion of his humanity. His inability to address the situation with trust or compassion reinforces his struggle to act as a “real human” with integrity. The latter is defined as adherence to moral principles and honesty. Jaekyung’s behavior here reveals an absence of both, exposing a darker, corrupted side of his personality. He looks more like a wolf. (chapter 56) This means that he is not showing his true self. And now pay attention to the time and sunlight: (chapter 56) It is the golden hour or better said, between dog and wolf (“Entre chien et loup”). This idiom refers to “at dusk, twilight, nightfall”. At the same time, this idiom evokes this image of transformation and duality, two natures fighting against each other. Is the champion a “dog” or a “wolf”, when it comes to Kim Dan? I had already outlined the huge signification of this time in the following essay: “Magical Hours“. Back then, I had outlined the difference between “golden hour” and “blue hour”: (chapter 17) and (chapter 11). In season 1, the athlete stands for golden hour, whereas Heo Namwook embodies blue hour. “Entre chien et loup” is the time of day when the light is such that is becomes difficult to distinguish between a dog and a wolf, between friend and foe, between known and unknown. Hence I am thinking that if the next episode represents a continuation of that nightfall, it signifies that the champion is on his way to meet someone from the past. Moreover, I detected that the pavement is the same than in front of the gym: (chapter 56) (chapter 35) (chapter 48) As you can see, this detail made me realize that the next chapter should contain reflections from episode 35 and 48, the meeting with an old/new acquaintance. I am writing new and old together on purpose, for Director Choi Gilseok had been the halmoni’s loan shark, but the “hamster” had no idea. Choi Gilseok is the boss of Heo Manwook. If this encounter takes place, it signifies that on the one hand, it will cause pain and suffering to the athlete, on the other hand, this incident will become a “blessing in disguise”, for it will push the champion to reflect and mature. That’s how I had the following revelation. Why did the author ensure that the MMA fighter’s shoulder would get badly injured? (chapter 52) It is because this exposes the champion’s bad coping mechanism. The champion always uses his fists, therefore he doesn’t reflect and as such analyze his emotions. (chapter 52) That’s how he felt right into the trap of the schemers. So by having his splint, Joo Jaekyung is indirectly coerced to meditate on his feelings., as he can no longer use his shoulder and as such his fist. His physical injury represents in reality his “lucky charm”, for it helps him to transform, to overcome his trauma and face the shadows from his traumatic past. Notice that for the first time, the athlete came to accept the existence of feelings for Kim Dan. (chapter 56) However, he is not talking about love and gratitude yet. Without his left shoulder, he is forced to use his brain and as such his third eye. It is important, because it implies that the fighter is gradually learning how to control his emotions. Compare his attitude on the street (chapter 5) to the one at the gym from episode 5: (chapter 5) He is much calmer. He is not oozing red and remaining silent. He is not burning up inside, in fact he is expressing his thoughts and emotions: (chapter 56) That’s the reason why I believe that in the next episode, the fighter won’t act on his feelings like in the past. But there exists another common denominator between episode 5 and 56. The athlete’s request mirrors the situation in episode 5. (chapter 5) In both cases, the athlete asked for his manager’s help. However, as Jinx-philes can sense, there exist two huge differences between the past and present. Back then, Park Namwook didn’t care for Kim Dan. He was just a PT like any other doctor. He didn’t even care that Joo Jaekyung would lose his temper and ruin the sandbag. (chapter 5) It was not worrisome in his eyes, because his day would consist of training and punching the sandbag. The problem is that the fighter is no longer coming to the gym and he is not even calling him: (chapter 56) While the contrast between episode 5 and 56 reflects their growing gap and gradual separation, it seems to indicate that Park Namwook will follow the athlete’s request. He would have two reasons for this: money and hope that this would give some closure to his boy so that the latter can focus on his “training” again. But by following his request, he could expose his “connection” which is linked to the champion’s past. But I could be wrong. He could refuse it, for this request sounds so scary and immoral. Notice that the author didn’t let her readers hear his answer. We will see. Finally, it is important to recall that the fighter is dressed differently and he is more on the mode “listening” than “seeing”, as he had to hear the answers from his investigation: (chapter 56) Notice that even at the end, readers were not even able to see the PT’s faces: (chapter 56) This shows that the athlete is using more and more his intelligence, he is forced to interact with people. He is gradually developing his social skills which stand for COMMUNICATION. And how did he get deceive in the past? (chapter 48) He got manipulated by his eyes! They used a trick to deceive the athlete: delivering the truth in delay. Joo Jaekyung didn’t confront Kim Dan, because he saw the pictures as proofs! He never tried to hear his side from the story. And now, you comprehend why I am expecting that the champion will suffer another “blow” in the next episode. In my opinion, he will hear an important information. The fire in the illustration is there to indicate “Tabula Rasa”, a clean state. Joo Jaekyung has to lose all his principles and his bias about doc Dan. But for that he needs to face his own past and mistakes. Only through this effective anguish, he can become a better man, a new man.

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

Jinx: Daily Jinx Advent Insight 17 📆 0️⃣1️⃣9️⃣The Shadows Cast By Numbers

In the composition The Magic Of Numbers I demonstrated the strong link between numbers, characters and situations. This led me to focus on the number 7 and its signification in Jinx. [For more read Magic 7 : Navigating between Jinx and Luck]. Is it a coincidence that number has for synonym “figure”, which is also an equivalent for “character”, person”? I don’t think so. However, the biggest discovery has not been revealed yet. Thus if my avid readers look carefully at the new illustration now, they will detect the digit 1, 0 and 9. What do they mean in Jinx? I will answer to this in the following analysis.

Numbers and Characters

For that, it is important to look at the following chapters and their digits:

Chapter 1Chapter 1Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 20
Loan SharksPerverted Hospital DirectorHeo Namwook/ the loan shark and his minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo NamwookLoan Shark and Perverted Hospital Director
Chapter 37Chapter 46Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49
Mysterious MFC agentHeo Namwook and minionsFirst appearance of Choi GilseokBaek Junmin’s first appearanceChoi Gilseok meeting Kim DanBaek Junmin meeting Joo Jaekyung and Director Choi switching the spray thanks to his minions

What do these episodes have in common? The number 10 or better said 1 and 0. Let me give different examples. 11; 37 : 3+7= 10; 46: 4+6=10; 4+7= 11. What caught my attention is that the number 1 and 0 are strongly intertwined with the villains.

Before going any further, it is relevant to define a villain.

A villain in literature is a character who represents evil or opposing moral values and often creates conflict with the protagonist. Villains typically display malicious intent, seeking to harm, dominate, or oppose others for personal gain or twisted ideals. Examples include:

  • Darth Vader (Star Wars): A dark lord driven by a desire to impose order through domination.
  • Hannibal Lecter (The Silence of the Lambs): A brilliant but psychopathic serial killer.
  • Voldemort (Harry Potter): A dark wizard seeking immortality and control​

This means that villains in Jinx are people resenting the main leads, they wish to harm or even ruin them. But let’s return our attention to my interpretation. The digit 1 announces the presence of a villain. One might argue about this perception, for number 48, 49 or 20 doesn’t mirror this theory. Nevertheless, Jinx-philes shouldn’t keep in mind that 8 embodies Kim Dan. Moreover, we should see it like that: 47= 4+7= 11, then 48=: 47 (Baek Junmin) + 1 Director Choi. Additionally, in 49, we have 4 persons involved in the scheme to kill the champion with Shotgun: (chapter 49) These 3 men and The Shotgun have to be seen as a team. Moreover, 4 is a synonym for death. Then, observe that the image from episode 20 contains two villains, the loan shark and the perverted hospital director. 1 +1 = 2. So when we see the number 10, 11, 16, 17 and 18, we could perceive it as an allusion to Heo Namwook, the villain.

However, another objection could be raised. What about episode 47? If you add the digits together, you have 11. So where are the two “villains”? It is clear that one is referring to the Shotgun, as for the other we could say, it is an allusion to the invisible involvement of Choi Gilseok. Then what about 11? One possible answer would be to say that the other villain in episode 11 was the representative of the association (chapter 11) and indirectly the persons involved in the redevelopment. However, I have to admit that I have a different explanation.

1 and antagonists

And this brings me to my other observation. In my eyes, the digit is not just referring to villains, but also to antagonists. You might ask about the difference between a villain and an antagonist.

An antagonist, by contrast, is any force or character that opposes the protagonist, creating conflict. They act as barriers to the protagonist’s growth or objectives, embodying stagnation or forces that resist transformation. Unlike villains, antagonists are not necessarily evil. For example:

The Party (1984): The oppressive government represents the antagonist but is not embodied by a single “villainous” character. The party embodies immobility through oppressive control, rejecting individuality or societal progress. It acts as a hurdle for Winston Smith, who seeks freedom and truth.

Miss Havisham in Great Expectations:: She is trapped in her heartbreak, she resists emotional healing and inadvertently thwarts Pip’s development.

As for Captain Ahab in Moby-Dick:, though a protagonist in his own story, Ahab’s obsessive immobility (revenge on the whale) becomes an antagonist force against his crew and their survival.

In other words, they create tension by opposing the protagonist’s goals. They test the main character’s resolve, adaptability, and resourcefulness. By clinging to outdated systems, ideologies, or personal fears, they symbolize forces that resist progress. Many antagonists refuse change, either out of fear, selfishness, or a belief in their own superiority. This refusal often highlights the protagonist’s drive for transformation or growth. To conclude, they embody hurdles to overcome, immobility, intern and extern conflict, resistance and regression.

Therefore for episode 11, one might think that the other 1 was referring to Joo Jaekyung, for the latter appears like a barrier which the young physical therapist needs to overcome. (chapter 11) Let’s not forget that in Jinx-Fandom, many Jinx-addicts calls him a “red flag”. Here, he was abusing his position. Furthermore, this theory could be seen as validated with the first episode with this image: (chapter 1) The main lead appears as a beast, triggering the doctor’s fears. He seems to be like an antagonist. However, I believe that it is just a deception. First, Mingwa has clearly stated that the champion is the protagonist of Jinx. As such, he can be neither a villain nor an antagonist. Secondly, though he seems to serve as a barrier, the reality is that Kim Dan is incited to mature and overcome his own fears. In fact, the celebrity represents the opposite notions of “conformity” and “immobility”. He embodies verity, maturity, transformation and progression. The evidence of this perception is the gradual transformation of Kim Dan as an inexperienced PT to a very professional and performant physical therapist. According to my interpretation, the Emperor works as the mirror of truth. He confronts the delusional physical therapist with his mental and emotional issues, like here: (chapter 20). Sex is not dirty, he is not an old creep. He is just 29 years old. He is pure and innocent like a baby. Hence we should see this discussion (chapter 45) as a good trigger for the 29 years old man to turn into a good PT. From that moment on, he only focused on the sportsman, and stopped asking the help from colleagues or listening to them. (chapter 42) He only relied on his hands. He was forced to become a serious and confident PT!!

On the other hand, there is no denial that the athlete shares some similar traits with an antagonist: his selfishness, the use of threats and an ideology (his jinx). Consequently, one might still contest my interpretation. Nonetheless, this hesitation can be removed easily, when we return our attention to chapter 1 again. (chapter 1) This image was not reflecting reality, but Kim Dan’s vision!! The following panel is the unbiased truth: (chapter 1) The star was just waiting, and not threatening the doctor. As you can see, Joo Jaekyung doesn’t appear like a threat or a monster. But this doesn’t end here. One detail caught my interest. The champion is associated with blue. It is his true color, whereas Kim Dan is “red”, like a sweet strawberry. So why does this young man ooze a red aura, when his true shade is blue like water (chapter 27) or the ocean. It is because he was under the influence of his hyung Park Namwook which explains why Mingwa introduced him like this: (chapter 1) Note the contrast to his “boy”. The red is not coming from Joo Jaekyung’s body (chapter 1), but more from the side which stands in opposition to the coach.

Thus I came to the following deduction. In episode 1, the MMA fighter appears as an antagonist, but he is not the real one, it is his coach and manager. The latter only shows his true colors at the end of season 1. This interpretation gets corroborated with episode 11: (chapter 11) The coach is yelling for Joo Jaekyung’s comment, yet the reality is that the manager didn’t treat Kim Dan at all. In fact, he feigned ignorance. Moreover, look at the champion’s t-shirt: (chapter 1) There is a spider on his t-shirt, which represents the manager’s personality and behavior. (chapter 26) In this composition, I compared the MMA star with a leopard and Park Namwook to a spider: Daily Jinx Advent Insight 12. This shows that the main lead had been copying his mentor’s behavior for a while. And the moment you associate 1 with Park Namwook, it becomes more comprehensible why he argued with his pupil in 17 (chapter 17) or in episode 46 (chapter 46) He represents regression or the hurdle to overcome.

However, we should consider the first episode as a combination of 1 and 0: 01. And who was missing in this chapter? Naturally, Shin Okja, the doctor’s grandmother. She is the other antagonist for our beloved couple: (chapter 11) (chapter 11) And I can prove my statement by showing the episode where she appears:

Chapter 5Chapter 7Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21

Chapter 22Chapter 30Chapter 41Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 53


Here, we should see as a continuation of episode 47.

By looking at the numbers carefully, I suddenly realized what the halmoni’s true number could be. It is 11 which actually makes 2. Hence we have 20, 21 and 22 where she plays a huge role. One might argue for this hypothesis, for she appears in episode 5 and 7. However, combine these two numbers together, then you have 12. A combination of 2 and 1, which is similar to 11 and 2. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the Webtoonist made her appear again, when Baek Junmin (the criminal embodies 5) entered the spotlight: 5 *2 = 10 or 47 = 11. But what does the number 1 and 0 mean.

1: Isolation, Ego, and Domination

The number 1 is often associated with leadership, individuality, and beginnings. However, its negative side can symbolize isolation, self-centeredness, and authoritarianism.

  1. Isolation and Loneliness
    • As a singular entity, 1 can represent someone who stands alone, often by choice or force, cutting themselves off from others. Park Namwook has always excluded the athlete from the “parties” (chapter 9) or other events like this one: (chapter 37) Buying in secret junk food.
    • This isolation can stem from arrogance or a belief in their superiority, which distances them from meaningful relationships. (chapter 52) Hence he shouldn’t be seen as a true friend of the champion. He views himself as the better one: manners, temper and decisions. The reality is that he is never making any decision.
    • In Jinx, the antagonistic figures, such as the surrogate parents, could embody this isolation by choosing control over connection, leaving the leads emotionally detached and alienated. Hence the grandmother keeps asking favors from her grandchild (chapter 11) (chapter 47)
  2. Selfishness and Ego
    • Negatively, 1 reflects the “me-first” mentality, where the individual prioritizes their needs, desires, and ambitions at the expense of others.
    • In villains, this could manifest as manipulative behavior or exploitation, as they treat others as tools rather than equals. (chapter 1)
  3. Domination and Tyranny
    • In its extreme, 1 represents absolute power—one ruler, one decision-maker—leading to oppressive or dictatorial behavior. Hence Kim Dan could never get a job as PT at a hospital. (chapter 1) But it is the same for the champion who got his “gym” stolen from his hyung: (chapter 22) He is acting here like a tyrant.
    • This can parallel the way antagonists in Jinx drain others emotionally and physically, exercising control in a way that leaves the protagonists powerless and diminished. They feel jinxed. That’s the reason why I added bats on the illustration. I came to this revelation thanks to this article:

The hidden vampires in Jinx

And naturally, these two descriptions reminded me of the manager from Team Black. He slaps or yells at the champion, each time he is frustrated. Then he trusts no one (chapter 52), spreading rumors, mistrust and doubts. (chapter 46) This would explain the champion’s emptiness and darkness: (chapter 29) As for the halmoni, she embodies the last type of emotional vampire:

This description reminded me of the last conversation between the doctor and his grandmother. (chapter 53) The request for another sacrifice and promise. It is also possible that she represents a combination of another type, though we didn’t see her complaining too much in season 1:

Maybe the phone call during the night, her repetitive requests the next morning (chapter 21) and Kim Miseon’s reproach to Kim Dan could be seen as an indirect allusion. And if my interpretation about her number is correct, then we would have a good explanation why Kim Dan was unable to perceive her true nature, but also why she is so selfish.

11: The false spiritual guide

The number 11 in numerology is often referred to as a “Master Number,” carrying profound spiritual energy and potential for enlightenment. However, its heightened sensitivity and intense energy can also manifest negatively. While they are visionaries, individuals influenced by 11 sometimes struggle to transform their dreams into reality. Their focus on idealism or spirituality may distract them from practical implementation. People influenced by 11 may feel overwhelmed by their internal energy, leading to high levels of stress and emotional instability. Their sensitivity to external stimuli can make them prone to chaotic thoughts and anxiety when life feels out of balance. The number’s dual nature can create internal conflict, making it difficult for individuals to find stability. They may oscillate between extremes—hope and despair, inspiration and doubt. Despite their innate strength, they may overly depend on others for validation or support, sometimes at the expense of their own goals. This arises from their deep need to connect and help others, which can leave them emotionally exhausted or vulnerable to exploitation​ [for more read Numerologist.com​ ] Being a master number, 11 carries an intense energy that can be difficult to manage. People influenced by it might feel an excessive burden to achieve greatness, leading to burnout or feelings of inadequacy. This can prevent them from realizing their full potential, as they fear taking risks or making mistakes. This can lead them to remain passive. ​[Building Beautiful Souls] Finally, the number 11 would also explain why she is only focusing on herself. Emotional intensity, indecisiveness, imbalance and duality, overwhelm and pressure reflects the grandmother’s personality, as the latter always avoids conflicts and prefers running away from reality.

And that’s how I came to the following conclusion. Season 1 stands under the color of red. Note that the halmoni is always seen wearing red or dark pink clothes in the past (chapter 48), just like Park Namwook is wearing a red t-shirt with Team Black on it. These were the vampires who were draining out their “boys”. However, in the last episode, Park Namwook is no longer wearing the red t-shirt, but a blue one. (chapter 53) Only the logo is red. (chapter 53) It is important, because it announces the manager’s resignation. He doesn’t want to become responsible for the mess. Unconsciously, he is no longer claiming to be the owner of the gym. Furthermore, notice that the grandmother desires to return to the West Coast in order to see an ocean of “fire”. (chapter 53) This shows that she is longing for warmth and red colors. Yet, the color of the sea is rather green or blue. As you can see, everything is pointing out that the couple had to overcome the antagonists from season 1, the emotional vampires, who were so close to them than none of them realized that they were the origins of their suffering. And now, if you look at my table again:

Chapter 1Chapter 1Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 20
Loan SharksPerverted Hospital DirectorHeo Namwook/ the loan shark and his minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo Namwook and minionsHeo NamwookLoan Shark and Perverted Hospital Director
Chapter 37Chapter 46Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49
Mysterious MFC agentHeo Namwook and minionsFirst appearance of Choi GilseokBaek Junmin’s first appearanceChoi Gilseok meeting Kim DanBaek Junmin meeting Joo Jaekyung and Director Choi switching the spray thanks to his minions

you will realize that the villains’ shades are blue, black and green. (chapter 35) In episode 16 and 17, the presence of the sun is a reference to the MMA fighter, it is announcing his arrival. This corresponds to the color I had detected with the first scheme: MFC with the blue “ring” embodies this pigment, just like the ocean. In other words, blue should be the dominant color in season 2, and in Taoism blue stands for YIN! On the other hand, Kim Dan also represents red with his name. Moreover, if you look at the numbers of the quoted episodes again, you will realize that the villains are strongly connected to the number 10 and as such one and zero. Thus Director Choi Gilseokf’s phone number is 010-1…. (chapter 46)

0: Emptiness, Neglect, and Obliteration

The number 0, often associated with nothingness and potential, has a shadowy counterpart that embodies destruction, void, and futility.

  1. Emptiness and Neglect
    • 0 represents a void—a lack of presence, empathy, or nurturing. Antagonists or villains embodying this aspect may not just harm directly but leave a gaping hole in the lives of those they affect. (chapter 10) Here, the manager showed no empathy or understanding in front of the champion. (chapter 37) He never complimented him for his hard work at all.
    • In Jinx, this could reflect the emotional neglect or apathy the antagonists or villains show, as their actions drain the main leads of energy, motivation, and a sense of self-worth.
  2. Annihilation and Destruction
    • As the symbol of “nothingness,” 0 can represent obliteration. It suggests an absence of growth, hope, or meaning, as antagonists and villains tear down rather than build up. (chapter 46) With these words, the manager creates a negative atmosphere, therefore there is no longer any trust and loyalty among the members.
    • The destructive aspect of 0 mirrors how the surrogate parents or antagonists in Jinx consume and drain the leads, leaving them emotionally barren and mentally fragmented. (chapter 10)
  3. Cycles of Futility
    • As a closed loop, 0 suggests an endless cycle, often one of despair or entrapment.
    • In the Korean Manhwa, this seems to symbolize how the protagonists are trapped in abusive dynamics with antagonists and villains (the loan sharks, director Choi, MFC and the way they treat their athletes like pawns) who repeatedly exploit and manipulate them, making escape seem impossible. The grandmother created the illusion that Kim Dan would be able to pay off the debts by working hard (chapter 18), until the champion confronted the protagonist with reality.

And if we analyze the number 46 (as a representative of 10), this is what we have:

46: Cycles of Dependence and Exploitation

  • 4 (Stability/Control) combined with 6 (Responsibility/Dependence) often represents a dynamic of obligation and control, but when tied to antagonism, it takes on a darker tone: a cycle where the protagonist is trapped in an exploitative relationship, unable to break free due to misplaced responsibility or imposed stability. Thus in episode 46 from jinx, the champion tried to express his expectations about the manager and coach (chapter 46), however Park Namwook refused to accept such a behavior from his boss. Therefore he put his pupil under pressure.
    • The surrogate parent attempted to enforce a toxic sense of responsibility (6) on the athlete, ensuring control (4) over his actions and emotions. However, the champion tried to escape from this by running away: (chapter 46) He avoided a confrontation. This number symbolizes how the lead feels burdened by obligations imposed by his oppressor, who positions himself as provider of “stability” while actually fostering dependence and draining his victim. And naturally, in the same chapter, we have a similar interaction between Heo Manwook, the minion and his hyung, the real boss: (chapter 46) Here, the director was reminding him of his mistakes and obligations. However, this time the boss chose to become proactive and responsible.

Since I linked season 1 to red, it dawned on me why Cheolmin or the perverted hospital director didn’t appear in that season. (chapter 1) (chapter 13) They are strongly intertwined with the color green and as such blue. In literature, art, and psychology, the color blue often represents calmness, loyalty, and introspection.This fits to the description made by the author concerning season 2. The latter would focus more on emotions and thoughts than on the plot. And now, it is time to reveal why in the illustration I added the number 9.

Number 9 and its significance

This number stands for “change and help”. In this part, I will only focus on the following numbers: 9, 18, 19, 27, 29, 36, 39, 45 and 49. In episode 9, the champion was asked to take care of Doc Dan. The latter needed help, for he was too drunk to return home on his own. (chapter 9) The leopard agreed and that’s how they came to argue about his home the next morning: (chapter 10)- So from 9 to 18, the story is focusing on the doctor’s home. In episode 18, Joo Jaekyung invites the poor physical therapist to his home. (chapter 18) In this episode, both main leads refuse the assistance from the other. Kim Dan is bothered that Joo Jaekyung paid off the debts, while the other dismissed the worries from the PT: (chapter 18) Then in episode 19, Joo JAekyung is not asking for his “help”, until he calls him. But even here, he is refusing to prepare his partner: (chapter 19) As for Kim Dan, the latter doesn’t feel truly needed as PT, hence he is already thinking about taking another job: (chapter 19) Then in episode 27, Kim Dan offers his assistance. (chapter 27) He encourages his VIP client to take a break by remaining by his side. However, this attempt fails, as in episode 29 , (chapter 29) the champion rejects the idea of resting for a day. Then after the incident with the article, at no moment Kim Dan offers his assistance to help the champion. He remains totally passive, (chapter 36) it shows his passivity and neglect. He doesn’t feel responsible for the champion’s career or safety. His concerns earlier were rather superficial. This explicates why he is also treated like a doll. Then in episode 39, for the first time, the doctor is requesting his help and assistance. (chapter 39) The problem is that it is related to a drug and sex. This has nothing to do with his job or career. Interesting is that in episode 45, for the first time, Joo Jaekyung voiced his needs to have him as a PT: (chapter 45). Without him, he can not do it. But here is the thing. In the locker room, the champion chose himself to treat his pain, he selected the pain relief spray over the doctor’s hands. (chapter 49) This means that in that scene, Joo Jaekyung refused to let Kim Dan treat him out of doubts and mistrust which were triggered by the manager’s words and the pictures. As you can see, the number 9 is strongly intertwined with help, but also with a change. The beginning of a new circle. Thus I am expecting in the new season, chapter 54, that for the first time, Joo Jaekyung will ask for help and support. But he can not ask Park Namwook or others from Team Black… he has only one true friend and that would be Cheolmin, unless he finds the protagonist immediately. At the same time, I would like to point out another observation. What is the opposite of 9? Naturally 6, which represents the end of a circle. And now, look at this:

Chapter 6Chapter 26Chapter 36Chapter 42Chapter 46

The end of Joo Jaekyung’s torment. He doesn’t need to chase after him.

Kim Dan is overcoming his fears. It is an allusion to Heo Manwook and his minions. On the other hand, the champion can not play with Kim Dan.

The end of a peaceful cohabitation, the return of fears from Joo Jaekyung (his jinx)
the presence of a scheme

The return of the mint-goblin, and as such the doctor’s fears (low self-esteem) At the same time, we shouldn’t overlook the presence of a third person in that flat who could appear in season 2.

The villains are exposed: they are now targeting Team Black and in particular Kim Dan.

The number 6 is strongly intertwined with regression, negative influence, schemes, antagonists and villains. Moreover, I detected a link between 6 and green/grey. That’s the reason why I am expecting more than ever in season 2, the fight between two green: nature versus money, fun versus seriousness, justice versus crimes/schemes. But in order to take place, the main couple needs to reflect about their own true desires in their life. What do they want exactly? A PT or a friend, a lover or a partner, a family or a company, justice or a scapegoat, fame or happiness?

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

Jinx: Daily Jinx Advent Insight 11 📆😄😾

In the last essays I studied a lot the manager and coach from Team Black. Therefore I decided to focus on a different person today. And that will be our beloved Kim Dan.🐹🦆 The starting point of this essay is the following panel:

Chapter 44

Doc Dan’s laugh and its symbolism

In my composition “A Summer Night’s Dream  I described the doctor’s smile and laugh as a magical moment. The little bubbles of light reminded me of fairies and in particular of Tinker Bell with her pixie dust. Interesting is that this character from Peter Pan and her magical powder symbolize the magic of youth, joy, and the power of belief. Her dust, which grants characters the ability to fly, represents imagination and the freedom that comes from thinking like a child, unbound by adult limitations or fears. Tinker Bell herself often embodies loyalty and playful spirit, sparking wonder and adventure. Her presence reminds characters—and viewers—of the youthful joy, innocence, and boundless possibility that magic can bring into their lives, even in challenging or serious moments.

And that’s exactly what happened during that night, the return of youth and simple joy. Kim Dan’s fears and prejudices vanished immediately. Because the champion had asked for Kim Dan’s consent, the latter discovered freedom. He felt so free that he could voice his desires sensually. (chapter 44) He stroke his soulmate’s face, kissed his cheeks and finally his ears. His actions triggered a singular reaction in the star: (chapter 44) This made the physical therapist’s laugh. (chapter 44) His genuine laugh combined with the following realization (chapter 44) shows that in that moment, the physical therapist rediscovered his youth again. I would even add that Jinx-philes were witnessing in this panel how Kim Dan reconnected with his inner child. (chapter 44) The blushing is an indication of life and innocence. But if this young man’s childish nature was brought to the surface, who was Tinker Bell during this night? Naturally Joo Jaekyung. Under the influence of soju, the man could no longer hide his true nature. He has a childish side too. In other words, he was lowering his guard. Anyone has already heard from the quote “In wine, there’s truth” (the original quote comes from Latine: “in vino veritas”). As you can see, this beautiful night corresponds to this one: (chapter 10)

Chapter 10 Chapter 44
Darkness Light
TearsLaugh and Smile
PovertyWealth
Stench Wonderful Smell
Money Free

And what was the common denominator? Drunkenness. However, back then the champion did not choose to have sex with the young physical therapist: (chapter 10) Under this light, it becomes comprehensible why Kim Dan’s beautiful night became a dream, an illusion. The young doctor had done something wrong from a moral point of view. However, because the young man had treated the champion so well before, his reward was to experience what love is. (chapter 44) Thanks to Tinker Bell, he could fly: he was brought to Nirvana. (chapter 44) The problem is that the physical therapist was reducing love to sex (“making love”). True love has to be expressed in a lot of different ways (spiritual intimacy, experiential closeness, responsibility etc) and not just through sex.

Another common point between these two scenes is the doctor’s longing for companionship. And this brings me back to the protagonist’s laugh and observation. He compared the Emperor to a sulky cat. (chapter 44) Why was he thinking of an animal? Let’s not forget that in chapter 10, the very same person was confusing the celebrity with his grandmother. (chapter 19( The comparison suggests that Kim Dan still hadn’t fully recognized or understood Joo Jaekyung’s true character. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why Kim Dan still came to misjudge and misinterpret the athlete’s words and behavior later. Yes, even this night outlines the physical therapist’s flaws. Exactly like his soulmate, he still couldn’t love his partner properly. Nevertheless, this thought (“sulky cat”) divulges the doctor’s inner child.

Kim Dan’s sulky cat

Most children desire to have a pet at home, it is often either a dog or a cat. Cats and children often share a unique bond due to their mutual curiosity and playfulness. Cats can offer children a gentle introduction to empathy and responsibility, as children learn to care for a creature with needs and boundaries. The independent nature of cats also teaches children about respect for personal space. For kids, cats provide comfort and companionship, while cats, in turn, appreciate the warmth and attention. This dynamic can foster compassion and self-awareness in children, helping them grow emotionally and socially.

But what does a cat symbolize in literature and cultures? Cats have held various symbolic roles across history. In ancient Egypt, they were sacred and associated with the goddess Bastet, seen as protectors of the home and often honored in death. In medieval Europe, cats became linked to superstition and witchcraft, often seen as mysterious or foreboding. By the 19th century, authors like Carroll and Dickinson used cats as symbols of freedom and intelligence. In 20th-century literature, cats evolved to represent loyalty and companionship (for example French author Colette with The Cat). As you can see, this feline has always been associated with magic, supernatural and mystery (witchcraft, gods, death). So we could say that the cat Jaekyung was the one who helped Kim Dan to discover a lost world; his long forgotten and repressed inner child.

At the same time, cats also symbolize home and protection. This means that in that moment, Kim Dan felt truly at home. (chapter 44) For a brief moment, they were no longer in a boss-employee relationship. Hence I come to the conclusion that we should consider Kim Dan’s laugh and smile as a reflection from the champion’s hug and drunken confession: (chapter 43) Interesting is that in that scene, the protagonist couldn’t see his lover’s face. He couldn’t detect the glimpse of a smile and his warm gaze.

Another point is that he compared the fighter to a sulky cat. (chapter 44) On the one hand, this expression exposes that the main lead was not wearing any pink-tinted glasses and as such he was not delusional. On the other side, this idiom often represents independence, moodiness, and a desire for autonomy. In folklore and literature, cats that appear sullen or aloof can represent mystery, self-possession, or quiet resentment, emphasizing traits like defiance and emotional complexity. They might also convey an inner conflict or unspoken feelings, as their behavior reflects the subtle tension between closeness and detachment. This image often serves to remind us of the value of personal space, boundaries, and the instinct to guard one’s inner self. This means that with this discovery, Kim Dan was encouraged not to become clingy and depend on the athlete. Yes, I see this laugh (chapter 44) as a positive reflection from this night: (chapter 11)

The doctor’s laugh from the past and the present

By comparing both images, Manhwa-lovers can detect the differences. Kim Dan might have a wide open mouth in both pictures, yet there is no sound in the humble home. Secondly, his eyes are wide open contrary to the magical night. What does it mean? The absence of a laughing sound and a blushing are revealing that the little boy was faking his joy. He didn’t want to show his fear and sadness. Like mentioned in a previous essay, during that night, he was acting like a Teddy Bear comforting his grandmother. In other words, this memory from the main figure is exposing his delusion and suffering. A Teddy Bear doesn’t require any attention or care, as it is just an object. This explains why this toy was not treated properly (chapter 21). He was simply put on the floor. Yet small children usually treat such cuddly toys as treasures. While making this contrast, I realized why the halmeoni never took care of her grandchild properly. Observe what happened to the Wedding Cabinet and the expensive scarf she received from her grandson. They were all left behind or vanished, just like the little boy’s Teddy Bear. (chapter 53) They were literally abandoned, as they lost their sentimental value overtime. I am suspecting that they had become “useless”. Hence I am suspecting that by calling him a puppy dog, she didn’t truly mean it. (chapter 47) By saying that he was a puppy dog, she was implying that she would be responsible for him. Keep in mind that pet are linked to care and accountability. However, her wish is strongly connected to one single moment: (chapter 53) She is not thinking about the future at all. For her, it doesn’t matter, for her time is limited. Dog can be abandoned in the end, especially when the responsibility becomes a burden. That’s the reason why I believe that in verity, she was treating the protagonist more like an object than like an animal. Moreover, Jinx-philes should keep in their mind she used to describe him as a little boy, which also represents responsibility and care. Therefore I conclude that this scene didn’t stand for Kim Dan’s true home, it was just an illusion. (chapter 11) He was smiling and faking happiness in order to comfort the grandmother. That’s how he reinforced her mental issues and his own abandonment issues. Everything would be fine, as long as he acted like she expected it. At no moment she desired to be confronted with his own suffering or with reality. This was not a “magical night”, but a night where the boy got “cursed”, like Sleeping Beauty. This night is strongly connected to silence which stands in opposition to the magical night from chapter 44. On the bed, both tried to have a conversation (chapter 44), though the communication failed, for Joo Jaekyung was drunk. Moreover, Kim Dan kept most of his thoughts to himself, a sign that he was still guarded. Hence while Doc Dan felt at home during that night, it didn’t last long. The next morning, they became once again boss and employee. (chapter 45) Moreover, by comparing the Emperor to a sulky cat, he is indirectly thinking and behaving like his grandmother. A cat can be abandoned, the latter can find new owners. Nevertheless, I still think, this night left traces in Kim Dan’s heart and mind. He had grown fond of this place, almost at home. Therefore he struggled to leave the penthouse. (chapter 53) And compare his attitude to the one in chapter 19: (chapter 19) They were no deep lingering feelings towards the grandmother’s house. In fact, before leaving, he remembered an incident, a mysterious phone call which I consider as the moment, which broke the boy’s soul and heart. For me, he was almost glad to leave this place behind.

I pointed out above that one difference between these two laughs (chapter 11) (chapter 44) is the closed eyes from the main lead during the bright night. Since I interpreted the boy with wide open eyes as an allusion to deception, illusion and toxic positivity, the closed eyes should be perceived as the awakening of the third eye. Moreover, the young man’s mind and heart turned towards his inner world. Simultaneously, they also imply the absence of reality. Like mentioned above, Doc Dan is not truly perceiving the fighter for whom he is. This implies that there are aspects of Joo Jaekyung’s personality, motivations, or emotions that Kim Dan is overlooking or misinterpreting, which influenced their dynamic negatively so that they couldn’t relate to each other. However, I still think, Doc Dan was not really far from the truth. How so?

According to Mingwa, Kim Dan is a hamster and Joo Jaekyung is a wolf. So he sensed his animalistic nature. As you already know, I came to associate these two protagonists to other animals: dragon and his Yeouiju, Kim Dan as a DUCK! Hence it is possible that deep down, the celebrity has another hidden nature, like a cat.

The other nature from Joo Jaekyung

In my eyes, the champion is also a feline, more precisely a leopard. 😮 Remember the champion’s pajamas from episode 30: (chapter 30) The pajama pattern in the image appears to resemble a leopard print, which features distinct rosette-shaped spots that are commonly associated with this type of design. He also looked like a sulky “cat”. (chapter 30) And what was he trying to do here? To seek closeness to his new mate!

Leopards are wild animals and are generally not suitable for domestication. Though they are sometimes trained in captivity, they retain strong instincts and can be unpredictable and dangerous. Leopards often haul their kills up into a tree, out of reach of other carnivores, few of which can match a leopard’s climbing agility. They then leave the carcass and return at their leisure, safely enjoying a prolonged meal high up in a tree. 

This description corresponds a lot to the champion’s behavior: seeking isolation, bringing his prey to his penthouse (chapter 19), very territorial and disliking surprises. In literature, leopards often symbolize strength, courage, agility, and stealth. They are seen as solitary and powerful hunters, often representing independence or mystery. In totemic traditions, the leopard can symbolize resilience, adaptability, and personal power, often embodying a person’s inner strength and ability to face challenges.

In ancient Egyptian culture, leopards were revered, with priests wearing leopard-skin robes to signify their connection to the divine. Similarly, in African cultures, leopards are seen as symbols of royalty and protection. In the Chinese zodiac, the leopard (or panther) is associated with bravery and assertiveness, often symbolizing fierce guardianship and sharp intuition. Finally, leopards are historically associated with British royalty and heraldry, especially through their depiction as symbols of power and courage. In the British royal coat of arms, the “leopard” typically represents a stylized lion (often called a “lion passant guardant”)—a lion walking with its head turned to face the viewer. These symbols are often connected to English kings, with each “leopard” or lion reinforcing the monarchy’s strength, nobility, and bravery. This emblem has been used in military contexts as well, representing valor and leadership. To conclude, this predator is strongly intertwined with nobility and healing, as the latter was perceived to have a connection to the beyond.

That’s exactly how Joo Jaekyung has been affecting Kim Dan’s life. He is bringing luck in his life, he is healing him and the symbol for this healing is Doc Dan’s smile and laugh (chapter 44). He is the only one who can bring him joy and happiness. Note that he smiled for the first time after their first sparring: (chapter 26) One might argue that he laughed with Potato and Oh Daehyun in the States. But are you sure? We never saw him laughing. Only Joo JAekyung heard their laughs, but did it also belong to the hamster? (chapter 37) Moreover, observe that during that terrible night, the athlete was wearing an t-shirt with a feline on it: (chapter 37) Puma was designed on it. As you can see, everything is pointing out that this man is a leopard which was mistaken to a sulky cat or a puma.

And now imagine that the young man is moving to the West Coast in order to watch the sunset: (chapter 44) That’s how the champion should reconnect with his true nature. Interesting is that leopards are adaptable animals that thrive in various environments, from savannas and rainforests to mountains and deserts. They prefer areas with dense vegetation for stalking prey, as well as access to water sources for hydration. Though leopards are not as dependent on water as some animals, they will drink when it’s available. They are often active at night or during dawn and dusk, making them well-suited to both sunny and shaded habitats. Their adaptability to different climates is one reason they have such a broad geographic range. It shows that the champion will adapt himself very well in a new environment. His hamster or duck has become his lifetime companion. He can no longer live without him.

One might reply that I am overinterpreting this story, because Mingwa only associated her characters with the hamster and the wolf. But I would like to remind my avid readers that there was a reference to chapter 30: (chapter 44) So since the champion was naked during this night, we could say that his true nature was slowly coming to the surface. As a predator, his annoyance to the strokes and kisses appears more normal and understandable: (chapter 44) Kim Dan is teaching him how to control his strength and discover playfulness. And now, imagine Kim Dan patting a leopard 😉 (chapter 44) and the leopard fighting a wounded and isolated hyena: (chapter 52) But what had triggered the champion? (chapter 52) Eye-contact! Making direct eye contact with a leopard can be dangerous. Leopards may interpret prolonged eye contact as a threat or challenge, triggering an aggressive response. In the wild, they rely on stealth and avoid open confrontation, so they may react defensively if they feel they are being stared at. This behavior is common among many predators, as eye contact often signals dominance or confrontation. It’s generally advised to avoid direct eye contact and back away slowly if you encounter a leopard in close proximity. Baek Junmin had totally underestimated the true nature of his opponent. This could explain as well why Park Namwook is wearing his glasses all the time and even avoiding eye-contact with the emperor.

To conclude, Kim Dan was slowly perceiving the champion’s true nature, his feline side. However, since leopard can not be domesticated and are extremely territorial, it signifies that the carnivore will be searching for his mate and master. In my eyes, thanks to the physical therapist, Joo Jaekyung will discover his second nature: raising cubs. Potato the chow chow (chapter 24), Oh Daehyun the eagle… (chapter 9)

Leopard mothers raise their cubs with care and caution. After giving birth, they keep the cubs hidden in dense vegetation or secluded rocky areas to protect them from predators which reminded me of the gym. The latter is not famous. The mother frequently moves her young to new locations to avoid detection by other animals. Cubs rely on their mother’s milk for the first few months, after which she gradually introduces them to solid food by bringing back small prey. The mother teaches her cubs essential hunting and survival skills, often for up to two years, until they can fend for themselves. In other words, Joo Jaekyung will train the remaining members of Team Black to develop their killer instincts far away from public eyes.

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