Please support the authors by reading Manhwas on the official websites. This is where you can read the Manhwa: Jinx But be aware that the Manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link of the table of contents about Jinx. Here is the link where you can find the table of contents of analyzed Manhwas. Here are the links, if you are interested in the first work from Mingwa, BJ Alex, and the 2 previous essays about Jinx The Hot Sparks and Feverish Reality part 1 – part 2 and The Secrets Behind The Floors
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They Held Hands, But…
They held hands.
They held hands. 
(chapter 87)
They are so cute. 😍
This refrain summarizes much of the immediate reaction to the chapter. Attention clustered around the opening scene: the quiet morning moment in which the champion squeezes the doctor’s hand after asking for luck. 
(chapter 87) The intimacy of the gesture (chapter 87), its tenderness, and its symbolic weight were widely commented on—sometimes to the exclusion of almost everything else.
In the aftermath of the chapter, the author Mingwa herself remarked on this reception. On X, she noted—half amused, half ironic—that although Baek Junmin appeared 
(chapter 87) and an entire match took place, readers were largely talking about the introduction alone. 그나저나 이번화 나름 ㅂㅈㅁ도 나오고 경기도 했는데 다들 맨앞 도입부만 얘기하셔서 너무나 커엽군요,, (손잡았어 웅성웅성) Mimicking the collective reaction with a playful “They held hands!”, she described this selective focus as 커엽군요—not reproachful, but gently teasing.
This imbalance is understandable. The preceding chapters centered predominantly on the main leads 
(chapter 84) and the progression of their relationship, attuning readers to intimacy 
(chapter 85), care, and emotional release. When the chapter opens with a tactile, reassuring gesture, it naturally confirms that reading mode. The squeeze feels like a culmination.
Yet the chapter does not end there. By focusing almost exclusively on that moment, readers risk overlooking the significance of the final scene 
(chapter 87), where a very different gesture unfolds. 
(chapter 87) There, Baek Junmin rejects restraint, pushes away guidance, and verbalizes a resolve shaped not by trust or release, but by anger and revenge. (chapter 87) This closing moment is not incidental; it is placed in deliberate contrast to the opening.
The chapter is structured around these two gestures. One dissolves a belief rooted in ritual and control, the champion’s jinx. The other inaugurates a trajectory driven by wounded pride and escalation. Read together, they form a single movement—one that unfolds between a squeeze (chapter 87) and a crack (chapter 87).
Between a Squeeze and a Crack: Two Gestures, Two Logics
The chapter is structured around two gestures that appear simple, almost inconspicuous, yet articulate two radically different ways of relating to control, desire, and action.
One is a squeeze of the hand. (chapter 87) The other is the crushing of glass underfoot. (chapter 87) Between them unfolds a decisive split. The squeeze is not an act of domination. It is measured, contained, and reciprocal —an act of protection. The champion’s hand does not merely touch the physical therapist’s; it covers it. (chapter 87) The gesture encloses rather than exposes, shielding the other instead of pressing down on him. Force is present, but it is regulated and oriented toward care. The champion does not grasp to hold on longer than necessary; he squeezes, then stops. The gesture culminates in a line that matters far more than it seems at first glance: “That’ll do.” 
(chapter 87) This sentence marks a limit. It is not indifference, but acceptance. The champion has just registered the doctor’s surprise 
(chapter 87) — the slight jolt, the hesitation—and he responds by stopping. The restraint is not automatic; it is chosen. He does not ask for more reassurance, more certainty, or more support, even though he clearly desires it. Instead, he recognizes sufficiency.
What unfolds here is a careful negotiation between selfishness and selflessness. (chapter 87) The gesture still serves his need—he seeks strength, grounding, and reassurance—but it refuses to extract more than the other can freely give. (chapter 87) He allows himself to receive without insisting, to take comfort without turning it into a demand. Let’s not forget that after the tap, doc Dan had already started moving his hand away, though his fingers were brushing slightly his. 
(chapter 87) So the doctor’s support was indeed limited in time. So the stop of the champion ‘s squeeze (chapter 87) is therefore not a withdrawal, but an ethical adjustment: the moment at which desire acknowledges the other’s boundary and accepts it as final.
In that sense, the squeeze does not prove generosity; it proves restraint. It shows a willingness to carry what remains unmet rather than convert it into pressure. This is why the gesture concludes where it does. Not because the need disappears, but because it is no longer permitted to override respect.
In doing so, he abandons the logic that previously governed him—the belief that repetition, ritual, or escalation could secure an outcome. He would have sex, until his partners passed out. 
(chapter 33) Humbleness here (chapter 87) is not merely the expression of modesty, but the conscious recognition of limits: the willingness to accept uncertainty without compensating for it through excess, and the refusal to impose oneself on another. The gesture exposes a desire for respect toward Kim Dan; the champion knows his shyness and calibrates his touch accordingly, stopping before closeness turns into coercion. (chapter 87) The hand, as an instrument, reinforces this meaning. It reaches horizontally toward another human being. It creates proximity, connection, and grounding. 
(chapter 87) Nothing mediates the gesture. There is no object, no talisman, no substitute. Meaning is produced entirely through contact.
The final gesture operates according to the opposite logic. (chapter 87) The foot does not protect; it exposes. It descends vertically, asserting weight rather than relation. Where the hand encloses, the foot bares. The glass shatters under pressure, turning reflection into sharpness. What was once a surface becomes a source of wounds. It does not regulate force but releases it. Where the hand stops (chapter 87), the foot escalates. (chapter 87) The glass shatters, not to restore anything, but to discharge tension. This is not violence directed at a person, yet it is unmistakably expressive. It replaces connection with spectacle and containment with excess. Unlike the squeeze, the crack does not conclude itself. It invites continuation. The gesture is driven not by sufficiency, but by the refusal of “enough.” Here, greed is not merely material; it is existential. It manifests as the desire for the last word, total vindication, and unrestrained agency.
The contrast extends beyond movement into atmosphere. 
(chapter 87) The opening scene unfolds in a space that feels inhabited and shared, composed in softer shades that emphasize stillness and presence. The final scene is colder, darker, sharper. 
(chapter 87) Motion replaces quiet. An object enters the frame, absorbing force and redirecting it away from human contact. Where the first scene restores continuity—between bodies, between effort and outcome, between present and future 
(chapter 87) —the second collapses time inward. Baek Junmin does not act toward what is coming; he reacts toward what has already been. His violence is not exploratory but recursive. 
(chapter 87) It invokes the past as a template, attempting to reinstate an earlier hierarchy in which domination was secure and uncontested.
The gesture is therefore not simply destructive, but regressive. By striking, he tries to repeat a former position—acting like he wasn’t my gopher back in the day—as if the present could be coerced into mirroring that memory. This is why moderation is impossible. Repetition does not recognize limits; it demands reenactment. What breaks under this logic cannot be repaired because it was never oriented toward the future in the first place. It leaves only fragments—evidence of an attempt to overwrite change rather than accommodate it.
What ultimately sharpens the contrast between the two gestures is not only the difference between hand (chapter 87) and foot (chapter 87), but the difference between human presence and object substitution. In the opening scene, meaning emerges exclusively between two people. Nothing stands in for the other; nothing absorbs the gesture on their behalf. The squeeze requires mutual presence and ends precisely because it is shared. Its limit is ethical as much as physical. The final gesture unfolds in the absence of such reciprocity. Baek Junmin does not direct his force toward another human being, but toward an object. This displacement is not incidental. The object absorbs what no one else does. It becomes the recipient of rage, humiliation, and wounded pride. In doing so, it exposes a fundamental loneliness. Violence no longer seeks recognition from another person; it settles for impact.
The object in question matters. The Shotgun does not destroy a random item, but a television screen 
(chapter 87)—the very surface on which images circulate, words are fixed, and visibility is regulated. The screen does not reveal truth; it organizes perception. It is where victories are staged, reputations stabilized 
(chapter 46), and statements acquire permanence through broadcast. 
(chapter 87)
By turning on the screen, The Shotgun does not challenge the system itself (chapter 87); he reacts to what it has already done to him. What breaks is not the logic of spectacle, but his ability to endure exposure. The screen cracks, yet remains standing. This first rupture interrupts the image, but not its effect. The words spoken through it persist. They cannot be retracted, reframed, or silenced after the fact.
Thus he strikes again. (chapter 87) Using the ashtray, the “demon” shatters the screen into debris. At this point, the object has already lost its function. The broadcast is long over; the image is long gone. Yet the violence continues. He steps forward and crushes the remaining black shards underfoot (chapter 87), as if determined to annihilate even the remainder. The escalation exceeds necessity. It is no longer about disabling a device, but about confronting something that refuses to disappear.
This escalation becomes even more revealing when read against the opening sequence of the chapter. The three acts of destruction mirror, in distorted form, the three steps through which closeness was established earlier. In the morning scene, proximity unfolds gradually and remains contingent on consent: first the whisper 
(chapter 87), then the pause; then Kim Dan’s tentative tap (chapter 87); finally the squeeze (chapter 87), held only until it must stop. Each step waits for response. (chapter 87) Each movement depends on acknowledgment. The sequence concludes because it recognizes a limit.
At the office of director Choi Gilseok (chapter 87), the same tripartite structure is emptied of reciprocity. The first strike cracks the surface. The second shatters it into debris. The third crushes what remains. Where the opening scene pauses, this one accelerates. Where the whisper waits, the blow overrides. Where the squeeze ends itself, the violence repeats because it cannot conclude. The symmetry is formal, but the logic is inverted: one sequence builds relation through restraint; the other pursues erasure through excess. (chapter 87) In the latter, escalation is uninterrupted. At no point does Director Choi Gilseok intervene. He does not place a hand on Baek Junmin’s shoulder again, does not issue a command, does not impose a limit. (chapter 87) Whether he has already left the room or chooses deliberate avoidance is ultimately secondary. What matters is the absence itself.
That absence exposes a failure of containment. Authority is present in name, but not in function. Choi Gilseok cannot—or will not—stop his fighter. His invisibility transforms into passivity and complicity, not because he endorses the violence, but because he allows it to proceed unchecked. Power here no longer circulates through guidance or control; it dissolves into abdication. Yet this abdication is not uniform. It is selective.
Earlier in the narrative, Director Choi reacts strongly when his authority is verbally challenged. 
(chapter 49) When Joo Jaekyung addresses him with open disrespect, the breach of seniority provokes immediate outrage. 
(chapter 49) Intervention follows quickly. The insult is not tolerated 
(chapter 49) because it threatens hierarchy itself. Choi’s anger is genuine in that moment and it reveals what he truly guards: status, order, and the visibility of respect.
In contrast, Baek Junmin’s behavior provokes no such response. He brushes past instructions (chapter 87), slaps away physical restraint 
(chapter 87), and continues escalating without repercussion (chapter 87). The difference is telling. Where Choi once asserted authority to defend rank, he now withdraws it in the face of volatility. Baek’s aggression does not offend hierarchy in the same way; instead, it destabilizes it. And Choi does not confront destabilization. He avoids it.
A final irony sharpens this configuration of power. Neither Choi Gilseok nor Baek Junmin is aware of the protagonist’s true rank. 
(chapter 78) Both continue to perceive Joo Jaekyung as nothing more than a fighter (chapter 87) —talented, profitable, but ultimately subordinate. 
(chapter 87) This assumption governs how they speak to him, how they threaten him (chapter 49), and how they imagine their leverage over him.
Yet this perception is false. Joo Jaekyung is not merely an athlete within the system; he occupies the same structural level as those who presume to manage him. He is the owner of Team Black. His position aligns not with fighters, but with directors. The irony lies in the fact that the system itself enables this misrecognition. Authority is not distributed according to legal ownership, but according to visibility and habit.
This is already visible earlier, when the “hyung” attends directors’ meetings on the champion’s behalf. 
(chapter 46) His presence creates a convenient fiction: those around the table come to believe that he is the owner, or at least the one who truly governs the gym. Joo Jaekyung’s absence is interpreted not as autonomy, but as immaturity or dependence. Authority, once again, attaches itself to performance rather than reality.
The warning issued by the gym’s leadership makes this distortion explicit. 
(chapter 46) Even after boundaries are formally stated, Park Namwook continues to rely on seniority to address the champion 
(chapter 46) as if he were a child or an employee—someone to be corrected, instructed, and disciplined. The warning does not alter behavior because it does not challenge the underlying assumption: that Joo Jaekyung’s place is below them.
This misreading has consequences. Because Choi Gilseok and Baek Junmin both believe they are dealing with a fighter who must answer to managers, coaches, and institutions, they overestimate their capacity to contain him. They imagine leverage where there is none. They threaten exposure, punishment, and exclusion—tools that function only if the target depends on the system for legitimacy.
What they fail to see is that Joo Jaekyung no longer does. He doesn’t care about his image after challenging Baek Junmin. 
(chapter 87)
But let’s return our attention to the scene at the gym office. (chapter 87) This asymmetry exposes the limits of Choi Gilseok’s power. His authority functions only when obedience is already plausible. It depends on recognition rather than enforcement. When faced with a figure who neither seeks approval nor acknowledges restraint, Choi’s authority collapses into silence. The absence of intervention is not neutrality; it is an admission of impotence.
In that sense, Baek Junmin is not merely uncontrolled — he is uncontrollable within the existing structure. Choi’s refusal or inability to intervene reveals that the hierarchy he enforces is performative, not structural. It governs appearances and etiquette, not escalation or consequence. What remains once those appearances are ignored is not authority, but avoidance.
This is why Choi’s passivity matters narratively. By failing to stop Baek, he becomes an accomplice to excess without ever authorizing it. He does not direct violence, but he creates the conditions under which it can proceed. Power, here, does not flow downward or circulate relationally; it evaporates at the moment it is most needed.
In this sense, Baek Junmin is not merely acting out of rage. (chapter 87) He is acting in a vacuum created by institutional withdrawal. Thus the thug starts talking to himself loudly. This is not a dialogue, but a monologue. It was, as if he was trying to reassure himself about his power and connection. The director’s inability to regulate his “star” mirrors the waves in the last panel. An ocean can not be contained or restrained. In addition, his lack of restrain reflects the broader collapse of moderation within this economy. Where restraint once required oversight, its absence permits excess to define the relationship. What unfolds is not rebellion against authority, but the revelation that authority was already hollow.
This repetition is revealing. Each act answers the same stimulus, yet fails to neutralize it. The destruction does not bring release because the provocation was never material. The television has already fulfilled its role; the words spoken live cannot be undone. 
(chapter 87) What Baek attempts to destroy is not the object, but what it represents: the irreversibility of public speech, the collapse of secrecy, the loss of narrative control.
The black glass fragments make this failure visible. (chapter 87) They do not restore darkness; they scatter it across the floor. The act does not erase visibility but multiplies its traces into debris. This is not a cleansing destruction. It is an attempt at erasure that arrives too late, producing residue instead of resolution.
Seen in light of Baek Junmin’s habitual reliance on whispers 
(chapter 49), handshakes, and private humiliation 
(chapter 49), the gesture becomes clearer still. He is accustomed to violence without witnesses, to domination shielded by proximity and secrecy. He was always the man in the shadow. The live broadcast deprives him of that refuge. (chapter 87) For the first time, he is confronted with words that circulate beyond his control.
Both sequences 
(chapter 87) also unfold under the sign of privacy. (chapter 87) Nothing from either scene is leaked to the audience within the story. No cameras intrude on the morning room; no spectators witness the destruction that follows. In both cases, what happens remains offstage, contained within enclosed spaces.
Yet the function of privacy differs radically. In the opening scene, privacy protects vulnerability. It creates a space in which hesitation, consent, and restraint can exist without performance. The absence of witnesses allows closeness to remain unexploited and unrecorded. Privacy here is not concealment, but care. (chapter 87)
The destruction scene also takes place out of view, but for the opposite reason. Privacy no longer shelters vulnerability; it shields waste. Hence the thug used an ashtray to damage the TV screen. The object exposes the truth about this gym: it is just a cover for thugs. Additionally, the ashtray allows violence to escalate without immediate consequence, to repeat without interruption. What is hidden is not intimacy, but loss of control. The same absence of witnesses that preserves dignity in one scene enables denial in the other. This parallel sharpens the contrast further. Privacy is not neutral. It amplifies what already governs the gesture. Where restraint is present, privacy sustains it. Where limits have collapsed, privacy becomes an accomplice.
What surfaces here (chapter 87) is not pure aggression, but fear. Rage functions as its mask. The insistence, the repetition, the overkill all point to an inability to tolerate being seen, named, and fixed in public space. Crushing the screen is not an assertion of power, but a response to exposure—a desperate attempt to silence what can no longer be taken back.
(chapter 87) He is announcing a shift of identity.
Up to this point, Baek Junmin still oscillated between two positions: the shadow fighter 
(chapter 74) seeking legitimacy, and the underground enforcer shaped by violence, order and debts 
(chapter 47). The broken screen already signaled that he no longer cares about how he is seen. (chapter 87) This line confirms what replaces that concern. He is ready to be seen as he is, without mediation, without justification. Leaving the shadow does not mean entering the light. It means abandoning concealment.
What he exposes are not hidden virtues, but true colors. The phrase is not a threat designed to intimidate an opponent into caution; it is a declaration of readiness to abandon restraint. He no longer intends to pass as a disciplined athlete governed by rules, training, or institutional limits. He is prepared to act as a bully and criminal —someone for whom violence is not a means within a system, but an identity in itself.
This is why the line follows the destruction of the screen so closely. (chapter 87) Once image no longer matters, there is nothing left to protect. Reputation, legitimacy, and future standing cease to function as brakes. What remains is the body and its capacity to harm. The statement therefore does not project confidence about the outcome of a match; it projects indifference toward consequences. In that sense, Baek Junmin is not stepping out of the shadows to claim recognition. He is stepping out to remove the mask. The system demanded that he appear controlled, profitable, and presentable. 
(chapter 47) By rejecting visibility and embracing excess, he also rejects the last requirement that tied him to that system.
What he is ready to expose is not truth, but himself.
Just as importantly, the damaged object does not belong to him. (chapter 87) Baek Junmin does not need to clean the mess, replace the screen, or account for the damage. He can afford indifference because responsibility is externalized. This is where materialism enters the gesture. (chapter 87) In his logic, what is destroyed can be replaced—by money, by compensation, by someone else’s labor. The gesture therefore carries no sense of loss. It is pure discharge. Where the hand-holding scene ends in sufficiency (chapter 87), this act ends in non-attachment. That non-attachment is not freedom; it is dispossession. Because nothing belongs to him, nothing binds him. The violence does not commit him to consequence. He does not have to stay, repair, or answer. (chapter 87) The object takes the blow and disappears from relevance, just as people do in his worldview once they cease to be useful or respectful. This is why the destruction feels so pronounced. It is not driven by concern for outcome. Baek Junmin does not care whether the screen works afterward, just as he does not yet care how events unfold. What matters is the act itself—the assertion that he can still act, still impact, still dominate a space that otherwise refuses him recognition. Under this new light, it becomes palpable that Baek Junmin’s resent and rage represent a liability to Choi Gilseok and his backers, the pharmaceutical company. 
(chapter 48) And their collaboration is founded on money laundering!! The shooting star is in reality (chapter 47) a meteor bringing calamity, once it lands on the Earth. Baek Junmin is about to face “reality” very soon.
Placed next to the opening scene, this contrast becomes stark. (chapter 87) There is no money, no power… between them. One gesture creates meaning because it acknowledges another human and accepts limitation. The other destroys an object precisely because no human is there to receive the force. One restores continuity; the other exposes isolation. Between them, the chapter reveals not only two trajectories, but two economies of value: one grounded in presence, the other in replacement.
Two pairs, two economies of power
What ultimately distinguishes the two dynamics is not intimacy versus violence, but how power is situated and what it depends on. In one case, power emerges through limitation; in the other, it is sought through displacement. The difference is not emotional, but structural. In the morning scene, power does not circulate vertically, but it also does not dissolve into symmetry. What changes is not the existence of power, but its source.
When the champion leans in and whispers, (chapter 87), he is not performing vulnerability for reassurance, nor delegating responsibility. He is explicitly naming Kim Dan as his source of energy. This matters. In earlier chapters, strength was something to be extracted through action—through sex, repetition, or coercive certainty 
(Chapter 2). Here, strength is no longer something he takes. It is something he receives. (chapter 87)
This is not a weakening admission. It is a reorientation. The champion does not ask Kim Dan to guarantee victory, to protect him from loss, or to secure the outcome. He asks for presence. What sustains him is no longer a ritualized act performed on another body, but the continued existence of a relationship in which he is accepted despite his flaws. 
(chapter 87) Kim Dan sleeping openly, showing his face, remaining there without fear—this is read by the champion as tacit trust. That trust becomes energy. In other words, this scene serves as the positive reflection of the argument in the locker room: 
(chapter 51)
The jinx (chapter 87) collapses precisely here. The old belief system operated on compensation: anxiety required action; uncertainty demanded escalation. Sex functioned as a mechanism to overwrite doubt. In this scene, no such mechanism is activated. The chapter makes this shift legible through space. When the champion rises from the bed, his movement is shown in full: he steps away from Kim Dan and crosses the room. (chapter 87) Yet he does not open the brown door. There is no pause at the threshold, no transition panel suggesting entry into another enclosed space. Instead, the next frame places him directly in the living area of the suite. The cut is continuous, not elliptical.
This matters because the brown door cannot be the suite’s entrance. (chapter 87) We have already seen the entrance elsewhere, and its placement does not align with this angle or proximity to the bed. Within the logic of a hotel suite, the remaining option is functional rather than transitional: the bathroom. In earlier chapters, that space was explicitly associated with ritual 
(chapter 75) —showering, cologne, self-regulation before a match. Here, that sequence is conspicuously absent.
The absence is not neutral. Mingwa does not show him choosing another ritual; she shows him skipping one. (chapter 87) No water, no mirror, no scent. The champion moves forward without cleansing, without recalibration, without the preparatory gestures that once framed his readiness. The bathroom—previously a site of purification and self-conditioning—remains closed, unused, and irrelevant.
What replaces it is not another ritual, but continuity. He enters the shared living space already grounded. The confidence he carries does not come from resetting himself, but from what has already occurred. Kim Dan’s presence, his sleep, the unguarded exposure of his face—all of this has already done the work that ritual once performed. There is nothing left to correct, neutralize, or overwrite. To conclude, this omission is not accidental. By abandoning the shower-and-cologne ritual, the champion abandons the idea that he must transform himself to be worthy of victory or public acceptance. He no longer needs to sanitize desire, image, or fear. What sustains him has already been secured before the match begins: recognition without conditions.
Power, then, is not extracted from superstition, domination, or bodily expenditure. It is grounded in continuity. Kim Dan’s presence does not ensure success, but it makes uncertainty bearable. That is the decisive shift. The champion no longer acts to silence fear; he acts while carrying it. And because he no longer believes that ritual determines outcome, he can later speak freely on live television. He is now confident, as he feels supported by doc Dan. 
(chapter 87) The profanity is not recklessness—it is evidence that image management has lost its hold. The champion does not stop caring about how he is seen; he narrows the field of recognition. Public perception no longer governs him (chapter 87) because it no longer defines his worth. What matters now is not the crowd, the broadcast, or the institution—but the single person whose presence already secured his sense of legitimacy before the match began. Thus after the match, he asked for the physical therapist’s approval and recognition: 
(chapter 87)
In short, the whisper does not mark dependence, but emancipation. (chapter 87) By replacing “I must do something” with “you are here,” the champion exits the economy of compulsion and enters an economy of trust. Victory will still matter—but it no longer needs to be purchased in advance.
The dynamic surrounding Baek Junmin operates differently. His position has always depended on external validation—rankings, victories 
(chapter 69), recognition, and above all visibility. Yet this visibility is curiously incomplete. Despite his victory, Baek Junmin is not immediately present as a public figure. He appears as a result 
(chapter 52) —his name, his win—but not yet as a narrative subject.
Only later, in episode 77
(chapter 77) does the story formally reveal his identity as champion. Until that moment, he remains strangely undefined, as if held back from full exposure. This delay is not incidental. It reflects a controlled form of recognition: Baek Junmin is allowed to win, but not yet to be seen. It already exposes that his success or victory is not clean. 
(chapter 87)
In this sense, the former underground fighter has not disappeared, but been contained. His past is not erased; it is suspended. (chapter 47) Visibility is granted selectively, not as self-expression, but as an institutional function. He exists within the system, but not yet fully in the public gaze. Even when violence or illegality intervenes, it does so in service of legitimacy. Until now, Baek Junmin has relied on the legal system 
(chapter 69) to carry him forward: sanctioned fights, official narratives, public status. Crimes may occur along the way, but they remain hidden, delegated, or absorbed by others. Power, for him, is something that must appear legitimate, even when it is not.
The destruction of the screen marks the point where this arrangement begins to fracture. (chapter 87) The legal economy no longer guarantees dominance. Public speech escapes control. (chapter 87) Visibility becomes a threat rather than a resource. In response, Baek does not retreat; he escalates. What we witness is not yet a full turn toward the underground, but the precondition for it: the realization that legality no longer secures power. (chapter 87) In this moment, Baek Junmin is no longer speaking as an athlete anticipating a rematch, nor as a rival operating within institutional rules. The phrasing “He has no idea who he’s messing with” does not refer to skill, ranking, or preparation. It signals a different register of power altogether—one that lies outside competition and beyond merit.
The threat is deliberately vague. He does not name a tactic, a plan, or a legitimate advantage. Instead, he invokes reach. The implication is relational rather than athletic: access, leverage, intermediaries. Power here is imagined as something that can be mobilized indirectly, through others, rather than exercised personally. This is where the “angel of death” reading becomes relevant—not as a literal figure, but as a symbolic posture. Baek frames himself as someone whose influence does not require visibility or accountability. Risk is no longer borne by the speaker. It is transferred, outsourced, or enforced through an unnamed elsewhere. Violence becomes atmospheric rather than explicit.
This is where the contrast between the two pairs sharpens. One trajectory exits the economy of compensation—the belief that force, ritual, or excess can neutralize uncertainty. The other moves toward a system where uncertainty is resolved through coercion rather than consent. One abandons the jinx by accepting risk. The other approaches a space where risk is relegated, outsourced, or enforced.
What separates them, then, is not morality, but dependency. The champion no longer depends on systems that promise control. Baek Junmin still does—and when that promise fails, the search for power does not stop. It changes terrain. Up to this point, Baek Junmin’s power has been structurally protected rather than personally secured. His victories, rankings, and public status were carried forward by the legal economy of the sport, even as acts of sabotage or coercion occurred in its margins. Crucially, this system did not require his full awareness to function. Violence was absorbed, displaced, or misattributed by intermediaries, allowing legitimacy to remain intact on the surface. Baek benefited from this arrangement without having to own it. Authority appeared lawful, outcomes appeared earned, and responsibility flowed elsewhere.
That arrangement begins to collapse here. Once public speech escapes control and visibility can no longer be managed retroactively, legality stops functioning as insulation. What follows is not yet a plunge into the underground, but the moment where reliance on institutional protection becomes untenable—and the search for power must change terrain. (chapter 87) Strangely, the director of King of MMA has just assured him his full support (chapter 87), but this was not enough for the “demon”. What the “new champion” failed to realize is that gaining the champion belt didn’t mean the end of his achievement. The reality was and is that he would be challenged constantly. Even when crimes are committed around him 
(chapter 50), they remain structurally hidden, absorbed by intermediaries, or misattributed. 
(chapter 69) Violence is laundered through legitimacy. The system continues to present him as a contender, even as it quietly tolerates sabotage and manipulation. Importantly, Baek Junmin does not need to know every detail for this economy to function; it protects him by design.
The scene in chapter 87 marks the moment where this economy begins to fail him. Public speech, live broadcast, and irreversible visibility introduce a variable that cannot be managed retroactively. Unlike clandestine acts or whispered humiliations, what is said on air cannot be displaced, denied, or quietly corrected. The legal system does not offer erasure; it offers record.
This is where the alternative economy becomes legible. Underground fighting (chapter 47), illegal gambling, and criminal enforcement operate on a different logic: outcomes are secured not through recognition, but through coercion and tricks; not through visibility, but through fear and secrecy; not through procedure, but through immediacy. There, a defeat is more like a death sentence. 
(chapter 47) Where the legal economy requires patience and exposure, the illicit one promises certainty and silence.
By contrast, the champion’s gesture in the opening scene binds him more firmly to the legal economy precisely because it accepts uncertainty. Redistributed power cannot be weaponized quickly. It resists conversion into domination. That resistance is what dissolves the jinx—and what makes the two trajectories incompatible.
This is how mediation works in that relationship. Kim Dan’s presence does not absorb excess; it sets a limit that is respected. Joo Jaekyung does not outsource control. He exercises it on himself.
The dynamic between Choi Gilseok and Baek Junmin operates according to a different economy. Formally, theirs is a boss–employee relationship. 
(chapter 52) In practice, hierarchy barely functions. Authority exists without discipline, protection without accountability. Baek Junmin is not positioned among other fighters, nor anchored in a collective. Thus he is not truly celebrated at the restaurant after the tie. Thus the fighters mentioned the director Choi Gilseok’s financial success or the odd behavior of Joo JAekyung. 
(chapter 52) Besides, he watches the match alone (chapter 87), from the director’s office—at the center of power, yet fundamentally isolated. This spatial detail matters. It signals both exclusion and entitlement. He does not belong, but he feels authorized to occupy the space.
When Choi Gilseok touches Baek Junmin’s shoulder, the gesture is corrective. (chapter 87) It is meant to halt escalation, to reassert moderation, to momentarily reintroduce limits. Baek’s response is immediate: he slaps the hand away. (chapter 87) This rejection is not rebellion in the classical sense. He is not trying to overthrow authority; he is refusing mediation. In his mind, limits no longer apply to him. He has been granted license without ownership. It was, as if the championship belt had freed the fighter from social norms and laws. Shortly after, “By all means” (chapter 87) removes the brakes while leaving responsibility elsewhere. It sounds like a free pass for the “criminal” in the end.
The final scene also marks the quiet dissolution of the association between Choi Gilseok and Baek Junmin. Although the director speaks in the plural—“we will use all means necessary”—the scene itself contradicts that claim. Spatially, Choi remains behind Baek, positioned as if backing him, yet excluded from his line of sight. The demon does not turn toward him, does not respond to him, and does not share affect or intent. The “we” exists only rhetorically. In practice, the scene contains only two figures: Baek Junmin and his imagined adversary. The director is already irrelevant.
This staging contrasts sharply with the earlier locker-room confrontation between Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan, 
(chapter 51) where proximity forced acknowledgment and power was renegotiated face-to-face. (chapter 51) In the office, no such negotiation occurs. (chapter 87) Baek Junmin’s refusal is not confrontational; it is dismissive. (chapter 87) He does not reject authority—he bypasses it. The champion belt appears to function, in his mind, as a form of exemption: a signal that dependence, seniority, and mediation no longer apply. Whether this belief is justified remains open. What matters is that Baek Junmin acts as if it were. In doing so, he exits not only a partnership, but the structure that once contained him.
Placed side by side, the two pairs reveal two economies of power. In one, influence circulates through presence, restraint, and mutual risk. In the other, power is maintained through delegation, insulation, and the removal of limits. One dynamic produces responsibility by accepting vulnerability. The other produces entitlement by severing accountability.
This is why the outcomes diverge so sharply. Where one relationship closes a cycle of superstition and control, the other opens a trajectory of escalation and downfall. Not because one side loves and the other hates, but because one accepts limits—and the other has been told there are none.
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(chapter 86), gentle, attentive 
(chapter 86) — asking questions instead of imposing answers 
(chapter 64). For Joo Jaekyung’s unconditional stans (and I count myself among them), such an attitude 
(chapter 86) can easily be read as proof that the protagonist’s good heart has always been existent, but it was barely visible. Compared to earlier chapters, the contrast is now undeniable. And yet, I would like to pause you right there.
(chapter 61), sometimes awkwardly 
(chapter 80), sometimes inconsistently 
(chapter 79), but unmistakably 
. (chapter 83) Tenderness, concern, even a certain form of devotion had appeared earlier 
(chapter 40), albeit in ways that were often overlooked, 
(chapter 18) misunderstood or poorly timed. This night 
(chapter 86) does not initiate his metamorphosis.
(chapter 86), sparks 
(chapter 86), and softness, many Jinx-philes might instinctively describe it as magical. The imagery invites such a reading. After all, we have seen similar nights before. The night in the States shimmered with illusion 
(chapter 39); words were spoken, confessions made — only to dissolve with memory. 
(chapter 41) The penthouse night echoed A Midsummer Night’s Dream 
(chapter 44), suspended between intoxication and desire, intense yet fragile. Both nights felt unreal, and both were later reframed as mistakes 
(chapter 41) — moments to be erased rather than carried forward.
(chapter 45). This raises an essential question. Is episode 86 
(chapter 86) a renewal of those nights? Another dream layered over the past? A repetition disguised as healing? Or, on the contrary, is this the first night that resists enchantment altogether?
(chapter 4), in the return of light 
(chapter 66), in what remains once the sparks fade. A dream dissolves with daylight. Reality does not.
(chapter 86) for final transformation. The real shift occurs elsewhere — more quietly, and perhaps more unsettlingly. To grasp the nature of this night, we must follow more importantly the doctor and his interaction with his fated partner.
(chapter 86), processes, and responds to it. How he hesitates 
(chapter 86), reflects, and allows himself to reconsider what this moment can mean — and what it can lead to. 
(chapter 86), sparks, that strange shimmer that seems to hang in the air 
(chapter 86). Why? It was, as if their dream had come true. However, is it correct? Is it not wishful thinking? What if this night is not magical at all? What if its true signature is not enchantment, but electricity—a current that interrupts, tests, and resets? 😮
(chapter 40) in Kim Dan’s perception: overwhelming, radiant, dominant, a heat-source that does not negotiate. 
(chapter 41) The sun can be admired, feared, and endured—but it cannot be questioned. 
(chapter 58) It simply shines, and the one who stands in its light adapts. This explicates why the physical therapist would choose silence and submission over communication. 
(chapter 48)
(chapter 83) 
(chapter 83) Every ride, every light, every scream suspended in midair depends on current: motors accelerating and braking, circuits opening and closing, energy stored, released, and cut off. 
(chapter 83) Roller coasters do not move by heat, charisma, or sheer physical force; they move because electricity flows through them. The Viking ship swings 
(chapter 83) because current allows it to swing. The Ferris wheel ascends 
(chapter 83) because circuits hold — and descends because they release.
(chapter 84) 
(chapter 84) explicitly names what had previously gone unspoken: the rides function only because current flows. When it disappears, the illusion of effortless motion collapses.
(chapter 84) The Ferris wheel has stopped. The current is gone. The carefully regulated system that lifted, rotated, and sustained them is no longer in control. Yet movement does not disappear entirely. It mutates. When the champion shifts his weight, grips the structure, reacts instinctively, the cabin begins to shake. Panels emphasize instability: creak, swish, ack. The motion is no longer generated by electricity but by the body itself.
(chapter 84) Stranded above ground, stripped of the park’s mechanical rhythm, he apologizes. 
(chapter 84) Not theatrically, not performatively, but awkwardly, haltingly. His body exposes his discomfort 
(chapter 84) and fears. He avoids the doctor’s gaze, crosses his arms 
(chapter 84) or squeezes his arm 
(chapter 84). The cessation of electrical motion coincides with a shift in his own mode of action. Where the park depended on current to keep things moving, he now moves without it. The absence of electricity forces something else to surface: responsibility, attention, presence. Additionally, this sequence anticipates what will later unfold more fully. Proactivity is no longer expressed through force or motion, but through articulation. Words stand for action and have weight. The champion’s future action is announced here, quietly: he will no longer push forward by shaking the structure. He will move by sharing thought, by naming feeling, by allowing himself to be affected. 
(chapter 86), 
(chapter 86) jolts, sudden contractions of the body 
(chapter 86). Kim Dan is repeatedly shown convulsing, gasping, losing linear thought, and it is the same for the MMA fighter. Panels insist on interruption: jolt, tingle, broken breath, aborted sentences. The doctor’s body behaves as if struck, especially in this image. 
(chapter 86) It is at this point that a phrase surfaced in my mind — instinctively, almost involuntarily. A phrase we use in French when something intangible yet decisive occurs between two people: Le courant passe. Literally, the current passes. Idiomatic meaning: they are on the same wavelength, something connects, communication flows. However, here, the current is not the product of civilization, but of nature. Two people interacting with each other. And it is precisely because of the unusually high frequency of sparks and jolts in the illustrations that a belated realization imposes itself: nature, too, produces electricity — through storms, through thunder.
(chapter 69) A storm was announced back then. And yet, upon closer inspection, no thunder was ever shown there. There was tension, there was excess, there were dark clouds 
(chapter 69) — but there was no strike, no discharge, no interruption. The imagery remained continuous, fluid, enclosed within the logic of escalation rather than rupture.
(chapter 83). In Roman terms, Thursday corresponds to dies Iovis — Jupiter’s day — the god of thunder. Both gods are strongly connected to thunder and as such current. 
-chapter 67-; for more read my analysis 
(chapter 83). Before striking anything, he is already unwell: angry overstimulated and complaining, visually reduced to a childlike register. This matters. The hammer does not create excess — it receives it. 
(chapter 34), the hammer gesture is not confrontational, for the machine is immobile. There is no opponent. 
(chapter 83) Too much energy released at once. The system registers it, but cannot contain it. This means, the record won’t be registered and as such “remembered”. In fact what mattered here was the prize, the teddy bear, and restored self-esteem of the athlete. He could offer a present to doc Dan which the latter accepted without any resistance. 
(chapter 86) Therefore it is not surprising that doc Dan starts looking at his fated lover. Imagine what it means for the athlete, when the “hamster” is staring at him, though he is a little embarrassed. Finally, he is truly looking at him. The champion loves his gaze. And now, you comprehend why the “wolf” listened to the “cute hamster” and stopped leaving marks.
(chapter 85), but this time, its nature has changed. It is no longer jealousy or anger, but love and desire. Hence the current is not colored in red, but white and pink. 
, but a thunder and as such it is still restrained and regulated.
(chapter 86) or second-hand data. New information must now be gathered. New meanings must be negotiated. Because Joo Jaekyung acts differently (son-father), the doctor is incited to discuss with his fated lover and not to generalize. He is pushed to become curious about the main lead and even adapt himself in the end.
(chapter 39) and the penthouse night 
(chapter 44) as emotionally charged, intense, even pivotal. Confessions were made. Bodies responded. Vulnerability appeared to surface. And yet, both nights collapsed almost immediately afterward. What was felt 
(chapter 39), arousal, and emotional exposure under the influence of a drugged beverage. His body reacts strongly, almost violently. His speech loosens. He confesses. 
(chapter 40)
(chapter 86) In this panel, we should glimpse a reference to the night in the States as well, and not just to the night in the penthouse. 
(chapter 44) The setting is elevated, luxurious, almost theatrical. The doctor is brought into a space of power that is not his own. 
(chapter 44) By acting that way, the athlete created a false impression of himself, as if he was still rational and clear-minded. Again, desire unfolds. 
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 44) Again, closeness occurs. And again, the aftermath reveals the same fracture. 
(chapter 45) and later wants to even forget it. 
(chapter 45) and he can not deny his own involvement and actions. Hence the doctor is left alone. Only he can recall this “dream”. 
(chapter 44) But memory alone is not power. Remembering without the other’s participation transforms recollection into isolation. Kim Dan cannot confront, confirm, or renegotiate what happened, exactly like the champion did in the past. Meaning freezes instead of evolving. Striking is that he came to associate feelings with addiction. 
(chapter 46) No wonder why later doc Dan had no problem to reject the athlete. And for him, the next morning became a cruel reality, even a nightmare. It wounded doc Dan’s heart and soul so much that he learned the following lesson: to not get deceived by impressions. Hence in Paris, Doc Dan tries to explain the change of the champion’s attitude with drunkenness. 
(chapter 44) One participant is altered. The other must carry the weight of meaning alone. The night does not end in shared reflection, but in silence and absence.
(chapter 44) Words blur, vanish, or are forgotten. Even gestures go unnoticed: a kiss, an embrace or a patting. Memory fractures. The morning after is defined not by continuity but by confusion. The body has moved forward, but the narrative has not. 
(chapter 84)
(chapter 84) Speech bubbles lose clarity. Confessions are obscured. The reader is denied access to meaning. Fireworks, like drugs, produce intensity without duration.
(chapter 39) 
(chapter 44) It was as if these nights could only exist under altered states — as if clarity on either side would have made them impossible. 
(chapter 86) 
(chapter 86) This is why, when electricity returns in episode 86, it does not revive heat. It interrupts it. 
(chapter 86) That’s the reason why the athlete stops for a moment and asks doc Dan, if he needs a break. 
(chapter 86) This question is important because doc Dan admits his confusion and ignorance. He confesses to himself that he “knows nothing” not only about himself, but also about his fated lover. 
(chapter 86) They function as temporal markers. A spark exists only now. It has no duration. It cannot be stored, recalled, or anticipated. It appears — and vanishes. In this sense, electricity becomes the perfect visual language for the present moment itself.
(chapter 10), statements blurred by drugs 
(chapter 43), sentences remembered by only one side. 
(chapter 44) and even laugh…. if only he could remember that night…
(chapter 79), the “never mind”, 
(chapter 84) or it is a mistake, the easy erasure that once dissolved meaning after the fact. The kiss interrupts that mechanism. It produces a pause that cannot be talked over. It forces reflection. 
(chapter 19) The grandmother’s lap structured Kim Dan’s understanding of safety, endurance, and knowledge. Sitting there meant being held — but also being taught how to survive through sacrifice, silence, and self-effacement. That worldview sustained him, but it also confined him.
(chapter 85) represents the positive reflection of this night 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58), when the physical therapist chose to give up on the athlete and stop listening to his heart. Here, I am not only referring to the numerical symmetry but also to the doctor’s shifting vision of Joo Jaekyung.
(chapter 85), Jaekyung appears with a towel around his neck. This simple object evokes water and sweat, but in Jinx, these elements are never neutral. They are tied to one of the champion’s earliest traumas: the humiliation of being called “dirty” 
(chapter 75) and “smelly” as a child. This is why Jaekyung learned to perfuse his body with cologne after every shower 
(chapter 40) — he had not yet showered, for the towel on his shoulders was stained with blood. Mingwa was indirectly referring to the champion’s psychological wounds. 
(chapter 40) It was, as if the fear of smelling “wrong,” of being perceived as contaminated, was still dictating his movements. Hence he could only claim doc Dan as one of his own, but not as his “physical therapist” or even “family”. And interesting is that doc Dan copied his attitude. In the hallway, he maintained a certain distance from the athlete. 
(chapter 40)
(chapter 40) the moment he dried off 
(chapter 85) His hair is unstyled, his scent unmasked — and yet he approaches Dan without hesitation. He even kisses him. The item that once symbolized rejection now signifies trust: without fragrance, he is certain that doc Dan will not call him “dirty,” will not recoil, will not shame him. What once provoked distance becomes an unexpected bridge, revealing that Jaekyung is finally letting someone remain close, when he feels most vulnerable. The night in Paris does not simply suggest a return of desire; it announces the return of hope 
(chapter 85) and trust — and perhaps even the moment when Dan chooses, for the first time, to be honest with his own body and heart. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 85) — fulfilling, without knowing it, a secret wish the physical therapist has harbored since childhood 
(chapter 61) [I will elaborate it further later]. And perhaps this is why the moment feels so disarming: because the downfall is not tragic but tender, not humiliating but intimate. Sweet, even.
(chapter 85), when a single careless comment shattered the champion’s composure and revealed just how fragile his newfound hope really was.
(chapter 85) In contrast, both Park Namwook and coach Jeong Yosep wear generic MFC T-shirts. 
(chapter 85) Dan is lost in his thoughts — anticipating the night ahead with the champion — and has barely touched his food. Park Namwook notices this. One might think, such a remark displays the manager’s concern for the main lead’s well-being. However, the manager adds that the other members of the team are all almost finished. With such a remark, it becomes clear that the manager is urging the protagonist to finish his plate. Although Park Namwook addresses Dan as if showing concern, the content of his remark betrays his true priority: not Dan’s well-being, but the team’s schedule. By pointing out that ‘the rest of us are almost finished,’ he urges Dan to keep pace, treating him as staff who had to follow the group rather than someone with personal needs. As you can sense, schedule is essential for the manager. However, because doc Dan couldn’t reveal the true reason behind his behavior, he gives an excuse for his lack of appetite. 
(chapter 53) The manager’s words bring Joo Jaekyung back to reality and its uncomfortable truth that Dan’s presence now is still bound to a contract — temporary, contingent, never fully his. In other words, with his remarks, Park Namwook is reopening old wounds which shows his total blindness and lack of finesse and of empathy. He treats the last match, as if nothing bad had happened. The incident with the switched spray is simply erased.
(chapter 53) leaving without thinking; now, after Dan vanished from his life entirely, that earlier departure feels like a sign he failed to read. Park’s question brushes against this bruise, and Jaekyung’s lips reflect the discomfort.
(chapter 85) The younger fighter suddenly bursts into panic, declaring how nervous he would be in Jaekyung’s place, how his heart would be pounding out of his chest. His outburst is sincere, naïve, and completely focused on the champion — he never once considers Dan’s feelings. Yet these words strike deeper than he intends. At the mention of a pounding heart, Jaekyung’s eyes lift upward in a brief, involuntary movement. It is the smallest gesture, but it exposes everything he wishes to hide. Because his heart is pounding — but not for the match. It is because of doc Dan! 
(chapter 85) “Come to my room at 11.”
(chapter 85) the need for reassurance, the wish to rewrite the pattern of the past, the quiet hope that Dan will not leave him again — not tonight and not afterwards.
(chapter 85) Schedules are his armor, punctuality his hiding place. Whenever something threatens to slip beyond control, he retreats behind procedure. 
(chapter 85), as soon as the athlete stands up right after his recommendation and announces he is now returning to his room. 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 85) In theory, this is the perfect window to do what he used to do in the States 
(chapter 38) and Korea 
(chapter 48) before a big fight: watch his opponent’s videos, study their habits, rehearse counters. If we only looked at the clock, we might assume he spent the evening thinking about Arnaud Gabriel.
(chapter 85) From 7:02 onward, the question is no longer “How do I beat Gabriel?” but “How do I win doc Dan’s heart?” The clock from 7:02 to 11:00 p.m. stops being a “training window” and becomes an emotional countdown. He is no longer the champion preparing for an opponent—he is the man hoping not to be abandoned again. This is why the later scene at the door feels so contradictory: when Dan finally arrives, Jaekyung behaves like someone who couldn’t wait. 
(chapter 85) He opens the door and immediately grabs him inside 
(chapter 85), cutting off any possibility of hesitation. The way he drags him over the threshold, presses him against the wall 
(chapter 85) This is not the controlled, casual emperor of old; it is someone who has been holding back for hours and refuses to risk even a second in which Dan might change his mind. 
(chapter 65) and the comment of the champion in front of this movie: 
(chapter 29) Moreover, I consider this scene 
(chapter 85) as a new version of Choi Heesung’s advice: Doc Dan just needs to sit back and enjoy!! 
(chapter 31) Joo Jaekyung is now doing everything, as deep down he wants to become the perfect lover! And how had I described the night in the States? 
Back then, the hamster Dan had become the champion’s perfect lover, especially because he had kissed his face, hugged him and confessed to him. 
(chapter 38) One might reply that the athlete desired to maintain appearances and as such to hide his suffering and anxiety. In other words, he was hiding his emotions behind routine, Jinx-sex would always start at 11 pm. However, this idea is not entirely satisfying because once doc Dan was in his room, the fighter was no longer hiding his emotions and desires. 
(chapter 72), when the latter would return late from his “work” and the death of his father 
(chapter 73). 
(chapter 85) Because doc Dan could have refused. He could have used his queasiness as an excuse, could have stayed in his room, could have claimed exhaustion. Instead, he obeyed the request — a request sent by someone who had hurt him deeply in the past. Doc Dan’s arrival is proof that he is not rejecting him. Proof that the night is real. Proof that the attempt to do better might actually matter. At the same time, doc Dan couldn’t miss the true meaning behind this text sent in front of others: the athlete’s anxiety and suffering. 
(chapter 85) This explains why his worried gaze followed his fated partner. 
(chapter 85) In other words, the text had a different meaning. It was not an order, but rather a wish…and it had nothing to do with his match against Arnaud Gabriel. During that night, Joo Jaekyung is not seeing a surrogate fighter in front of him or a sex toy, but his real partner, his future boyfriend. This means, this night stands in opposition to the one in the penthouse: 
(chapter 85) This is why he touches Dan’s face instead of flipping him over.
(chapter 85) — something he has never done before. This does not come from instinct. It comes from intention. It comes from effort. It comes from learning. He is indeed showering doc Dan with love and tenderness, therefore it is not surprising that the “hamster” is moved sensually and emotionally. Exactly like during the Summer Night’s Dream, he is reaching nirvana, hence Jinx-philes are constantly seeing stars,. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 85) — or the emotional slip that comes with resurfacing feelings: the therapist losing distance, falling back into intimacy. All of these readings sound plausible at first glance. 
(chapter 85) Styled up, hardened with gel 
(chapter 30) , perfectly arranged — it is the crown of the Emperor, the symbol of his control, his discipline, and the myth that MFC sells:
(chapter 82) When the hair stands, the image stands.
(chapter 85) — but not the way adults or professionals usually do. 
(chapter 71) So doc Dan could recognize the little boy in the athlete, the more he sees the protagonist with his hair down. Furthermore, I noticed that contrary to season 1, Doc Dan has now more memories of the “wolf” facing him. 
(chapter 85) In the past, he would more look at him from behind: 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 35) Seeing his face reflects not only the increasing care for each other, but also the improving communication between them. 
(chapter 85) more mature, more “masculine” in the traditional sense. This explicates why the stylists had to dress him up. 
(chapter 82) Yet such an intervention did more than prepare him for the cameras — it tightened the restrictions around his own image, reducing the fighter’s rights over how he appears to the world. With the suit, he appeared older and more powerful. The French fighter leans into age, while the Korean champion leans into youth — a symbolic inversion that reinforces the central tension in the Paris arc: Gabriel performs adulthood; Jaekyung rediscovers the adolescence he never lived. 
(chapter 85) But just as Jaekyung begins to slip into these youthful, softer identities, MFC reasserts control.
(chapter 85) hair up, face polished, a look engineered for posters and rankings. He becomes once again the Emperor — the man who must appear older, sharper, more intimidating, more manufactured.
(chapter 79) This is the boy from the childhood photograph.
In the rain, with his hair heavy and unstyled, his gaze dark and sensual, Jaekyung appears nothing like the commanding emperor. He looks free — freed by weather, freed by desire, freed from roles. It was foreshadowing, not just fanservice. It announces the end of the « jinx » in reality. 
(chapter 85) He is describing himself. His sweetness is the taste of freedom — freedom from performance, freedom from control, freedom from MFC, freedom from fear. He is enjoying this moment. Dan tastes sweet because Jaekyung is finally tasting the life he never allowed himself to want.
(chapter 21) The image of winged rescue and divine protection hangs over the very piece of furniture that, throughout the series, has functioned as Dan’s private sanctuary. This is not incidental. In Jinx, the couch is tied to his deepest memories of care and abandonment, and Mingwa activates this symbolism each time Dan gravitates to it.
(chapter 21) Why does he consistently feel safer on the couch than in a bed? 
(chapter 29) Why, after the second swimming lesson, did he refuse to return to the bed 
(chapter 81), even though he was exhausted? Why does he place the teddy bear 
(chapter 84) —his last substitute for lost parental affection—on the couch and not on the bed? And finally, why has he always harbored the secret wish to be carried to bed, as confessed through his memory in chapter 61? 
(chapter 10) Secondly, at no moment, we ever witness the grandmother carrying the little boy to bed. Either she is rocking him to sleep outside the house 
(chapter 47) or he is already in the bed. We never see her bringing him to bed. 
(chapter 44), 
(chapter 44) traces from parents. And now, you comprehend why the hamster could never truly rest in the bed. The couch is therefore not an adult preference; it is a trauma imprint. Resting there feels safe because beds—large, empty, abandoned spaces—became reminders of whoever no longer carried him. Hence it is no longer surprising that he woke up, when he sensed the vanishing of warmth. 
(chapter 84): the bear stands in for a lost comforting presence. It also represents the main lead, Joo Jaekyung. The latter is gradually reentering in the physical therapist’s heart and life. Therefore it is not surprising that there, he squeezes the hand of the toy. It is also why Doc Dan curls around it like a child who deep down hopes to be chosen, lifted, and held. And it is why, even as an adult, his body still whispers the same yearning: someone, please carry me to bed again.
chapter 40, chapter 65, chapter 68, chapter 79)
(chapter 85) and he was still able to arrive on time in the arena. 
(chapter 40) For me, it is a clue that the manager would always request to meet around 7.00 am, when the match was at noon. But what should do the athlete do during all this time? He can only get nervous and feel pressured. 
(chapter 81) I noticed that in different scenes from season 2, the athlete started waking up later and even after doc Dan. 
(chapter 66) But the manager’s rigid schedule threatens even that. An early morning summons drains the fighter’s cortisol reserves before the match has even begun, creating a long, empty corridor of waiting — a period where tension, anxiety, fatigue, and irritation ferment in the body. Instead of resting, centering, and preparing, the champion would spend hours fighting against the clock imposed on him.
(chapter 54) , he might even jump to the wrong conclusion: that Jaekyung drank again — this time behind his back. 
(chapter 82) The irony is striking. Two days before the match, it was Park Namwook who overindulged with the others, yet he may now project that same carelessness onto the athlete. In his mind, the DND sign does not simply mean “rest”; it becomes a warning signal, a possible confirmation of the irresponsibility he fears but has never actually witnessed. Thus I can already imagine him panicking.
(chapter 82), his look 
(chapter 82), his free time and took care of the champion’s emotional needs. In Paris, the « hamster » became the champion’s manager de facto, the unofficial right-hand. That’s why if they are late and they need a scapegoat, the manager can blame the physical therapist for the « delay », he would always come late to appointments (chapter 17: meeting the doctor) and to the fights (Busan, in the States).
(chapter 13) 
(chapter 48) — had mirrored faces, two bodies, two lights. This time, there is only one. The duel has vanished. What remains looks less like a fight and more like a myth in the making. 
(chapter 81) chosen to face the Emperor. According to Oh Daehyun, this man is fighting for the title of the hottest male athlete in the world. 
(chapter 81) So why is he not placed in the poster? Does he fear comparison — or has someone decided that no comparison should be allowed? Each missing element feels intentional — the kind of silence that makes the viewer uneasy, as though something essential was being hidden in plain sight. 
(chapter 14) Why is there this abbreviation? Why does the image proclaim a return while simultaneously concealing the full title? What does it signify? 
seems to be corroborated: this event doesn’t announce the glorious comeback it pretends to be, but a carefully staged trap. However, there is more to it. The longer I examine the composition 
(chapter 81) According to Oh Daehyun, his goal is not victory but visibility — to be crowned the hottest male athlete. 
(chapter 30) The latter had to learn fighting in order to play his role in the drama Extreme Worlds 
(chapter 29). 
(chapter 81), while in reality a “storm” is actually coming.
(chapter 8) His eagle is spreading his wings in front of his god, the sun, attempting to fly closer to the sun. According to me, Joo Jaekyung is the sun. This explains the loyalty of this purple belt fighter toward the protagonist! 
(chapter 47) But that’s one possibility among others, one thing is sure. Oh Daehyun will play an important part during their stay in France.
(chapter 46) People would bet on him and win… they needed him to lose and break his “lucky streak”. In other words, the organization betrayed the body they once sold. They had prepared the fall long before the injury, the surgery, or the suspension. But their plan failed. Despite every setback, the wolf remained beloved at home. People still admired him, not for the trophies, but for his kindness 
(chapter 62), humility 
and strength 
(chapter 62) In other words, what the champion did in the seaside town had a huge impact in his life and world. He lingered in the hearts of those he touched. He was not a fallen idol, nor a forgotten champion, but a living memory — proof that integrity leaves deeper marks than victory ever could. To conclude, his fame no longer comes from spectacle only but also from empathy and presence — from the very qualities the schemers and media system fail to grasp.
(chapter 81) The new battlefield is the face. Under this light, Jinx-philes will grasp why the agents from the Entertainment agency were so zealous in defending the star’s reputation. If he were to lose his good looks, they would lose one of their most profitable clients. 
(chapter 52), whose envy of beauty turned into a creed. Imagine this. Now he holds the championship belt, yet no one admires him. His ruined face became the excuse for his bitterness,
(chapter 52) and his rival the embodiment of everything he lost. He had to flee to Thailand to claim glory and admiration 
(chapter 69), only to discover that ownership without recognition is hollow. Even with the title, his name barely circulates in the media. 
(chapter 52) In the past, his insult 
(chapter 74) merged anger with heat; now that very “hotness” materializes in the media and poster as smoke, an image of resentment turned into atmosphere. 
(chapter 74): the visible trace of a man who dares to rebel. He once watched the fighter smoke a plain cigarette and sneered at him for it, precisely because he knew it was not a joint. In Junmin’s world, violation meant courage and power intoxication. He assumed that fearlessness linked to drugs would bring admiration and success. Jaekyung’s refusal to accept their drug wasn’t prudence; it was, to him, an insult — a quiet act of superiority. The wolf’s restraint exposed his indifference and own dependency, and that humiliation still burns.
(chapter 74) The main lead was seen “wearing a black suit with three white strips” showing that he was the chief mourner. 
(chapter 74) Once you recognize this 
(chapter 74) The dense, rising smoke recalls the funeral altar we once saw during Joo Jaewoon’s death scene — white blossoms, a dark frame, and a half-erased face. The emperor’s comeback has been reframed as his own commemoration: a legend embalmed in monochrome. 
(chapter 73), hiding behind his hyungs, the mobsters who granted him borrowed strength and false belonging. Joo Jaekyung, by contrast, was raised in the ring — the gym shaped him as both a professional and a person.
(chapter 49) If you have read my previous essay, you’ll remember that I connected the arc of chapters 80 to 89 to the theme of jealousy. Baek Junmin embodies that poison completely. His words — “ 
(chapter 73) Both men are haunted by the same delusion: that to win, one must erase the other.
(chapter 81) It is a subtle but telling detail: the physical separation mirrors the emotional boundary now forming within the team. The healer’s hands have been withdrawn. So the emperor’s empathy is incomplete, hence he is only EMP. It extends only toward his chosen one — the doctor — and not yet to the others around him. True empathy, however, cannot be selective; it must reach beyond intimacy to encompass even those who do not stand at the center of affection.
(chapter 1) He was a beast of destruction, someone who made sure to crush his opponents without mercy 
(chapter 15) Unstoppable in his rage, he moved like a man possessed — bloodthirsty, unrelenting, fighting not for glory but for survival. Each strike was a declaration: I will not die.
(chapter 81) The team’s black-and-white uniform 
(chapter 81)
(chapter 49) What looked like teamwork was mere coordination. Now, the visual disarray hides emotional harmony — the perfect yin-yang inversion of their past selves.
(chapter 36) One could think, the other members are not wearing it, for they don’t want to be associated with the champion. He has been stigmatized as a thug or a child losing his temper, the consequences of Park Namwook’s badmouthing. However, observe that even the star is not wearing it. 
(chapter 36) What once symbolized sponsorship and solidarity has quietly disappeared. The explanation seems obvious at first: the loss of commercial partners following scandal and suspension. 
(chapter 54) Yet the deeper implication is far more unsettling. The jacket was more than a uniform; it was a contract, a visible bond between fighter and system. Its absence signals abandonment. The champion may still fight under the MFC banner, but the federation no longer claims him with pride. He is now a free agent trapped in an invisible cage — tolerated, not trusted. He questioned MFC and their competence (see chapter 67 and 69).
(chapter 37) He could be mistaken for the owner of the gym or a person involved in the scheme. And this leads me to my next observation: the champion’s picture and posture!
(chapter 36) no cheering spectators — nothing recalls the hero’s welcomes of earlier arcs.
(chapter 74) but with a different public.
(chapter 54), the match where the Emperor faced Baek Junmin. That small arithmetic gap hides something extraordinary: eighteen events have supposedly taken place since then, in barely three months. Such acceleration borders on absurdity. It feels less like a sports calendar than a purge — as if the federation were rushing to overwrite history, to bury the memory of its fallen champion beneath a flood of new numbers.
(chapter 16), the moment Heo Manwook thought that the “hamster” was working as an escort due to the name “Team Black”. 
(chapter 16) So because of the jacket Team Black, doc Dan could be mistaken for a prostitute. Naturally, Jinx-lovers will remember the great fight between Heo Manwook and his minions, when the athlete saved his fated partner. Back then, no one discovered his great action.
(Chapter 17) And how did the loan shark describe their world? Fake… he even called him a princeling, because he stands for the glamor and artificiality of MFC. He is the cover for the underground fights, drugs and money laundering. This connection reinforces my interpretation that the future match is « fake » and as such rigged. Then in chapter 37, the hamster met a Korean disguised as a MFC manager. 
(chapter 47) In the past, they participated in the underground matches of Gangwon Province, where Baek Junmin reigned as a local legend — a thug made myth through blood and rumor. 
(chapter 46) But now, the same hunger for spectacle has simply migrated upward. What once belonged to the alleys has climbed into the penthouses. The illegal thrill of the poor has become the curated decadence of the rich. And they were invited to witness the death of the “emperor”, someone who tried to escape from his origins. Thus I deduced that this is only a match that the high rollers (I suppose, mostly people from the Occident, though expect some from South Korea) know about.
(chapter 81), breathing without bracing, learning that flow is strength. The author placed the swimming lessons here so we’d see him practice calm under pressure before he performs it in the ring. But observe that when he is in the swimming pool, he is expressing more and more his emotions. 
(chapter 81) At the same time, he is also incited to control his pulsions and body. 
(chapter 81) In other words, during the swimming lessons, he was encouraged to find the right balance between instincts and control, which Bruce Lee recommended. It is no coincidence that he referred to the philosophy of yin and yang! 
(chapter 36) The pool inverts it. Laps replace lunges; rhythm and love replace revenge and hatred. Anger loses its grip because water refuses to hold it. And now, you can grasp why the athlete was calm during the meeting: 
(chapter 81) His fear and anger were no longer controlling his heart and mind. “One of the best lessons you can learn in life is to remain calm.” The swimmer learns it; the fighter must now prove it. Thanks to doc Dan, the athlete was incited not only to accept himself, but also to get self-knowledge.
(chapter 81) Arnaud Gabriel is totally unpredictable which makes him dangerous but also weak. So what happens when the athlete uses a totally different strategy? The eagle will get caught by surprise. Thus in the past, we have to envision that the wolf was the mechanical man, iron and fire, surviving by destruction. Bruce Lee’s middle path—instinct guided by awareness—is the only way out of this binary. That’s why the story moves him from steel to steam, from panic to presence.
(chapter 62), and you are in a state of constant learning. 
(chapter 80) The seaside town and doc Dan taught him kindness, the pool teaches him composure and precision, the poster’s smoke teaches him restraint: you don’t swat at vapor; you breathe and move through it. “It is far better to be alone than to be in bad company”—so he steps out of the schemers’ frame. “When you accept yourself, the whole world accepts you”—so he stops fighting the audience and starts speaking to one person who matters, then to many. In my opinion, Joo Jaekyung will use this bout to express his feelings for Doc Dan (“to me, martial arts means expressing yourself“) and the birthday card 
(chapter 81) with the key chain represents now his motivation. Thus he resembles more and more to the physical therapist. 
8chapter 81) Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the athlete has not confessed his feelings yet. In my eyes, the confession will be strongly connected to the imminent match. In other words, by spending time with the physical therapist, the Emperor regained his voice and body. He can now express himself in the ring, making sure to catch doc Dan’s gaze and admiration. And now, you comprehend why I mentioned that Joo Jaekyung will come to see this fight as a source of strength and inspiration: it will be more about love and recognition from his loved one than the money or hatred from the audience.
, I came to imagine that the athlete might strike him like “water”, hard enough to make him lose the balance and defeat him, but not too strong to damage his knee for good. 
(chapter 17) And once the cloud (doc Dan) meets the steam 
(chapter 77) One tree, one voice, one yard — and yet the chapter closes not with human speech, 
(chapter 77) but with this fragile chorus of sound: chirp, chirp, chirp, whoosh. The choice feels deliberate, unsettling. Why does Mingwa give the final word to nature? Why let the cicada and the tree, not the champion or the doctor, occupy the last panel? Why offer us a rhythm so fleeting, so fragile, instead of the solidity of spoken language? 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) defines the scene as much as sound does. Between the two men, honest words fail. One proposes deals, bargains, contracts 
(chapter 77) — the same old language of power — while the other listens (for the most part of the time), seemingly passive, letting the conversation wash over him. Yet beneath these little moments of awkward stillness, another layer pulses: the soundscape of life itself. 
(chapter 77) The cicada sings not out of calculation, but because it must. The summer is nearing its end. The branches of the tree move not with intention, but with rhythm due to the wind. 
(chapter 77) Are we witnessing growth, or a repetition with a new mask? Rhythm, or song?
(chapter 77). Yet the cicada’s song interrupts their exchange
(chapter 77), cutting through human words to remind us that time is not theirs to master. If nature is the true composer of this tale, then what are they but its creatures — a cicada on the trunk, a tree standing silently next to the characters?
(chapter 77) Observe that after each thought 
(chapter 77). He is the cicada, because he feels powerless in front of doc Dan. Or we could say, he is the cicada due to his self-loathing. Hence he feels so small. On the other hand, observe that he doesn’t expose his vulnerability to doc Dan. He appears strong, independent and determined in front of the physical therapist. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 1) have always been temporary, rotated and replaced like disposable tools. 
(chapter 53) Never once did he sustain a long relationship with one which was definitely influenced by his manager. Even now, with Dan, he cannot cross the invisible line between professional and personal 
(chapter 77) It is no wonder that his voice and the cicada’s noise blur into one rhythm — restless, repetitive, transient. 
(chapter 75), and now at twenty-six 
(chapter 75), like the cicada in its final molt, he sings louder than ever, defiant against the silence that waits for him. 
(chapter 69) Under the tree, the “fighter” is acting, as if he was strong and healthy again! 
(chapter 77) He has already accepted the fight in the fall 
(chapter 57), sacrificing joy for survival, laboring without song. But Mingwa overturns the moral. The grandmother embodies the ant’s labor 
(chapter 62), turning Dan into a beast of burden — obedient, exploited, mute. The landlord has a similar mind-set 
(chapter 77), yet he diverges from Shin Okja, because he is aware of the importance of rest. Moreover, we see him working next to the two “kids”. On the other hand, note that doc Dan is working once again during his free time. 
(chapter 77) Shin Okja’s hoarding brought no music, no life which contrasts a little to the nameless farmer: 
(chapter 77) His words are linked to music. Yet, if we compare the champion with the grandmother, the cicada fills the silence with sound 
(chapter 75) (bench-talk during the night under a street lamp 
“let’s make history” pitches), always angling the wolf toward the next blaze. Under that light, every human bond is recoded as use: therapists rotate, friends become assets, even pain becomes a publicity arc. The “spotlight” warms 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 75) This shows that the athlete has not found the right answer yet. He only focused on this aspect: doc Dan 
(chapter 76) But the director had told him this: 
(chapter 75) He should pay attention to his surroundings which doesn’t only include doc Dan, but also the puppies, the trees, the ocean, the sun etc.
(chapter 77) At no moment, he is mentioning Hwang Byungchul or the landlord. He goes further—he defines himself as a shackle, an anchor weighing Dan down. The language is borrowed directly from Dan’s own vocabulary: 
(chapter 77). In a grim symmetry, both men come to see themselves as burdens, unworthy of being chosen, each convinced he is dragging the other down. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can understand why I perceived no deep change in the wolf, he is still defining himself as a fighter and champion, nothing more. 
(chapter 77) Each match will only bring him closer to separation. Whether he wins or loses, the outcome is the same: Dan will leave. 
(chapter 11), replayed in episode 58 
– chapter 59- (the puppy’s burial seared death into his memory), he still cannot taste life. The sweetness of the moment melts as passively as he endures it. Yet it is also Jaekyung’s tragedy, because by calling himself a “shackle” (77), he steps into Dan’s shoes: burdened, unworthy, longing — and unheard. What was once Dan’s silent plea for companionship is now Jaekyung’s, but this time it is Dan who cannot perceive the truth, too focused on himself and his self-loathing.
(chapter 71) but voiceless. His attraction to Shin Okja’s wedding cabinet makes sense here. 
(chapter 19) The cabinet, crafted from dead wood and mother-of-pearl, is civilization’s tree: beautiful, heavy, but lifeless. It embodies control and permanence, much like the grandmother’s treatment of him — precious in appearance, mute in agency. When Dan strokes it longingly in chapter 19
(chapter 19), he projects himself onto it and his grandmother, identifying with its polished silence. By chapter 53, however, the tone shifts. 
(chapter 53) The cabinet becomes a burden, an inheritance of death and stasis that he must abandon, just as he begins to sense the need to step beyond his grandmother’s shadow.
(chapter 41) But life requires care: water, soil, and balance between sun 
(chapter 21) or he is neglecting himself 
(chapter 70). Thus I see Dan’s decline, his exhaustion, his silence at the bench in chapter 77, as a reflection of this reality: he is not being tended like the tree in the courtyard which contrasts to the way the chili peppers are treated. 
(chapter 77), even when holding a Popsicle. 
(chapter 41) That was the moment he realized he had caught feelings for Jaekyung. The tree embodies life, hence there is this expression: “The tree of life”. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why the main lead came to associate rest and companionship to a walk through the woods. 
(chapter 47) The symbolism is sharp: a tree in a forest is never lonely. Surrounded by others, it becomes part of a living community. Dan’s nightly walks 
(chapter 65) — through woods, past the grave of the nameless puppy — reveal his repressed longing: to mourn, to belong, to root himself in a place where companionship is natural, not demanded. He is indeed longing for recognition and care. 
(chapter 57), treating him as a cabinet to be left behind or a baggage to be passed on. 
(chapter 65) But Dan is not furniture. He is a tree, and the forest remains his true horizon. His illness, his exhaustion, his silence are not fate; they are symptoms of neglect. What he longs for — and what his love for Jaekyung first awakened — is to step into the woods, to be among companions, to be cared for as living. I would even add that deep down, he is neglecting himself in order to receive care: 
(chapter 76) What he expressed in front of the champion was actually reflecting his own desires. But so far, no one is willing to stay by his side and take care of him, when he is sick. Exactly like the athlete, the main lead was not allowed to become “sick” in the end, as he had to support his grandmother.
(chapter 59), the parents never properly mourned, all the grief denied him. The trunk carries scars, weathering seasons while others lean against it — the image of Dan’s silent, taken-for-granted endurance. And it is precisely on the trunk, in the realm of life itself, that the cicada sings. 
(chapter 57) And because I made the connection between the main lead and the tree, another association came to my mind: the picture of the smiling Kim Dan with his grandmother in front of the hydrangeas. 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 76) accompanied the ghostly illusion of Dan, a presence felt but no longer seen. As you can see, the sound exposes the doctor’s true life: he is a ghost, exactly like the tree in the corner of the yard. This means that we should expect doc Dan’s response to the champion’s offer in the next episode. However, this time, the physical therapist will make his own choice, not influenced by his grandmother, born from his true desire.
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77). One might think, he selected it, because he likes it and as such has already tasted it. However, I can refute this perception. 
(chapter 16) When doc Dan was looking for a new place, he was eating a red bean bread in front of a freezer at a convenience story. The little boy in the background was looking for a popsicle himself. This shows not only the malnutrition of doc Dan’s from the past, but also his choices were influenced by his grandmother and her taste. In episode 11, the grandmother offered him red bean bread for his birthday 
(chapter 11), and his choice in the present is still shaped by her hand. In addition, red bean is sweetness born of endurance: boiled, mashed, sugared — a labor of patience. This reflects his childhood and life with his grandmother. Finally, the juxtaposition of doc Dan and the boy in front of the freezer serves as a metaphor: doc Dan still has the mind of a child. Interesting is that under the tree, doc Dan does not eat it. 
(chapter 77) is not referring to the popsicle, but to the good news from the celebrity. This disconnection exposes the doctor’s lack of appetite and listlessness. He is not living, he is withering. Hence the popsicle melts untouched, a confession without words: 
(chapter 77) or “sleepwalking” 
(chapter 77) and not depression! 
(chapter 77) sharp, hot, forged by survival. Chili peppers, introduced to Korea centuries ago, became a cornerstone of its cuisine — not only for flavor but as a sign of vitality and strength. They are hung in bundles outside homes to ward off bad luck, their fiery color a talisman of life-force. Doc Dan brings life into the champion’s life 
(chapter 44)— but most of the time it is suppressed, hidden like a chili dried and strung up, more symbol than taste. If the red bean is the sweetness he represses, the chili is the intensity he fears unleashing. Together, they reveal a man both sweet and burning, tender and scarred. His tragedy is that he has learned to mute both sides of himself — neither savoring sweetness nor embracing fire. By muting his own appetite, he also mutes his voice — which is why he cannot confess his feelings to the champion. 
(chapter 77) He refuses the penthouse not because he dislikes it, but because he has already grown attached to it, to its inhabitant, and to the bond he fears to name. To admit this attachment would be to risk exposure — to risk being seen and rejected once again.
(chapter 77) Melon is not survival food, not inherited obligation. It is pure refreshment, fruit turned into summer sweetness. For once, he accepts it without protest, without remark, even tastes it. 
(chapter 43), presented on his birthday cake, but a quieter gesture of allowing sweetness into his body. Contrary to the past, he is now taking his time to eat it. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) circling, playful, embodiments of innocence, pranks, and uncalculated joy. And yet, the champion does not see them. His gaze is elsewhere, fixed on Kim Dan and as such on promises, contracts and shackles, on the logic of debts and repayment. 
(chapter 13) His life has been shaped by exchanges where even love must be earned, and so he remains haunted by the sense that he is tolerated, not chosen. 
(chapter 19) 
: a fighter guarding his jinx, a therapist financing his grandmother’s care. 
(chapter 6) There was no cicada-song, no play — only sterile bargaining. Dan’s body and labor were priced; Jaekyung’s superstition was indulged. Both were tools, not partners.
(chapter 48) It was no real bargain, but a devil’s deal: short-term relief in exchange for entrapment in illegality. 
(chapter 48) Dan, swayed by Shin Okja’s illness 
(chapter 48), hid the meeting from Jaekyung. The secrecy itself poisoned the bond, culminating in the locker-room explosion. There Jaekyung hurled his cruelest accusation 
(chapter 41) — even the act of repaying Jaekyung was her idea. Money became the currency of gratitude because she defined it so. Observe that her request from the celebrity evolves around money and time again: 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 77) Worse still, he would relive the sting of mistrust 
(chapter 57), while she spent time with the champion on the beach. Xshe simply ignored his desire: 
(chapter 57) making decisions on his behalf without knowing his actual life. Her choices are based on the past and on her believes (television, trust in drugs and huge hospitals). She has no idea about his sleepwalking, his malnutrition, the incident with the switched spray, his blacklisting in Seoul …
(chapter 6) The reality is that this new offer doesn’t stand for equity and respect, rather servitude and submission. Something the doctor has already sensed: 
(chapter 77) He was already shocked how far the athlete was willing to go. Besides, he keeps wondering why the athlete would act this way: 
(chapter 77) In his mind, hatred is the imagined opposite of love — the binary hammered into him by his father. 
(chapter 71) 
(chapter 53) that left Dan trapped. The landlord, by contrast, knows limits. He praises without exploiting: “You’re doing better than anyone else here, the best!” But then, instead of pushing for more, he tells them to rest. He values their health, not just their productivity. In other words, he is not really an “ant” in La Fontaine’s fable, hoarding labor until exhaustion. He embodies a balance — work as a way to connect, not to consume.
(chapter 65), never considering that illness could strike suddenly, that Dan’s health could collapse without warning, that Hwang Byungchul’s shadow could fade from the story altogether. Hence he imagines that they can visit Shin Okja regularly. 
(chapter 75) To conclude, he is still acting, as if he could control time and as such life.
(chapter 59) For him, sweetness is fragile — a red bean bun, a fleeting popsicle — always on the verge of melting away. This is why silence overwhelms him on the bench: Jaekyung offers a contract, and as such the cicada calls, But Doc Dan’s own voice fails. Hence the wind answers 
(chapter 76) He misses that for Dan, they are a source of comfort, tiny sparks of smile 
(chapter 57) in a life otherwise muted by burden. The tragedy is that Jaekyung himself is the only one who could give Dan that genuine laughter — the kind we glimpsed once, briefly, in chapter 44 
(chapter 77) Yet, she is no longer his source of “comfort”. 
(chapter 22) But the grandmother doesn’t embody jokes and games, only obligations and duties. So helping the grandmother doesn’t signify assisting his fated partner. Without pranks, without jokes, without the unpredictable gift of play, their bond risks becoming another duty, another sterile shackle.
(chapter 22) — carefully measured meals from his nutritionist, even the doctor’s recent convalescent porridge of rice and chicken. 
(chapter 77) The male lead didn’t add abalone for example. But what if the athlete tasted something different? A hot, spiced dish, the kind that makes you laugh and cry at the same time? This is no abstract thought — Mingwa has already staged it in parallels. 
(chapter 37) In the States and in Seoul… After Heesung slept with Potato, he cooked him ramen studded with chili peppers. 
The gesture was not just breakfast but an intimate code, echoing the well-known phrase, “Do you want to eat ramen?” 
(chapter 35) — an invitation to closeness. Jaekyung might know the phrase, with his many partners before Dan, 
(special episode 1) but he has never truly eaten the ramen. Dan, ironically the virgin, has never received the invitation at all. The one ignorant of the metaphor has lived it 
(chapter 37); the one familiar with the code has never tasted its reality. 😂
(chapter 73) Joy and smile were followed by guilt 
(chapter 73), sadness and resent. 
(chapter 74) 
(chapter 76) This admission is no mere reversal of pride. It gestures toward something Jaekyung has never known: an exchange that does not end in domination or silence, but in dialogue. For Kim Dan, too, it marks a turning point. 
(chapter 76) For the first time, he uses the expression you’re right in front of his fated partner. He seems to concede with this idiom. Yet this apparent submission hides a deeper reversal. By admitting Jaekyung never asked for his help, he redirects the exchange toward his own truth: the loneliness of having no one to care for you. 
(chapter 9) 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 76) The kitchen scene closes one cycle and announces another. 
(Chapter 76) In this view, his fixation would be the product of ambition, pride, or ego: the expected cost of survival in a cage where only victory pays. 
(chapter 76), because the adults in his life cut them off before they could exist. Winning became his only mode of survival because every formative argument in his youth ended in defeat, and not the kind decided by a referee. With his father, mother, coach, and manager, words never led to recognition — only to insult, silence, utility, or obedience. He learned early that dialogue could not protect him; only victory could. His victories were not chosen freely, but forced into being by guardians who made him feel like a burden, until relationships themselves became burdens.
(chapter 73) He was a loser because of his mother. To lose meant humiliation and rejection; to speak at all meant to invite contempt. The only possible rebuttal was victory — to prove through strength that he was not the pathetic, worthless child his father saw in him. Winning became his sole argument against a man who would never listen, the only way to resist being branded a loser. 
“(chapter 73). It was not just defiance; it was a vow that victory would silence abuse once and for all. When he returned with the trophy, he shouted triumphantly, 
(chapter 73) ready at last to claim, “I was right.” Yet reality betrayed him. His father’s death denied him the only acknowledgment he had sought. 
(chapter 74) At the funeral he remained dry-eyed, his face locked in shame (ch. 74). No one saw his guilt, but it consumed him: the one man he needed to hear “I was right” from could no longer answer. At the same time, his smile and laugh were also linked to misery. For Jaekyung, laughter was never the sound of joy, but the echo of mockery and rejection due to the father. Just as tears became tied to betrayal and abandonment through his mother, so too did his father twist laughter into a weapon 
(chapter 72) To the boy, she was not silent at first: she must have definitely told him to become strong, to endure, to wait. She gave him her number, leaving the illusion that her departure was not abandonment but necessity. Victory and wealth became her conditions for love. That is why he swore over the payphone to work hard 
(chapter 72) and “make money” so she could return, and why after his father’s death he still hoped for her homecoming. 
(chapter 74) But when the calls went unanswered, her silence became the sharpest weapon of all. Her eventual reply 
(chapter 74) confirmed that his effort had never mattered. For the first time, he cried 
(chapter 76) appears: the sight of tears recalls the moment he unconsciously realized that even his mother’s “you’re right” was a lie. At the same time, those tears function as a mirror. The champion projects onto Dan the very weakness he has always forbidden himself to show. 
(chapter 76), the boy he once was who longed to weep but had to swallow it down. At the same time, Jaekyung himself occupies the place of the “adult” — 
(chapter 74) Hence the wolf’s tears were quickly replaced by rage and violence. 
(chapter 74)
(chapter 76) His trembling hand upon waking 
(chapter 76) shows the yearning to be held, comforted, reassured — something he never received from either parent. He is not entirely responsible for the physical therapist’s suffering. And here lies the difference: Dan’s tears are not manipulative or hypocritical , like the ones Jaekyung suspects from his mother, but unfiltered honesty. He expressed his emotions, not just through tears, but also through body language! 
(chapter 1) He was shaking, he was bowing and asking for forgiveness! Dan embodies a form of vulnerability that is real, legible, and forgiving contrary to the mother. When the teenager heard his mother’s voice after such a long time, the latter never brought up her past action. She never asked him for forgiveness. 
(chapter 74), whose quiet devotion and silence kept the gym alive, nor Jaekyung’s, whose absence he accepted without challenge. 
(chapter 72) In fact, his own mother’s submission reinforced this flaw: her blind trust in her son, her refusal to question his choices and the boxing world, taught him that authority need not be examined, only endured or seen as trustworthy. For him, hierarchy was unquestionable, and so he perpetuated it. Thus he stands for lack of critical thinking. This is why, with Hwang, the vocabulary of “right” and “wrong” was never about dialogue but about obedience. No wonder why he became so violent at the police station. 
(chapter 74) Unlike Jaewoon’s domination or the mother’s evasive silence, Hwang cloaked his authority in the language of advice — yet beneath it lay a black-and-white dualism: winners and losers, villains and victims. Thus Joo Jaewoon was blamed for becoming a thug 
(chapter 74), while the wolf’s mother was a victim. He viewed her as a selfless and caring mother: 
(chapter 74)And observe how he provoked the main lead. 
(chapter 74) When Hwang sneers, “What, am I wrong? Come on, answer me!” he is not inviting dialogue — he is staging a trap. The question is rhetorical, a demand for submission. Let’s not forget that he had witnessed the phone call in front of the funeral hall, but back then he had done nothing. And when the boy hesitates 
(chapter 74), unable to answer, Hwang strikes him in the chest. 
(chapter 74)and justifies his action behind social norms. 
(chapter 74) In that instant, he takes the role of judge, referee, and executioner, collapsing “argument” into violence. The very words “Am I wrong?” contain the irony: the coach is less interested in truth than in reasserting his own authority. Silence is treated as guilt, hesitation as defeat.
(chapter 74), he effectively admitted “you’re right” to the coach. Yet this wasn’t simply genuine agreement — it was submission, respect mixed with survival. The director misread it as validation of his worldview. This only reinforced his certainty, encouraging him never to reconsider his role. 
(chapter 74) When the protagonist finally left, the director could declare with satisfaction: 
t(chapter 74). 
(chapter 74) The reality was that the old man had never truly become the star’s home and family, which explains why he constantly leaned on other adults, the mother or the father, to provide the guidance he himself refused to give. At the same time, I come to the following deduction: he must have lost his boxing studio, and with its vanishing, the elder was forced to face “reality”: loneliness, sickness and absence of happiness in his life! 
(chapter 70) Once again, Jaekyung is reduced to “that bastard” — a label, not a person — while Dan is framed as the pitiable victim. The old coot remains the righteous observer, untouched by guilt, protected by a rhetoric that always shifts responsibility elsewhere.
(chapter 71) 
(chapter 71) Only during the champion’s visit, did his words alter.On the rooftop of the hospice, he finally tells Jaekyung: 
(chapter 75) This shift did not come from wisdom gained in the ring but from loss — the loss of health, the loss of the gym, the loss of illusions — and from Jaekyung’s loyalty, which pierced through his blindness. Interesting is that this time, he doesn’t give the answer to the athlete. He stops thinking “I’m right, you’re wrong”. He treats him as an adult, as a mature and thoughtful person. Through that fidelity, Hwang glimpsed at last what he had denied both himself and Jaekyung for decades: that victory alone cannot sustain a life.
(chapter 76) It is not too late. The question “Am I too late?” is the consequence of Hwang byungchul’s words and it gradually indicates the switch in the champion’s mentality. It is no longer about being right or wrong. However, the nightmare reveals another aspect: the world is not black and white, but grey. 
(chapter 76) Hence he remained silent and avoided his gaze. But like the director showed it, it is never too late: 
(chapter 76)
(chapter 31) in good 
(chapter 45) or in bad times. It goes so far, he does not take his silences seriously, and does not register his pain. This explicates why the manager saw in the champion’s silence at the restaurant as an agreement for a new fight! 
(chapter 69) His role is not to guide or protect, but to extract: money, victories, publicity. 
(chapter 75) In my opinion, he is fighting against oblivion through the star. This hidden disability explains why the coach can never truly connect with the champion. He listens instead to other voices – the CEO of MFC 
(chapter 69), the rumors among the directors 
(chapter 46), the media 
(chapter 52), the sponsors 
(chapter 41), the spectators or “authorities”
(chapter 36) — and reacts to them, even violently, as in chapter 52, when public criticism painted Jaekyung in a negative light. 
(chapter 52) The slap was less about Jaekyung’s behavior than about Namwook’s own fear of outside judgment. He was not listening to the man in front of him but to the noise around him. He feared losing control in the end, especially after the athlete’s words let transpire his true position at the gym: 
(chapter 52) His question is not mere anger. It is a confession of position — an inadvertent acknowledgment that he knows he is the true backbone of the gym. He is the one responsible, the one carrying the burden that Namwook refuses to admit. These words crack the illusion: the fighter is not subordinate, but owner. The gym lives because of him.
(chapter 52) He acted as a child, faked “tears” in order to use empathy to his advantage. 
(chapter 71), hence he tried to help in his own way. On the other hand, Park Namwook shows clearly no sign to be interested in the private life of his boss. He is preferring ignorance over “knowledge and connection”. 
(chapter 66) Despite the incident, the manager hasn’t changed yet. He clinched onto the past, thinking that everything will be like before, as soon as the athlete enters the ring. He images a return to normality with the next match. 
(chapter 66) For years, he had accepted his manager’s judgments out of habit, mistaking silence for consent. But here, for the first time, the repetition feels deliberate — not resignation, but reflection (“though”). The phrase becomes a question more than an agreement: is he truly right? He is admitting this out of habit. 
(chapter 48) This scene was observed by Kwak Junbeom, so the latter could have reported it to the coach. If it truly happened, this would expose the coach’s deafness and cowardice. He chose passivity instead of confronting the doctor or the champion. That way, he avoided responsibility. And this brings me to my final conclusion concerning the deaf manager. His main way to contact the celebrity is the cellphone: 
(chapter 66) It is both his mask and his crutch — a tool for barking orders, never for dialogue. The moment the line goes dead, his authority collapses, for he has no other means of contact. His power depends on Jaekyung’s reception, not his own strength. In truth, the manager’s disability is exposed here: deaf to Jaekyung’s voice, he has trained himself to hear only the ring of a phone. A fragile authority built on silence, ready to crumble the instant Jaekyung decides to switch it off.
(chapter 76) must be read not as pride, but as a desperate shield against annihilation. In other words, in episode 76, the athlete is too harsh on himself, though I am not saying that he is innocent either. He only thought of himself because he had taught to behave that way. He was just mirroring the adults surrounding him who hid their weaknesses and wrongdoings behind “lies, social norms and hierarchy”. 
(chapter 70) Thus he accepts criticism with defending his own interest. He was not taught how to fight back or resist or even argue. 
(chapter 1) He never tried to seek justice. His “you’re right” was not recognition but submission, the language of someone who could not afford to resist. In season one, this made their relationship combustible: Jaekyung spoke only in victory and as such submission, while Dan accepted every loss as natural. He also adopted this mind-set. On the other hand, because their initial interaction was based on a contract, 
(chapter 34) To conclude, before their fateful meeting, neither man had learned how to argue as equals. But in the kitchen in front of the stove, this changed: both are right and wrong! 
(chapter 76) He speaks like someone expecting rejection. Hence he keeps his distance. Yet the very fact that he says it at all signals change. Where once he would have doubled down — by barking an order, by firing Dan, by retreating into silence — he now admits defeat. The vocabulary of winning and losing, inherited from his father and reinforced by every adult in his life, collapses in the presence of Dan’s quiet honesty.
(chapter 76) — an acknowledgment that he can no longer keep his walls intact. He is now willing to rely on doc Dan exclusively.
(chapter 76). His confession reveals not strength but guilt. Kim Dan’s suffering was the price of his victories, and he knows it. “On the other hand, his mea culpa should be relativized, for both were the targets of a plot!
(chapter 76) These words expose both responsibility and shame: he had prioritized survival over connection, career over compassion. What boils under his skin is not pride but remorse.
(chapter 76) The star’s thoughts in the kitchen are actually mirroring the ones in the bathroom: 
(chapter 68) In the bathtub, he still saw himself as the one in control, with the upper hand… but this is no longer the case in the kitchen. Through the physical therapist, the wolf is learning that even being in a vulnerable state doesn’t mean that this person is powerless. It is just that his “strength” lies elsewhere. In other words, someone struggling can also give comfort to another person in pain. 
(chapter 72) a place of solitary consumption rather than shared meals, the bed was the place where the little boy would drink his milk. 
(chapter 72) It is interesting that actually, Doc Dan wanted to bring the porridge to Joo Jaekyung to his bed during that full moon night, thus the latter made the following request: 
(chapter 76) But the wolf didn’t understand the hamster’s intention and followed his “hyung” to the kitchen. That’s how a misunderstanding was born which is also reflected in this interaction:
(chapter 76) However, doc Dan agreed to this, he remained calm. 
(chapter 41) The latter actually represented a hindrance between them, it marked their relationship: boss and “employee” (servant). Moreover, since the table in the champion’s childhood was linked to one person (the father), it is clear that the champion has never shared a table with someone. And this aspect brings me to my other observation. 
(chapter 22) Whether in meetings, weigh-ins, or dinners with the CEO 
(chapter 46) It was a place where others dictated terms, while Jaekyung’s silence was mistaken for consent. And now, you comprehend why the two main leads could get closer in front of the stove in the kitchen. This place stands for warmth, care and family. 
(chapter 13) a meal after his collapse. He refused to bring a meal to the bed, he asked him to join in the dining room and sit at the table. And what did they do there? The champion talked about his career, his fight etc… 
(chapter 13) the champion has long associated the table to business and not “care”. That’s why it is important for him to remember the significance of the bed in his childhood. It was the place where he could feel comfortable and safe, where he would eat! 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 32) Yet upon closer inspection, certain oddities stood out to me. 
(chapter 43) In that scene, Kim Dan poured soju into his water cup to pace himself during a drinking session. 
(chapter 43) Joo Jaekyung, unaware, mistakes it for his own and angrily reacts upon drinking it. This moment shows how closely water glasses are associated with Korean dining culture—even in casual or alcohol-heavy settings. Hence during a meal, the characters always have 
(chapter 32) two glasses on the table. In South Korea, it is customary for restaurants to provide a glass of water to every diner, regardless of the meal’s formality or complexity. This small gesture reflects hospitality, attentiveness, and the expectation of proper nourishment. The absence of water glasses, therefore, subtly communicates indifference or even disrespect—signaling that the recipient is not truly welcome to enjoy a full meal or rest. When applied to the “dessert meeting,” this detail becomes all the more striking: a cultural standard is ignored, revealing the performative nature of the gesture. Their absence at the “dessert meeting” feels deliberate, a symbol of superficiality and arrogance. 
(chapter 43) The reason for his mistake was that they had only placed a spoon and sticks.😮 He had no glass for himself. It was, as if they had forgotten him. In other words, he was not supposed to eat and drink at his own birthday party!! 😂 
(chapter 9) It reflects a pattern: the champion is present but not included in the communal or emotional aspects of the gathering. His spoon and chopsticks function like a prop, much like the untouched knives and forks at the dessert meeting. 
(chapter 48), the meeting between Choi Gilseok and Kim Dan. The former invited him for coffee. 
(chapted 48) At first, the gesture seemed generous—he offers a home, a car, 
(chapter 48) But this so-called kindness is conditional: in exchange, Kim Dan must betray Joo Jaekyung. Striking is that director Choi only ordered coffee. But a coffee without a dessert is no real break, but a stimulant—fuel for continued work. In both this meeting and the previous one with Choi Gilseok, the core remains the same: “work”, stinginess and greed wrapped in the guise of generosity. Every sweet drink or dessert lies a hidden price. This comparison highlights that the current meeting is not for the athlete’s sake—it is meant to serve Park Namwook and the CEO, who share different but aligned goals.
(chapter 66) linked to fire, summer (hence the reference to the trip in the States), passion, performance, and vitality—ironically twisted here into cold professionalism and superficial seduction. Her position contrasts with her symbolic warmth, highlighting the emptiness of her care. This explains why she is portrayed eyeless. She sold her “soul” to money and as such to the “devil”.
(chapter 69) wearing black, aligns with the North (흑, Heuk), associated with the color black, winter, water, authority, secrecy, and hidden control. It was, as if he was representing the missing glass of water. His position as the initiator of the meeting and his location near the window reinforce his dominance and detachment.
(chapter 69), which evokes confusion and corruption. This artistic backdrop continues the theme from Voyage, Voyage (life is a journey), positioning Jaekyung as mentally “adrift” within this orchestrated trap. At the same time, the green might reference the “Black Forest”—a literal and metaphorical journey ahead. Like Hansel and Gretel, he is being lured with sweets into the forest. But unlike the fairy tale, the athlete’s breadcrumb trail will not lead him home—it will lead him to Kim Dan. On the other hand, by making this connection, I couldn’t help myself thinking that exactly like Hansel and Gretel, doc Dan and his fated partner will cross the witch’s path on their journey to independence and happiness.
(chapter 69) Notably, this outfit marks a shift from his previous appearances: during his public pose with Baek Junmin 
(chapter 37) Now, Joo Jaekyung mirrors this casual dark attire 
(chapter 69) —a signal of inner turmoil and his transition from his former life. Blue stands for loyalty, thought, and calm, while black alludes to his troubled past. He is evolving but not yet free.
(chapter 69) the strawberry fraisier (chosen by the woman) stands for surface sweetness and seduction; the layered chocolate cake (perhaps a feuilleté) represents indulgence and opulence. Joo Jaekyung alone chose a square Black Forest cake—a form traditionally associated with structure, truth, and boundaries. Because the cake contains kirschwasser, subtly referencing the athlete’s brief brush with alcohol, it becomes clear that Park Namwook was not the one behind this order. Imagine this: under his very own eyes, the champion is encouraged to taste a strong alcohol. In my opinion, they must know that the star has been drinking. Yet, it was through Kim Dan’s presence that he stopped drinking, making this dessert an unconscious mirror of both his struggle and strength. Meanwhile, Park Namwook, ever the follower, selects the same dessert as the CEO and the same drink as the woman, revealing his pretense and pastiche once more. Since the manager has always bought junk food (chicken
– chapter 26, hamburgers, ramen 
– episode 37), it becomes clear that the hyung simply has no idea about Western food in general and in particular expensive French or German dishes. That’s why he didn’t ask about the dish or questioned the champion if he should eat the deadly sweet cake. 
(chapter 22)
(chapter 48), it created the illusion of “betrayal” as it looked like a secret meeting”. In episode 69, the meeting is hidden from the public. In contrast to the earlier public appearance alongside Baek Junmin for the cameras
(chapter 69) This framing is deceptive: far from being a gesture of goodwill, it reveals the urgency and opportunism driving the meeting. However, this gesture is carefully staged: the CEO and the woman in red are the ones who selected the time and location of the encounter, placing the athlete in a reactive position where he must adjust his schedule to their convenience. It reinforces the illusion of privilege while concealing a dynamic of control. The meeting is designed to appear personalized, but it reflects MFC’s ethos that ‘time is money’—a business-centered logic that prioritizes efficiency over empathy. The CEO’s urgency to schedule a match, despite Jaekyung’s unclear health status, further exposes the commodification of the athlete. Notably, the proposed match is not even a title bout. 
(chapter 69) This strategic omission likely serves to shield the organization from scrutiny, as a title match would demand full transparency around the champion’s ranking and physical condition—areas that may not withstand public examination. In truth, the meeting is not about offering the protagonist an opportunity, but about maintaining MFC’s narrative control while exploiting his fame. This framing is deceptive: far from being a gesture of goodwill, it reveals the urgency and opportunism driving the meeting. To conclude, the discreet setting implies that MFC is not interested in publicizing their dealings with the star, possibly to avoid scrutiny or backlash. The lack of transparency underscores the manipulative nature of this so-called “favor,” which ultimately serves the organization’s agenda, not the athlete’s interests. The problem is that this meeting is heard by doc Dan 
(chapter 69), hence the “future match” is no longer a secret. 
(chapter 67) He was not dropping the case. That’s the reason why the fighter is offered a match in the fall. If he is busy, then he might forget the “case”, especially since fall is right around the corner. He would be occupied training. Like mentioned in previous essays, my theory is that the CEO is involved in the scheme. This assumption got reinforced with this meeting. Striking is that the focus of the “chief of security” was the incident in the States. 
(chapter 42), it dawned on me that MFC is actually treating the Emperor like a “cash cow”, they imagine that they can keep milking him. I could say, this encounter is exposing the reality to the athlete: Joo Jaekyung is treated like any other fighter. Hence there is no longer mention of Baek Junmin in the news. On the other hand, they have to vouch for Baek Junmin’s integrity 
(chapter 41) here the topic is avoided altogether—possibly due to the lack of actual clearance. Should a third-party hospital intervene, the match could be canceled. Secondly, Park Namwook assumes control of the timeline: a match in the fall means training now. But the champion is no longer dancing to his tune. He is meditating, admitting his exhaustion. 
(chapter 69) So Joo JAekyung is more than a fighter and the apology (interrupted by the manager) is the evidence for this. Under this new light, Jinx-philes can understand Park Namwook’s interruption and embarassement. Not only he doesn‘t want to be reminded of his past mistakes (passivity, failure of his job, the slap), but also this apology serves as a mirror and reminder that he is not the true owner of the gym. 
(chapter 69) He is his unseen savior. Thanks to Kim Dan, the star remained silent and calm giving the impression that he had fallen for MFC’s trick. 
(chapter 40) This echoes Kim Dan’s confusion in Chapter 40 when interrogated in English. It also conveniently hides their ties to local authorities—acting as foreigners with no responsibility or rootedness in Korea. But this is what director Choi Gilseok confessed to the angel: 
(chapter 40), effectively opening the metaphorical door to truth and protection. In this meeting, however, Park Namwook serves to contain and silence, not to defend. His placement underscores his complicity and fear—not just of the CEO or MFC, but of confronting the consequences of his own failures. But the manager is on his way for a rude awakening, he will be taught a lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. The athlete won’t be the depressed, anxious, submissive and passive “boy” any longer. Moreover, he listened carefully to the chief of security: 
(chapter 69) It is Kim Dan.
(chapter 69) he leaves during the day and arrives by night. 
(chapter 69) This spatial detachment echoes his emotional separation from MFC and its toxic grip. Distance, both literal and figurative, is now his strength. The fact that he chose to return to the little town outlines that he is now considering that place as his “home” and not the penthouse. He is not realizing that his true home is doc Dan. 
(chapter 32) During Kim Dan’s lunch with Choi Heesung, the floor beneath their round table shows a twelve-petal flower motif—evocative of the legendary Knights of the Round Table, who were said to sit twelve strong. That earlier scene featured Heesung testing Dan, much like the fake round table later hosts a veiled test for Joo Jaekyung. The repetition of round tables masks exclusion and betrayal. These early “false” tables pave the way for a true table—one that Jaekyung might one day forge with fighters like Heesung, Potato, Oh Daehyun, and others, where loyalty and respect, not manipulation, define the bond.
(chapter 67): the brief diagnosis, the recommendation for weekly visits, the specialist’s tentative attribution of Kim Dan’s condition to either alcohol or a possible psychological cause, emphasizing the need for continued observation and weekly visits before offering a definitive diagnosis —all standard responses. For her, this was a doctor following routine procedure without overstepping professional boundaries. However, I perceived her behavior very differently. I saw someone who remained emotionally detached and almost absent, reducing the complexity of Kim Dan’s condition to simplistic surface-level causes without genuine inquiry.
(chapter 67) Rather than forming an independent assessment, she accepts the narrative of a third party, which introduces bias and limits her understanding. One might argue about that, because she is looking at a paper, probably result of a blood test which seems to corroborate the guardian’s statement. Hence the sleep specialist concludes that Kim Dan is suffering from insomnia, alcohol addiction and sleepwalking. The problem is that his statement is based on external observations (halmoni and the landlord) and their limited knowledge. Moreover, Jinx-philes should keep in mind two important aspects: 
(chapter 61) The champion had been himself suffering from similar symptoms which could be seen as a projection on his loved one. Additionally, based on previous observations, I have interpreted Kim Dan’s nightly walks not merely as sleepwalking, but as dissociative episodes—likely triggered by overwhelming guilt, unresolved trauma, and a chronic sense of disconnection from his body and surroundings. But how could the champion know about this? He’s not a doctor himself. In order to have a more accurate picture of the whole situation, she should have talked to the patient himself. But by relying on papers and the guardian’s testimony, she not only distances herself from the patient physically and emotionally, but also delegates the responsibility of interpretation. She is using the eyes of others.
(chapter 57) Perhaps the doctor’s detachment is not indifference, but a survival mechanism in a healthcare system that demands efficiency over intimacy.
(chapter 67) indicating that his alcohol addiction is not the real reason for his insomnia. Then she fails to examine Kim Dan physically, the desk is between them. Therefore she can not detect his visible malnourishment. 
(chapter 62) Moreover, both the landlord and the grandmother never brought up this aspect, though Shin Okja had observed this terrible transformation: 
(chapter 57)
(chapter 66) It is because the physical therapist is just a number (2) and as such a file. Therefore the doctor is not seeing the patient as a human. I can not blame the woman either, for she has so many patients to treat during the day. And now look at the building of the hospital: 
(chapter 66). It is huge reminding me of a factory. This “modern hospital” with its sleek architecture, expansive buildings, and impressive specialization exudes a sense of advancement and trustworthiness. Yet beneath this polished surface lies a business-oriented structure, one that prizes efficiency, reputation, and patient turnover over genuine patient connection. This “modern hospital” 
(chapter 67) She is doing exactly what Shin Okja wanted: 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 5) with the new medicine. On the other hand, it implies that the light-brown haired woman is doing her job for her paycheck which reminds me of Cheolmin’s statement: 
(chapter 13): “Oh no, no. That won’t do. My precious paycheck!”.
(chapter 27) 
(chapter 49) as mere service providers. Whether it was brushing off medical advice with “Don’t push it, I know my body better than anyone else” (chapter 27) or demanding instant pain relief to continue training (chapter 49), the champion positioned himself as the ultimate authority over his own treatment. Since his attitude echoed the confession of my osteopath, it is understandable why my osteopath-orthopedist began to select his patients carefully. This mirrors Kim Dan’s evolution, when the latter chose to reject the champion’s offer. Indirectly, he is “learning” to select his job and not take them by opportunism. He is also learning to select his “patients”. Striking is that Shin Okja has a similar attitude than the athlete. 
(chapter 7) She desired to have a treatment with less side effects and less painful. And the moment she was confronted with reality, this painful new treatment only brought pain and nothing more, she chose to leave this institution and move elsewhere. 
(chapter 53) Therefore it is not surprising that she is treating the protagonist the same way: she knows what is the best for him. 
(chapter 67) and not even following her recommendation. 
(chapter 67) He felt misjudged and misunderstood; reduced to a file number, not seen as a complex human being.
(chapter 67) and second, what Kim Dan actually received as treatment: 
(chapter 13), in contrast, enters the story with no white coat at all. He carries only a doctor’s bag, dressed in a green pullover and a beige checkered shirt. 
(chapter 13) Despite this informal attire, he immediately recognizes Kim Dan’s symptoms and engages both the guardian and the patient. He doesn’t need institutional support to assert authority; his presence and diagnostic clarity define him. While his clothes might elsewhere be read as conservative or emotionally restrained, here they highlight that care can come outside rigid systems. 
(chapter 13) Quite the opposite. He doesn’t hide behind his distance; he manages it. His approach is practical and grounded, but never cold. He doesn’t wear a white coat, yet he brings with him a doctor’s case and an unshakable sense of responsibility. His tools are simple (his own body), 
(chapter 13) It bridges the gap between roles, making the patient feel seen rather than categorized. 
There’s no judgement in their relationship. The eyeless doctor may appear neutral, but in truth, she is hollow. Cheolmin appears reserved, yet his actions speak with empathy. Where she recites guidelines, he initiates dialogue. 
(chapter 13) Where she avoids involvement, he offers engagement. 
(chapter 61) 
(chapter 67), the Light of Hope hospice 
(chapter 61), the sleek University hospital dedicated to research 
(chapter 5), and more intimate yet modern facilities like this one.
(Chapter 27) Each medical setting not only has its own architecture but also its own moral blueprint. In the essay “
(chapter 21) Then the treatment’s failure is attributed either to the grandmother’s frailty or Kim Dan’s late arrival and absence, subtly shifting blame. 
(chapter 21) Like mentioned before, this treatment wasn’t even properly recorded in the patient file raising the suspicion of deliberate concealment. 
(chapter 56) It appears as “pain killers”. Her open white coat
(chapter 48) got aware of Shin Okja’s conditions, implying that patient confidentiality had been breached. 
(Chapter 61): In contrast, Park Junmin 
(chapter 61) represents the polished face of a business-oriented clinic. While his office projects sleekness and personalized care, his comments betray his priorities. He praises Joo Jaekyung’s fame and urges a return to the ring—not out of medical concern, but because it would guarantee the champion’s return as a paying patient. He wants to retain a high-profile client. His friendliness is strategic. 
(chapter 61), highlighting that the athlete has become aware of what genuine care should look like. When the champion calmly declares, “I’ll be receiving rehabilitation services in another hospital,” Junmin answers with a stunned “Sorry?”. But this is not confusion. It’s a reflexive mask for shock. He did not expect to lose control of the situation. Beneath that one-word response lies disbelief, disappointment, and veiled panic. He’s losing a lucrative patient—and more importantly, a public endorsement. The moment exposes how fragile his authority truly is when faced with a patient asserting autonomy. Let’s not forget that when the champion was facing a mental and emotional breakdown, the latter offered no other support than “rest”. He even avoided his gaze.
(chapter 54) The athlete was left on his own. 
(Chapter 59): At first glance, the hospice appears to be underfunded and outdated. 
(chapter 61) However, its director breaks expectations. Unlike the smooth-talking or indifferent doctors at larger institutions, he is directly involved in patient care. 
(chapter 60), criticizes people for their rude behavior 
(chapter 59) or actively disciplines staff 
(chapter 59) when mistakes are made. Though he also flatters the champion 
(chapter 61) and sees promotional potential, he never exploits patients. 
(chapter 61) The juxtaposition of humility and responsibility in his demeanor, combined with his stunned reactions to sudden events, suggests an overworked and understaffed environment—but not one without moral grounding. His white coat and blue medical uniform echo the nurses’ attire, subtly promoting a sense of equity among staff. Despite being a director, he doesn’t separate himself from frontline caregivers. His uniform also contrasts with the green worn by Kim Miseon or Park Miseon, suggesting a focus on practical responsibility over prestige. By blending in with the team, he fosters a culture of shared accountability, not rigid hierarchy. Among all institutional figures, he comes closest to balancing authority with integrity. 
(Chapter 6): While this figure appears authoritative
(chapter 1), the details of his attire tell another story. Wearing a suit beneath his coat implies professionalism, but here it also suggests a business-driven mindset. The coat becomes a sleek outer layer masking deeper intentions. His charming demeanor conceals a more sinister reality—he weaponizes authority for personal gain. His use of professional attire isn’t about respectability but manipulation. Beneath the surface, profit, control, and coercion drive his actions. 
(chapter 1) The white coat, in his case, is not a symbol of healing but a façade for exploitation. drives his authority. The coat becomes a literal cover for abuse—harassment disguised under professionalism. His entire persona is a façade: calculated, charming on the surface, but predatory and morally bankrupt beneath.
(chapter 27) His gray shirt signals a more relaxed approach, 
(chapter 27) and his facial expression conveys a certain empathy—though his words also betray resignation. He sits beside the patient, not opposite, visually erasing the typical hierarchical divide between doctor and athlete. His recommendation that Joo Jaekyung rest is gently delivered, but he knows it will likely be ignored. He represents the tension between medical idealism and the pressures of athletic performance. He is trying his best to protect Joo Jaekyung’s career. 
(chapter 27) Notably, he doesn’t chase fame or loyalty—he’s realistic, yet still rooted in care. 
(chapter 13) Finally, Cheolmin exists outside the hospital system. He wears no white coat, but his behavior mirrors a true physician’s. He diagnoses accurately, gives immediate advice, and engages both patient and guardian. His attire—a shirt layered under another—might suggest emotional restraint, but it doesn’t interfere with his actions. He jokes and teases, breaking through tension and inviting trust. He acts not because protocol demands it, but because someone needs help. That’s enough.
(chapter 41) nature is neatly confined. Rooftop gardens and structured greenery exist, but more as visual accessories than lived environments. The hospital is a towering research center, representing scientific advancement—but also bureaucratic coldness. Here, nature exists to impress, not to comfort. This artificial balance between concrete and green reflects a clinical detachment: nature is curated, not embraced. It aligns perfectly with Kim Miseon’s demeanor—professional, pristine, but ultimately distant and ambition-driven.the environment feels controlled. 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 54) where Joo Jaekyung receives treatment, the rooftop greenery appears remote and ornamental, disconnected from patient care. 
(chapter 18) modern, and set among scattered trees. 
(chapter 18) Large windows suggest openness and transparency—the very qualities Dr. Lee brings to his interaction. This is a space that, while modest, is genuinely attentive. Here, nature doesn’t impress, it is integrated in the landscape. The park is not surrounded by huge buildings. 
(chapter 65) nestled in the countryside and far from institutional rigidity, emerges as a space of true potential. In returning there, Joo Jaekyung and Kim Dan are not just escaping their past—they are moving toward a form of healing that modern hospitals imitate but rarely achieve. Closer to nature, they are closer to themselves. If hospitals imitate forests, the village becomes the forest. And in that simplicity, Jinx suggests, real happiness might grow.
(chapter 57) It lives where no one is watching and no one is billing. In Jinx, the real medicine lies outside the chart—in the dirt on borrowed floral pants, in sweat earned under open skies. Nature becomes the unspoken vow that systems forgot.
(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.
(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 11), a tool to generate money and maintain the gym’s reputation. Hence he blames him, when members leave the gym. 
(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.
(chapter 54) 
(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 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.
(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) 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.
(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. 
(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 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. 
(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 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.
. The reason is simple. He was portrayed as someone who would do favors to people constantly: his grandmother 
(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.
(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.
(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 66) He assumed once again that the star had taken advantage of his “drunkenness”, something Kim Dan had done himself in the past.
(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 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) And the latter can see beyond the appearances. 
(chapter 36), his tendency to retreat rather than challenge his own doubts 
(chapter 36), and his overwhelming fear of disappointing others 
(chapter 54) suggests he too is haunted by such internalized voices. Under this new light, you comprehend why I wrote in the introduction that the broken mirror was mostly alluding to the doctor. Both protagonists are suffering from mental hurdles, trapped in a psychological prison. The significant difference is that while Kim Dan is consciously recognizing his self-doubt 
(chapter 62), Joo Jaekyung does not. The evidence for this interpretation is the champion’s nightmare: 
(chapter 18) the doctor 
(chapter 25) Therefore the physical therapist bought books. Moreover, we should consider this argument 
(chapter 45) as a revocation of the star’s statement in episode 18. Kim Dan was no longer perceived as a tool, but as a real physical therapist. On the one hand, this request boosted the “angel’s ego”, on the other hand, he was put under immense pressure, for he was compared to his colleagues. 
(chapter 45) Since in Seoul, Kim Dan has only been hired because of sex (Joo Jaekyung, the perverted hospital director)
(chapter 62) Due to his bad past experiences, he concluded deep down that his CV was not reflecting the truth. 
(chapter 56) That’s the reason why he was devaluing himself and as such not looking for a high position.
(chapter 48) exemplifies this pattern: 
(chapter 62) completely devastated Kim Dan’s already fragile self-esteem. 
(chapter 62) First, he considers himself as waste. While in the past, he was at least a tool, he is now garbage. Hence his feelings are “trash”. 
(chapter 62) This means that in episode 62, he felt worse than in episode 18! The idioms “trash” and “waste” revealed the doctor’s own self-perception in episode 62: he saw himself as totally useless. He belonged to the “wastebasket”, just like the golden key chain. 
(chapter 46) Thus I deduce that the fate of this item echoes the doctor’s. 
(chapter 47) He had selected this profession because of her. This shows that until now, he has never developed any ambition on his own. The loss of faith from someone he relied on for motivation made him feel completely worthless. This reinforces that his confidence and sense of direction were never self-sustained: they depended on others’ recognition. This pattern suggests that Kim Dan has never truly asked himself what he wants. His entire existence has revolved around meeting expectations, whether from his grandmother, Joo Jaekyung, or even his profession. His current crisis—feeling like waste—stems from the realization that without someone to validate his worth, he sees himself as nothing.
(chapter 59) However, observe that he is using the expressions “do” and “now”. This has nothing to do with the future and dreams. It is not a reflection on his own desires but rather an immediate reaction to his circumstances. His mindset is still trapped in survival mode, seeking a course of action rather than contemplating what he truly wants. His words reflect an urgency to act rather than an opportunity to dream. This highlights that he has spent his entire life making decisions based on necessity rather than personal fulfillment. Even when faced with uncertainty, he does not ask himself what he wants—only what he must do next. His transformation will only be complete when he begins to question not just how to survive, but how to live on his own terms. That’s how I realized why Mingwa put this question in front of the window covered with Venetian blinds [which made me think of this scene 
(chapter 39 – Venice, a travel to Italy]. The window with the Venetian blinds represents a metaphor for the doctor’s trapped dreams. This interpretation made me recognize another aspect. Kim Dan is pushed to meditate, when he is front of a window or better said close to the sky! Hence the hamster started thinking about his own future in the penthouse 
(chapter 19) or when he looked at the sun and sky: 
(chapter 47) The picture from his childhood: himself with his grandmother. 
(chapter 66) But the latter was not related to work, but to fun and nature. Striking is that Joo Jaekyung has an empty phone screen display indicating that he has no real dream on his own either: 
(chapter 38) No wonder why he questioned the meaning of his champion title: 
(chapter 54). He saw the belt as something rather “meaningless”. 
(chapter 43) This would boost the doctor’s self-esteem. He is not trash, but an acknowledged fan and friend. The picture would encourage the physical therapist to develop his own ambitions. As soon as I made this discovery, another detail caught my notice: 
(chapter 66) The celebrity has no picture of Park Namwook in his contacts divulging the superficiality of their relationship. 
(chapter 42) The problem is that the athlete took this recommendation personally. He felt as if his job as fighter was questioned. 
(chapter 42) As you can see, the doctor’s hesitations were exposing his mental obstacles, which was reflected in the champion’s attitude. No wonder why doc Dan chose to become a courier as a second job instead of finding a new VIP client. While the interaction between the athlete and Kim Dan in front of the hospice display the return of doc Dan’s past mental hurdles:
(chapter 62) According to the main lead, the champion is “wasting his time here”. 
(chapter 62)
(chapter 57) Hence it is clear that in the future, the physical therapist would refuse to use any kind of spray. On the other hand, it is important to recall that back then, Joo Jaekyung had made the request himself: 
(chapter 57) 
(chapter 1) with a previous PT like the spray? No wonder why he called himself “trash” in the end. 
, people might wonder why I selected dandelions as a frame for the selected.. It’s clear that the dandelions aren’t just there for aesthetic balance. Their symbolism is profound. Dandelions are often associated with childhood innocence, wishes, and fleeting moments of beauty, yet they also wither quickly, easily scattered by the wind. In the context of Jinx, they represent a transitory force—something that struggles to take root, much like the intangible and fleeting elements in Kim Dan’s life. But there’s more to it. Before delving into deeper analysis, consider this: what is the common denominator in all these scenes?
(chapter 37) Therefore it is not surprising that the main lead couldn’t view the members as friends in the end. 
(chapter 41) And now, you comprehend why Joo Jaekyung has always disliked his birthday and the “congratulations” from people in general. The gifts and words were like poisoned praises to his soul. They were pushing him to live like a “god”. 
(chapter 59) While this photography was not a personal and intimate picture, it also symbolizes his first root in the little community: Light of Hope Hospice. He is part of the staff and as such of the little town. On the other side, we could say, he is gradually entering the scene as a PT. Note the contrast to the food truck: 
(chapter 30) In other words, it exposes the actor’s hypocrisy and wrongdoings. And now, you understand why I wrote genuine in parentheses above [proof of (genuine) human connection]. Photography in Jinx also represents the evidence of wrongdoing 
(chapter 46) The exact opposite of the dandelions.
(chapter 62) This shows that deep down, he desires to obtain doc Dan’s gratitude. No wonder why he got so upset after hearing the displeased comment from Kim Dan. 
(chapter 66) reveals Kim Dan’s elevation in the champion’s life. The dressing room symbolizes privacy and closeness. No longer seen as a mere tool, Kim Dan has become an integral part of Joo Jaekyung’s world, not because of what he can do but because of who he is. 
(chapter 66) Therefore the champion is holding the expensive gift with his whole hand contrary to the past: 
(chapter 55) As a conclusion, by bringing him to the sleep specialist, the star proved doc Dan’s words wrong! He told him something that doc Dan didn’t know: he is precious. He needs to pay attention to his health and body.
(chapter 32) And now, you comprehend why the athlete didn’t fall for Park Namwook’s manipulations afterwards.
(chapter 7) 
(chapter 65) At the same time, such a disapproval 
(chapter 1), hence his true desire was to run away from that place. For praise to be effective, the recipient must be open to receiving it, either by looking forward to feedback or having expectations of validation. Since Kim Dan was in a state of distress, he was unable to internalize the champion’s words, reinforcing his long-standing belief that he was invisible or unworthy of acknowledgment. That’s how the champion’s praise became a dandelion seed in the end.
(chapter 65) or a smoker, hiding his sacrifices and the true causes for his struggles. Her words reinforce the idea that Kim Dan is only as good as his usefulness, that love and recognition are earned through labor, not freely given.
(chapter 18) 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 64) 
(chapter 66) Is this a joke? 
(chapter 40) However, Kim Dan has never realized it. Either he was sleeping or totally out of it (fear of sex) 
(chapter 27) It is important to recall the importance of the receiver’s mind-set. The latter has to perceive the sincerity from the speaker. Hence I come to the following deduction: The moment Kim Dan notices Joo Jaekyung’s smile and laugh, then he should come to the conclusion that he matters to the protagonist. I would even say, the two protagonists are destined to make each other laugh and smile: 
(chapter 65) At first glance, the grandmother’s wheelchair and the ocean seem to represent opposing forces, yet they also reveal a complex relationship between power and vulnerability. Thus in this analysis, I will explore how these elements, rather than simply contradicting each other, might actually reflect a struggle to find balance between dependency and independence.
(chapter 65) This description stands in opposition to the gumiho’s statement: he was an angel. 
(chapter 65) or with shock? 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 65) His bare feet on the cold ground 
(chapter 65) suggest a longing for freedom, yet the direction of his steps remains uncertain. Whereas these walks reveal about his inner struggle, they don’t reveal the destination of his nightly strolls. Where was he going during that night? Was he going to the ocean—vast and untamed— like in episode 59, 
(chapter 65) or had his destination changed? These questions will be answered in the second part. 
(chapter 65) This destination reflects the athlete’s desire and mind-set. He likes this place because it is quiet. 
(chapter 62) From my perspective, the man has now internalized the beach to nature and privacy. Striking is the way Mingwa introduced the scenery. First, she focused on the wheel and Joo Jaekyung’s feet. 
(chapter 65) The contrast between the creaking wheels of the grandmother’s wheelchair and the steady steps of the champion immediately establishes the theme of control versus freedom. The wheelchair’s wheels represent civilization, immobility, passivity, and the grandmother’s obsession with control—over her own fate 
(chapter 65) In fact, she is just looking ahead of her. The “nice little town” is reduced to the pathway next to the beach. This observation exposes her narrow-mindedness. Because she is not truly admiring the place, I feel like she is praising the town more based on her childhood memories. This explains why she mentions her youth afterwards. Moreover, the fact that she employed the expression “isn’t it” with her description, reveals her tendency to lead the conversation. It was, as if she pushed the young man to agree to her claim. The irony is that she didn’t even wait for his reply. She explained why she was so fond of the place: her childhood memories. In her eyes, because her companion didn‘t spend his youth here, he can not connect to this town, overlooking that people can create new memories anywhere. Moreover, they are not obliged to live in the same town their whole life or to live where they spent their childhood. In other words, this frail lady has no real notion of time as such. I would even say, her gaze is not truly directed in the present or the future, she is rather obsessed with the past.
(chapter 59) The contrast between these two images—one of the halmoni accompanied by Joo Jaekyung and the other of Kim Dan sitting alone by the ocean—exposes the stark difference in their emotional worlds and the dynamics of control and isolation that define their lives.
(chapter 65) The sunlight high in the sky bathes the scene in brightness, suggesting a façade of warmth and clarity. This lighting aligns with the halmoni’s belief that she can influence Kim Dan through the champion, using Joo Jaekyung as an intermediary to extend her authority. The fact that she is in a wheelchair, however, subtly contradicts this impression of power, revealing her true state of passivity and reliance on others to act on her behalf. The ocean, tamed by the pathway, symbolizes her attempt to domesticate nature— 
(chapter 65) the same illusion that the high sun implies. The latter can not shine if there are clouds. 
(chapter 59)
(chapter 57) By telling him that he had no ties here, she effectively erased their shared past and portraying him as a stranger in the very place she calls home. Thus I deduce that she is aware that she is racing against time. The longer the athlete stays in that place, the lower are the chances that her grandson will leave this town. She has to ensure that Joo Jaekyung doesn’t feel like settling here. I don’t think, she heard about the athlete’s involvement in the little town, for her only source of information comes from the staff 
(chapter 65) and the residents from the hospice. She has no connection to the town chief and other inhabitants. This exposes how small her world is and little her knowledge is. However, her ignorance doesn’t make her an innocent “lady”, quite the opposite. – Don’t get me wrong, I don’t see her as a malicious person, just as a selfish person suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome. 
(chapter 65) Here, she claims that she only knows about the sportsman’s job thanks to the patient next door. However, she is lying, because she watched his match in the States. 
(chapter 41) The irony is that she is not realizing that she is showing her true colors. 
(chapter 21) In episode 21, the halmoni’s description of the champion as a “good friend” was, in hindsight, a superficial and self-serving characterization. At that time, she likely saw Joo Jaekyung as someone who could be beneficial for Kim Dan’s financial situation without truly caring about who he was as a person. Her interest in him was more about what he represented—a source of money and stability—rather than any genuine appreciation of his character or the impact of his presence in Kim Dan’s life. Thus she said this in front of the ocean: 
(chapter 65) If he was a good friend, then why didn’t she show more interest in him before? It is because she needs him now. Yes, this woman is a good-weather friend in the end. The term “good-weather friend” refers to someone who shows interest, support, or kindness only when it is convenient for them or when they stand to gain something. Hence she goes outside, when the sun shines. This perfectly encapsulates the grandmother’s attitude towards Joo Jaekyung. But it is the same with the champion. He only visited her, 
(chapter 61) Yes, the conversation at the beach played an important role, for Shin Okja’s behavior serves as a distorted mirror to Joo Jaekyung’s actions and mindset, exposing the flaws and contradictions in both. When she voiced this wish 
(chapter 22) he acted out of a simplistic view of good deeds—believing that financial support alone could resolve problems and fulfill his moral obligations. His subsequent failure to visit her again reflects his tendency to distance himself emotionally once he has performed what he sees as his duty. This is reminiscent of his behavior towards Kim Dan: helping him materially but avoiding deeper emotional involvement or responsibility.
(chapter 65), much like how Joo Jaekyung likely saw himself when paying her bills—believing that fulfilling a material need is equivalent to showing genuine concern. Park Namwook is a representative of this mind-set too.
(chapter 65) is a way to offload responsibility for doc Dan while maintaining an image of concern. Both display a form of care that lacks true depth.
(chapter 62) Both avoid the emotional accountability that comes with their actions, preferring to distance themselves once a material obligation (debts)
(chapter 60) is fulfilled.
(chapter 22)
(chapter 60) If my assumption is correct, the woman didn’t realize that this rejection was linked to Joo Jaekyung’s intervention. So if she had talked to her grandchild himself, she could have had an impact… But they are actually avoiding each other. One thing is sure: the absence of communication and avoidance between these two family members reinforced the doctor’s suffering. Imagine the consequences of her request: she is preferring locking him up in a hospital receiving drugs than giving what doc Dan has been longing: warmth, love and a home. 
(chapter 65) According to my hypothesis, this image 
(chapter 48). Both the halmoni and Choi Gilseok embody betrayal and the theme of acting behind the back 
(chapter 62) That’s the reason why he was seeking the grandmother’s support. He was hoping that she could influence him. But what he hears, shocks him: 
(chapter 29) He had even advised to think of himself first. As you can see, the fact that the two characters were just sitting next to each other reinforces my previous interpretation about the conversation. The grandmother was the one who had been leading the conversation, there is no real exchange of thoughts. In episode 29, the champion refused to accept the doctor’s help and suggestion. That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the star won’t listen to the grandmother.
(chapter 53) and watch the ocean with her grandson 
(chapter 53), but they never did it. Why? One might respond that she refused to do it. 
(chapter 53) She never had any intention to spend some time with him. Notice the personal pronoun “we” vanished. It is only about her request: “I wanted to see the ocean”. This means that at the hospital, she never had any intention to keep Kim Dan by her side. She employed the “with you, we” in order to achieve her goal. She acted, as if they were a family. She used her illness for her own advantage. In my opinion, her request was an excuse to avoid to return to the old broken home. For her, home is a place and not a person. Therefore she couldn’t love Kim Dan properly. Her “I’m so sorry” was actually fake. She had only thought of herself… She never thought of her grandson’s future at all. This observation corroborates my previous statement: she is unable to plan for the future. What only matters to her is the past or the present. Why? It is because she doesn’t want to be plagued by remorse or regrets. And now, she is doing it again with the champion. Using emotions and fragility for her own benefits. The paradox is that this is something Joo Jaekyung has always feared his whole life. Nonetheless, he doesn’t react so violently like in the past: rejection or outburst. One might say the reason is that she is weak and terminally ill.
(chapter 65) However, I believe that her words reached the champion’s third eye. The latter was not focusing on the grandmother, but on his fated companion. He was trying to understand why he had changed. This question was already on his mind before: 
(chapter 62) And notice that the words from the grandmother 
(chapter 62) Once he has achieved his goal (reclaim his champion title), they will depart from each other. He would treat the doctor the same way than the grandmother! No wonder why doc Dan is getting angry and rejecting the offers from his destined partner. IT is only about his own selfish desires and not about doc Dan’s future and desires. Both have a similar mind-set: they don’t know what doc Dan plans to do with his life and the future…. And it shows that Joo Jaekyung was imitating the grandmother, though this suggestion was born from the following thought. Since Doc Dan was no reluctant to work for him, he imagined that maybe he would still accept to work for him for a limited time. But that’s not what Kim Dan is looking. He is longing for a home and at the same time for freedom.
(chapter 65) The points of suspension are indicating that he is meditating on her words and suggestions. This stands in opposition to his past behavior where he got manipulated so easily. 
(chapter 65) According to her, Kim Dan has never introduced her to any of his friends. The celebrity would be the exception! But she is lying here. How so? Joo Jaekyung introduced himself to her on his own. It is because he answered a call from the nurse. 
(chapter 21) It happened behind doc Dan’s back in the end. The latter was sick, but the old lady didn’t seem concerned. The second lie is this statement which is exposed with the memory:
(chapter 65) Here, note that the little boy is wearing the same clothes than in the doctor’s nightmare. 
(chapter 57) She claims her ignorance why the little boy acted like an adult at such a young age. The reality is that she hasn’t forgotten the incident at all. This explicates why she confessed this to the “wolf”: 
(chapter 30) a sign that she was never a source of embarrassment for him. 
(chapter 18) What caught my attention in her revelation is her lack of enthusiasm for her own grandson. 
(chapter 65) “Is he that good?” exposes a lack of faith in her grandchild, a remark which caught the athlete by surprise. For me, he unconsciously sensed this negative aspect. 
(chapter 65) I am suspecting that deep down, she wants him to shine for her own peace of mind. 
(chapter 61) Finally, it is important that the athlete never agreed to her “demand” or suggestion. 
(chapter 13), who had been awakened by the champion, though contrary to the fairy tale, this arising was associated with pain. [For more read the analysis 
(chapter 60) But how did they ended up both cursed by the same spell? The reason is simple. They were either halted by guilt and self-loathing or distorted by the desperate need to escape a traumatic past. Yet, amidst this stasis, small cracks are beginning to appear, suggesting that the flow of time cannot be denied forever. The past can not be repeated 
(chapter 64) and nature of the encounter 
(chapter 62), he did so for the sake of debts, not for himself. 
(chapter 64) The recent death of the puppy serves as a stark reminder 
(chapter 59) that he is not exempt from time’s reach, that he too is aging and vulnerable. But the doctor failed to recognize this warning. He only viewed it as a sign of his own powerlessness, reducing it from his own perception. He overlooked the fragility of life as such. 
(chapter 35), he created an illusion of freedom that only masked his deeper confinement—his glass prison. When Kim Dan closed the door and left 
(chapter 64), the illusion shattered, revealing the reality of his loneliness. The jinx, 
(chapter 55) once confined to the bedroom, now permeates his entire life, binding him to a past shaped by his abuser’s cruel words.
(chapter 55) The view created an illusion of openness and freedom, masking the reality of his confinement. Glass, by its very nature, is transparent—a barrier that is invisible yet unbreakable, creating a false sense of freedom. The window’s clarity hid the fact that it was, in truth, an impassable wall that confined him, turning the promise of escape into a cruel irony. By focusing on the horizon, he could avoid looking inward, denying the unresolved trauma left by his anonymous abuser. 
(chapter 54) were designed to create the illusion of eternity—as if time itself was under the phantom’s control. This assertion not only sought to freeze Joo Jaekyung in a perpetual state of inadequacy but also to distort his perception of change as impossible. Trapped in a cycle of hatred and self-loathing, the athlete’s vision of freedom was limited to the false infinity of the horizon. 
(chapter 53) And now, you comprehend why the champion chose not to look for Kim Dan after his departure. He was so close to the window, making him think that he had a “choice”. That’s how I realized that the closer he would stand to the window, the less he would get Enlightenment. Hence he is portrayed eyeless here. 
(chapter 53) Ironically, the window—symbol of escape—became his glass prison, a barrier that reflected the endlessness of his struggle rather than a path to liberation. 
(chapter 19) —a window that offered no view of the outside world. This reflected his entrapment in a life defined by guilt and sacrifice, unable to envision a future beyond repaying debts and fulfilling duties. The window’s visible cracks and makeshift repairs represent not only the physical deterioration of their environment but also the psychological fragmentation within Kim Dan himself. By choosing to patch the window rather than replace it, Shin Okja’s actions reflect a mentality of denial and resignation—an unwillingness to confront the full extent of their impoverishment and suffering.
(chapter 19) suggests a deeper symbolic resistance to change or moving forward. In a sense, the grandmother’s decision to live with the broken window mirrors her acceptance of a life defined by limitations and unspoken grief. 
(chapter 51) served as the key that triggered Kim Dan’s abandonment trauma. How so? While “get out of my sight” implied that Kim Dan should leave him, the reality is that the champion left the locker room first. 
(chapter 51) Observe how the “hamster” is once again turning his back to the door. However, the bloody footprints became an evidence for Kim Dan that he had been abandoned and left behind. And now, you comprehend why the main lead took the athlete’s request seriously and literally. It is because the door in the past was the symbol of betrayal and abandonment. This explicates why he is so sensitive to the sound of a closing door and could recognize it, even if his ears and eyes were covered. 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 21) Consequently, I interpret the following scene like this: 
(chapter 19) When he was standing here, he must have sensed it as a betrayal against his own grandmother. Hence he employed the expression “goodbye” and not “farewell” to diminish his guilt. No wonder why he chose to hide his move from his relative and bring the Wedding Cabinet to the penthouse. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can grasp why Kim Dan’s nightmares in season 2 were linked to the opened door: 
(chapter 57) His unconscious was telling him this: Shin Okja had broken her promise. She was about to abandon him. He had the impression that he was reliving the past. That’s the reason why he was scared and suffering. 
(chapter 57) In addition, I believe that his unconscious was pushing him to come clean with the past, to reveal the changes in his life. It was impossible for both of them to keep such unreal promises. 
(chapter 11) 
(chapter 56) revealed the existence of a past trauma. It highlighted his own fear of abandonment and rejection—an emotion he had long denied. The door, a supposed barrier against the outside world, now stood as a reminder of all he had pushed away, including his own need for connection. Therefore he never left his door open in the penthouse: 
(chapter 55) That’s why I perceive this scene as an important step for Kim Dan himself: 
(chapter 64) By opening and closing the door, he is overcoming his abandonment issues. He becomes the ruler of his own life (time and relationship). He is freeing himself from the mental torment which readers could witness in earlier episodes. 
(chapter 24) The physical therapist has kept his past trauma a secret. And what is the synonym for “secret”? Key! So when the main lead leaves the champion behind 
(chapter 24), yet the latter didn’t get fooled at all. He found out the true nature of their relationship. 
(chapter 19) the Wedding Cabinet in Kim Dan’s home functioned both as a mirror and a false window, preserving an illusion of timelessness. 
(chapter 10), the cabinet remained pristine, suggesting a futile attempt to halt the passage of time and maintain the status quo. 
(chapter 53) By throwing it away, Kim Dan unknowingly released time from its prison, breaking the spell that his grandmother’s control had cast over him. This act was not just a rejection of his past but an unconscious acknowledgment that time was moving forward—that he could no longer live as if he were already dead. Simultaneously, this gesture symbolizes his separation from his grandmother, breaking the illusion of perpetuity that she maintained. So while he might have been by her side physically 
(chapter 1) to the point that I called him “Mister Mistake”. 
(chapter 43) On the other hand, his missteps are there to teach the fighter to drop his perfectionism and to bring the notion of entertainment in his fated partner’s life. Kim Dan is funny in his own way. 
(chapter 64) He doesn’t respect humans in general. The irony is that by criticizing Joo Jaekyung, the doctor is overlooking his own nature. He is also a sinner. 
(chapter 57) Is it a coincidence that the doctor’s cold attitude takes place in chapter 60 -64? 
(chapter 61) No, as the number 6 sounds similar to sex. Moreover, don’t forget that Satan’s number is strongly associated with 6 (666 or 616). From my point of view, the “hamster” is on his way to become an adult and as such a sinner as well. The physical therapist’s stubbornness reminded me of the behavior of a teenager who believes to know everything about life, while in verity, such people lack experiences. And what did the nurse say about the main lead? 
(chapter 61) But why did he want to return to the past? It is because of the ghost’s criticism 
(chapter 54) ‘You’ve never been good at anything’ were designed to freeze Joo Jaekyung in time, trapping him in a mental prison where change was impossible. I would even add, the mysterious person gave a negative connotation to “change”. On the one hand, the champion was pushed to prove the tormentor’s statement wrong, on the other hand, this implied that one “loss” would be perceived as a validation of the ghost’s claim. This signifies that his obsession with maintaining his title stemmed not from pride but from a desperate need to refute the man’s statement. We could say that the fighter fought not out of fun, but out of hatred and fears. 
(chapter 29) That’s why he was on survival modus and could never refuse any challenge. By associating sex with endurance and control 
(chapter 64) 
(chapter 64) That’s why the door 
(chapter 64) Hence the author focused on his wide opened gaze. Kim Dan’s intervention was painful but necessary, because through this reflection, the athlete’s motivation to fight is bound to change. In the future, the fight won’t be deadly serious like before, he won’t act like a tyrant in the ring where he couldn’t control his rage. 
(chapter 1) He will see his opponent as an artist too. 
(chapter 21) with her, because he felt treasured. 
(chapter 61) 
(chapter 63) —no matter how reluctantly—represents the second turn. With the doctor’s cold rejection, he is forced to choose: What does he want in life? Only the champion title or something else? 
(chapter 64)
Hence the latter will become his hyung. For me, there’s no doubt that through this confrontation, the athlete’s respect for Kim Dan can only increase. 
(chapter 27), and he noticed the quietness of the ocean 
(chapter 59) But this time, that would be a conscious choice. That’s how he will reconnect with his true self for good. But strangely, I am expecting that he won’t be on his own. I am quite certain that this man will make a similar experience than the grandmother: 
(chapter 53) However, from my point of view, Joo Jaekyung should witness the sunrise and not sunset… which would announce his rebirth. There was only one sunset in season 1, which was linked to Shin Okja’s mortality: 
(chapter 47). Moreover, in season 1 and 2, the doctor was often connected to the sunset: 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 17) And we had the beach here in the background.
(chapter 48) This was an ominous sign for the champion’s symbolic “death” and rebirth. Sun and moon are natural tools to determine the flow of time. 
(chapter 62) He now includes his entire routine with Kim Dan—not just sex, but also his physical therapy and treatment—as part of this so-called jinx. This shift is crucial because it implies an unconscious recognition of Kim Dan’s significance in his life. What once was purely about his career and success has now expanded to include a specific person and their role in his well-being.
(chapter 62), the doctor’s memory got triggered. Because of his past experiences, he has long associated the jinx exclusively with sex. This contrast in understanding highlights both Jaekyung’s lack of self-awareness and Kim Dan’s tendency to filter reality through his own expectations and trauma. However, the deeper significance lies in Jaekyung’s evolving perception of dependency. His jinx is no longer just a superstition tied to his performance in bed. It now subtly acknowledges that his success has been intertwined with Kim Dan’s intervention. 
(chapter 61) By entrusting his care to Kim Dan, he was insinuating that the main lead was trustworthy and competent, yet his inability to verbally express appreciation keeps the doctor unaware of his true feelings. This struggle resurfaced in front of the hospice, where Jaekyung could only bring himself to admit that Kim Dan was not responsible for the incident with the switched spray. 
(chapter 57) and Park Namwook 
(chapter 13) because they affected the doctor’s life? 
(chapter 41) In one case, he refused to listen to his friend’s advice, whereas he trusted the words from MFC, MFC doctors and his hyung. When the foundation he has relied upon begins to crack, Jaekyung’s entire mindset is shaken, forcing him to question whether his past truly holds the answers he seeks. We could say, the athlete needs to be betrayed by his own past in order to throw his old belief. The latter is strongly intertwined with the organization MFC and authorities in general. Questioning his past equals challenging the company MFC and his past “guardians”: the terrifying ghost and even his two hyungs. 
(chapter 29) The origins of his struggles existed before his recent failures, suggesting that his belief in a simple solution—reclaiming his title—is an illusion. This disconnect reveals how deeply his professional and personal life are entangled; his need for control in the ring has masked his deeper emotional vulnerabilities. He isn’t merely striving for victory—he is chasing the illusion of stability, believing that his success is the sole factor that determines his well-being. 
(chapter 29), you will realize that alone in his penthouse, Joo Jaekyung was actually admitting the importance of sleep and rest. His earlier belief in relentless training as the key to success now clashes with his realization that exhaustion is affecting him. This shift signifies an unconscious admission that his well-being is not just tied to physical endurance but also to recovery and relaxation—something he previously dismissed. This realization subtly parallels his growing dependence on Kim Dan, reinforcing the theme of blurring lines between his professional and personal life. And what had occurred after this magical blue night in the penthouse? 
(chapter 30) The athlete woke up later than usual. In fact, he was rather late, for he was still wearing his pajamas, while the doctor had already taken his shower. But back then, observe how he opened the door! Like a clumsy beast, grump leopard! Why? In the past, I explained that he was seeking the champion’s closeness, but didn’t know how to approach his partner. I am now adding another aspect. He was actually annoyed, because he had not been following his daily routine!! Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the champion had such a “angry” facial expression, while deep down he was happy. The older version of this scene: 
(chapter 44) However, this means that in episode 30, he never acknowledged his dependency on the physical therapist for his rest loudly. On the other hand, it explains why the champion felt threatened, when the actor approached his “lavender-tinted pillow” or “sleeping pill”. 
(chapter 31) In fact, he used guilt to create a link between him and his roommate. That’s the reason why I am more than ever convinced that the champion will sleep better after this lavender-tinted night. 
(chapter 63) But contrary to the past, the athlete should come to recognize his lover’s great sleeping power officially. This made me laugh, imagining Kim Dan’s reaction, when the latter sees that his wish 
(chapter 62) won’t come true at all. 😉 He will stay longer and ask for Kim Dan’s presence during the night.
(chapter 62)
(chapter 56) His childhood and early adult experiences, marked by financial hardship, emotional neglect, abandonment, betrayal and powerlessness, have conditioned him to associate attachment with suffering. Because of this, he withdraws from relationships 
(chapter 56) and opportunities that could offer him security, convincing himself that he is protecting his independence when, in truth, he is reacting to past trauma rather than making an intentional choice.
(chapter 46) 
(chapter 46)
(chapter 62) If he continues making decisions based on past fears, he will remain trapped in the same cycle, unable to experience true growth or emotional fulfillment.
(chapter 3), which has been the setting of power imbalances, physical dominance, and silence, the living room represents a shared space—a place where dialogue and openness can exist. But why is the bedroom linked to silence? It is because of the TV, the third invisible companion! 
(chapter 48) Hence during that night, none of the protagonists talked sincerely to each other. And now pay attention to the living room at the hostel: 
(chapter 54) He needed to get rid of this poor habit: watching TV or cellphone. He had to realize that the TV or cellphones were never real companions and never brought him peace of mind! This was the invisible “love” triangle. Back then, the athlete deceived himself by thinking that he was truly self-reliant, while in verity he was dependent on his cellphone and the TV. 
(chapter 59) Striking is that here the doctor didn’t apologize to the elderly man, but only to the family. 
(chapter 59) 
(chapter 62) – which is quite understandable in my eyes. The ones who failed the couple were the two other hyungs from my perspective. The past affected the doctor so much that he views himself and his feelings as “trash” now, yet it is clear that neither Park Namwook nor the coach are suffering from guilt or remorse. The star’s follow-up statement, 
(chapter 62) further reinforces that Kim Dan has become an integral part of his preparation. Although Jaekyung does not yet frame this as emotional reliance, his words betray an unconscious attachment—one that Kim Dan himself does not recognize. Moreover, by including him in his jinx, the champion is only one step closer to include him in his “success”. Should the doctor be the target of malicious comments, the star will consider it as a personal assault or as his responsibility.
(chapter 56), but about something deeper. Here he felt the need to see his beloved “companion” again. 
(chapter 62) This means that he is now treasuring his own body. No wonder why he smiled. 
(chapter 62) That’s why I come to the following conclusion: The athlete must have felt happy in the living room, for he felt comfortable and safe.
(chapter 62) But why did he show his back? One might say that he desired to hide his “satisfaction” and his “reliance” on his fated partner. Or he didn’t feel the need to watch the doctor’s facial reaction, when he would confide his new intentions and the transformation of his jinx. He didn’t expect the physical therapist to mock him for his absurd belief contrary to episode 2: 
(chapter 2) He trusted the doctor. Yet, in my opinion, there exists a bigger reason behind this change. It is related to his manager: 
The doctor is treating the star 
(chapter 26) His dependence on Jaekyung’s achievements makes him resistant to any shift in the fighter’s trajectory 
(chapter 50), allowing others to step in instead. Later, rather than addressing his inaction, 
(chapter 59)
(chapter 5) He felt so empowered that he won very quickly. 
(chapter 5) But this good vibe was attributed to the sex with Kim Dan and unfortunately linked to his match. The reality was that he had slept better and longer. So by recreating the past, Kim Dan places the athlete in front of a choice. What matters in his life? His title or his peace of mind? He is correcting the champion’s distorted memory. Kim Dan is the reason why he can rest properly and not the title. Don’t forget that he was suggesting to go separate ways during the massage. But if he sleeps better before gaining his title, he won’t feel the urge to return quickly to the ring. In the living room, he was still acting as the celebrity, but in the bed chamber he is now gradually pushed to leave his title out of the bedroom. Now, in the bedroom he becomes a man and can almost make a mistake as a lover. 
(chapter 59) However, he needs to realize that his physical and mental recovery can only happen, if he truly wishes it. From my perspective, the doctor has to sense that he is not on his own, he has someone by his side who supports him emotionally and mentally.
(chapter 59) is a masterful interplay of symbolism, reflection, and narrative breadcrumbs laid out by Mingwa. Central to this exploration is a photograph 
(chapter 59) —which becomes the pivotal clue leading Joo Jaekyung to Kim Dan. Through a careful analysis of the timeline and the use of contrasting events, it becomes clear that Mingwa’s narrative mirrors a kaleidoscope, reflecting positive and negative elements rooted in Taoist principles. While the doctor’s unconscious 
(chapter 59 ) a conscious choice to follow his heart, hence he was full of anger and frustration. Joo Jaekyung was no longer repressing his feelings, even if he had yet to fully recognize his affection. 
(chapter 59) embodies the negative reflection of Joo Jaekyung’s purposeful arrival. We can detect the divergences: day versus night, work versus break, healthy versus unhealthy etc. Through the juxtaposition of images and situations, Mingwa provides profound insight into the characters’ thoughts, desires, and intentions. The photograph’s role becomes pivotal: while it marks the end of Heesung and Potato’s visit
(chapter 59), it simultaneously signifies the first crucial clue in Joo Jaekyung’s search. This marked the turning point where his ongoing efforts were given direction, transforming his pursuit into a decisive journey toward discovery.
(chapter 59) —each of whom had interacted with Kim Dan 
(chapter 57) during his time at Light of Hope. While these individuals appear as potential candidates for revealing Kim Dan’s location, the true helper remains shrouded in mystery. This ambiguity emphasizes the layered narrative of Jinx, where each small action—no matter how mundane—contributes to the larger theme of fate’s intricate web, offering insight into the power of both intentional and unintentional intervention. If Potato had not suggested the picture 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58), ignorance and superficiality 
(chapter 58) and Potato, despite their contrasting motivations 
(chapter 58), came to the same conclusion: they should not reveal Kim Dan’s whereabouts to Joo Jaekyung. Heesung argued that Kim Dan was better off in his secluded life, away from the chaos of Joo Jaekyung. Potato, deeply trusting his lover’s seniority and judgment, chose to follow Heesung’s lead. Their decision reflects not only their loyalty to Kim Dan’s expressed wishes but also their passive adherence to the belief that avoiding intervention was a form of help which reminds us of Potato’s former principle: 
(chapter 35) This shows that despite the last incident, Yoon-Gu didn’t drop this terrible principle. Notice that he is advocating the same philosophy than Shin Okja. Heesung justified his stance by claiming that it was in Kim Dan’s best interests 
(chapter 59) Importantly, Joo Jaekyung did not arrive during this period, further affirming their resolve. The photograph taken just before their departure was the key turning point. However, the timeline—marked by the sunsets 
(chapter 59) —suggests that Joo Jaekyung arrived only two days after Heesung and Potato left. This indicates that neither Potato nor Heesung leaked the information to Joo Jaekyung, as the champion would have sought Kim Dan immediately if informed by them. Instead, this photograph—seemingly public rather than private—became the clue he needed. Moreover, since the two friends knew where Kim Dan lived, I am assuming that he would have gone right to the doctor‘s rented room. But he did not. He went to the beach. Since the nurses didn‘t notice that Kim Dan was a friend of Potato and Heesung and mistook him for a fan, I am assuming that only the two friends know his address. 
(chapter 8) 
(chapter 37) and Kwak Junbeom was a witness of the encounter between Kim Dan and director Choi Gilseok. 
(chapter 30) and their interactions with Heesung and Potato 
(chapter 35), they are unaware of the actor’s relationship with Potato. The author left many clues for this interpretation. They didn’t notice the maknae’s absence at the champion’s birthday 
(chapter 43), but more importantly the presence of Yoon-Gu‘s embarrassment in front of his hyung indicates secrecy. . 
(chapter 58) His “redness” indicates that he doesn’t want to expose his special relationship with Heesung. Therefore I believe that he didn’t mention this trip to other members. Consequently, I doubt that the members were looking for Potato in such a photograph. Furthermore, from my perspective, members of Team Black are still left in the dark about Joo Jaekyung’s struggles. They are unaware of his drinking habits 
(chapter 56), or his emotional state. They think, he has not come to the gym due to his recovery. Furthermore, they don’t use his cellphone number to contact him. The hiring of a new physical therapist and 
(chapter 58), but probably saw this as another “negative reaction” (bad temper) of a spoiled child. This makes it unlikely that members of Team Black could have provided the critical information. 
(chapter 50) 
(chapter 49), highlighting the failures of relying solely on fate. The champion’s eventual discovery of Kim Dan underscores the necessity of teamwork and active intervention. Notably, this also reflects the flaws in Team Black, whose inaction and superficiality limited their understanding of both Joo Jaekyung’s struggles and Kim Dan’s situation. While Heesung’s stardom and blog 
(chapter 30) could have amplified the picture’s reach, it’s unlikely Joo Jaekyung relied on such sources directly. I can not imagine him spying on the actor’s blog. Instead, the role of the helpers — the nurse and her acquaintance— emerge as crucial to piecing together the connection. The inadvertent role of the nurses Mind and Heart, urging Heesung to take the picture, becomes an integral part of the story’s progression. 
(chapter 13) but didn’t know his identity. He mistook him for someone who was selling his body for money. 
(chapter 13) In addition, Kim Dan never got to know the intervention of this hyung: he was the invisible helping hand in season 1. And now, if you reread the scene in episode 13, you will notice that this conversation between Joo Jaekyung and his friend contains all the ingredients in episode 59: the use of the phone, fainting, malnutrition, secrecy, neglect, secret suffering, pictures and public knowledge 
(chapter 43) And during that evening, the champion called his penthouse with the doc “Home” for the first time. Finally, in season 2, Joo Jaekyung started visiting each hospital or Sports Rehabilitation Center in Seoul in order to find Kim Dan. 
(chapter 56) And there’s no doubt that Joo Jaekyung got recognized by people forcing him to use a mask to hide his identity. So this frenetic search must have reached the mysterious doctor’s ears, but I doubt that he made the connection between the star’s lover and the physical therapist right away. Since he‘s a guest of XY club, 
(Chapter 13), it is also possible that he could have heard about the last incident in the restroom with doc Dan’s replacement. Since Cheolmin found Dan cute, it is very likely that he was also drawn to the surrogate „Dan“. But I don‘t think, this was enough to intervene, as Joo Jaekyung didn‘t ask for his help.
and to Neptune 
and strangely, the doctor moved to a place next to the coast. So maybe Cheolmin comes from that little town and the green-haired nurse is his relative. I had already outlined their similarities. Finally, look at the numbers, we have 4 in both episodes, 13 and 59 (13: 1+3 = 4 / 59: 5-9= -4) The -4 would coincide with Kim Dan’s vanishing, but also with the intervention of Cheolmin. And if my theory is correct, this means that the champion will come to regret his past decision 
(chapter 54) and penthouse 
(chapter 54) in Seoul—a city symbolizing anonymity, invisibility, and corruption—to the hospice “Light of Hope” 
(chapter 56) in a small town on the West Coast 
(chapter 56), where people know each other. This essay builds upon my previous interpretations of the series, which led me to develop these predictions for the upcoming season. By comparing the visual depictions of the gym and penthouse in Seoul with the hospice and small town on the West Coast, the divergence in weather becomes a powerful symbol of the changes Joo Jaekyung will undergo. The rainy, overcast settings of the gym and penthouse reflect the fighter’s inner turmoil and sadness, highlighting the oppressive atmosphere of a city rife with anonymity and corruption. In contrast, the sunny and open environment of the hospice and town by the ocean represents a space of hope and renewal, where human connections thrive. This comparison underscores the significant role the hospice and small town will play in fostering Joo Jaekyung’s self-discovery and healing. The gym and penthouse in Seoul symbolize anonymity, invisibility, and corruption. This anonymity stems from the city’s indifference to individual suffering, as seen when Kim Dan was dragged 
(chapter 16) 
(chapter 16) through the streets by loan sharks in broad daylight without anyone intervening. Invisibility is further exemplified by the perverted hospital director, 
(chapter 36) 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 57), prompting him to recognize that his so-called career end does not symbolize his real death. 
(chapter 57). This environment challenges him to confront the indifference of figures like Yosep and Park Namwook, whose neglect, blind trust, passivity, naivety, neglect and selfishness have shaped his struggles. Notice that the nurses are often seen together and exchanging thoughts about doc Dan symbolizing unity and harmony 
(special episode 1) In other words, the presence of Kim Dan’s friends (Joo JAekyung, Potato and Heesung) could make her realize her true nature, which would impact her mental health. She led a life full of missed chances and regrets. 
(chapter 26)
(chapter 27) In Korean culture, the saying “when the heart isn’t in it” reflects a profound truth: actions devoid of sincerity lack real value. Season 2’s new settings allow the champion to reflect on his mechanical, dispassionate life and begin to act with intention and feeling.
(chapter 54) Though in denial, Joo Jaekyung feels undoubtedly responsible for the doctor’s suffering, as one of his nightmares reveals his guilt for doubting Kim Dan’s honesty and dedication. Once seeing his terrible transformation, the man can only blame himself, especially if he recalls Cheolmin’s advice: 
(chapter 56), a place where Joo Jaekyung finds relaxation through swimming, the setting introduces an opportunity for him to teach Kim Dan how to swim, addressing the latter’s fear of water 
(chapter 27). Swimming could become a shared activity that rebuilds their relationship on a foundation of trust, mutual learning, and growth. Engaging in this physical activity would not only strengthen their bond but also boost Kim Dan’s confidence and help him rediscover his own resilience.
(chapter 54), his connection with Kim Dan is no longer defined by a boss-employee relationship. Their interactions, now free of financial obligations, offer the fighter a clearer view of Kim Dan’s selfless and angelic nature. The physical therapist’s unwavering care, even at the expense of his own well-being, highlights his ungreedy and altruistic character. This realization will deepen Joo Jaekyung’s respect and affection for Kim Dan, further cementing the transformative journey they both embark on.
(chapter 57) and the yelling patient
(chapter 56) “Nurse Mind” and “Nurse Heart,” provide another layer of mentorship. They could act as the champion’s eyes and ears, teaching him to observe and understand Kim Dan’s mental state. Though the nurse 1 started reproaching Kim Dan to neglect himself
(chapter 49), though their positions are absolutely opposite. The patient’s reaction in Chapter 57 echoes this dynamic, as he accuses Joo Jaekyung of being ill-tempered (this means that he remembers the suspension), a perspective shaped by the media’s manipulations. His criticism reflects the behavior of a sheep, falling prey to misinformation and failing to see the larger truths. On the other hand, it indicates that this man also knows a part of the truth: the suspension which is no longer mentioned, but also escaped Kim Dan’s notice, as he was dealing with his departure. In contrast, Potato’s response in Chapter 49, where he courageously questioned Director Choi despite the latter being an elder, showcases independence and critical thinking. This juxtaposition highlights the patient’s potential to awaken Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan, and Potato to the damaging impact of media narratives. Over time, the patient himself must confront the wrongfulness and cold-heartedness of his accusations, fostering growth and understanding on all sides. These characters reflect the flaws of Yosep and Namwook, enabling Joo Jaekyung to see the neglect and indifference he has endured and inspiring him to redefine his role in the gym and in Kim Dan’s life. 
The illustration’s inclusion of the hamster—symbolizing Kim Dan’s fun, fragile, and nurturing nature—along with the chow chow and the gumiho, emphasizes the roles of protectors and mediators. The chow chow’s loyalty and the gumiho’s cunning serve as essential forces guarding the hamster and navigating the complexities of this “pure community,” where lies and selfishness can still exist. These characters highlight the intricate dynamics within the hospice, where Joo Jaekyung must balance strength with empathy.
(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. 
(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 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 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.
(chapter 2) 
(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 
(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) 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 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 49), Jinxphiles could never view the driver. 
(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 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 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 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 7) 
(chapter 32) 
(chapter 37) 
(chapter 43) 
(chapter 45) 
(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 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.
(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 35) 
(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 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 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) 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? 
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 