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 “What Are You Doing here? Between Crisis and Opportunity” and The Director 🐺 🐐 and Me 🐺(part 1) (locked)
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In the two most recent chapters of Jinx, Kim Dan finds himself caught between two “directors.”: one from the hospice where he works 
(chapter 70), the other a former “boxing” coach and Jaekyung’s ghostly mentor figure, now terminally ill and confined to a shared room.
(chapter 71)These two older men mirror different systems of power: the current director, a seemingly kind authority figure who represents institutional control masked as care; and the former coach, a fallen patriarch whose past decisions shaped Jaekyung’s identity and pain. This part of the essay focuses first on the hospice director, and how his interaction with Kim Dan reveals the young man’s invisible burden and social isolation. In the final section, we will turn to the old coach, now reduced to a ghost in his own story, and explore how the symbolism of owls, coots, and crickets illuminates his emerging relationship with Kim Dan.
A Sick Day or a Day Off?
The hospice director’s words to Kim Dan may seem caring at first glance. He comments on his exhaustion— 
(chapter 70) his dark circles, his nodding off—and suggests him to take a day off. 
(Chapter 70) But look closely: he notes that Dan has never used a sick day, and yet deliberately avoids recommending one now. Instead, he offers the less costly alternative: a personal day off, unpaid.
This language shift is strategic. A formal sick day would require the hospice to compensate Dan for rest. By subtly placing the burden back on him—“Why don’t you take better care of yourself?”—the director protects the institution’s budget while maintaining a façade of concern. His framing pathologizes Dan’s exhaustion as a personal failure (chapter 70), not a consequence of institutional neglect or overwork.
The very conversation betrays that Dan’s employment terms are different from those of the full-time staff. Unlike the nurses, who are likely on standard contracts with structured shifts, Dan is spoken to as someone expected to self-manage his workload and well-being. He’s the one deciding when he picks up a shift.
(Chapter 70) The director doesn’t say, “We’ll adjust your schedule,” or, “Let me talk to HR.” He simply tells Dan to take a day off (chapter 70), as if the responsibility for that decision—both logistically and financially—rests solely on him. This means that he is working exactly like he did in the past as a waiter or courier: paid by the hour. 
(Chapter 59) This reinforces the idea that Dan is not covered by the same protections, and that he operates outside the stable framework of regular employment.
Ironically, the director’s comment comes after Kim Dan has already taken a first step toward recovery. (Chapter 70) In episode 66, Jaekyung dragged Dan to Seoul over the weekend 
(chapter 66) to visit a sleep specialist, where Dan received a diagnosis and first treatment for his “sleepwalking” condition. The two spent the night in Seoul. Upon returning to the seaside town, Jaekyung received a call 
(chapter 69) and left again the next morning for Seoul in order to meet the CEO, marking a separation between the two after their return.
During this gap, Kim Dan must have returned to work, most likely resuming his afternoon shift. In episode 71, his presence is later noted during both afternoon 
(chapter 71) and night hours 
(chapter 71), suggesting his ongoing pattern of overworking. In episode 71, Kim Dan is seen walking alone through the hospice hallway—unaccompanied, unnoticed. This quiet image stands in stark contrast to the earlier scene when, after nearly drowning, he was carried in by Joo Jaekyung and immediately met by a nurse and the hospice director, both actively working together that night. 
(chapter 60) Back then, his suffering was visible, his crisis institutionalized. Striking is that after that night, the hospital director never asked doc Dan to take a sick leave or to a day off. In fact, it took some time before making such a suggestion. Moreover, as if a single day off would make a huge difference. But now, despite his clear exhaustion and illness, doc Dan moves through the same space in silence (chapter 71) Nothing has changed: no one beside him, no one monitoring him. This comparison exposes the hospice director’s hypocrisy and superficial care.
His loneliness has been institutionalized. That he is left to walk alone, reflects how thoroughly his pain has been folded into the daily background noise of the hospice—a place that is supposed to care, yet chooses to remain passive. Finally, don’t forget that the nurse 1 blamed doc Dan for not taking care of himself properly, because 
(Chapter 57) his grandmother would worry about him. Yet, during that night, Shin Okja doesn’t seem to be plagued by worries for her own grandson’s health. She sleeps peacefully.
But let’s return our attention to the conversation between the physical therapist and his boss. When did this recommendation take place? The timeline becomes crucial here. We learn that Kim Dan told his landlord he was taking the day off 
(chapter 70) only after the Seoul trip. This must mean that his conversation with the hospice director—where he was urged to rest—took place between his return from Seoul and the announced day off. We also know that 
(chapter 69) the champion came back from Seoul in the evening and found footprints near the house, suspecting Dan had wandered to the ocean while drunk. These prints were left that same day 
(chapter 70), when Kim Dan chased the puppies that had stolen the shoes. Based on the shadows and the position of the sun
(chapter 70), I am deducing that this scene took place during the afternoon. I used these images as a contrast, where the author made it clear that these scenes took place in the morning. 
(Chapter 65) 
(chapter 57) We can determine the time based on the position of the sun and the shadows.
Thus, it is clear: the director judged Dan as neglectful after he had met the sleep specialist and as such sought medical treatment. (Chapter 70) Thus his reproach is not entirely correct.
Furthermore, observe the vocabulary the man employed in front of his employee. They are all revolving around visual symptoms (dark circles, nodding off) but he does not ask questions. His response is based entirely on appearances—looking instead of examining, noticing instead of investigating. I also noticed that he is using the same expressions than his own staff. (Chapter 57) My idea is that the staff are his eyes and ears. Hence he doesn’t examine the physical therapist closely. He never offers a health check or having him tested. 
(Chapter 13) But when Kim Dan drops a patient Dan by mistake 
(chapter 59), the director acts immediately—not because of concern for the elderly man, 
(chapter 59) but because he fears that the patient’s family might sue the hospice. The elderly man’s condition was formally assessed, documented, and protected. This scene exposes that they can act in an emergency (taking tests). In contrast, Kim Dan—who is visibly unwell—is not offered even a basic check-up. His illness is reduced to tired eyes and missed sleep, framed as personal negligence rather than systemic failure. He is looked at, not truly seen. While the patient is treated as a legal liability, Dan is treated as disposable labor—an expendable worker whose wellbeing doesn’t justify institutional resources. Thus in my opinion, the director of the hospice suggested that doc Dan took a day off in order to ensure that he had done his duty, taking care of his employee.
Another striking detail appears when we notice that the elderly patient (chapter 59) who fell due to Kim Dan’s dissociative state in episode 59 seems to reappear in episodes 70 and 71. 
(Chapter 70) His distinct appearance—bald with tufts of grey hair—makes him easily recognizable. What stands out this time is not the accident, but the aftermath of it. 
(Chapter 70) When Kim Dan, again lost in thought, almost bypasses his room, it is this very patient who gently brings him back to reality with the teasing words, “Earth to Doc Dan.” His tone is not accusatory. On the contrary, it’s forgiving—light-hearted even.
This interaction subtly reshapes the narrative of the earlier fall. Rather than harboring resentment, the patient acknowledges Kim Dan’s humanity and affirms his worth with humor and patience. He doesn’t define the physical therapist by his mistakes. This response contrasts sharply with the institutional culture around Dan, where overwork and exhaustion are framed as incompetence and emotional suffering is ignored.
The recurrence of this particular patient also bridges episode 59 with the present, suggesting that we are circling back—this time not just to repeat the past, but to re-examine it. The closer we get to this patient, the closer we move to the emotional core of the narrative: that dignity and recognition are often found not in the powerful, but in those who share space quietly and see clearly. Moreover, this elderly man, like the old coach, becomes another unexpected mirror—reminding both Dan and the viewer that grace can come from unexpected places, and that sometimes, even in a failing system, individuals choose not to perpetuate its cruelty.
2. The Reality of Double Shifts and a Different Contract
Dan’s return to work was not just symbolic—it was physically demanding. Clues throughout the chapters suggest that Dan has been working double shifts. In episode 62, the champion came to the hospice thinking that his morning shift had ended. : 
(chapter 62) However, the main lead was still working, thus the athlete concluded that he had made a mistake. He probably assumed that he had the afternoon shift. Hence Joo Jaekyung only returned to the landlord’s house at sunset! So during that day, he must have worked for the morning and afternoon shift. Even here, the doctor was suggested to give a special treatment to the star. 
(Chapter 62) Then in episode 71, we see him working in both afternoon 
(chapter 71) and night scenes, (chapter 71) always present, never resting. This points to a likely hourly contract with minimal protection. He is not integrated into the regular team of nurses. 
(Chapter 71) Therefore we see him in company of different nurses. 
(Chapter 57) He moves between teams, unanchored and isolated. This also explicates why the nurses still have no name. To conclude, his contract implies that Dan is paid by the hour or per shift, without salary-based benefits. I am suspecting, the regular nurses likely operate under different contracts, which could include fixed shifts, team integration, and better protections.
This difference is subtly confirmed in the way the director speaks to him—not as a protected employee, but as a freelancer or temp worker who must self-regulate. The fact that the director doesn’t mention adjusting his workload or seeking support through institutional channels reinforces this. Dan is expected to disappear and reappear without institutional backup, like a shadow on call.
How could this happen? For me, there exist different causes. First, we shouldn’t forget the impact of the incident with the switched spray, doc Dan definitely blamed himself. Thus it undermined his confidence to ask for a higher salary. In addition, in the locker room, the celebrity had made the following reproach. He was obsessed with money, he was greedy. 
(Chapter 51) Then the main lead was thinking that he was only staying there temporarily. 
(Chapter 57) Finally, we shouldn’t overlook that his job is strongly intertwined with his grandmother’s situation. He needed to get a job there, hence he couldn’t negotiate his contract. As long as he had a job as physical therapist, he could only be “happy”.
And crucially, he is funding someone else’s comfort.
His grandmother, Shin Okja, lives alone 
(Chapter 71) in a room designed for six patients—indicated by the six plastic protections outside the door. (Chapter 71) She has her own care taker
(chapter 65), while the former coach shares a room with three others and lacks personal care. 
(Chapter 71) Shin Okja lives like a VIP. Yes, the new version of this situation: 
(chapter 52) That’s the reason why Mingwa made another allusion to this particular scene (chapter 52) in episode 71: 
(chapter 71) The members from Team Black visited him not only empty-handed, but didn’t try to cheer him up at all. This shows the rudeness from Park Namwook and the others. But let’s return our attention to the gentle grandmother.
This kind of arrangement requires money—and Kim Dan is paying for it with his body. The overwork, the lack of sleep, the burnout—it all goes to ensure that she is kept comfortable, while he is silently collapsing.
And yet, when the director lectures him about self-care (chapter 70), overlooking the burden doc Dan is going through. No one is asking him about his finances.
Dan, in contrast, has no one yelling for him. Not even his grandmother advocates on his behalf. Instead, she goes around him and asks Joo Jaekyung for help—ignoring the staff and the institution altogether. 
(Chapter 65) She even portrays the hospital in a rather negative light. The irony is that she asked someone who was in recovery
(chapter 65), and he has now a cold.
(Chapter 70) If something were to happen to the physical therapist, who is responsible? This means, there’s no one at the Light of Hope paying attention to doc Dan. It is, as if Dan has no family, and within the hospice structure, no voice. Yet, I saw a change in the following panel. 
(Chapter 70) For the first time, someone spoke on the physical therapist’s behalf. He should make sure not to be taken advantage of. Secondly, when he pointed out 
(chapter 70) that the star was staying there because of him, he was already implying that doc Dan had power over the athlete. He should voice his own opinion and thoughts to ensure to protect his own interests. From my point of view, this “former fighter” will definitely side with the young man and protect him.
The conversation between Kim Dan and the hospice director might, at first glance, read as kind-hearted concern. The reality is that the day off allows the institution to appear humane while avoiding any financial or legal responsibility for Dan’s well-being. At the same time, this situation appears to confront Shin Okja with a bitter truth: that even though her grandson became a physical therapist—a role associated with education, skill, and respectability—his social standing hasn’t changed. He still works long hours, earns little, and lives on the margins of the system. His body is as exploited as when she sold vegetables on the street. 
(Chapter 47) The uniform may be different, but the precarity remains the same. 
(Chapter 65) This revelation may fuel her decision to send him back to Seoul—not just out of care, but as a reflection of her lifelong obsession with money and upward mobility. Crushed by the burden of the loan and haunted by her own failures, she sees Seoul not only as a place of opportunity but as the only terrain where financial survival is possible. In her logic, professional success is meaningless without wealth, and in the seaside town, doc Dan’s work brings neither. So she urges him to leave—not because she doesn’t care, but because she has equated worth with earning power. Her mindset, forged by debt and despair, blinds her to the emotional and physical toll this cycle continues to take on her grandson.
Blamed for His Own Collapse
In this way, Dan becomes the perfect target for blame. (Chapter 70) Everyone—from the director to the celebrity 
(chapter 71) to even the grandmother—assumes he is responsible for his condition. They blame him for drinking, for being tired, for looking unwell. But no one looks beyond the surface and investigates the causes. No one is wondering about the financial burden, the trigger for his fears 
(chapter 71), the emotional isolation, or the systemic overwork that drive him there. Let’s not forget that the young man drank again after hearing that Joo Jaekyung would return to the ring soon. This shows that the incident with the switched spray and its consequences left deep wounds in his heart and soul.
This is the core injustice: Dan is punished for the symptoms of a system that depends on his silence. He is structurally invisible, morally judged, and emotionally abandoned. And he accepts it—because he believes he has no right to ask for more.
A Misread Life: Misinterpretation from All Sides
The tragedy is that no one fully understands Dan’s emotional or physical condition:
- The hospice director, while not malicious, interprets Dan’s exhaustion as neglect rather than the result of a crushing schedule, sickness and unresolved traumas
- Joo Jaekyung, still unaware of Dan’s grueling double shifts, wrongly assumes that Dan returns home at the end of the day. (Chapter 71) This explains why, after returning sick, he told Dan not to share the bed that night—he thought Dan was coming home to rest. In reality, Dan was remaining at the hospice for his second shift.
- Even the former athlete, now living at the hospice, overlooks Dan completely (chapter 71) when his former student takes him to the rooftop, too focused to nagging to Joo Jaekyung. Dan, standing in the hallway, is ignored—another ghost drifting through an institution that doesn’t truly see him. He doesn’t wonder why this young man is working during the night later.
(Chapter 71) He even asks him to stay by his side, not noticing his dark circles and paleness.
This lack of recognition is not incidental. It stems from Kim Dan’s quiet, damaging belief that love must be earned through sacrifice. His philosophy confuses devotion with self-erasure, service with affection.
There’s a kind of loneliness that hurts more than being alone: feeling invisible when surrounded by people you’ve helped countless times. You’re there, you do everything possible to be present and available. To make life easier for others. But no one asks how you’re doing. No one stops to thank you. It’s not that you don’t exist… it’s that they’ve become so accustomed to your presence that you’ve become invisible. If you feel this way, you’re not overreacting or being “overly sensitive.” You’re experiencing a real form of emotional burnout that occurs when you give so much, so unconditionally, that others begin to take it for granted. They don’t mean any harm – or at least, not always – but the effect is the same: your value goes unnoticed, your needs fade into the background, and you begin to disappear. Quoted from https://psychology-spot.com/being-unconditional-makes-you-invisible/
But being constantly available—emotionally, physically, professionally—without acknowledgment carries a cost. As the article “Being Unconditional Makes You Invisible” explains, this kind of unreciprocated availability leads to silent emotional fatigue, internalized resentment, and, most painfully, a growing disconnection from the self. Dan is always the one listening, giving, enduring. But in doing so, he becomes invisible in the very systems he sustains. His self-esteem quietly erodes under the weight of one-sided expectations. His relationships, especially with the hospice and his grandmother 
(chapter 53), become lopsided forms of dependency. And his unspoken needs—his own exhaustion, grief, and longing—are never tended to, not even by himself. He is present for everyone, yet no one is truly present for him. That’s the reason why Shin Okja knows nothing about her own grandson’s interests and dreams. 
(Chapter 65)
The hospice director’s mistake is not his tone, but his timing and framing. He tells Dan to rest after Dan has already taken responsibility for his condition—after he has gone to Seoul, received a diagnosis, and returned to work. The true mistake lies not in what the director says, but in what he doesn’t offer:
- No formal sick leave
- No referral to an in-house physician
- No acknowledgment of Dan’s effort to heal
- And most importantly, no long-term security—no shift to a better contract or stable position
Instead, Dan receives a moral correction disguised as care. And that is perhaps the most painful form of erasure—when a system offers you compassion only after it has ensured your exhaustion was cost-free.
An Old Coot, a Cricket, and an Owl
In the first part, I had compared the nameless coach to a wolf and ibex. Strangely, in translation, the former coach is called an “old coot” (in English), (chapter 71) or a cricket (in Japanese). 
(Chapter 71) In German, he would be an “alter Kauz”—an eccentric owl. But this metaphor reaches deeper than mere strangeness or aging.
The owl is a nocturnal bird, often linked to solitude, silent observation, and hidden knowledge. In chapter 71, an owl is heard in the seaside town next to the champion’s hostel—an eerie presence that coincides with Kim Dan’s visible exhaustion and isolation. 
(Chapter 71) The constant appearance of the owl connected with the champion’s house implies that Joo Jaekyung is now connected to this nightbird, as if the latter was his guardian of the night. In addition, in chapter 65, 
(chapter 65) Dan was found wandering the night in his sleep, pulled by unconscious fears. 
(Chapter 65) These moments mirror the owl’s behavior: navigating darkness, moving alone, and being misunderstood. Thus, the owl becomes a powerful symbol not only of the former coach but of Kim Dan himself—both are creatures of the night, shaped by what they see and endure in silence. In contrast to the chattering coot, the owl watches and remembers. And perhaps, the presence of both birds suggests that the coach, once a loud and reckless coot, is beginning to see with the quiet eyes of the owl—finally noticing the suffering he once overlooked. Their shared nocturnality ties them together: one hoots and curses, the other drifts wordlessly—but both are left behind by the daylight world.Doc Dan’s nightly behavior made me think of an owl. (Chapter 65) during that night, Joo Jaekyung caught him wandering in sleep outside. In addition, Moreover, I interpret the presence of the owl as an allusion to the presence of the former director in the couple’s life. As you can see, I have already made a parallel between the physical therapist and the nameless coach. These metaphors evoke not only eccentricity but specific traits tied to nocturnal birds and fragile aging.
The coot, 
(quoted from https://www.oiseaux.net/birds/eurasian.coot.html) though a water bird like the duck, is a poor flyer, often flapping frantically just above the water’s surface. It tends to migrate or travel by night, preferring the cover of darkness to avoid predators. The coot is socially awkward yet persistent—an outsider among graceful birds. In this sense, the coach mirrors the coot: once active, now awkwardly grounded, watching from the margins, no longer able to soar.
Yet the coach’s resemblance to the Eurasian coot extends beyond his weakened condition. This bird stands for versatility, adaptability, or hidden talents, attributes similar to the ibex because of their long slender toes with round lobes of skin on them.
These lobes allow the Coot to swim through the water similarly to a duck, but whilst on land these feet are much more effective for navigating terrain. Quoted from https://worldbirds.com/coot-symbolism/
Coots are noisy 
and socially awkward birds—notorious for their harsh, repetitive calls that sound more like chiding than song. Unlike the poetic silence often associated with owls, the coot communicates through blunt, raspy cries. This parallels the coach’s incessant chatter and verbal outbursts. Kim Dan even refers to him as a “chatterbox,” a man who yells, curses, and grumbles without reserve. And yet, strangely, Dan is not repulsed. On the contrary—he appears comforted by the company. For perhaps the first time, someone talks to him without judgment or restraint. (Chapter 71) The coach, in asking Dan to stay and keep him company, reveals a loneliness behind the noise—a need for genuine presence, not just a match on TV. And Dan, who so often listens in silence, responds and is interested in his past..
The Eurasian coot, with its stark black plumage and distinctive white frontal shield, is not merely an odd, noisy water bird—it carries deep symbolic resonance. Visually, it evokes the image of yin within Taoist philosophy: the dark feathered body representing shadow, receptivity, and introspection, while the bright beak and forehead suggest presence, guidance, and emergent clarity. This interplay of black and white echoes the taijitu, the yin-yang symbol, where opposing forces coexist, define, and balance each other. In this metaphorical framework, Kim Dan has long embodied yin: passive in appearance, enduring in silence, emotionally responsive, and often eclipsed by the assertive, solar force of Jaekyung—his yang counterpart. The coot, then, becomes an avatar of Kim Dan’s latent feminine principle, one often neglected or undervalued in the harsh masculine domains of fighting, survival, and ambition.
But the coot is not merely passive. Across several Native American traditions, it plays the mythic role of the “earth-diver”—the humble, overlooked creature who succeeds where stronger animals fail. Diving to the bottom of primordial waters, the coot resurfaces with the vital clump of mud that births new land. This act of grounding creation through immersion in emotional depths positions the coot—and by extension, the coach—as a quiet redeemer. If we follow this myth, then the coach, once the yelling coot who flapped at the surface of a hypermasculine world, now dives inward through his illness and regret. And by getting acquainted with Kim Dan, he begins to recover something essential: the knowledge that nurturing, not domination, is what builds real legacy. A side that he has all this time neglected.
Just as the coot in myth brings forth land from formless water, the coach now nudges Kim Dan to settle—to plant roots, recognize his own value, and reimagine his path. This is the deeper function of their encounter: not only to pass on knowledge, but to give Dan permission to claim space, stop drifting, and become whole.
This raw vocality—the coot’s instinct to call out, the coach’s refusal to quiet down—
(chapter 71) suggests that communication doesn’t always have to be soft to be sincere. It is precisely the coach’s lack of elegance that makes him relatable to Dan. 
(Chapter 71) This dynamic becomes especially meaningful when we recall that Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck—a creature often seen as passive or domesticated, gliding over water while paddling furiously underneath. As discussed above, the duck stands for Dan’s silent endurance, his ability to move between unstable emotional terrains without ever making a splash.
In contrast, the coot is noisy and awkward, incapable of flight yet unwilling to be silent. In a world that expects the duck to swim gracefully through silence, the coot becomes a strange, stuttering guide—blunt, awkward, but unmistakably alive.
This is especially interesting because, as previously argued, Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck—
(chapter 65) a creature that moves between water, land, and air. While he is still learning to navigate the spaces between systems, he too lacks institutional power. If the former coach is a coot, then his narrative function may be to pass on his remaining knowledge to the duck—turning his interactions with the coach and his use of the notebook into an unofficial MMA trainer seminar he once wished to attend 
(chapter 22).
Like the ibex metaphor used in Part I—creatures tied to rocky isolation and dangerous heights—the coot further enriches the theme of aged survivors perched on the margins of community. But unlike the ibex, the coot may still transmit wisdom before its final flight.
The cricket, (chapter 71) on the other hand, introduces a different symbolic register. Crickets are night creatures, associated with melancholy songs and liminal moments—summer nights, silence interrupted by delicate rhythm. In literature, the cricket is often the last to speak when others fall silent. Beyond eccentricity or noise, this insect also evokes themes of temporality and mortality. It is a creature of the twilight—its song a reminder of fleeting seasons, of warmth that will pass. In many cultures, the cricket’s chirping signals the passage of time, each note a marker of transience. Its presence in literature often accompanies deathbeds, soliloquies, or irreversible turning points. If the coach is a cricket, then he is not merely a grumbler—he is a living metronome, ticking down the last hours of his own life, while reminding those around him—like Kim Dan—that time is limited. And perhaps this is why he talks so much: not to annoy, but to assert his presence before the silence swallows him.
In this light, the coach becomes a kind of dying bell—a cracked oracle whose purpose is not clarity but urgency. His role is to remind Dan that life cannot be deferred forever. Settling down, speaking up, asking for more—these are not things to postpone. The cricket’s metaphor, then, marks the threshold between invisibility and emergence, between survival and meaning. Though overlooked, its chirping suggests persistence and a strange form of endurance. To conclude, if the coach is a cricket, then his voice—grating, unwanted, but steady—becomes a metaphor for what remains when relevance fades. Crickets continue to sing even when ignored, echoing the idea that the coach, however diminished, still has something to say. His grumbling is the residue of meaning in a life otherwise stripped of its stage. And for Kim Dan, who has been rendered voiceless by respectability, the cricket’s harsh cadence may sound like truth.
These metaphors evoke age, eccentricity, and irrelevance. A coot is a harmless, grumpy old man. A cricket sings into the void, unheard. An owl is wise, but solitary and ignored.
These metaphors tell us how others see him: a relic, a burden
(chapter 71), a joke. But there’s another side to the owl—the side that watches the night, that sees what others do not. And in this hospice, maybe for the first time, the former coach becomes something more: a witness who is no longer silent. An old man who still has eyes.
And perhaps, in seeing Dan, he finally sees what was lost when he failed to protect Jaekyung. 
(Chapter 71) The latter didn’t receive proper treatment for his woundsAnd this brings me to my final interpretation, the absence of a physical therapist or doctor in the director’s world and life! His body got broken so many times, indicating that he never had a doctor by his side! . 
(Chapter 70)He never had a companion or friend in his life, which is also mirrored in the picture.
Together, these two owls—the worker and the watcher—form a quiet alliance of the unseen. One carries the weight of silence. 
(Chapter 71) The other carries bitterness and the guilt of watching too long without speaking. In this dim hallway of illness and endurance, their connection becomes a muted call for dignity.
And maybe, this time, someone will hear it.
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(Chapter 69) from the physical therapist is more than a startled greeting — it marks a critical shift in the psychological and emotional trajectory of both Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung. Standing at the dock, doc Dan, still recovering from his depression and trauma of the switched spray incident, sees the champion not as an invincible athlete, but as someone equally unmoored. He is surprised and confused by such a behavior. Why would he act that way? Hence the author added right after this image: 
(chapter 69) Striking is that the champion has a similar reaction. He never expected that he had misjudged his fated partner. Both characters are forced to face their own prejudices and bias. 
(Chapter 69) This moment is less about resolution and more about recognition: two men, shaped by different paths of burnout, collide again — but this time not as patient and caregiver, predator and prey, but as human beings in crisis.
(chapter 57) that go unnoticed to dealing with the emotional numbness of detachment, Kim Dan begins to resemble the article’s description of someone silently breaking down. 
(Chapter 59) Although he didn’t face difficult patients at the hospice
(chapter 57), he approaches his work like a robot, emotionally disconnected from those in his care. The burnout is not only shaped by the hospital environment — it’s also deeply tied to his role with Joo Jaekyung. The champion became, in many ways, his most demanding patient 
(Chapter 14), with unrealistic expectations 
– chapter 41 (such as pushing for a premature return to the ring), and an emotional climate of pressure and perfectionism 
f (chapter 45) rom superiors, he fits the article’s description of someone burdened by a toxic professional environment. More importantly, in episode 57, a nurse casually mentions that he might be suffering from burnout. 
(chapter 56) and isolates himself emotionally. Therefore he doesn’t engage in a conversation with the nurses. 
(Chapter 56) No wonder why the readers still don’t know the names of the three “angels in blue”’. Their presence is functional, but remains impersonal. They remain silent observants. 
(Chapter 27) He operates in an industry with crushing expectations, where performance is equated with survival. 
(Chapter 29) That’s why he doesn’t allow himself to rest. 
(chapter 49), or that in the aftermath of the suspicious match, he blames him 
(chapter 69) and avoids speaking with Shotgun altogether. Instead of engaging in conversation, he contacts MFC — preferring institutional action over personal interaction.
(Chapter 57) Since people don’t know them, they can not trust their judgement and perception. Both navigate high-stakes worlds that punish vulnerability and reward detachment. And both, when overwhelmed, retreat from human relationships rather than reaching out. They are, in different costumes, performing the same coping script — one that the article identifies as characteristic of fixed mindsets operating under systemic pressure and emotional isolation. 
(chapter 19) and relational isolation all echo the article’s diagnosis:
(chapter 59) — and any deviation from it is interpreted as personal failure. Here, it’s important that the hospice took advantage from the overworked protagonist. No one paid attention to the double shift. (Naturally, I am not saying that the main lead is blameless either). For Kim Dan, the patient’s fall in episode 59 
(chapter 59) and the sabotage incident destroyed his self-perception as “doctor” and “helper”. 
(Chapter 59) This is reflected in the image where the author zoomed on the “main lead’s” hands or when he is holding the dead puppy. 
(Chapter 59) The hands have become the symbol of his powerlessness. For the wolf, the tie in his last match is perceived not as resilience, but as loss. 
(Chapter 51) Neither of them has been taught to see difficulty as an invitation to adapt. They both cling to a fixed mindset — until crisis breaks the pattern.
(Chapter 56) — they are also the result of two compounding forces: the champion’s perfectionism and the doctor’s own fixed mindset. 
(Chapter 64) This deeper entanglement explains why Dan ultimately rejects the celebrity. 
(Chapter 60) Though Dan has long suffered from low self-esteem, he has never questioned his sacrificial identity. It is as if he were destined — or conditioned — to care for others without regard for himself. 
(Chapter 29) He sees selflessness not as a virtue but as a default mode of survival. This explicates why he blames himself for the puppy’s death. Observe how Mingwa implied the relevance of the doctor’s hands while he was holding the poor puppy. 
(Chapter 1) — a way to repay debts. And it is the same, when he accepts his contract with the wolf. 
(Chapter 6) His grandmother reinforces this belief by reducing his worth to his earning capacity. This mindset is plainly illustrated in two key moments. In the first, she expresses her gratitude to the champion, because he gave him “a roof over his head and a salary.” 
(Chapter 65) These words reveal what truly matters to her: material provision and financial compensation. She does not seem to register the emotional toll the job may be taking on Dan, nor does she question the ethics of the contract or his living conditions. What she values is that her grandson is being paid and housed — signs of visible, quantifiable success.
(Chapter 65) it becomes clear that for her, the capital is more than a location — it is a symbol of success, of competition, of visibility. She cannot imagine a fulfilling life outside that framework, and thus unknowingly erases Dan’s internal world: his trauma, exhaustion, and grief. To conclude, all her ideas are revolving around career, success and wealth. Work, in this logic, is not about pride, passion, or healing — it is about obligation. This began to shift when he started working with Jaekyung and discovers a different kind of validation: 
(chapter 62) the athlete’s success gave him a sense of purpose. No wonder why he took everything so personally. 
(Chapter 51) The rejection didn’t just hurt emotionally; it disoriented him existentially. In that light, it is no coincidence that he ends up working at a hospice — a place symbolically linked to endings, quiet resignation, and the final stages of life. 
(Chapter 56) The hospice marks not just a physical retreat from his past, but a psychological one: a setting that echoes his emotional state. While his body continues to function, his inner life has entered a form of dormancy. His role in this environment reflects how deeply detached he has become — professionally, emotionally, and existentially. The job had become more than money, but now that it’s gone, he can no longer look forward. He feels lonely and rootless. 
(chapter 60), functions as a form of emotional absolution, though doc Dan is not aware of it. This job offer is an indirect proof that he is still seen as competent and trustworthy. 
(Chapter 62) If Jaekyung had not come himself, it would have confirmed Dan’s worst fears: that he was to blame, that he was discarded. The first crack in his fixed mindset comes from this gesture — an external acknowledgment that the so-called “sin” may not have been his at all. This explicates why Kim Dan can give him the cold shoulder and even ignore him. 
(Chapter 61) It helps him to boost his strength and confidence. From that moment on, he is capable to express his own thoughts and as such criticize the star. 
(Chapter 69) His stunned reaction — “
(chapter 69) with the title instilled by his hyung, the constant bodily strain, and his emotional isolation. Most crucially, he interprets his last match — a tie — as a personal failure. For someone with a fixed mindset, a tie is not balance; it’s inadequacy. Therefore it is not surprising that the athlete is not realizing that the outcome of his match has been changed from tie to loss. 
(Chapter 69) Dan’s very presence communicates something new: emotional steadiness, however tentative. And for the first time, Jaekyung doesn’t respond with control, but with vulnerability. 
(Chapter 69) The hug becomes a form of speech — an action that acknowledges fear, relief and desire for connection.
(Chapter 65) — yet she changes nothing. How so? She could have talked to the nurse, and the latter would have brought up the possibility of “burnout”. She frames her grandson as a victim 
(chapter 65) and herself as helpless, yet her only move is to push him away under the guise of concern 
(Chapter 65) and repair. 
(chapter 61) , and approaches Dan not as a star reclaiming property, but as a person reaching out.
(Chapter 69) He no longer focuses only on the next fight or media appearance — instead, he chooses emotional repair. Dan also learns to value life over denial. Hence we see him holding bags, certainly containing food. During the episode 69, the incident in the courtyard served as a wake-up call that he could no longer deny his mental illness. After his collapse, he gets back up, and is seen wearing his sports shoes. 
(Chapter 69) These items indicate the transformation in the doctor’s life. From my point of view, it announces the arrival of sports in his life. 
(chapter 62), not annihilation. Jaekyung’s emptiness and misery after the tie becomes the emotional opening that allows him to ask for connection, the more the hamster pushes him away. 
(Chapter 67) Meanwhile, Jaekyung drops his script of invincibility and openly acknowledges his need for Dan. Neither of them says the perfect thing — but they are no longer using self-talk to punish themselves.
(Chapter 68) For him, vulnerability and empathy are no longer rejected, rather embraced and accepted. 
(Chapter 68) Dan, who once viewed care as something he must earn, 
(Chapter 69) begins to receive it. It is not a grand declaration, but a quiet shift: you can fail or cause a ruckus, and still be loved. Hence he doesn’t push away the wolf on the dock. 
(chapter 69), the star begins to extend that care inward. Each gesture of empathy toward Dan becomes a step closer to self-compassion. In learning to protect someone else without demanding perfection, the wolf is learning, perhaps for the first time, that he too deserves kindness — not just from others, but from himself. He models what the article calls a true “growth mindset” — one that sees failure not as final, but as a catalyst for relational and emotional evolution.
(chapter 65) corresponds to the release of Jinx Chapter 70, which marked the series’ return after a three-month hiatus. This observation is more than clever numerology—it mirrors the manhwa’s deeper message: the past always haunts the present, and at times, it even foreshadows the future. And that’s exactly what I will do in this essay. I propose that the key to understanding the protagonists and characters’ evolving identities lies in the overlooked architectural and administrative details—especially the house numbers, door placements, and legal ownership of space. These seemingly minor visual cues are in fact loaded with meaning, offering insight into how home, memory, and identity are fragmented and reassigned across time and place.
(chapter 61) For readers unfamiliar with Korea, this looks quite bizarre. In most European and American countries, street addresses follow a linear order; house number 12 would typically be located between 10 and 14. But in Korea, especially in rural areas, many towns use the older jibeon (지번) land-lot numbering system. Here, numbers are based not on street sequence but on the chronological order of land registration and subsequent subdivisions.
(chapter 62), newer developments, or administrative restructuring rather than deep-rooted inheritance. In this context, a higher subdivision number implies not only later division, but also the erosion of legacy and the weakening of kinship-based territorial claims—an erosion especially poignant in the context of Confucian traditions that once emphasized multi-generational cohabitation and patrilineal inheritance. In classical Korean society, a home was not merely a shelter but a physical emblem of familial continuity, with ancestral rites often performed within the same household across generations. As addresses fragment and land parcels divide, so too does the symbolic structure of the family unit. The once-cohesive ideal of the extended household dissolves into isolated, rented spaces, reflecting not only economic realities but also the fraying of intergenerational bonds and filial authority.
(chapter 61) Though Jaekyung is a wealthy celebrity, he inhabits a parcel of land that speaks to impermanence and anonymity. Meanwhile, Dan shares space with someone who quietly represents legacy and transparency.
(chapter 62) However, this “dynamic” (distinction) began to shift the moment Jaekyung started working for the local residents. 
(chapter 62) No longer just a “guest” or a “tourist,” he earned their recognition and acceptance through acts of service and humility. 
(chapter 62) As he helped them with manual tasks—such as lifting goods or assisting the elderly—they started seeing him not as an outsider, but as one of their own. However, it is important to note that these gestures of inclusion occurred while Jaekyung was outside the blue gate 
(chapter 62) —beyond the formal boundary of the rental property. 
(chapter 62) In this way, the gate truly functioned as a symbolic threshold: only once he crossed it through action and humility, the community began to approach him. This change in perception was symbolized, when he received vegetables from the townspeople, a traditional gesture of inclusion and local acknowledgment. 
(chapter 62) Nevertheless, the best sign that he has been accepted by the community is when he received traditional welcome gifts: the toilet paper and detergent. 
(chapter 69) [For more read 
(chapter 65), the elderly neighbor chose to open the blue gate shortly after: 
(chapter 69) Thus I deduce that the blue gate lost its purpose. The champion definitely saw the advantages of the absence of a gate by his neighbor. He could arrive there at any moment 
(chapter 62) and the landlord never rejected him. In fact, he was always welcome. 
(chapter 66)
(chapter 59), and townspeople instinctively report Dan’s behavior to him. 
(chapter 61) That’s the reason why the author included this scene. Even if someone had disclosed Dan’s address, the GPS in Jaekyung’s luxury car would not have been able to guide him there. Like mentioned above, the streets have no names, and the numbering lacks logical sequence. Thus, we have to envision how the Emperor followed Dan on foot, observing where he went. In doing so, he not only located the general vicinity. Afterwards, he must have contacted a local and requested for a vacant house close to 33-3. That’s how he found the “hostel” right next door. 
– chapter 69) and walking through the confusion himself.
(chapter 1) we see Dan walking under a blue plaque labeled “24”—the newer, street-based system introduced after 2013. This number, part of Seoul’s revised address format, contrasts sharply with the rural jibeon model. Where 7-12 and 33-3 reflect layered histories and family division, “24” is precise, administrative, and arguably impersonal. The place is no longer connected to family and traditions, rather to migration and anonymity. The juxtaposition between systems emphasizes not only physical distance but emotional dislocation.
(chapter 65) Though she insists this seaside town is where she “grew up,” she never identifies a lot number, street, or ancestral parcel. In a rural system where numbers are more than logistical—they are signs of rootedness and intergenerational presence—her vagueness stands out. Everyone else is connected to a numbered gate, a registry, or a mailbox. She alone floats in narrative space, clinging to emotional claims without material proof: no concrete location is brought up. 
(chapter 57) The contrast becomes sharper when she refers to Seoul only in generic terms. She never mentions a district, 
(chapter 56), a neighborhood, or specific location. This lack of detail, especially when juxtaposed with the specificity of the rural jibeon system (where even a subdivision number implies lineage and ownership), exposes her rootlessness. It reinforces the idea that her ties to place are performative rather than grounded. Even her nostalgia for Seoul is flattened 
(chapter 17) As Jinx-lovers can detect, next to the entrance of her apartment, there is no blue house number plate or street name. How is that possible in a metropolis where every residence should be digitally registered? And now, pay attention to the house where the “goddess” and her “puppy” lived. 
(chapter 1) The building had not only two doors, but also the plaque is placed next to the other door. It is also partially visible in this image: 
(chapter 1) 
(chapter 11), we naturally assume he is returning home—entering the same shared space he and his grandmother inhabit. But is that actually the case? A closer look reveals he is using the other entrance. On his right side, we see the electricity meter, the mailbox, and the window—the signs of an inhabited and administratively recognized unit. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. Once again, I am showing the view of the same building from a different perspective, 
(chapter 57) where the mail box and the electricity meter are. But I have another evidence for this observation. During that night, the hamster got assaulted by Heo Manwook and his minions. 
(chapter 11) And keep in mind that after getting beaten by the Emperor, anyone could recognize the grandmother’s place from outside due to the broken window. 
(chapter 19) The moment I made this discovery, I couldn’t help myself wondering why doc Dan would go to the other door and not to the halmoni’s room.
(chapter 11) The voice on the phone reveals something legally crucial
(chapter 11): Kim Dan is the last remaining resident in that building. That one line reframes everything. This suggests that Kim Dan’s official residence is behind this second door. 😮 In fact, the building features 
(chapter 5) When the loan shark came to collect the interest of the debts during Kim Dan’s childhood, he went straight to her door 
(chapter 5) —the door that, at the time, likely bore the blue house number plaque. 
(chapter 5) the door associated with Kim Dan in later episodes—particularly the one through which the champion entered during the confrontation with the thugs —opens inward and is placed in the corner of the right wall. The interior layouts and door directions don’t match, though the furniture is similar. This strongly suggests that these are two different units within the same building, exactly like I had observed before. The “goddess” and the hamster’s house had two doors and as such two units. 
(chapter 19) had a recollection of this moment, when he was about to leave this humble dwelling. 
(chapter 19) His move to the penthouse triggered another “move” from the past. Consequently, I am deducing that this souvenir represents the moment of the grandmother’s arrival and the departure of the hamster’s parent(s) from the other unit. But there’s more to it.
(chapter 65) and Kim Dan the immature child, whereas according to my observations, she is legally dependent on the “hamster”. She is just a household member. As you can see, I detected a contradiction between her words and “hidden actions”, all this triggered because of the closed door. By transferring the address and registration to the physical therapist, she made it possible for him to inherit not just the space, but also the liability. That’s why he’s now the only registered person.
(chapter 11) When he says “home,” he is referring not just to a physical place, but also to a legal and emotional placeholder—a registration number that ties him to bureaucratic existence, familial duty, and emotional manipulation. With her promise to return in that home, Shin Okja is essentially demanding he remains the legal anchor—the one who stays behind, the one who remains registered, the one who continues to carry the official burdens, even as she herself fades into invisibility. That’s how she became a “carefree” ghost in the end. It wasn’t just a promise of care, but a submission to being tethered—not to belonging, but to obligation masked as love. The irony is that by remaining legally “present,” Dan was emotionally erased.
(chapter 65), in the eyes of the system, merely lodging in his shadow. She is indeed a ghost. 
(chapter 22) This architectural division is deeply symbolic. Despite being the dependent, Dan is the one bearing responsibility—both financially and administratively. Shin Okja, on the other hand, manages to live without accountability. 
(chapter 65) Joo Jaekyung is almost her grandson!! It was, as if she was about to adopt him. Let’s not forget that he embodies all her ideals and dreams: strong, healthy, rich, famous, generous, polite and gentle! And according to my observations, she knows that the athlete owns a flat in Seoul, big enough to take a room mate. 
(chapter 16) He even showed the amount Kim Dan owned with his cellphone to the Emperor 
(chapter 17) That’s how the champion internalized that the hamster was the one with debts. This theory explicates why doc Dan is not blaming his grandmother for the debts in the end, as he signed himself loans. And now, you can imagine what happened in the past. Once he became 17 years old, she asked him to get a resident registration number. With this, he could apply for a loan in order to reimburse the grandmother’s debts. This must be one of her favors from the past: 
(chapter 5) His words imply that he had done something in the past for her. And that would be to become her guardian and take her debts. This hypothesis explicates why only in episode 11, Doc Dan was comparing the progression of the interests with a snowball system, something unstoppable. 
(chapter 11) His thoughts reflect a rather late realization that he is trapped in a system and he can not get out of it. In other words, this image oozes a certain innocence. This also explained why Joo Jaekyung had to confront him with reality in front of the hospital. 
(chapter 18) The location is not random: for the halmoni, such a work place symbolizes respectability, power and money. The problem is that in the hospice, Doc Dan is not well-paid. 
(chapter 56)
(chapter 11) And now, it is time to return our attention to my illustration for the essay: 
As my avid readers can observe, the panel with the champion facing the blue door comes from episode 69, while the one with doc Dan comes from chapter 11. These scenes are mirroring each other. It is about concern and danger! While in episode 69, the athlete got worried, as he imagined that doc Dan’s life was in danger, in episode 11, the hamster was about to face an old threat: Heo Manwook and his minions! 
(chapter 11) But back then, he was on his own and no one paid attention to his health. Not even Shin Okja… He was truly abandoned, while the episode 69 exposes the opposite. Society in this little town takes care of people in general. 
(chapter 11), he jumped to the conclusion that Dan was either prostituting himself or laundering funds. Why? It is because he had taken odd jobs, until he got hired by the dragon, Joo Jaekyung, and had such a huge income. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Heo Manwook knew how to use the old lady in order to threaten doc Dan. 
(chapter 16) Like I wrote in a different analysis, I doubt that the grandma would have signed a loan by Heo Manwook. This reveals how Dan entered the contract in obscurity, without recognition or protection. He did it for Shin Okja’s sake to repay her for her support and “love”. 
(chapter 57) Therefore I am expecting an argument between the halmoni and the inhabitants of 33-3. The landlord embodies the opposite values of Shin Okja. 
(chapter 16) Dan repeatedly calls it his grandmother’s and even dreamed of finding a new place that could house it—a gesture that underscores how much he believed she treasured the object, even though she herself never mentions it. But she never once references it, not even when returning from the hospital. The absence of interest is striking. What if the cabinet didn’t belong to her at all? Its size suggests that it predates the division of the house. Besides, according to my observation, she used to live in the other unit and I can not imagine, the halmeoni moving this furniture from one unit to the other. Perhaps it once belonged to Dan’s mother—a remnant of the original household, now misattributed to the woman who unofficially took over.
(chapter 19) onto the object just as he projects loyalty and gratitude onto his guardian. But the silence around the cabinet speaks volumes: it is not treasured by Shin Okja, only by Dan. Much like his name on the loan, or the house number on the door, it could be a misplaced inheritance. At the same time, such an item could serve to identify doc Dan’s true origins, if the Wedding Cabinet belonged to his true family.
(chapter 66) Changing his registration would mean stepping outside of the institution’s control and surveillance. 
(chapter 62) Without Dan, Seoul held no meaning. But if he remains in the town past the statutory threshold, it would imply that he is ready to leave behind the world of contracts and competitions. It would mean he is now rooted—not by career, but by choice. Not by obligation, but by emotional truth.
, released in anticipation of Chapter 70, is more than a promotional teaser. It is a moment frozen in time, yet brimming with motion—emotional, symbolic, and narrative. We see Joo Jaekyung embracing Kim Dan with both arms, pressing him tightly against his chest. There is no resistance, no distance, no tension in the frame. The palette moves from gray and brown fading into violet and pink, blooming into soft light. There is vapor, there is breath, an allusion to life. And most strikingly, there is stillness.
(chapter 11), every glare, and every awkward silence 
(chapter 67) between these two, this hug feels monumental. 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 68) and the public hug on the dock in Chapter 69. 
(chapter 68) He rests his chin not on Dan, but on his own hand, his arm propped on the edge of the bathtub. This detail is telling: even in a moment of supposed closeness, Jaekyung relies on himself for support, not on Dan. He is physically near but emotionally braced—still holding himself apart. His thoughts are private, tender, and possessive. In a rare moment of introspection, he confesses that 
(chapter 69) Yet, when faced with renewed pressure and stress, he falters—leaving Dan behind. 
(chapter 69) The illusion of control dissipates, revealing that his earlier vow, however heartfelt, was not yet unshakable. 
(chapter 69) that Jaekyung is wearing it, the change in angle—viewing the hug from behind—deliberately conceals it. 
(chapter 55) In the new illustration, the hamster’s back is no longer representing anonymity and indifference, but visibility and care, for the champion is now facing his fated partner. In other words, doc Dan’s back in the teaser stands for uniqueness and high value. He can not be replaced. Moreover, doc Dan is not walking away, nor is he asleep. 
(chapter 45) Back then, the champion refused the expensive key chain, symbolizing a missed opportunity for emotional connection. Both men yearned for attention and affection, but failed to express it. Here, in contrast, the champion offers something far more meaningful than a 14,000₩ and free lodging —his unguarded embrace. And Dan, by remaining still, appreciates the moment. 
(chapter 21) Dan became fluent in a silent, physical language of care. She often asked him not to cry 
(chapter 47) and composed embraces—gestures repeated with calm precision. These touches were predictable, rhythmic, and soothing, but they also suppressed genuine emotional exchange, the symbol of toxic positivity.
(chapter 57) the momentary pause of a hand
(chapter 5) never still—giving the impression of involvement, of care in action. But this motion avoided vulnerability and responsibility in reality. She never clung, never trembled. Her gestures conveyed comfort but not surrender, presence but not change, and not support either. They were not truly emotionally together. 
(chapter 47) to hold her hand, to initiate closeness 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 57); I’ll come back home, once I am all better”
(chapter 35) Instead of recoiling in fear or admiring his strength, Dan quietly states, “I think I really need to focus on Mr. Joo right now.” He does not focus on the strength or aggression, but on the pain beneath it. The burst sandbag, for him, is not a threat—it is a symbol of Jaekyung’s emotional unraveling. This silent recognition mirrors Dan’s interpretive skills developed in childhood. Just as he once learned to read a shift in his grandmother’s hand or the silence after a broken promise, he now interprets the damage to the sandbag as an unspoken plea for help. This sensitivity continues to define his bond with Jaekyung.
(chapter 47), to stabilize the person meant to support him. Now, he is receiving without shame or hesitation. The Emperor’s silent desperation, his refusal to hide behind ritual or false strength, creates the space for Dan to feel treasured—not pitied, but wanted.
(chapter 65) or stand-ins 
(chapter 36) for affection has ended. The spotlight now belongs solely to Jaekyung and Dan, who no longer require mediation to reach one another. This shift becomes particularly evident when contrasting the teaser with earlier moments of evasion, silence, and misplaced dominance—especially through the lens of Park Namwook’s slap and Jaekyung’s own past deflections.
(chapter 29), ignoring Dan’s presence and concern. His rejection of the doctor’s offer of comfort or companionship underscores not only his emotional detachment but also the absence of true support from his supposed team. The manager, Park Namwook, is nowhere to be seen, 
(chapter 42) or offered silence in return. He had no teamwork ability in the end contrary to the hamster who “assisted” his grandmother. But it is not surprising, since Park Namwook has always relied on his boy. 
(chapter 40) Each time, they faced a problem, the athlete had to resolve it. He was the problem and the solution for everything. 
(chapter 17) 
(chapter 52) Surrounded by others, the manager attempted to discipline Jaekyung not with understanding, but through force. The slap was not an act of care—it is an assertion of dominance. It reduced Jaekyung to a volatile asset and spoiled child, not a man in pain. Striking is that this gesture actually exposed the manager’s weakness and anxiety. He was the one reacting as a spoiled child, for he masked his wrongdoing with tears. 
(chapter 52) The reason is that he couldn’t face the terrible outcome and his own responsibility. He needed a scapegoat. Thus he blamed the champion for everything. But by doing so, he refused to share the burden and the athlete’s unwell-being. Striking is that this slap served as a wake-up for the athlete. From that moment on, he stopped relying entirely on his “hyung”. He was pushed to make decisions on his own. This harsh gesture mirrors Shin Okja’s attitude toward Kim Dan, 
(chapter 52), seeing it as disruptive or shameful. Their guidance demanded emotional control, not emotional honesty.
(chapter 66) or use violence to “tame the wolf”. That’s the reason why he is accepting the offer from the CEO of MFC. He is pushing the Emperor to return to the ring, but the problem is now that doc Dan was officially recognized as a member from Black Team. 
(chapter 69)
(chapter 14) For the physical therapist, this moment would later be confirmed. 
(chapter 16) —haltingly and with a trace of disbelief visible thanks to the points of suspension —as his first kiss ever. His stunned reaction and eventual admission offer a compelling lens through which to explore the symbolism of kissing in Jinx, but also the emotional landscape the two men must navigate. 
(chapter 55) Still, some readers have theorized the existence of a “special lover” in his past 
(chapter 2), someone who might have earned a different kind of intimacy. One cause for this hypothesis is that in the champion’s first memory, he was facing his partner, which contrasts so much to the way he had sex with his partners (from behind). This possibility casts the locker room kiss in a new light. 
(chapter 14) If it was his first, the gesture carries a far deeper meaning than either man realizes in the moment. And if it wasn’t, then why does this kiss—with Kim Dan—resonate so differently?
(chapter 15) she showed more than the physical therapist’s confusion with the interrogation marks, she added his inner thoughts. This question (“What’s this?”) already hinted that he had never experienced a kiss before. The ambiguity of his reaction suggested that the moment was unfamiliar, and not immediately recognizable as a kiss at all. 
(chapter 30) Recognizing his face, Dan mentions that his grandmother used to watch the drama A Fine Line, and that he had seen it with her. 
(chapter 30) The author even includes a framed shot from the fictional show, depicting Heesung as the smiling son-in-law in a multigenerational family. This visual insert is subtle, but telling: it wasn’t the story that stayed with Dan, but the faces—the aesthetics of family structure and polite emotional decorum.
(chapter 16) it frightened him. The kiss broke an invisible boundary—one his upbringing had silently enforced. That’s the reason why he wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
(chapter 30) He blushes and wonders why. 
(chapter 30) It’s a telling moment: Dan isn’t used to feeling attraction and desire, let alone recognizing it. He never bought posters of celebrities, never fantasized. That world—the glamorous world of affection, attention, and beauty—was never his. 
(chapter 30) —despite already having been seen naked by Jaekyung 
(chapter 30) —suggests something deeper than modesty. When he rushes to hide his underwear and blushes merely at brushing his teeth next to someone 
(chapter 30), it becomes evident: Dan is not accustomed to physical closeness or shared domestic spaces. These are not reactions of a man with just sexual trauma—they point to someone raised without the warmth of daily intimacy.
(chapter 5) He had to take care of himself, dressed on his own. He had to act like an adult, as his role was to assist his grandmother: 
(chapter 65) This raises the possibility that someone else—most likely his mother—was his primary caregiver in early childhood. She would have changed his diapers, held him close, and kissed him gently. 
(chapter 44) and ear 
(chapter 44) For me, without realizing it, Dan reproduced those gestures. These actions can not come from Shin Okja, as we only see her caressing or patting her grandson. The progression is striking. It moves away from eroticism (kiss from the lips) 
(chapter 44) and toward something far more intimate and protective. These are not the kisses of seduction, but of affection—almost maternal in their tone. Hence the MMA fighter got patted later: 
(chapter 44) They suggest care, comfort, and emotional presence. This is crucial, because it reveals that for Dan, a kiss is not about arousal or conquest. It is a language of love. They carry the flavor of instinct. These are the kinds of kisses a child might have once received, or given, in moments of safety and connection.
(chapter 44) is a behavior shared by felines and wolves alike: a subtle act of comfort, trust, and bonding. Wolves nuzzle to soothe and reassure. Leopards nudge to display affection without threatening dominance. Dan’s pecks 
(chapter 57) (chapter 57)—licking them not out of instinct alone, but to reassure and bond. 
(chapter 57) During that summer night’s dream, Dan’s body mirrored this wordless care. That’s why he could laugh so genuinely like a child after witnessing his “pet’s reaction”. 
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 14) Therefore the physical therapist astonishment, “What’s this?” was not naïve; it was disoriented. Somewhere deep within, Dan had internalized a different model of kissing: one that reflected comfort, not conquest; affection, not arousal. The kiss he received was too strange, too fierce—it violated a definition he didn’t even know he had. His body knew how to kiss, but it remembered a different type of kiss altogether. The latter stands for love and as such emotions. Under this new light, my avid readers can comprehend why the physical therapist made the following request from his fated partner: 
(chapter 15) He needed to be “warned” in order to control his “heart”. As you can see, doc Dan had an innocent definition of the kiss. Therefore it is not astonishing that the wolf’s first kiss confused him so deeply: it shattered the only blueprint he had for intimacy.
(chapter 14) Jaekyung repeated such a gesture, as seen in chapters 24
(chapter 24), and again in 64 
(chapter 64). These gestures were not expressions of tenderness, but acts of dominance, mirroring how the celebrity was taught to treat intimacy: not as an exchange, but as an imposition. His behavior echoes Cheolmin’s earlier suggestion 
(chapter 13) where a little touch was functional. On the other hand, the suggestion framed “affection” as a form of fun and entertainment, meant to soften the experience and shift the focus toward the partner. While Cheolmin’s comment was not malicious—in fact, it encouraged Jaekyung to become gentler and more attentive—it still fell short of true emotional connection. Why? It was a medical suggestion, meant to protect Dan’s fragile state. The kisses in episodes 14 were to protect the physical therapist. They were initially functional, a mean to achieve a goal before becoming a habit.
(chapter 63) Fun is not the same as love, and this distinction matters deeply for someone like Kim Dan, who associates kissing with emotional safety and love, not performance or play. This explicates why he refused to be kissed in episode 63: 
(chapter 63) 
(chapter 44), Dan’s were soft, exploratory, almost reverent. His lips touched not just his lover’s mouth, but his cheek and ear—tender sites that bypass eroticism in favor of emotional intimacy. These weren’t prolonged, devouring kisses. They were pecks, small and deliberate. They mirrored affection, not possession. 
(chapter 3) —it forces the wolf to ponder on the meaning of a kiss and his relationship with the physical therapist.
In that iconic artwork, the man does not kiss the woman on the mouth, the traditional locus of erotic desire. Instead, his lips are placed upon her cheek—a gesture that suggests reverence, not possession; vulnerability, not domination.
(chapter 44) 
(chapter 45)
(chapter 54) When he was young, he had to face an abuser. Notice that the man’s face was very close to the champion’s 
(chapter 54). Thus I interpret that for the champion, the face represents not only his vulnerability, but also a source of danger. That’s the reason why he couldn’t hide his displeasure and frustration, when he faced this “lover”. 
(chapter 44) He couldn’t hide his joy by the champion’s funny reaction and laughed. And how did the protagonist react to this? Not only his face expressed his dissatisfaction, but also he silenced his partner with a kiss right away: 
(chapter 44) Joo Jaekyung is leading the kiss, he is regaining control over their relationship. It reinforces the idea that the wolf’s kiss was not merely about passion, but about reclaiming dominance and halting a shift in power. Just moments earlier, Kim Dan’s laughter had opened a space of emotional intimacy and lightness, which the champion was not prepared to face. The kiss, now prolonged and intensified, becomes the sportsman’s way of reasserting control over a situation that was slipping into unfamiliar emotional territory.
(chapter 45) The marks on the doctor’s body were evidence that he was no longer in control. They weren’t just signs of a physical encounter—they were witnesses to something far more threatening: vulnerability, softness, and reciprocity. In the night, swept up by instinct and unspoken longing, the wolf had allowed himself to be touched—not just physically, but emotionally. But by morning, the spell was broken. His gaze didn’t linger on Kim Dan with affection—it darted instead to the bruises and scratches as though they were accusations.
(chapter 45) wasn’t just the pain he might have inflicted—it was the realization that the balance of power had subtly shifted. The man who had always dictated the terms of their relationship had surrendered to something unfamiliar: tenderness, emotional closeness, and shared desire. The fact that Kim Dan initiated affection, even kissed him voluntarily, shattered Jaekyung’s script. For someone who conflated feelings with threat, and dominance with safety, this reversal was unbearable.
(chapter 45) —and that he, in turn, had wanted Dan back. This terrified him more than any bruise ever could.
(chapter 37), and kissing becomes his emotional brake pedal. It’s not simply an act of love, but a means to regulate, or even drown out, what he cannot yet name or accept: that he is being loved. It is not random that I included the scene from episode 37: he heard laughs from the other room. For him, such a noise must have sounded like a disrespect and mockery, triggering his past trauma. And he was not entirely wrong in the sense that they were eating behind his back 
(chapter 37) It was, as if they were mocking him because of his forced “diet”. No wonder why the champion is barely seen laughing and prefers seriousness. At the same time, I can grasp why the athlete feels close to Park Namwook, as the latter stands for these exact notions: work, money and seriousness. Fun is not part of his world and vocabulary, therefore he punished Joo Jaekyung for sparring with doc Dan.
(chapter 2) Though his face was close to the star’s, he didn’t attempt to kiss him. In fact, he proposed him a fellatio, a sign that the champion had never allowed anyone to get close to his “face”. Finally, observe how he reacted, when the uke in episode 55 attempted to kiss him: 
(chapter 55) Not only he rejected him, but also he pushed him violently so that the latter was on the floor. 
(chapter 55) The celebrity even ran away: a sign that the allowing someone approaching his face is perceived as something uncomfortable and threatening. At the same time, that moment exposes the kiss as something sacred—one that cannot be duplicated without emotional violation. This shows that for the champion, the meaning of a smooch has evolved. It is no longer perceived as a source of fun and a mean to gain something.
(chapter 55) He couldn’t forget doc Dan’s face, the latter excited him, a sign that for the champion, the face in general has been a source of pain, yet thanks to doc Dan, the latter has become a source of “comfort and joy”. 
(chapter 66) When he saw his face for the first time, he didn’t realize that he was already under the hamster’s spell. Striking is that he even focused on his chin and lips, a sign that he desired to kiss them. One thing is sure. The champion treasured the doctor’s face. After their separation, it is not surprising that the wolf felt the need to see his face. 
(chapter 39) before requesting a fellatio: 
(chapter 39) The main lead’s head was very close to the champion’s face, thus he must have felt uncomfortable. Secondly by acting this way, the doctor was gradually gaining power over their relationship. For the wolf, dominance is everything, an indication that in his past he felt defenseless and weak. His “opponent”, the mysterious ghost, had the upper hand. Moreover, the fellatio created a distance between them, where the fighter could expose his superiority. And note how doc Dan behaved under the influence of the drug: 
(chapter 39) He caught his fated partner by surprise, when he suddenly kissed him, mirroring the champion’s past behavior. This panel corroborates that for the doctor, a kiss is the symbol of love. The champion was not happy with this kiss too, for the latter meant that he was no longer controlling their relationship. Yet, after hearing the doctor’s confession during that night, the athlete no longer resisted his partner’s kisses. 
(chapter 39) For the first time, he accepted Dan’s initiative—both physically and emotionally. Compare it to his attitude before: 
(chapter 39) here, he still has his eyes wide open, a sign of vigilance. These kisses from doc Dan 
(chapter 39) mark a turning point in Jaekyung’s arc: he begins to lower his defenses, allowing Dan not only into his personal space but also into a position of gentle agency within their relationship. The kiss no longer represents a threat; it becomes an opening and a sign of trust. 
(chapter 55) These memories represent the moment where the athlete felt strong and had the upper hand in their relationship. These images reveal that Joo Jaekyung hasn’t realized the signification of the kiss yet. For him, they don’t seem important. This exposes that the athlete has not associated kiss with love and affection yet. At the same time, we have to envision that a smooch is strongly intertwined with equity and trust. 
(chapter 28) And in episode 14, it was clear that the star still felt superior to his companion, therefore the kiss had no special meaning. As you can see, everything is pointing out that Joo Jaekyung had never been kissed before. And what does a kiss symbolize? Not only attachment, but also purity and innocence. 
(chapter 42) According to him, doc Dan was not different from him. However, he was wrong. It is because the champion had kissed him!! Moreover, the celebrity had allowed doc Dan to kiss him as well. Besides, how did the champion name his past lovers? They were toys… normally people don’t kiss playthings. And now, imagine that doc Dan were to discover that Joo Jaekyung had his first kiss with him. This revelation would not only make him realize that Joo Jaekyung loves him, but also he could be wondering why the athlete had never done such a thing before, though he had past lovers. YES, the “first kiss” could be the trigger for both characters to question their respective past and perceive their fated partner correctly. 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 52) In that context, a kiss could never be affection, but vulnerability. A risk.
(chapter 3), based on Dan’s vague claim of prior partners. Yet Dan has never kissed anyone before. The kiss becomes his true moment of loss, a quiet confession through action. Conversely, Jaekyung’s own discomfort shows that he, too, is untouched in this particular way. When Dan tries to kiss Jaekyung again, and he instinctively rejects it, it reveals just how unprepared he is for affection. They are both unaware that the other is emotionally “pure” in this regard, and that makes the kiss a shared revelation.
(chapter 67), Jaekyung must reinvent his approach. He cannot rely on dominance, strength, or sexual performance to win Dan’s heart. If he wants true connection, he must learn a new language—one built on gestures of affection, softness, and presence. This process also involves separating his public persona from his private longing. Joo Jaekyung, the champion, cannot seduce with spectacle. But Jaegeng, the man, might learn to express love through a simple touch, or a well-timed kiss. The redefinition of seduction is not just about Dan’s healing; it is about the wolf’s reclaiming his own right to feel and give love. And in my opinion, that process has already started: 
(chapter 29: note that he did not select this scene to rekindle with the doctor, but the other scene) He will learn it from life, from watching how the innocent express care without shame or purpose.
(chapter 27) In Jaekyung’s past, laughter had been a weapon—an expression of ridicule and cruelty from an abuser. 
(chapter 62) If someone had laughed in front of him and made fun of him, this would have reopened his old wounds.
(chapter 47) and denial for strength 
(chapter 61), Park Namwook 
(chapter 53) all operate within survival mechanisms shaped by trauma, guilt, and fear. They choose the illusion of control or calm over genuine healing. But as the story unfolds, these strategies begin to unravel. Each character must confront the truth behind their emotional habits, learning that happiness isn’t the absence of pain—it’s the result of confronting it with clarity and purpose. 
(chapter 54) He could only express his pain and resent through the hand. This moment encapsulates the core of his trauma: as a child, he learned to survive through silence and compliance, not resistance. Yet deep down, the resentment festered—toward himself, and toward the abuser. That psychological pain was redirected into becoming a fighter, as if to prove the abuser wrong. 
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 36) His language was dominance, not dialogue. He didn’t process his emotions through words—he suppressed them, until they erupted in violence or withdrawal. 
(chapter 34) 
(chapter 1) And crucially, he didn’t leave right away either despite his embarrassment and fears. 
(chapter 1) Thus for the first time, Jaekyung had to develop a new strategy in order to meet him again: one that doesn’t rely on intimidation, but on communication. The problem is that since he saw the physical therapist running away after their first session 
(chapter 1), he knew that he needed to lure him with something: money 
(chapter 1). Under this new light, my avid readers can grasp why the athlete played a trick on the phone, though we have to envision that here the celebrity’s thoughts were strongly influenced by his bias and prejudices. He imagined that Doc Dan had made a move on him.
(chapter 5) That retreat doesn’t mean failure—it can be an act of self-preservation. However, the champion experienced that he needed to speak with doc Dan in order to keep him by his side. This lesson became a turning point. Jaekyung started to speak more. 
(chapter 18) Therefore it is no coincidence that in episode 18, right after the celebrity spoke, Kim Dan’s reply was strongly intertwined with flight: 
(chapter 18) The denial of kindness from the champion made the doctor uncomfortable, the latter felt the need to leave the penthouse as soon as possible. The lesson for the star was to realize that words are powerful and can affect people. But Joo Jaekyung didn’t grasp it, as he chose to use sex to „submit“ his fated partner. 
(Chapter 18) Nevertheless, as time passes on, the wolf asks more and more questions. He reacts to emotional discomfort not only with physicality but with hesitation, introspection. He is no longer reacting as the ghost once taught him; he is arguing and as such adapting, growing. Thus we could say, he is less passive.
(chapter 3) or table, in showers 
(chapter 7), against doors, or walls 
(chapter 34). On the surface, it may seem like a gesture of dominance or desire, but symbolically, it reflects silencing.
(chapter 51) They stand in the middle of the room—an open space—symbolizing emotional emancipation. When Dan questions the celebrity 
(chapter 51). The latter tries to reassert control 
(chapter 51), but this time, when he lashes out, he is the one who leaves. This is cognitive dissonance at work: the fighter cannot reconcile his fear of vulnerability with his emerging need for connection and his perfectionism. So he defaults to a performance of control, even as he runs from it. And while one might mistake this for weakness or regression, it actually displays a progression. First, Jaekyung had finally revealed his thoughts and fears to Dan. 
(chapter 69) That silence could easily be mistaken for submission, for the same old performance of the compliant athlete. 
(chapter 69) But that would be a misreading. His silence is no longer a symptom of fear or control. It is a deliberate withholding—a sign that he no longer plays by their emotional rules. He is starting distancing himself from MFC, Park Namwook and the fight-centered identity they crafted for him.
(chapter 69) After all, to those still invested in dominance hierarchies, leaving the capital after a public defeat seems like the behavior of someone who’s been defeated mentally as well. But the truth is the opposite. This “retreat” is actually an act of autonomy. For the first time, Jaekyung is giving himself space—not to run, but to reflect. 
(chapter 69) He is no longer blindly performing the role of the fighter, nor desperately trying to maintain control over the narrative. 
(chapter 7) and flight 
(chapter 36), or MFC’s decisions. 
(chapter 25: here the protagonist was replacing Yosep and Park Namwook), hires professionals to manage damage 
(chapter 47), and hides behind administrative actions. 
(chapter 66) As long as the champion was nearby, Park Namwook could project blame onto him, framing him as unstable, disobedient, or temperamental. But once „his boy“ vanished from Seoul, the hyung was left exposed. Striking is that he is not seen watching over the training of the remaining members. 
(chapter 60) 
(chapter 60), a sign that he is neglecting the other members. The absence of his star fighter removed his most convenient scapegoat, forcing him to face the consequences of his own mismanagement—though he is not yet ready to truly question it and change his mindset, denial, and dependency. This was not just a geographical disappearance—it was a strategic psychological rupture, meant to destabilize Park’s illusion of authority.
(chapter 69) He continues to speak as though the champion’s future is intact, as if the title is still within reach. But the organization’s actions speak louder: Jaekyung is no longer a contender — he is being gradually abandoned, not promoted. Secondly, Park Namwook assumes that Jaekyung will win the next fight, as if victory is still within his grasp. But this trust is misplaced — not only because the fighter is recovering from surgery, but because the schemers may have already designed this match as a final blow. Another fight right after a surgery, a staged defeat, or a quiet elimination would neatly push Jaekyung out without public controversy. By assigning him a marginal, delayed match, they are not offering redemption — they are orchestrating his exit.
(chapter 47) Finally, he can testify not only as a fighter, but as a representative of the institution they tried to exploit. That elevates his voice: from a disposable athlete to a legal opponent with organizational standing.
(chapter 7) For a moment, he was fighting.
(chapter 57), one no longer shaped entirely by duty or guilt. The grandmother, however, is blind to this change. She continues to speak to him as if he’s the same self-sacrificing boy 
(chapter 57) —it is a rejection of the belief that he exists only to serve. In Season 2, Dan says “no” repeatedly:
(chapter 67)
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 57)
(chapter 65) She uses his past flaws to outline his immaturity and need of guidance. However, she is not taking into consideration the transformation in the doctor due to the recent incidents (switched spray). He is no longer the same than he was 6 months ago or 2 years old. He changed thanks to the athlete and because of unfortunate events (sexual harassment from the hospital director, switched spray). But the halmoni has no idea about such incidents. 
(chapter 53) Unlike Park Namwook who uses blame and delegation in professional settings, she applies emotional avoidance in private and familial spaces. Much like the manager, she outsources responsibility, asking others to step in 
(chapter 7), medication, comfort 
(chapter 21), and other people (nurse, Joo Jaekyung) —to maintain her emotional balance. But as doc Dan himself once observed, she is ultimately on her own in her battle. No system can fight it for her.
(chapter 7) His grandmother was not truly abandoned; she simply equated his physical absence with neglect, ignoring the emotional and financial burden he already carried. Like Park Namwook, she prefers others to carry the discomfort while maintaining a façade of suffering and sacrifice. 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 47) , and her narrative of selflessness becomes another form of emotional pressure. She does not yell, she does not accuse directly, but her avoidance is equally powerful in shaping Dan’s self-image as a burden. Doc Dan came to internalize that she suffered because of him.
(chapter 57) —his visible exhaustion, disconnection, and quiet suffering—becomes a thorn in her eye, a reminder that her peace is not whole. As long as he suffers, she cannot entirely escape the shadow of her own regrets. Sending him away to Seoul represents a new of flight. Out of sight means out of mind. That way the grandmother wouldn‘t have to worry about doc Dan, as he has been entrusted to the athlete. 
(chapter 163) and supported by the article on confirmation bias, human survival was deeply dependent on mental shortcuts. Biases were not flaws, but adaptive tools — heuristics that helped our ancestors make quick decisions under threat. Faced with a potential predator, they could not afford the luxury of curiosity or debate. Run first, think later. 
(chapter 163) In this sense, biases were effective precisely because they increased the chance of survival.
(chapter 9) But once Joo Jaekyung became the target of criticism and scandals, his fear response activated. 
(chapter 41) he recommends the opposite at the restaurant because the idea comes from the CEO! 
(chapter 67) His survival bias told him: “Don’t trust a man who once treated you violently.” or “Doctors are ignorant, they don’t know me“. It was easier to discredit the source than to weigh the merit of the message. Likewise, in Season 1, the champion dismissed doc Dan’s medical opinions 
(chapter 45) His double standard is not conscious hypocrisy — it’s a form of selective laziness. He does not challenge his beliefs because doing so would unravel the identity he’s built as a competent, authoritative manager.
(chapter 65) or a support network. It is not her fault, if she never met doc Dan’s friends in the past while hiding the fact that he had been bullied by his peers. Her request for him to return to Seoul, a place he has no roots, only furthers his habit of isolation. Similarly, when she asked Jaekyung to bring him to Seoul and have him diagnosed, she implicitly discouraged any shared decision-making. Like Park Namwook, she bypassed dialogue in favor of directive control, reinforcing the habit of emotional withdrawal.
(chapter 67) That shift marks a turning point from survival to conscious thought. The mind cannot reflect when it believes it is under attack. The tragedy is not that these characters are irrational — it’s that they were taught fear before they were taught trust. Thus I come to the following conclusion. As soon as both are curious about each other 
(chapter 69). For the first time in this story, we as readers were allowed to hear Joo Jaekyung’s heart 
— not in battle, not in passion, not in rage — but in that suspended instant when he imagined Kim Dan missing, possibly forever. Since the author linked the BADUM with doc Dan 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69), she created the illusion that the physical therapist was embodying the MMA fighter’s heart. This scene resonated with me long after I closed the chapter.
(chapter 69) Suddenly, the pieces clicked: the heartbeat in Jinx is not just a narrative sound effect. 
(chapter 14)— yet no heartbeat is heard. One might think, the absence of the heart racing implies the lack of fear. His emotions are real, but they do not connect him to life or to others. Why?
(chapter 14) — GUOOO, metal dented, yet no pain. Yet, Jinx-philes can see Badum Badum in that picture. Nevertheless it is connected to the physical therapist’s heart: he is scared of the athlete’s strength. On the surface, the champion’s gesture appears reckless — an act of a man who does not care for his body. But this is not pure “fearlessness.” In truth, the celebrity’s anger is masking deeper fear and suffering.
(chapter 14) — triggered this buried wound, igniting a desperate drive to disprove that old accusation.
(chapter 44) BADUM BADUM from Kim Dan’s heart as Jaekyung makes a move on him. His blushing face, wide eyes, and parted lips all signal that this is not fear — it is love, excitement, and emerging attachment. 
(chapter 44) and tried new things. He gave his lover pecks on his cheeks and ear 
(chapter 34), we see the actor’s confidence gradually vanishing. His mask begins to crack. In that moment, he realizes that in the VIP spa his celebrity status offers no protection. No manager, no Park Namwook, no audience is present. He is utterly exposed to the raw force of the champion’s anger and fist — and the physical threat is real.
(chapter 34) The confrontation repeats — Jaekyung threatens once more. Yet, there is no visible BADUM, BADUM here. Why? Don’t forget that just before, the actor gulped and blushed 
(chapter 34) — a clear sign of excitement, not fear. And still, his heart remains silent. This raises the question. Why was the actor not afraid of the MMA fighter? Because even if the words echo the previous threat, the perceived danger has changed. With doc Dan standing between them 
(chapter 34), the actor subconsciously knows: “He will not attack me here.” The champion made it clear that the physical therapist shouldn’t detect the actor’s presence. Doc Dan acts as an emotional shield, preventing true panic. The body no longer signals mortal danger — and so, no BADUM sounds.
(chapter 43) Here, the doctor feared the celebrity’s rejection. This scene was actually announcing that doc Dan was already in love with the “wolf”. 
(chapter 21) — a sound of comfort and life. But it was a distant memory, not part of his adult world.
(chapter 21) — having a nightmare. It is only when the grandmother returned to the bed and began to sing that his body calmed. 
(chapter 21)
(chapter 21) — one that later echoes in his adult struggles with attachment and loss.
(chapter 58) “I am happy and at ease, but… why does my heart feel so heavy?” — it is as if the external music has replaced his internal rhythm. The joyous sound outside contrasts painfully with his own muted emotions. The music underscores his emotional disconnection and the inner weight he carries.
(chapter 65) finds his way back to the man he cares for.
(chapter 65) is more than noise. It’s a resonant signal — not unlike the heartbeat. When she barks, it alerts Jaekyung to Dan’s trance. 
(Chapter 65) Moreover, the dog is capable of expressing her „worries and pain“. And for the first time, the champion follows a sound not of the crowd, not of a bell, but of life calling to life. 
(Chapter 65) Her bark anchors him, just as Dan once did. And it marks the moment Jaekyung becomes emotionally receptive not only to Dan, but to care itself — puppies, vulnerability, connection. In other words, her presence foreshadows Jaekyung’s emotional readiness to care for others beyond the ring. Having rediscovered and embraced his own vulnerability, his heart is gradually open to softness — to animals, to dependency, to affection.
(chapter 58) During the happy party with the actor and Potato, Dan remembers his past lover — and we see the champion’s image under a black-and-white veil. It was, as if the sun was vanishing from his life. In that moment, Dan decided to detach himself from Jaekyung, to forget him. The champion is emotionally “dead” — unreachable, lost to him.
(chapter 69) There, as he sees a figure on the boat, his breath catches — for a moment, he believes it might be Dan. But as he draws closer, he recognizes his mistake. The man is not Dan. 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 49) the fighter’s vulnerability and punished his needs, 
(chapter 44) What were those buttons? His heart. His breath. His body’s fear that Dan might vanish.
(chapter 45), his heart raced. But he mistook this for irritation 
(chapter 45) — not attachment. That is why he threatened to hire another doctor the next morning: he feared dependency and as such vulnerability. 
(chapter 45)
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 67), Jaekyung could only remain silent. 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 69) it is a harbinger of disruption. A radio broadcast delivers the warning: skies turning cloudy, strong winds forecasted at 20 to 25 meters per second. This is no ordinary breeze. It signals the arrival of a whole gale—powerful enough to topple trees, strip rooftops, and fracture routines. 
(chapter 69) Hence he is still wearing his dark blue shirt, pants and an expensive watch. But more importantly, he is now driving his white sports car. This means before meeting his hyung and the CEO, he went to the penthouse and changed not only his outfit but also his vehicle. He selected the white car, 
(chapter 69) Since the latter is a high-performance luxury model, it symbolizes wealth, speed, and prestige. That’s how he wanted to appear in front of the CEO. However, now he is going to the place where the storm will be the most violent. Because the star is still dressed in his dark blue shirt and expensive watch, I came to the following interpretation. This is not the champion in training clothes, but a man who now owns time
(chapter 60) 
(chapter 61) No longer is he defined by his cellphone or his car, but by a reclaimed sense of agency. 
(chapter 38) or his car 
(chapter 69). Hence the manager can no longer be in touch with him. 
(chapter 66) 
(chapter 69) might be damaged or lost to the tempest—a symbolic stripping away of status which reminded me of the way doc Dan treated the halmoni’s Wedding Cabinet. 
(chapter 53) Both instances symbolize a relinquishing of material attachments (he leaves his huge penthouse for a rented little “hostel”) and a profound shift toward emotional growth. For Jaekyung, the potential loss of his prized possession is not just about property—it marks the beginning of relying on others, accepting vulnerability, and letting go of his rigid, self-reliant identity. Similarly, the doctor’s decision to leave behind the Wedding Cabinet signals a break from the past and a readiness to build something new, no longer defined by inherited burdens or emotional debts. In both cases, possessions lose meaning. With nothing left to prove, the champion accepts vulnerability. He is no longer above asking for help, nor afraid of stillness. And that realization could only emerge under pressure. 
(chapter 57) This initial depiction – of the sparkling blue sea, the gentle rhythm of waves (shaaa), the birds in the sky, the beautiful sunset 
(chapter 59) and 
(chapter 58) daily life in slow motion—sets up a stark contrast to the approaching storm. All these images and including the elderly proclaiming 
, (chapter 65) “It’s a nice little town, isn’t it?”, lulled both the characters and readers into a false sense of permanence. But beauty is ephemeral. Storms, by nature, contradict stability. They sweep away trees, roofs—and with them, pipe dreams. 
(chapter 53) That’s why Mingwa zoomed on her gaze, but “cut” her ears, a symbol for her “deafness”. Hence she didn’t hear and feel the wind during her stroll with the champion. 
(chapter 53), bathed in the orange glow of a perfect sunset, reflected her toxic positivity—her tendency to ignore pain and erase any negative memories, including a life marked by hardship in Seoul. It encapsulated her attempt to embellish the past and project into the present 
(chapter 17), where the walls were decorated with actual postcards of beaches she had never visited. These were not souvenirs, but illusions—windows into an idealized elsewhere that helped her ignore the hardship around her.
(chapter 47), symbolizing distance from reality. In the hospice, it is placed next to the window 
(chapter 61), revealing trees and the sky—nature encroaching. By her second stroll with Jaekyung, the image of the window reappears 
(chapter 65), subtly reminding readers of its fragility. Now, as the storm rolls in, the trees outside become potential hazards, and the window that once offered a view might shatter. Should this happen, then it will rupture her illusion of control and all her repressed fears should come to the surface.
(chapter 56) But he misjudged her case for two reasons. First, the file had been tampered: she had received a new treatment. Secondly, he did not know her. What he saw as acceptance was actually a mix of comfort, avoidance and unresolved fear. The gale will expose the limits of both clinical assumptions and self-deception. The woman who once believed she could choose the time and manner of her death now faces nature’s blunt reminder: she is not in control of life and time—nor of anything else. 
(chapter 56) —it is a layered terrain of symbolism and vulnerability. Perched on what appears to be a peninsula 
(chapter 60) ; the docks, roads, and shops follow at level 1 
(chapter 62) 
(chapter 69); and the town proper stretches up with retaining walls
(chapter 59) (Light of Hope) overlook the coast and the landlord’s house 
(chapter 57). I came to this deduction, as the champion could see the building from the beach, when he rescued doc Dan. 
(chapter 61) Like pointed out before, his name is misleading, for hope implies “rescue”. However, a stay in that place means that their “inhabitants” are all destined to die due to cancer. There’s no real cure there. In other words, the tempest will bring to light its true nature. The hope, just like its comfort, are illusory. 
(chapter 57), fields and close to two power masts 
(chapter 69) would be left outside, symbolizing that this “sport” has become less central and vital in the main lead’s life. This is the first true pause in their relationship. Jaekyung, used to immediate gratification and external control, must slow down. And for the first time, he will see what he always overlooked: that meals take effort, that conversation has value, as it can help to get closer to another person. He doesn’t need the grandmother to get “through Kim Dan”. 
(chapter 66) Jaekyung, who has never seen the puppies, might discover them now. That discovery mirrors his gradual awareness of fragility and caretaking. For Kim Dan, nurturing the puppies symbolizes reclaiming his capacity for love and responsibility—free from obligation.
(chapter 21) and needed company. 
(chapter 21) The doctor would drop everything and rush to her side overlooking his own health. But now, with blocked roads and dangerous winds, Kim Dan cannot come—even if he wants to. He is no longer her servant or safety net. Nature has intervened where he could not set a boundary.
(chapter 5) Thus his anxieties should reach a new peak. His grip on the boy he used to control is gone. The storm draws a line between who remains—and who fades.
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69) These silent, parallel compositions reveal the landlord’s symbolic position as an enduring guardian: not static, but responsive. Therefore his position shifts constantly, either 
(chapter 65) in front of the couple, or behind Kim Dan in one scene, behind the champion in another.
(chapter 65) He is like the wind, fluid and unobtrusive, adapting to the needs of the moment. His position is never rigid, therefore in the final panel he seems to have vanished. 
(chapter 46) or authority 
(chapter 65), the landlord responds to what is needed, not what is expected. His flexibility does not stem from indecision—it is born from humility and care. Another aspect contributing to this perception is his ignorance. However, the latter should not be viewed negatively. Since he doesn’t know the champion’s profession or the doctor’s familial and financial situation, he is not projecting expectations or judgments onto them. Rather than acting out of assumption, he simply observes. This is precisely why he doesn’t come across as arrogant. His lack of knowledge becomes a quiet strength—it allows him to respond with presence, not prejudice. Just as the wind moves through open spaces without imposing form or judgment, his unknowing presence allows room for others to breathe and unfold, free from predefined roles or assumptions.
(chapter 65) He does not try to define the protagonists by their past or their titles. He lets them define themselves. While he tried to encourage doc Dan to drink and work less, as time passed on, he came to notice his suffering and accept him with his illness. 
(chapter 69) had already been shown earlier together in the crowd, I suspect that one of them might informed Kim Dan about the incident and the champion’s presence. This would align with the narrative’s kaleidoscopic structure, where certain scenes are reflected in different timelines.
(chapter 66) Under this new light, it dawned on me that the fan was most likely handed out by a local institution—perhaps even the hospice Light of Hope, during a public health campaign or examination event. This means that he is taking good care of himself. One might argue with this interpretation, yet there exists another evidence for this perception. 
(Chapter 62) He is constantly wearing the green cap, a sign that he knows about the danger of the sun. This stands in opposition to the grandmother who would sell her vegetables without any hat. 
(chapter 57) These types of fans are typically distributed by hospitals or clinics: practical items with subtle promotional intent. But once in the landlord’s hands, it takes on symbolic weight. The number “365” does not simply represent a calendar year; it represents consistency, time, and the daily rhythm of care.
(chapter 57), white, 
(chapter 69) and Kim Dan as “sonny” 
(chapter 59) Whether it’s due to panic, malnutrition, exhaustion, or psychological collapse, suffocation is one of the defining sensations of Kim Dan’s arc. In this context, the landlord, with his unassuming fan and grounded demeanor, emerges as a breath of fresh air—the very opposite of the heiße Luft, or “hot air,” surrounding the champion’s fabricated scandals and media distortions. 
(chapter 52) 
(chapter 69) the atmosphere grows heavier—not from external scandal, but from inner turmoil. Then Kim Dan’s puzzled reaction, 
(chapter 59) The landlord doesn’t shelter people from pain or storms. He makes sure they’re equipped to face them. And once they do, the wind is no longer a threat, but a form of grace. And now, you comprehend why the death of the puppy has not been discovered by the athlete yet. For the landlord, death is something natural and inevitable, and since doc Dan has been working at the hospice, I am quite certain that the old man imagined that doc Dan was well-equipped to deal with this situation. He must have been envisaging that Doc Dan was accustomed to it. The problem is that he doesn’t know the protagonist’s past and family. 
(chapter 58), who plays the victim while hiding his own culpability, the landlord does not engage in gossip or vilification. His silence isn’t ignorance—it is grace. 
(chapter 58) and from media 
(chapter 57), but someone who understands the balance between labor and rest. He may not have a name, but he has a function. And sometimes, in storytelling, function is identity enough.
(chapter 59) there’s only one poor sun umbrella in front of him and a wall far behind him. His back is turned to the world, wrapped in solitude and silence. That’s how I was reminded of his childhood. There, the grandmother often stood beside him 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 49) explains why he got abandoned in the locker room. It gains even more poignancy when viewed against his past. In Episode 47, while the grandmother was carrying him on her back, Kim Dan’s back is left unprotected. 
(chapter 47) Her proximity is visible, yet it lacks the symbolic protection associated with standing at someone’s back.
(chapter 57) The moment she offered him a snack, she distanced herself from him. Now, she is standing by his side. 
(chapter 62) Their presence—especially the landlord’s—is the embodiment of silent guardianship. 
(chapter 69) His consistent yet unobtrusive presence stands in opposition to the grandmother’s inconsistent gestures. One acted out care; the other lives it.
(chapter 47) 
(chapter 47) Despite the rare instance of closeness captured in a photo, most scenes depict Kim Dan standing next to his grandmother, and he is the one supporting her. 
(chapter 69) This gesture, though seemingly violent, reveals something deeper—it forced Kim Dan to feel what he had been missing all along: there were people around him, he was not alone. I would even add, someone was finally standing behind him. 
(chapter 69) In that brief moment, Kim Dan is no longer alone. The landlord, as a silent guardian, and Joo Jaekyung, as a fierce protector, are both behind him—symbolically and literally. 
(chapter 46) Coach Yosep, Joo Jaekyung, and Park Namwook—a trio marked by authority without dialogue, control without care. In that group, the manager sowed distrust while avoiding accountability. 
(chapter 46) In the new trio, no one holds dominion over the other. There are no contracts, no strings. The landlord has no financial stake in the fighter’s success.
(chapter 66)
(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 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 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) 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) 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 5) his reliance on routine. Yet there is another jinx in this story, one far less visible and perhaps even more tragic: Kim Dan’s.
(chapter 1) was seen as the core expression of a man who believed he was doomed.
(chapter 21) And this issue didn’t begin in adulthood. In Chapter 21, Kim Dan dreams of a night from his childhood: he wakes up alone, glances around the room in quiet confusion, and softly calls out for his grandmother. The room is dim, the bed beside him empty. This image carries more than just childhood anxiety: 
(chapter 21) This reveals how, in Kim Dan’s subconscious, the night and an empty bed have become synonymous with death. The trauma is deeply embedded, where even temporary absence is tied to the irreversibility of loss. For Kim Dan, solitude at night 
(chapter 67) is not mere loneliness—it is abandonment, it is death, it is the erasure of home. It is repressed, hidden beneath his quiet demeanor and years of survival-based behavior. Rather than a rational belief, it is a subconscious wound that only surfaces in moments of extreme vulnerability—especially at night. 
(chapter 2), the doctor’s is secret and involuntary. His actions—his fearful expressions 
(chapter 57), his pattern of emotional detachment 
(chapter 67), and his obsessive loyalty to his grandmother 
(chapter 10) signal a suppressed conviction: that he is destined to be left behind. What seemed like devotion now appears as coping; what appeared stoic was survival. And with the impending death of his grandmother, the anchor holding this hidden jinx in place is slipping away.
(chapter 2), the trembling kiss 
(chapter 66) in Chapter 66, or the transactional submission 
(chapter 67) in Chapter 67, nighttime becomes the stage for his unresolved trauma. These nights mirror one another and suggest an origin story that predates them all: a night when Kim Dan was abandoned by his mother.
(chapter 59), the story tells us: Kim Dan was separated too soon. He was not ready.
(chapter 53)
(Chapter 56) he tucks her in. Their roles are reversed. He behaves like a parent, whereas in truth, he is reverting emotionally to a child terrified of being alone. This reversal highlights the internal dissonance between his outward behavior and emotional reality. Though he was forced to grow up quickly 
(chapter 29) That’s how it dawned on me why Shin Okja was so determined to send back her grandson to Seoul.
(chapter 65)
(Chapter 39), the moment is tainted. It occurred under the influence of an aphrodisiac, intertwining love with sex. Furthermore, he has never voiced this sentiment to his grandmother—perhaps because she never said it to him. It was never modeled. While others might judge Kim Dan’s emotional restraint, I desire to stay neutral. He is not an emotionally stunted adult by choice—he is a product of emotional neglect. That’s the reason why Mingwa has associated him with an angel. 
He is carrying the sins of “adults”. By likening him to an angel, Mingwa frames his pain not as weakness, but as unjust burden. He embodies purity, sacrifice, and resilience, not because he was allowed to thrive, but because he endured. The angel metaphor becomes even more striking when you think about traditional symbolism: angels don’t belong to Earth, yet they walk among the living, often suffering in silence and helping others. That’s exactly Kim Dan — out of place, bearing the consequences of others’ choices, carrying guilt, debt, and unspoken grief that were never his to begin with.
(chapter 29) —not because of physical intimacy with Joo Jaekyung, but because he felt safe. For a time, the place became his illusion of home. But when the champion showed mistrust, the illusion shattered. 
(Chapter 67) Observe how Joo Jaekyung called the penthouse: not home, but his place. Due to the last altercation, the emotional safety collapsed. This experience reactivated his fear of abandonment and solidified the belief that he has no home. 
(chapter 65) Even the family photo (where and by whom it was taken is unclear) emphasizes the fragility and incompleteness of his sense of belonging.
(chapter 61) that he must sacrifice his “needs” and identity to be accepted. 
(chapter 66) he cries, begs, 
(chapter 66) holds on—“Don’t leave me.”
(chapter 66) and desperate pleas are not about romance—they’re about survival, longing and regret. Deep down, he wished, he had hold onto his “mother” in the past, stopped her from leaving him. Is it a coincidence that this gesture from that night mirrors the one during their first night? 
(chapter 2) He wanted the champion to keep his promise. From my point of view, the parent’s vanishing is strongly intertwined with a broken promise… And that’s exactly what the grandmother did to her own grandson: she didn’t keep her words either. 
(chapter 67), but this time, with eerie detachment. He kneels before Joo Jaekyung like a servant, 
(chapter 67) his arousal betrays a loss of emotional control. Though he is on his knees, it is Joo Jaekyung who is emotionally yielding. His body betrays his composure, responding to Kim Dan’s touch and gaze. Kim Dan, watching the tremble in the fighter’s expression and the rising heat in his body, feels the shift. His soft blush is not simply one of affection or embarrassment—it’s a flicker of recognition. 
(chapter 67) He senses that the one usually in control is now unraveling. Appearances deceive: beneath this scene lies a quiet reversal of power. The blush on his cheeks is a trace of a brief moment of clarity: he sees that the person who once held all the control is now faltering.
(chapter 66), his body is still a vessel for mourning. Hence there is no kiss during that blue night. Each night carries the residue of that first trauma: the night he was left alone. Whether his mother disappeared or passed away in the night, the result is the same—nighttime became synonymous with loss.
(chapter 63) His so-called jinx is not some irrational superstition. It’s a scar. It’s the quiet belief that the people he loves will vanish the moment he lets his guard down.
(chapter 67), it’s resignation. Hence he is not expecting to be cured with the pills. 
(chapter 7), while Kim Dan becomes a child during the night.
(Chapter 66) 
(chapter 47), when the “wolf” was portrayed as a thug, though the latter had assisted him on multiple occasions.
(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 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) The manager used the incident with Seonho to justify the desertion of the other athletes. However, it is clear that some left the gym because they didn’t become successful like Joo Jaekyung. However, their lack of success is explained by their lack of talent 
(chapter 46) exposing the lack of ambition and commitment from the two hyungs. It is clear that Joo Jaekyung’s wealth and fame was used to attract the sportsmen creating a myth that they could experience the same success. Nevertheless, as time passed on, the fighters were confronted with reality. It was, as if the athlete’s achievement had become a curse for Team Black. Nonetheless, neither the manager nor the coach can admit it, the champion’s bad temper is utilized to cover the mismanagement within the gym. Striking is that by portraying the protagonist as a person with a bad temper and personality 
(chapter 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) 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 54) 
(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 54) or (un)favorable interviews about the athlete. 
(chapter 54) 
(Chapter 57) As a manager, Park Namwook’s role involves overseeing Joo Jaekyung’s career, securing contracts, and ensuring his reputation remains intact. Yet, as seen in Chapter 66, his actual concerns seem remarkably narrow in scope. 
(chapter 48) Back then, there was a witness, Kwak Junbeom and the latter could have reported to the “hyung”. These incidents indicate a consistent effort to control what the champion knows, raising the critical question: why?? His silence on this matter suggests not only a strategic decision to keep the star uninformed, but also an attempt to avoid responsibility. The supervisor often hesitates to make decisive choices 
(chapter 50), preferring instead to remain passive so that any negative outcomes can be blamed on the champion. At the same time, this passivity helps him maintain control—as if Joo Jaekyung, without his guidance, would be left ‘alone’ and directionless. In this way, the man with the glasses sustains a dynamic in which the champion feels dependent on his presence, even as he is subtly undermined. By neglecting to inform him of these events, Park Namwook ensures that the champion remains unaware of external factors that could influence his choices. This pattern reinforces the possibility that Park Namwook was aware of the meeting with Choi Gilseok and deliberately ignored it, likely expecting that Joo Jaekyung would take care of it, while absolving himself of responsibility. 
(chapter 66) This hesitation stems from deeply ingrained beliefs about relationships and fidelity. His loyalty to Park Namwook prevents him from fully confronting the possibility that his manager may not have his best interests at heart. Moreover, his own emotional repression makes it difficult for him to recognize his evolving dependency on Kim Dan as something beyond physical necessity. 
(chapter 22) They had heard about his place, for the manager must have talked about it. The protagonist is not someone who will talk about his private life to others. The manager must have dangled promises in front of them, making them believe that if they’re lucky enough, they too could live like the champion. However, their reactions reveal something crucial—they are not motivated by greed but by genuine admiration. They simply want to experience the luxury once in a while, reinforcing that their bond with Joo Jaekyung is rooted in camaraderie rather than material envy. This further highlights the contrast between Park Namwook’s manipulation and the sincere regard his teammates have for him. This scene is important, because it exposes the manager’s prejudices and lack of discernment. 
(chapter 46) Not everyone is the same and more importantly like him! It is clear that the man is projecting his own principles onto others and in particular onto the champion. 
(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). 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.
(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 1), selfish, and emotionally stunted. However, this self-perception is deeply flawed. By believing himself to be inherently better 
(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 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 65) This description stands in opposition to the gumiho’s statement: he was an angel. 
(chapter 65) or with shock? 
(chapter 65)
(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 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 59)
(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 61) when he thought, he needed her assistance. He used her to appear as a friend. 
(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 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 48). Both the halmoni and Choi Gilseok embody betrayal and the theme of acting behind the back 
(chapter 48), weaving a web of deception under the guise of care and concern. The halmoni’s betrayal is subtle but profound—she presents herself as a self-sacrificing guardian, but her true motives are revealed through her willingness to entrust Kim Dan to Joo Jaekyung without genuinely considering his well-being. Her criticisms of Kim Dan’s habits, her attempts to send him back to Seoul, and her selective truths paint a picture of a woman more interested in relieving herself of a burden than providing real support. Her actions behind Kim Dan’s back—discussing him negatively with Joo Jaekyung—further emphasize her betrayal, showing a willingness to manipulate perceptions for her own convenience.
(chapter 48) and superior medical care 
(chapter 48) mask a deeper betrayal. His real aim was never to assist but to control, using offers of support as bait to tie Kim Dan into a powerless position. The parallel between his proposition to Kim Dan—promising a better life in exchange for leaking information and compliance—and the halmoni’s push for Seoul’s hospitals underlines their shared strategy: make the target believe they have a choice, while the outcome is already decided. The fact that Heo Manwook, who collects Kim Dan’s debts, called Choi Gilseok “hyung” further hints at a deeper conspiracy, suggesting that the offer might have been a tool to ensnare Kim Dan from the start. He would have committed a crime (illegal drugs).
(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 57) But it is only partially correct. The doctor only suggested this walk to the ocean much later, when he was already suffering emotionally. This means that the grandmother would have not been able to enjoy this walk. Yes, the timing played a huge role. In fact, she confessed her crime to the star: 
(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) 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) He was forced to admit that he needed the “hamster”. He knew that if he reacted on these negative emotions, doc Dan would have another reason to put the blame on him. Consequently, his goal would be much further away. Secondly, though the conversation was private, their encounter was far from secretive. Both were visible, as it took place during the day. This means that the grandmother’s words in front of the ocean symbolize that they are in the open. 
(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 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 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) While this image is actually humorous, the grandmother’s words don’t match her body language. She is not showing any joy or smile. Therefore I comprehend why Kim Dan was so hurt by the champion’s behavior: 
(chapter 126) to another 
(chapter 126). He allowed his father to humiliate and abuse him 
(Chapter 126) once again. It was, as if the story was back to square one and the protagonist had learned nothing at all. Under this perception, my avid readers can comprehend why I selected such a title. However, instead of thinking that the author was a bad writer, I decided to ponder on the following question. Why did the author choose such an evolution? 
(chapter 7) Like Baek Na-Kyum, he rushed to his loved one’s side. However, he was first stopped 
(chapter 126), because it was not the right time. How so? Notice that his brother had fetched him at the port
(chapter 125), but he never followed him to the bureau of investigation. And the same happened later. Why didn’t he go to his shed, when he was trapped there? Where was he, when the eldest son visited the father? 
(chapter 126) His absence exposed his passivity and betrayal. However, at no moment, Yoon Seungho noticed this. To conclude, Yoon Seungho was so worried for the painter that he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, just like the painter didn’t see the learned sir’s disdain expressed through the cold gaze. 
(chapter 07) Therefore Yoon Seungho didn’t notice the presence of a civilian next to the governor. 
(chapter 126). Striking is that the governor knew about Yoon Seungho’s whereabouts before his arrival: the coast. As you can see, I am detecting a link between the governor and the younger master Seungwon. Yet, it was disguised as a rumor behind the expression “I had heard”. My assumption is that Seungwon came from the bureau of investigation in order to inform his brother. Therefore it is not surprising that Seungho was invited by his brother to visit the prison during the night. 
(chapter 126) And the moment I perceived the protagonist as a fool in love, I realized that chapter 126 is a reflection of episode 7, 29 
(chapter 29) and 40 
(chapter 40). Here, the painter was trying his best to protect Jung In-Hun’s interests (life, high position). Moreover, in episode 40, the painter had a dream, when he saw the announcement for the civil service examination. He smiled, for he was looking forward for the future. 
(chapter 40) And what have these episodes more in common? A betrayal, abandonment from a loved one and a paper (painting, poem). Hence I am more than ever convinced that the petition will resurface very soon and play a huge role in the downfall of the schemers and haters. Besides, chapter 40 represents the negative reflection of the conversation in the prison. 
(chapter 126) Though they are in a tough situation, Yoon Seungho is not leaving his side contrary to episode 40. 
(chapter 40) There is neither disdain nor mockery. The mentioned scenes are similar, for the present resembles the past. And this brings me to the second reason for the Webtoonist’s decision.
(chapter 123), Yoon Chang-Hyeon considered Yoon Seungho as a human, for he employed the personal pronoun “he”. He was still his son. Then in episode 77, he judged him as a slave 
(chapter 77), hence he was submitted to the straw mat beating and was held captive. He even refused to send for a physician. 
(chapter 83) Here, the father is denying his humanity, he is just an animal. In their next confrontation, he describes him as a monster, hence he wished that he had never been born.
(chapter 86) However, his words exposed that he was still viewing him as a living being. Therefore it is not surprising that he accepted lord Song’s request to order the murder of his son! In the gibang, he decided to no longer acknowledge Yoon Seungho as his son. 
(chapter 107) The tragedy is that the protagonist still viewed the Yoons as his family because of Yoon Seungwon, who keeps calling him “brother”. This explicates why Yoon Seungho sponsored his brother to have an official position. 
(chapter 115) Therefore it is not surprising that he followed Yoon Seungwon’s advice again. 
(chapter 120). He would bring the petition to his own father. This means that he is acting like the painter who listened to his noona Heena so well. 
(chapter 46) But now, Yoon Chang-Hyeon believes to have the petition. 
(chapter 125) This explicates why the patriarch is now calling the main lead “nothing”. 
(chapter 126) He is not even a thing. This means that he is actually discarding him. This explicates why he sent him to the shed. 
(chapter 126) It was, as if he had become a merchandise. Or we could say that the elder master had been using him as a tool, which he can now abandon. 
(chapter 126) Interesting is that the idiom “plaything” has for antonyms tool, implement, instrument and utensil. And this brings me to the following remark. The father’s words are reflecting the last scheme. Yoon Seungho was used as the sword to get rid of an enemy, lord Song. It was, as if someone had decided to get rid of lord Song, for he represented a danger or threat. It also mirrors the trick in the shrine. Min and the others got killed, because Lee Jihwa went to his childhood friend. And who had seen the main lead using this sword, when he was enraged? Father Lee! 
(chapter 67) But let’s return our attention to the patriarch and his son. Yoon Seungho is no longer recognized as a Yoon member. Therefore I come to the conclusion that Yoon Seungho will make the following decision: to become an orphan. And this is symbolized by the loss of hair. I am expecting him to cut off his hair, something the painter has been doing for a long time. That’s why Byeonduck showed us the lord without a topknot. 
(chapter 126) This would coincide with my previous statement. The lord is going through the same experience than his loved one. However, people will come to the conclusion that this was done by the father. How so? Remember how each rumor became a reality. 
(chapter 1) I had already demonstrated that Yoon Seungho was not a fiend for sodomy with no regard for time and place, until he met Baek Na-Kyum. But once a deed is done, it can never be repeated. 
(chapter 101) So should Father Lee claim that he has long disowned Jihwa by cutting off his topknot, no one will believe him, for the young master was still seen with a topknot after confessing his feelings in public. 
(chapter 57) In other words, the topknot incident at the kisaeng would be brought up. It is impossible for 2 fathers to act the same way. Besides, the loss of the topknot has another signification: Yoon Seungho would cut off ties with valet Kim, for the latter was the one who gave him the topknot. And episode 126 reflected one more time his position: 
(chapter 126) He is the one dressing him. It was, as if he was the pope.
(chapter 116) It is because someone had reported to him the conversation between lord Song and the painter. 
(chapter 122) There was a spy listening to their conversation. Since all the guards died 
(chapter 124) 
(chapter 125: I am assuming that the survivor got executed), I am suspecting the scholar. Moreover, why would Yoon Chang-Hyeon accuse his son to have abandoned Baek Na-Kyum? It is related to this departure of the staff and Yoon Seungho. 
(chapter 120) And who was present there? Jung In-Hun! But there is more to it. Since leaving Baek Na-Kyum behind is considered as an abandonment, it means that the patriarch abandoned his son too. 
(chapter 27) By speaking to Yoon Seungho, the elder master Yoon didn’t realize that he was admitting his own wrongdoings. Actually, he had abandoned him many times… like here for example 
(chapter 87) Therefore his words will come back to bite him. But these words are also exposing the valet’s betrayal and abandonment towards Yoon Seungho!! How so?
(chapter 122), then he should have been at the patriarch’s house. The absence of the valet is the evidence of his treason. For me, he is now working for Jung In-Hun which explains why he never mentioned his presence in the mansion, only lord Song. Besides, keep in mind that once deed done can not be repeated. In episode 27, the lord was too angry and busy to notice the learned sir’s spying activities. 
(Chapter 27) Moreover, Kim didn’t report the interrogation to his master. This means that the butler covered up for the teacher’s wrongdoing. But here is the deal: 
(chapter 120) The library was ransacked, hence this crime is bound to be discovered. Finally, his intervention in the shed is exposing his deception. 
(chapter 83) That’s why I am convinced that these words 
(chapter 126) He is no longer suicidal, in fact he is full of hope! Though he was sent back to hell for a short moment, he came out of this as a winner. My evidence is that the lord has now become a believer. 
(chapter 126) Yes, episode 126 exposes the return of his faith! And where could we see the atheism of Yoon Seungho in the story? In chapter 92! 
(chapter 92) He didn’t believe in the spring poetry to ward off bad luck! That’s why he was sent back to the past. He needed to lose everything in order to find hope! In his darkest moment, he expressed a wish: to meet his loved one! And where did he pray to the gods? In the shed! 
(chapter 126) Observe how he is kneeling in direction of the bars. He is hoping to meet Baek Na-Kyum again. As you can see, though this scene 
(chapter 126) He was showing resistance and anger towards his father. Moreover, he was no longer shaking in front of the patriarch or the guards. 
(chapter 86) Thus I deduce that though he was mistreated and insulted like in the past, he was no longer suffering from his traumas. He is healed. His will is now really strong, supported by his new found faith. 
(chapter 62) Even if they were hugging, they were not close emotionally and mentally. This stands in opposition to the scene in the jail. They might be separated by the bars, but they are touching each other tenderly. 
(chapter 126) They are able to see each other. 
(chapter 126) Try Meditation 
(chapter 126) or Prayer 
(chapter 126) 
(chapter 126) Quoted from 
(chapter 126) It is relevant, because light represents knowledge and truth. He is now the bearer of the truth. And he got his blessing from Baek Na-Kyum, when he touched his hands. 
(chapter 120) Yes, chapter 126 mirrors 92! This somehow confirms my theory that the butler was the one hiding under the purple hanbok. 
(chapter 92) Moreover, we have another reference to this episode, the pouring of alcohol! 
(chapter 92) 
(chapter 126) It was, as if someone wanted the lord to pay for Min’s insult! That’s the reason why I come to the following conclusion: Yoon Seungho is now opening up to Baek Na-Kyum. He is confessing to the painter about his wishes. 
(chapter 85) The manhwaphiles should keep in mind that the request from the artist in the study was strongly connected to forgiveness. And Baek Na-Kyum could also confess what happened in the past: his guilt and regret asking for the lord’s forgiveness. Right now, both are blaming themselves for the incidents, although they got fooled by many schemers. Because the lord proved his loyalty and blinded trust in the painter, I see the scene in the jail as a new version of this confession: 
(chapter 75) Thus I consider the prison cell as a sacred place, where both characters are about to be freed from their guilt! 
(chapter 11) thus he could escape justice! 
(Chapter 11) Simultaneously, the first definition of life lie corresponds to Yoon Chang-Hyeon. The latter blames his eldest son for the downfall of the Yoons. 
! (Chapter 86) Secondly, he still thinks that he is powerful. But it is just an illusion. 
(chapter 125). They fail their duty, for they allowed the main lead to barge in the room. 
(Chapter 126) Finally, observe how they keep apologizing without giving any explication. 
(Chapter 125) Their apology is fake. As you can see, the patriarch is living in an allusion. He is powerless, and the best evidence is that he doesn’t have the petition. 
(Chapter 126) He is actually encouraging his son to hate himself and indirectly his own father! However, the son made the exact opposite decision: love!! Hence I am more than certain that the elder master is about to experience a harsh awakening. 
(chapter 101) Thus they got punished. And now, the two main leads are about to face human justice. 
(chapter 65) But strangely, the painter is showing no fear at all. 
(chapter 126) He is ready to sacrifice himself. So why was Yoon Seungho dressed up in the end? One might say that with the topknot and the hanbok, the abuse from the patriarch got covered up. That way, Baek Na-Kyum wouldn’t detect Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s lies and abandonment! 
(chapter 125) The latter brainwashed him to take the fall for everything, implying that way, his loved one would be protected! However, I am suspecting that if the lord were to leave the prison, he could meet someone in the office. That way, this person is not confronted with the reality: the main lead was “abused”. According to the butler, he was supposed to meet his brother at the office. 
(Chapter 92) In episode 92, we have a mysterious man in the background dressed in black, but he is not wearing his gat. Besides, I would like my avid readers to remember this image from the trailer: 
which reminds us of the office: 
(chapter 98) This place symbolizes power and strength. And because episode 126 is a reflection of chapter 7, 11, 29 and 40, I think, Yoon Seungho is about to receive a deal, for these episodes are focusing on the deal between the painter and the protagonist: protection from the father and punishment in exchange for entertainment. He would appear as a fake savior in the end. Remember what in episode 11 the artist said in front of his fated partner:
(chapter 11) He would do anything except painting!! He was not willing to give up on this principle, which reminds us of faith. So when Yoon Seungho faced his father, he experienced powerlessness for one reason. 
(Chapter 105) Then in episode 122, 
we discover that lord Song employed the pipe to beat the painter. Moreover, I detected a progression. In season 2, Yoon Seungho was still smoking. 
(Chapter 74) But once the painter showed that he didn’t like smoking, Yoon Seungho stopped taking the drug. This explicates why in season 3, he was no longer seen with the item in his hand. Even under stress, he chose to hunt instead of smoking in front of the window. We have two scenes where the pipe is present. One is when the lord is throwing it out of anger,:
(chapter 86) which reminded me of the incident with the music box.
(Chapter 85) This shows that this item had no value to the protagonist. Then the pipe appeared in the gibang on the table. 
(Chapter 96) However, here the lord had only eyes for the painter or Heena. Hence I have the impression that the pipe could resurface and serve as an tool to identify the perpetrator, just like the glasses were used to recognize the scholar. 
(Chapter 102) Finally, since the pipe appeared in the gibang twice, it indicates that this hobby is linked to the kisaeng house!! And this brings me to my final observation: the pipe is connected to paper
(Chapter 1) 
(chapter 1) However, there exists two books!! And one has no PIPE! This coincides with the decision of the painter to stop drawing erotic pictures! Yes… dropped amusement! At the same time, Yoon Seungho has long lost his interest for erotic publications. He also dropped this hobby. On the other hand, the books were dropped in front of the painter. 
(Chapter 1) Finally, the petition was dropped in front of lord Song 
(chapter 123) which announced his death sentence. To conclude, the papers have a strong connection to punishment and death. 
(Chapter 126) Yoon Seungho went to the father’s mansion, and it didn’t take him that long! As you can see, I consider this trip with Yoon Seungwon as a diversion. 
(Chapter 121) So why didn’t the elder master return to his old home? It is to drive the Yoons out of their propriety. In other words, the lies from the past are becoming a reality exposing the liars in the end. Their life lies will be ruined.
(chapter 106) How could he abandon his lover like that? For some readers, he acted like a fool. Nevertheless, his reaction was normal, because the man with the purple hanbok represents the cause for Yoon Seungho’s martyrdom. This means that the ghost with the purple hanbok symbolizes danger for the protagonist. And if he gets targeted, his lover will suffer too. Striking is that during the same day and night, there is another person wearing a purple hanbok: Yoon Seungho! 
(chapter 107) Therefore it is no coincidence that in chapter 107, he was portrayed as a source of danger for the elder master Yoon and the mysterious “lord Song”. 
(chapter 107) According to “lord Song”, him and Yoon Chang-Hyeon were forced to renounce their position because of Yoon Seungho. In this image, the villain implies that the main lead is a blackmailer. 
(chapter 107) In other words, in episode 107, the manhwalovers are witnessing a fight between 2 men wearing a purple hanbok!! In this story, purple is the symbol for violence and peril. This explicates why Byeonduck employed this color, when Yoon Seungho was portrayed as a ruthless lord: 
(chapter 10) Under this new approach, it becomes comprehensible why the artist was wearing a purple hanbok after the bloodbath. 
(chapter 102) He was the reason for the “purge”. From my perspective, the artist is cleaning the “place”, hence he is the target of the villains and antagonists. At the same time, this color represents Joseon’s royalty, hence it is no coincidence that the king was mentioned in this very episode. 
(chapter 107) Therefore my theory that Baek Na-Kyum is related to the ruler gets reinforced. However, in episode 107, only the main lead and the new villain were seen with the purple hanbok, therefore in this essay, I will examine not only the new character “lord Song”, but also Yoon Seungho!
(chapter 107) They had the impression that he was abandoning the artist one more time. And that’s how the painter felt the situation either! That’s the reason why Baek Na-Kyum was upset. 
(chapter 107) It was, as if the main lead was acting like the patriarch Yoon. This perception got reinforced, because the lord had a poker face and didn’t talk to his lover. 
(chapter 107) Yoon Seungho didn’t side with the old bearded man in front of the painter. He thanked the man and sent away him with respect. 
(chapter 107) So he gave the impression that he was listening to the painter. However, the reality was that at the end, he still listened to the doctor thinking that it was for the painter’s best interest. Since Baek Na-Kyum was traumatized from the sexual assault, the main lead thought that he was hiding his illness or he was in denial. What caught my attention is that Yoon Seungho followed the doctor leaving the artist in the bedchamber alone. On the one hand, this could be perceived as a prison, yet I judge his gesture as the opposite. It is to protect Baek Na-Kyum! In Yoon Seungho’s mind, behind the closed door, his lover won’t see or hear what is happening in the courtyard. He will be protected from cruel reality. 
(chapter 107) He showed no real empathy for Baek Na-Kyum. It was, as if he was showing Schadenfreude. But this doesn’t end here. Kim brought a different doctor. It is not the same physician who assisted Baek Na-Kyum a month ago!! 
(chapter 107) First, the clothes diverge. The belt is blue, his sleeves are covered with some white protections. 
(chapter 107) 
(chapter 103) Finally, the white hanbok is much longer, and his pants are blue, while the other had white trousers. In my essay 
(chapter 107) How could he say that his health had deteriorated since a month ago? This is how the artist looked like a month ago: 
(chapter 103) 
(chapter 103) He was under the influence of the aphrodisiac, and he could have died of an overdose. 
(chapter 103) His face and his body were covered with bruises. How could the doctor say that his condition had worsened? This means that he had not seen the patient a month ago. To sum up, the doctor was impersonating his fellow. Note that he claimed to have prescribed the drug himself. 
(chapter 106) However, this image displays the betrayal from the physician, for I believe that this represents his view The latter had seen the artist in the restroom, but he had not intervened!! Besides, just because the artist had disgorged once, this doesn’t signify that he had done it all the time for one month. This is how the artist looked like, while he was walking through the street: 
(chapter 104) He looked healthy and happy. The reason for his nervousness was the lord’s actions during that day. Moreover, the painter’s hand had been scratched… yet you see no bandage around his hand.
(Chapter 107) As you can see, the doctor was exaggerating, as he was generalizing the regurgitation! 
(chapter 107) Yoon Seungho was slowly realizing that his butler has not been telling the truth. He was gritting his teeth exposing his discomfort! This gesture indicates that someone has to endure something unpleasant, has to control himself and persevere. However, he was telling the opposite to his master: he had nothing to worry!! He should do nothing and simply lie low. The authorities had no suspicion about him. That’s the reason why the main lead desired to talk to the valet
(chapter 107), and he got angry, for his servant was talking back and not answering him properly. 
(chapter 107) We could say that the latter was not obeying his lord. Striking is that the domestic was also lying, for he feigned ignorance first, before giving a more precise answer. 
(chapter 107) It looks like valet Kim and the physician got away with their tricks, for neither the doctor nor the the butler got admonished in the bedchamber. But what caught my attention is that after hearing the words from his lover, he replied that way: 
(chapter 107) This expression (“I see”) is important, because it could be the indication that the noble could discern the truth with his mind’s eye, like this 
(chapter 107) or the opposite, though I am still optimistic. We will see in the next chapter. 
(chapter 106), but we shouldn’t overlook that later the painter had yelled in order to voice his opinion which had caught his companion by surprise. 
(chapter 57) The father was convinced that his son had been ill for a long time. And from the mysterious “lord Song”, the manhwalovers discovered that the main lead was fed with an aphrodisiac: 
(chapter 107) 
(chapter 57) Therefore the doctor’s statement in episode 57 appears in a different light: he knew what he was prescribing! He knew what Yoon Chang-Hyeon desired thanks to the idiom “the wayward yang energies”. It was to provoke an erection. I would like to expose that the physician deceived the painter, 
(chapter 57) for at the end, the physician admitted that he had given the “solution” to the father. The father had received the medicine!! [For more read the essay “
(chapter 106) He was supposed to get a drink from the physician. So the lord could remember the artist’s words and perceive the doctor as a traitor and liar. He could jump to the conclusion that the man had given his lover a drug. Under this new light, it dawned on me that the artist could have been telling the truth to his lover there: 
(chapter 106) That way, the “doctor” would not be suspected of a crime. Besides, according to me, the couple was actually sitting in the courtyard where the medicine store was!! 
(chapter 33) 
(chapter 65) Furthermore, in season 1, the artist had been forced to drink an aphrodisiac. So far, the main lead has never threatened or suspected a doctor. As you can see, there is a strong connection between the doctor and death! To sum up, we are witnessing the start of the storm… and when the painter was recovering, this represented the calm before the storm!! 
(chapter 107) It is related to the rumors he heard in the street. 
(chapter 106) The woman announced that the sacred tree had burned to the ground!! That’s the reason why it was gone… However, her words were just lies, for the tree is still standing there. 
(chapter 107) But note that she connected the incident to misfortune! In other words, she was denying the intervention of humans!! However, the lord had visited the place of his crime before. 
(chapter 104) This is what he had been told: the intervention of ghosts or spirits!! On the other hand, the unknown speaker had never mentioned the tree! Only the house had burned down. Nonetheless, even this statement was a lie, for the house was still standing too. 
(chapter 106) Since the schemers are mixing a lie with the truth, the lord heard that lord Shin had been killed during that night! However, when the lord had assassinated Black Heart and his friends, the young noble had never met lord Shin! Hence the gossips in town made the lord recognize that something huge is about to happen: a manhunt, and he could get into trouble. Besides, the grapevines are revealing the existence of witnesses and the main lead is aware that the noona is an important « witness ». But the problem is that by mixing each time a lie with a fact, the schemers are not realizing that the truth is coming to the surface, as minus and minus make plus. 
(chapter 50) Here, the butler had tattled on the painter so that the noble would distance himself from his sex partner. And in episode 104, we have a similar situation: through suggestions, the main lead was encouraged to send back the painter to the kisaeng house. Secondly, why would the lord think of the butler, when he saw the sacred tree? 
(chapter 88) During that night, he discovered warmth, loyalty and tenderness! In the darkness, the lord could detect the presence of the light: the painter! During that night, they vowed fidelity to each other. And in the garden next to the shrine, Yoon Seungho made the opposite experience: it was dawning on him that people from his own family, Kim and Yoon Chang-Hyeon, 
(chapter 88) are lying to him and even betraying him, especially if his life is threatened. Let’s not forget that this time, the lord did commit a crime and he is aware of this. In the bedchamber, the lord had criticized his own father, nonetheless he still thought that his father had just made a bad decision.
(Chapter 86) His words implied that the elder master Yoon had never intended to wound him. It was just because of his stupid believes: 
(Chapter 82) Preserving the continuity of the lineage and ensuring that the Yoons remain powerful and wealthy. However, in front of the tree, the lord is slowly recognizing that his father is about to ruin him for his own sake. 
(chapter 107), and abandon his own son. This 
(chapter 62) the main lead chose not to punish his lover
(chapter 63), he even swore that he would never let him go. 
(chapter 63) As the manhwalovers can detect, the main lead was always able not to get swallowed by the darkness, thanks to the artist, he could still see the light. However, his father is making the opposite decision, unaware that he is “doomed” to fail! Karma is already waiting for him. And because the patriarch is now living in the darkness, he can not recognize the manipulations, as he is forced to use others to guide him. 
(chapter 107) the branch on the ground is the evidence that someone set fire to the shaman’s shrine and the tree! Secondly, the black guard deceived the patriarch: 
(chapter 107) Lord Shin was murdered afterwards and not before Black Heart and his friend!! The word “later” is relevant, for it implies that the young yangban was killed close to the place where the nobles Min and his friends were sentenced. But his body is lying elsewhere! 
(chapter 103) This signifies that Yoon Chang-Hyeon is innocent! He never murdered Lord Shin in the woods, for he relied on the assistance of the helping hands. He never visited himself the scene of the crime. 
(chapter 103) At the same time, we can exclude that the black guard was the one killing the young scholar, for his pants are rather brown than grey. 
These two men are different, for their mask is white and not black. Besides, their clothes are black and not brown. Finally, the belt diverges as well: a huge purple strip with a different color in the middle, while the other guard is only wearing a simple ribbon. Thus I am inclined to think that the black guard is not only manipulating Yoon Chang-Hyeon, but he is also in truth working for someone else. Moreover, why would the man cover his face in the room, if he is truly working for the patriarch? 
(chapter 102) From my point of view, it is related to Lee Jihwa. My theory is that the elder Lee can frame the main lead for assassinating his son, because during that night, Black Heart was dressed like Lee Jihwa. They needed the corpses to be decomposed so that father Lee could claim that Yoon Seungho had killed his son!! And the hanbok would serve to identify the corpse. In addition, he would use the incident with the sword as an evidence for his lunacy. 
(Chapter 67) It is important that the red-haired master is not perceived as traitor, rather as a victim. Moreover, since some time passed on, people have already forgotten the friend’s confession in the inn. However, the elder master Lee will never report Yoon Seungho to the authorities, it has to come from the father himself. That way, his involvement will never be detected. From my point of view, the schemers are trying to turn father and son against each other so that the Yoons get destructed. One might reject my theory about the implication of father Lee, but let me ask you this… What are “Lord Song” 
(chapter 107) and Lee Jihwa’s colors?
(chapter 12) Purple and yellow, right? Observe that the lord is wearing the same colors during that night: a purple hanbok with a yellow scarf! 
(chapter 67) Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why I am suspecting that this guard 
(chapter 107) Furthermore, he could be recognized with the purple hanbok. 
(chapter 107) However, if you compare the form of the beard and the nose, the manhwaphiles can quickly recognize that Lee Jihwa saw someone else in the past, although the hanbok seems to have the same pattern than in episode 83. 
(chapter 83) Besides, another divergence is that the faceless lord Song has a rebellious strand in the neck which is not the same with “lord Song” from episode 107. As you can see, I deduce that we are dealing with two different “lord Song”. But this doesn’t end here. Secondly, according to father Lee, the man lost his home! 
(chapter 82) So how can he be wearing a purple hanbok, if he lost his position and home? This color is reserved for important people. In addition, when he entered the kisaeng house, the artist’s noona called him differently: 
(chapter 107) She called him “lord Haseon” and not “lord Song”! Interesting is that neither the Korean nor the Spanish version utilizes such a name! I don’t think that the translator took the liberty to create a fictional name. Hence I am deducing that the author is trying to leave different clues in each version!! Naturally, Haseon could be his first name, yet there is no ambiguity that this man has a bad reputation among the kisaeng house. He was called “lecher” and in the Spanish version, he was described as sexual maniac. 
(chapter 107) Hence I doubt that the noona would feel so close to such a man and address him with his “first name”. On the other hand, the kisaeng has a drop of sweat on her face, which is a sign for a lie and deception.
(Chapter 107) This signifies that « lord Haseon » is true, while « out of the blue » is the lie.
(chapter 86) We also have three men in this scene… For me, it becomes clear that the man facing Yoon Chang-Hyeon has been impersonating the real “lord Song”, and the stupid patriarch has never recognized the “prank”. Now, I am even questioning if Yoon Chang-Hyeon is even able to identify lord Song correctly!! I mean, due to the name and the color of the hanbok… he could be thinking that he is meeting lord Song again. Imagine that they have not seen each other for 10 years!! 
(chapter 107) Besides, Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s vision of the world is based on the words from lord Song and others. Who informed him about the whereabouts of « lord Song » in the gibang? The man had not come to the kisaeng house for a long time. Because of this information, the patriarch is led to think that he is meeting « lord Song ». His perception of the world and his eldest son is embossed by lord Song. Thus he repeats the same expression from his counterpart: “lowly beast”. 
(Chapter 107) 
(chapter 107) Finally, like outlined above, the main lead imagined that he was meeting the same doctor, while in truth it was not the case. So « old friend » could be deceiving:. 
(Chapter 107) He could be one of the three men! The real « lord Song » who brought pain to Yoon Seungho is someone else. Let’s not forget that Kim fears the man, 
(chapter 56) and his statement implies that Yoon Seungho is usually not allowed to ignore the man’s request: 
(Chapter 56). « At this time » stands in opposition to « always » which means that he can reject the invitation only because he is sick. To conclude, for me, this is not the lord Song Yoon Seungho hates and fears! 
(Chapter 107) Moreover, he didn’t visit the kisaeng house for a long time,
(Chapter 107) Hence they judge him as a pervert. And since the head-kisaeng received him at the gate, this signifies that this man has been in contact with the kisaeng house and in particular with the kisaeng leading him to the room.
(chapter 37) The fake servant NEVER mentioned the retirement of lord Song. As you already know, for me, No-Name is the real lord Song who took the blame for everything, for he let people use his “name”. The most terrible thing is that “lord Song” puts the blame on Yoon Chang-Hyeon, when he explains his failure about the sexual education. 
(Chapter 33) Secondly, how does the lord know about the master’s illness, when his fever was only discovered after the straw mat beating?
(Chapter 77) Besides, no physician had been fetched back then. Finally, how can lord Song remember the lord’s condition so well after 10 years? It is because he is using the diagnosis on the painter from the previous doctor: 
(chapter 103) Here, the man with the purple hanbok was utilizing the painter’s illness to hide his own crime. Under the pretense to help « Yoon Seungho » to become a man, the man abused him not only physically, but also sexually. There is no doubt that this reconversion was fake! 
(chapter 107) However, the trick doesn’t work, exactly like No-Name’s prediction: 
(chapter 76) But there is another reason why Yoon Chang-Hyeon doesn’t get fooled a second time. 
(Chapter 77) Thus I come to the following deduction: Yoon Seungho was sentenced to the straw mat beating, because after 2 nights, he had not been able to « have an erection ». They mixed a truth with a lie: 
(chapter 52) And what had Black Heart thought during that night? He had wished to taste the artist, while before he had desired his death. This is not random at all. There is a strong connection between death and sex which is also present in the conversation between lord Song and his « old friend ». The former reproached the elder master Yoon to have protected his son for too long. 
(Chapter 78) 
(chapter 107) Hence I am now assuming that this night is a reflection from chapter 67 and 69!! Min’s plan! 
(chapter 69) He had gone to the kisaeng house with the hope that the artist would return with his noona, and back then he had impersonated Lee Jihwa for the first time. 
(chapter 69) As the manhwalovers can detect, the sudden return of lord Haseon is intentional. So who is he targeting here? 
(chapter 86) 
(chapter 86) He was the keeper of his secret!! This explicates why the fake lord Song mentions « lad » and not the main lead. He gaslighted his counterpart, and created a false reality, while for me, it is clear that the real source of threat is Baek Na-Kyum. And who wanted him to be removed from the main lead’s side? Father Lee! 
(Chapter 82) In fact, both schemers have one goal in common: the couple is the victim and witness of their « crimes ». 
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 