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 Between A Squeeze And A Crack – part 2 and the Birth of A Flower (part 1)
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Sorry for the delay, but I am getting surged soon, thus I was busy preparing lessons for the time during my absence.
The Beginning of the End
The audience sensed it before it could fully articulate why: Jinx is nearing an irreversible threshold. Not an ending yet, not a climax in the conventional sense, but a point beyond which the story cannot return to its original configuration. 
(chapter 89) Episode 89 does not rely on spectacle, confrontation, or confession. Instead, it performs something far more unsettling. It turns back toward the beginning 
(chapter 89) and begins to unravel what was once deliberately sealed.
What makes this episode feel decisive is not merely a rearrangement of power, but the return of elements that were present from the very first chapter —elements whose meanings were never in doubt, yet whose consequences were never allowed to surface. 
(chapter 1) At the start of Jinx, the readers were not ignorant. We knew that Kim Dan had been sexually harassed. 
(chapter 1) We knew there was a witness. We knew that what happened was not ambiguous in moral terms.
What was ambiguous was power.
A hospital director fired Kim Dan not because the truth was unclear, but precisely because it was clear—and dangerous. Using institutional authority, he covered the scandal, protected himself, and quietly ensured that Kim Dan would never be able to work as physical therapist and even speak again. (chapter 1) The outcome was not accidental, but Kim Dan didn’t experience it as a calculated purge or a conspiracy that must be fought. He accepted the loss of his job almost as a given, even as he recognized the injustice of it. What unsettled him was not the fear that others would disbelieve him, but the realization that responsibility stopped with him. He lost a prestigious hospital position and the professional future attached to it, while the hospital director faced no consequence at all. Kim Dan did not protest or seek redress; instead, he turned his attention inward, wondering what was said about him afterward, in rooms or institutes he was not allowed to enter. The truth was known, yet it changed nothing, because Kim Dan was silenced. No one listened to him or defended him, while the perpetrator alone was given the authority to determine the truth. The witness stayed silent, the institution spoke elsewhere, and Kim Dan was removed from his own story. And that’s how the asymmetry became something he quietly carried as his own burden.
This is why Episode 89 does not feel like escalation—it feels like unsealing.
The return of the perverted hospital director 
(chapter 1) is not a revelation of new information. It is the resurfacing of a figure who once proved that truth alone was insufficient. His reappearance signals that what was buried at the beginning of the story—harassment, witness, cover-up, professional erasure—is no longer content to remain inert. The silence that once protected the hospital director is beginning to fray, unwinding slowly, like a gift ribbon pulled loose thread by thread. What was known but unspeakable is approaching exposure not through confession, but through loss of insulation.
This return is mirrored by another, quieter but equally significant absence: the grandmother.
In Episode 89, she is no longer shown directly. 
(chapter 89) Instead, the narrative offers a bird’s-eye view of the hospice Light of Hope as Joo Jaekyung’s car leaves the parking lot. The implication is unmistakable. Her death is imminent. But just as importantly, she is transitioning from presence to spectral force—no longer intervening, no longer negotiating, but lingering over the narrative as memory and obligation.
This, too, echoes the beginning of Jinx. 
(chapter 1) Readers did not meet the grandmother until Episode 5. 
(chapter 5) Before that, her existence was inferred rather than seen: through debt, through responsibility, through the ruined house Kim Dan inhabited. Absence structured the story before presence ever did. The grandmother was a force long before she was a character.
Now the movement reverses. Presence recedes back into absence. But unlike in the beginning, Kim Dan’s life is no longer centered on her care. That responsibility has been entrusted elsewhere, and her absence no longer governs his choices. In Episode 89, the hospice is no longer framed as a home, but as a stop along the way. 
(chapter 89) When Joo Jaekyung speaks of “the way home,” 
(chapter 89) and Kim Dan repeats the phrase without hesitation, the shift is unmistakable. Home has been reassigned. It is no longer the place where Kim Dan endures obligation or where his grandmother is 
(chapter 56), but the place where he lives in the present: the penthouse. The grandmother’s influence has not vanished; yet it has been reduced to a short visit, while he spends time with his fated partner a long time on the road. Her absence no longer anchors him to a life of quiet survival. He is now enjoying life, hence he is seen smiling and talking informal to the athlete. 
(chapter 89)
This mirroring is not cosmetic. It is structural. The story returns to the conditions of its origin—sexual violence handled institutionally, professional precarity 
(chapter 1), unseen decisions made about Kim Dan without his consent (chapter 1) — but it does so in a transformed landscape. 
(chapter 89) Debts have been paid. Contracts are finite. A witness exists, though he doesn’t believe in the “angel”. 
(chapter 89) Kim Dan is no longer isolated in his knowledge, nor alone in bearing its consequences. Joo Jaekyung detected the presence of a “predator”. 
(chapter 89)
That is why Episode 89 feels like the beginning of the end. Not because everything is resolved, but because the story has reached the point where truth no longer needs to beg for permission to exist. What was once survivable only through silence can now be named, contested, and reclaimed.
By folding the opening of Jinx back into its present, the author signals that the love story between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung is approaching its final test. No longer a story of endurance under constraint, it is becoming a story about emancipation under scrutiny—about what happens when love, guilt, responsibility, and institutional memory are finally forced into the same frame, by those who were once excluded from it.
The Beginning of the End is not an announcement of tragedy. It is the moment when the story turns back on itself and says: now the truth can move.
Seeing Is Not Knowing
Episode 89 does not introduce this logic; it exposes it by repetition. From the very first chapter, Joo Jaekyung’s relationship with his former physical therapist already functioned as a negative prefiguration of Kim Dan’s own trajectory. 
(chapter 1) The readers never saw what caused the unknown therapist’s departure. Instead, the incident is relayed second-hand, through Park Namwook’s narration—an account that reduces the event to temperament, friction, and inevitability. The physical therapist is said to have “rubbed him the wrong way.” An incident occurred and the athlete was exposed as the problem. The job was framed as undesirable. The departure was normalized.
Crucially, Joo Jaekyung accepted this explanation without investigation. He was surprised that the therapist quit 
(chapter 1), but he did not question the narrative offered to him. He never tried to justify his own action either. Park Namwook, as manager, occupied the position of authority: the one who explained, interpreted, and closed the case. He never checked the facts, like for example “rubbing him the wrong way”. He acted as the prosecutor, judge and lawyer at the same time. What happened before remained unseen, and therefore unexamined. The truth did not need to be falsified; it only needed to be summarized.
Crucially, the manager also treated resignation as resolution. Once the physical therapist left, the problem appeared solved. Replacement substituted for accountability, and the consequences of this closure were never considered. The difficulty in filling the position 
(chapter 1), the reluctance of applicants, and the need to recruit Kim Dan through informal channels all suggested that something else had already been circulating: a reputation formed in absence, not through evidence.
Like Kim Dan after him, Joo Jaekyung is first not confronted with accusations 
(chapter 9), explanations, and silence. Only after the “hamster’s arrival”, the athlete is gradually exposed to gossip, badmouthing 
(chapter 47) and exclusion. This reached its peak with the famous slap at the hospital. 
(chapter 52) It shows that like doc Dan, the celebrity bears the effects of a narrative he did not author, one that no longer requires verification and questioning because it has already been administratively settled.
Episode 89 reactivates this same structure—but from another angle.
Heesung believes he knows the truth because he has seen something. 
(chapter 89) He witnessed a kiss between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung, and from that single image, he constructs a complete narrative: a kiss is turned into something raw and sexual. For him, intimacy replaces training, desire replaces discipline, and the explanation Kim Dan gives becomes, in his eyes, a lie. (chapter 89)
Yet this is where the episode quietly undermines Heesung’s certainty. Kim Dan is not just fabricating an alibi. He is not inventing a cover story. They were indeed training. 
(chapter 88) The kiss does not erase what preceded it; it merely interrupts it. Kim Dan’s explanation is therefore neither wholly true nor wholly false. It is a partial truth, shaped by shyness, by a desire to protect, and by shame. Hence he is sweating, when he explains his presence to Potato. (chapter 89) To know the “whole truth” would require access not only to events, but to intentions, emotional thresholds, and timing—access no single witness ever has. Only gods have such power.
And that’s how Choi Heesung views himself. He considers himself as the “perfect lover”, thus his dream has always been to find his soulmate, another “perfect lover”. 
(chapter 33) That’s the reason why he was attracted to Kim Dan in the first place. He is an angel 
(chapter 30), as the latter is quiet, self-effacing. selfless, attentive, humble and absorbs blame instead of projecting it. Kim Dan initially fits the fantasy of the perfect lover — someone who would not disrupt Heesung’s self-image. Hence he doesn’t need to do anything. 
(chapter 31) By siding with doc Dan and acting as the angel’s advocate 
(chapter 89), the comedian can appear as a saint.
But the reality is that the “fox” is overestimating himself. He is just a human like Joo Jaekyung and as such a sinner. The actor’s error is not merely that he lies, but that he lies by omission 
(chapter 89) and generalization. Because he saw one thing, he believes he knows everything. Because he believes he already knows Joo Jaekyung —his temper, his reputation, his past, his belief 
(chapter 32)— he believes that he can judge the celebrity. However, he does not consider that something else might have happened before the moment he witnessed. The kiss becomes totalizing. Training is retroactively erased.
This is precisely the same epistemic shortcut Park Namwook took in Season 1.
In both cases:
- authority or proximity substitutes for inquiry,
- a partial observation becomes a total explanation,
- and investigation is deemed unnecessary because the observer believes he already understands the subject.
- Crucially, judgment in these moments is driven not by facts, but by emotion. Resentment, jealousy, fear, and wounded pride shape perception long before evidence is considered. What presents itself as moral clarity is, in reality, affective certainty.
Yet justice—whether institutional or interpersonal—cannot emerge from emotion. It requires distance. It requires restraint. It requires a form of deliberate indifference: not apathy, but neutrality. The refusal to let feeling stand in for truth. Therefore a judge will always listen both sides (defendant, plaintiff). Neither Park Namwook 
(chapter 52) nor Heesung exercises this control. Both act from positions of perceived authority, and both mistake emotional coherence for factual accuracy. Their confidence does not only arise from what they know, but also from how strongly they feel. The strength of conviction replaces the labor of verification.
This failure becomes especially visible in Heesung’s interpretation of Kim Dan’s departure. 
(chapter 58) He imagines a simple narrative: Kim Dan must have left because of Joo Jaekyung’s temper, his rudeness, his violence, probably due to the “defeat”. A quarrel, therefore, naturally leads to separation. From this assumption follows a paternalistic conclusion: the “hamster” must be hidden from the athlete for his own good. Protection becomes justification; concealment becomes virtue.
Heesung delivers this judgment 
(chapter 89) while smoking—a detail the episode insists on repeating, and one that should not be aestheticized. The cigarette does not merely accompany his words; it alters the air in which they are spoken. 
(chapter 89) Smoke replaces oxygen. What should be a space for clarification becomes a polluted environment where nothing clean can circulate. His speech is not only corrosive; it is toxic, dispersing blame without responsibility and judgment without accountability.
This is not the violence of a raised fist, but of contamination. Heesung does not attack Joo Jaekyung directly; he saturates the space with inevitability. His words do not argue—they suffocate. By framing Jaekyung as fundamentally unlovable (“after everything you’ve done”), he does not describe a reality; he reinscribes a conviction that already haunts the champion: that love is structurally inaccessible to him, that intimacy is something he can only damage, never deserve.
In this sense, Heesung’s intervention is not corrective but punitive. It does not open a future; it seals one. The smoke signals this closure. There is no fresh air, no possibility of reconfiguration—only the quiet assertion that the past defines the present absolutely. And because Heesung speaks from a posture of apparent control, he mistakes pollution for moral clarity. He leaves believing he has spoken the truth, while what he has done is reinforce the most destructive lie Joo Jaekyung already believes about himself.
What Heesung never questions is whether this narrative is complete—or even accurate. He doesn’t know about the incident with the switched spray, about doc Dan’s mental and emotional suffering, he has no idea about doc Dan’s past as well. It was, as if the young man had no past or no trouble before his interaction with the sportsman. He does not ask why Kim Dan stayed as long as he did, why he returned, or how the relationship itself has transformed. He doesn’t look at the physical therapist at all, thus he can see no change. (chapter 89) The possibility that Kim Dan acted with agency, discernment, or desire is excluded in advance. Kim Dan is reduced to a fragile and innocent object of care rather than a subject capable of choice. He doesn’t know what is good for himself. (chapter 89)
What Jinx exposes here is not dishonesty, but epistemic arrogance: the conviction that seeing grants mastery over meaning.
The irony, of course, is that Joo Jaekyung once occupied this very position. (chapter 1) He accepted Park Namwook’s account of the former physical therapist because it aligned with what he believed he knew about himself and others. Now, in Episode 89, he becomes the object of the same logic—reduced, explained, and judged by someone who believes that proximity equals comprehension. This repetition matters.
It shows that truth in Jinx is never neutral. It is filtered through:
- authority (Park Namwook),
- jealousy and wounded pride (Heesung),
- reputation and past violence (Joo Jaekyung),
- and self-effacing silence (Kim Dan).
To know the full truth is impossible—not because the truth is unknowable, but because every character approaches it already shaped by prior experience. What changes in Episode 89 is not the existence of bias, but the story’s willingness to expose it as bias.
Heesung believes he knows the truth because he has seen something. A kiss. A single image, isolated from its sequence, elevated into certainty. From that moment on, everything else becomes irrelevant. And because he saw this before 
(chapter 58), he reinterprets the kiss as “fuck” and not as the expression of love and tenderness. In other words, he is witnessing “true love”, but he rejects it. This exposes that he has no true notion of real love. In his mind, Joo Jaekyung abused his position as “employer”. (chapter 89)
Heesung presents himself as morally superior because he does not resort to physical violence. 
(chapter 89) But this distinction is hollow. Harm does not require raised fists. It can be inflicted through trick, insinuation, through speaking about someone rather than to them, through occupying the role of moral arbiter while denying the other person a voice. (chapter 89) Kim Dan has always disliked this — being spoken for, spoken over, spoken around. Episode 1 and 57 established this clearly. Episode 89 simply mirrors it back.
What makes Heesung especially dangerous is that he uses Kim Dan as a shield. He claims to defend him, but only in his absence. By positioning himself as Kim Dan’s advocate, he grants himself authority while quietly stripping Kim Dan of agency. His concern is not what Kim Dan wants, but what Heesung believes Kim Dan deserves. In doing so, he protects his own wounded pride — the pride of someone who cannot accept that Kim Dan rejected him.
This refusal is key. Heesung cannot bear the idea that Kim Dan would choose Joo Jaekyung, even date him. 
(chapter 89) His comment “You’re not ….” implies the expectation of a confirmation. Both are not dating. What Joo Jaekyung is actually doing exceeds the category Heesung understands. This is not casual dating. It is not secrecy. It is not consumption. It is preparation. Continuity. A future. Symbolically, Joo Jaekyung is already a step beyond “dating”: he is moving toward marriage — toward public, accountable union. He is closer to commitment than the cursed “Romeo”. That’s the reason why the author included such a reference at the store: 
(chapter 89).
And this is where the contrast becomes stark. Heesung, who performs moral responsibility, is not dating Potato openly. He keeps relationships provisional, deniable, suspended in ambiguity. He treats the young fighter more like a puppy or servant than as an equal partner. Joo Jaekyung, who is accused of being reckless and violent, does the opposite. He assumes responsibility. He spends time with doc Dan by teaching him swimming and fighting, he pays debts. He limits contracts. He buys a suit not for himself, but for Kim Dan’s future. He does not erase the past; he integrates it into a shared trajectory.
In this sense, Heesung is not the opposite of institutional power — he is its echo. He speaks confidently, withdraws responsibility, and leaves consequences to others. He does not strike, but he silences. He does not coerce, but he defines reality from a position Kim Dan never consented to.
The tragedy is not that Heesung lies consciously. It is that he is convinced he is telling the truth.
Not Seeing but Knowing
Episode 89 ends not with confrontation, but with a visual verdict. 
(chapter 89)
At one table sits the former hospital director. His presence is quiet, restrained, and deeply uncomfortable. Nothing about him suggests ease. His coat remains on, his tie loosened but not removed — a body prepared to leave rather than settle. He did not come to linger. He did not come to enjoy himself. His posture signals transience, not belonging.
The drink in front of him reinforces this distance. Whisky on the rocks is not a drink of sharing or unfolding; it is a drink of insulation. Cold, undiluted, contained. It is consumed alone, meant to harden rather than open. Even when accompanied, the director remains isolated. The person across from him seems to be talking to him 
(chapter 89), yet the antagonist does not engage him. Conversation fails to circulate. Responsibility, like dialogue, stops at the rim of the glass.
This matters because the director is not merely observing Kim Dan — he is being corrected by him.
For a long time, the director believed he knew how Kim Dan’s story had ended. Fired, blacklisted, erased — a life quietly ruined by institutional power. That belief allowed him to move on without consequence. Silence had done its work. The trick had succeeded.
What sustained this belief was secrecy. Not ignorance, but managed invisibility. Power, in Jinx, does not primarily operate through open coercion, but through control of circulation 
(chapter 48): who is seen, who is spoken about, and who is allowed to speak at all. By removing Kim Dan from institutional spaces and ensuring that the story of his dismissal was settled elsewhere, the director did not merely punish him — he rendered him socially invisible. Thus no one knew about doc Dan, when the athlete looked for him. 
(chapter 56) As long as Kim Dan remained unseen, power could continue to “know” without ever needing to verify.
The episode makes this collapse of power visible through contrast, not moral correction. In the flashbacks, the hospital director appears with controlled dominance 
(chapter 89) rather than exposed guilt. His posture is upright, leaning in. His hand rests on Kim Dan’s shoulder without hesitation—uninvited yet unchallenged. His face shows satisfaction, not doubt. He smiles while Kim Dan sweats and is attempting to stop him. (chapter 1)
This is not the memory of a man who feared consequences. It is the memory of someone operating comfortably inside a system designed to protect him. (chapter 89) His confidence is instrumental, not emotional: the calm of someone who knows where authority lies and how silence will function afterward. The grayscale of the flashback does not condemn him; it preserves his former certainty. In memory, he is still the predator—not because he is crueler there, but because the environment still belongs to him: the hospital.
What has changed in Episode 89 is not his nature, but the terrain. (chapter 89)
In the restaurant, his stare freezes (chapter 1) not because he feels guilt, but because his old script no longer applies. He is no longer positioned above Kim Dan—neither institutionally, socially, nor visually. He cannot initiate contact without exposing himself. He is no longer buffered by uniforms, corridors, professional hierarchies, or closed rooms where truth can be settled elsewhere. The architecture that once enabled him—white coats, administrative silence, procedural opacity—is gone. And he can not confide to his colleague either, hence he keeps starring the main couple. 
(chapter 89)
Predators rely on asymmetry and enclosure. Here, both have dissolved. This is why his reaction is not anger. Anger presumes leverage. What we see instead is hesitation: the moment a predator realizes the habitat that sustained him no longer exists. His disorientation is not ethical; it is strategic. He is recalculating risk. There is no redemption here, no moral awakening. He does not look ashamed. He looks uncertain—stripped of guarantees, not conscience. (chapter 89)
This makes the contrast with Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung even sharper. Their interaction is openly intimate, casual, and socially legible. 
(chapter 89) They do not require shadows, isolation, or ambiguity to touch. Their closeness does not depend on secrecy or hierarchy. Where the director’s former power depended on institutional opacity, hierarchical distance, and Kim Dan’s vulnerability, Joo Jaekyung’s present intimacy depends on none of these. And no one seems to pay attention to the “main couple” at all. 
(chapter 89)
That is the true reversal the episode stages. Power has not disappeared; it has migrated. The table of the hamster and wolf is placed higher than the one where the perverted director is seated. (chapter 89) It no longer operates through enclosure and silence, but through visibility and mutual presence. What once required corridors and closed doors now unfolds in the open air of a shared table. And this, finally, is what the director is forced to see. (chapter 89)
What unsettles the director is not confrontation, but visibility: the realization that secrecy can no longer protect the knowledge he once mistook for truth. His wrongdoing can now get exposed, for doc Dan is now standing close to the “spotlight”. Joo Jaekyung is not just a face, but also a voice. Thus the latter could sue a hospital. 
(chapter 42) This raises the following question: was the wolf suing the hospital where doc Dan got his first “gig”,?
What the nameless director sees now contradicts that certainty. (chapter 89) Kim Dan is not diminished. He is not withdrawn, anxious, or broken. He is smiling. Relaxed. Present. He laughs. He blushes. His body no longer carries the posture of someone living under constant threat. And he is not alone. He is sitting with a famous athlete — not as an accessory or subordinate, but as an equal. But more importantly, he is not pushing away the gentle gesture from the famous MMA fighter, while the “old creep” couldn’t forget doc Dan’s rejection. (chapter 89)
This is the shock. (chapter 89)
The director did not anticipate survival. He did not imagine joy. He certainly did not expect visibility.
Across the restaurant, a different table breathes. (chapter 89)
Kim Dan has removed his jacket. His body is at ease in the space. He is not preparing to leave; he is inhabiting the moment. The drink shared here — red wine — is not incidental. 
(chapter 89) Wine is relational. It opens, breathes, changes with time. It is meant to be shared, discussed, returned to. It presupposes duration. Where whisky seals, wine circulates.
Where the director’s table is suspended in cold certainty, Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung’s table exists in a shared present. Air moves. Attention moves. When Joo Jaekyung looks at Kim Dan, he does not define him or speak for him. He responds to him. Kim Dan is not summarized. He is addressed. And observe that doc Dan is gradually imposing himself as the senior. He is now the athlete’s hyung. (chapter 89)
The contrast is not moralistic. It is structural.
The director represents a mode of power that knows without seeing. He once decided truth behind closed doors, believing outcomes were sufficient proof. Even now, his presence is shaped by that same logic: observe without engaging, remember without reckoning, drink without sharing. The irony is that he is exactly like Heesung. He thinks, what he sees is the truth. He believes to know. Because he is a hidden homosexual, he can only interpret such a gesture as the expression of love, (chapter 89) but also as commitment. In his eyes, they are dating, they are a couple. The irony is that he is only partially correct. They are not an official couple, but they act like one. Moreover, they are working together. So they are more than just a couple. Finally, this happy moment doesn’t indicate what doc Dan went through in the past, the switched spray, the drugged beverage and a huge depression.
Joo Jaekyung represents something else entirely. Not innocence, not purity, but responsibility. He does not deny the past; he incorporates it. He does not insulate himself from consequence; he assumes it. The space he shares with Kim Dan is not free of history, but it is no longer governed by silence. In fact, now their “history” is full of funny stories. 
(chapter 89) But more importantly, he doesn’t hide his affection and attraction to doc Dan, while the other did it behind closed doors. Finally, thanks to doc Dan, Joo Jaekyung is learning to pay attention to his surrounding. That’s how he sensed the gaze from the perverted hospital director. (chapter 89)
This is why Episode 89 feels decisive without resolving anything.
The director’s return does not promise immediate punishment or exposure. It signals displacement. The world he once controlled through erasure no longer centers him. The person he believed he had reduced to nothing is not only alive, but visible — and no longer alone. He is even happy.
Power that relied on not seeing has lost its authority. What replaces it is not revenge, but relation.
And this is what marks The Beginning of the End, the final emancipation of Doc Dan. The latter does not arrive through confrontation or declaration, but through legibility. In the fitting room, the suit is not a costume of aspiration or disguise; it is a confirmation that he can now be seen without being reduced. He looks back, not down. He asks, 
(chapter 89) not as a plea for permission, but as an invitation into a shared future. The pause of the older man watching him echoes a different kind of professionalism: not predatory authority, not performative control, but quiet recognition. Furthermore the doctor’s suit reminded me of the doctor in episode 13, Cheolmin (pattern, colors). 
(chapter 13) The visual resemblance to Cheolmin is not accidental. It aligns Kim Dan’s future not with power that operates through secrecy, but with practice grounded in fun, care and responsibility. Earlier, suits belonged to those who decided outcomes behind closed doors (chapter 89); here, the suit becomes a sign of re-entry without erasure. 
(chapter 89) Bought by Joo Jaekyung but chosen by Kim Dan, it marks the return of agency. What was once a symbol of exclusion now signals continuity. Kim Dan is no longer preparing to survive. He is preparing to live. Hence his birthday is approaching.
Not because justice has been delivered, but because those who once “knew” without seeing are finally forced to see—
and discover that their knowledge and power were never secure, only temporarily protected by illusion.
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(chapter 88), and the final panel hinting at an imminent confrontation with Choi Heesung. 
(chapter 88) Discussions largely revolved around physical proximity, discipline, and anticipation — around bodies in motion and the promise of conflict to come. At first glance, the episode seemed to oscillate between intimacy and tension 
(chapter 88), between preparation 
(chapter 88) and interruption 
(chapter 88).
(chapter 88) are structured around restraint 
(chapter 88), delayed, or redirected. Words are measured, authority is redistributed, and decisions are deferred 
(chapter 88) rather than imposed. What initially appears as physical intensity and narrative suspense begins to reveal a deeper reconfiguration of roles, responsibility, and choice.
(chapter 70)—most likely in November— in late autumn. 
(chapter 88) This temporal setting is visually reinforced by the environment itself: in the opening sequence marked “a few weeks later,” the tree is already bare, its leaves gone. Nature offers no spontaneous image of growth or renewal. If a flower were to appear in this chapter, it couldn’t belong to the season. It must be cultivated, protected, and sustained in a green house—something that emerges not from natural abundance, but from deliberate care. So where does this idea of a flower come from?
: a closed circuit which we could witness once again in the training room: 
(chapter 88) There are once again sparks between them. The number 8 is not just related to doc Dan [for more read 
(chapter 58) Two trajectories —long separated, repeatedly missing one another—intersect at last. When two eights overlap, they form neither a loop nor a knot, but a new shape: a flower-like figure, suggestive of opening rather than closure. This crossing does not resolve everything; instead, it creates the conditions for growth for all the characters. 
(chapter 88), white 
(chapter 88) purple 
(chapter 88), blue, gray, 
, (chapter 88) red 
(chapter 88) Pink frames tenderness and mutual awkwardness; purple marks embarrassment and heightened awareness; red signals suppressed anger and looming confrontation; black absorbs fear, silence, and unresolved tension.
(chapter 88) are dressed in green 
(chapter 19), where green and floral elements once functioned as a silent language of care and containment. The repetition is not accidental. By wearing a similar tone in the present, Kim Dan does not merely revisit the past; he carries it forward. 
(chapter 35), which tend to assert a singular message (love, passion, beauty), hydrangeas communicate multiplicity and emotional ambivalence; they speak in clusters rather than declarations. This visual language mirrors Kim Dan’s inner world at the time 
(chapter 31). Here, the symbolism shifts. Pink roses convey affection and admiration, while baby’s breath suggests innocence and fragility. Yet the arrangement is excessive, overwhelming, and mismatched to its recipient. The bouquet does not listen; it speaks at Kim Dan rather than with him. Significantly, Heesung comes to associate Kim Dan himself with the flower—something delicate, beautiful, and deserving of protection, but also something to be handled, displayed, and possessed. 
(chapter 88) Kim Dan’s green training clothes—visually echoing the green shirt he wore in the photograph with his grandmother—signal continuity rather than regression. This is not a retreat into childhood dependency, but the reappearance of an inner child now disentangled from obligation and fear. The flower that reemerges here is not gifted, not arranged, not imposed—it grows. In this sense, episode 88 introduces a missing element in the dynamic between the two protagonists: not desire, not care, but communication. And it is here that Choi Heesung becomes central—not as a rival or antagonist, but as a structural bridge, as in reality he represents the rose, “La vie en rose” 
. He embodies speech, playfulness, and visibility, yet also reveals their limits when they are severed from responsibility and respect. I will elaborate about this more below.
(chapter 88), but the moment in which the conditions for happiness are finally put into place. And now let me ask you this. What is the symbol of happiness? Smiles and laughs. During the training session, Kim Dan smiles. These moments are brief 
(chapter 88) and goes unnoticed by him 
(chapter 83) What is striking is that neither of them recognizes this fulfillment. 
(chapter 31)
(chapter 88) What appears at first glance as coercion 
(chapter 88) or discipline is in fact a negotiation shaped by habit, fear of burdening the other, and an inability—on both sides—to articulate desire outside professional roles.
(chapter 88), a space that is never neutral in Jinx. A car has one driver, one direction, one authority. By placing the conversation there, Mingwa signals that the relationship is still structurally asymmetrical at this point: Joo Jaekyung leads, Kim Dan follows.
(chapter 88) Secondly, such a training suggests that the athlete is gradually remembering this scene of the almost-rape. 
(chapter 17) Therefore it is not surprising that instead of asking permission or explaining concern, he imposes the idea—because that is how he has learned to act as a captain, a fighter, and later a manager. Authority precedes dialogue. 
(chapter 88) In other words, the request from Joo Jaekyung appears as a memory from the physical therapist. Why? 
(chapter 88) Because Mingwa refuses the “clean” sequence in which an order is issued and immediately executed. The narration inserts a gap—an interval of off-panel time that we are forced to reconstruct from Kim Dan’s recall. 
(chapter 88) Instead Kim Dan no longer insists on his own sufficiency. He no longer says “I can manage., but doc Dan admits not only his own lacking. 
(chapter 88), but also his own desire. He finally expresses his desire to improve, to learn more. 
(chapter 88) creates a temporal bridge that enables this recognition. Only once change is named from the outside can Kim Dan cautiously acknowledge it from within.
(chapter 88) The problem is that his form of care was influenced by his own mindset and emotions: his physical limitations.
(chapter 88)
(chapter 88). He teases. 
(chapter 88)
(chapter 88), not rest. Thus the doctor mistakes the embrace for a technique and not the expression of love. 
(chapter 88) And observe that the athlete still refuses to express the true meaning of his hug. His explanation still remains technical, defensive, and strategically framed:
(chapter 88) This sentence is crucial. It reduces contact to function. The closeness of bodies, the pressure of weight, the proximity of breath are translated into instruction. What could be acknowledged as reassurance or care is instead displaced into pedagogy. Joo Jaekyung does not deny intimacy; he relabels it. 
(chapter 88) of breath held too long, of proximity charged with something unnamed. The technical explanation arrives after that awareness, not before it. This confirms that the instructional language functions as a shield — not against intimacy itself, but against having to speak it.
(chapter 88) Directly after warning against lowering one’s guard, Joo Jaekyung kisses him.
(chapter 26) Back then, Doc Dan had accepted the challenge due to Potato, though deep down he desired to have the champion as his teacher. 
(chapter 25) That’s how it dawned on me that doc Dan has gradually taken over Yoon-Gu’s previous place at the gym. He is an “unofficial member” of Team Black. Thus he mops the floor and Yoon-Gu is not there to stop him or reclaim this position. 
(chapter 88) Yoon-Gu’s position within the gym has improved. He is now considered as a real fighter. 
(chapter 88) 
(chapter 87) For him, this trip was related to work, while in reality it was a date in disguise. 
(Chapter 88) The answer restores hierarchy without acknowledging the transformation that has already occurred. Secondly, the answer closes the future by appealing to a supposedly objective limit. Yoon-Gu can never be his sparring partner. The best he can do is hold the mitts and nothing more. The fox is using his seniority and body to have the final say. 
(chapter 88) Under that framework, Yoon-Gu is not disqualified; he is qualified. He has trained. He belongs. So technically, Yoon-Gu could indeed beat the actor, as the “puppy” has trained for a long time at Team Black. 
(special episode 1) He knows people’s patterns. 
(special episode 1) He knows how relationships fail. 
(chapter 33) He knows what he does not want. His language is saturated with judgment shaped by past experiences: lovers who become “too clingy,” attachments that turn inconvenient, people who should remain “better off” elsewhere 
(chapter 33) Heesung’s orientation is never toward what is unfolding, but toward what might be better elsewhere—another partner, another configuration, another future. His repeated invocation of a “soulmate” is revealing: it displaces intimacy into a hypothetical horizon. By looking at the grass, he is overlooking the flower. Love, for him, is something to be found later, once the conditions are ideal. What exists now is always provisional, always lacking, always subject to replacement. He needs the “perfect” lover, and in his eyes, Potato doesn’t meet his conditions: too innocent and too young. 
(special episode 1) This explicates why the young fighter is only considered as “fuck buddy”. 
(special episode 1) 
(special episode 1), he is present, available, even emotionally invested—but he is never treated as sufficient. He is smaller 
(chapter 58) Heesung’s use of the pronoun “we” is, on the surface, inclusive. Linguistically, it frames his relationship with Potato as mutual, shared, and consensual. But pragmatically, it does the opposite. The “we” is spoken over Potato’s head, not with him. Thus Potato is physically present but discursively absent. He does not confirm, nuance, or reciprocate the statement verbally. The pronoun thus becomes a rhetorical appropriation rather than a sign of partnership. 
(chapter 31) He denies the existence of feelings and attachment. 
(special episode 1) or humiliate the other. 
(chapter 34) Heesung, by contrast, is fluent. He can name, joke, insinuate. What he lacks is restraint and responsibility. His ease with words does not signal emotional intelligence; it signals control.
(special episode 2), corrected. 
(chapter 34) Heesung enters fully aware of what he is likely to witness. He is not naïve, nor totally surprised. Hence he doesn’t flee right away. Yet instead of acknowledging the reality before him, Doc Dan is not someone the fighter fucks, until he passes out, 
(chapter 34) Joo Jaekyung becomes the problem, the one who “deserves to suffer.” 
(chapter 25), accepts deferral. Later, he is displaced entirely. Unlike Kim Dan, who gradually moves from imposed participation to earned agency, Potato is never given a space where effort leads to recognition. 
(chapter 85) However, this panel implies that the young man has already been able to enter competition. Striking is that his promise at the seaside sounds like commitment 
(chapter 59), but the reality diverges. It only binds doc Dan. If the latter returns to Seoul, he has to promise to train with Potato. The reason is simple. He is already committed to the actor, he is already at his beck and call. Potato’s promise echoes the earlier promise forced upon Kim Dan by his grandmother: a future-oriented vow that justifies present sacrifice while guaranteeing nothing in return. 
(chapter 11)
(chapter 78), he didn’t remind doc Dan of his promise. At the same time, observe that none of the fighters apologized or promised something. When they hugged the doctor, they didn’t pay attention to the physical therapist’s reaction: his passivity and silence. The “laugh” lacked genuineness and felt wrong at the time. 
(chapter 78) 
(Chapter 88) This is how it dawned on me why Mingwa recreated such a situation for Heesung. Observe his reaction, when he opened the door. He never answered the question to Potato. In fact, he slammed the door and kept his thoughts to himself. 
(chapter 32), Yoon-Gu now provides unpaid labor and institutional access under the guise of familiarity and generosity 
(chapter 35). In both cases, Heesung benefits from proximity without assuming responsibility for the other person’s risk. Silence, here, is not neutral—it is the mechanism by which that asymmetry is maintained.
(chapter 88) Forgiveness, responsibility, and mutual recognition—central to the arc unfolding elsewhere—are entirely absent from his conduct. Where Joo Jaekyung begins to redistribute choice and accountability, Heesung consolidates control by refusing to speak.
(chapter 52) about the switched spray, but he only reported one thing: Kim Dan is innocent. So while insight is present, responsibility is systematically deferred. Without responsibility, respect cannot follow. And without respect, what appears as connection is merely use, quietly sustained by silence.
(chapter 88) The irony is that the actor didn’t realize this. He had the impression to be exposed to a similar scene than in the penthouse. 
(chapter 35) And now, pay attention to the logo on the doctor’s t- shirt. 
(chapter 88) First, it appears on the left side, positioned close to the hamster’s heart. Moreover, it looks like an orange eye. Orange is not only the color of Heesung the fox 
(chapter 34), but also of friendship and social communication and interaction. 
(chapter 79) Besides, it is the same logo than when Yoon-Gu was spying behind the closed door.
(chapter 23) That’s the moment Potato realized the truth about the couple: they were intimate. That’s the reason why I am convinced that Heesung will play the role of the messenger and mediator between the wolf and the hamster.
(chapter 85) represents the positive reflection of this night 
(chapter 58) 
(chapter 58), when the physical therapist chose to give up on the athlete and stop listening to his heart. Here, I am not only referring to the numerical symmetry but also to the doctor’s shifting vision of Joo Jaekyung.
(chapter 85), Jaekyung appears with a towel around his neck. This simple object evokes water and sweat, but in Jinx, these elements are never neutral. They are tied to one of the champion’s earliest traumas: the humiliation of being called “dirty” 
(chapter 75) and “smelly” as a child. This is why Jaekyung learned to perfuse his body with cologne after every shower 
(chapter 75) and why physical proximity has always carried the risk of shame. Hence he kept people at arms length. In chapter 40, when he rescued Kim Dan from the security guards, he kept his distance 
(chapter 40) — he had not yet showered, for the towel on his shoulders was stained with blood. Mingwa was indirectly referring to the champion’s psychological wounds. 
(chapter 40) It was, as if the fear of smelling “wrong,” of being perceived as contaminated, was still dictating his movements. Hence he could only claim doc Dan as one of his own, but not as his “physical therapist” or even “family”. And interesting is that doc Dan copied his attitude. In the hallway, he maintained a certain distance from the athlete. 
(chapter 40)
(chapter 40) the moment he dried off 
(chapter 85) His hair is unstyled, his scent unmasked — and yet he approaches Dan without hesitation. He even kisses him. The item that once symbolized rejection now signifies trust: without fragrance, he is certain that doc Dan will not call him “dirty,” will not recoil, will not shame him. What once provoked distance becomes an unexpected bridge, revealing that Jaekyung is finally letting someone remain close, when he feels most vulnerable. The night in Paris does not simply suggest a return of desire; it announces the return of hope 
(chapter 85) and trust — and perhaps even the moment when Dan chooses, for the first time, to be honest with his own body and heart. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 85) — fulfilling, without knowing it, a secret wish the physical therapist has harbored since childhood 
(chapter 61) [I will elaborate it further later]. And perhaps this is why the moment feels so disarming: because the downfall is not tragic but tender, not humiliating but intimate. Sweet, even.
(chapter 85), when a single careless comment shattered the champion’s composure and revealed just how fragile his newfound hope really was.
(chapter 85) In contrast, both Park Namwook and coach Jeong Yosep wear generic MFC T-shirts. 
(chapter 85) Dan is lost in his thoughts — anticipating the night ahead with the champion — and has barely touched his food. Park Namwook notices this. One might think, such a remark displays the manager’s concern for the main lead’s well-being. However, the manager adds that the other members of the team are all almost finished. With such a remark, it becomes clear that the manager is urging the protagonist to finish his plate. Although Park Namwook addresses Dan as if showing concern, the content of his remark betrays his true priority: not Dan’s well-being, but the team’s schedule. By pointing out that ‘the rest of us are almost finished,’ he urges Dan to keep pace, treating him as staff who had to follow the group rather than someone with personal needs. As you can sense, schedule is essential for the manager. However, because doc Dan couldn’t reveal the true reason behind his behavior, he gives an excuse for his lack of appetite. 
(chapter 53) The manager’s words bring Joo Jaekyung back to reality and its uncomfortable truth that Dan’s presence now is still bound to a contract — temporary, contingent, never fully his. In other words, with his remarks, Park Namwook is reopening old wounds which shows his total blindness and lack of finesse and of empathy. He treats the last match, as if nothing bad had happened. The incident with the switched spray is simply erased.
(chapter 53) leaving without thinking; now, after Dan vanished from his life entirely, that earlier departure feels like a sign he failed to read. Park’s question brushes against this bruise, and Jaekyung’s lips reflect the discomfort.
(chapter 85) The younger fighter suddenly bursts into panic, declaring how nervous he would be in Jaekyung’s place, how his heart would be pounding out of his chest. His outburst is sincere, naïve, and completely focused on the champion — he never once considers Dan’s feelings. Yet these words strike deeper than he intends. At the mention of a pounding heart, Jaekyung’s eyes lift upward in a brief, involuntary movement. It is the smallest gesture, but it exposes everything he wishes to hide. Because his heart is pounding — but not for the match. It is because of doc Dan! 
(chapter 85) the need for reassurance, the wish to rewrite the pattern of the past, the quiet hope that Dan will not leave him again — not tonight and not afterwards.
(chapter 85) Schedules are his armor, punctuality his hiding place. Whenever something threatens to slip beyond control, he retreats behind procedure. 
(chapter 85), as soon as the athlete stands up right after his recommendation and announces he is now returning to his room. 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 85) In theory, this is the perfect window to do what he used to do in the States 
(chapter 38) and Korea 
(chapter 48) before a big fight: watch his opponent’s videos, study their habits, rehearse counters. If we only looked at the clock, we might assume he spent the evening thinking about Arnaud Gabriel.
(chapter 85) From 7:02 onward, the question is no longer “How do I beat Gabriel?” but “How do I win doc Dan’s heart?” The clock from 7:02 to 11:00 p.m. stops being a “training window” and becomes an emotional countdown. He is no longer the champion preparing for an opponent—he is the man hoping not to be abandoned again. This is why the later scene at the door feels so contradictory: when Dan finally arrives, Jaekyung behaves like someone who couldn’t wait. 
(chapter 85) He opens the door and immediately grabs him inside 
(chapter 85), cutting off any possibility of hesitation. The way he drags him over the threshold, presses him against the wall 
(chapter 85) This is not the controlled, casual emperor of old; it is someone who has been holding back for hours and refuses to risk even a second in which Dan might change his mind. 
(chapter 65) and the comment of the champion in front of this movie: 
(chapter 29) Moreover, I consider this scene 
(chapter 85) as a new version of Choi Heesung’s advice: Doc Dan just needs to sit back and enjoy!! 
(chapter 31) Joo Jaekyung is now doing everything, as deep down he wants to become the perfect lover! And how had I described the night in the States? 
Back then, the hamster Dan had become the champion’s perfect lover, especially because he had kissed his face, hugged him and confessed to him. 
(chapter 39) But if his fear to lose doc Dan was so huge, why did he ask him to come so late then? 
(chapter 38) One might reply that the athlete desired to maintain appearances and as such to hide his suffering and anxiety. In other words, he was hiding his emotions behind routine, Jinx-sex would always start at 11 pm. However, this idea is not entirely satisfying because once doc Dan was in his room, the fighter was no longer hiding his emotions and desires. 
(chapter 72), when the latter would return late from his “work” and the death of his father 
(chapter 73). 
(chapter 85) Because doc Dan could have refused. He could have used his queasiness as an excuse, could have stayed in his room, could have claimed exhaustion. Instead, he obeyed the request — a request sent by someone who had hurt him deeply in the past. Doc Dan’s arrival is proof that he is not rejecting him. Proof that the night is real. Proof that the attempt to do better might actually matter. At the same time, doc Dan couldn’t miss the true meaning behind this text sent in front of others: the athlete’s anxiety and suffering. 
(chapter 85) This explains why his worried gaze followed his fated partner. 
(chapter 85) In other words, the text had a different meaning. It was not an order, but rather a wish…and it had nothing to do with his match against Arnaud Gabriel. During that night, Joo Jaekyung is not seeing a surrogate fighter in front of him or a sex toy, but his real partner, his future boyfriend. This means, this night stands in opposition to the one in the penthouse: 
(chapter 85) This is why he touches Dan’s face instead of flipping him over.
(chapter 85) — something he has never done before. This does not come from instinct. It comes from intention. It comes from effort. It comes from learning. He is indeed showering doc Dan with love and tenderness, therefore it is not surprising that the “hamster” is moved sensually and emotionally. Exactly like during the Summer Night’s Dream, he is reaching nirvana, hence Jinx-philes are constantly seeing stars,. 
(chapter 85) 
(chapter 85) — or the emotional slip that comes with resurfacing feelings: the therapist losing distance, falling back into intimacy. All of these readings sound plausible at first glance. 
(chapter 85) Styled up, hardened with gel 
(chapter 30) , perfectly arranged — it is the crown of the Emperor, the symbol of his control, his discipline, and the myth that MFC sells:
(chapter 82) When the hair stands, the image stands.
(chapter 85) — but not the way adults or professionals usually do. 
(chapter 71) So doc Dan could recognize the little boy in the athlete, the more he sees the protagonist with his hair down. Furthermore, I noticed that contrary to season 1, Doc Dan has now more memories of the “wolf” facing him. 
(chapter 85) In the past, he would more look at him from behind: 
(chapter 35) 
(chapter 35) Seeing his face reflects not only the increasing care for each other, but also the improving communication between them. 
(chapter 85) more mature, more “masculine” in the traditional sense. This explicates why the stylists had to dress him up. 
(chapter 82) Yet such an intervention did more than prepare him for the cameras — it tightened the restrictions around his own image, reducing the fighter’s rights over how he appears to the world. With the suit, he appeared older and more powerful. The French fighter leans into age, while the Korean champion leans into youth — a symbolic inversion that reinforces the central tension in the Paris arc: Gabriel performs adulthood; Jaekyung rediscovers the adolescence he never lived. 
(chapter 85) But just as Jaekyung begins to slip into these youthful, softer identities, MFC reasserts control.
(chapter 85) hair up, face polished, a look engineered for posters and rankings. He becomes once again the Emperor — the man who must appear older, sharper, more intimidating, more manufactured.
(chapter 79) This is the boy from the childhood photograph.
In the rain, with his hair heavy and unstyled, his gaze dark and sensual, Jaekyung appears nothing like the commanding emperor. He looks free — freed by weather, freed by desire, freed from roles. It was foreshadowing, not just fanservice. It announces the end of the « jinx » in reality. 
(chapter 85) He is describing himself. His sweetness is the taste of freedom — freedom from performance, freedom from control, freedom from MFC, freedom from fear. He is enjoying this moment. Dan tastes sweet because Jaekyung is finally tasting the life he never allowed himself to want.
(chapter 21) The image of winged rescue and divine protection hangs over the very piece of furniture that, throughout the series, has functioned as Dan’s private sanctuary. This is not incidental. In Jinx, the couch is tied to his deepest memories of care and abandonment, and Mingwa activates this symbolism each time Dan gravitates to it.
(chapter 21) Why does he consistently feel safer on the couch than in a bed? 
(chapter 29) Why, after the second swimming lesson, did he refuse to return to the bed 
(chapter 81), even though he was exhausted? Why does he place the teddy bear 
(chapter 84) —his last substitute for lost parental affection—on the couch and not on the bed? And finally, why has he always harbored the secret wish to be carried to bed, as confessed through his memory in chapter 61? 
(chapter 10) Secondly, at no moment, we ever witness the grandmother carrying the little boy to bed. Either she is rocking him to sleep outside the house 
(chapter 47) or he is already in the bed. We never see her bringing him to bed. 
(chapter 44), 
(chapter 44) traces from parents. And now, you comprehend why the hamster could never truly rest in the bed. The couch is therefore not an adult preference; it is a trauma imprint. Resting there feels safe because beds—large, empty, abandoned spaces—became reminders of whoever no longer carried him. Hence it is no longer surprising that he woke up, when he sensed the vanishing of warmth. 
(chapter 84): the bear stands in for a lost comforting presence. It also represents the main lead, Joo Jaekyung. The latter is gradually reentering in the physical therapist’s heart and life. Therefore it is not surprising that there, he squeezes the hand of the toy. It is also why Doc Dan curls around it like a child who deep down hopes to be chosen, lifted, and held. And it is why, even as an adult, his body still whispers the same yearning: someone, please carry me to bed again.
chapter 40, chapter 65, chapter 68, chapter 79)
(chapter 85) and he was still able to arrive on time in the arena. 
(chapter 40) For me, it is a clue that the manager would always request to meet around 7.00 am, when the match was at noon. But what should do the athlete do during all this time? He can only get nervous and feel pressured. 
(chapter 81) I noticed that in different scenes from season 2, the athlete started waking up later and even after doc Dan. 
(chapter 66) But the manager’s rigid schedule threatens even that. An early morning summons drains the fighter’s cortisol reserves before the match has even begun, creating a long, empty corridor of waiting — a period where tension, anxiety, fatigue, and irritation ferment in the body. Instead of resting, centering, and preparing, the champion would spend hours fighting against the clock imposed on him.
(chapter 54) , he might even jump to the wrong conclusion: that Jaekyung drank again — this time behind his back. 
(chapter 82) The irony is striking. Two days before the match, it was Park Namwook who overindulged with the others, yet he may now project that same carelessness onto the athlete. In his mind, the DND sign does not simply mean “rest”; it becomes a warning signal, a possible confirmation of the irresponsibility he fears but has never actually witnessed. Thus I can already imagine him panicking.
(chapter 82), his look 
(chapter 82), his free time and took care of the champion’s emotional needs. In Paris, the « hamster » became the champion’s manager de facto, the unofficial right-hand. That’s why if they are late and they need a scapegoat, the manager can blame the physical therapist for the « delay », he would always come late to appointments (chapter 17: meeting the doctor) and to the fights (Busan, in the States).
(chapter 83) mirroring the contrast of their clothes and their personalities — and the champion even leans in to lick a smear of ice cream from the therapist’s finger, an image so intimate that any passerby would mistake them for lovers. And yet, not quite. The physical therapist approaches the outing as part of his job, a therapeutic break meant to soothe his patient’s nerves 
(chapter 83), while the athlete approaches the day with a far more personal hope. He stages the rides strategically, intending to appear strong and reliable so that his companion might grow frightened and instinctively reach for him 
(chapter 83) — just as he once did in the swimming pool. 
(chapter 80) Beneath the surface, what looks like a date is a carefully orchestrated attempt to recreate closeness without naming it. To conclude, whereas the episode flirts with the aesthetics of a date, the intentions behind it remain mismatched, unspoken, and unresolved. It is not an official date, yet it does not behave like a simple work-related excursion either, and we as readers are left suspended in that tantalizing in-between space — as if the very moment were hanging weightless above the ground, waiting for someone to name what it truly is.
(chapter 83), charged with a warmth that seasoned Jinxphiles will recognize immediately: a tension between joy and tension, duty and desire, wind and water. And then we see him — the usually anxious physical therapist — smiling with his eyes closed, arms raised, as if offering himself to the sky and joining his “companions”, the clouds. In this panel, his hands — so often clenched, overworked, or trembling from exhaustion, fear or anger — are finally resting, suspended in a gesture of pure lightness and ease.
wheel: a circular motion that builds toward a quiet crescendo. And what might strike you — almost instinctively — is how naturally the lyrics seem to align with the chapter’s emotional beats, as if each verse echoed a panel. 
(chapter 44) and 45, where desire blurred into illusion and 
(chapter 45) reality collided with unspoken longing. The tension between dream 
(chapter 83) and waking life, quietly present in the lyrics themselves, resurfaces at the park amusement as well — though its meaning will become clearer as we look deeper. In season 1, the boundaries between the celebrity fighter and his therapist were blurred in ways neither of them understood: professional on the surface, intimate in practice, yet undefined in essence. Physical closeness existed, but emotional clarity did not. Now, in the bright openness of this amusement-park afternoon and evening, we are invited to look again. What exactly is their relationship here? A supervised rest day? A moment of companionship? The first fragile step toward something tenderer that neither man is ready to articulate?
(chapter 83) or a family laughing together 
(chapter 83), something in him shifts so quietly that one might miss it at first glance: he smiles. 
(chapter 83) Not out of politeness, not to reassure someone else, not through exhaustion or habit. He smiles because he witnesses joy — and for once, it does not make him feel smaller. It does not activate the reflexes of deprivation or fear that shaped his life from childhood to early adulthood. On the other hand, the smile he gives in that moment is not radiant, not wide, not unguarded. It is a grin, a restrained upward curve that reveals both warmth and hesitation. His joy is present — unmistakably so — but it is still contained, as if his body has not yet learned how to express happiness without caution. This small, hesitant grin shows us a man who is beginning to open, yet still holds himself back, afraid of wanting too much.
(chapter 1) reminded him of responsibility , every sight 
(chapter 83), his gaze is finally unshackled. He looks outward and takes in the warmth of strangers’ affection without translating it into loss or longing. 
(chapter 83), though an accident could actually occur there. This contrasts so much to his thoughts in episode 1. 
(chapter 1) The amusement park becomes a place in which love exists openly, visibly, harmlessly. The lyrics capture this awakening beautifully: “And I don’t know if I’m being foolish… but it’s something that I must believe in.” 
(chapter 83) — the man who seems invincible and superior in every domain — has never been to an amusement park, a spark ignites inside him. 
(chapter 83) His heart, which moments earlier beat quietly in observation, begins to race with excitement. For the first time, he is equal to the athlete. At the same time, for the first time, he is the one with experience or power. 😲 How so? For the first time, age becomes real 
(chapter 83): the physical therapist is twenty-nine, the athlete twenty-six.
(chapter 83) He suddenly steps into a role he has never been allowed to inhabit before: that of the knowledgeable one, the guide, the hyung. 
(chapter 78) Dan’s lifetime of passivity did not come from lack of intelligence or lack of will; it came from conditioning. He was raised by a guardian who loved him, yes, but who also unintentionally infantilized him. He was not allowed to question her words and decisions. His grandmother, who was not just older but twice his senior in authority, experience, and certainty, occupied every position of knowledge in his life. She decided what was dangerous, what was sensible, what was allowed, and what was forbidden. Her worldview dominated so completely that Dan’s own judgment never had room to form. His grandmother’s authority was absolute — not malicious, but unquestioned — and Dan learned very early that his role in the household was not to decide but to obey.
(chapter 7) As if a twenty-nine-year-old man — a working professional — were incapable of making a responsible financial decision. Dan’s “Of course not!” is instinctive, defensive, almost childlike, exposing the emotional hierarchy between them. In her eyes, he is not an adult with agency, but a boy who must be corrected, cautioned, overridden.
(chapter 65) However, observe that here, she feigns ignorance, she doesn’t know the origins of this metamorphosis. On the other hand, it is clear that she is well aware of the cause. He worked to support them both. He paid the hospital bills. He negotiated the debts. He shouldered the responsibility of survival.
(chapter 17) Legally, financially, the burden is his. But emotionally, symbolically, he was never allowed to own that responsibility; it was neither recognized nor validated. Instead, his grandmother continued to treat him as a child incapable of navigating the world on his own — even though he was the one saving them both.
(chapter 77) and asking for his opinion
(chapter 83), Joo Jaekyung is liberating his fated partner. 
(chapter 83) The toy from his childhood had vanished, probably thrown away because it had lost its role and doc Dan had no longer the time to play. At the same time, we should question ourselves who had offered it to doc Dan. 
(chapter 83) He accepts the fighter’s generosity without guilt 
(chapter 83), yet offers his own in return — buying the drinks, fetching the ice cream, participating in the flow of giving rather than shrinking from it. 
(chapter 83) No one questions cost; no one frames affection as financial burden. This reciprocity is gentle, natural, unspoken. It stands in stark contrast to Heesung 
(chapter 32), who immediately reduced generosity to calculation. He implied that doc Dan couldn’t afford it. His smile was a lure; his kindness, a transaction. 
(chapter 83) Someone who can choose.
(chapter 83) That’s the reason why Mingwa placed a boy with his father between the couple in this image. At the same time, she also insinuated that Joo Jaekyung was acting not only as a father, but also as a “boy”. That’s why love is in the air… they come to accept their true self. The two protagonists are both adults and kids!
(chapter 83), and respected enough to lead. And in that rare space, something long dormant begins to bloom, the return of the little boy’s innocence and smile! 
(chapter 83) The second half of the verse — “in the thunder of the sea” — finds its embodiment not in waves or ocean spray, but in a wooden flying boat swinging high above an amusement park. 
(chapter 83) It is here, of all places, that the façade of the undefeated champion bends, flickers, and reveals the frightened boy hiding beneath the man. 
(chapter 83)
(chapter 83), although the knowledge is borrowed, second-hand, quoted from “the guys at the gym.” He buys cute headbands 
(chapter 83), selects a giant teddy bear as a prize. He tries to perform adulthood, to appear experienced, reliable, worldly — the one who leads. That’s why his reaction after the ride on the boat resembles a lot to the father: scared of rides 
(chapter 83) Because the truth is that Jaekyung, too, is both an adult and a child. Thus the author used many “chibi” in this chapter: 
(chapter 83) He is the warrior who never loses, but also the boy who becomes jealous of a rollercoaster because it made Dan smile. 
(chapter 83) When he sees Dan laughing with the wind in his hair, he is first moved. 
(chapter 83) For the first time, he truly notices the doctor’s joy and happiness. However, later his thoughts tighten into a childish pout: 
(chapter 72)— even those that fall short of a diagnosable concussion — accumulate inside the inner ear like invisible fractures. The system responsible for balance, spatial orientation, and visual stabilization becomes worn, over-calibrated to impact but under-prepared for fluctuation. A man can be conditioned to withstand punches that would floor an ordinary person, yet still falter when the world tilts beneath him.
(chapter 72) The body he trained into steel was built upon a nervous system shaped by violence. Let’s not forget that before his father died, the latter hit his head with a bottle once again. 
(chapter 73) Finally, he started fighting at such a young age, 
(chapter 72), actually boxing at such a young age is limited to non-contact activities like footwork drills, shadowboxing, jump rope, basic strength & coordination, bag work with very light gloves. So there is no sparring, no head contact. 
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 83), thus they try other rides. It is important, because it implies that Joo Jaekyung is gradually leaving the water! This explicates why later something extraordinary happens. 
(chapter 83),when Joo Jaekyung is stripped of his armor. The amusement park returns him to something raw, trembling, unfinished. But instead of shame, there is warmth. Instead of anger, there is gratitude. 
(chapter 83) Instead of retreat, there is reaching — a quiet but unmistakable reaching toward the man beside him. The problem is that he is still too scared to voice his thoughts in front of the physical therapist. 
, (chapter 29) a swarm of predators waiting for him to slow down. His career was an ocean of teeth and waves — constant motion, constant danger. Thus I detected a progression. In episode 69, he jumped onto the boat 
(chapter 69), then at the amusement park, the boat was in the air 
(chapter 83), he rises into air — the first air he has breathed without fear.
(chapter 44) followed by a false dawn. Chapter 44 unfolds in artificial night — neon 
(chapter 44) and night lamp 
(chapter 44) someone who is not present, rather drunk. But getting to know someone means communication. It is precisely the illusion captured in the song’s confession: I don’t know if I’m just dreaming… I don’t know if I see it true… And he wasn’t seeing it true; he was dreaming alone. 
(chapter 45) Morning light becomes a scalpel. There is no magic left, no gentleness, no room for misunderstanding. Jaekyung’s bluntness 
(chapter 45) annihilates the illusion Dan had constructed the night before. This is not heartbreak; it is disenchantment, the almost physical pain of realizing a moment meant nothing to the other person involved. Chapter 44 was the dream, and Chapter 45 was its punishment. Together they show a relationship out of sync, two people whose desires never touch at the same time. One wishes for home and attention, while the other has no idea that he is loved. So far, he has never heard this: “I love you”. One tries to reach out emotionally, while the other remains absent. However, when they are both lucid, none of them are totally honest, as they are self confused. Thus they are in two different worlds.
(chapter 83) This scene confirmed my previous interpretation about the symbolism of the blue/golden hour. 
(chapter 83)
(chapter 45) Neither can pretend not to feel. Neither can avoid the other’s gaze. They must see each other as they are, in that moment. And miraculously, neither flinches. There is no denial, no deflection, no cruelty. Only two men who finally dare to look. Whereas Chapter 44 let them hide behind darkness and drunkenness, and Chapter 45 forced them into cold exposure, Chapter 83 holds them in a gentle, suspended in-between: the space where dream and reality finally meet.
(chapter 84) and holding the bear’s hand. 
(chapter 84) The bear contains the view, the sunset, the air, the honesty — everything that neither of them can run away from now.
(chapter 84) Instead, what rises between them is something quieter and far more intimate: penance. The fighter does not confess love; he confesses his faults. He does not offer desire; he offers regret. In Jinx, this is the deeper beginning of love, because an apology centers the other person’s pain rather than one’s own feelings. Then Jaekyung admits he was wrong, he gives Dan something far more valuable than a confession — he gives recognition. The hamster has rights, he can express his thoughts and feelings. 
(chapter 84) 
(chapter 84), but wise enough to regret immediately. 
(chapter 84) He is also wise enough to care deeply and repair instead of demand. Thus his apology feels so genuine. 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 46) 
(chapter 46) The champion also played “dumb”. Thus the pillow got punched later. 
(chapter 82) Jinx-Lovers consider it as their first real date, a long-awaited moment of levity after so much pain. But perhaps we should pause and ask: why this place? 
(chapter 82) scattered on the table, one displays the Eiffel Tower — the obvious choice, symbol of mastery and control. Built for the Exposition Universelle of 1889, it was meant to celebrate France’s industrial power and the centenary of the Revolution — proof that bourgeoisie and steel, not kings and nobility, now ruled the sky and ground. It was even supposed to be dismantled after twenty years, yet it remained, and has since become the symbol of Paris and of France. A monument to progress, modernity, freedom, national pride and endurance. 
(chapter 82) His hotel room opens onto a broad window and a balcony — an invitation to look out. Secondly, observe that he only proposed this activity after the other members had fallen sick. When doc Dan barged in his room, the champion was doing a one-handed handstand, holding his entire weight as if defying gravity itself 
(chapter 82) and proving his recovery. The posture seemed like control, yet it was closer to self-punishment — an immobility that devoured strength. Blood rushed to his heart and head, but his lungs stayed empty. It was, unconsciously, his way of treating his breathlessness. This also shows that he had no real expectation about the “rest” his manager had suggested 
(chapter 82) — the drinking, the empty and aimless trip (“check out the area”). For the wolf, such a downtime could only mean endurance, not release and excitement. By the way, such a suggestion from Park Namwook borders on stupidity and blindness. How could he propose drinking, when he had seen his “boy” indulged in alcohol before?
(chapter 82) How do I come to this interpretation? We have seen these stars before, during Kim Dan’s Summer Night’s Dream: the same glittering symbols of softness and excitement.
(chapter 44) Yet, this time, the little “stars” belong to the celebrity. 
(chapter 82) His choice of the amusement park is not really about himself and his desires— it is an act of care, a wish to give happiness to someone else.
, Sleeping Beauty 
and Beauty and the Beast 
).Hence there is the castle on the brochure. 
(chapter 82) For both, it was financially and emotionally out of question. It grounds the symbolism of the amusement park in social reality, reminding readers that “fun” is also a form of privilege. This means that the champion is actually on his way to replace this picture: 
(chapter 65) So yes, this may look like a simple date. Yet beneath its playful surface lies the quietest revolution of all: the man who once ignored every view now opens the window, looks outward, and chooses wonder and fun over war.
(chapter 81), but not about the geography and air. I had truly detected the importance of this image and its symbolism. The plane that opened this arc spoke not of luxury, but of altitude — of a life lived too high, where oxygen is rationed by pride. Below the aircraft stretch the Alps, which I had correctly identified. From there flows the athlete’s own water – Evian 
(chapter 82) (written Evien in the manhwa) — drawn from the mountain that sustains him and starves him at once.
(chapter 82) 
(chapter 82) — a creature of heights and thin air, born to dominate the skies where others can barely breathe. The metaphor could not be clearer: altitude is his arena, but also his undoing. 
(chapter 81) The air remains clear and generous, the sky washed in blue as if nothing could go wrong. Yet the trees, touched by the first copper tones, announce the slow turn of the year. It is a calm, lucid atmosphere, the kind of weather that hides transition inside serenity. The unseen Seine glides through the city like a long breath, steady and effortless.
(chapter 82), to build joy outside the ring 
(chapter 82) 
(chapter 81) A single breath — huu — escapes, white against the air. It looks like calm, but it isn’t. It’s the sound of a man forcing his body to obey. The clenched fist that follows betrays him: anxiety condensed into muscle. 
(chapter 81) The champion has descended, yet the altitude still lives inside him.
(chapter 14), but his lungs and heart. Yet at the airport, the sportsman doesn’t realize it 
and makes the following resolution: 
(chapter 69) Back then, he feared for doc Dan’s life and ran as if his own heart depended on it. His breathlessness wasn’t exhaustion but panic: the instinctive terror of losing the person who keeps him alive. Thus when he saw him alive on the dock, he could start breathing properly: 
(chapter 69) From HUFF to HAA… exhale versus inhale.
(chapter 82) His brain and heart remember that night at the dock; every harsh inhale during practice echoes that same dread of separation.
(chapter 82) And how did the champion respond to that provocation? Like a cornered animal. 
(chapter 82) He became the wolf again, not out of jealousy, but out of survival reflex—his body screaming its panic in place of words. In that instant, he was reminded that he could lose doc Dan as a partner, that the bond he relies on might not belong to him forever.. The roar emptied his chest; his lungs gave out before his pride did. There was no air left in his body… thus the heart and lung couldn’t work properly. 
(chapter 75) The fearsome beast who once fought for dominance is gone. What remains is a tamed wolf, following his master’s voice (doc Dan) — not out of submission, but because he finally trusts where it leads. 
(chapter 82) He is now a tamed wolf following his master’s suggestions! 
(chapter 82) Thus the coach is now facing the couple. And now, my avid readers can understand why the champion seems almost radiant when he finds himself alone with doc Dan at the amusement park. It is not mere joy or freedom; it is the relief of finally acting from desire instead of duty 
(chapter 55) 
(chapter 79) The scene functions as both mirror and revelation: it forces the fighter to face the truth he has avoided all his life. In the past, he had never truly fallen. His defeats were painful, but never fatal; his failures never signified the end of a life. He could always stand up again — until now. Watching Kim Dan lean over the edge forces him to confront the difference between metaphor and mortality.
(chapter 73), thrown like stones by the father at his son, buried themselves in the boy like shards.. They echoed like a curse — a prophecy Joo Jaekyung would spend his whole life disproving.
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 72), yet she made no attempt to build an independent life. Her survival had always depended on his success — and when his career crumbled, she vanished with it. That’s the reason why the trash remained uncollected — a visual proof of abandonment 
(chapter 72) But the little boy failed to notice it, because he was suffering from the father’s abuse. Before leaving, she gave her son a phone number, as if absence were only temporary, as if love could be reached through a dial tone. That small gesture sustained an illusion: that she would come back if he became strong enough, rich enough, worthy enough. That illusion became the foundation of his life.
(chapter 72) His first fight was not about trophies — it was an act of filial negotiation: a promise to buy her return. But of course, 300 dollars could not rebuild a family. His first fall became the confirmation of her silence. This explicates why he recalls his first tournament and considers it as “fall”. He had not been able to win, thus the mother could not return. He doesn’t fight for glory or passion; he fights to avoid being discarded again. So, when he says “I won’t fall again,” what he really means is “I won’t let myself be unloved again.” 
(chapter 72) But the problem is that when he was finally able to reach his mother, the latter answered that Joo Jaekyung was too late. The mother’s words sealed the curse. He was “already grown up now” 
(chapter 74), hence he no longer needed her — as if maturity meant he no longer needed love. She actually implied that she had been all this time by his side. 
(chapter 74), while in reality, she had long abandoned him. Her departure turned growth into punishment, and independence into exile. This explicates why as an adult, he used money to buy people and turn them into toys. This could only make appear as a spoiled brat. 
(chapter 79) Even Park Namwook himself, only days earlier, had described the French match as 
(chapter 81) “a breeze” — a fight so effortless that it would bring some fresh air into the champion’s career. But that metaphor betrays its irony: what was supposed to refresh him is now suffocating him. The “breeze” promised by his manager has turned into lack of air.
(chapter 70) — a detail no one around him ever learned. This simple fact overturns their interpretation. 
(chapter 70) The breathlessness they see now is not a decline in performance, but the residue of transformation. His body, once trained to suppress every weakness, had finally surrendered to nature.
(chapter 46), whose clash with the champion exposes two different forms of frustration.
(chapter 46) He reproaches Seonho for using his title and image to promote himself, for bragging about their sparring sessions to boost his career. From his perspective, Seonho lacks both endurance and authenticity — he performs strength rather than living it. 
(chapter 46) For Jaekyung, such behavior is intolerable because it cheapens everything he has sacrificed to achieve.
(chapter 46) He turns on Jaekyung and accuses him of arrogance — of using his champion title to look down on others. What Seonho perceives as disdain is, in truth, the athlete’s defense mechanism. The star’s detachment is not born from pride but from obligation and trauma (abandonment issues). 
(chapter 46) His perfection is not freedom; it is captivity.
(chapter 52) tried to recruit Potato, the youngest member from Team Black. He wanted to become the new idol of Hwang Yoon-Gu. He imagined that he could replace the main lead and Potato would be happy to become the new sparring partner of Seonho. 
(chapter 82) — a beauty that glides but never lands. Like Seonho, Gabriel thrives on appearance — on surfaces polished by attention. His beauty, elegance, and social charisma are his weapons. He lives in the air of visibility, relying on wind — the shifting currents of social media 
(chapter 81) 
(chapter 82) and press coverage — to lift his name higher. That’s why Mingwa made sure to show him at the press conference. 
(chapter 82) Every post, every camera flash, every headline serves as borrowed oxygen. 
(chapter 82) Yet beneath that composure lies dependency. Gabriel’s power exists only as long as others keep watching, as long as the wind keeps blowing. His world is made of altitude — but the higher one flies, the thinner the air becomes. But if there is no wind or air, the eagle can no longer fly. This is palpable on two occasions, his encounter with the two male leads. 
(chapter 82) The grin that follows is one of self-satisfaction and superficiality, not connection. It’s the smile of a man admiring his own reflection in another’s confusion — proof that he controls both the scene and the gaze. This shows that he had no intention to make the protagonist jealous. And it is clear that he never saw the wolf’s rage afterwards. 
(chapter 70). Both men embody the same cruelty disguised as professionalism — one in the ring, the other from the shadows. They blame the champion for the new match, none of them question the system. 
(chapter 36) or the media’s harsh verdicts after defeat 
(chapter 54), when analysts accused Jaekyung of recklessness for returning to the ring too soon, though he had problems with his shoulder. Gabriel’s fame soars above such storms — sustained by admiration, not endurance. Hence he is posting selfies.
(chapter 82) He is now seen signing autographs 
(chapter 82), whereas in the past, he was only seen in company of reporters in a secluded area. 
(chapter 40) 
(chapter 69) The victory would be branded as hollow, a publicity stunt rather than an athletic achievement. 
(chapter 82) first unveiled at the World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893, was created to transform height into play. Conceived by engineer George Washington Ferris as America’s answer to the Parisian tower, it sought to outshine France not through steel alone, but through motion — a structure that would rise and fall, carrying ordinary people with it. Unlike the fixed tower, the wheel invited participation: passengers would move together, share the air, rise and descend without fear. It was both monument and moment — a way to democratize the sky.
Here the athlete has only one goal: talk to doc Dan and clean the air. He has no intention to truly rekindle with him 
Thus he is still stuck in a traffic jam. 
Here, there is a progression, because he can switch the lane. However, he is still driving in one direction, not looking out of the window. He is not taking his time either. These scenes illustrate the champion’s psychological confinement and mirror doc Dan’s mindset as well.
(chapter 75)
(chapter 27) 
(chapter 80) He has not grasped that he can make the champion happy. In fact, this day would represent a real break and rest, as they would learn nothing, only make new experiences so that life can appear colorful again. Here, we can see two balloons in the form of heart: green and yellow. 
(chapter 74) Joo Jaekyung would have achieved his goal: even vulnerable or childish, he is still lovable. 
(chapter 41) They were destined to be together and lived happily. 
(chapter 55)
(chapter 74) What does it mean that a man who once reached for his mother’s voice is now suspended between clouds, unreachable himself? 
(chapter 74) Why does the same stillness that once followed a farewell now fill the air around his flight?
(chapter 65) Let’s not forget that the last poster of chapter 81 
(chapter 74) In that earlier scene, the smoke rises from burning incense sticks which is linked to scent — the invisible bridge between the living and the dead. Here, it reappears as the airplane’s exhaust 
(chapter 75), perfume 
(chapter 75) became instruments of anesthesia, each meant to silence the body that once betrayed him.That betrayal did not come from the body itself but from what it carried — his father’s shadow. 
(chapter 75) Every muscle, every breath, every instinct reminded him of the man he swore never to become. The body was a mirror of lineage, and lineage meant failure. In his dreams, that failure still reached for him: black hands emerging from the dark, the father who had lost everything. 
(chapter 75) The fighter calls it a “dream,” not a nightmare, because fighting was once his father’s dream — a dream of escape, of being seen, of proving that poverty was not fate. But for the son, that same dream turned into a curse. To fight was to repeat what had already destroyed the family.
(chapter 75), the forbidden comfort that ended in scolding. 
(chapter 72) When he finally received it, it was not from a mother but from the director — a man whose gift could fill the stomach but not the heart. From that day, nourishment and submission became one.
(chapter 81) — the same spot where he once sprayed his perfume 
(chapter 44) — nuzzling the one destined to become his anchor. Jinx-philes can observe not only the presence of steam (which is similar to smoke), but also the effect of the scent. Back then, the champion had calmed down thanks to the hamster’s scent. 
(chapter 44) To conclude, that moment, half dream and half awakening, had already begun to rewrite the map of scent. There, the fragrance from doc Dan had triggered his appetite, hence he couldn’t restrain himself during that night. 
(chapter 45) 
(chapter 65) He will make sure that doc Dan doesn’t smoke again and his scent remains pure. This signifies that the wolf will pursue its source through the smoke of deception, through the perfume of luxury and corruption. The doctor becomes both compass and contrast — the pure odor that exposes every false aroma around him. Through Dan’s scent he will breathe again—through that fragile, living fragrance the wolf begins to track the truth that stinks beneath luxury and lies.
(chapter 36) When the champion left South Korea for the United States in episode 36, the plane glided through a void of light. There was no sky, no earth, no horizon — only a white expanse pierced by the sun’s glare. Even the boundaries of air and space seemed dissolved. The image radiated purity but felt sterile, stripped of texture. The machine was rising, not toward a destination but away from attachment itself.
(chapter 37), the heart disinfected of need. Hence the bed became an instrument of “torture”. The upward flight marked a beginning, yet it already smelled of exhaustion and futility. A life built on departure cannot land anywhere.
(chapter 78) Through Hwang Byungchul’s blunt words, the Emperor finally realized that he possessed an identity of his own—one not confined by inheritance or shame. The insults that once defined him, 
(chapter 36) instead of naming Joo Jaekyung himself. He might have stood beside the MMA fighter the entire time, yet he preferred to disappear behind collective language, as if the plural could shield him from personal involvement. It was a professional gesture, an attempt to efface the self, to stand beside the fighter without belonging to him. His role was service, not solidarity; his language confirmed distance. Thus his karma was that he got abandoned by the team after the match, while rescued by the celebrity himself!! 
(chapter 81) translates that awareness into sensation. It’s no longer the passivity of a bystander but the heartbeat of someone invested. The count of days becomes a shared horizon between doctor and fighter, a bridge of feeling. 
(chapter 37) The others indulge in small pleasures — snacks, shopping, light rebellion — but the champion and his doctor remain trapped in routine, orbiting one another inside sterile rooms. I am suspecting that doc Dan must have bought the scarf at the airport, a small act of thoughtfulness before departure. 
(chapter 41) Yet the gesture, though sincere, carries a quiet irony. The scarf is printed with flowers, mostly roses, but as a piece of fabric it has neither scent nor warmth. It imitates life without containing it. What he gives her, in truth, is a copy of affection, not its essence — a bouquet that cannot breathe.
(chapter 37) The answer lies in the contrast between the smell of life and the smell of emptiness. While others seek flavor in hot ramen or the sweetness of snacks, the champion’s room remains odorless, air-conditioned, antiseptic. Then, in the quiet of night, a faint aroma drifts toward him, the flavor of hot ramen. And now observe the progression of scents through Jinx. 
(chapter 72) — the garbage, the spoiled food, the stale air of neglect. What he truly covers is not his nose, but his fear of returning there. Later, in episode 22, when Dan cooks for him, the champion instinctively associates food with corruption: 
(chapter 22) Interesting is that here fish has a negative connotation: intrusion and thoughtlessness. This shows how detached the champion was from his true self: water and the ocean. Moreover, cooking, warmth, nourishment—all evoked garbage, the chaos of his first home.
(chapter 54) couldn’t nourish him. Hence he replaced it with wine for a while.
(chapter 74) Their fragrance became the perfume of loss. To his senses, flowers never meant beauty or love or nice smell; they mean burial and as such pain. Every petal recalls the suffocating smell of the funeral room, the smoke, the artificial but painful peace of goodbye.
(chapter 32) The blue tie contains 3 striped colors: red, white and blue, which are quite similar to French flag, though the order has been switched. Secondly, Choi Heesung purchased 
(chapter 32) Hermès’ item, a French company famous its bags, scarfs and perfumes. So I am quite certain that once Jinx-philes discovered the identity of the next fighter 
(chapter 81) and saw the plane, they must have jumped to the conclusion that the next fight will take place in Paris! But France is more just than the capital. This country is called the Hexagon due to its form, and this name stands in opposition to the MMA ring, which is an octagon! 
(chapter 40) Interesting is that the team at the airport is composed of 6 people. 
(chapter 81) So we could say that despite the disadvantage being in a foreign country, they are “equal”, 6 colors against the team from the Hexagon, the blue light from the MMA ring. But let’s return our attention to Paris. The latter is widely recognized as the symbol of love, the global center for fashion, art, and stardom. The city has a deep historical connection to these fields, being the birthplace of haute couture and home to many of the world’s leading fashion houses and luxury conglomerates. Its cultural scene is equally rich, with a long history as a hub for artists and a more recent reputation for being a center for music and film stars. However, the image with the landing plane is actually revealing the truth. 
(chapter 14) Here, exactly like in the States, his trip to Busan never gave him the opportunity to visit the city and the beach, exactly like the athlete. The next airport to Cannes is Nice- Côte d’Azur and it looks more like the one in the Manhwa. Furthermore, the South of France has a milder climate in the fall, hence it is still possible to swim in September. Besides, in my last essay, I had connected the champion to Bruce Lee and water: 
Finally, Naturally, here I could be wrong with Cannes. Nevertheless, Cannes, with its glittering shorelines and film festival glamour, symbolizes the marriage of money (millionaires, yachts) and illusion — the theater of appearances. It is where contracts are made, where bodies are displayed, traded, and consumed through the gaze, the very economy that has always governed the champion’s existence. The wolf, once born among garbage and hunger, now finds himself surrounded by luxury, in a world perfumed with artificial success. Yet beneath the surface of that “breeze” and “splash” lingers the scent of corruption. The coastal light hides what the smoke once revealed: exploitation, manipulation, and the unspoken violence of commerce.
(chapter 59); silence had replaced air; life was drained of flavor. None of them truly enjoyed the nature: the ocean or the mountain. The seaside town was strongly intertwined with work 
(chapter 77) or danger. Then, when they returned to that place, their time was limited to visit the grandmother and the landlord. 
(chapter 81) They had no time to walk through the woods or visit the hills. They had no time for themselves. Consequently, I believe that in The French Riviera, the two of them will discover “savoir vivre”. Everything breathes, glows, and stirs. It is a land overflowing with color, aroma, and taste — precisely the senses that the wolf had long sought to erase through ritual. Doc Dan had led a similar life too, dedicated to his grandmother and work. If they are close to the sea, they might decide to walk on the beach together.
(chapter 69); the scandal there had linked the previous incident to the infiltration of a Korean gang. The American branch was compromised, its credibility tainted. France, on the other hand, offers a mask of neutrality — refinement, culture, and distance from scandal. By choosing it, they manufacture the illusion of glamour and innocence, pretending that Baek Junmin and his former hyungs have nothing to do with the coming event.
(chapter 69), where Baek Junmin once fought for the championship belt. Thailand in Jinx is not a paradise but a mirror of corruption — the place where victory turns into prostitution, where the body becomes currency. There, the Shotgun won a crown but not respect; his triumph was drenched in manipulation, spectacle, and moral decay. He was admired by no one, celebrated by ghosts.
(chapter 36), the transition from flight to arrival unfolds with seamless precision: no airport, no customs, no luggage — only the honk of city traffic and the flags fluttering over a hotel entrance. Everything about that journey screams logistics. It was a corporate trip, arranged, timed, and contained. The athletes passed through invisible gates, their movement stripped of individuality. The champion, like cargo, was transported rather than welcomed. His arrival, though triumphant 
(chapter 81)
(chapter 81) The suitcase becomes the true protagonist of this threshold. In that small vibration lies all the instability the white air once denied. It is his portable home, his compressed past, the fragile proof that he finally has something to lose. In the earlier arc, he could have vanished mid-flight and no one would have noticed; now, if the suitcase disappears, another heart will break. That difference measures his evolution. Yet it also marks new vulnerability: any hand can touch what he carries.
(chapter 41) and the wedding cabinet
(chapter 80) before it, the suitcase belongs to the same symbolic lineage. It is the container of intimacy — filled with clothes, precious items like pictures or books, with the silent evidence of presence. But unlike its predecessors, it moves. The wardrobe once stood still, rooted in the domestic; the wedding cabinet invited intrusion within a private world, as it was once discarded. The suitcase, however, carries that vulnerability into the public realm. It is exposure on wheels — the private made portable. 
(chapter 81) 
(chapter 81) and Kim Dan has still no idea that the athlete has kept them like cherished relics. He might have placed the notebook from Hwang Byungchul as well. However, the person carrying the suitcase is the manager: 
(chapter 55), where he expressed his desire to work for Joo Jaekyung for a long time. What would be the manager’s reaction, when he recalls this incident with the switched spray and Doc Dan’s sudden departure? Moreover, we have here “erased words”: to be ho… The timing of the discovery is really important. This could generate some tension and confrontation between the manager and the physical therapist. Besides, such a birthday card could generate negative feelings (like jealousy), Kim Dan is gradually taking more and more place in the athlete’s life. The violation that once occurred behind closed doors (the penthouse) now could happen in plain sight. The line between private and public collapses, just as the boundary between success and loss blurs.
(chapter 37). So when the manager says this, 
(chapter 75) While he was sick, he could recall this scene. 
(chapter 75) where the fighter could stay focused, though he was surrounded by noise and people. The advice had seemed trivial, when first given. Now it re-emerges as revelation. The emperor, once incapable of rest, now reads 
(chapter 81) beside someone who represents safety. The book becomes a bridge between wakefulness and sleep, a ritual that does not erase consciousness but calms it. Where his earlier practices sought to block sensation, this one restores it.
(chapter 73), which should have offered nourishment, attention and peace, had been replaced by absence and deceit. Her warmth was an illusion, a posture mimicked but never felt.
(chapter 80) And here, I had imagined that the mother had offered this t-shirt as a birthday present. 
(chapter 78), without the good night! That missing intimacy was not a void but a distortion — a tenderness twisted into survival. The mother’s touch, meant to console, existed only to protect herself. She kept the child close not out of affection but out of anxieties and resent, turning him into a living barrier between her and the man she resented. What he experienced as warmth was, in truth, defense and rejection; what seemed like closeness was the choreography of avoidance. Hence she never looked at her child. The body that should have been cradled for its own sake was held as cover, its value defined by its usefulness.
(chapter 29) which reminds us of breastfeeding. And now, look at the embrace in the swimming pool: 
(chapter 80) and got all warm and fuzzy by looking at him: 
(chapter 81) A sign that the mother had never reacted the way her son is doing now, the feel to kiss the loved one! The problem is that in the swimming pool, the doctor’s scent and taste are covered by chlorine. 
(chapter 61) or solitude, becomes again what it was meant to be: a place of rest and tenderness. Thus he touches his fated partner’s legs over the cover, showing his care and respect. 
(chapter 81)
(chapter 81), he can recognize the false nature of his mother’s affection. What she offered was conditional, deceptive and self-centered; what the doctor gives is ordinary and consistent. No grand gestures, no promises — only presence. The doctor does not rehearse concern; he lives it through routine. And this ordinariness, paradoxically, becomes sacred. It was, as if the athlete was treating his own inner child through the physical therapist. 
(chapter 37)
(chapter 74) At this moment, the page itself turns black, veined with smoky whorls of gray — as though her words had burned into the air rather than spoken. “I can’t live with you… please understand… let’s just go our separate ways.” The sentences rise like vapors, leaving behind the faint residue of a scent that refuses to vanish. This visual texture — half smoke, half ink — captures her true condition: she dissolves herself with every attempt at escape.
France itself mirrors her — beautiful, perfumed, wrapped in silk and secrecy. She definitely climbed the social ladders through her second marriage, hence she could offer toys to her second son. The nation of couture and fragrance becomes the stage for the mother’s unmasking. Once the name of Joo Jaewoong rises again, questions about her will inevitably follow. And here, she can no longer hide behind silence or excuses. The myth of refinement — both hers and France’s — collapses under the weight of exposure.
(chapter 72) 
(chapter 13) 
(chapter 48) — had mirrored faces, two bodies, two lights. This time, there is only one. The duel has vanished. What remains looks less like a fight and more like a myth in the making. 
(chapter 81) chosen to face the Emperor. According to Oh Daehyun, this man is fighting for the title of the hottest male athlete in the world. 
(chapter 14) Why is there this abbreviation? Why does the image proclaim a return while simultaneously concealing the full title? What does it signify? 
seems to be corroborated: this event doesn’t announce the glorious comeback it pretends to be, but a carefully staged trap. However, there is more to it. The longer I examine the composition 
(chapter 30) The latter had to learn fighting in order to play his role in the drama Extreme Worlds 
(chapter 29). 
(chapter 8) His eagle is spreading his wings in front of his god, the sun, attempting to fly closer to the sun. According to me, Joo Jaekyung is the sun. This explains the loyalty of this purple belt fighter toward the protagonist! 
(chapter 47) But that’s one possibility among others, one thing is sure. Oh Daehyun will play an important part during their stay in France.
(chapter 46) People would bet on him and win… they needed him to lose and break his “lucky streak”. In other words, the organization betrayed the body they once sold. They had prepared the fall long before the injury, the surgery, or the suspension. But their plan failed. Despite every setback, the wolf remained beloved at home. People still admired him, not for the trophies, but for his kindness 
(chapter 62), humility 
and strength 
(chapter 62) In other words, what the champion did in the seaside town had a huge impact in his life and world. He lingered in the hearts of those he touched. He was not a fallen idol, nor a forgotten champion, but a living memory — proof that integrity leaves deeper marks than victory ever could. To conclude, his fame no longer comes from spectacle only but also from empathy and presence — from the very qualities the schemers and media system fail to grasp.
(chapter 81) The new battlefield is the face. Under this light, Jinx-philes will grasp why the agents from the Entertainment agency were so zealous in defending the star’s reputation. If he were to lose his good looks, they would lose one of their most profitable clients. 
(chapter 52), whose envy of beauty turned into a creed. Imagine this. Now he holds the championship belt, yet no one admires him. His ruined face became the excuse for his bitterness,
(chapter 52) and his rival the embodiment of everything he lost. He had to flee to Thailand to claim glory and admiration 
(chapter 77) MFC can not promote him so easily, as his title could get questioned. He remains unseen — a champion without a face.
(chapter 52) In the past, his insult 
(chapter 74) merged anger with heat; now that very “hotness” materializes in the media and poster as smoke, an image of resentment turned into atmosphere. 
(chapter 74): the visible trace of a man who dares to rebel. He once watched the fighter smoke a plain cigarette and sneered at him for it, precisely because he knew it was not a joint. In Junmin’s world, violation meant courage and power intoxication. He assumed that fearlessness linked to drugs would bring admiration and success. Jaekyung’s refusal to accept their drug wasn’t prudence; it was, to him, an insult — a quiet act of superiority. The wolf’s restraint exposed his indifference and own dependency, and that humiliation still burns.
(chapter 74) The main lead was seen “wearing a black suit with three white strips” showing that he was the chief mourner. 
(chapter 74) Once you recognize this 
(chapter 73), hiding behind his hyungs, the mobsters who granted him borrowed strength and false belonging. Joo Jaekyung, by contrast, was raised in the ring — the gym shaped him as both a professional and a person.
(chapter 49) If you have read my previous essay, you’ll remember that I connected the arc of chapters 80 to 89 to the theme of jealousy. Baek Junmin embodies that poison completely. His words — “ 
(chapter 49) “kid”, “coward,” “chicken” 
(chapter 73) Both men are haunted by the same delusion: that to win, one must erase the other.
(chapter 81) It is a subtle but telling detail: the physical separation mirrors the emotional boundary now forming within the team. The healer’s hands have been withdrawn. So the emperor’s empathy is incomplete, hence he is only EMP. It extends only toward his chosen one — the doctor — and not yet to the others around him. True empathy, however, cannot be selective; it must reach beyond intimacy to encompass even those who do not stand at the center of affection.
(chapter 1) He was a beast of destruction, someone who made sure to crush his opponents without mercy 
(chapter 15) Unstoppable in his rage, he moved like a man possessed — bloodthirsty, unrelenting, fighting not for glory but for survival. Each strike was a declaration: I will not die.
(chapter 49) What looked like teamwork was mere coordination. Now, the visual disarray hides emotional harmony — the perfect yin-yang inversion of their past selves.
(chapter 36) One could think, the other members are not wearing it, for they don’t want to be associated with the champion. He has been stigmatized as a thug or a child losing his temper, the consequences of Park Namwook’s badmouthing. However, observe that even the star is not wearing it. 
(chapter 36) What once symbolized sponsorship and solidarity has quietly disappeared. The explanation seems obvious at first: the loss of commercial partners following scandal and suspension. 
(chapter 54) Yet the deeper implication is far more unsettling. The jacket was more than a uniform; it was a contract, a visible bond between fighter and system. Its absence signals abandonment. The champion may still fight under the MFC banner, but the federation no longer claims him with pride. He is now a free agent trapped in an invisible cage — tolerated, not trusted. He questioned MFC and their competence (see chapter 67 and 69).
(chapter 37) He could be mistaken for the owner of the gym or a person involved in the scheme. And this leads me to my next observation: the champion’s picture and posture!
(chapter 36) no cheering spectators — nothing recalls the hero’s welcomes of earlier arcs.
(chapter 74) but with a different public.
(chapter 47) Thus, 317 functions like a counterfeit signature — convincing enough to deceive even those inside the organization. What looks like promotion turns out to be execution by design, a fight that exists on paper but not on record. Hence no one is waiting for them at the airport. 
(chapter 54), the match where the Emperor faced Baek Junmin. That small arithmetic gap hides something extraordinary: eighteen events have supposedly taken place since then, in barely three months. Such acceleration borders on absurdity. It feels less like a sports calendar than a purge — as if the federation were rushing to overwrite history, to bury the memory of its fallen champion beneath a flood of new numbers.
(chapter 16), the moment Heo Manwook thought that the “hamster” was working as an escort due to the name “Team Black”. 
(chapter 16) So because of the jacket Team Black, doc Dan could be mistaken for a prostitute. Naturally, Jinx-lovers will remember the great fight between Heo Manwook and his minions, when the athlete saved his fated partner. Back then, no one discovered his great action.
(Chapter 17) And how did the loan shark describe their world? Fake… he even called him a princeling, because he stands for the glamor and artificiality of MFC. He is the cover for the underground fights, drugs and money laundering. This connection reinforces my interpretation that the future match is « fake » and as such rigged. Then in chapter 37, the hamster met a Korean disguised as a MFC manager. 
(chapter 47) In the past, they participated in the underground matches of Gangwon Province, where Baek Junmin reigned as a local legend — a thug made myth through blood and rumor. 
(chapter 46), as they didn’t want to lose money. And what did Park Namwook say in episode 46? 
(chapter 46) But now, the same hunger for spectacle has simply migrated upward. What once belonged to the alleys has climbed into the penthouses. The illegal thrill of the poor has become the curated decadence of the rich. And they were invited to witness the death of the “emperor”, someone who tried to escape from his origins. Thus I deduced that this is only a match that the high rollers (I suppose, mostly people from the Occident, though expect some from South Korea) know about.
(chapter 81), breathing without bracing, learning that flow is strength. The author placed the swimming lessons here so we’d see him practice calm under pressure before he performs it in the ring. But observe that when he is in the swimming pool, he is expressing more and more his emotions. 
(chapter 81) In other words, during the swimming lessons, he was encouraged to find the right balance between instincts and control, which Bruce Lee recommended. It is no coincidence that he referred to the philosophy of yin and yang! 
(chapter 36) The pool inverts it. Laps replace lunges; rhythm and love replace revenge and hatred. Anger loses its grip because water refuses to hold it. And now, you can grasp why the athlete was calm during the meeting: 
(chapter 81) His fear and anger were no longer controlling his heart and mind. “One of the best lessons you can learn in life is to remain calm.” The swimmer learns it; the fighter must now prove it. Thanks to doc Dan, the athlete was incited not only to accept himself, but also to get self-knowledge.
(chapter 81) Arnaud Gabriel is totally unpredictable which makes him dangerous but also weak. So what happens when the athlete uses a totally different strategy? The eagle will get caught by surprise. Thus in the past, we have to envision that the wolf was the mechanical man, iron and fire, surviving by destruction. Bruce Lee’s middle path—instinct guided by awareness—is the only way out of this binary. That’s why the story moves him from steel to steam, from panic to presence.
(chapter 62), and you are in a state of constant learning. 
(chapter 80) The seaside town and doc Dan taught him kindness, the pool teaches him composure and precision, the poster’s smoke teaches him restraint: you don’t swat at vapor; you breathe and move through it. “It is far better to be alone than to be in bad company”—so he steps out of the schemers’ frame. “When you accept yourself, the whole world accepts you”—so he stops fighting the audience and starts speaking to one person who matters, then to many. In my opinion, Joo Jaekyung will use this bout to express his feelings for Doc Dan (“to me, martial arts means expressing yourself“) and the birthday card 
(chapter 17) And once the cloud (doc Dan) meets the steam 
(chapter 53), yet she kept her distance. Observe that she only talked about one time experience. She sensed its danger and built her life on the solid ground of caution, duty, and control. In other words, she belongs to the world of the shore 
(chapter 28) and learn that not everything can be postponed or entrusted to someone else. Water, in this sense, rejects fatalism. It calls for motion, for risk, for personal responsibility.
(chapter 80) He is no longer the man waiting to be rescued; he is the man learning how to swim. The champion’s words 
(chapter 80) distill the new doctrine: don’t wait for salvation 
(chapter 80), create your own buoyancy. Between the first swim 
(chapter 27) and this second lies the true point of no return—where superficial judgment turns into reflection, dependency into self-trust 
(chapter 80) and the rejection of powerlessness, 
(chapter 28) into the first stirrings of love 
(chapter 53) Safety lay in patience and dependence. Even when she later spoke with the champion by the sea, she avoided mentioning the ocean —as if to deny that any movement beyond her control could exist.
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 80) Yet her absence from the pool scene is precisely what reveals her theology of avoidance. The pool was never her domain because her life revolves around work, not pleasure. She has no notion of rest without guilt, no concept of joy detached from utility. For her, swimming would appear frivolous—something “unnecessary” as long as one stays on solid ground. Jinx-philes should keep in mind that she never gave such a task to Joo Jaekyung. Her instructions to him were always practical, delegating care outward: take him back to Seoul, bring him to a big hospital and make sure he’s safe. 
(chapter 65) When she sees them together, her first reaction is not pride or relief but mild reproach— doc Dan should have left already. 
(chapter 78) The subtext is unmistakable: she expected obedience, efficiency, not attachment. Furthermore, her final instruction—“Make sure you see a doctor regularly”— 
(chapter 65) suddenly speaks as though time is running out. 
(chapter 80) It was her graduation gift, yet it had nothing to do with his new profession or status. In contrast, the first episode already shows Kim Dan in a blue therapist’s uniform, name tag neatly pinned — a garment he must have purchased himself. 
(chapter 1) Traditionally, a graduation present helps the recipient embark on a career — like for example, a watch, a suit, or even a briefcase — symbols of adult entry into the job market. By offering him a hoodie instead, she unconsciously devalued her grandson’s professional worth. The garment belongs to the domestic sphere, not the workplace; it wraps him in comfort rather than readiness. In a moment meant to celebrate his arrival into public life, she reinscribes him into the private one — the house, the caretaker role, the obedient child. He doesn’t look like someone who went to university. 
(chapter 47) There was no curiosity about his career, no acknowledgment of his competence—only the quiet satisfaction that through her endurance, she had produced a “doctor.” In the graduation photo, she even wears the mortarboard herself, smiling with the pride of someone who believes the diploma justifies a lifetime of sacrifice. Her grandson’s success confirms her own virtue; his “adulthood” validates her survival. This question to the athlete exposes her lack of interests in his profession: 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 41) While dying, she reduces love to an equation of productivity: “Dan, it’s important to give back as much as you take.” The verb do anchors her worldview — love must be measurable, visible, earned through action. To do good by someone means to labor for them, not to rest beside them. What caught my attention is that neither doctor 
(chapter 27) nor the champion employs the expression “vacation” or “break”. 
(chapter 80) Why? It is because they never experienced a break. We have to envision that the “hamster” must have followed his grandmother, when he was not busy studying or working. Both main leads never experienced a real vacation. They say a day off, as if the day itself didn’t really exist, as if it were a temporary pause between “real” time. In their inherited logic, only work gives time its value; everything else evaporates. The grandmother’s way of loving has turned rest into an absence, something unworthy of being named. However, observe that there’s a gradual change in doc Dan’s vocabulary: 
(chapter 80) The problem is that for the hamster, only the athlete is worthy of getting his rest. It still doesn’t belong to his world.
(chapter 5) the focus remains mechanical. Eating is fuel; sleep is maintenance. But rest, in the sense of surrender, stillness, or joy, is foreign to her lexicon.
(chapter 47) is, in truth, a legend she wrote about herself. When Kim Dan recalls that “she’s never had a day’s rest,” the statement reveals more about his belief than about her reality. The woman who claimed endless labor also knew the comfort of “weekends” 
(chapter 30) — she watched The Fine Line, the very drama that made Choi Heesung famous. The detail seems trivial, yet it exposes everything: she had leisure 
(chapter 30), she simply refused to call it that. Watching television was permitted because it was passive, solitary, and could be rationalized as recuperation, not pleasure. In contrast, genuine rest — time shared, chosen, or joyful — never existed in her vocabulary. What she denied was not the existence of rest but the act of resting with him. She kept her downtime to herself, as if peace were a private possession. For her, love meant providing, not accompanying. Yet true care requires presence — sharing is caring, as the saying goes. [For more read this essay: 
(chapter 65) displays that she perceives her grandson’s exhaustion not as suffering but as malfunction, as if the human were a device that could be recalibrated through work and pills. That’s why her favors revolves about living conditions, but not about his “happiness”. Perhaps she genuinely hoped that the drugs and the stability of a “regular job” with the champion would realign him, as though routine alone could fix what grief and deprivation had unbalanced.
(chapter 65) Her constant bookkeeping—every favor tallied, every gift framed as trouble—betrays a hidden fear: that if she stops keeping score, she will lose him. Rather than grant him autonomy, she entrusts him to another caretaker. Sending him to the champion is not an act of faith but of resignation, a way to offload responsibility while maintaining the illusion of control.
(chapter 11), scarf tied under her chin, carrying a single sweet bun. She doesn’t need to say she “went out of her way”—her action already proclaims it. The effort is the gift. 
(chapter 11) That simple walk to the store becomes a moral event, proof of affection through fatigue. 
(chapter 11) Even the smallest purchase is framed as sacrifice. The sweet bread itself—a cheap red bean bun—is less nourishment than testimony: “Look what I endured for you.” If he had followed her, he would have seen that it didn’t take so much effort and money to buy the “present”. Finally, he had to share the sweet bread with his grandmother.
(chapter 53) —perhaps the signing of the loan. “You’re a doctor now; you’ll pay it off quickly.” 
(chapter 80) In her eyes, generosity always justified expectation. The flowers were for display; the hoodie was the contract.
(chapter 65) and the future 
(chapter 65), what he would one day repay 
(chapter 41) When Dan gifts his grandmother an expensive scarf, he hides its true price — “I got it for a bargain” — repeating her own pattern of disguised generosity. She sees through the lie, teasing him for “spoiling” her, yet she accepts the luxury without feeling guilty. The scarf becomes her version of the hoodie: a fabric trophy of moral worth. But its later disappearance is revealing. In season two, she wears it 
(chapter 56) shortly after her arrival at the hospice, never again. When she greets Joo Jaekyung, the scarf is gone 
(chapter 61). Why? One might reply that the scarf lost its value, especially since she is living next to the director’s room. I doubt that such men would pay attention to such an object. Another possibility is that she fears its brightness might betray her neglect, for the champion has lived with her grandson for a while. How could she display silk while her grandson owns almost nothing? 
(chapter 80) The gesture that once symbolized love now feels like pain and loss. The signification of the gift has changed. What once wrapped him in safety now weighs like absence — the fabric retains the shape of someone who is about to vanish. His silence is not understanding but hurt, a wordless awareness that affection can curdle into memory. The audience, not the character, perceives that with the grandmother’s approaching death, her ledger is about to close. The gray fabric, once proof of her sacrifice, will lose its moral weight; her “gesture” will expire with her. Yet Kim Dan may not yet realize that this very ending could one day free him. The book-keeping dies with the bookkeeper.
(chapter 31) and tries to refuse it. 
(chapter 31) 
(chapter 67), loses sleep, or pays a price. He interprets Joo Jaekyung’s concern as “trouble,” Heesung’s gifts as “too much.” In his mind, affection is inseparable from cost:
(chapter 80) “I’ll stay in the background.” His self-worth depends on not burdening others. His words let transpire that he has never been Shin Okja’s first priority in the end. The hoodie reinforces that psychology—it is not a professional outfit like a suit or briefcase would have been, but a teenager’s garment, meant for the domestic space rather than the adult world. It literally arrests his growth, keeping him in the house and under her logic. Thus it is not surprising that after receiving his diploma, he still took part-time jobs. 
(chapter 80) is the site of its quiet destruction. His act of giving reverses every law the grandmother ever taught. First, he does not “go out of his way.” The clothes are delivered effortlessly, without fanfare or moral accounting. 
(chapter 80) There is no speech about sacrifice, no self-congratulation. 
(chapter 80) By erasing the gesture of “effort,” he removes the emotional price tag that once accompanied every gift.
(chapter 80) If the grandmother’s motto was “I went through so much for you,” the champion’s is “It’s no big deal.” Generosity becomes invisible, unburdened, and therefore trustworthy.
(chapter 80) The row of garments invites choice — a concept absent from Shin Okja’s universe, where love came in single doses and with strings attached. Here, the doctor is asked to select what he likes, to exercise taste, to inhabit preference. The abundance of options grants him agency, dignity, and the right to refuse.
(chapter 22) 
(chapter 30) becomes unexpectedly true here. The wardrobe bridges the distance that the grandmother’s gifts had always created.
(chapter 80) This is why his hesitant and embarrassed gratitude, framed against a background of dissolving gray waves, feels so transformative. The air behind him ripples as if washing away the residue of his old faith.
(chapter 80); they mark the passing of days, the return of seasons, the rediscovery that not every morning has to look the same. Variety itself becomes a form of freedom. When the wolf once complained that all his shirts looked identical, he was unknowingly naming what both of them lacked: differentiation, spontaneity, change. Through this act, he restores color not only to the doctor’s wardrobe but to his emotional world — a quiet resurrection through fabric.
(chapter 80) The “hamster” had instinctively turned to the only person who had ever offered him help without cost.
— the luminous, wish-granting jewel said to contain both wisdom and life energy. The dragon’s power is not innate; it is completed and elevated by the jewel. Without the yeouiju, it cannot ascend to the heavens — strength without meaning, force without direction.
(chapter 75), the imagined smell, or cleanse his skin of battle; he is held and, therefore, purified. Through Dan’s arms, he rediscovers his value and humanity—the dragon touched and not destroyed. He is worth of being embraced, even if he is already so old! 
(chapter 79) This is one part of the new circle. Jealousy is the residue of imbalance — the echo of the 7 within the 8. In the numerology of Jinx, the 7-chapters, like for example episode 7 
(chapter 7), episode 18, where the champion had sex because of this statement 
(chapter 18),episode 34 with Choi Heesung 
(chapter 34) or episode 52, where the former members of Team Black and expressed their disdain and jealousy toward the main lead 
(chapter 52)
(chapter 79), the final test before the circle closes for good.
(chapter 47) and 8 lies that invisible hinge: the death of the old economy of love and the birth of a new one.
(chapter 61) and Heesung’s residual rivalry and resent. Each acts as a different face of control: the woman binds through guilt, the manager through hierarchy acting as the owner of the athlete’s time, the actor through charm and deceptions. Together they form the triad that tries to reopen the circle closed in the pool. Let’s not forget that the athlete chose to take a day off on his own accord 
(chapter 80), but he had just returned to the gym. It is no longer the same training and routine.
(chapter 78) Their noisy excitement — hugs, wishes, smiles, jokes, even talk of meat — gave the impression of a long-awaited reunion. Yet the suggestion was cut short by Jaekyung, who rejected it like this: 
(chapter 78) In other words, a party was “missed.” At first glance, this might appear to be an exception, a rare moment of denial in a story otherwise filled with shared rituals. Readers might recall the welcome party
(chapter 9) in episode 9, the champion’s birthday dinner 
(chapter 43) in episode 43, the talk of hospital get-togethers 
(chapter 61), or the festive tone of fighters after director Choi Gilseok’s victory 
(chapter 41) Why did they not organize a party in Seoul to celebrate his victory in the States? Dan devotes himself to work, but his departures are marked by silence 
(chapter 53) rather than farewell. 
(chapter 78) always miss their mark, either hollow in substance or unseen by the very people who should be honored.
. (Chapter 43) Even the “dragon’s” birthday, supposedly a day of personal celebration, is reduced to an awkward dinner at his expense, with a cake arriving a day too early 
(chapter 43) or gifts from sponsors and fans he never wanted. 
(Chapter 41) In Germany, it is considered as a bad omen to celebrate a birthday too soon. Rituals that should affirm intimacy instead expose distance and lack of respect.
(Chapter 52) 
(chapter 56) However, this is just an illusion. What caught my attention is that the nurses wondered themselves why such a skilled therapist would come to a small-town hospital.
(chapter 56) They speak about him, as though he had no reason to stay there, as if he were a stranger passing through. Right from the beginning, he was treated unconsciously as temporary, someone whose presence required explanation rather than welcome. Finally, no party was held for him, no ritual of inclusion was offered. His distance and their detachment mirrored each other, producing the silence that would later define his departure. 
(chapter 78)
(chapter 5) It ends either in the car or in the locker room. 
(chapter 15) The high peak of his celebrated victories takes place at the gym where Park Namwook gather the fighters in front of the Emperor congratulating himself for his “good work” and the spectators for belonging to a winning team. 
(chapter 53) For him, the physical therapists were just tools and as such replaceable.
(chapter 43) A birthday, especially in Korea, is typically a family-centered celebration, held at home or among close friends. Yet Jaekyung’s “party” takes place in a restaurant, under Yosep’s casual announcement that they would be having a “dinner party.” 
(chapter 45) By keeping Dan in the dark about the “surprise,” the fighters created another problem. Their silence pushed him to offer his own present on the same day as the gifts from sponsors and fans — exactly the kind of attention Jaekyung resented. He had already said he did not want those presents, and now Dan’s sincere gesture was placed in the same category, indistinguishable from the flood of unwanted offerings. What could have been a private, meaningful moment was absorbed into the hollow ritual of the group. Hence the champion never got to read his card! 
(Chapter 50) Then later the athlete questioned the physical therapist’s actions and told him this 
(chapter 51) out of fear and pain, the physical therapist thought, he was fired. Once again, he left in silence, unacknowledged. No one stood up for him, no one tried to reintegrate him, no farewell was offered. 
(chapter 74) The silence of his grandmother on this point suggests that even the most basic ritual of mourning was denied him.
(Chapter 59) Only Dan and the landlord marked the event with a quiet burial. Since no one knew about it, it left the ritual incomplete. For Dan, the small act was meaningful, but its invisibility to the larger community echoed his own life: recognition always hidden, always partial, never public.
(chapter 43) This was the real heart of the evening, the only moment where ritual turned into intimacy. And yet even this was missed by Potato, who was absent at that crucial moment, lingering elsewhere with Heesung. The party’s form was there, but its essence — the recognition of Jaekyung’s loneliness and Dan’s importance — was overlooked by the two men at its center due to the presence of alcohol.
(Chapter 78) To them, departure is not tragedy but play, a noisy farewell parade. Their barking and chasing become a spontaneous party, a joyous ritual of attachment. 
(Chapter 78) Striking is that here, doc Dan is making a promise to Boksoon and her puppies, but the latter have no idea. Therefore imagine this. On the weekend, the moment the car approaches the landlord’s house, the puppies will recognize them and celebrate their return! And this time, both characters will witness this welcome party: 
(chapter 78)
(Chapter 78) He doesn’t limit the number of matches, only that he will focus on the “wolf”. So for them, his return is not limited in time. Nevertheless, his paleness and dark circles speak louder than their words: he is exhausted, fragile, still haunted.
(Chapter 78) They are more worried about another possible departure than about his condition, as though his leaving again would be a greater tragedy than his ongoing suffering. This exposes that the members are not totally oblivious and their reunion is not a repetition of the past. On the other hand, warm words and a noisy welcome are enough for them. They take his generosity for granted, just as they always have. Therefore they ask for his magic hands. 
(chapter 9), and abstaining from drink often means being excluded from group belonging. Yet Dan, on medication, cannot drink. His doctor’s recommendation makes it impossible for him to participate in such “public” rituals. Even the customary sharing of a huge bowl — a symbol of intimacy and unity — must be avoided. For Jaekyung, who once used alcohol to dull his own struggles, 
(Chapter 78) Hence the latter has no interest to organize a welcome party and even maintain the ritual with the bowl!! What might appear to others as grumpiness or stinginess is in fact a form of protection.
(chapter 9) 
(chapter 26), or allowed whether welcome parties or surprise celebrations or pre-match meals 
(chapter 22). These events were never about genuine recognition but about maintaining power and appearances, boosting morale, or reminding the fighters of their dependence on the team structure he managed. The “surprise” birthday party in chapter 43 bore his fingerprints, 
(chapter 43) This absence is revealing: Namwook preferred to avoid direct conflict with Jaekyung’s visible displeasure, leaving the awkward burden of paying and performing to the champion himself to Yosep. In other words, his parties were tools of control, not gifts of belonging. By chapter 78, however, the balance has shifted. 
(chapter 78) Standing in the back, Namwook watches as Dan returns and is embraced by the fighters. He notices a “different vibe” between the two leads, but fails to grasp what it means. Doc Dan is actually free and has the upper hand in their relationship. Hence he can no longer ask this from doc Dan: 
(chapter 36) Doc Dan should put up with everything. What he cannot admit is that Dan is no longer replaceable. 
(chapter 69) Yet unlike all the hollow celebrations that came before, this missed event would finally have meaning. It would not be absence through neglect, but absence as recognition: proof that Dan’s life matters more than ritual, profit, or performance.
(chapter 78) This delay suggests a split loyalty: while the team is already celebrating, Potato is likely still tied to Heesung, perhaps even speaking to him on the phone. His tardiness betrays how his heart is pulled in two directions — caught between the actor’s orbit and the gym’s renewed center around Dan. Yet the embrace of the fighter, and his tearful reaction at seeing Dan again, show that his real place lies with Team Black.
(chapter 60), which he took on the day one of them died! 
(chapter 58), and his presence ties alcohol directly to the champion’s vulnerability. At the same time, Potato’s loyalty is beginning to shift. He once orbited Heesung like a hidden lover, but Dan’s return rekindles his attachment to the gym and as such will affect his relationship with the gumiho. 
(chapter 78) Sitting stiffly in his hospital bed, he waves away any possibility of affection. His body language, arms crossed, his words reduced to commands about training, erase the emotional bond that might have connected him to Jaekyung. Where halmoni’s silence is passive, Byungchul’s is active — he refuses intimacy, replacing it with obligation. For both figures, farewell becomes an empty form, stripped of the recognition that makes partings bearable. In these moments, the absence of a hug, the denial of tenderness, is more devastating than the loudest rejection. It is a party that never begins, a rite of passage left unspoken.
(chapter 22) 
(chapter 13) a breakfast in silence 
(chapter 68), the embraces in the dark 
(chapter 66) (the wordless recognition of suffering) — these become the true celebrations of Jinx. They lack alcohol, noise, or spectacle, but they carry sincerity. They reveal that belonging can be built not through grand gestures but through repetition, through the transformation of fleeting kindness into ritual. This implies the existence of conscious and choice. And yet, these moments remain fragile. After their return to the penthouse, there is no shared meal, no laughter, only nostalgia and sadness. 
(chapter 78) Even Jaekyung is troubled by the reminder that Dan’s stay is temporary, as if the very walls of the penthouse resist turning into a home.
(chapter 78) In other words, the wolf’s task is no longer to win battles in the ring but to protect these fragile celebrations — to make Dan feel at home, to turn missed hugs into embraces, missed parties into warm meals, missed gestures into habits of care. Only then can the cycle of exclusion be broken. Only then can “The Missed Party” become, at last, a real one.
(chapter 68), the shared meal 
(chapter 78). For me, it is no coincidence that the senior followed them to the street and waved at them! 
(chapter 78) He expressed not only his genuine feelings, but also his longing: he hoped to see them soon. He had come to appreciate their presence which is not related to their work. The Missed Party becomes not a single absence, but the haunting rhythm of the entire narrative: recognition always arriving too late, always seen by the wrong eyes. And perhaps the story’s promise lies here — that one day, the real party will finally be held, not in karaoke bars or gym halls, but in the unbreakable bond of two men who learn what true friendship and belonging mean. This means, the more the champion and his fated partner develop new routines, the more it will affect the gym and as such Park Namwook, which can only feel more and more excluded.
(chapter 78)
(chapter 77) One tree, one voice, one yard — and yet the chapter closes not with human speech, 
(chapter 77) but with this fragile chorus of sound: chirp, chirp, chirp, whoosh. The choice feels deliberate, unsettling. Why does Mingwa give the final word to nature? Why let the cicada and the tree, not the champion or the doctor, occupy the last panel? Why offer us a rhythm so fleeting, so fragile, instead of the solidity of spoken language? 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) defines the scene as much as sound does. Between the two men, honest words fail. One proposes deals, bargains, contracts 
(chapter 77) The cicada sings not out of calculation, but because it must. The summer is nearing its end. The branches of the tree move not with intention, but with rhythm due to the wind. 
(chapter 77) Are we witnessing growth, or a repetition with a new mask? Rhythm, or song?
(chapter 77). Yet the cicada’s song interrupts their exchange
(chapter 77), cutting through human words to remind us that time is not theirs to master. If nature is the true composer of this tale, then what are they but its creatures — a cicada on the trunk, a tree standing silently next to the characters?
(chapter 77) Observe that after each thought 
(chapter 77). He is the cicada, because he feels powerless in front of doc Dan. Or we could say, he is the cicada due to his self-loathing. Hence he feels so small. On the other hand, observe that he doesn’t expose his vulnerability to doc Dan. He appears strong, independent and determined in front of the physical therapist. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) It is no wonder that his voice and the cicada’s noise blur into one rhythm — restless, repetitive, transient. 
(chapter 75), and now at twenty-six 
(chapter 75), like the cicada in its final molt, he sings louder than ever, defiant against the silence that waits for him. 
(chapter 69) Under the tree, the “fighter” is acting, as if he was strong and healthy again! 
(chapter 77) He has already accepted the fight in the fall 
(chapter 57), sacrificing joy for survival, laboring without song. But Mingwa overturns the moral. The grandmother embodies the ant’s labor 
(chapter 77), yet he diverges from Shin Okja, because he is aware of the importance of rest. Moreover, we see him working next to the two “kids”. On the other hand, note that doc Dan is working once again during his free time. 
(chapter 77) Shin Okja’s hoarding brought no music, no life which contrasts a little to the nameless farmer: 
(chapter 75) (bench-talk during the night under a street lamp 
“let’s make history” pitches), always angling the wolf toward the next blaze. Under that light, every human bond is recoded as use: therapists rotate, friends become assets, even pain becomes a publicity arc. The “spotlight” warms 
(chapter 41) 
(chapter 75) This shows that the athlete has not found the right answer yet. He only focused on this aspect: doc Dan 
(chapter 76) But the director had told him this: 
(chapter 77) At no moment, he is mentioning Hwang Byungchul or the landlord. He goes further—he defines himself as a shackle, an anchor weighing Dan down. The language is borrowed directly from Dan’s own vocabulary: 
(chapter 77). In a grim symmetry, both men come to see themselves as burdens, unworthy of being chosen, each convinced he is dragging the other down. Under this new perspective, my avid readers can understand why I perceived no deep change in the wolf, he is still defining himself as a fighter and champion, nothing more. 
(chapter 77) Each match will only bring him closer to separation. Whether he wins or loses, the outcome is the same: Dan will leave. 
(chapter 11), replayed in episode 58 
– chapter 59- (the puppy’s burial seared death into his memory), he still cannot taste life. The sweetness of the moment melts as passively as he endures it. Yet it is also Jaekyung’s tragedy, because by calling himself a “shackle” (77), he steps into Dan’s shoes: burdened, unworthy, longing — and unheard. What was once Dan’s silent plea for companionship is now Jaekyung’s, but this time it is Dan who cannot perceive the truth, too focused on himself and his self-loathing.
(chapter 71) but voiceless. His attraction to Shin Okja’s wedding cabinet makes sense here. 
(chapter 19) The cabinet, crafted from dead wood and mother-of-pearl, is civilization’s tree: beautiful, heavy, but lifeless. It embodies control and permanence, much like the grandmother’s treatment of him — precious in appearance, mute in agency. When Dan strokes it longingly in chapter 19
(chapter 19), he projects himself onto it and his grandmother, identifying with its polished silence. By chapter 53, however, the tone shifts. 
(chapter 53) The cabinet becomes a burden, an inheritance of death and stasis that he must abandon, just as he begins to sense the need to step beyond his grandmother’s shadow.
(chapter 41) But life requires care: water, soil, and balance between sun 
(chapter 41) and shade. This means that trees need care, yet the problem is that since they grow patiently, people take them for resilient. Nevertheless, the illness of a tree (parasites, fungus) can be difficult to perceive because signs are not always obvious and can be confused with normal growth patterns (falling leaves due to the season). This mirrors doc Dan’s conditions. He is blamed for his sickness, as he has a weak constitution 
(chapter 21) or he is neglecting himself 
(chapter 70). Thus I see Dan’s decline, his exhaustion, his silence at the bench in chapter 77, as a reflection of this reality: he is not being tended like the tree in the courtyard which contrasts to the way the chili peppers are treated. 
(chapter 77), even when holding a Popsicle. 
(chapter 41) That was the moment he realized he had caught feelings for Jaekyung. The tree embodies life, hence there is this expression: “The tree of life”. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why the main lead came to associate rest and companionship to a walk through the woods. 
(chapter 65) — through woods, past the grave of the nameless puppy — reveal his repressed longing: to mourn, to belong, to root himself in a place where companionship is natural, not demanded. He is indeed longing for recognition and care. 
(chapter 57), treating him as a cabinet to be left behind or a baggage to be passed on. 
(chapter 65) But Dan is not furniture. He is a tree, and the forest remains his true horizon. His illness, his exhaustion, his silence are not fate; they are symptoms of neglect. What he longs for — and what his love for Jaekyung first awakened — is to step into the woods, to be among companions, to be cared for as living. I would even add that deep down, he is neglecting himself in order to receive care: 
(chapter 76) What he expressed in front of the champion was actually reflecting his own desires. But so far, no one is willing to stay by his side and take care of him, when he is sick. Exactly like the athlete, the main lead was not allowed to become “sick” in the end, as he had to support his grandmother.
(chapter 57) And because I made the connection between the main lead and the tree, another association came to my mind: the picture of the smiling Kim Dan with his grandmother in front of the hydrangeas. 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 76) accompanied the ghostly illusion of Dan, a presence felt but no longer seen. As you can see, the sound exposes the doctor’s true life: he is a ghost, exactly like the tree in the corner of the yard. This means that we should expect doc Dan’s response to the champion’s offer in the next episode. However, this time, the physical therapist will make his own choice, not influenced by his grandmother, born from his true desire.
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77). One might think, he selected it, because he likes it and as such has already tasted it. However, I can refute this perception. 
(chapter 16) When doc Dan was looking for a new place, he was eating a red bean bread in front of a freezer at a convenience story. The little boy in the background was looking for a popsicle himself. This shows not only the malnutrition of doc Dan’s from the past, but also his choices were influenced by his grandmother and her taste. In episode 11, the grandmother offered him red bean bread for his birthday 
(chapter 77) is not referring to the popsicle, but to the good news from the celebrity. This disconnection exposes the doctor’s lack of appetite and listlessness. He is not living, he is withering. Hence the popsicle melts untouched, a confession without words: 
(chapter 77) or “sleepwalking” 
(chapter 77) and not depression! 
(chapter 77) sharp, hot, forged by survival. Chili peppers, introduced to Korea centuries ago, became a cornerstone of its cuisine — not only for flavor but as a sign of vitality and strength. They are hung in bundles outside homes to ward off bad luck, their fiery color a talisman of life-force. Doc Dan brings life into the champion’s life 
, pushing the athlete to change his habits. The physical therapist also burns 
(chapter 18), though he rarely lets it show. His fire erupts in flashes — anger, defiance, or hidden passion 
(chapter 77) He refuses the penthouse not because he dislikes it, but because he has already grown attached to it, to its inhabitant, and to the bond he fears to name. To admit this attachment would be to risk exposure — to risk being seen and rejected once again.
(chapter 77) Melon is not survival food, not inherited obligation. It is pure refreshment, fruit turned into summer sweetness. For once, he accepts it without protest, without remark, even tastes it. 
(chapter 43), presented on his birthday cake, but a quieter gesture of allowing sweetness into his body. Contrary to the past, he is now taking his time to eat it. 
(chapter 77)
(chapter 77) circling, playful, embodiments of innocence, pranks, and uncalculated joy. And yet, the champion does not see them. His gaze is elsewhere, fixed on Kim Dan and as such on promises, contracts and shackles, on the logic of debts and repayment. 
(chapter 19) 
: a fighter guarding his jinx, a therapist financing his grandmother’s care. 
(chapter 6) There was no cicada-song, no play — only sterile bargaining. Dan’s body and labor were priced; Jaekyung’s superstition was indulged. Both were tools, not partners.
(chapter 48) It was no real bargain, but a devil’s deal: short-term relief in exchange for entrapment in illegality. 
(chapter 48) Dan, swayed by Shin Okja’s illness 
(chapter 48), hid the meeting from Jaekyung. The secrecy itself poisoned the bond, culminating in the locker-room explosion. There Jaekyung hurled his cruelest accusation 
(chapter 51) : that Dan was obsessed with money. What Jaekyung failed to see is that this “obsession” was not Dan’s own desire, but Shin Okja’s influence. She had molded his tastes, his choices, his gifts 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 77) Worse still, he would relive the sting of mistrust 
(chapter 51) — the same wound opened by Jaekyung’s suspicion in the locker room. To Dan, such favors are never gifts; they are veiled commands, proof that others act on his behalf because he cannot be trusted to act himself. Moreover, keep in mind that she denied him her request: 
(chapter 57), while she spent time with the champion on the beach. Xshe simply ignored his desire: 
(chapter 57) making decisions on his behalf without knowing his actual life. Her choices are based on the past and on her believes (television, trust in drugs and huge hospitals). She has no idea about his sleepwalking, his malnutrition, the incident with the switched spray, his blacklisting in Seoul …
(chapter 6) The reality is that this new offer doesn’t stand for equity and respect, rather servitude and submission. Something the doctor has already sensed: 
(chapter 77) He was already shocked how far the athlete was willing to go. Besides, he keeps wondering why the athlete would act this way: 
(chapter 77) In his mind, hatred is the imagined opposite of love — the binary hammered into him by his father. 
(chapter 71) 
(chapter 75) To conclude, he is still acting, as if he could control time and as such life.
(chapter 59) For him, sweetness is fragile — a red bean bun, a fleeting popsicle — always on the verge of melting away. This is why silence overwhelms him on the bench: Jaekyung offers a contract, and as such the cicada calls, But Doc Dan’s own voice fails. Hence the wind answers 
(chapter 76) He misses that for Dan, they are a source of comfort, tiny sparks of smile 
(chapter 57) in a life otherwise muted by burden. The tragedy is that Jaekyung himself is the only one who could give Dan that genuine laughter — the kind we glimpsed once, briefly, in chapter 44 
(chapter 77) Yet, she is no longer his source of “comfort”. 
(chapter 22) But the grandmother doesn’t embody jokes and games, only obligations and duties. So helping the grandmother doesn’t signify assisting his fated partner. Without pranks, without jokes, without the unpredictable gift of play, their bond risks becoming another duty, another sterile shackle.
(chapter 22) — carefully measured meals from his nutritionist, even the doctor’s recent convalescent porridge of rice and chicken. 
(chapter 77) The male lead didn’t add abalone for example. But what if the athlete tasted something different? A hot, spiced dish, the kind that makes you laugh and cry at the same time? This is no abstract thought — Mingwa has already staged it in parallels. 
(chapter 37) In the States and in Seoul… After Heesung slept with Potato, he cooked him ramen studded with chili peppers. 
The gesture was not just breakfast but an intimate code, echoing the well-known phrase, “Do you want to eat ramen?” 
(chapter 35) — an invitation to closeness. Jaekyung might know the phrase, with his many partners before Dan, 
(special episode 1) but he has never truly eaten the ramen. Dan, ironically the virgin, has never received the invitation at all. The one ignorant of the metaphor has lived it 
(chapter 37); the one familiar with the code has never tasted its reality. 😂
(chapter 73) Joy and smile were followed by guilt 
(chapter 73), sadness and resent. 
(chapter 74) 
(chapter 75) – similar to doc Dan’s reaction in the States: 
(chapter 40) 
(chapter 53) 
(chapter 75) His eyes open after the dream, and they open to the same light. It’s the opposite of every earlier awakening 
(chapter 54) —no gasp for air, no clutching his throat 
(chapter 75), no father’s voice strangling him. This sudden awakening embodies enlightenment. 
(chapter 75) On the surface, it sounds like a call for balance. In truth, it is a suggestion to find another meaning for his life. And look at the director’s facial expression, when he is talking to his former student: “
(chapter 70) He knows the athlete from the past. The latter was attached to people and not to places. Why does he speak of “something” rather than “someone”, if he knows? The lesson is not about fixing a new goal or object to chase, but about discovering how to live differently — how to live happily. 
(chapter 75). Even before, he could only mutter to himself this: 
(chapter 70) The negation indicates denial, but observe that he couldn’t even use a noun. He cannot yet translate this vision into words, because he has never heard “I love you” himself 
(chapter 41), and doc Dan claims to have no recollection of it. His father left him with mockery, his mother with resignation, his coach in the past with discipline, the grandmother-figures with burdens (honor, debt, favor). 
(chapter 74) No one ever taught him how to say I love you. And so, when Dan appears in his dream, it is not the words that free him but the gaze. 
(chapter 75) or the mother’s withdrawal. 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 75) His love is expressed through humility — through not knowing. At the same time, his words and facial expression ooze trust and confidence. 
(chapter 75) Each title, each belt, each triumph was a rebuttal to his father’s words. He was not worthless, not doomed. Yet the irony is cruel: in fighting to silence those curses 
(chapter 29), Joo Jaekyung opened up a little to doc Dan! Thus the next morning, he visited the bathroom where doc Dan was! 
(chapter 30) It was just an excuse to spend more time with his fated partner. 
(chapter 74), no “dear,” no “I love you.” In the father’s memory, she used the child as an excuse to distance herself from her spouse. In that moment, Jaekyung is not a son to be cherished but a barrier in an adult quarrel.
(chapter 67) Not because he felt nothing, but because he lacked the language to connect worry with love. In his conscious mind, conception of care was still bound to usefulness — Dan mattered because he was needed for training, not because he was loved as himself, while deep down, he had already moved beyond this aspect. He was just in denial in this scene,
(chapter 74) On one level, she does not recognize his voice. But on a deeper level, her words ring as truth: she does not know her son. She has no idea who he has become, what defines him, what characterizes him beyond money and survival.
(chapter 74), promising to provide for her if she returns home. He unconsciously appeals to the only logic he has ever known: that love equals provision, that affection is secured by usefulness. 
(chapter 42) His father’s voice was violent and scornful, but its framework remained lodged in him.
(chapter 62) That way, he can still be “free”. 
(chapter 74) He understood that the words he longed for as a child were never simply withheld — they never existed. Since we saw her back and heard her voice, I don’t think, she truly cut off ties with Joo Jaekyung. Why? It is because she had no intention to change her phone number again. 
(chapter 75) Keep in mind that we have these mysterious phone calls: 
(chapter 43) 
(chapter 49)
(chapter 75) On the surface, these sound like support. He smiles, his tone is warm, his words echo the vocabulary of friendship. Yet this false promise had lasting consequences: it reinforced a pattern already planted by the champion’s mother. Since childhood, Jaekyung had equated helping with caring 
(chapter 34), Jaekyung assumed later that the actor would have helped doc Dan to hide. 
(chapter 58) His violent intrusion into the actor’s home was the natural outgrowth of Namwook’s teaching: if love is real, it must show itself as service.
(chapter 45), Jaekyung struggled to even recognize it. Giving him a gift and expressing gratitude was not “helping the fighter”. 
“ (chapter 75) There’s a life outside the ring and the spotlight. 
(chapter 72) was quite futile, for at the end, he ended up alone and felt lonely.
(chapter 71) Yet, deep down, he was happy that Joo Jaekyung had visited him and even spent the whole day with him. Secondly, for him, too, love has always been expressed through responsibility, advice, and correction rather than direct declaration. When he tells Jaekyung to “look around” and “think hard,” or warns Dan to “
(chapter 70) “stay sharp,” he is not being cold — he is speaking from the only framework of love he knows: respect, knowledge, care, and responsibility, the very dimensions Erich Fromm outlines. He realized too late that he missed Joo Jaekyung very much. His love is embedded in actions and words of guidance, not in sentimental speech. To suddenly say “I love you” would, in his own register, feel shallow and false. He actually embodies the “real parent” IMO, because contrary to all the others adults, he learned from his mistakes. No parent is perfect, but they need to reflect on their words and actions. Learning through experiences is lifelong learning. It stops with death. The director did his best according to the circumstances and tried to correct his wrongdoings. And we can see his influence in the champion’s life. When it comes to doc Dan, he also makes mistakes: 
(chapter 68) 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 69) And that’s what makes him so human. 
(chapter 71) Hence doc Dan didn’t resent the champion for his harsh treatment. But unlike the mother, who equated love with possession, Hwang Byungchul has begun to correct himself. He respects Jaekyung’s privacy, he encourages instead of dictating, he models a love that is belated but still real. This opens the possibility that Jaekyung, too, may learn to fill his silences differently — not with dominance or provision, but with genuine presence. He truly embodies the philosophy from Erich Fromm: it is never too late to become happy! Hence he smiled on the rooftop! 
(chapter 41) He didn’t know how to judge such a confession. Hence these words were reduced to a mistake! 
(chapter 66), whispers through tears 
(chapter 66) and then breaks down with “
(chapter 66) These are not declarations of love, but desperate substitutes — fragments of the words he could never utter in childhood. They expose the precise gap: he never managed to say back what had once been said to him. He had lost his parents too soon. Instead of “I love you too,” what emerges is fear of abandonment. Instead of reciprocity, there is only pleading. His grip on Jaekyung’s shirt is the physical translation of what he could not verbalize: the child’s attempt to hold onto someone who is already vanishing. 
(chapter 65), the boy had not developed such a deep attachment to his parents. Thus she imagined, she could erase their absence. She conflated sacrifice with love, debt with affection. Yet what he received from her was not the warmth of a parent, but the burden of endurance. She patted 
(chapter 65) 
(chapter 31)— which he associates with unbearable debt. His mother’s final “gift” of love was one he could never repay. Any present risks reopening that wound: “What if I can’t repay this? What if I lose them too?”
(chapter 74) — the quiet sign that the sun is about to rise. Dawn is not just a natural detail in Jinx; it is a symbolic hinge. It is the moment when night meets day, when moon and sun overlap, when endings bleed into beginnings. In myth and fairy tale, dawn often marks metamorphosis: the Little Mermaid turns to foam, the enchanted sleepers awaken, the beast becomes a prince. For Jaekyung, too, dawn is the threshold. His father cursed him at dawn 
(chapter 73), stripping him of worth, tying the rising sun to shame. But in this new dawn, another voice will have to intervene. Only Dan can replace the curse with a blessing. Only “I love you” can undo “you are not special.” And if it is not “I love You”, then it could be a kiss, the symbol of “affection”. 
(chapter 75) He was always there — arranging his matches, covering his problems, whispering about his “future.” Yet the quality of his presence was hollow. He never once guided Jaekyung beyond his father’s curse, never helped him imagine a life beyond titles. Thus he never discovered that the “monster” was suffering from insomnia. 
(chapter 75) His companionship was measured in duration, not depth.
(chapter 41), an invitation to walk together. Namwook’s long presence embodies the trap of quantity without substance. Dan’s brief but luminous presence reveals the power of quality: the kind of attention that transforms.
(chapter 75) Namwook’s whispers, too, keep him chained to that rhythm of urgency — rankings, titles, deadlines. But once Dan’s whisper replaces Namwook’s, time itself shifts. The future is no longer a debt to repay but a horizon to approach slowly, hand in hand.
(chapter 27), even rediscovered his love for swimming. Water, his true element, was reclaimed as play rather than punishment. 
(chapter 27) That single day was a seed — a foreshadowing of what life might look like once the curse is broken for good.
(chapter 71)These two older men mirror different systems of power: the current director, a seemingly kind authority figure who represents institutional control masked as care; and the former coach, a fallen patriarch whose past decisions shaped Jaekyung’s identity and pain. This part of the essay focuses first on the hospice director, and how his interaction with Kim Dan reveals the young man’s invisible burden and social isolation. In the final section, we will turn to the old coach, now reduced to a ghost in his own story, and explore how the symbolism of owls, coots, and crickets illuminates his emerging relationship with Kim Dan. 
(chapter 70) 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.
(Chapter 70) The director doesn’t say, “We’ll adjust your schedule,” or, “Let me talk to HR.” He simply tells Dan to take a day off 
(Chapter 59) This reinforces the idea that Dan is not covered by the same protections, and that he operates outside the stable framework of regular employment.
(chapter 66) to visit a sleep specialist, where Dan received a diagnosis and first treatment for his “sleepwalking” condition. The two spent the night in Seoul. Upon returning to the seaside town, Jaekyung received a call 
(chapter 69) and left again the next morning for Seoul in order to meet the CEO, marking a separation between the two after their return.
(chapter 71) and night hours 
(chapter 71), suggesting his ongoing pattern of overworking. In episode 71, Kim Dan is seen walking alone through the hospice hallway—unaccompanied, unnoticed. This quiet image stands in stark contrast to the earlier scene when, after nearly drowning, he was carried in by Joo Jaekyung and immediately met by a nurse and the hospice director, both actively working together that night. 
(chapter 60) Back then, his suffering was visible, his crisis institutionalized. Striking is that after that night, the hospital director never asked doc Dan to take a sick leave or to a day off. In fact, it took some time before making such a suggestion. Moreover, as if a single day off would make a huge difference. But now, despite his clear exhaustion and illness, doc Dan moves through the same space in silence 
(Chapter 57) his grandmother would worry about him. Yet, during that night, Shin Okja doesn’t seem to be plagued by worries for her own grandson’s health. She sleeps peacefully.
(chapter 70) only after the Seoul trip. This must mean that his conversation with the hospice director—where he was urged to rest—took place between his return from Seoul and the announced day off. We also know that 
(chapter 69) the champion came back from Seoul in the evening and found footprints near the house, suspecting Dan had wandered to the ocean while drunk. These prints were left that same day 
(chapter 70), when Kim Dan chased the puppies that had stolen the shoes. Based on the shadows and the position of the sun
(chapter 70), I am deducing that this scene took place during the afternoon. I used these images as a contrast, where the author made it clear that these scenes took place in the morning. 
(Chapter 65) 
(chapter 57) We can determine the time based on the position of the sun and the shadows.
(Chapter 13) But when Kim Dan drops a patient Dan by mistake 
(chapter 59), the director acts immediately—not because of concern for the elderly man, 
(chapter 59) but because he fears that the patient’s family might sue the hospice. The elderly man’s condition was formally assessed, documented, and protected. This scene exposes that they can act in an emergency (taking tests). In contrast, Kim Dan—who is visibly unwell—is not offered even a basic check-up. His illness is reduced to tired eyes and missed sleep, framed as personal negligence rather than systemic failure. He is looked at, not truly seen. While the patient is treated as a legal liability, Dan is treated as disposable labor—an expendable worker whose wellbeing doesn’t justify institutional resources. Thus in my opinion, the director of the hospice suggested that doc Dan took a day off in order to ensure that he had done his duty, taking care of his employee.
(Chapter 70) His distinct appearance—bald with tufts of grey hair—makes him easily recognizable. What stands out this time is not the accident, but the aftermath of it. 
(Chapter 70) When Kim Dan, again lost in thought, almost bypasses his room, it is this very patient who gently brings him back to reality with the teasing words, “Earth to Doc Dan.” His tone is not accusatory. On the contrary, it’s forgiving—light-hearted even.
(chapter 62) However, the main lead was still working, thus the athlete concluded that he had made a mistake. He probably assumed that he had the afternoon shift. Hence Joo Jaekyung only returned to the landlord’s house at sunset! So during that day, he must have worked for the morning and afternoon shift. Even here, the doctor was suggested to give a special treatment to the star. 
(Chapter 62) Then in episode 71, we see him working in both afternoon 
(chapter 71) and night scenes, 
(Chapter 71) Therefore we see him in company of different nurses. 
(Chapter 57) He moves between teams, unanchored and isolated. This also explicates why the nurses still have no name. To conclude, his contract implies that Dan is paid by the hour or per shift, without salary-based benefits. I am suspecting, the regular nurses likely operate under different contracts, which could include fixed shifts, team integration, and better protections. 
(Chapter 57) Finally, we shouldn’t overlook that his job is strongly intertwined with his grandmother’s situation. He needed to get a job there, hence he couldn’t negotiate his contract. As long as he had a job as physical therapist, he could only be “happy”.
(Chapter 71) in a room designed for six patients—indicated by the six plastic protections outside the door. 
(chapter 65), while the former coach shares a room with three others and lacks personal care. 
(Chapter 71) Shin Okja lives like a VIP. Yes, the new version of this situation: 
(chapter 52) That’s the reason why Mingwa made another allusion to this particular scene (chapter 52) in episode 71: 
(chapter 65), and he has now a cold.
(Chapter 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 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. 
(Chapter 65) 
(Chapter 71) In German, he would be an “alter Kauz”—an eccentric owl. But this metaphor reaches deeper than mere strangeness or aging. 
(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. 
(quoted from 
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) suggests that communication doesn’t always have to be soft to be sincere. It is precisely the coach’s lack of elegance that makes him relatable to Dan. 
(Chapter 71) This dynamic becomes especially meaningful when we recall that Kim Dan’s symbolic animal is the duck—a creature often seen as passive or domesticated, gliding over water while paddling furiously underneath. As discussed above, the duck stands for Dan’s silent endurance, his ability to move between unstable emotional terrains without ever making a splash.
(chapter 22).
(chapter 71), a joke. But there’s another side to the owl—the side that watches the night, that sees what others do not. And in this hospice, maybe for the first time, the former coach becomes something more: a witness who is no longer silent. An old man who still has eyes.
(Chapter 71) The latter didn’t receive proper treatment for his woundsAnd this brings me to my final interpretation, the absence of a physical therapist or doctor in the director’s world and life! His body got broken so many times, indicating that he never had a doctor by his side! . 
(Chapter 70)He never had a companion or friend in his life, which is also mirrored in the picture. 
(Chapter 71) The other carries bitterness and the guilt of watching too long without speaking. In this dim hallway of illness and endurance, their connection becomes a muted call for dignity. 
(chapter 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 16) it frightened him. The kiss broke an invisible boundary—one his upbringing had silently enforced. That’s the reason why he wasn’t sure if he could do it again.
(chapter 30) He blushes and wonders why. 
(chapter 30) It’s a telling moment: Dan isn’t used to feeling attraction and desire, let alone recognizing it. He never bought posters of celebrities, never fantasized. That world—the glamorous world of affection, attention, and beauty—was never his. 
(chapter 30) —despite already having been seen naked by Jaekyung 
(chapter 30) —suggests something deeper than modesty. When he rushes to hide his underwear and blushes merely at brushing his teeth next to someone 
(chapter 30), it becomes evident: Dan is not accustomed to physical closeness or shared domestic spaces. These are not reactions of a man with just sexual trauma—they point to someone raised without the warmth of daily intimacy.
(chapter 5) He had to take care of himself, dressed on his own. He had to act like an adult, as his role was to assist his grandmother: 
(chapter 44) For me, without realizing it, Dan reproduced those gestures. These actions can not come from Shin Okja, as we only see her caressing or patting her grandson. The progression is striking. It moves away from eroticism (kiss from the lips) 
(chapter 44) and toward something far more intimate and protective. These are not the kisses of seduction, but of affection—almost maternal in their tone. Hence the MMA fighter got patted later: 
(chapter 57) (chapter 57)—licking them not out of instinct alone, but to reassure and bond. 
(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) wasn’t just the pain he might have inflicted—it was the realization that the balance of power had subtly shifted. The man who had always dictated the terms of their relationship had surrendered to something unfamiliar: tenderness, emotional closeness, and shared desire. The fact that Kim Dan initiated affection, even kissed him voluntarily, shattered Jaekyung’s script. For someone who conflated feelings with threat, and dominance with safety, this reversal was unbearable.
(chapter 37), and kissing becomes his emotional brake pedal. It’s not simply an act of love, but a means to regulate, or even drown out, what he cannot yet name or accept: that he is being loved. It is not random that I included the scene from episode 37: he heard laughs from the other room. For him, such a noise must have sounded like a disrespect and mockery, triggering his past trauma. And he was not entirely wrong in the sense that they were eating behind his back 
(chapter 37) It was, as if they were mocking him because of his forced “diet”. No wonder why the champion is barely seen laughing and prefers seriousness. At the same time, I can grasp why the athlete feels close to Park Namwook, as the latter stands for these exact notions: work, money and seriousness. Fun is not part of his world and vocabulary, therefore he punished Joo Jaekyung for sparring with doc Dan.
(chapter 2) Though his face was close to the star’s, he didn’t attempt to kiss him. In fact, he proposed him a fellatio, a sign that the champion had never allowed anyone to get close to his “face”. Finally, observe how he reacted, when the uke in episode 55 attempted to kiss him: 
(chapter 55) Not only he rejected him, but also he pushed him violently so that the latter was on the floor. 
(chapter 55) The celebrity even ran away: a sign that the allowing someone approaching his face is perceived as something uncomfortable and threatening. At the same time, that moment exposes the kiss as something sacred—one that cannot be duplicated without emotional violation. This shows that for the champion, the meaning of a smooch has evolved. It is no longer perceived as a source of fun and a mean to gain something.
(chapter 55) He couldn’t forget doc Dan’s face, the latter excited him, a sign that for the champion, the face in general has been a source of pain, yet thanks to doc Dan, the latter has become a source of “comfort and joy”. 
(chapter 66) When he saw his face for the first time, he didn’t realize that he was already under the hamster’s spell. Striking is that he even focused on his chin and lips, a sign that he desired to kiss them. One thing is sure. The champion treasured the doctor’s face. After their separation, it is not surprising that the wolf felt the need to see his face. 
(chapter 39) before requesting a fellatio: 
(chapter 39) The main lead’s head was very close to the champion’s face, thus he must have felt uncomfortable. Secondly by acting this way, the doctor was gradually gaining power over their relationship. For the wolf, dominance is everything, an indication that in his past he felt defenseless and weak. His “opponent”, the mysterious ghost, had the upper hand. Moreover, the fellatio created a distance between them, where the fighter could expose his superiority. And note how doc Dan behaved under the influence of the drug: 
(chapter 39) He caught his fated partner by surprise, when he suddenly kissed him, mirroring the champion’s past behavior. This panel corroborates that for the doctor, a kiss is the symbol of love. The champion was not happy with this kiss too, for the latter meant that he was no longer controlling their relationship. Yet, after hearing the doctor’s confession during that night, the athlete no longer resisted his partner’s kisses. 
(chapter 39) For the first time, he accepted Dan’s initiative—both physically and emotionally. Compare it to his attitude before: 
(chapter 39) here, he still has his eyes wide open, a sign of vigilance. These kisses from doc Dan 
(chapter 39) mark a turning point in Jaekyung’s arc: he begins to lower his defenses, allowing Dan not only into his personal space but also into a position of gentle agency within their relationship. The kiss no longer represents a threat; it becomes an opening and a sign of trust. 
(chapter 55) These memories represent the moment where the athlete felt strong and had the upper hand in their relationship. These images reveal that Joo Jaekyung hasn’t realized the signification of the kiss yet. For him, they don’t seem important. This exposes that the athlete has not associated kiss with love and affection yet. At the same time, we have to envision that a smooch is strongly intertwined with equity and trust. 
(chapter 28) And in episode 14, it was clear that the star still felt superior to his companion, therefore the kiss had no special meaning. As you can see, everything is pointing out that Joo Jaekyung had never been kissed before. And what does a kiss symbolize? Not only attachment, but also purity and innocence. 
(chapter 42) According to him, doc Dan was not different from him. However, he was wrong. It is because the champion had kissed him!! Moreover, the celebrity had allowed doc Dan to kiss him as well. Besides, how did the champion name his past lovers? They were toys… normally people don’t kiss playthings. And now, imagine that doc Dan were to discover that Joo Jaekyung had his first kiss with him. This revelation would not only make him realize that Joo Jaekyung loves him, but also he could be wondering why the athlete had never done such a thing before, though he had past lovers. YES, the “first kiss” could be the trigger for both characters to question their respective past and perceive their fated partner correctly. 
(chapter 15) 
(chapter 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 69) That moment was devoid of lust, stripped of performance, and free from power dynamics. Jaekyung didn’t lean in for a kiss; he didn’t touch Dan’s lips or body with any sexual intent. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the physical therapist in silent reassurance, tucking his face against Dan’s shoulder as though hiding from the world. This was not a champion claiming a prize—it was a man expressing affection. The embrace exposes that doc Dan belongs to his “world” and he trusts him. In this light, the embrace becomes a prelude to a kiss—not a literal one, but an emotional kiss: a meeting place of vulnerability and longing.
(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 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 54) The challenger, Randy Booker’s insult — calling him a “baby” 
(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 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 69) 
(chapter 69) His body speaks what the panel leaves unsaid — a visceral resonance of surprise, longing, and fragile hope.
(chapter 69) There is no accusation, no resentment, no judgment.
(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 55) In his mind, people leave — they live elsewhere — life goes on. He never imagined irretrievable loss.
(chapter 26) 
(chapter 65)
(chapter 69) It is the embrace of a child seeking a parent — of one who has never known how to ask for comfort, but who now surrenders to the need for it.
(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) as the champion’s sleek white car raced toward the tunnel, into a sky veiled by darkening clouds. This image foreshadowed the impending tempest not just in weather, but in fate. However, the celebrity didn’t pay too much attention to the warning, lost in thoughts, which is symbolized by the tunnel. The latter represents the protagonist’s ignorance, recklessness and “stubbornness” (he can not forget his loved one, he can not bear to leave his side). He races toward change, still shrouded in his old mindset, while nature prepares to strip away his last remaining believes and illusions.
(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 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 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 65) and future, disregarding reality, assuming the ocean/town’s beauty promised tranquility without acknowledging the lurking danger it could also bring. Her nostalgia operates as an emotional escape hatch—a curated fantasy where beauty masks regret. When she speaks of “seeing it one last time,” it is not a celebration of memory, but a quiet refusal to face her past failures and the reality of her present. For her, the coast is a postcard of serenity 
(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 56), her illusions of control. This is not poetic justice, but poetic truth. She cannot walk. 
(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 61), so it is quite vulnerable as well. Therefore one might think that the champion’s hostel is similarly exposed to potential outages or structural damage. 
(chapter 69) is so built that you don’t need to leave the building in order to “enter” a different room (kitchen, bathroom) contrary to the landlord’s. 
(chapter 62) There’s no doubt that the dogs will be invited to his home, as her place is right under a tree and power mast. 
(chapter 57) and wisdom, finds herself outmatched—not by age, but by wind. Her idea of safety is shattered. Like pointed out before, the storm embodies present. So if they come to enjoy this time of respite together, they will realize that this “tragedy” for others represented a “blessing” for them. 
(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 65) Finally, if my prediction is correct, then by living with different people in a small place, he will realize the benefits of relying on others. He will discover the joy of having a family, having found a home. The storm creates a space for redefinition.
(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) Doc Dan can not assist her anyway, as he can do nothing against nature. 
(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 68)—stand firm.
(chapter 61) Therefore I perceive him as the eye of the storm. 
(chapter 53) She imagined a final golden moment—warm, serene, and nostalgic before her death. But instead, she gets gusts and branches crashing down. In that sense, the tempest is her lesson: Humans are not superior to nature. They can not control time, nature and destinies. Moreover, nature does not serve our stories. It tells its own.
(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) 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 62) He is a farmer—a man who reads the sky, the wind, and the rhythm of the land. Hence I am inclined to think that his awareness of the approaching storm stems not from a broadcast but from instinct. The wind carries signs, and he is attuned to them. It is even possible that while talking with the coast guards, he learned more about the forecast—not through digital alerts, but through human connection.
(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) the image of him gently fanning himself while sitting in his yard. I detected something immediately intimate and ancient in this gesture. A hand fan, in many East Asian cultures, denotes calm authority, self-discipline, and silence. I interpreted this scene as more than casual: the landlord becomes an embodiment of wind—present, refreshing, yet invisible. A man who can create movement without pressure. It is striking that in a story driven by action, fists, and fame, the one character who moves the plot forward with the least noise is this old man.
(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 69) The scene becomes emotionally charged, echoing classic storm symbolism: emotional intensity, uncertainty, and the prospect of sudden change.
(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 59) He felt so comfortable around him. 
(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 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 61) —they give him the air, time, and space to grow. 
(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 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 69) 
(chapter 32) Yet upon closer inspection, certain oddities stood out to me. 
(chapter 43) In that scene, Kim Dan poured soju into his water cup to pace himself during a drinking session. 
(chapter 43) Joo Jaekyung, unaware, mistakes it for his own and angrily reacts upon drinking it. This moment shows how closely water glasses are associated with Korean dining culture—even in casual or alcohol-heavy settings. Hence during a meal, the characters always have 
(chapter 32) two glasses on the table. In South Korea, it is customary for restaurants to provide a glass of water to every diner, regardless of the meal’s formality or complexity. This small gesture reflects hospitality, attentiveness, and the expectation of proper nourishment. The absence of water glasses, therefore, subtly communicates indifference or even disrespect—signaling that the recipient is not truly welcome to enjoy a full meal or rest. When applied to the “dessert meeting,” this detail becomes all the more striking: a cultural standard is ignored, revealing the performative nature of the gesture. Their absence at the “dessert meeting” feels deliberate, a symbol of superficiality and arrogance. 
(chapter 43) The reason for his mistake was that they had only placed a spoon and sticks.😮 He had no glass for himself. It was, as if they had forgotten him. In other words, he was not supposed to eat and drink at his own birthday party!! 😂 
(chapter 9) It reflects a pattern: the champion is present but not included in the communal or emotional aspects of the gathering. His spoon and chopsticks function like a prop, much like the untouched knives and forks at the dessert meeting. 
(chapter 69) 
(chapter 48), the meeting between Choi Gilseok and Kim Dan. The former invited him for coffee. 
(chapted 48) At first, the gesture seemed generous—he offers a home, a car, 
(chapter 48) But this so-called kindness is conditional: in exchange, Kim Dan must betray Joo Jaekyung. Striking is that director Choi only ordered coffee. But a coffee without a dessert is no real break, but a stimulant—fuel for continued work. In both this meeting and the previous one with Choi Gilseok, the core remains the same: “work”, stinginess and greed wrapped in the guise of generosity. Every sweet drink or dessert lies a hidden price. This comparison highlights that the current meeting is not for the athlete’s sake—it is meant to serve Park Namwook and the CEO, who share different but aligned goals.
(chapter 66) linked to fire, summer (hence the reference to the trip in the States), passion, performance, and vitality—ironically twisted here into cold professionalism and superficial seduction. Her position contrasts with her symbolic warmth, highlighting the emptiness of her care. This explains why she is portrayed eyeless. She sold her “soul” to money and as such to the “devil”.
(chapter 69) wearing black, aligns with the North (흑, Heuk), associated with the color black, winter, water, authority, secrecy, and hidden control. It was, as if he was representing the missing glass of water. His position as the initiator of the meeting and his location near the window reinforce his dominance and detachment.
(chapter 69), which evokes confusion and corruption. This artistic backdrop continues the theme from Voyage, Voyage (life is a journey), positioning Jaekyung as mentally “adrift” within this orchestrated trap. At the same time, the green might reference the “Black Forest”—a literal and metaphorical journey ahead. Like Hansel and Gretel, he is being lured with sweets into the forest. But unlike the fairy tale, the athlete’s breadcrumb trail will not lead him home—it will lead him to Kim Dan. On the other hand, by making this connection, I couldn’t help myself thinking that exactly like Hansel and Gretel, doc Dan and his fated partner will cross the witch’s path on their journey to independence and happiness.
(chapter 69) Notably, this outfit marks a shift from his previous appearances: during his public pose with Baek Junmin 
(chapter 47), he wore a formal black suit with a white shirt, signaling polished professionalism. When he met the champion in the States, his full black outfit resembled a manager’s uniform and a badge, signaling humbleness and authority but also a hands-on, corporate role. 
(chapter 37) Now, Joo Jaekyung mirrors this casual dark attire 
(chapter 69) —a signal of inner turmoil and his transition from his former life. Blue stands for loyalty, thought, and calm, while black alludes to his troubled past. He is evolving but not yet free.
(chapter 69) the strawberry fraisier (chosen by the woman) stands for surface sweetness and seduction; the layered chocolate cake (perhaps a feuilleté) represents indulgence and opulence. Joo Jaekyung alone chose a square Black Forest cake—a form traditionally associated with structure, truth, and boundaries. Because the cake contains kirschwasser, subtly referencing the athlete’s brief brush with alcohol, it becomes clear that Park Namwook was not the one behind this order. Imagine this: under his very own eyes, the champion is encouraged to taste a strong alcohol. In my opinion, they must know that the star has been drinking. Yet, it was through Kim Dan’s presence that he stopped drinking, making this dessert an unconscious mirror of both his struggle and strength. Meanwhile, Park Namwook, ever the follower, selects the same dessert as the CEO and the same drink as the woman, revealing his pretense and pastiche once more. Since the manager has always bought junk food (chicken
(chapter 22)
(chapter 48), their meeting was not supposed to be secretive. On the other hand, because the scene was photographed 
(chapter 48), it created the illusion of “betrayal” as it looked like a secret meeting”. In episode 69, the meeting is hidden from the public. In contrast to the earlier public appearance alongside Baek Junmin for the cameras
(chapter 69) This framing is deceptive: far from being a gesture of goodwill, it reveals the urgency and opportunism driving the meeting. However, this gesture is carefully staged: the CEO and the woman in red are the ones who selected the time and location of the encounter, placing the athlete in a reactive position where he must adjust his schedule to their convenience. It reinforces the illusion of privilege while concealing a dynamic of control. The meeting is designed to appear personalized, but it reflects MFC’s ethos that ‘time is money’—a business-centered logic that prioritizes efficiency over empathy. The CEO’s urgency to schedule a match, despite Jaekyung’s unclear health status, further exposes the commodification of the athlete. Notably, the proposed match is not even a title bout. 
(chapter 69) This strategic omission likely serves to shield the organization from scrutiny, as a title match would demand full transparency around the champion’s ranking and physical condition—areas that may not withstand public examination. In truth, the meeting is not about offering the protagonist an opportunity, but about maintaining MFC’s narrative control while exploiting his fame. This framing is deceptive: far from being a gesture of goodwill, it reveals the urgency and opportunism driving the meeting. To conclude, the discreet setting implies that MFC is not interested in publicizing their dealings with the star, possibly to avoid scrutiny or backlash. The lack of transparency underscores the manipulative nature of this so-called “favor,” which ultimately serves the organization’s agenda, not the athlete’s interests. The problem is that this meeting is heard by doc Dan 
(chapter 67) He was not dropping the case. That’s the reason why the fighter is offered a match in the fall. If he is busy, then he might forget the “case”, especially since fall is right around the corner. He would be occupied training. Like mentioned in previous essays, my theory is that the CEO is involved in the scheme. This assumption got reinforced with this meeting. Striking is that the focus of the “chief of security” was the incident in the States. 
(chapter 69) This means that she is attempting to erase the involvement of MFC in the scheme. That’s why they are now offering an apology, which is naturally fake: 
(chapter 42), it dawned on me that MFC is actually treating the Emperor like a “cash cow”, they imagine that they can keep milking him. I could say, this encounter is exposing the reality to the athlete: Joo Jaekyung is treated like any other fighter. Hence there is no longer mention of Baek Junmin in the news. On the other hand, they have to vouch for Baek Junmin’s integrity 
(chapter 41) here the topic is avoided altogether—possibly due to the lack of actual clearance. Should a third-party hospital intervene, the match could be canceled. Secondly, Park Namwook assumes control of the timeline: a match in the fall means training now. But the champion is no longer dancing to his tune. He is meditating, admitting his exhaustion. 
(chapter 69) So Joo JAekyung is more than a fighter and the apology (interrupted by the manager) is the evidence for this. Under this new light, Jinx-philes can understand Park Namwook’s interruption and embarassement. Not only he doesn‘t want to be reminded of his past mistakes (passivity, failure of his job, the slap), but also this apology serves as a mirror and reminder that he is not the true owner of the gym. 
(chapter 69) He is his unseen savior. Thanks to Kim Dan, the star remained silent and calm giving the impression that he had fallen for MFC’s trick. 
(chapter 40) This echoes Kim Dan’s confusion in Chapter 40 when interrogated in English. It also conveniently hides their ties to local authorities—acting as foreigners with no responsibility or rootedness in Korea. But this is what director Choi Gilseok confessed to the angel: 
(chapter 40), effectively opening the metaphorical door to truth and protection. In this meeting, however, Park Namwook serves to contain and silence, not to defend. His placement underscores his complicity and fear—not just of the CEO or MFC, but of confronting the consequences of his own failures. But the manager is on his way for a rude awakening, he will be taught a lesson: don’t judge a book by its cover. The athlete won’t be the depressed, anxious, submissive and passive “boy” any longer. Moreover, he listened carefully to the chief of security: 
(chapter 69) he leaves during the day and arrives by night. 
(chapter 32) During Kim Dan’s lunch with Choi Heesung, the floor beneath their round table shows a twelve-petal flower motif—evocative of the legendary Knights of the Round Table, who were said to sit twelve strong. That earlier scene featured Heesung testing Dan, much like the fake round table later hosts a veiled test for Joo Jaekyung. The repetition of round tables masks exclusion and betrayal. These early “false” tables pave the way for a true table—one that Jaekyung might one day forge with fighters like Heesung, Potato, Oh Daehyun, and others, where loyalty and respect, not manipulation, define the bond.
(chapter 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) His presence is necessary to maintain the “myth” alive. 
(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 60) This scene represents the exception. For the most part of the time, the star only visited the gym because Park Namwook had contacted him. 
(chapter 54) 
(chapter 66) Yet, just moments later, he tells him that he can take more time to rest, as if feigning concern. This contradiction is striking because it exposes his underlying agenda: he wants Joo Jaekyung back in the gym but doesn’t want to appear forceful. Instead, he makes it seem like Joo Jaekyung is the one making the decision, fostering guilt by implying that his long absence is unnatural.
(chapter 27) This double standard highlights Park Namwook’s true role: he is not a supportive figure but a handler, ensuring that Joo Jaekyung remains under control and fulfilling his duties as a fighter. His words are not meant to provide genuine support but to keep Joo Jaekyung tethered to a system where his worth is defined solely by his success in the ring. 
(Chapter 57) As a manager, Park Namwook’s role involves overseeing Joo Jaekyung’s career, securing contracts, and ensuring his reputation remains intact. Yet, as seen in Chapter 66, his actual concerns seem remarkably narrow in scope. 
(chapter 50), preferring instead to remain passive so that any negative outcomes can be blamed on the champion. At the same time, this passivity helps him maintain control—as if Joo Jaekyung, without his guidance, would be left ‘alone’ and directionless. In this way, the man with the glasses sustains a dynamic in which the champion feels dependent on his presence, even as he is subtly undermined. By neglecting to inform him of these events, Park Namwook ensures that the champion remains unaware of external factors that could influence his choices. This pattern reinforces the possibility that Park Namwook was aware of the meeting with Choi Gilseok and deliberately ignored it, likely expecting that Joo Jaekyung would take care of it, while absolving himself of responsibility. 
(chapter 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.
. The reason is simple. He was portrayed as someone who would do favors to people constantly: his grandmother 
(chapter 7) and even Choi Heesung. Hence the latter called him like that: 
(chapter 64) than the champion, Kim Dan avoids confronting his own emotional repression, his weaknesses, and his own form of “defectiveness.” He fails to see that he is just as human—just as fragile—as the man he silently judges. 
(chapter 66) The expression “Really…?” is not just about disbelief but also about a moment of confrontation with reality. Up until this point, Kim Dan has been dismissing his own suffering, suppressing his struggles, and functioning on autopilot. However, hearing a professional confirm that he is indeed sick forces him to acknowledge what he has been denying.
(chapter 60) or exaggerations. 
(chapter 66) It also forces him to consider that others—especially Joo Jaekyung—were right to be concerned, which in turn may lead to a shift in his perception of the champion’s actions.
(chapter 20) with shame, something impure that should be avoided or hidden. This internalized belief made it difficult for him to separate his own experiences from moral judgment. When he encountered the champion —who treated sex as nothing more than a professional ritual 
(chapter 66) He assumed once again that the star had taken advantage of his “drunkenness”, something Kim Dan had done himself in the past.
(chapter 40) , while Kim Dan, conditioned by years of emotional neglect, sees gratitude as a transactional exchange rather than an expression of genuine appreciation. 
(chapter 66) because Kim Dan does not recognize his efforts, while Kim Dan cannot see past his own survival instincts to notice that Joo Jaekyung’s actions are slowly shifting from obligation to care. Kim Dan, conditioned by years of neglect and survival-driven thinking, does not see Joo Jaekyung’s actions as genuine care. 
Bebebisous33s' analyses in K-Dramaland and Manhwas 