Jinx: Goodbye 🤝 Then … 😿 – part 2

Introduction — The Sentence That Arrived Too Late

Episode 100 of Mingwa’s Jinx revolves around a devastating psychological and rhetorical paradox: the most critical confession of the narrative is openly spoken and yet remains entirely unheard at the exact same time. In the immediate aftermath of the chapter’s release, a singular, collective frustration rippled through the global readership, prompting many to focus heavily on the apparent emotional silence paralyzing the protagonists. Audiences repeatedly questioned why Jaekyung allowed Kim Dan to walk away after everything they had survived together, why he refused to openly intercept his departure at the entrance of the penthouse (chapter 100), and why Kim Dan continuously retreated into the sterile scripts of formal gratitude and apology instead of absolute emotional honesty. Yet, the cruel irony of the chapter is that the confession itself does not belong to a future resolution; it already exists, fully articulated, inside the physical boundaries of the narrative. While Kim Dan drifts precariously in the liminal space between life and death following the stabbing, Joo Jaekyung drops his hyper-masculine armor and desperately begs him: (chapter 100)

The structural tragedy of this relationship is not that the words of reciprocal need were never spoken. The problem is that they arrived too late. Earlier in the story, Kim Dan had already witnessed Joo Jaekyung’s mouth moving during emotionally charged moments, yet the meaning behind the words failed to fully reach him. (chapter 84) And in episode 100, the wish is yelled at a moment that was both physically and psychologically too late. Physically, the plea materializes while Kim Dan is actively losing consciousness (chapter 100), rendering the data inaccessible to his waking mind. Emotionally, it lands at the exact moment where Dan has unconsciously associated the champion’s victory with an impending separation. (chapter 100) Psychologically, the words arrive before Kim Dan has developed the cognitive architecture required to understand love outside the crushing frameworks of usefulness, debt, and transactional obligation.

This distinction is vital because Kim Dan’s formative trauma has never been structured merely around the abstract concept of abandonment. (chapter 95) His entire existence has evolved instead around the crushing mechanics of repayment, survival, and economic and emotional burden. (chapter 5) Having lost his parents at a young age, Dan did not grow up believing that attachment could exist freely, unconditionally, or safely. (chapter 94) Instead, he learned that his literal presence beside others required a continuous, exhausting material justification. He had to perform labor, adapt to volatile environments, sacrifice his own well-being, and make himself transactionally useful simply to deserve remaining in the same room as another human being. (chapter 97) Therefore he never rested.

Consequently, emotional attachment became permanently fused with transaction. Kim Dan does not possess the psychological tools to exist as someone who is freely and voluntarily chosen (chapter 47); he only understands relationships through the desperate lens of survivalist necessity. Hence the grandmother and Kim Dan are seen clinching onto each other.

This is precisely why the subsequent hospital sequence becomes so profoundly devastating. When Kim Dan regains consciousness and hears that Joo Jaekyung has successfully reclaimed the championship title, (chapter 100) readers instinctively interpret his reaction through a lens of uncritical relief. (chapter 100) Yet, the formal pacing of the scene quietly suggests a far darker internal reality. For Kim Dan, the champion’s victory signifies nothing less than the absolute completion of their contract. The title has been recovered, the emotional and physical debt has been cleared, and the utilitarian role he assigned himself beside Joo Jaekyung has reached its natural endpoint.

This interpretation fundamentally changes the meaning of Kim Dan’s response: (chapter 100) On the surface, the sentence appears comforting and grateful. Yet the wording itself is strangely impersonal. At no point, Kim Dan does not ask how Joo Jaekyung won, whether he suffered, whether he was injured, or what emotional state he endured during the fight. He never expresses curiosity about the match itself and later shows no desire to watch it. Only the outcome matters.

This detail becomes psychologically revealing because Kim Dan instinctively processes the event not through emotional recognition, but through completed function. The objective has been achieved. The contract has fulfilled its purpose. Thus the sentence “Thank goodness” unconsciously redirects attention away from Joo Jaekyung’s suffering toward abstract successful resolution. Gratitude becomes displaced onto fate, luck, or providence rather than onto the terrified human being desperately begging him moments earlier: (chapter 98)

(chapter 98)

Meanwhile, Joo Jaekyung experiences the exact opposite emotional reality. For him, the fight was never merely about reclaiming a belt. It was about returning alive to Kim Dan after almost losing him forever. Thus while Kim Dan unconsciously interprets the victory as the natural endpoint of their relationship, Joo Jaekyung experiences it as proof that he cannot emotionally survive losing Dan. (chapter 100)

The micro-timing of this panel is extraordinarily deliberate. Upon hearing the news, Dan whispers, (chapter 100) but the linguistic script itself fractures through a heavy visual hesitation and pause. Almost immediately afterward, his body relapses into unconsciousness. (chapter 100) While a surface-level reading diagnoses this as mere physical exhaustion, psychologically the moment functions as an immediate emotional retreat. It is as though Kim Dan’s psyche reaches a instantaneous, catastrophic conclusion the second the victory is confirmed: everything is over; I am no longer needed. This interpretation achieves an exquisite, painful symmetry when placed against Joo Jaekyung’s own origin story, which similarly fused hyper-success with absolute loss, having lost both of his parents (chapter 74) on the exact night he triumphed as a boxer. Episode 100 constructs the perfect inverse of that trauma script for Kim Dan: the champion’s victory becomes structurally associated with emotional abandonment, proving that for both protagonists, success itself is a dangerous catalyst for isolation.

This deadlock explains why Jaekyung’s desperate plea carries such revolutionary weight (chapter 100), and simultaneously why a significant portion of the readership—particularly the English-speaking audience —initially overlooked its profound significance. The narrative deliberately buries the confession beneath the sensory noise of panic, medical urgency, and external interruption, causing many to interpret “Stay with me” as a generic, desperate plea for a dying patient to remain anchored to life.

Structurally, however, the sentence carries a much deeper emotional currency. It represents the very first non-transactional expression of pure need in their entire relationship. Joo Jaekyung is no longer commanding Dan to remain because of a contract, a financial advance, or a professional obligation; he is saying, with total vulnerability, I cannot bear your absence.

Yet, the confession is instantly and violently aborted by the intervention of the medical staff. (chapter 100) The nurses rush into the room, treating Jaekyung’s desperation as a physical disturbance to the patient’s recovery. While their actions are entirely reasonable on a clinical level, psychologically the scene becomes devastating. Unintentionally, the medical intervention reinforces the exact, toxic logic that governs both characters: your emotions are a disruption, your presence causes harm, and distance is the only metric of safety. (chapter 100) They show no understanding for his emotional outburst. Because Joo Jaekyung already suffers under the subconscious belief that his violent world has contaminated and ruined Kim Dan, this interruption silently validates his deepest fear. The confession is not merely delayed; it is actively policed and silenced before Dan can consciously receive it. So no wonder why he couldn’t ask later.

This emotional misunderstanding later reappears at the penthouse after Kim Dan’s release from the hospital. Throughout the recovery process, Dan instinctively continues operating through gratitude (chapter 100) because gratitude remains the safest emotional language he knows. When he thanks Joo Jaekyung for saving his life and bringing him to the hospital, he unconsciously falls back into the same survival mechanism that shaped his entire existence:

someone helped me,
therefore I must immediately repay them emotionally so I do not become an unbearable burden.

But for Joo Jaekyung, this gratitude becomes almost intolerable. The champion does not experience himself as Dan’s savior. On the contrary, he interprets himself as the very cause of the catastrophe. In his mind, Kim Dan was only hunted, targeted, and violently pierced by a blade because he became entangled in Jaekyung’s dangerous world. Thus every expression of gratitude silently transforms into accusation inside the champion’s psyche.

This is precisely why Jaekyung later grants Kim Dan total freedom without openly asking him to remain. (chapter 100) Objectively, he believes he is performing an act of love. He removes the contract, clears the financial burden, and breaks the cage open. But psychologically, his actions are also driven by guilt. If Kim Dan nearly died because of him, then holding him back would become another form of selfish violence.

Yet to a profoundly traumatized person like Kim Dan, sudden freedom does not feel like protection. It feels like abandonment. Because Kim Dan does not know how to exist beside someone without usefulness, obligation, gratitude, or necessity. Once the transactional structure disappears, he loses the emotional framework through which he justified his own presence in Jaekyung’s life. Now, he even represents trouble and burden. (chapter 100) Thus both protagonists arrive at the exact same tragic conclusion from opposite directions:

From that moment onward, both protagonists slowly mutate into ghosts trapped within their own defense mechanisms. Jaekyung begins expressing his intense attachment indirectly through flowers, food, nighttime vigils, and silent traces, while Kim Dan continues translating his love into the safe, contained boundaries of formal gratitude (chapter 100), apology, and eventual self-erasure. Neither man can openly ask the other to stay because both are trapped in the catastrophic belief that their own presence is a toxic burden to the person they care about most.

The Bouquets of a Ghost

At first glance, the bouquets filling Kim Dan’s hospital room appear comforting and almost romantic. Naturally, many readers interpreted the flowers through traditional symbolism. (chapter 100) The pink roses evoke tenderness, admiration, vulnerable affection, and emotional attachment. The peonies suggest healing, compassion, sincerity, and quiet devotion. The smaller pale flowers evoke remembrance, enduring emotional bonds, and spiritual connection despite distance. On the surface, the bouquets seem to communicate something reassuring: someone deeply cares whether Kim Dan survives.

And yet, despite their beauty, the bouquets remain strangely disturbing. (chapter 100) The reason lies in the absence of the giver himself. Joo Jaekyung never openly remains beside Kim Dan during the day. Instead, the flowers appear during the night like traces left behind by someone haunting the room in silence. (chapter 100) Kim Dan wakes up surrounded not by Jaekyung’s physical presence, but by evidence that he had been there before disappearing once again. The flowers therefore become emotionally contradictory objects. They communicate affection, but simultaneously reinforce absence. They say: someone came, while also saying: someone vanished again.

This is precisely why the bouquets become psychologically unsettling. They reproduce the exact emotional structure underlying Kim Dan’s childhood trauma: warmth followed by disappearance. The gifts themselves are beautiful, but their emotional atmosphere resembles haunting more than stable companionship. Instead of openly remaining beside Kim Dan, Jaekyung expresses attachment indirectly through objects, much like a ghost incapable of fully entering the living world.

The first bouquet (chapter 100) becomes even more meaningful once one notices how strongly its colors resemble Halmoni’s scarf. (chapter 94) This visual parallel quietly transforms the flowers from romantic gifts into symbols of caregiving shaped by distance and self-removal. Shin Okja genuinely loved Kim Dan, but her solution to his suffering repeatedly became emotional disappearance. She believed that if she removed herself from the center of his life, he would finally become free and happy. Episode 100 reveals that Joo Jaekyung begins reproducing this exact same pattern. He leaves flowers, cake, comfort, and reassurance behind, but increasingly excludes himself from Kim Dan’s life physically and emotionally. Like Halmoni, he convinces himself that the person he loves suffers because of him.

The progression of the bouquets themselves deepens this interpretation even further. Their colors gradually evolve from stronger emotional intensity (chapter 97) toward increasing emotional fading. Earlier arrangements contain reddish tones to vivid pink traditionally associated with attachment, tenderness, living warmth, and vulnerable affection. (chapter 100) Yet as the chapter progresses, the flowers become increasingly pale, soft, and washed out, eventually moving toward orange (chapter 100), cream and almost white tones (chapter 100). This transformation matters enormously because white flowers traditionally evoke mourning, farewell, remembrance, emotional resignation, and quiet grief. The bouquets therefore begin charting Joo Jaekyung’s own psychological deterioration throughout the chapter. What initially appears as devotion slowly starts resembling mourning. The flowers do not merely reflect Kim Dan’s fragile condition; they quietly externalize Jaekyung’s exhaustion, guilt, insomnia, emotional isolation, and gradual self-erasure. In this sense, the bouquets expose that the champion himself is beginning to wither emotionally and physically.

And yet the flowers become even more psychologically disturbing once one remembers Kim Dan’s earlier relationship to them. Earlier in the story, Kim Dan openly admits that he likes the smell of flowers because they put him in a good mood, while Joo Jaekyung bluntly responds: (chapter 31)

At first glance, the contrast appears humorous or merely reflective of personality differences. But episode 100 retrospectively transforms the scene into something much sadder. Joo Jaekyung now surrounds Kim Dan with the very objects (chapter 100) he once rejected because he desperately wants to comfort him emotionally. He instinctively tries to recreate psychological warmth through flowers because he knows Kim Dan associates them with peace and happiness.

However, in my opinion, this gesture unintentionally reproduces another hidden trauma at the same time. Throughout chapter 94, Mingwa repeatedly surrounds the young Kim Dan with flowers (chapter 194), plants, watering imagery, (chapter 94) and natural landscapes. We see him standing among daisies, holding flowers, and smiling inside an environment filled with softness, nature, and emotional warmth. If flowers symbolically belonged to the emotional world surrounding Kim Dan’s vanished parents, then the bouquets acquire an entirely different psychological meaning. Joo Jaekyung believes he is leaving behind comfort, reassurance, and evidence of care. Yet unconsciously, the flowers may also reconnect Kim Dan to memories of disappearance, loss, abandonment, and mourning. (chapter 100) Thus Kim Dan is not happy at all. The bouquets therefore become profoundly double-edged objects. They evoke tenderness while simultaneously reviving the emotional atmosphere of a childhood that vanished forever and departure.

The Emperor Learns Self-Erasure

The terrifying irony of episode 100 is that Joo Jaekyung gradually starts resembling not only Kim Dan, but also Halmoni herself. Earlier in the narrative, Kim Dan embodied exhaustion, dissociation, starvation under stress, emotional collapse, and self-neglect. (chapter 61) But now the Emperor begins displaying the exact same symptoms. His hair is disheveled. His eyes are red from crying and sleeplessness. (chapter 100) His face appears hollow, wounded, and emotionally extinguished. The polished public image of the untouchable champion slowly collapses, revealing someone who has stopped taking care of himself entirely. Additionally, I assume that the cook did not return to the penthouse after Kim Dan had asked her to take the day off. (chapter 97)

At the same time, Jaekyung unconsciously adopts Halmoni’s emotional logic. He increasingly believes that Kim Dan’s suffering originates from proximity to him. (chapter 57) The harassment, the assault, the stabbing, and the violence surrounding the title fight all reinforce the terrifying idea that Kim Dan’s life deteriorates because he entered the champion’s world. As a result, Jaekyung arrives at the same conclusion as Shin Okja: perhaps the person he loves would be safer without him nearby.

This is why the nighttime visits become so psychologically important. (chapter 100) Readers initially interpret them romantically, but the deeper emotional logic behind them is much darker. Joo Jaekyung is the only person who truly understands how little Kim Dan values his own life. (chapter 100) Team Black sees kindness, sacrifice, and goodness. (chapter 100) They call Kim Dan an angel. But Jaekyung sees passive self-destruction. He remembers the sleepwalking, the dissociation, the emotional emptiness, and Kim Dan’s willingness to suffer in silence. Thus when Kim Dan says that it was “better” for him to get stabbed so that Jaekyung could continue fighting, the sentence can only become horrifying to the champion, especially when it reaches his ears through Park Namwook, like this: (chapter 100) Others hear selflessness. Jaekyung hears someone quietly declaring that his own life matters less than the championship belt. Kim Dan is still behaving as though his own survival matters less than the well-being, expectations, or stability of others. Importantly, these self-destructive tendencies are almost never verbalized openly. Kim Dan does not explicitly speak about wanting death. (chapter 59) Instead, the pattern emerges behaviorally through starvation, bodily neglect, overwork, emotional resignation, rejection of care, passivity toward danger, and repeated willingness to sacrifice himself without hesitation. His self-erasure slowly extends toward the body itself.

And Joo Jaekyung witnesses this repeatedly. (chapter 79)

This is precisely why the stabbing scene affects the champion so violently. Even while bleeding out, Kim Dan’s immediate concern becomes the match and Jaekyung’s victory rather than his own survival. The moment therefore exposes something terrifying psychologically: Kim Dan still does not instinctively place his own life at the center of his emotional hierarchy. His survival remains negotiable inside his own perception. Thus when Joo Jaekyung screams:

(chapter 98) The reaction expresses far more than anger alone. It reveals panic, horror, and the unbearable realization that the person he loves may not value his own continued existence properly. From that point onward, the hospital arc becomes haunted not only by guilt, but by fear. Joo Jaekyung begins confronting the possibility that Kim Dan’s lifelong self-erasure could eventually become literal disappearance.

Because Kim Dan’s previous dissociative states occurred during the night, Jaekyung begins visiting him during darkness to ensure he is still resting safely. (chapter 100) In other words, the champion starts behaving like someone watching over a person with suicidal tendencies. He no longer trusts Kim Dan’s apparent improvement because the stabbing exposed something terrifying: Kim Dan’s mentality has not fundamentally changed at all. He still views himself as expendable and worthless.

Yet, the tragedy deepens further because Jaekyung himself increasingly mirrors this self-destructive behavior. Like Kim Dan earlier in the story, he begins excluding himself emotionally from the life of the person he loves. He no longer eats properly, wanders aimlessly through the night, and expresses care indirectly through silent objects instead of speaking honestly, effectively becoming a ghost himself, similar to the way Kim Dan left the penthouse (chapter 45) to buy a key chain as a birthday present.

And yet Episode 100 simultaneously exposes the hidden shortcomings within Shin Okja’s worldview itself. Halmoni genuinely loved Kim Dan and desperately wanted him protected, financially secure, and emotionally cared for. (chapter 94) Joo Jaekyung initially fulfilled this exact role. He gave Kim Dan work, stability, material protection, and relief from crushing economic pressure. But the chapter quietly reveals that Jaekyung also begins inheriting Halmoni’s deeper pathology: self-removal mistaken for love. Like Shin Okja and his hyung, he increasingly convinces himself that Kim Dan would ultimately suffer less without him at the emotional center of his life. Thus he leaves behind flowers, comfort, financial freedom, and reassurance while gradually destroying himself psychologically through absence, guilt, and emotional isolation.

At the same time, this parallel also exposes Halmoni’s own emotional blind spots. Although she encouraged Jaekyung to remain beside Kim Dan and repeatedly expressed gratitude toward him (chapter 94), she showed remarkably little curiosity about Jaekyung’s inner world, trauma, loneliness, or emotional needs. She imagined that physical strength and wealth equaled an easy life, mental and emotional health. Then the problem was reduced to a simple solution: “Be happy with Kim Dan.” But Episode 100 demonstrates that companionship alone cannot heal trauma, when both individuals continue mistaking self-erasure for care and love. You can not love someone, if you don’t love yourself first. In this sense, Joo Jaekyung gradually transforms not only into Kim Dan’s protector, but also into someone unconsciously reproducing the very emotional logic that shaped Kim Dan’s suffering in the first place.

The Fragment of an Interrupted Happiness

One of the most painful symbols in episode 100 is the small piece of birthday cake. (chapter 100) Before the stabbing, Kim Dan consciously bought a cake in order to congratulate Joo Jaekyung on reclaiming the championship title. (chapter 100) And on his way home, he started imagining what would happen with this cake. The atmosphere of the scene felt so real, though it was just a dream. Soft lighting, playful intimacy, teasing, physical closeness, and domestic warmth briefly isolate the two men from the violence surrounding the outside world. (chapter 97) For perhaps one of the first times in the narrative, Kim Dan acts not out of obligation, survival, or repayment, but out of genuine emotional desire. He wants to make Joo Jaekyung happy and have fun with him.

And then Mingwa quietly inserts the extinguished candle. (chapter 97) The smoke rising into the darkness transforms the celebration into visual foreshadowing. The dream of happiness exists briefly, warmly, beautifully… then immediately begins dissolving into air, as if this was already announcing the future stabbing. So the assault violently interrupts the vision before Kim Dan can fully inhabit it emotionally.

This interruption matters profoundly because the scene is not merely about happiness in the present. It also reveals the emotional future Kim Dan had unconsciously started imagining. (chapter 97) The celebration was not simply about the championship victory itself. It represented the possibility that warmth, intimacy, and laughter might continue after the fight, beyond the violence of the octagon. For a brief moment, Kim Dan allowed himself to believe that happiness could survive the match and extend naturally into everyday life.

And objectively, part of this dream actually became real. Joo Jaekyung did reclaim the championship belt exactly as Kim Dan had imagined. (chapter 97) The victory truly happened. (chapter 100) Yet the emotional continuation attached to that victory was shattered before it could fully materialize. Because the stabbing occurred before the match, the triumph itself becomes psychologically contaminated. The belt survives, but the celebration dies before it truly begins.

This is precisely why the small piece of cake becomes so emotionally devastating afterward. (chapter 100) The object itself destabilizes Kim Dan because it reconnects him not merely to loss, but to dream and possibility. (chapter 100) The cake silently reminds him that the happiness he imagined had not been absurd or impossible. For a brief moment, reality itself had begun moving toward that future. The championship victory happened exactly as expected. Yet the companionship attached to that imagined future never arrived.

And this is where the symbolism of the strawberry cake becomes extraordinarily painful. (chapter 97) What remains afterward is no longer the original cake itself, but only a single detached fragment. The large celebratory cake bearing the visible message: “Happy Birthday” disappears entirely.

This disappearance becomes even more devastating once one realizes that Joo Jaekyung himself had also emotionally anticipated Kim Dan’s birthday. (chapter 97) The original celebratory atmosphere therefore belonged not only to Dan’s imagined future, but also to Jaekyung’s own silent desire to share happiness with him openly. Yet after the stabbing, the birthday itself becomes psychologically unbearable. Kim Dan spent that day unconscious, hospitalized, and hovering near death. Thus by offering only a small piece of cake instead of a full celebratory cake, Jaekyung unconsciously buries the birthday itself. (chapter 100) The candles disappear. The written greeting disappears. The celebration disappears. Even explicit acknowledgement of the occasion itself vanishes.

This transformation quietly reveals how deeply the stabbing contaminated Jaekyung’s relationship to happiness and celebration. (chapter 45) Birthdays and presents didn’t exist innocently for him before, but now with this new incident, they become psychologically more than ever associated with catastrophe, interruption, and the terror of almost losing Kim Dan forever. The fragment therefore no longer functions as a birthday cake at all. It becomes reduced to something emotionally survivable: a quiet gesture of care stripped of festivity, joy, and openly shared happiness.

to conclude, the original cake had been playful, communal, emotionally open, and deeply mutual. (chapter 97) The written greeting openly acknowledged celebration, intimacy, companionship, and shared happiness. It transformed the object into something profoundly personal. Even if Kim Dan could still outwardly disguise the gesture as simple congratulations for the champion’s victory, the emotional atmosphere already belonged to something much deeper.

But afterward, none of that survives intact. The candles vanish. The greeting vanishes. The imagined celebration vanishes. Even the shared nature of the cake disappears.

What remains is only a solitary piece quietly handed to Kim Dan in silence. (chapter 100)

And this fundamentally changes the emotional meaning of the object. By offering only a fragment instead of openly sharing the entire cake together, Joo Jaekyung unconsciously excludes himself from the celebration itself. The gesture becomes stripped of festivity and transformed into something sober, restrained, and painfully serious. The emotional atmosphere shifts away from: (chapter 97)

“Let’s celebrate together,” toward something much quieter: “You should eat.”

This transformation mirrors Jaekyung’s larger psychological movement throughout episode 100. After the stabbing, he increasingly removes himself not only from Kim Dan emotionally, but also from happiness itself. Just as the flowers become traces left behind without the giver openly remaining beside him, the cake becomes celebration without the celebrant. The surviving slice no longer belongs to fantasy, playfulness, or dream-like intimacy. It belongs to aftermath, guilt, recovery, exhaustion, and emotional restraint. (chapter 100)

At the same time, however, the surviving fragment still carries enormous symbolic weight because it silently preserves possibility. The cake is no longer whole, but it still exists. Happiness itself has not completely disappeared. What vanished was not the possibility of happiness, but the illusion that companionship would arrive effortlessly on its own.

This distinction becomes crucial for Kim Dan’s emotional development. (chapter 100)

Before the stabbing, the imagined celebration existed safely inside fantasy. (chapter 97) Kim Dan could briefly dream about warmth, intimacy, and emotional continuity because the future still remained unrealized and emotionally distant. But afterward, reality violently interrupts passivity itself. (chapter 100) Now the contract is ending. Jaekyung is beginning to erase himself emotionally. Separation becomes real. The future no longer unfolds automatically.

Thus the small piece of cake becomes much more than a symbol of interrupted happiness. It quietly confronts Kim Dan with a painful realization: (chapter 100) companionship itself still remains possible, but only if he consciously chooses it instead of retreating from it emotionally.

This confrontation exposes the ultimate psychological friction defining Kim Dan’s internal conflict: the toxic divide between gratitude and actual happiness. (chapter 100) Throughout his entire life, Dan has used formal gratitude as currency to buy his way out of being a burden. But episode 100 quietly poses a devastating question: does gratitude ever make someone happy? Is he smiling, when he is taking his fated partner’s hand and expressing his gratitude? (chapter 97) For a profoundly traumatized psyche, the answer is no. Gratitude is a defensive mechanism designed to restore a transactional balance; it is an acknowledgment of a debt that must be managed. It requires a strict, professional distance to remain safe. (chapter 100) Happiness, however, demands the exact opposite: it requires the total abandonment of the ledger, a surrender to vulnerability, and a willingness to occupy space in someone else’s life simply because you want to be there and are wanted as well, not because you are useful. The problem is life is not a fairy tale with a happy ending like “and they lived happily forever”.

But episode 100 quietly dismantles the fantasy that happiness means the absence of pain or struggle. The stabbing proves that suffering can violently invade even the warmest emotional moments. Life without fear, uncertainty, or wounds is ultimately an illusion.

And yet the small piece of cake simultaneously suggests something equally important. (chapter 100) A cake does not need a justification to exist. Sweetness is not something that must be earned through usefulness, victory, or repayment. Cakes are shared because human beings continue searching for warmth, companionship, and moments of joy even inside painful lives.

This is precisely what Kim Dan still struggles to understand. Throughout his entire life, he has treated happiness as something conditional:

  • something that must be deserved,
  • justified,
  • or safely postponed until suffering finally disappears.

But episode 100 quietly reveals that companionship cannot wait for a perfect future without pain. The dream collapsed. The celebration was interrupted. Trauma invaded the imagined happiness before it could fully materialize. Yet the small piece of cake still remains.

And that remaining fragment becomes emotionally crucial because it silently insists on something neither protagonist fully understands yet: sweetness and suffering can coexist. (chapter 81)

The object therefore no longer symbolizes naïve fantasy or guaranteed happiness. (chapter 100) Instead, it becomes material proof that companionship itself can still survive inside imperfect reality. The question is no longer whether life will remain painful. It will. The real question becomes whether Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung are capable of choosing one another despite that pain instead of endlessly retreating into guilt, low self-esteem, gratitude, and emotional self-erasure.

The Architecture of an Excuse

This devastating pattern of protective alienation is exposed most cleanly by the logistical friction of Kim Dan’s return to the penthouse in Episode 100. Superficially, Dan presents his presence in the apartment as a purely transactional (chapter 100) administrative necessity: he must retrieve the final remnants of his worldly possessions. Yet, the narrative explicitly undermines this justification the moment Jaekyung questions the meager size of his single canvas tote bag. (chapter 100) Dan casually confesses that he had the vast majority of his belongings shipped ahead by a courier service.

This logistical detail betrays his entire psychological posture. If total self-erasure and a clean, unburdening departure were his true, absolute objectives (chapter 100), there was no logical reason to return to the penthouse at all. The remaining handful of items could easily have been included in the courier shipment or abandoned entirely. The return to the penthouse is, fundamentally, an excuse. It is a manifestation of what trauma psychology recognizes as a subconscious desire for interception. Dan has spent his entire life slipping away from rooms before he can be cast out, yet by physically placing his fragile, recovering body back into Jaekyung’s immediate sensory field, his actions betray an unuttered, desperate plea to be stopped. (chapter 100) That’s why each time Mingwa focuses on his facial expressions after each interaction with his lover. (chapter 100)

This staged closure is quietly facilitated by the manager, Park Namwook, who acts as the unwitting structural engineer of their final encounter. (chapter 100) The manager is the only entity who possesses the logistical knowledge of Dan’s whereabouts and timeline, making the deliberate choice to allow this meeting to occur. (chapter 100) For Park Namwook, bringing Dan to the penthouse is an attempt to foster a healthy, mature sense of closure between two heavily damaged men. That way, he won’t have to go through the trouble looking for the physical therapist like in episode 56 and Joo Jaekyung can move on.

Crucially, Joo Jaekyung did know Kim Dan was coming (chapter 100); as Namwook reveals in the car, the champion was actively waiting outside the penthouse threshold. Jaekyung anticipated the encounter, which makes his terrifying composure all the more devastating. He did not stumble upon Dan by accident; he prepared himself to face him. However, Jaekyung possessed absolutely no knowledge of the courier arrangement. (chapter 100) He stood waiting in the shadows expecting a standard move-out—a process that would require a massive physical effort, particularly to transport the traditional wedding cabinet that represents the absolute core of Dan’s history.

Thus, when Jaekyung stands in the doorway and questions, “That’s all you’re taking?” the query is laced with a hidden, profound panic. He looks at the tiny canvas bag and realizes, with sudden horror, that Dan did not come back to transition out of his life over days or hours; he has already systematically eradicated his own presence in secret. The revelation strikes Jaekyung like an emotional ambush. He realizes that Dan has almost left nothing behind to bind him to this home except the wedding cabinet.

This unexpected velocity of Dan’s departure triggers Jaekyung’s newly adopted script of self-erasure. Because he now believes his very proximity is a lethal contamination, he refuses to fight the departure openly. He stands paralyzed by his own guilt, operating under the catastrophic assumption that if Dan wants to vanish, letting him go is the only way to keep him safe.

The true emotional focal point of this tragic stalemate is manifested in the physical presence of the traditional Korean wedding cabinet. As Kim Dan stands before the massive, intricately patterned piece of furniture, his physical body freezes, and he trails off into a heavy, lingering silence: (chapter 100)

To understand the profound weight of this hesitation, one must contrast this moment directly with the visual composition of Episode 53. (chapter 53) Back then, when Dan believed he was fleeing the penthouse because of his failure and promise to his grandmother, acting under the absolute threat of emotional and professional ruin, his treatment of the cabinet was violent and definitive. (chapter 53) He had actively dragged it out of the domestic sphere, casting it out into the sterile, exposed isolation of the public hallway. In Episode 53, throwing the cabinet away was a desperate attempt to sever his connection to the space.

By Episode 100, the cabinet is standing there, and Dan’s psychological relationship to it has completely inverted. He cannot bring himself to discard it, nor can he bear to move it. (chapter 100) In the formal shorthand of the comic, the traditional wedding cabinet—an object culturally explicitly tied to domestic permanence, matrimonial continuity, and the building of a shared home—functions as a literal stand-in for Kim Dan himself. The cabinet is Kim Dan. It is an archaic, deeply sentimental object that does not naturally belong in the hyper-modern, sterile, concrete architecture of Jaekyung’s penthouse, yet it is the only item that infuses the space with genuine warmth.

When Dan hesitates before the cabinet, staring at its surface with a hand gently raised, he is wrestling with the agonizing divide between his trauma-driven narrative and his true emotional desire. His wide, hollow stare in the close-up panel reveals the terrifying vulnerability of a person who has completely run out of scripts. By leaving the cabinet behind, Dan is stripping away his final defense mechanism. He is presenting Jaekyung with a blank slate, silently begging the champion to fill the void, to make the first move, and to shatter the professional, civil boundary that is keeping them apart. His silence is a desperate holding pattern; he wants to stay, but his pathologically low self-worth prohibits him from asking for accommodation. He needs Jaekyung to claim him.

When Jaekyung breaks the silence by commanding, “Just leave it here. I’ll take care of it,” the tragedy achieves its absolute convergence. (chapter 100) Neither man can speak the truth. Dan cannot say, “Please keep this cabinet because it represents my desire to belong to you.” Jaekyung cannot say, “Leave it here because I will ensure that it is delivered properly.” Instead, they both hide behind the sterile language of property management.

Jaekyung takes custody of the cabinet just as he took custody of Dan’s medical bills, assuming that by taking the burden of the closet, he is performing a clean act of caretaking for a man who is leaving him. Dan receives this command not as an invitation to stay, but as the final, polite closing of the account. He interprets “I’ll take care of it” as a definitive statement that his presence is no longer required to maintain the home. They are two ghosts performing a ritual of mutual rejection, entirely blind to the fact that they are looking at each other through the distorted lens of their own inherited wounds.

The Ghost Beside the Bed

Perhaps the most unsettling aspect of episode 100 is not that Kim Dan confuses dream and reality (chapter 100), but that he repeatedly experiences Joo Jaekyung’s genuine presence as something psychologically unreal. Throughout the hospital arc, the champion increasingly resembles a figure existing at the edge of consciousness itself: someone who appears during the night, leaves warmth and traces behind, then disappears again before stable daylight certainty can fully emerge. (chapter 100) Yet the episode carefully distinguishes between two different nocturnal encounters, and this distinction matters enormously.

Yet the episode carefully distinguishes between two different nocturnal encounters, and this distinction matters enormously.

The first sequence begins with Kim Dan awakening to the sensation of warmth and physical presence beside him. (chapter 100) The atmosphere is soft, luminous, and emotionally unstable. Jaekyung’s face gradually dissolves into sunlight itself (chapter 100) while Kim Dan drifts between unconsciousness and waking reality. The sequence feels extraordinarily intimate, yet emotionally difficult to grasp. First, Kim Dan quietly concludes

Only then does he ask himself: (chapter 100) Part of him wants to move toward reality.
Another part immediately transforms the experience into dream-language before the emotional implications become overwhelming.

And this is why the panel is so powerful visually as well. Kim Dan’s eyes are half-open, suspended between sleep and waking, dream and reality, denial and recognition, emotional truth and emotional self-protection.

This order matters enormously because Kim Dan instinctively classifies the experience as unreal before even fully questioning it. The emotional reflex comes first. Stable tenderness automatically becomes dream-like inside his perception. Only afterward does uncertainty emerge.

And yet the sequence itself quietly resists pure unreality. The emotional structure strongly reflects behavior readers have already objectively witnessed in episodes 99 and 100: (chapter 99) Joo Jaekyung desperately holding Kim Dan’s hand, begging him to stay awake, refusing to leave his side, and remaining emotionally fixated on him after the stabbing. Because of this continuity, readers instinctively accept the warmth of the hand as emotionally real even while the scene itself remains visually suspended between dream and reality.

The second nighttime sequence becomes far more disturbing. (chapter 100) Here Kim Dan half awakens and perceives Joo Jaekyung lying beside his hospital bed. (chapter 100) The scene unfolds slowly, almost silently. Kim Dan shifts his body closer toward him (chapter 100), and then Mingwa inserts the sound: TAP!

This detail is extraordinarily important because the sound anchors the moment materially into physical space. The scene no longer functions purely as emotional atmosphere or symbolic vision. The bodily movement creates tactile interaction. Yet immediately afterward, Kim Dan appears alone in the bed. (chapter 100) It creates the illusion that the doctor had been hallucinating. But the sound “TAP” seems to indicate the opposite. Moreover, the narrative cuts toward the lonely hospital room accompanied by the statement: (chapter 100) And this is precisely where Mingwa quietly manipulates both Kim Dan and the readers simultaneously. Readers objectively know only one thing with certainty: Joo Jaekyung entered the room.

The flowers prove hidden visits. The warm hand proves physical contact. The hospital scenes confirm bodily presence. But everything concerning how long he stayed, whether he remained overnight, how exhausted he became, or whether he truly lay beside Kim Dan through the night is left deliberately unresolved. However, the sound TAP indicates that this was not only reality, but also how he acted during the night. (chapter 100) He couldn’t face his lover out of guilt, regret and pain, yet he ensured that he could fall alseep easily.

This ambiguity mirrors Kim Dan’s own fragmented emotional perception perfectly. He experiences warmth, touch, bodily closeness, and traces of companionship, yet he cannot emotionally sustain those experiences as stable reality afterward. Instead, his mind instinctively transforms presence itself into something dream-like before it can fully wound him emotionally.

This is why the lonely final bed panel becomes such an effective perceptual trap. Readers instinctively reinterpret the earlier intimacy as hallucination because the empty bed visually overrides the previous sensory evidence. But the narrative itself quietly resists this conclusion. The TAP remains. The warmth remains. The flowers remain. The tactile memory remains. Something continues contradicting the idea that Jaekyung had never truly been there. (chapter 100)

And this contradiction reveals the deeper psychological tragedy underlying Kim Dan’s behavior. Pain feels real to him. Absence feels real. Abandonment feels real. But stable companionship does not. Fully accepting the possibility that Joo Jaekyung may truly have remained beside him till he fell asleep becomes emotionally overwhelming because it would force Kim Dan to confront a terrifying realization: he is no longer merely being cared for, but genuinely accompanied.

That distinction changes everything.

A brief visit can still be rationalized. Flowers can still be interpreted as obligation or guilt. Even hidden care-taking can still remain emotionally distant. (chapter 100) But silently lying beside another person through exhaustion, darkness, and uncertainty belongs to an entirely different emotional category. It signifies companionship without function, intimacy without transaction, and presence without obligation.

And this is precisely why both Kim Dan and many readers instinctively hesitate before fully accepting the scene as reality. Mingwa deliberately traps the audience inside Kim Dan’s emotional logic. Just as Kim Dan downgrades overwhelming tenderness into dreams and unstable perceptions, readers also retreat toward the safer interpretation that the champion’s presence beside the bed must have been imaginary.

But the episode itself never fully confirms that interpretation. Instead, it quietly leaves behind tactile cracks inside the illusion of absence: a hand squeeze, bodily warmth, hidden flowers, unfinished intuition, and above all the sound of physical contact breaking the silence of the room.

Thus the true horror of the hospital scenes is not that Kim Dan hallucinates love where none exists. It is far more tragic. Kim Dan repeatedly senses genuine emotional presence, yet his trauma prevents him from fully believing in the reality of companionship before it disappears again.

The Fear of Believing in Happiness

There is another crucial psychological layer underlying Kim Dan’s confusion between dream and reality: he fundamentally does not trust happiness.

Whenever something emotionally comforting happens to him, he instinctively experiences it as unstable, unreal, or dream-like. Paris feels unreal upon waking beside Joo Jaekyung. (chapter 87) The champion’s desperate plea to “stay with me” (chapter 100) becomes fragmented by unconsciousness before Kim Dan can fully absorb it emotionally. Even the warm hand beside the hospital bed is transformed into something resembling a dream rather than accepted as tangible reality.

This is extraordinarily important because Kim Dan does not struggle to recognize pain. Pain feels real to him. Obligation feels real. Guilt feels real. Exhaustion, abandonment, sacrifice, and suffering all feel emotionally trustworthy because they correspond to the logic through which he learned to survive.

But tenderness destabilizes him. Safety destabilizes him. Being wanted destabilizes him. (chapter 100) The possibility that someone would remain beside him voluntarily, not out of obligation but genuine attachment, feels psychologically unbelievable.

As a result, Kim Dan’s psyche repeatedly converts emotional warmth into something unreal before he can consciously process it. It is not that he cannot perceive affection. On the contrary, his body and senses often recognize it first through warmth, touch, and presence. The tragedy is that his conscious mind and such his senses (chapter 100) instinctively downgrades these experiences into dreams because he has been conditioned to believe that lasting happiness is temporary, fragile, and destined to disappear.

Thus recognition itself always arrives too late. (chapter 100)

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

Jinx: Goodbye 🤝 Then … 😿 – part 1

The Ghosts in the Warmth: Why Episode 100 Left Us Cold

Episode 100 of Jinx left many readers strangely unsatisfied. Some felt frustrated 😤, others emotionally empty. A few among us — readers, fans, longtime Jinx-lovers — even believed that this chapter resembled an ending so much that Mingwa herself had to clarify publicly (on X) that the story was not over. Some readers even considered dropping the story entirely. That alone says a great deal about the emotional violence of this chapter.

When a story’s atmosphere becomes so suffocating that readers instinctively want to step away from it, something unusual has happened. Dropping the story almost becomes a survival instinct. Remaining inside the narrative means remaining trapped in that freezing penthouse together with Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung, surrounded by silence, distance, and unresolved pain.

But why did this episode create such discomfort? (chapter 100) Why does a chapter filled with flowers (chapter 100), warmth (chapter 100), survival, and reunion (chapter 100) feel so painfully cold? Why does “Goodbye then…” (chapter 100) sound more violent than the stabbing itself?

And perhaps the most disturbing question of all: how did Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung end up acting like ghosts around each other?

For dozens of chapters, readers endured intense angst, toxic power dynamics, emotional repression, and physical trauma while holding onto a collective expectation: eventually, communication and emotional honesty would heal the damage. (chapter 99) Episode 100 appeared to be that turning point. The stabbing should have shattered the emotional walls between the protagonists. Many expected tears, confrontation, confession, catharsis. Instead, Mingwa deliberately subverted the classic romance payoff. Rather than an emotional embrace, readers received silence, hesitation, distance, and a strangely clinical handshake. (chapter 100)

For many readers, that absence of catharsis felt almost unbearable. The realization suddenly emerged that the road toward healing might be just as long, painful, and exhausting as the road toward destruction itself.

At the same time, episode 100 strips away much of the fictional distance that once existed between the protagonists and the audience. Earlier in the story, Joo Jaekyung often functioned as a larger-than-life “red flag” character: (chapter 96) dramatic, excessive, intimidating, almost unreal. But the tragedy presented in this chapter feels painfully ordinary in comparison. (chapter 100) Two people paralyze each other through assumptions, guilt (chapter 100), low self-esteem (chapter 100), fear of vulnerability, and lack of communication. Neither asks the questions that truly matter. (chapter 100) Neither says what they genuinely feel. (chapter 100) Almost everyone has experienced a relationship, friendship, or family dynamic damaged not by hatred, but by silence and emotional avoidance. That realism transforms the chapter into something deeply uncomfortable because the fantasy slowly disappears, leaving behind a frighteningly human mirror.

Readers blamed Kim Dan for his passivity and self-sacrificial tendencies. (chapter 100) Others condemned Joo Jaekyung for his emotional withdrawal and ghost-like behavior. (chapter 100) Yet perhaps the real mystery of episode 100 is not who was right or wrong. Perhaps the more important question is this: how did two people who clearly long for each other become so incapable of speaking honestly at the very moment they needed it most?

The deeper one looks into this chapter, the stranger and more painful it becomes. Like wine slowly revealing hidden notes over time, episode 100 transforms upon rereading. Details that initially appeared insignificant — a warm hand, a bouquet of flowers, a hidden night visit, a missing conversation, a closed penthouse door, a simple “THUD” (chapter 100) — gradually begin forming another story beneath the surface.

A story not about the absence of love, but about the terrifying consequences of silence and secrecy.

The Counterfeit Departure

The final emotional image of episode 100 is not the handshake between Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung, but the empty entrance of the penthouse accompanied by the words: (chapter 100) and the unsettling sound effect:

This distinction is extremely important because the handshake itself does not yet create the impression of definitive separation. (chapter 100) On the contrary, the scene still contains physical proximity, warmth, gratitude, and mutual recognition. The handshake almost functions as an acknowledgment of everything the two protagonists survived together, but also as a quiet expression of thanks. Kim Dan recognizes the champion’s help, while Joo Jaekyung finally allows physical contact to occur without violence, coercion, or sexual tension. The emotional atmosphere only becomes truly haunting once Mingwa deliberately removes both protagonists from the frame itself, leaving behind nothing but the silent entrance and the implication of departure. (chapter 100)

Even the wording of the farewell creates ambiguity. Without the points of suspension, “Goodbye then” would sound definitive, emotionally sealed, almost like the final sentence of a completed story. Yet the ellipsis fundamentally changes the atmosphere of the phrase. The farewell suddenly becomes suspended, unfinished, hesitant. Kim Dan does not simply say goodbye; he trails off emotionally.

The word “then” itself is equally fascinating because it weakens the apparent finality of the separation. It functions as a temporal marker suggesting postponement:

The phrase therefore already contains the contradiction defining the entire chapter. Verbally, Kim Dan enacts separation. Emotionally, however, he still remains attached to Joo Jaekyung. The title quietly preserves the possibility of continuation, just as the chapter itself refuses to provide true emotional closure.

Why end the chapter there?

Doors in Jinx are never neutral architectural elements. Throughout the story, they repeatedly symbolize secrecy (chapter 7), emotional distance, hidden truths, privacy, abandonment, and separation (chapter 64). A closed door immediately creates the impression that something has ended. (chapter 100) Someone has left. Access has been denied. Naturally, many readers instinctively interpreted this panel in the simplest possible way:

Kim Dan has already left the penthouse.

And once this assumption is accepted, the chapter suddenly feels final. The emotional logic becomes brutally simple. The debt is gone. The fight is over. The criminals were arrested. (chapter 100) The protagonists separate. The door closes. The story ends. It almost resembles the conclusion of a dark fairy tale where the suffering has finally reached its endpoint.

The problem is that the panel itself is far more ambiguous than it initially appears. (chapter 100)

The entrance is empty, yes, but the image does not actually show Kim Dan leaving the apartment. On the contrary, the scene remains strangely suspended. Mingwa does not show the elevator descending, the street outside, or Kim Dan physically walking away. (chapter 4) Instead, she traps both the reader and the characters inside the penthouse itself, forcing us to stare at an almost silent threshold. (chapter 100)

This detail becomes even more significant when we observe the scene immediately preceding the “goodbye.” Kim Dan and Joo Jaekyung still stand physically facing one another. (chapter 100) Their feet remain oriented toward each other at the entrance. In Jinx, body positioning often reveals emotions that words suppress, and here the contradiction is devastating. Verbally, both protagonists are enacting separation. Physically, however, their bodies still seek connection. Neither truly turns away. The image therefore creates emotional suspension rather than emotional closure.

This is precisely why Mingwa does not show the actual departure itself at the end of the chapter. Emotionally, the separation remains incomplete because the protagonists themselves are incapable of fully separating from one another. The final panel traps both the characters and the audience inside the threshold between staying and leaving. (chapter 100)

The farewell scene itself becomes even more painful when placed beside earlier internal monologues from Joo Jaekyung that gain new meaning in retrospect. Earlier in the story, the champion silently admitted: (chapter 97) Another scene reinforces this same emotional desire: (chapter 97) These confessions reveal that beneath the aggression, possessiveness (chapter 82), and obsession with fighting and Kim Dan stood a much simpler fear: abandonment.

Yet when episode 100 finally confronts him with the possibility of Kim Dan truly leaving, Joo Jaekyung says the exact opposite of what he once desired. Instead of asking him to stay, he turns his head away and quietly says: (chapter 100) The Korean version with “가” (“Ka”) makes the moment even harsher because of its simplicity. It is short, direct, emotionally stripped bare:

Go.

And suddenly, the scene exposes the champion’s loneliness with devastating clarity.

Kim Dan stands before him carrying his bag, partially turned away, visually resembling the blurred image of departure from Jaekyung’s earlier imagination. (chapter 97) At the same time, Joo Jaekyung himself avoids looking directly at him. Both characters physically reproduce emotional withdrawal. Neither can fully face the other because both are trapped inside fear, guilt, longing, and self-suppression.

Most tragically, Joo Jaekyung participates in the very abandonment he fears. Rather than risking rejection by asking Kim Dan to stay, he verbally permits the separation himself. The scene therefore does not portray emotional indifference, but defensive surrender. (chapter 100) The champion who once appeared emotionally untouchable reveals himself incapable of expressing the one thing he truly wants:

“Please stay with me.”

At the same time, both protagonists are now attempting to love through self-removal.

This emotional mirroring becomes even more fascinating when connected to the idea of tactile dissonance developed earlier in the story. (chapter 95) Ironically, the eight-day separation did not emotionally distance the protagonists from one another. Quite the opposite. During this period, they became increasingly synchronized mentally and emotionally. (chapter 97) Their thoughts, fears, and desires slowly began aligning almost unconsciously. Yet this growing emotional attunement produces a tragic paradox: they become so psychologically similar that they can no longer recognize their own reflection inside the other person. (chapter 100) (chapter 100) The real tragedy of episode 100 is therefore not emotional distance, but excessive emotional synchronization without communication.

Kim Dan increasingly convinces himself that he represents a burden (chapter 100) and even a threat to Joo Jaekyung’s career. The harassment, the public humiliation, the scandal surrounding the championship, and the stabbing itself all reinforce the idea that remaining beside the champion will only continue damaging his reputation and future.

Joo Jaekyung, meanwhile, arrives at the opposite side of the same tragedy. He increasingly perceives himself as a source of contamination and danger. (chapter 100) The harassment, Kim Dan’s suicidal despair, the sleepwalking, the stabbing, and the violence surrounding the championship all reinforce the terrifying idea that Kim Dan suffers because he entered his world. In his eyes, Kim Dan’s life is now endangered because of him.

Ironically, this emotional synchronization does not bring them closer together communicatively. Instead, it pushes both men toward the same logic of self-removal. (chapter 100) Kim Dan leaves because he believes the champion will recover better without him. Like out of sight, out of mind! Joo Jaekyung lets him go because he believes keeping him close will only expose him to more suffering.

Thus, both silently cooperate in mutual abandonment while simultaneously longing for the exact opposite.

Even the sound effect deserves closer attention. (chapter 100) Many readers automatically interpreted “THUD” as the sound of a closing door. Well, the Spanish translation is indeed “Clack” and not thud. So one might jump to the conclusion that there’s an error in the English version. Yet visually, the effect does not fully behave like one. The vertical motion lines suggest movement from top to bottom rather than the lateral motion usually associated with a door shutting. The sound resembles impact, instability, or collapse more than simple departure. This becomes particularly interesting when compared to earlier scenes such as episodes 57 and 61 (chapter 61) (chapter 57), where emotional shock and physical weakness are visually connected to walls, imbalance, and bodies searching for support. The ambiguity becomes important because chapter 100 never clearly identifies (chapter 100) who destabilizes physically in that moment. Readers instinctively assume Kim Dan has already left, but the visual language simultaneously leaves open another disturbing possibility: that someone inside the penthouse is collapsing.

In other words, the panel may not depict emotional closure at all. It may instead depict destabilization. This possibility completely transforms the emotional meaning of the chapter. The “goodbye” no longer functions as a clean farewell, but almost like a psychological blow. Words can kill. And here, Kim Dan’s calm “Goodbye then…” lands with the violence of an invisible wound.

The choice of the empty entrance as the final image therefore reveals something important about reader psychology as well. The chapter creates the illusion of a completed fairy tale ending while simultaneously making that ending feel emotionally wrong. Earlier in the story, Kim Dan unconsciously adopted this exact logic himself through the expression:

(chapter 41)

Like a little boy trying to force reality into the structure of a fairy tale, he attempts to convince himself that the story has now reached its proper conclusion. (chapter 100) The champion won. The villains were punished. (chapter 100) The debt disappeared. (chapter 77) Therefore separation must be the correct final step.

Yet Mingwa visually undermines this interpretation at every turn. (chapter 100)

The penthouse feels too empty, too silent, too cold, and too unresolved. The atmosphere resembles not peace, but haunting. Instead of emotional catharsis, the reader experiences emotional suspension.

Perhaps this explains why so many readers reacted so strongly to episode 100. The chapter weaponizes absence itself. Mingwa does not simply separate the protagonists; she traps both the characters and the audience inside uncertainty. The zoom on the closed entrance intensifies this sensation even further. Readers feel suffocated because the panel transforms the penthouse into a frozen emotional space where communication has failed completely.

The door therefore symbolizes much more than physical departure. It becomes the visual embodiment of the chapter’s central tragedy: two people standing on opposite sides of an emotional threshold (chapter 100), unable to reach one another despite desperately longing to do so.

What A Little Wimp

Before examining the significance of the handshake itself, we must return to one of the earliest emotional patterns established in the story: Kim Dan’s awkward departure after treating Joo Jaekyung at the gym. After accidentally crossing a physical boundary (chapter 1) and leaving himself totally embarrassed (chapter 1), the physical therapist has only one thought in mind: to run away. Before opening the door, he nervously stammers (chapter 1) and hurries away. Joo Jaekyung’s reaction after his departure is dismissive and mocking: (chapter 1)

At first glance, the scene appears almost comedic. Kim Dan blushes, panics, avoids eye contact, and escapes after touching the champion too intimately. Yet retrospectively, this moment establishes an important pattern: touch (chapter 1), admiration (chapter 1), destabilization, and departure are already intertwined from the very beginning. Kim Dan does not simply treat Joo Jaekyung’s body; he admires it through his hands and eyes, marveling at how different it is from every other client he has known. The accidental touch breaks the professional frame, and the result is immediate flight. (chapter 1)

This early departure quickly becomes part of Jaekyung’s mental archive. In episode 4, he does not actually witness Kim Dan leaving the penthouse (chapter 4); he only discovers the empty bed afterward. (chapter 4) The absence itself triggers projection. He imagines Kim Dan walking away, already converting disappearance into an internal image. Later, in episode 53, this fear becomes reality: Kim Dan truly leaves the penthouse (chapter 53), and this time the departure is explicitly shown. In his own mind, the doctor does not intend to return. By episode 97, the image repeats once more (chapter 97) when Jaekyung admits that he wants to ask Kim Dan not to leave, yet immediately imagines him walking away if he refuses. Significantly, as the figure of Kim Dan recedes into the distance, a heavy, creeping darkness swallows the panel. The shadow beneath Dan’s feet bleeds forward, stretching into a profound black void that anchors itself directly to Jaekyung’s perspective. This visual graduation of shadow reveals that Kim Dan’s departure is no longer just a hypothetical exit; it is an oncoming emotional eclipse. Jaekyung’s subconscious recognizes that if Dan walks out that door, the ensuing darkness will be absolute—a trauma from which the champion will not be able to recover.

This is why the line “What a little wimp” becomes deeply tragic in retrospect. The supposedly untouchable champion has become the one haunted by departure. The man who once mocked Kim Dan’s awkward escape now fears being left behind so intensely that he projects abandonment before it even happens. Hence he turns away like Kim Dan in episode 1. (chapter 100)

This fear cannot be separated from Jaekyung’s family wound. The image of his mother, presented entirely through her back and her silence (chapter 73), suggests not only physical departure but permanent emotional inaccessibility. His father’s bitter line—“You are your mother’s son, after all”—reveals that this silence wounded him too. The father was not merely angry because the mother left; he was wounded by the way she left: without true confrontation, without emotional clarity, and perhaps with some distant promise that never became presence. The turned back, the heavy silence, and the unresolved farewell became the core of Jaekyung’s inherited trauma. He stops fighting for the relationship itself (chapter 72) and begins fighting merely against the clock, trying to finish a transaction before the countdown hits zero. This memory exposes a foundational trauma. To a young Jaekyung, his mother’s disappearance was directly tied to a transactional failure—his father’s inability to stop her or provide financial security. Consequently, Jaekyung internalized a distorted lesson: love is not protected through vulnerability, communication, or emotional pleading. Love is protected through material capacity and performance. In his child mind, a countdown began: he had to grow up, amass immense wealth, and become powerful enough to buy back his mother’s presence.

Tragically, this transactional clock is the exact blueprint he uses when Kim Dan enters his life. We see the definitive script for this transactional countdown written explicitly by Jaekyung himself in episode 77. Sitting on a wooden platform under a rare, open sky, the champion retreats into the safety of a contract to mask his growing vulnerability, declaring: (chapter 77) This is no coincidence that as he sets this absolute deadline, Mingwa frames Jaekyung from behind (chapter 77) He turns his back entirely, casting his face in shadow and physically reproducing the visual motif of his childhood trauma. He is verbally establishing a countdown while visually acting out an ending. By telling Dan that their proximity is strictly bounded by the final bell of the title match, Jaekyung constructs the very cage that will later paralyze him.

Consequently, as the title match draws closer in episode 95, this psychological clock accelerates to a suffocating degree Surrounded by chaotic media headlines speculating about his imminent match and the possible collapse of his career (chapter 95), Jaekyung’s mental space becomes a dark, claustrophobic cage. While sparring, his only internal thought is sheer exhaustion: “I just want to win this match and get it over with…”

Therefore it is not surprising why he chose to listen to his manager and distanced himself from his fated partner. In a sense, he first stops fighting for Kim Dan and begins fighting merely to reach the end of the timeline. The championship ceases to represent ambition, glory, or even personal desire; it becomes an expiration date. Increasingly, the champion loses the ability to project himself into the future at all.

This is precisely why his later thoughts become so devastating. When Jaekyung admits: (chapter 97),

the importance lies not only in the fear of abandonment, but in the word ask itself. For perhaps the first time in the story, Jaekyung unconsciously accepts Kim Dan’s freedom to choose. He no longer thinks in terms of ownership, obligation, or debt. Deep down, he already understands that once the match ends, Kim Dan will be free to leave him behind.

Yet even here, Jaekyung’s emotional framework remains tragically incomplete. Although he has begun abandoning the logic of ownership, he still cannot truly imagine a future built upon mutual existence rather than temporary possession. His thoughts remain structured around the championship timeline itself. The title match continues functioning as the organizing principle of reality. Even the phrase:

“…even after the match is over”

reveals the limitation of his emotional imagination. Jaekyung can imagine asking Kim Dan to remain. He can imagine losing him. He can imagine surrendering him. But he still cannot truly imagine simply living with him.

In other words, the champion still thinks in terms of “having” rather than “being.” [For more read the essay The Art of Loving] ]The relationship continues existing psychologically as something bounded by deadlines, countdowns, and expiration points. Once the contractual structure dissolves, Jaekyung unconsciously reaches the edge of his own emotional framework. The countdown ends, yet nothing replaces it.

And tragically, this realization does not awaken hope inside the champion, but resignation. Even before Kim Dan makes any choice himself, Jaekyung emotionally begins surrendering him. (chapter 97) The man once defined entirely by his monstrous willpower gradually loses his fighting spirit altogether. He no longer fights for a future with Kim Dan; he merely tries to endure the final countdown before the separation he already believes inevitable.

Therefore, when Kim Dan stands before him in episode 100 (chapter 100), Jaekyung is not reacting only to the present moment. He is reacting to a projected abandonment shaped by earlier departures, his parents’ history, the transactional contract he wound up himself, and the immense guilt he carries over the violence surrounding Kim Dan. The champion now knows about the harassment, the attempted sexual assault orchestrated through the former director of the hospital, the suicidal despair, the sleepwalking, the stabbing, and the terrifying chain of events connected to the championship itself. Increasingly, Jaekyung no longer sees himself merely as someone who might lose Kim Dan emotionally; he sees himself as the center of a destructive orbit that continually places Dan in danger. He seems to think, he is Kim Dan’s jinx. (chapter 100) That’s why Joo Jaekyung is no longer fighting, he has already anticipated the loss.

Ironically, by episode 97, Kim Dan himself has already begun unconsciously stepping into a completely different emotional mode. While Jaekyung remains trapped inside countdowns, departures, and anticipatory endings, the physical therapist instinctively begins imagining ordinary relational existence. This contrast becomes particularly visible with the hamster’s dream (chapter 97) , where Kim Dan arrives with a cake to celebrate Jaekyung reclaiming his championship title. The atmosphere of the interaction is striking precisely because of its normality. There is no treatment session, no debt, no violence, no professional obligation dominating the exchange. For this brief dream , Kim Dan behaves less like an employee or caretaker and more like someone already sharing daily life with the champion. (chapter 97)

The small gesture of smearing cream across Jaekyung’s face becomes symbolically important for this reason. Kim Dan momentarily strips the champion of his overwhelming public aura and interacts with him through casual intimacy rather than admiration or fear. Unlike Jaekyung, Kim Dan unconsciously possesses fragments of an ordinary emotional model inherited from his life with his grandmother and parents: shared meals, small celebrations, routine care (chapter 94), and domestic familiarity. While the champion imagines endings, Kim Dan quietly begins imagining continuity.

The Warm Hand against the Jinx

This is precisely why the handshake matters so much. (chapter 100) It takes place right before Jaekyung tells Kim Dan to go. For one fragile moment, the projected departure is completely interrupted. Kim Dan is still there. His hand is still warm. The contact is no longer like that first treatment at the gym, where touch was mixed with embarrassment and professional confusion. (chapter 100) This time, touch becomes mutual recognition and reciprocity.

The tragedy is that this recognition does not yet become speech. The handshake briefly suspends the counterfeit departure, but it does not break the silence. After this fleeting moment of contact, Jaekyung retreats straight back into fear and self-removal. Unable to ask Kim Dan to stay, he turns away and says the exact opposite of what he wants: (chapter 100)

The handshake is not the end of the separation. It is the last, desperate interruption before the logic of abandonment reclaims them both.

This is where the spatial layout of the penthouse entrance exposes the final structural contradiction. (chapter 100) When Kim Dan stands before the champion, he is positioned directly in front of the door as though physically replacing it, turning his own body into the threshold. Yet meticulously, Mingwa leaves a massive, artificial gap between the physical therapist and the actual exit behind him. This distance is no coincidence. The vast, empty space behind Dan acts as a visual vacuum—a psychological buffer zone proving that while he is verbally enacting separation, he has not yet crossed the literal threshold.

He is suspended inside a vacuum of his own making, his hand still reaching forward toward connection while the enormous void at his back quietly threatens to swallow the moment whole.

Crucially, this gap represents a profound, hidden chance. It is the positive reflection of “distance.” By leaving such a significant space between his body and the door, Kim Dan has physically delayed his own exit, leaving a literal runway of time and possibility open. The finality of the goodbye has not yet been sealed; the door remains far behind him.

The ultimate tragedy of episode 100 is that Joo Jaekyung completely fails to recognize this positive reflection. (chapter 100) Poisoned by the creeping darkness of his own nightmares, the inherited trauma of his mother’s silence, and the immense guilt surrounding Kim Dan’s suffering, the champion no longer recognizes the distance as a space to step forward and intervene. Instead, his fear of vulnerability completely distorts his perception. He reads the gap not as an opportunity to change the script, but as an approaching, inevitable eclipse.

To protect himself from the pain of watching Dan step backward into the void, Jaekyung surrenders defensively—he turns his head away, preparing himself not to look back, and actively seals the very abandonment he was given a chance to prevent.

No, Joo Jaekyung is no little wimp, but rather a lost puppy frozen upon a threshold of his own making, completely blind to the choice standing before him. Yet because the contract has dissolved and the debt has disappeared, this wide, uncrossed emptiness also remains a radical space of possibility. For the first time, the relationship is no longer mediated by obligation, transaction, or countdown.

And perhaps this finally becomes Kim Dan’s chance to recognize Jaekyung’s paralysis, step into the gap himself, and prove his love and care without expecting anything in return.

Before the counterfeit departure can fully reclaim the scene, Mingwa inserts one final, crucial interruption: the handshake (chapter 100). Significantly, this gesture does not function as a standard goodbye. In ordinary social language, a handshake belongs either to a formal greeting or to a completed farewell. Here, however, the contact appears before Kim Dan says goodbye and before any true separation has taken place. Structurally, the handshake suspends the departure rather than confirming it.

This detail becomes even more meaningful when contrasted with the protagonists’ first encounter at the gym. Back then, there was no mutual greeting ritual between them. (chapter 1) Kim Dan bowed nervously while Joo Jaekyung remained emotionally detached, dominant, and superior. Their relationship began asymmetrically: champion and therapist, admired body and embarrassed observer. After accidentally crossing a physical boundary during treatment, Kim Dan fled the room in humiliation, unable to withstand the emotional destabilization caused by touch itself. No reciprocal gesture softened the imbalance. There was no handshake, no equal acknowledgment, and no mutual recognition.

Episode 100 quietly upends that entire foundation. (chapter 100)

For the first time, both protagonists voluntarily reach toward one another at the exact same emotional level. Neither obligation, debt, nor treatment mediates the contact. (chapter 100) The gesture is entirely mutual and even reciprocated, both squeeze each other’s hand. (chapter 100) And unlike the first touch at the gym, which produced panic and flight, this touch produces a profound illumination. Kim Dan’s little gesture exposes a gradual metamorphosis, he becomes more proactive. Hence his fingers linger on the MMA fighter’s skin. (chapter 100) (chapter 87) It becomes even more obvious, once compared with their hand gesture in Paris.

Unlike chapter 1, however, Kim Dan does not flee from the emotional intensity created through touch. This time, he consciously remains present. While extending his hand, he hesitates softly: (chapter 100)

The hesitation still reveals vulnerability, yet vulnerability no longer produces escape. Instead, Kim Dan deliberately chooses acknowledgment. This detail is crucial because the gratitude expressed here cannot be reduced to money, debt, treatment, or material compensation. In fact, the scene occurs precisely after the contractual framework governing their relationship has dissolved. The debt is gone. The transactional structure has collapsed. Therefore, Kim Dan’s gratitude suddenly becomes profoundly human rather than functional. He is no longer thanking:

  • an employer,
  • a client,
  • or a benefactor.

He is thanking Joo Jaekyung himself.

For perhaps the first time in the story, Kim Dan consciously chooses to close the emotional distance between them instead of running away from it. The hand extended toward Jaekyung therefore becomes far more than a polite social gesture. It becomes Kim Dan’s first genuine attempt to acknowledge their relationship openly and properly.

The importance of this moment lies in what Kim Dan suddenly realizes through physical contact itself. (chapter 100) Until now, the physical therapist remained trapped inside a distorted emotional narrative shaped by silence, institutional misunderstanding, his grandmother’s sacrificial principles, and Park Namwook’s logic of performance (chapter 43) and Hwang Byungchul’s wrong interpretation (chapter 70). Kim Dan had unconsciously learned to interpret Joo Jaekyung primarily as “the champion”: an untouchable entity sustained solely by victory, driven by a hatred of losing, and emotionally fulfilled through performance alone. This explicates why the “hamster” had made the following request: (chapter 98)

This misunderstanding becomes painfully visible during the hospital scenes. When Park Namwook explains that the culprit acted under Baek Junmin’s orders (chapter 100) and that Jaekyung blames himself for the attack (chapter 100), the manager unintentionally frames the entire assault through championship logic. The implication quietly becomes that Kim Dan was hurt because he stood too close to the champion, because enemies targeted Jaekyung, and because the title match had to continue.

As a result, doc Dan immediately internalizes guilt through a logic of substitution. He responds: (chapter 100) The statement is devastating because it fuses the two oppressive ideologies that have shaped Kim Dan’s entire life. From Park Namwook and Team Black, he inherited the belief that the championship comes first and that Jaekyung’s happiness depends entirely upon winning. From his grandmother, he inherited the logic of total self-erasure: if suffering must exist in the world, it should fall squarely upon him. Yet the sentence also reveals something even more tragic: Kim Dan still cannot fully imagine the depth of Joo Jaekyung’s emotional attachment to him. By concluding that it was “better” for him to become the victim, he unconsciously reduces the wolf’s suffering to the temporary inconvenience of a threatened match. In doing so, he actually denies the existence of the champion’s true feelings altogether. Kim Dan still sees “the Emperor,” the fighter obsessed with victory, rather than the terrified man who would have suffered infinitely more from losing him than from losing any championship belt. Thus before losing consciousness, he still had this image of the main lead: The Emperor (chapter 100)

And perhaps this is the most disturbing implication of all. Even after the stabbing, Kim Dan still unconsciously evaluates the situation through the same brutal performance logic governing the fighting world itself: as long as the champion successfully won the match, the suffering required to secure that victory becomes psychologically acceptable. In this sense, Kim Dan does not yet fully confront what the championship truly cost Joo Jaekyung internally. (chapter 100)

After all, Kim Dan never witnessed the psychological destruction surrounding the fight itself. He did not see the emotional collapse hidden behind the title defense, the confrontation with Baek Junmin afterward, or the horrifying guilt poisoning the victory from within. Thus, while Kim Dan begins sensing the champion’s warmth emotionally, he still hesitates to recognize the full extent of the suffering hidden beneath the belt.

The tragedy, therefore, is not simple blindness. Kim Dan is beginning to perceive the truth, yet accepting it fully would force him to confront something unbearable: the possibility that the very victory he believed he protected may have shattered Joo Jaekyung psychologically instead and he might be responsible for his “ruthlessness and destruction”.

So the tragic irony is that the very thing Kim Dan believes he protected—the fight itself—is precisely what begins destroying Joo Jaekyung emotionally. Had the match been postponed, Jaekyung would never have encountered Baek Junmin afterward, never acquired the horrifying knowledge surrounding the assault, and never fused the championship psychologically with harassment, violence, guilt, and emotional collapse. Thus, while Kim Dan believes his sacrifice saved Jaekyung’s future, the victory title increasingly becomes a toxic poison inside the champion’s mind. Hence the young man looks so terrible despite his “victory”. (chapter 100)

And remarkably, almost nobody around them notices this internal collapse. Inside the hospital room, (chapter 100), Kim Dan is constantly insulated by a loud wall of warmth, visitors, food, and collective reassurance. Team Black worries boisterously about him (chapter 100), jokes around his bed admiring the comfort of the room (chapter 100), scolds him affectionately, (chapter 100) and celebrates his survival. This lively atmosphere gradually reconstructs a superficial sense of normality. Meanwhile, Joo Jaekyung exists almost entirely outside this emotional circle. To the world, the champion is still perceived as rude, unmovable, and heartless, (chapter 100) while the members of Team Black get to play the roles of “affectionate and concerned” companions. (chapter 100) Even when people discuss Jaekyung, they rarely speak about his exhaustion, fear, loneliness, or his disintegration as a human being. Why? Because they simply do not see it and believes in their hyung’s statement, the manager. They remain entirely blind to the human being beneath the title. They speak only of the match, the culprit, the belt, and his capacity to perform. Because he won the last fight, they treat him as an object that functions correctly, while keeping their distance from his harsh demeanor. They essentially avoid him as a temperamental monster, completely oblivious to the fact that they are leaving a deeply traumatized, lost puppy entirely on his own.

But there is a sharper edge to this scene: Team Black’s affection reveals itself as naive and profoundly superficial. They easily follow conventional social norms—bringing gifts (chapter 100), crying at a bedside—but their care lacks real, grounding intimacy. Neither Potato and Oh Daeyhun were present at the hospital in the hallway in front of the surgery room. None of them have stayed by Jaekyung’s side to offer real comfort (chapter 100), thus the manager doesn’t leave his car to greet his boss and champion. He simply drops the physical therapist and drives away. But let’s return our attention to the scene at the hospital. Crucially, none of them correct the physical therapist when he pathologically apologizes for getting hurt. When Kim Dan stammers, (chapter 100), his words expose a deep reservoir of guilt and fractured self-esteem. Instead of challenging this unhealthy mindset, the crowd validates it by accepting the apology and coddling him as an “angel”. (chapter 100) And perhaps this image of the “angel” explains the deeper tragedy perfectly.

An angel is expected to comfort, heal, protect, and endlessly give. People receive warmth from angels, but rarely ask whether angels themselves are bleeding internally. Thus, Team Black fails to recognize that Kim Dan’s goodness itself has become pathological. They cannot see that his self-sacrifice contains a hidden violence directed against himself.

Therefore, it is entirely unsurprising that when Kim Dan finally walks out of that hospital, his internal narrative remains completely unchanged. (chapter 100) Because none of the members around him possessed the depth to correct his self-sacrificial logic, he still views himself exactly as he did before: as an inconvenient burden, a magnet for trouble, and someone who brings nothing but danger into the champion’s orbit. And note that the manager not only is not thanking him for his services but also is not determined to stop him from leaving. (chapter 100) For him, physical therapists can be easily replaced. Hence no tears and no handshake before the separation.

This is precisely why the handshake becomes so overwhelming for Kim Dan. Through touch, he suddenly realizes the truth. Joo Jaekyung had visited him for real. (chapter 100) At the same time, he gradually grasps that beneath the terrifying public image (chapter 100), Joo Jaekyung had quietly remained anchored beside him all along. The warmth in the champion’s hand reveals a hidden emotional reality that words denied. Thus, when Kim Dan thinks (chapter 100), the scene becomes far more than a romantic revelation. It is an emotional awakening. For the first time, Kim Dan realizes that the ‘Emperor’ was never emotionally distant by nature, only buried beneath fear, silence, and performance. The warmth in his hand reveals something profoundly human beneath the armor.

Importantly, this tactile recognition also begins transforming Kim Dan’s own inner world. For most of the story, he defined himself through usefulness, shame, and emotional disposability. He believed people kept him nearby only because he served a practical function: grandson, therapist, debtor, caretaker. Even his relationship with Jaekyung remained psychologically filtered through utility. (chapter 100) Once the debt disappeared and the championship was reclaimed, Kim Dan instinctively assumed that his role in the champion’s life had ended too.

But the handshake completely destabilizes this entire belief system. Not only the dream became a reality, but also (chapter 100) the warmth in Jaekyung’s hand reveals that Kim Dan had never merely been “useful.” He had become emotionally necessary. For one fragile moment, Kim Dan experiences himself not as a burden, an obligation, or a temporary possession, but as someone genuinely cherished.

This is why the tiny sparks surrounding the scene matter so much (chapter 100). Earlier in the story, the relationship between the protagonists was repeatedly associated with an invisible, chaotic electricity pulling them together. (chapter 86) Episode 100 revives this visual motif, yet transforms its meaning entirely. (chapter 100) The sparks no longer represent physical attraction or dangerous obsession; they resemble embers of emotional recognition finally igniting inside Kim Dan’s consciousness.

Significantly, however, only Kim Dan’s eyes contain visible light in these panels. (chapter 100) He is finally seeing the athlete’s warmth and care. Joo Jaekyung himself appears emotionally dimmed, exhausted, and internally extinguished. (chapter 100) Here, he is even portrayed as eyeless, as if he had lost his soul. (chapter 99) The asymmetry is devastating. It almost feels as though the champion transfers his final remaining warmth and energy into Kim Dan through the handshake itself. (chapter 100) While Kim Dan awakens emotionally, Jaekyung continues withering inwardly beneath the weight of his guilt, his resignation, and his anticipatory loss.

And perhaps this is the cruelest irony of the scene. Through touch, Kim Dan is not yet fully understanding the love intellectually, rather he is beginning to sense it emotionally.

The realization remains tactile, intuitive, incomplete, and almost dreamlike. Yet at the exact same moment, the man extending that warmth no longer believes anyone will truly remain beside him once the final bell has rung. That’s the reason why the physical therapist looks back at his lover (chapter 100), he is detecting lingering feelings.

The handshake scene ultimately transforms not only Kim Dan’s perception of Joo Jaekyung, but the meaning of the jinx itself. (chapter 100) Until now, Kim Dan never truly questioned the existence of the curse surrounding the champion. (chapter 27) He simply accepted it as an immutable part of reality. The “jinx” appeared almost supernatural: an ominous, mechanical force attached to Joo Jaekyung’s body, his victories, his violence, his rituals, and his frightening aura. Even the title of the series carried something cold, clinical, and oppressive. The word itself evoked danger, misfortune, contamination, and inevitability.

But episode 100 quietly begins dismantling this darkness.

When Kim Dan grasps Jaekyung’s hand, something extraordinary happens psychologically. Human warmth suddenly illuminates what fear, silence, and mythology had concealed for nearly one hundred chapters. (chapter 100) Mingwa reinforces this revelation visually in a remarkable way. Immediately after Kim Dan describes the hand as “pleasantly warm,” the title Jinx itself reappears, glowing softly inside a luminous white space (chapter 100). The contrast with the earlier, heavy atmosphere of the story is striking. The title card no longer feels entirely dark. For the first time in the series, light enters the concept itself.

It is almost as though a hidden truth finally begins surfacing: the real curse was never supernatural fate, sexual ritual, or victory alone.

The true “jinx” was emotional isolation. It was the inability to communicate honestly. The inability to believe oneself worthy of love without usefulness, sacrifice, or performance. The inability to ask someone to stay. The inability to recognize the humanity hidden beneath fear, armor, and symbolic roles.

And perhaps this is why the scene begins subtly echoing Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam.

For nearly one hundred chapters, Jinx maintained a distorted version of that hierarchy. Joo Jaekyung existed as the towering “God” of the ring, wielding sovereign physical control, while Kim Dan remained the fragile mortal perpetually subjected to debt, rules, contracts, and bodily domination.

Yet as their fingers meet, Mingwa quietly reverses the entire structure. (chapter 100)

Kim Dan now stands upright, initiating the contact himself and reaching voluntarily across the emotional void. Meanwhile, Joo Jaekyung has become the limp, exhausted, emotionally paralyzed figure. His hand no longer stops gripping or possesses. Instead, it grows passive, heavy, and fragile as the fingers slowly begin slipping away.

This is precisely why the handshake becomes symbolically revolutionary. For one brief moment, the protagonists connect outside the toxic logic that governed their relationship for so long: no debt, no contract, no treatment, no championship, no transaction, and no performance. Only warmth.

But this is precisely where the tragedy deepens. Kim Dan is not a triumphant savior breathing life into a grateful recipient. He is still an insecure young man desperately searching for confirmation (chapter 100) that the warmth he sensed was real. He needs Jaekyung to tighten the grip, speak honestly, or offer any sign that he is wanted for more than his usefulness.

Instead, Joo Jaekyung retreats behind silence once again and delivers the devastating command: (chapter 100) This instruction seals Kim Dan’s internal misinterpretation completely. Paired with the slipping handshake, the sentence convinces him that the timeline established back in episode 77 has finally reached its inevitable conclusion. The transaction is over. The debt is dead. He is free to leave.

Yet the tragedy runs even deeper because Kim Dan does not perceive his own departure as abandonment at all. On the contrary, he genuinely believes he is acting lovingly and correctly by removing himself from Jaekyung’s orbit.

And in doing so, he unconsciously reproduces the exact emotional logic that shaped his own life and suffering. (chapter 57) Long before episode 100, his grandmother attempted to push him away through almost identical reasoning. (chapter 57) Feeling powerless, burdensome, and guilty for his slow emotional deterioration, she repeatedly urged him to return to Seoul, live his own life, and stop “wasting away” beside her. Her love expressed itself through self-removal. Rather than openly asking Kim Dan about the reasons behind his pain, she tried to free him from herself before death could do it instead. She thought, she had the solution to the problem, because she believed she knew why!

Kim Dan internalized this worldview completely. Thus, when he prepares to leave the penthouse, he unknowingly imitates Halmoni’s sacrificial logic almost perfectly. He believes to know the athlete. Like out of sight, out of mind. Joo Jaekyung will stop suffering. (chapter 100) Love becomes synonymous with disappearing for the other person’s sake.

And devastatingly, Joo Jaekyung reproduces the exact same pattern simultaneously. Back on the beach, the champion promised: (chapter 95) At first glance, the sentence appears comforting and romantic. Yet retrospectively, the structure of the promise reveals a deeply corrupted blueprint for attachment. First, Jaekyung imagines Kim Dan leaving long before he ever asks him to stay. Even his love remains psychologically organized around future abandonment. Jaekyung’s words directly mirror the childhood promise made by his own mother—who told him she would watch over and support him from far away, leaving him with nothing but an inaccessible back and a heavy, permanent silence. (chapter 72) But the ultimate cruelty of the narrative is that his mother’s promise was an absolute lie. (chapter 74) She did not watch from afar out of tragic necessity; she remarried, built an entirely new family, and willfully discarded Jaekyung to start a life where he had no place.

Thus, by episode 100, both protagonists express love through identical acts of self-erasure.

Kim Dan believes:

“If I want to help him feeling less guilty, then I should leave.”

Joo Jaekyung believes:

“If I want to protect him, I should let him go. He is getting hurt because of me. I am his jinx.

Neither realizes that they are silently reproducing the same inherited trauma script. And so, while still standing inside the vast uncrossed emptiness of the penthouse entrance, Kim Dan quietly utters: (chapter 100) The sentence acts like a psychological blade directly through Jaekyung’s deepest childhood wound. It confirms the terror haunting him since his mother’s disappearance and rejection: once the transaction ends and usefulness expires, people inevitably walk away. They don’t stay willingly, only because of money.

Then comes the devastating thud. Not the sound of emotional closure, but the sound of total collapse.

The monstrous willpower that carried Joo Jaekyung through brutal title fights, public scrutiny, and lifelong isolation suddenly evaporates beneath the unbearable weight of abandonment. The Emperor collapses on the threshold of his own making, similar to this nightmare: (chapter 79) (chapter 99) Joo Jaekyung can only collapse under the weight of his immense knowledge and guilt: the hospital director, Baek Junmin, the switched spray (chapter 100). He almost killed a man, just like he did with his “father”.

And if my theory is true, then this is the moment where Kim Dan may finally begin understanding the champion properly for the first time. The terrifying realization finally emerges: beneath the armor, Joo Jaekyung suffers from the very same abandonment terror and low self-esteem that shaped Kim Dan’s own life. Because suddenly, the “Emperor” no longer resembles a distant monster at all.

He resembles a child, and not just a patient. Just like Halmoni. Just like Kim Dan himself.

The lost puppy hidden beneath the armor finally becomes visible. (chapter 59) And because Kim Dan still has not crossed the literal threshold , the collapse does not function as an ending, but as a confrontation with reality “sound THUD. (chapter 100) The counterfeit departure shatters completely. For the first time, Kim Dan stands before someone who is entirely incapable of saving himself.

And perhaps that is the true, revolitonary meaning of the scene. (chapter 100) The illusion of the untouchable Emperor cannot survive a collapse, and the myth of the unbleeding Angel cannot withstand a genuine psychological crisis. Episode 100 destroys both false frameworks simultaneously, leaving only two human beings at the entrance, waiting to see if anyone has the courage to reach back across the gap.

A HIDDEN REQUEST

Many readers walk away from this devastating cliffhanger feeling deeply frustrated with Joo Jaekyung. Across the fandom, the same complaint echoes repeatedly: “Why didn’t he just open his mouth?” “Why didn’t he ask Kim Dan to stay like he originally wanted to?”

The bitter irony, however, is that episode 100 already contains the request. I now invite my attentive readers to return carefully to the chapter itself and search for the exact panel where Joo Jaekyung’s true desire surfaces.

Once you find it, the emotional meaning of the entire chapter begins shifting.

Suddenly, episode 100 no longer feels like the story of a man incapable of asking someone to stay, but the story of two people trapped inside a far more complex emotional silence. And perhaps this is why episode 100 feels so haunting and terrible.

In the second part of this essay, we will examine why Joo Jaekyung gradually starts resembling a ghost himself — and how the chapter repeatedly buries his voice beneath misunderstanding, distance, and interruption.

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

Jinx: A Ruthless Fight🩸🐺 , A Loverboy Break 💧😿

When does a curse truly disappear?

Episode 99 of Jinx initially appears to destroy the central superstition of the series. Kim Dan lies unconscious in a hospital bed. (chapter 99) He is absent from the ring. There was no sex before the match, no ritual, no “luck,” no physical reassurance. And yet Joo Jaekyung wins faster (chapter 99) and more decisively than ever before. (chapter 99) At first glance, the conclusion seems obvious: the jinx is broken.

But then another problem emerges immediately. Why does this victory feel so horrifying? To the audience in front of the octagon, the champion no longer appears heroic. Baek Junmin’s face is totally ruined. (chapter 99) (chapter 99) The moderator repeatedly describes him as ruthless. (chapter 99) The crowd boos when he leaves the cage. (chapter 99) He refuses the interview, (chapter 99), ignores the CEO, (chapter 99), abandons the championship belt behind him, and walks away as though the victory itself had become meaningless.

Without the hidden context surrounding Kim Dan’s assault, the public sees only one thing: a frighteningly violent champion who no longer behaves like a human being.

And yet the readers know something entirely different. We know that Joo Jaekyung entered the octagon after discovering that Baek Junmin was connected to Kim Dan’s assault. (chapter 99) We know that the fight was never truly about the belt. We know that the man appearing emotionally empty (chapter 99) inside the ring is, in reality, entirely consumed by one person lying unconscious in a hospital room.

This creates the real tension of episode 99. While outsiders witness monstrosity and rudelessness (chapter 99), the readers witness emotional clarity.

The chapter therefore reveals something far more unsettling. The jinx was never truly about sex at all. The real curse was hesitation and fear — the inability to escape the ghosts of the past. Kim Dan’s assault changes this completely. For the first time in the series, Joo Jaekyung stops fighting memory and focuses entirely on the present moment. (chapter 99) That is why episode 99 feels simultaneously triumphant and tragic.

The “loverboy” insult (chapter 99) intended to weaken Joo Jaekyung ultimately destroys the very hesitation that had governed him for years. But the result is terrifying to watch. The emperor wins, yet leaves the octagon looking less like a champion than like a ghost whose heart has already abandoned the arena long before his body does. (chapter 99)

The Champion Who Always Waited

One detail becomes impossible to ignore once we revisit Joo Jaekyung’s earlier fights. Again and again, his opponents attack first. Randy Booker rushes him aggressively, (chapter 15) Dominique lands the opening assault (chapter 40) while the athlete tried to avoid his attacks before (chapter 40), Gabriel initiates the violence (chapter 87), and even Baek Junmin, in their first earlier encounter, attempts to establish control first. (chapter 50) Joo Jaekyung’s usual fighting style therefore follows a recognizable structure. He absorbs the opponent’s aggression (chapter 40), studies it carefully, adapts to it, and only afterward retaliates with devastating precision.

But Episode 5 quietly introduces a striking exception to this pattern. For the first time in the series, Joo Jaekyung attacks first. (chapter 5) The moment is brief, yet Park Namwook immediately notices that something feels fundamentally different. Despite training normally, Jaekyung suddenly appears unusually sharp, aggressive, and emotionally accelerated. Namwook asks whether he “did something special,” instinctively recognizing the deviation without understanding its source.

Retrospectively, the scene becomes deeply revealing. Episode 5 already foreshadows the connection between Kim Dan and the temporary collapse of Jaekyung’s hesitation. Long before Episode 99, Kim Dan had already begun interfering with the psychological structure governing the champion’s violence. Yet the difference between Episode 5 and Episode 99 remains crucial. In Episode 5, (chapter 5) the hesitation merely weakens. In Episode 99, it disappears entirely. And this is precisely why the fight against Baek Junmin feels so terrifying. The emotional fragmentation that once forced Jaekyung to wait, analyze, and psychologically endure before retaliating suddenly vanishes. For the first time in the series, he no longer enters the cage divided between past and present. He enters it whole. (chapter 99)

For years, however, this hesitation was misunderstood by everyone around him. Earlier in the story, an older coach (chapter 75) remarked that Jaekyung performed perfectly during practice but somehow “fell short in important matches.” Park Namwook immediately interpreted this through the logic of sports psychology and asked whether the champion simply got “cold feet.” Episode 99, however, reveals how profoundly the manager and coach misunderstood him. Namwook consistently interprets Joo Jaekyung externally. (chapter 99) Before the fight against Baek Junmin, he asks whether Jaekyung wants to warm up, whether he wants to hit the mitts, and whether he has slept enough. He notices that Jaekyung’s body feels “cold to the touch,” yet even then he still assumes that the problem must be physical, routine-based, or performance-related. This misunderstanding reveals something important about Namwook himself. First, it is clear that he is projecting his own indeciveness onto his “pupil”. Besides, he represents the institutional mentality of the gym, a worldview in which performance functions almost like a mechanical equation. Training, preparation, discipline, and focus are supposed to produce victory. To Namwook, hesitation can therefore only mean athletic anxiety or fear of failure. In his mind, the match itself is the most important reality in the room. That is why he keeps trying to solve Jaekyung’s silence through professionalism, routine, and ritual. But what the hyung never truly graps is that Joo Jaekyung is not merely an athlete struggling with nerves. He is a man haunted by memory. The “coldness” in his body was never simple fear of losing. It was emotional numbness. (chapter 75) Joo Jaekyung entered fights carrying invisible ghosts with him: the father, violence, hierarchy, humiliation, fear of disrespect, and the expectation of punishment and rejection. The story repeatedly shows how his father enforced authority physically. (chapter 72) The elder struck first. (chapter 72) Resistance or even “presence” was punished. Submission and later avoidance became a survival mechanism. Even later, fragments of this mentality continued reproducing themselves through figures like Hwang Byungchul. (chapter 74) (chapter 74) As readers, we gradually realize something deeply unsettling. Joo Jaekyung unconsciously grants older men (Randy Booker, Dominic Hill, Park Namwook and Baek Junmin) the symbolic privilege of initiating violence. This explains why insults such as “baby,” (chapter 14) “child,” and “lost puppy” (chapter 96) carry so much narrative importance throughout the series. These words do not merely mock him. On the one hand they psychologically reflect his past fighting style (chapter 99), on the other hand they reduce him to the subordinate boy once again. But beneath this hesitation lies something even darker. Joo Jaekyung is not merely afraid of losing fights. He is afraid that his father might have been right about him all along. When his father insulted him, beat him, and treated him as worthless, the violence was never only physical. It implanted a deeper psychological curse inside the child. (chapter 54) Weakness became tied to identity itself. Hesitation became associated with inferiority. Emotional attachment became linked to failure and humiliation. This is why the champion’s mistrust persisted even after becoming the strongest fighter in the ring. Outwardly, Joo Jaekyung became “the Emperor.” (chapter 75) Inwardly, however, part of him remained trapped before the father’s judgment, still unconsciously waiting for the older man to strike first. The hesitation therefore was not simple caution. It was fear itself. It was the fear that he might truly be weak. It was the fear that he might truly be inferior. And, above all, it was the fear that he might ultimately become exactly what his father believed him to be: A loser! (chapter 73) And this is precisely why episode 99 changes everything. For the first time in the series, Joo Jaekyung stops fighting while carrying the father’s voice inside his mind. He is no longer hearing his voice, but only seeing his lover’s cold body. (chapter 99) The assault against Kim Dan forces him into a situation where doubt itself becomes impossible. Suddenly, something matters more than hierarchy, humiliation, fear, or inherited shame. Love overrides the old curse. And once that happens, the subordinate child disappears instantly.

The Shotgun That Backfired

Baek Junmin believes he understands the former champion perfectly. When he leans toward him before the fight and whispers, (chapter 99) he believes he has found the champion’s greatest weakness.

The insult is carefully calculated. “Loverboy” infantilizes emotional attachment and strips Kim Dan of dignity. Ironically, Kim Dan is actually older than Jaekyung — a hyung — yet Baek Junmin symbolically erases this hierarchy entirely. In his worldview, emotional attachment belongs to weakness, dependency, and humiliation. But there is another layer that makes the scene even darker. The antagonist uses the word “loverboy” through the logic of prostitution, possession, and mockery. For him, the insult reduces Kim Dan to an object of attachment, almost something transactional or degrading. Yet the wolf and Jinx-lovers know something Junmin himself does not fully understand. Kim Dan was not simply emotionally endangered. In the past, he was physically assaulted. (chapter 91) The “hamster” clearly showed clear signs of PTSD during the restaurant encounter in Chapter 90. (chapter 90) The trembling, the nausea, and the paralyzing fear were not just reactions to a “fight,” but to a perpetrator who had physically violated his agency. When the former hospital director attempted to “erase” the assault through further violence (the stabbing) (chapter 98), it proved that to the antagonists, Dan’s body was merely a canvas for their malice.

Consequently, when Baek Junmin whispers “loverboy” in Chapter 99, (chapter 99) he is unknowingly stepping onto a psychological landmine. He believes he is poking at a romantic weakness; in reality, he is mocking a victim of a coordinated assault. This is why the insult becomes so psychologically explosive. (chapter 99) For Joo Jaekyung, hearing Junmin use a “diminishing” term to describe a man who is currently lying in a hospital bed because of Junmin’s own schemes is the ultimate provocation. It transforms a standard pre-fight taunt into a disgusting trivialization of Dan’s suffering.

The “Shotgun” fires a bullet of mockery, but because of the hidden reality of the assault, it returns to him as a cannonball of absolute, righteous fury. The word therefore unintentionally collides with the reality of sexual violence and trauma. (chapter 99) This is why the insult becomes so psychologically explosive.

At the same time, Baek Junmin weaponizes morality itself. The implication is cruelly simple. While Kim Dan lies unconscious, Joo Jaekyung is here fighting for spectacle, money, and fame. The thug expects guilt, hesitation, emotional fragmentation, and inner collapse. Instead, he accidentally gives Joo Jaekyung the most powerful weapon in the entire series. Throughout the story, the “jinx” functioned as a psychological crutch disguised as superstition. The MMA fighter believed he needed the ritual beforehand in order to stabilize himself physically and mentally. (chapter 02) This is why the superstition held so much power over him. Kim Dan unconsciously became transformed into something functional, almost mechanical: a stabilizer, a ritual, a lucky charm. (chapter 87) But episode 99 destroys this illusion completely. The moment Baek Junmin says “loverboy,” Joo Jaekyung is forced to confront something openly for the first time. Kim Dan is not luck. Kim Dan is not a ritual. Kim Dan is not a tool. Kim Dan is the person he loves. (chapter 99) And this realization changes the entire structure of the fight. The irony surrounding Baek Junmin’s title, “The Shotgun,” (chapter 49) suddenly becomes extraordinary. A shotgun is a weapon of spread, chaos, and indiscriminate destruction. The antagonist’s psychological attack functions exactly the same way. (chapter 96) He fires insults everywhere at once: infantilization, guilt, mockery, emotional humiliation, and social shame. But Joo Jaekyung’s response becomes the complete opposite: a trigger for retaliation. (chapter 99)

Instead of psychologically fragmenting him, the attack compresses his entire emotional world into a single point of terrifying focus. Baek Junmin tries to blow Jaekyung’s mind apart; instead, he accidentally pressurizes it. This is why the fight immediately becomes so frightening to watch.

The moderator truly emphasizes that this is “not his usual style.” (chapter 99) Joo Jaekyung gives Baek Junmin no opportunity to speak (chapter 99), recover (chapter 99), breathe (chapter 99), or retaliate. (chapter 99) Yet despite the overwhelming brutality, his precision never disappears. The knee strikes, liver shots, uninterrupted combinations, and perfectly targeted blows reveal not emotional chaos, but emotional concentration.

And then Mingwa introduces one of the most disturbing visual details of the entire chapter: Baek Junmin’s face. (chapter 99) The shattered nose. The missing tooth. The blood covering his mouth. The trembling. Suddenly, “The Shotgun” no longer resembles a manipulative predator or rising star. He becomes reduced to raw, terrified biology. The smugness disappears entirely. And this is where the violence becomes deeply symbolic. Baek Junmin’s greatest weapon was never simply physical strength. His real power existed in his mouth:

  • the whispers,
  • the manipulation,
  • the destabilizing insults,
  • the weaponization of social morality,
  • and the psychological games.

He attempted to use language itself as ammunition. Joo Jaekyung’s response is therefore horrifyingly surgical. By destroying Baek Junmin’s mouth, nose, and face, he symbolically dismantles the mechanism of the “Shotgun” itself. (chapter 99) He silences the man who attempted to psychologically break him through words.

But there’s more to it. Baek Junmin’s identity as “The Shotgun” was never about his fists; it was about his mouth. (chapter 96) His smirk was his armor (chapter 96), a performative tool used to signal emotional superiority and untouchability. Throughout the series, he weaponized his smile to infantilize Jaekyung and degrade Kim Dan (chapter 99), positioning himself as the puppet master of the “last laugh.” (chapter 87) In Episode 99, Joo Jaekyung deconstructs this theatricality with surgical intent. He doesn’t target the body for a standard knockout; he targets the features of expression: (chapter 99)

  • The Mouth: The source of the “Loverboy” insult and the manipulative whispers.
  • The Teeth: The physical foundation of the smug, predatory grin.
  • The Nose: The center of the “arrogant” face that looked down on Dan’s trauma.

By shattering these specific points, Jaekyung pressurizes the “Shotgun’s” spread of insults into a single point of silence. The violence is not random; it is the literal destruction of mockery. The irony is absolute: the man who defined himself by his ability to laugh at others’ suffering is left with a face that can no longer form a smile. (chapter 99) Jaekyung didn’t just silence the “Shotgun”—he dismantled the very mechanism Junmin used to enjoy his own cruelty. To the audience, it was monstrosity; to the reader, it was the only way to truly kill the insult. This is why the violence feels so different from ordinary sports brutality. Joo Jaekyung is not simply aiming for victory. He is erasing the source of the violation.

And the irony becomes almost unbearable. Baek Junmin believes the word “loverboy” will emasculate the champion psychologically. Instead, the insult destroys the final separation inside Joo Jaekyung himself. The “Emperor” might once have fought for titles, legacy, spectators, or survival. But the “Loverboy” fights differently. (chapter 99) He fights personally. And that is precisely why he becomes so terrifying. The crowd boos because they expected a spectacle governed by sportsmanship, hierarchy, and ritualized violence. Instead, they witness sincerity stripped completely naked. The arena ceases to resemble entertainment and begins resembling execution. (chapter 99) The public therefore interprets Joo Jaekyung as monstrous. (chapter 99) But the readers understand the deeper irony. For perhaps the first time in the entire series, Joo Jaekyung is utterly sincere inside the cage.

The Crowd of One

To understand the true weight of the “loverboy” provocation in Episode 99, we must return to the subtle transformation that began much earlier in the story, long before Baek Junmin ever whispered the word.

The shift begins in Paris. (chapter 87) Chapter 15 quietly introduces one of the most important structural changes in Jinx: (chapter 15) Kim Dan’s transition from a private “function” of the jinx into a visible presence within the audience itself. At first glance, the scene appears insignificant. The arena is immense, saturated with blinding lights, cameras, and noise. Joo Jaekyung stands at the center of a gigantic machinery of spectacle that elevates him into the untouchable figure of “the Emperor.” At this stage, readers are still encouraged to view him primarily as a public myth sustained by victory, fame, and domination.

And yet something changes the moment Kim Dan enters the stands. For Joo Jaekyung, Kim Dan slowly becomes what we might call:

a crowd of one.

Before Paris, approval came from conquest itself. The cheers of the audience (chapter 15), the fear of opponents, the attention of cameras, the authority of the CEO, and the symbolism of the championship belt all participated in validating Jaekyung’s existence. The Octagon was not simply a workplace. It was the symbolic center of his identity.

But once Kim Dan begins watching him fight from the side, the emotional hierarchy quietly shifts. The roar of the stadium slowly fades into white noise. (chapter 40)

This transformation becomes unmistakable in Chapter 87. (chapter 87) Mingwa deliberately changes the visual framing. Instead of emphasizing the scale of the arena, she places Joo Jaekyung behind the chain-link fence while a camera lens continues filming the “Champion” in the background. Yet Jaekyung himself looks beyond the camera entirely. His attention bypasses the world in order to search for a single face.

Then comes the deceptively simple question: (chapter 87)

Psychologically, this moment marks a point of no return. Joo Jaekyung is no longer performing for twenty thousand spectators. He is seeking Kim Dan’s approval specifically. Public admiration has already begun losing emotional value because it is automatic, repetitive, and unconditional as long as he keeps winning. Kim Dan’s reactions, however, remain uncertain, emotionally complex, and therefore meaningful. (chapter 87)

Paris therefore functions as the silent diagnosis of Episode 99. Long before Baek Junmin calls him “loverboy”, (chapter 99) Joo Jaekyung has already begun emotionally abandoning the arena. The “Emperor” slowly hollows out from within because another identity quietly begins taking shape beneath it:

the lover.

And this is precisely why Episode 99 feels so unsettling. (chapter 99) Once the fight against Baek Junmin ends, Joo Jaekyung behaves almost as though the Octagon itself no longer exists psychologically. He does not celebrate. He does not acknowledge the audience. He does not look at the championship belt. He ignores the interviewer. Even the CEO becomes irrelevant. Instead of remaining beneath the lights as the symbolic center of the spectacle, he walks away immediately.

This refusal profoundly unsettles the public because spectators expect ritual closure. A champion is supposed to stand proudly beneath the lights, receive the belt, address the crowd (chapter 40), and transform violence back into entertainment. The spectacle depends on emotional resolution in order to preserve itself. But Joo Jaekyung refuses this transition entirely. He leaves the violence unresolved and emotionally raw. (chapter 99)

This rupture becomes visible even in Park Namwook’s reaction afterward. Earlier in the story, Namwook constantly spoke about Joo Jaekyung with possessive familiarity (chapter 40), treating him almost as “his” champion to manage, interpret, and direct. (chapter 88) But in Episode 99, his praise suddenly feels hesitant and emotionally uncertain. (chapter 99) The stutter in “G-good job, Jaekyung!” alongside the visible sweat drop transforms what should have been a triumphant moment into an awkward and deeply uncomfortable interaction.

Namwook instinctively rushes toward the champion as though trying to restore the old ritual structure of victory: praise the fighter, normalize the violence, and emotionally transition the spectacle back into professionalism. Yet Joo Jaekyung no longer participates in this structure at all. He does not emotionally return to the arena, the manager, or the system surrounding him.

For perhaps the first time, the manager appears confronted with something he cannot interpret, regulate, or emotionally reclaim. The discomfort visible on his face suggests an unconscious realization that the champion standing before him no longer truly belongs to him and the world of the Octagon anymore.

And this is where the “Crowd of One” dynamic becomes crucial. (chapter 99) Baek Junmin intended the “loverboy” insult to make Joo Jaekyung appear emotionally small, weak, dependent, and pathetic. Ironically, however, the insult produces the exact opposite effect. Instead of diminishing him psychologically, it radically compresses his emotional universe until everything outside Kim Dan disappears completely.

The crowd loses meaning.
The CEO loses authority.
The championship belt loses symbolic value.
Even the identity of “the Emperor” begins collapsing.

Only Kim Dan remains. And paradoxically, this narrowing of the world is exactly what makes Joo Jaekyung so terrifyingly effective inside the cage. (chapter 99)

Earlier in the series, he always fought amid psychological noise. (chapter 75) The expectations of others, the father’s ghost, the burden of hierarchy, fear of emotional weakness, public image, and the pressure to sustain the Emperor identity all occupied space inside his mind simultaneously. Part of him always remained divided between the immediacy of the present and the weight of the past.

But in Episode 99, that noise disappears completely. (chapter 99) By trying to weaponize Jaekyung’s attachment, The Shotgun inadvertently strips away the ghosts that had governed him for years. The father’s lingering shadow, the burden of legacy, and the fear of vulnerability all collapse beneath a single emotional imperative:

protect Kim Dan and his dignity.

And once this happens, Mistrust or doubt becomes impossible. (chapter 99)

This is why the fight appears almost inhuman to spectators. The audience and the moderator witness a fighter who no longer seems connected to the ordinary emotional economy of sports entertainment. (chapter 99) There is no vanity left inside him, no desire for applause, and no hunger for symbolic recognition. The crowd cannot understand what it is witnessing because Joo Jaekyung is no longer fighting for public validation at all.

He is fighting for someone specific. That is also why the booing carries such narrative importance. Earlier in the story, crowd approval still mattered (chapter 15) because the audience helped sustain the identity of “the Emperor.” But by Episode 99, the crowd has already lost its emotional authority over him. The boos therefore sound strangely hollow. They belong to a world Joo Jaekyung has already abandoned internally.

This is also why Mingwa’s depiction of the crowd earlier in Episode 99 becomes so significant retrospectively. (chapter 99) Before the match begins, both groups of supporters remain visibly divided. Some cheer passionately for Joo Jaekyung (chapter 99), while others support Baek Junmin with equal enthusiasm. Yet despite this rivalry, the audience still shares the same emotional framework. They participate in the same ritual structure of sports entertainment: choosing sides, anticipating victory, and emotionally investing themselves in the spectacle. But once Joo Jaekyung abandons the belt and walks away from the Octagon, this division suddenly disappears. (chapter 99)

The rival chants collapse into a single unified sound: (chapter 99) In other words, the crowd briefly becomes emotionally unanimous precisely at the moment Joo Jaekyung rejects it entirely.

Symbolically, this reversal is extraordinary. Earlier in the story, the collective audience helped sustain the identity of “the Emperor.” (chapter 75) But by Episode 99, Joo Jaekyung has already emotionally abandoned that entire system. The boos therefore no longer possess true emotional authority over him. They belong to a world he has already left behind psychologically. (chapter 99)

Ironically, while the crowd finally speaks with one voice, Joo Jaekyung himself no longer hears it at all. This is why he can leave the championship belt behind without even turning around. For years, the belt represented worth, hierarchy, legitimacy, and survival. In Episode 99, however, Joo Jaekyung silently chooses a fragile human body over the indestructible gold object waiting for him inside the cage. (chapter 99)

In other words, the insult intended to diminish him emotionally ultimately liberates him from the need to remain “the Emperor” at all.

The Ghost in the Ring

This emotional transformation explains why Joo Jaekyung appears so deeply unsettling throughout Episode 99. Mingwa repeatedly depicts him with shadowed or completely obscured eyes (chapter 99), while the backgrounds dissolve into blackness, fragmented speed lines, and empty space. The visual language of the chapter gradually strips away the surrounding world until only the violence remains visible. At first glance, this eyeless imagery makes him appear monstrous, detached, and almost inhuman. Yet the deeper irony is that the opposite is actually happening.

Joo Jaekyung is not emotionally absent because he enjoys the brutality of the fight. He appears ghost-like because emotionally he no longer wants to be there at all. This becomes especially important once we remember the scene before the match where he insists: (chapter 98) That sentence completely recontextualizes everything that follows afterward. Emotionally, Joo Jaekyung had already chosen the hospital over the Octagon. (chapter 98) The cage, once his kingdom, suddenly becomes a place of forced exile. He does not want the lights, the crowd, or the spectacle. He wants to remain beside Kim Dan. He wants proximity, silence, and reassurance. But the system surrounding him — the match, the organization, the expectations, and the machinery of professional fighting itself — forces him back into the arena before Kim Dan regains consciousness.

And this is precisely why he begins resembling Kim Dan himself. (chapter 97) Throughout the series, Kim Dan lived like a ghost. He erased himself emotionally and physically in order to survive. (chapter 57) He exhausted his body for others, suppressed his own emotions, accepted humiliation silently (chapter 90), and reduced himself to a functional object rather than a full human being. He moved through life almost invisibly, enduring suffering while abandoning parts of himself in the process.

In Episode 99, Joo Jaekyung briefly enters the same existential state. Hence he is not allowed to talk to the journalists before the event. Inside the Octagon, his body continues fighting, striking, calculating, and destroying with terrifying precision, but emotionally he has already left the arena behind. (chapter 99) Hence he is determined to finish this match as quickly as possible. His heart remains in the hospital room beside the unconscious man lying in bed. In this sense, the fight becomes profoundly uncanny because Jaekyung’s body operates almost independently from his emotional presence. Years of training allow him to perform absolute violence almost automatically. Baek Junmin is therefore not facing ordinary rage or uncontrolled fury. He is facing a perfectly functioning machine whose operator is psychologically somewhere else entirely.

And yet Episode 99 also contains brief ruptures where the “ghost” inside the cage suddenly reveals the human being still trapped within it. One of the most striking moments occurs when Joo Jaekyung screams: (chapter 99) At first glance, the panel appears to depict pure rage. His face is distorted, his eyes are wide open, and the violence reaches an almost frightening intensity. But even here, Mingwa carefully avoids portraying him as a man lost in uncontrolled fury. The strikes remain terrifyingly accurate. His body does not flail blindly. Every movement continues targeting Baek Junmin with surgical precision. (chapter 99) This distinction matters enormously.

Joo Jaekyung is not fighting like someone consumed by chaos. He is fighting like someone whose emotional world has collapsed into a single unbearable question. Why?

The scream therefore functions on multiple levels simultaneously. (chapter 99) On the surface, he is condemning Baek Junmin directly for his choices, for the assault, for the cruelty, and for reducing Kim Dan to collateral damage within a world governed by greed, hierarchy, and spectacle. But the question also reveals something deeper psychologically. For perhaps the first time in the series, Joo Jaekyung openly confronts the absurdity of the system surrounding him.

Why is he inside a cage fighting for a championship belt while the person he loves lies unconscious in a hospital bed? Why does this world demand violence, performance, and spectacle at the precise moment when he wants to be somewhere else entirely? Why must human intimacy constantly be sacrificed to sustain the machinery of “the Emperor”? This is why the panel feels so emotionally explosive. The “WHY?!” is not merely directed at Baek Junmin. It is directed at the entire reality trapping him inside the arena.

And this is precisely where the Emperor mask finally shatters completely.

Earlier in the series, Jaekyung’s violence usually remained emotionally controlled beneath layers of arrogance (chapter 15), intimidation, or performative dominance. Here, however, the emotional repression ruptures openly. Yet paradoxically, the loss of the mask does not weaken his precision. Instead, his years of training allow his body to continue functioning with horrifying efficiency even while his emotional state reaches a breaking point.

The result is deeply uncanny. His body performs violence automatically, almost mechanically, while his emotions remain entirely concentrated outside the cage. Mingwa reinforces this visually by stripping away the arena itself. The backgrounds dissolve into white speed lines and empty space until only Jaekyung and his target remain visible. The audience disappears. The spectacle disappears. Even the Octagon itself begins losing visual substance.

The fight stops resembling sports entertainment and starts resembling a private war. (chapter 99)

And this is why the public perceives him as monstrous. Joo Jaekyung no longer participates in the emotional economy of professional fighting. He is not trying to entertain the audience, preserve his image, or embody the symbolic role of “Champion.” To spectators, he appears frightening precisely because the normal rituals of the sport have collapsed entirely.

But the readers understand the deeper irony. The “ghost in the ring” is not a man incapable of feeling. It is a man whose feelings have become so painfully concentrated on one person outside the cage that everything inside the cage loses emotional reality in comparison.

And this is what makes the violence so terrifying. The body continues moving flawlessly, but the person inhabiting it has already departed emotionally. The Emperor’s shell remains inside the cage, mechanically “cleaning up” the threat standing before him, while the human being himself waits elsewhere.

This also gives new meaning to the “loverboy” insult. Baek Junmin intended the word to drag Joo Jaekyung back into the room emotionally through shame, humiliation, and guilt. He wanted to force the champion to confront emotional weakness publicly. Instead, the insult produces the exact opposite effect. By naming him a “lover,” Baek Junmin inadvertently gives Joo Jaekyung permission to stop caring about the Empire altogether.

The emotional hierarchy collapses instantly. The title stops mattering. The crowd stops mattering. The spectacle stops mattering. Only Kim Dan remains psychologically real.

This is why the fragmented speed lines and visual distortions (chapter 99) throughout the chapter become so significant. To spectators, they symbolize the overwhelming speed and brutality of the champion. But psychologically they also resemble static, interference, and white noise. Everything surrounding the fight begins blurring together because, from Jaekyung’s perspective, the world outside Kim Dan has already lost emotional clarity.

Even his eyes disappear.

Earlier in the series, Jaekyung’s gaze defined his identity. His eyes projected intimidation, dominance, confidence, and hierarchy before he even threw a punch. In Paris, however, that gaze had already begun changing direction. (chapter 99) Instead of seeking the crowd’s approval, he searched for Kim Dan’s reactions specifically. By Episode 99, Mingwa removes his eyes altogether because if Kim Dan is not there to watch him, then psychologically there is nothing left worth seeing inside the cage. (chapter 99)

And this is why the public completely misreads him.

To outsiders, the eyeless champion appears dangerous, emotionally detached, and frighteningly cruel. They cannot see the unconscious body waiting in the hospital room, the assault that triggered the fight, or the emotional clarity behind the violence. The audience believes it is witnessing a champion who has lost his humanity. But the readers understand something far more tragic. The “ghost” inside the ring exists precisely because Joo Jaekyung has finally discovered something more important than the ring itself.

For perhaps the first time in the entire series, the Emperor no longer wants the arena. He no longer wants the gold, the cheers, the cameras, or the “last laugh.” The ghost in the cage is merely the shell of an Emperor who has already abdicated his throne. What remains is simply a man waiting for another person to wake up. (chapter 99)

The Real Octagon

The true emotional climax of episode 99 does not occur inside the cage. It occurs afterward, inside the hospital room.

The contrast between these two spaces is extraordinary. The octagon is filled with noise, cameras, violence, lights (chapter 99), money, and spectacle, yet everything inside it suddenly feels false. The championship belt becomes meaningless. The real “octagon” is the hospital room. This is where Joo Jaekyung finally stops performing.

Inside the Octagon, his body continued functioning almost automatically. Years of training allowed him to strike, calculate, and destroy with terrifying precision even while emotionally he had already left the arena behind. But the hospital room strips away that final layer of mechanical control. For the first time in the chapter, there is no audience left to confront, no opponent left to destroy, and no role left to perform. Only Kim Dan remains.

And it is precisely this silence that transforms Joo Jaekyung completely. (chapter 99)

Throughout the series, Joo Jaekyung’s relationships were governed by an unconscious fear: the fear that attachment inevitably leads to rejection. His father did not merely punish him physically. He reacted to the child’s very presence with hostility and disgust. (chapter 99) As a result, Jaekyung internalized a devastating emotional logic. Being emotionally needy made him feel unwanted. Closeness became dangerous. Vulnerability became synonymous with humiliation.

This is why his relationship with Kim Dan remained so distorted for so long. Joo Jaekyung constantly sought proximity, yet he hid emotional dependence behind sex, money, possessiveness, irritation, or authority. Genuine emotional need terrified him because emotional dependence implied the possibility of rejection afterward.

And this is precisely why Baek Junmin’s words before the fight were so psychologically destructive: (chapter 99)

“You might never see him again.”

At first glance, the sentence appears to function like simple emotional manipulation designed to induce guilt. But its true impact runs much deeper. For a brief moment, Joo Jaekyung is forced back into the emotional position of the abandoned child once again: the boy not chosen, the boy left behind (chapter 73), the boy whose existence ultimately failed to make people stay.

Except this time, something changes fundamentally. Kim Dan cannot reject him. Kim Dan lies unconscious. (chapter 99) The feared separation is no longer tied to humiliation, disgust, disappointment, or emotional abandonment. It is tied to death itself. (chapter 99) And this distinction completely destroys the old psychological structure governing Joo Jaekyung’s relationships.

Earlier in the story, emotional distance could still be controlled through anger, domination, emotional withdrawal, or physical possession. (chapter 34) Pride could function as protection because rejection still belonged to the realm of human choice. But death cannot be negotiated with. Death cannot be emotionally controlled. Death strips away performance, ego, hierarchy, and pride.

This is why the hospital scene becomes emotionally revolutionary for Joo Jaekyung’s character. For perhaps the first time in his life, he experiences attachment without interpreting vulnerability as humiliation. And Mingwa visually announces this transformation even before Joo Jaekyung begins crying. (chapter 99)

One particularly striking panel depicts him in near-complete shadow after the fight. His eyes disappear entirely, but so does his mouth. The visual effect is deeply unsettling because the image no longer resembles the “Emperor” readers have known throughout the series. Earlier in Jinx, Jaekyung’s identity was strongly tied to his gaze, his smile and speech. (chapter 41) His eyes projected dominance, intimidation, hierarchy, and emotional control, while his words often functioned as weapons protecting him from vulnerability. But in this moment, both are symbolically erased.

The champion who once controlled others through violence, commands, mockery, and physical presence suddenly becomes silent and unreadable. (chapter 99) This panel therefore functions almost like a metamorphosis.

Joo Jaekyung appears suspended between two emotional states: the ghost-like fighter who mechanically completed the violence inside the cage and the human being about to collapse emotionally beside Kim Dan’s hospital bed. The “Emperor” identity has not merely weakened; it is actively dissolving.

And this is precisely why the following hospital scene carries such devastating emotional weight.

Ironically, Joo Jaekyung can finally speak honestly (chapter 99) only because Kim Dan cannot answer him. Kim Dan’s unconsciousness temporarily removes the immediate fear of judgment and rejection that had governed Jaekyung’s emotional life for years. His tears no longer emerge from wounded pride or fear of rejection. They emerge from something much more terrifying and much more human: the fear of irreversible loss.

That’s why his words gain enormous emotional weight.

These lines matter because they are entirely stripped of control. (chapter 99) There is no aggression hidden inside them. No transaction. No domination. No pride. The “Emperor” disappears completely in this moment. (chapter 99) What remains is simply a man terrified of losing someone he loves forever. We could say, the tears wash away the “Emperor.”

Why does the wolf become so ruthless inside the ring? Because Baek Junmin accidentally destroys the old fear governing him. The child who feared rejection disappears the moment the possibility becomes death rather than humiliation. Suddenly, protecting Kim Dan matters more than hierarchy, pride, the audience, the title, or even Jaekyung’s own identity as champion. This is why the fight appears so frightening to outsiders. The public sees only violence because they cannot perceive the emotional truth behind it. They witness a ruthless champion abandoning his humanity. But the readers understand the exact opposite. For the first time in the entire series, Joo Jaekyung is not fighting to protect his ego, his title, or the image of the “Emperor.” He is fighting because someone precious might disappear forever.

The Alchemy of Tears

This visual erasure of his features leads to the chapter’s true catharsis. (chapter 99) When the tears finally fall, they carry a symbolic weight that transcends simple grief. Throughout the series, Jaekyung’s body has functioned as a suit of armor—a fortress of hardness, discipline, and emotional immovability. In his world, pain was always displaced; it was never felt, only inflicted upon others through violence or control. He was the man who struck, never the man who collapsed.

But beside Kim Dan’s bed, that armor finally shatters. (chapter 99) For the first time, his agony is not converted into aggression; it is allowed to remain as grief. These tears accomplish what the brutality of the Octagon never could: they return the “Ghost” to his own skin.

This scene represents an emotional rebirth rather than a collapse. The “Emperor”—an identity built entirely on suppression and invulnerability—cannot survive this level of sincerity. (chapter 99) The tears act as a solvent, dissolving the emotional paralysis that has governed him since his childhood. At the same time, they also allow Joo Jaekyung to confront something he had carried unconsciously for years: the guilt, fear, and emotional burden surrounding his father’s death. (chapter 74)

Throughout the series, Jaekyung fought as though strength itself could protect him from becoming his father. (chapter 75) Victory became proof that he was not weak, not broken, not destined to fail the same way. But this also trapped him psychologically inside the father’s shadow. Every fight became tied to survival, worth, and the terror of becoming a “loser.”

In the hospital room, however, Kim Dan’s possible death suddenly reorganizes his entire emotional world. For the first time, Joo Jaekyung is no longer fighting to justify his own existence through violence or victory. He is simply afraid of losing someone he loves. (chapter 99)

And paradoxically, this finally allows him to stop reliving his father’s death through himself. (chapter 99) The tears therefore symbolize more than grief alone. They mark the moment when the son stops trying to survive through the Emperor identity and begins existing as a human being capable of mourning, loving, and fearing loss openly.

This is why the final irony of Episode 99 becomes so powerful.

The public interprets the champion’s violence as proof that he has lost his humanity. In reality, the tears reveal the exact opposite. Joo Jaekyung cries because, for the first time in his life, he allows himself to love someone more than he fears losing himself.

And that is why Episode 99 does not merely depict the breaking of the jinx.While the public looks at the carnage in the ring and sees a man who has lost his humanity, the readers see the exact opposite. The extraordinary irony of Episode 99 is that Joo Jaekyung has never been more human than in the moment he allows himself to cry. He finally accepts a reality where loving someone else is more important than the fear of losing his own ego. The “Jinx” wasn’t just a ritual; it was a barrier. By breaking it, Jaekyung doesn’t just win a fight—he finally allows the man hidden beneath the Emperor to breathe.

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

Jinx: The Hidden 🐍 Predators 🐺🦊(part 2)

Why Two Wolves?

In the first part, I mentioned both Perrault and Grimm not because the stories differ superficially, but because their shared surface—the famous bed scene—hides radically different logics of danger. If one remembers only the dialogue (“What big eyes you have!”), the two versions appear nearly identical. A wolf deceives a girl; she is eaten. Yet the decisive differences lie not in the dialogue but in the structure surrounding it.

In Grimm’s version, the moral is embedded in the ending. The girl disobeys her mother by leaving the path.

Because of her disobedience, she is swallowed, but she is rescued. The huntsman cuts open the wolf’s belly; order is restored; the wolf is killed through a trick. The lesson is corrective and communal: authority intervenes, discipline saves, error can be redeemed. Red Riding Hood learns. She does not stray again. The world remains morally structured.

Perrault’s ending, by contrast, is final. There is no huntsman, no rescue, no second chance. The girl is eaten and remains eaten. One might wonder why. The answer lies not only in the conclusion but in the construction of the encounter itself. In Perrault’s original French text, the wolf is introduced as “Compère le loup”. The word compère does not designate a stranger. It implies familiarity — a companion, an acquaintance, even a friendly associate. From the beginning, the wolf is socially positioned, not alien. Hence the forest in this version is not associated with danger or wildness. The woods are seen as a prolongation of the civilization and society. The predator belongs to the same communicative world as the girl. The danger is therefore not external intrusion but internal misrecognition.

This familiarity is reinforced in the bed scene. When the girl arrives, the wolf does not immediately attack. He instructs her to place the cake and butter aside and then tells her to come into bed with him. Perrault explicitly writes that she removes her clothes before getting in. The intimacy is staged. Closeness precedes violence. The scene imitates adult seduction before revealing predation. The girl is not seized; she participates in the proximity. That participation is precisely what makes the ending irreversible in Perrault’s social universe. Thus the old French expression “avoir vu le loup” (to have met the wolf) means to have lost virginity or have gained sexual experience. Under this light, one might understand why the wolf as Joo Jaekyung’s personality fits so well. (chapter 3) The latter became responsible for the hamster’s sexual education.

In Grimm’s version, this dimension disappears. The wolf does not construct a prolonged intimacy. After the dialogue, he simply springs from the bed and devours her. There is no undressing, no extended staging of physical closeness. Violence interrupts; it does not grow from apparent consent. Grimm transforms the libertine into a beast. The danger becomes physical appetite rather than social seduction.

Striking is that at the end of the story, Perrault articulates the moral explicitly:

The ending is the moral. There is no reversal because social damage, in Perrault’s world, is irreversible. The wolf represents not wild nature but libertine society. He does not attack in the forest because woodcutters—witnesses—are nearby. He waits until he can move the girl into a private domestic space. He speaks politely. He proposes a race so that he can reach the grandmother’s house sooner. He performs civility. Once in the house, the girl observes inconsistencies, but she accepts the animal’s explanations. Her failure is not merely disobedience; it is misjudgment.

That distinction is why both versions were necessary. Grimm teaches obedience within a moral universe that restores balance. Perrault teaches discernment within a social universe that does not. He is promoting critical thinking.

And Jinx unfolds more in the latter.

The Director: An Anaconda or a Wolf?

At first glance, the hospital director resembles Perrault’s wolf. (chapter 90) He is not impulsive. He is not openly violent. He operates within institutions, within offices, within controlled environments. He isolates rather than attacks. He frames rather than forces. Like Compère le loup, he is not a stranger; he is part of the social order. He belongs to the system. That belonging is precisely what grants him access.

His resentment (chapter 90) reveals that his true wound is territorial. He can no longer find his targets within the hospital. He lost control. He lost narrative dominance. This explicates why the predator retaliated against Kim Dan by badmouthing him. (chapter 1) He made sure that the protagonist was economically and socially “ruined”. However, at the restaurant, what did he discover? A happy man with a companion! Despite his “revenge” for the loss of his territory, the physical therapist’s life had not been ruined. Thus he tried to slander the physical therapist, he was just a slut. (chapter 90) The problem is that the champion did not react like expected. He got angry at the “client” and not at the “prostitute”. He never thought that the main lead would side with such a person. Thus the hospital director voiced a menace: (chapter 90) His threat is not confession; it is defensive strategy. It reveals what he fears most: exposure. Not moral reckoning, but visibility. The predator who once operated in sealed rooms now imagines himself dragged into the open. And that possibility terrifies him.

In Perrault’s logic, harm succeeds because it occurs without witnesses. The wolf avoids the woodcutters. Thus he relocates the act into a private domestic space. But one might wonder about the identity of the woodcutters in the Korean Manhwa. In the architecture of a scandal, the “Woodcutter” represents the Bystander Effect woven into the fabric of an organization. In the fairy tale, the woodcutters are physically present but functionally absent; their focus on their “job” creates a peripheral noise that masks the wolf’s approach.

(chapter 91)

When an institution like Saero-An Hospital (chapter 90) prioritizes its “output” (reputation, profit, or clinical operations) over the safety of its staff, it adopts the woodcutter’s axe. By focusing only on the work at hand, the institution effectively grants the predator a “sealed room.” The wolf doesn’t need to hide from the woodcutters; he only needs them to keep their heads down. What makes him powerful is not brute force but the absence of eyes. The director functioned the same way. His authority depended on institutional insulation — doors closed, hierarchy unquestioned, narratives controlled. As long as no one looked too closely, he remained Compère — familiar, respectable, legitimate.

However, visibility destroys that structure. It is no coincidence that the name of the institution is not revealed. It is strategic, it is about containment and damage control. (chapter 91) “Director of X General Hospital.” The letter X replaces identity. The institution remains faceless, protected, intact. Only the individual is exposed. He becomes the “black sheep,” the aberration, the singular deviant whose removal restores the illusion of purity. This means the system has not truly fractured. It has absorbed the shock. The management is shielded. The hospital’s reputation survives. The corruption is reframed as personal misconduct rather than structural tolerance. And that explains why the director initially felt safe. It is because he knew the “Mother” (the institution) and the “Woodcutters” (the staff/administration) were more invested in the “Big Hospital” image than in the safety of the “daughters” (the employees). And this is precisely where Perrault’s logic returns — not only through the wolf, but through the adults. In Perrault’s version, one might ask: where are the parents? The mother sends the girl into the forest without any warning. The grandmother only thinks how lovely her grandchild is, hence she is not talking about the dangers. None of them prepare her to recognize manipulation. Neither the mother nor the grandmother teaches her to question charm. She is well-bred, polite, obedient — but not trained to distrust sweetness.

Perrault’s moral seems directed at the girl, but indirectly it exposes society. A culture that values politeness over discernment produces vulnerability. The wolf thrives not only because he is cunning, but because the girl was raised to comply. The blame, therefore, is not purely individual.

The same mechanism appears in the hospital scandal. By omitting the hospital’s name, the article preserves the illusion that corruption was singular. But the panel in which Kim Dan reflects (chapter 1) disrupts the illusion that this was ever an isolated deviation. It reveals that shielding authority at the expense of subordinates was already the hospital’s modus operandi. The management’s instinct was not investigation, but preservation. Not accountability, but hierarchy.

This is crucial. Before the scandal became public, the hospital had already demonstrated where its loyalties lay. The director was protected. The subordinate was expendable. Dan lost his position; the director remained secure. That earlier incident establishes a pattern: institutional cohesion prioritized over justice. Now compare this to the anonymous article. (chapter 91) The article does not expose the forest. It exposes one wolf. Hence the hospital name remains concealed, while the man’s face is “revealed”. The director’s license is suspended. Publicly, the system appears decisive. But structurally, the logic remains the same: protect the institution, isolate the individual. The difference is only in scale. Previously, Dan was sacrificed to shield the director. Now the director is sacrificed to shield the hospital.

The mechanism is identical. This is where Perrault’s tale deepens the analogy. In the fairy tale, the mother sends the girl into danger unprepared. The adults create conditions in which charm is not interrogated. When the wolf succeeds, the girl bears the consequence. Society remains unexamined. Hence in Perrault’s tale, there is no huntsman because society itself is implicated. The wolf is not defeated because the environment that produced him remains untouched.

Likewise, the hospital’s earlier response shows that vulnerability was institutionalized. Victims were isolated. Complaints were contained. Authority was insulated. The forest was never safe; it was simply unacknowledged. The article does not expose the forest. It exposes one wolf.

And that is the most disturbing parallel: predators thrive where institutions prefer appearance over introspection. And now, let me ask you this question: what about MFC as institution then?

Perrault’s warning is therefore double-edged. It cautions young women about gentle wolves, but it also exposes a society that raises daughters to be agreeable rather than analytical. In both cases, the danger is not only the wolf. It is the world that allows him to pass as familiar.

That is why his language is not remorseful but retaliatory. (chapter 90) “If I fall, he’s going down with me” translates into: If I am exposed, I will contaminate the narrative. I will ensure that no one stands clean beside me. The threat is not about truth; it is about mutual ruin. This is Perrault’s mechanism inverted: when privacy collapses, the wolf attempts to drag the girl into public disgrace so that exposure harms both equally. If he cannot remain hidden, he will ensure that the victim appears complicit. What the director fears most is not prison, nor even moral judgment. It is losing control of the story.

And this leads me to the following observation: (chapter 90) The director claimed that doc Dan ruined his life, though the article makes it clear that it happened because of the collaboration of different victims. (chapter 90) The moment he got caught by the nurse in the office, gossips started circulating, and previous victims recognized that they were not the only ones. The man could no longer escape the gaze from the staff. Hence he had to seek his “targets” elsewhere. The restaurant scene clarifies his new method. He is sitting with a man in a curated adult space—low light, alcohol, controlled proximity. (chapter 90) It resembles the wolf’s preferred setting: intimacy that appears voluntary. What caught my attention is that he complained about his partners. (chapter 90) That line exposes the structural wound. “Pandering” implies performance. It implies negotiation. It implies mutuality. It implies that he must now ask rather than take. In the hospital, he did not have to pander. Authority substituted for charm. Hierarchy substituted for consent. Privacy substituted for persuasion.

Outside that territory, he is reduced to the marketplace of mutual agreement, — dating apps, casual meetings, drinks that require conversation rather than compliance. And he resents it. I came to think about dating apps, because the perverted hospital director did not meet the man at the XY club (chapter 33), but at the restaurant. If he had known such a club, he could have met the green haired-guy or the “uke” from episode 55. Thus I deduce that the sexual predator is actually hiding his “homosexuality”, he had been living a double life in the end, like the wolf in Perrault. That’s why he targets “virgins”. Since he used the expression “pandering… get by”, Mingwa implies that this man must have told the men (“all kinds of people”) he met, he was looking for a boyfriend to justify his action. (chapter 90) However, this lie was quickly caught by the unknown companion, as the perverted director paid no attention to him. (chapter 89) This exposes that the sexual predator hadn’t dropped his old mind-set, selfishness and entitlement. When the man abruptly stands and leaves, the director is surprised. (chapter 90) That surprise matters. It suggests expectation of compliance, of silent agreement, of recognition of coded signals. The man likely does not belong to the director’s ecosystem; he does not recognize the invitation as opportunity but as lack of respect. Thus he exits. (chapter 90) The fact that the wolf tried to talk him out of it indicates that their relationship was not only superficial, but also more equal. Humiliation is crucial. Predators who rely on social camouflage depend on territory. When territory collapses, strategy must change.

This is where the transformation begins. Until he meets Doc Dan, the director functions like an anaconda: silent constriction, gradual suffocation, no visible struggle. The anaconda does not bite first; it coils. It removes oxygen slowly. The hospital setting enabled precisely that kind of predation—isolated rooms, professional hierarchy, reputational shields. After the loss of his territory, we could say that he becomes acting like a “wolf” from Perrault’s version. He has many relationships (all kinds of people to get by). Perrault’s wolf survives because he is charming and unmarked. He passes as “Compère.” Yet, the moment the champion crosses his path, the director transforms one more time: (chapter 90) This is where Grimm enters. His true nature got exposed, he is socially identified as predator.

Thus I initially deduced that the perverted hospital director would retaliate against the famous champion. (chapter 90) Jaekyung represents exposure. He is public, visible, media-facing. He has sponsors, contracts, a name that circulates. Reputation is capital in MMA. A scandal can destabilize a career faster than defeat in the ring.

But the new development alters this trajectory. (chapter 91) The director has already been exposed. His license is suspended. His name circulates in headlines. Even if the hospital remains anonymous, he does not. His face may be blurred, but within professional and social circles, recognition is inevitable.

This changes the mechanics of revenge. Previously, he could have weaponized narrative. Now, narrative cannot be weaponized — because he lacks credibility. Any accusation coming from him would be read as retaliation. He is already stigmatized as the wolf.

And stigma has consequences beyond reputation. He complains that he must “pander to all kinds of people just to get by.” (chapter 90) That line once indicated resentment toward consent. Now it reveals something deeper: he may no longer even succeed in pandering. Who would willingly meet a man publicly accused of harassment? (chapter 91) Even if strangers do not immediately recognize him, someone eventually will. His social ecosystem contracts.

He becomes even more isolated than before. This is where the transformation accelerates. And when charm is no longer viable and narrative manipulation is no longer credible, only one option remains: force without pretense.

This is where Grimm’s wolf enters fully. In Grimm’s version, the wolf does not maintain prolonged civility. He springs. (chapter 90) He devours. (chapter 90) There is no sustained camouflage. Violence becomes explicit.

The director’s inner monologue already reveals this potential pivot: (chapter 90) That sentence reframes restraint as error. It converts missed coercion into regret.

Now add stigmatization. If he cannot find partners, if he cannot reclaim status, if he cannot control narrative, if he has nothing left to lose, then the probability of retaliation and desperate reassertion increases. Not because he desires intimacy. But because he desires dominance. And dominance without insulation becomes assault.

The restaurant rejection already wounded his ego. Besides, his behavior at the restaurant could be seen as intrusion. (chapter 90) Hence he ran away. The exposure destroyed his credibility. The public article marked him. His ecosystem collapses. He is no longer hidden wolf. He is identified predator.

Predators who lose camouflage often escalate rather than retreat. Thus the revenge element shifts from narrative contamination to bodily assertion. Not scandal against Jaekyung. Not media manipulation. But an attempt to reclaim asymmetry through direct coercion. This does not guarantee success.

But it increases probability. The fairy-tale logic therefore completes itself:

Perrault shows the wolf who hides behind civility. Grimm shows the wolf who leaps when civility fails.

In Jinx, we may be witnessing the precise moment where camouflage is no longer possible — and where the predator, stripped of territory and credibility, risks becoming the brute he once avoided being. The resentment we see in his thoughts suggests precisely that possibility. When he sees Kim Dan thriving elsewhere, when he frames him as “whoring himself out,” he begins to rewrite the narrative: if Dan is already a “whore,” then coercion becomes transaction. In that logic, force becomes justified. And remember how Heo Manwook reacted, when he imagined that doc Dan was selling himself: (chapter 16)

This is the most dangerous pivot. Perrault’s wolf survives through civility. Grimm’s wolf initially survives through brutality, until he is caught (the huntsman = police). The director initially belonged to the first category. After losing territory, he risks evolving into the second. To conclude, the shift from anaconda to wolf is not a metaphorical flourish; it is psychological escalation. Camouflaged predators who lose control often intensify behavior rather than retreat.

And now, you are probably wondering why I included the actor Choi Heesung in the illustration of “predators”, though he is a second lead.

The False Mirror: Choi Heesung and The Gentle Wolf

At first glance, Choi Heesung stands disturbingly close to Perrault’s wolf. Not only he appears as polite and gentle (chapter 30), but also as selfless. (chapter 30) Yet, he is a libertine, though he claims to be pure by stating that he is looking for his soulmate. (chapter 33) Hence no one is suspecting the darkness in his heart. Even the champion believed in his words, when he claimed that he had some feelings for doc Dan. (chapter 58) The resemblance is deliberate. He is discreet. He avoids public scrutiny. He hides his intimacy with Potato. (chapter 43) Therefore the latter was not present at the champion’s birthday party. The actor operates in private spaces (special episode 2) and prefers silence over visibility. Like Perrault’s Compère le loup, he does not appear monstrous. He appears socially legible — even charming. He navigates controlled environments. He is careful about who sees what.

On the surface, the symmetry is unsettling. Perrault’s wolf does not attack in the forest. He speaks politely and seduces next to the Woodcutters. (chapter 35) He proposes a “race”to the little girl, in Jinx it’s a meal (ramen in Korean, an allusion to sex) (chapter 35) He softens his voice. He invites the girl into bed. (special episode 1) He constructs intimacy before violence. He depends on civility as camouflage.

But what distinguishes a “libertine” is the absence of responsibility in their actions and words. Once the “Little Red Riding Hood” loses their virginity, the culprit is not blamed, but the victim. That’s why Perrault warns young women. The latter have to take the responsibility for the wolf’s behavior. Therefore it is not astonishing that the actor agrees that the chow chow becomes “responsible” for him. (special episode 1)

Because Heesung, too, prefers the private over the public, he exists in the gray zone where discretion and desire intersect.

But resemblance is not structure.

The decisive difference lies in how secrecy is used. Perrault’s wolf hides in order to extract. Civility functions as access. Privacy ensures there are no woodcutters. Sweetness precedes consumption. The wolf’s politeness is not restraint — it is strategy. Heesung’s secrecy functions differently. It is not just defensive, he still wants his partner to have fun. (special episode 1) It is not about power display, but fun. He hides not to isolate his partner, but to shield himself from exposure. His discretion protects his own public image, not his access to another’s body. The imbalance exists — it cannot be denied — but it is not systematically mobilized to erode consent. The latter comes from their initial contract: Potato is at his beck and call.

The wolf uses secrecy to manufacture vulnerability. Heesung uses secrecy to simply avoid visibility and responsibility. This distinction becomes clearer in their relation to inexperience.

For Perrault’s wolf, virginity is not intimacy. It is resistance waiting to be broken. (chapter 90) The girl’s naivety is eroticized precisely because it promises asymmetry. The invitation into bed is staged. Her undressing is narrated. Closeness is prolonged. The violence emerges from intimacy.

Control is primary. Desire is secondary. Heesung’s response to inexperience produces discomfort rather than appetite. (special episode 1) He has been avoiding “virgins” for one reason. He knows how a “virgin” would react to his dream ” to find his soulmate”. They would take his “words” seriously and imagine him as someone serious and reliable. But by selecting partners with sexual experience, he can claim that he made a mistake, they were no soulmate. (special episode 1) But this panel exposes even better why the actor is so different from Perrault’s wolf. Youth symbolizes “vulnerability and innocence” and that’s something he has been avoiding. The reason is simple. That way, he can avoid accountability. That’s why he panics, when he hears the age. He realizes his mistake! This reveals that though Heesung is a libertine, he is different from the hospital warden. He is not seeking pleasure in asymmetry, fear, shame and power. He is not targeting “virgins” to exploit their vulnerability. He has been avoiding “virgins”, as he knew that he would have to take responsibility. In reality, he has always feared attachment. Where the wolf eroticizes vulnerability, Heesung is destabilized by it.

What complicates the contrast with Choi Heesung is not that with his smiles, he resembles (chapter 34) the predator by accident (chapter 90), but that he resembles him convincingly enough to be confused with him.

In the first part, we wrote: “Something walks close, warm and familiar — speaking softly, until trust opens the way.” That description applied to the wolf. But it also applies to the fox. Heesung’s true animal is not the wolf. It is the fox (chapter 89) — clever, adaptable, socially fluid. The fox does not devour. It maneuvers and as such plays tricks.

And yet the fox can be mistaken for a wolf. Heesung repeatedly uses proximity through work to create intimacy. (chapter 32) He first approaches Kim Dan through professional contact. Later, he suggests a gig to Potato (special episode 1) or uses training space to remain near Potato. (chapter 88) Even in the gym, he casually asks Yoo-Gu to hold mitts — reorganizing the work structure in ways that subtly serve his private interest. Work becomes the bridge. The boundary blurs.

And here lies the dangerous resemblance. He reproaches Joo Jaekyung: (chapter 89) The accusation implies that Jaekyung contaminates professional space with sex. Yet Heesung himself collapses that boundary. He initiates intimacy with Potato after drinking. He knows the other is intoxicated. He proceeds anyway.

This is not predatory orchestration. But it is negligence toward asymmetry. This is where the question becomes unavoidable: when is it consent, and when is it coercion?

Is consent present simply because no explicit “no” was spoken? Is coercion present only when force is visible?
Or does the line lie elsewhere — in power, in context, in intention? Mingwa gave us the answer: (chapter 90) It is when one makes a clear decision and accepts the consequences. Yet, Heesung violated this rule, for he knew Potato was drunk. He did not stop. He did not insist on postponement. He allowed desire to override clarity. That choice introduces asymmetry. Alcohol clouds agency. Youth complicates balance. Professional proximity blurs roles. Secondly, he is rejecting accountability. Finally, he never tried to correct Potato’s error and false belief. He took advantage of his ignorance. So his behavior could be perceived as manipulative and coercive.

From the outside, the structure resembles the predator’s method: work proximity, private space, imbalance, intoxication. But coercion is not defined by imbalance alone. It is defined by how imbalance is used. The hospital director manufactures dependence. (chapter 90) He isolates. He rewrites refusal. He eroticizes resistance. He regrets restraint. His desire intensifies when asymmetry is greatest. Heesung does not erode consent systematically. He does not isolate Potato over time. He does not rewrite refusal as invitation. But he does blur boundaries. He does allow alcohol to intervene. He does prioritize desire over clarity.

From the outside, that distinction may not be visible. And that is where misrecognition becomes dangerous.

Heesung does not publicly acknowledge the relationship. (special episode 1) He hides it, though he tried to reveal it to doc Dan (chapter 58). If the truth were exposed — an actor secretly sleeping with a younger, inexperienced partner whom he approached through work — the narrative could easily frame him as exploitative. He could be accused of sexual harassment.

He would appear as a predator. Not because he functions like the hospital director — but because the structure resembles it. Fox mistaken for wolf.

The key distinction lies in aftermath. When Jaekyung reflects (chapter 91) the emotion is internalized. He experiences remorse not because he was exposed, but because he crossed a boundary. He separates work from intimacy afterward. He becomes rigid about consent, alcohol, and clarity. Therefore imagine his reaction, when he discovers the true nature of the relationship between Choi Heesung and Potato. He can only be shocked and angry.

This is why Jinx constructs the resemblance so carefully. Surface similarity forces the reader to confront how easily desire, secrecy, and proximity can resemble coercion. The difference lies not in discretion, nor in imbalance, nor even in sexual contact under imperfect conditions. It lies in how power is processed before and afterward. At the same time, it gives an answer how to read the first night between the main couple. It was no sexual harassment.

The wolf converts vulnerability into entitlement. The fox risks vulnerability through miscalculation.

And yet — in a world quick to judge by appearances — the fox may be labeled as a wolf. That is the uncomfortable tension Mingwa builds. Because the story is not only about identifying predators. It is about learning to distinguish between domination and error, between strategy and immaturity, between systematic coercion and boundary failure.

If Choi Heesung’s relationship with Potato were to become public, how would it be read? Would he be framed as a predator — the older actor who used work proximity and intoxication to seduce an inexperienced partner? Would he become the new “black sheep,” sacrificed to protect the image of the entertainment agency? (chapter 33) Or would attention shift to the structure that allowed blurred boundaries to exist in the first place?

This question is not hypothetical. It repeats a pattern already established. Observe how Joo Jaekyung sued a hospital for leaking information, though the lawyer and the institution put the blame an individual. (chapter 36) When the hospital scandal broke, the institution remained unnamed. (chapter 91) The director was isolated as the deviant. The system survived. Corruption was reframed as personal misconduct. Structural tolerance became invisible.

If Heesung were exposed, would the narrative follow the same logic? Would he be condemned as an individual aberration? Or would the agency be questioned for cultivating environments where professional and private hierarchies overlap, where young trainees depend on seniors, where silence protects image?

The fox can easily be mistaken for the wolf. But the forest still matters. And this brings us to a larger structural mirror: MFC.

When schemes unfolded inside the fighting world — manipulated matches, concealed injuries, silent complicity — who bears responsibility? The CEO? The manager? The doctors who testified selectively? (chapter 41) The security guards who enforced silence? (chapter 40) The sports reporters who repeated the official version? The referees? The moderators? The corrupted director of the gym Choi Gilseok? Or the institution itself?

If one fighter becomes the scapegoat (chapter 52), does the structure remain untouched?
If one CEO falls, does the culture disappear? (chapter 47)
If one predator is exposed, does the ecosystem dissolve? (chapter 48) As you can see, I have the feeling that the pharmaceutical company might become the topic of the next scandal.

Perrault’s tale quietly asks the same question. The wolf is blamed. But who raised the girl to trust sweetness without discernment? Who allowed her to walk alone? Who normalized obedience over critical thought? The fairy tale ends with the wolf devouring the girl — and society intact. Grimm adds a huntsman, but the forest remains.

So when the next scandal erupts — whether in the hospital, in the agency, or in MFC — the real question will not be merely who acted wrongly.

It will be: who benefited?
Who remained silent?
Who enforced the hierarchy?
Who preferred reputation over accountability?

And perhaps the most uncomfortable question of all: Will another wolf be sacrificed — while the forest survives once again?

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

Painter Of The Night: 🟦⬛Back to square one? ⬜🟥

Because the manhwaphiles are witnessing the downfall of the protagonist, people get the impression that history is repeating itself. It was, as though nothing has ever changed. Besides, in my previous essay, I had already outlined the similarities between the past and present and explained the reasons behind this resemblance. However, as you can imagine, we are not back to square one. Thus in this composition, I will elaborate the changes. And this can only be possible by contrasting the present with the past.

1. Monsters in Joseon society

1. 1. Yoon Seungho and his peers

The Painter Of The Night-philes can certainly recall how in the beginning of the story Yoon Seungho was perceived. He was introduced as a brutal and bloodthirsty monster, for he killed a servant in the open. (chapter 1) He was even called a psychopath, for he resorted to kidnapping (chapter 1) sequestration, threats (chapter 2) and blackmail and he initially showed no remorse. (chapter 7). On the other hand, he never got into trouble for his wrongdoings. Why? It is because he wasn’t violating social norms. (chapter 10) It was his right to punish servants, for they are not considered as humans but as propriety. As a lord, he could treat commoners, like it pleased him. Though murder is prohibited, even against a lowborn, (chapter 43), the reality is that nobles would never get into trouble!! As you can see, there exists a discrepancy between laws on the paper and the reality which was exposed by the rumors in episode 106. (chapter 107) The fathers would use their position and influence in order to cover up their children’s wrongdoings. And we have the perfect illustration, when the elder master bribes the governor. (chapter 127) That’s the reason why the younger generation could do everything! Though the lord appeared as a monster first, he became a “normality”, the more we got to read this story. Under this explication, it becomes comprehensible why lord Min was so sure not to get bothered by the authorities. (Chapter 101) He had bought the officers (“the guards”). This explains why Black Heart could threaten No-Name. (chapter 76) He didn’t need to dirty his own hands, he could simply frame him. Consequently, I deduce that he had learned this misconduct through the elders’ behavior.

1. 2. The old bearded men and their roles

Interesting is that in season 4, Yoon Seungho gets protected from prosecution by his father’s power, however the latter did not do it for his sake, rather to protect the Yoons’ reputation and influence. (chapter 116) This shows that neither Black Heart’s father nor Yoon Chang-Hyeon truly love their children, as according to Erich Fromm, love is knowledge, respect, care and responsibility. However, the elder master Yoon is totally ignorant about his son’s talents and good nature. Thereby, I see lord Seungho from season 1 as the perfect illustration of the corrupted world of the nobility. The monster “Yoon Seungho” was just a reflection from this ruthless and immoral society. Since he committed wrongdoings, his karma was to pay for his sins. It starts with a murder, and the main lead ended up killing people. He might have not broken “traditions” like the disregard of the yangbans against lowborns, but it is considered immoral. He had sinned and now, he is paying for his sins. Therefore his words in the prison resonate differently. (chapter 126) He expresses regret. He confesses his crimes, he killed people! This means that he is now siding with the lowborns. Their life is as precious as the ones from the nobility. Yet, note that in this image, the author didn’t drew his eyes. Why? It is because in the moment he executed people, (chapter 102) he was either not himself or he did it out of reflex to protect himself. He was influenced by his past experiences and as such traumas. In the shrine, it becomes more obvious, for he has a lost gaze. He is not even looking at his target. Finally, when he met lord Song, he did it to “protect” himself. (chapter 123) For me, in episode 1, the execution was triggered by his desire to protect himself and his traumas. And what is the common denominator between these three scenes? The father Yoon Chang-Hyeon! Don’t forget that the petition was the reason for their meeting. And now look at the actions from the patriarch. (chapter 116) He had given the order to eliminate all the servants, for they could represent a threat to his “treason”. This explains why the butler describes himself as the only survivor and witness. (chapter 86) And we see him giving the order to kill the surviving guard (chapter 125) Besides, he had no problem to order the assassination of his own son which was stopped by the intervention of a helping hand. The father had never asked to spare the main lead’s life. (chapter 124). He was his bad role model. But he is not the only one. There is another one…

And if crimes were to take place, then the nobles would find scapegoats in order to avoid punishment. Hence No-Name got so many tattoos in the end. (chapter 51) Once a criminal, always a criminal… therefore it is not surprising that the joker chose assassination as second work. By working for the nobles, he would be able to escape punishment, because if he got arrested, he could denunciate them. To conclude, justice is inexistent in Joseon. Yes, we are witnessing the downfall of Joseon, or precisely the king’s bad ruling. The latter is not capable of providing justice to anyone. And this coincides with the purge! (chapter 37) What is a purge?

The purge is the symbol for injustice, because it is connected to violence and intolerance. As you can see, the “fake servant” was exposing his true nature through his words. He should have said “sentenced” or “punished” or “executed” but not purged for treason! I am more than ever convinced that the old bearded man in episode 37 is the king. Those two words (“purged”; “treason”) are contradicting each other. In the first case, the authority is committing a crime by abusing its power, while in the second case, a group is plotting against the authority and as such is breaking laws. Finally, I would like to outline that Yoon Chang-Hyeon and lord Song got evicted from the government which coincides with the second signification of “purge” (chapter 107) “Stepping down” was actually an euphemism for removal. The officials were chased out, (chapter 80) but their evictions were turned into stepping down. (chapter 122) No wonder why lord Song came to resent the protagonist. Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why the purge was not noticed by commoners. There was no fire and the staff was sparred. (chapter 37) And if they knew, people didn’t feel concerned… for they were violent, filthy nobles. Remember how the woman came to curse the gentry: (chapter 106) Moreover, we could see how an official came to murder lord Shin. (chapter 103) The boots were the indication that this person was working for the government. And it was an elder, for he was wearing this particular headgear. (chapter 103) (chapter 67) The murder of lord Shin is the evidence of the anarchy in Joseon. But actually, the monsters are actually everywhere, and not just among the nobility. The Chungin with the scholar and the physicians who have no problem to lie, participate in a kidnapping and drugging people… the kisaengs, the maids, the servants. They are all accomplices, for they feigned ignorance or chose to remain passive, for they preferred avoiding trouble. What people failed to realize is that no one is safe from this tyranny. Hence people could get killed and thrown into a well so easily (chapter 97) (chapter 101) and their perpetrators got scot-free. Why? It is because the mastermind and the helping hands are protecting each other, like we could see in the Joker’s case. However, the latter in season 3 had no idea that they would face divine retribution and pay with their life. (chapter 102) In front of gods, humans are all equal. There is no distinction between gentry, Chungin and commoners. That’s the reason why I come to the conclusion that Yoon Seungho is the divine hand of justice, he is bringing the “divine retribution”. This explicates this vision: (chapter 83) Under this new approach, it becomes comprehensible why he is called “the bird of misfortune”. People around him got to suffer, for they received their karma. Funny is that lord Song mocked him by calling him a grim reaper. (chapter 123) He underestimated his opponent, not imagining that the latter would use his sword against him. So he became a grim reaper. Lord Song Haseon must have thought that his minions, just like his age and status, would protect him. But no, someone had planned his death and counted on the main lead’s decision.

2. Karma and Baek Na-Kyum

What caught my attention is that Min even expressed the disinterest of the authorities towards peasants. (chapter 99) Thus Min’s karma was to die in the total indifference of others. No one is missing him, for he was turned into a brigand himself. (chapter 113) But wait… Why did Black Heart get killed in the end? One might say that it was his karma, for he had planned the murder of Baek Na-Kyum in the past. In my opinion, the uke serves as a representative of the divine retribution. The artist is the “judge” and his lover is executing the sentence: death. And we can detect this gods’ intervention through the learned sir’s case as well. Jung In-Hun had looked down on the artist for his origins and education. When the generous main lead chose to accept his apology (attempted rape), (chapter 120), the latter reminded him that contrary to Yoon Seungho, he was admired. He had such a good notoriety! Since he betrayed the artist and had almost him killed, the scholar ended up losing everything. (chapter 127) He became the scapegoat for this incident, for he played a huge role in the painter’s suffering (kidnapping, assault, murder and brainwashing). His success at the civil service examination was erased within a few weeks and now he is viewed as a brigand. How could such a person get selected as an official? His fate gives a bad impression of the civil service examination. And what is the common denominator between these two villains? They both belong to different social classes. Their cases is exposing the king’s negligence and arbitrariness. The latter is the perfect personification of this corruption. Not even Confucianism is respected, for fathers are abusing their own children or even killing them. Season 4 is exposing the chaos in Joseon. Therefore it is not surprising that the sacred tree and the shrine got burned. (chapter 106) The gods were using the humans to voice their anger. At the same time, when the woman made this comment, the Manhwa lovers can detect the huge gate in the background, the symbol for royalty. And now, you comprehend why Yoon Seungho was pushed to go to Hanyang. It is his fate to face the king! His task is to clean the palace of these old bearded men. (chapter 44) I had already portrayed him as a black shaman in the essay “Spirits and the lustful shaman“. And since he became a believer in episode 126, this means that he can fulfil his task, giving the king’s divine retribution. (chapter 65) Don’t forget that the monarch is the only one who stands above the laws, though he is controlled by social norms and his officials. In my opinion, this can only take place, when a new scheme takes place. How so? Note that in the scholar’s case, Jung In-Hun received his karma, but not real human justice. For me, he is not dead. Besides, don’t forget that someone took the petition from lord Song, before Yoon Chang-Hyeon came to the bloody place. There is no ambiguity that the accomplices and schemers didn’t get happy with the last outcome. The couple might be separated physically, but they are attached to each other by their strong love. And since the main lead kept wearing hanboks with the phoenix (chapter 34) (chapter 45), it indicates that someone saw him as his bird of fortune. And this can not be Yoon Seungho, for the latter was full of self-hatred. Finally, his own father, Kim and Heena called him as a bird of misfortune. As you can see, the king could no longer see the main lead due to the artist’s presence. He is his bird of fortune, for he could live out all his dreams thanks to him, and at no moment he got into trouble. No one is suspecting his intervention.

3. Though fate parts us once more

As soon as I read this whisper from the main lead (chapter 127) I recognized why the painter and Yoon Seungho had to go separated ways. It is because the schemers wanted him to return to Hanyang. Remember the learned sir’s suggestion before his departure. (chapter 44) Why? It is because now the main lead is an adult. Since my theory is that the pedophile is the ruler, he can no longer approach the protagonist like that. The latter is no longer visiting the gibang. He wants their path to cross again so that they can rekindle. Hence he had to create an opportunity proving that their meeting is not a coincidence. Under this new approach, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungwon encouraged his brother to reconcile with their father. (chapter 37) That way, he would be “following” the tradition and become an official. But since Yoon Seungho developed a fear of “old bearded men”, he had no reason to go there. (chapter 44) This exposes that in his unconscious, the young man was aware that his suffering was related to the officials. But in season 1, their attempts (Jung In-Hun and the brother) failed because of Baek Na-Kyum. The latter had to leave the lord’s side. And this brings me to the following observation. Since the beginning of the story, people were used to make the commoner leave the protagonist’s side:

  • Lee Jihwa with the ruined painting and the murder
  • Min: the party at the kisaeng house, the orgy in episode 33, the kidnapping and murder
  • Heena: (chapter 46) (chapter 68) (chapter 97)
  • Jung In-Hun (chapter 111) (chapter 120)

I could mention Ýoon Seungwon, the staff, butler Kim, Deok-Jae and the kisaengs. And now, it is time to examine the circumstances of their farewell. (chapter 127) As you can see, the painter was feverish. Why? From my perspective, he was drugged. He was not allowed to see his loved one, because they don’t want him to remember their departure. The schemers desire him to feel abandoned like in the gibang (chapter 105). The reason why I am suspecting a drug is that this panel (chapter 127) is similar to the first Wedding Night: (chapter 21) At the same time, this scene is also a reflection from the night after the massacre in the shrine. (chapter 103) Back then, he was also under the influence of an aphrodisiac. They don’t want him to remember his last words. And since he didn’t take care of him during that night, though he was unwell, they hope to create the illusion that Yoon Seungho neglected him. He broke his promise. But their trick can no longer work because of the lord’s visitation in the prison and his words. (chapter 126) (chapter 127) The separation arc is there to prove these plotters wrong. Their affection is not trivial and momentary. He is not a plaything, but his “partner”. In fact, they have absolute trust in each other, and their source of strength will be their short happy moments together. Besides, I am quite certain that the artist will remember the lord’s whisper from that night, since he had problems to recall the First wedding Night and the incident in the shrine. Both are related to his bad conscience. Besides, I have another reason for that, the power of the unconscious knowledge.

Thus I am suspecting that neither the painter nor the lord will be in touch through a correspondence. They have to create the illusion that the main lead is forgetting him. This explicates why Byeonduck created 3 episodes where the silence and miscommunication between the two protagonists played a huge role. (Chapter 108) Though both were close physically, they still allowed others to manipulate them, for their trust was not complete. In other words, the schemers are thinking that time is working for them!! On the other hand, since Kim is by his side, the painter can only consider his presence as the evidence of the lord’s care. (Chapter 127) This coincides with the beginning of the Manhwa, when the lord was seen without his butler. (Chapter 1) The latter only appeared in episode 7, and back then Yoon Seungho had to dress himself. (Chapter 7) Finally, I am expecting schemes again.

4. Yoon Seungho a servant again

I have to admit my surprise, when I saw Yoon Seungho’s bow in front of his father. I really didn’t expect this, yet his decision makes sense. He swears to become his father’s servant. (chapter 127) This means that he is giving up on his status and freedom for Baek Na-Kyum’s sake. (chapter 127) And naturally, this reminded me of this scene with the straw mat beating. (chapter 127) Here Yoon Seungho had been treated like a servant, because he had been submitted to the straw mat beating. Exactly like in the past, there was a promise. Notice how similar the words are: “No matter”. (chapter 77) However, there exists a huge difference. Back then, the vow was made between the butler Kim and Yoon Chang-Hyeon. As you can see, Yoon Seungho is now copying his surrogate father’s behavior. (chapter 127) This shows that the young master is following Kim’s path. On the other hand, the domestic employed the future tense in his pledge (“I will do as he commands”), whereas the “spiritual son” is using the present (“I swear to live as you command”). Moreover, the main lead is talking about his way of life and not “order”. And what does the father desire? (Chapter 86) Making connections so that the Yoons can become influential again!! But how can he do that? By showing his talent? I have my doubts about it. Why? It is because in season 1, the lord was having sex with his peers, and back then they were like battles… for an exchange of favors. I hope, I might be wrong, but I fear that he is about to become a male kisaeng again. Or if not, then this is what the king is expecting from him. And we have the best example in this scene: (chapter 80) Sex against favors. Yoon Seungho has become the symbol of nepotism, though in reality he is the biggest victim of this. According my investigations, Yoon Chang-Hyeon was left in the dark about the pedophile. But now by asking his eldest son to “become his servant”, he is now responsible for his fate. This means that he can no longer “feign ignorance”. What is more important to him, his hatred for sodomy or his dream of power? By using his elder son, Yoon Chang-Hyeon can maintain his reputation and have a clear conscience. However, this makes him a hypocrite. Besides, why would Yoon Seungwon keep pestering his brother to change his life and go to Hanyang, when he “succeeded” with the exam? (chapter 118) Why does he need the protagonist? It is because he needs “connections”. And how can he get these connections? Through his brother. But with the last incident, it looks like Yoon Seungwon jeopardized the remains of his influence, for the noble ignored him. (chapter 127)

But let’s return our attention to the contrast between Kim and his adoptive son. (chapter 127) Another common point between Seungho and Kim is the bow. (Chapter 56) Yet, the domestic is only bowing with his head and not his body. The protagonist is dressed exactly like his father. This comparison exposes that my past interpretation was correct: the butler had awakened his master during the night by lighting the candles. And after receiving this letter, Yoon Seungho dressed himself in order to meet his childhood friend, which reinforces my theory that the valet won’t follow the protagonist.

Interesting is that the butler and his “adoptive son” are acting for someone else’s sake. Yet, the second divergence is that the protagonist’s vow is not affecting the painter’s life (chapter 127), while the butler’s oath was describing Kim as the helping hand to “fix” Yoon Seungho! In other words, at no moment, the valet was risking his life, whereas the main lead is now “sacrificing” his own life (“as a willing servant”) for the painter. And this brings me to the following observation. Why did Yoon Chang-Hyeon order the straw mat beating for his own son in episode 77? It is because the latter had failed the father’s expectations. He had not been able to have sex with a woman. (chapter 86) However, back then, he was considered as the eldest son. One of his duties was to continue the lineage (chapter 82) and because of the stolen kiss, the patriarch became obsessed with sexuality. Observe how lord Song Haseon described the father’s attitude. He knew about the atrocities that the young master was exposed to (chapter 123), but he chose to turn a blind eye, for he believed that the end justifies the means. This explicates why he left the room so quickly and abandoned his son. Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s resent for the eldest son came from his high expectations. This can only reinforce my past interpretation that Yoon Seungho is a new version of Prince Sado. Thus the elder master Yoon’s personality is based on king Yeongjo. Moreover, lord Song alluded to the execution of a prince ordered by the monarch. (chapter 107)

Yoon Seungho has a similar disposition. He also hoped to be recognized and loved, thus he was constantly looking at his father’s eyes. (chapter 55) But what did he see in his father’s gaze? Anger and disappointment, for he was never able to satisfy Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s expectations. (chapter 55) With the release of episode 127, I had this sudden revelation concerning this memory. In the past, I used to think that he had been submitted to the straw mat beating. But now, I think that in this scene, Yoon Seungho was forced to bow to his father by the servants or guards!! Yes, the former version of this scene. (chapter 126) This idea came to my mind, the moment Yoon Seungho emphasized his bowing! (chapter 127) The protagonist’s words imply that he had never done it before!! And now, you know why Yoon Chang-Hyeon agreed to make a deal with his eldest son. (chapter 127) Yoon Seungho’s bow and oath stand for blind obedience and loyalty. This explicates why the author drew him without eyes. (chapter 127) He believes that he has finally been able to tame Yoon Seungho. He has become the perfect “puppet or tool” in order to make his dream come true: POWER! Actually, he is hoping to restore the Yoons’ reputation and glory. (chapter 87) That way, he can act, as if the purge and the humiliation had never happened. So by submitting himself to his father’s will, it looks like Yoon Seungho is put in the same position than in the past. He is “exposed” to the harsh judgement from the patriarch. However, it is just an illusion. How so? First, what caught my attention is the absence of the protagonist’s eye. (chapter 127) The blue color and the absence of the eye are displaying the coldness from Yoon Seungho. He is not looking for recognition and love from his father. He is now totally indifferent towards him. Moreover, if you read my previous essays, you already know that the absence of “eyes” is indicating a lie, like here for example: (chapter 11) (chapter 35) Does it signify that the protagonist has the intention of betraying his own father? I don’t think so, but the manhwaphiles shouldn’t forget the lord’s wish in the kitchen: “I shall remember this moment for as long as I live”. (chapter 118) This shows that when the lord bowed to his father, he was thinking of Baek Na-Kyum in the kitchen. His body might be by his father, but his mind and heart were elsewhere. Thus I couldn’t help myself thinking that Yoon Chang-Hyeon will get betrayed and abandoned by his own son. During the same night, he made 2 vows. It was, as though he had two “lords”! His goal is to meet his loved one again. (Chapter 127) Finally, don’t forget that the main lead is following Kim’s path. He will have to choose between his father and the painter. Yoon Seungho is actually applying the father’s principle: the end justifies the means. So if necessary, he can break his vow to his father.

And now, you are wondering why. It is related to the deal between the father and son. (Chapter 127) It is because Baek Na-Kyum represents a leverage for the father to control his son. He is now replacing the petition. This coincides with Yoon Seungwon’s words: (chapter 116) I still believe that the painter has the original petition. And who is by Baek Na-Kyum’s side? Kim!! (Chapter 127) He is now in charge of the painter so that his pledge to the lord becomes a reality. (Chapter 108) By living by his side, he can lead a quiet life far away from Hanyang. However, this signifies that the artist has become a “prisoner”. As long as he lives in Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s claws, his loved one can not return to his side. Interesting is that a carriage was used to carry away the protagonist. (Chapter 127) Such a transportation was utilized for noblewomen. This can only reinforce the rumor that the protagonist has a fiancee! (Chapter 78) But where is the painter going? To the mansion? Or to another secluded place? In my eyes, the location is important. His existence is still a source of problems for the schemers. I see a future conflict in the lord’s life, for one oath stands in opposition to the other. Moreover, should the patriarch lose Baek Na-Kyum, he can no longer control his son. He can not suddenly blame the painter for the death of lord Song, for Jung In-Hun has been now convicted for the crime. (Chapter 127) The latter is now stigmatized as an arsonist and murderer.

Another reason why I believe that the actual situation diverges from the past is that the patriarch becomes “responsible” for his decisions. (chapter 127) He can no longer blame Yoon Seungho, for he is now just a “servant”. The expectations are also much lower. He just needs to follow his orders. Yoon Seungho is exempted from continuing the lineage. Moreover, Yoon Chang-Hyeon is now as the lord responsible for his son’s protection. Since he is his servant, he has to ensure his safety as well. That’s why he can no longer abuse like in the past. He is his tool to become powerful. This means that he is now dependent on him. Moreover, note that the father and son have a deal. (chapter 127) In other words, there is a certain equity. The painter serves as a leverage which reminds us of the deal between Baek Na-Kyum and his fated companion. (Chapter 7) In exchange for sponsoring the learned sir, Baek Na-Kyum had to go to his bedchamber and paint there. (Chapter 7) Now, the positions are switched. He is the one getting coerced! And this brings me to the following observation. Why did the elder master agree to this deal in the end? First, he refused to assist his son. (chapter 127) He believes that he has the petition, therefore he can no longer be blackmailed by his eldest son. The latter has no longer any leverage over him! However, he changed his mind. (chapter 127) For me, it is related to the bow. I noticed that the patriarch pays a lot of attention to “manners” and etiquette. Therefore the guards apologized on different occasions, yet the elder master always accepted their excuses (chapter 125) (chapter 126) Yet, in reality they were fake excuses. I have already pointed out that the servants would act on their own. But more importantly, their fake apology hid their failure as guards. How could they let the young master barge into the lord’s bedchamber? With a simple apology, this wrongdoing was overlooked. And now, observe what happened during the same night: (chapter 127) Yoon Seungho was followed by the guards! It looked like they were serving him. This scene reminded me of the officers’ appearance in front of the mansion. (chapter 94) This can only reinforce my theory that the main lead will turn against his father in the end. Keep in mind that there is a deal, so should the situation change (the painter’s desertion or the discovery of the second petition for example), the lord is no longer forced to keep his vow towards his father. Moreover, since Baek Na-Kyum got lied, “brainwashed” (chapter 125), “drugged” and slapped by Yoon Chang-Hyeon, he is destined to receive his karma through his son. And what was his dream? (chapter 86) He imagined that his second son would bring him fame and power. But now, the main lead is on his way to become “influential” turning the father’s words into a lie. Yes, the father and son needed to be together again so that the patriarch’s life lie would get exposed and ruined. Since he took the bloody paper (chapter 125) and paid the governor (chapter 127), he could get into trouble for it was, as if he was admitting his responsibility.

In addition, I would like to point out that the protagonist’s mentality is different from Kim’s! The latter advocates immobility and resignation., (chapter 87), whereas Yoon Seungho stands for change and hope. (Chapter 127) The latter is neither nihilist nor defeatist, for the painter has become his “god”, his religion. The hope to meet Baek Na-Kyum again will be his source of strength. He believes that the gods will help him again to have his wish come true. It is their destiny to meet again! (Chapter 127) Like announced in the last analysis, the lord is a changed man due to his new found religion. But this is not visible to the eyes. And the schemers are thinking that they are pulling the strings, while in reality they are themselves utilized as pawns by the spirits. Finally, the painter called himself a “plaything”, hence the schemers can jump to the false conclusion that they have still a chance to achieve their dream, like to punish the Yoons or to win the main lead’s heart. Finally, for me, this story is encouraging people to distinguish between fake heroes and from real saviors. (chapter 127) Where was Heena noona, when her brother was in prison? This rumor can only create the illusion that the painter is still devoted to the learned sir. Yet, after the last incident, the painter came to regret to have trust the learned sir. Both characters are now healed from their traumas (abandonment issues) and they are in full possession of their mind. This makes them less weak to manipulations.

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

Painter Of The Night: Dropped amusement 😞

I have to admit that when I read chapter 126 for the first time, I was disappointed. Why? It is because Yoon Seungho appeared so stupid and weak. He kept running from one place (chapter 126) to another (chapter 126). He allowed his father to humiliate and abuse him (Chapter 126) once again. It was, as if the story was back to square one and the protagonist had learned nothing at all. Under this perception, my avid readers can comprehend why I selected such a title. However, instead of thinking that the author was a bad writer, I decided to ponder on the following question. Why did the author choose such an evolution?

1. The fools in love

First, since it is Baek Na-Kyum’s destiny to go through the same experiences than his loved one, I deduce that the main lead is now following Baek Na-Kyum’s path. In other words, they are switching their fate. This explicates why the lord is naïve, blinded by his love for the painter. Yes, Yoon Seungho is a fool in love too. (chapter 7) Like Baek Na-Kyum, he rushed to his loved one’s side. However, he was first stopped (chapter 126), because it was not the right time. How so? Notice that his brother had fetched him at the port (chapter 125), but he never followed him to the bureau of investigation. And the same happened later. Why didn’t he go to his shed, when he was trapped there? Where was he, when the eldest son visited the father? (chapter 126) His absence exposed his passivity and betrayal. However, at no moment, Yoon Seungho noticed this. To conclude, Yoon Seungho was so worried for the painter that he didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, just like the painter didn’t see the learned sir’s disdain expressed through the cold gaze. (chapter 07) Therefore Yoon Seungho didn’t notice the presence of a civilian next to the governor. (chapter 126). Striking is that the governor knew about Yoon Seungho’s whereabouts before his arrival: the coast. As you can see, I am detecting a link between the governor and the younger master Seungwon. Yet, it was disguised as a rumor behind the expression “I had heard”. My assumption is that Seungwon came from the bureau of investigation in order to inform his brother. Therefore it is not surprising that Seungho was invited by his brother to visit the prison during the night. (chapter 126) And the moment I perceived the protagonist as a fool in love, I realized that chapter 126 is a reflection of episode 7, 29 (chapter 29) and 40 (chapter 40). Here, the painter was trying his best to protect Jung In-Hun’s interests (life, high position). Moreover, in episode 40, the painter had a dream, when he saw the announcement for the civil service examination. He smiled, for he was looking forward for the future. (chapter 40) And what have these episodes more in common? A betrayal, abandonment from a loved one and a paper (painting, poem). Hence I am more than ever convinced that the petition will resurface very soon and play a huge role in the downfall of the schemers and haters. Besides, chapter 40 represents the negative reflection of the conversation in the prison. (chapter 126) Though they are in a tough situation, Yoon Seungho is not leaving his side contrary to episode 40. (chapter 40) There is neither disdain nor mockery. The mentioned scenes are similar, for the present resembles the past. And this brings me to the second reason for the Webtoonist’s decision.

2. Past, present and future

It is because Byeonduck is now mixing the past with the present indicating that the future will be different. Let me elaborate my thoughts more precisely through the relationship between the protagonist and his father. First, when the incident with the stolen kiss was reported, (chapter 123), Yoon Chang-Hyeon considered Yoon Seungho as a human, for he employed the personal pronoun “he”. He was still his son. Then in episode 77, he judged him as a slave (chapter 77), hence he was submitted to the straw mat beating and was held captive. He even refused to send for a physician. (chapter 83) Here, the father is denying his humanity, he is just an animal. In their next confrontation, he describes him as a monster, hence he wished that he had never been born. (chapter 86) However, his words exposed that he was still viewing him as a living being. Therefore it is not surprising that he accepted lord Song’s request to order the murder of his son! In the gibang, he decided to no longer acknowledge Yoon Seungho as his son. (chapter 107) The tragedy is that the protagonist still viewed the Yoons as his family because of Yoon Seungwon, who keeps calling him “brother”. This explicates why Yoon Seungho sponsored his brother to have an official position. (chapter 115) Therefore it is not surprising that he followed Yoon Seungwon’s advice again. (chapter 120). He would bring the petition to his own father. This means that he is acting like the painter who listened to his noona Heena so well. (chapter 46) But now, Yoon Chang-Hyeon believes to have the petition. (chapter 125) This explicates why the patriarch is now calling the main lead “nothing”. (chapter 126) He is not even a thing. This means that he is actually discarding him. This explicates why he sent him to the shed. (chapter 126) It was, as if he had become a merchandise. Or we could say that the elder master had been using him as a tool, which he can now abandon. (chapter 126) Interesting is that the idiom “plaything” has for antonyms tool, implement, instrument and utensil. And this brings me to the following remark. The father’s words are reflecting the last scheme. Yoon Seungho was used as the sword to get rid of an enemy, lord Song. It was, as if someone had decided to get rid of lord Song, for he represented a danger or threat. It also mirrors the trick in the shrine. Min and the others got killed, because Lee Jihwa went to his childhood friend. And who had seen the main lead using this sword, when he was enraged? Father Lee! (chapter 67) But let’s return our attention to the patriarch and his son. Yoon Seungho is no longer recognized as a Yoon member. Therefore I come to the conclusion that Yoon Seungho will make the following decision: to become an orphan. And this is symbolized by the loss of hair. I am expecting him to cut off his hair, something the painter has been doing for a long time. That’s why Byeonduck showed us the lord without a topknot. (chapter 126) This would coincide with my previous statement. The lord is going through the same experience than his loved one. However, people will come to the conclusion that this was done by the father. How so? Remember how each rumor became a reality. (chapter 1) I had already demonstrated that Yoon Seungho was not a fiend for sodomy with no regard for time and place, until he met Baek Na-Kyum. But once a deed is done, it can never be repeated. (chapter 101) So should Father Lee claim that he has long disowned Jihwa by cutting off his topknot, no one will believe him, for the young master was still seen with a topknot after confessing his feelings in public. (chapter 57) In other words, the topknot incident at the kisaeng would be brought up. It is impossible for 2 fathers to act the same way. Besides, the loss of the topknot has another signification: Yoon Seungho would cut off ties with valet Kim, for the latter was the one who gave him the topknot. And episode 126 reflected one more time his position: (chapter 126) He is the one dressing him. It was, as if he was the pope.

3. Abandoned plaything

Because of my initial disappointment, I examined the chapter more closely. This sentence from the patriarch caught my attention (chapter 126) Why would he call Baek Na-Kyum a “plaything”, when before he viewed him as a servant? (chapter 116) It is because someone had reported to him the conversation between lord Song and the painter. (chapter 122) There was a spy listening to their conversation. Since all the guards died (chapter 124) (chapter 125: I am assuming that the survivor got executed), I am suspecting the scholar. Moreover, why would Yoon Chang-Hyeon accuse his son to have abandoned Baek Na-Kyum? It is related to this departure of the staff and Yoon Seungho. (chapter 120) And who was present there? Jung In-Hun! But there is more to it. Since leaving Baek Na-Kyum behind is considered as an abandonment, it means that the patriarch abandoned his son too. (chapter 27) By speaking to Yoon Seungho, the elder master Yoon didn’t realize that he was admitting his own wrongdoings. Actually, he had abandoned him many times… like here for example (chapter 87) Therefore his words will come back to bite him. But these words are also exposing the valet’s betrayal and abandonment towards Yoon Seungho!! How so?

Where was he, when the protagonist was looking for Baek Na-Kyum? (chapter 125) Where was he, when the latter visited the patriarch’s home? Why did he only appear during the night? One might argue that he needed to wait the night in order not to be detected. But since Kim was supposed to be with Yoon Seungwon and the staff (chapter 122), then he should have been at the patriarch’s house. The absence of the valet is the evidence of his treason. For me, he is now working for Jung In-Hun which explains why he never mentioned his presence in the mansion, only lord Song. Besides, keep in mind that once deed done can not be repeated. In episode 27, the lord was too angry and busy to notice the learned sir’s spying activities. (Chapter 27) Moreover, Kim didn’t report the interrogation to his master. This means that the butler covered up for the teacher’s wrongdoing. But here is the deal: (chapter 120) The library was ransacked, hence this crime is bound to be discovered. Finally, his intervention in the shed is exposing his deception. (chapter 126) He could do something in the past! He entered the shed, and even brought him clothes. This stands in opposition to this scene: (chapter 83) That’s why I am convinced that these words (chapter 126) are reflecting the butler’s actions. He treated Yoon Seungho like a tool which he could use. In verity, he could have helped his master in the past by telling the truth!

Because my theory is that the lord was the king’s male kisaeng, the noble could utilize this principle against the monarch. Since he always left him behind, he just treated him like a plaything and not like a loved one and allowed others to use him.

4. The return of Yoon Seungho’s strength

Finally, I believe that Byeonduck had another reason to turn the table so that Yoon Seungho would appear as powerless. It is to outline his desire to live. (chapter 126) He is no longer suicidal, in fact he is full of hope! Though he was sent back to hell for a short moment, he came out of this as a winner. My evidence is that the lord has now become a believer. (chapter 126) Yes, episode 126 exposes the return of his faith! And where could we see the atheism of Yoon Seungho in the story? In chapter 92! (chapter 92) He didn’t believe in the spring poetry to ward off bad luck! That’s why he was sent back to the past. He needed to lose everything in order to find hope! In his darkest moment, he expressed a wish: to meet his loved one! And where did he pray to the gods? In the shed! (chapter 126) Observe how he is kneeling in direction of the bars. He is hoping to meet Baek Na-Kyum again. As you can see, though this scene (chapter 126) seems to be a repetition from the past, (chapter 83) it is not! The reality is that in episode 83, Yoon Seungho had lost all hope. This explains why he showed only resignation in front of his father. (chapter 83) However, the Painter Of The Night-philes certainly could observe how he had reacted, when he was put down by the guards. (chapter 126) He was showing resistance and anger towards his father. Moreover, he was no longer shaking in front of the patriarch or the guards. (chapter 86) Thus I deduce that though he was mistreated and insulted like in the past, he was no longer suffering from his traumas. He is healed. His will is now really strong, supported by his new found faith.

Under this new light, it becomes comprehensible why Yoon Seungho sent the painter to the shed after the so-called desertion! (chapter 62) Even if they were hugging, they were not close emotionally and mentally. This stands in opposition to the scene in the jail. They might be separated by the bars, but they are touching each other tenderly. (chapter 126) They are able to see each other.

What to Do When You Feel You Are Losing Your Faith

Acknowledge and Accept What You Feel (…) (chapter 126) Try Meditation (chapter 126) or Prayer (chapter 126)

Count Your Blessings (chapter 126)

Talk It Out

Spend Time With Loved Ones (chapter 126)

Consider Counseling

Take a Break

Take The Time to Reflect (chapter 126) Quoted from https://www.verywellmind.com/losing-faith-definition-suggestions-and-take-away-5214137

As you can detect, Yoon Seungho did everything to revive his faith. He didn’t listen to his father’s words in the end. He chose love over hatred. He might be a sinner, but he is no longer self-destructive. But more importantly, he went to jail while carrying the light. (chapter 126) It is relevant, because light represents knowledge and truth. He is now the bearer of the truth. And he got his blessing from Baek Na-Kyum, when he touched his hands. (chapter 126) Because he came with the candle, Kim had no reason to follow him. In other words, Yoon Seungho no longer needs the butler by his side. But why didn’t the domestic follow him to the prison cell? It is because he feared that if the painter were to see him, his memory could get triggered. The artist could ask him where he was, when the scholar came to the mansion? (chapter 120) Yes, chapter 126 mirrors 92! This somehow confirms my theory that the butler was the one hiding under the purple hanbok. (chapter 92) Moreover, we have another reference to this episode, the pouring of alcohol! (chapter 92) (chapter 126) It was, as if someone wanted the lord to pay for Min’s insult! That’s the reason why I come to the following conclusion: Yoon Seungho is now opening up to Baek Na-Kyum. He is confessing to the painter about his wishes. (chapter 126) Therefore I am suspecting that the lord will reveal his past to his loved one, something he never did before. (chapter 85) The manhwaphiles should keep in mind that the request from the artist in the study was strongly connected to forgiveness. And Baek Na-Kyum could also confess what happened in the past: his guilt and regret asking for the lord’s forgiveness. Right now, both are blaming themselves for the incidents, although they got fooled by many schemers. Because the lord proved his loyalty and blinded trust in the painter, I see the scene in the jail as a new version of this confession: (chapter 75) Thus I consider the prison cell as a sacred place, where both characters are about to be freed from their guilt! (chapter 126) That’s the reason why now I view the lord’s short torment as a necessity. His faith was and is tested through the trials which coincides with the upcoming trial. Through his love for the painter, he found support and strength. He is not resigned, though their situation looks terrible. He is now true to himself. This means that he chose to drop his life lie for good.

And what was his life lie? To be powerful… (chapter 11) thus he could escape justice! (Chapter 11) Simultaneously, the first definition of life lie corresponds to Yoon Chang-Hyeon. The latter blames his eldest son for the downfall of the Yoons. ! (Chapter 86) Secondly, he still thinks that he is powerful. But it is just an illusion. (Chapter 126) How so? The guards are able to manipulate him. He has become their puppet, for he follows their suggestions. Hence they make decisions on their own (chapter 125). They fail their duty, for they allowed the main lead to barge in the room. (Chapter 126) Finally, observe how they keep apologizing without giving any explication. (Chapter 125) Their apology is fake. As you can see, the patriarch is living in an allusion. He is powerless, and the best evidence is that he doesn’t have the petition. (Chapter 125) He took the paper full of blood, the evidence of his involvement. This means that in this scene, (chapter 126) the elder master Yoon chose to maintain his life lie. This explains why he blames Yoon Seungho one more time. And this coincides with his speech about hatred. (Chapter 126) He is actually encouraging his son to hate himself and indirectly his own father! However, the son made the exact opposite decision: love!! Hence I am more than certain that the elder master is about to experience a harsh awakening.

On the other hand, the Manhwa lovers can grasp why I selected the title “dropped amusement”. Faith is something serious which stands in opposition to the gangrape in the shrine. Here, the lords had made fun of the spirits and gods. (chapter 101) Thus they got punished. And now, the two main leads are about to face human justice. (chapter 65) But strangely, the painter is showing no fear at all. (chapter 126) He is ready to sacrifice himself. So why was Yoon Seungho dressed up in the end? One might say that with the topknot and the hanbok, the abuse from the patriarch got covered up. That way, Baek Na-Kyum wouldn’t detect Yoon Chang-Hyeon’s lies and abandonment! (chapter 125) The latter brainwashed him to take the fall for everything, implying that way, his loved one would be protected! However, I am suspecting that if the lord were to leave the prison, he could meet someone in the office. That way, this person is not confronted with the reality: the main lead was “abused”. According to the butler, he was supposed to meet his brother at the office. (chapter 126) If the noble encounters his brother there, then Seungwon would appear as hypocrite, for he would feign “ignorance”. He was not there, when he got insulted by their father. However, he could meet someone else. (Chapter 92) In episode 92, we have a mysterious man in the background dressed in black, but he is not wearing his gat. Besides, I would like my avid readers to remember this image from the trailer: which reminds us of the office: (chapter 98) This place symbolizes power and strength. And because episode 126 is a reflection of chapter 7, 11, 29 and 40, I think, Yoon Seungho is about to receive a deal, for these episodes are focusing on the deal between the painter and the protagonist: protection from the father and punishment in exchange for entertainment. He would appear as a fake savior in the end. Remember what in episode 11 the artist said in front of his fated partner: (chapter 11) He would do anything except painting!! He was not willing to give up on this principle, which reminds us of faith. So when Yoon Seungho faced his father, he experienced powerlessness for one reason. (Chapter 126) They wanted to corner him, to make him desperate so that he would look for a way to become powerful! Moreover, they desired him to resent his father more than before. To conclude, he was pressured on purpose. And this brings me to the following remark. Why did the father describe the painter as “Plaything”? It is to minimize Baek Na-Kyum’s value in the lord’s life. However, if this theory about a new deal comes true (pedophile rekindling with him), then I believe that exactly like in episode 11, the lord will choose to follow his conscience and integrity over power and torment. He will make the same decision than his partner which corresponds to a rejection. However, I don’t think that he would make it obvious. He could fake submission.

5. Quit smoking

In fact, I have the impression that his memory could get triggered. What caught my attention is the absence of the pipe! According to me, the pedophile is a smoker, that’s how the main lead started smoking. But so far, the lord was not seen in connection with the pipe in season 4. This tool appeared on this drawing making fun of officials and the king (Chapter 105) Then in episode 122, we discover that lord Song employed the pipe to beat the painter. Moreover, I detected a progression. In season 2, Yoon Seungho was still smoking. (Chapter 74) But once the painter showed that he didn’t like smoking, Yoon Seungho stopped taking the drug. This explicates why in season 3, he was no longer seen with the item in his hand. Even under stress, he chose to hunt instead of smoking in front of the window. We have two scenes where the pipe is present. One is when the lord is throwing it out of anger,: (chapter 86) which reminded me of the incident with the music box. (Chapter 85) This shows that this item had no value to the protagonist. Then the pipe appeared in the gibang on the table. (Chapter 96) However, here the lord had only eyes for the painter or Heena. Hence I have the impression that the pipe could resurface and serve as an tool to identify the perpetrator, just like the glasses were used to recognize the scholar. (Chapter 102) Finally, since the pipe appeared in the gibang twice, it indicates that this hobby is linked to the kisaeng house!! And this brings me to my final observation: the pipe is connected to paper (chapter 121), just like in the erotic book of sodomy! (Chapter 1) (chapter 1) However, there exists two books!! And one has no PIPE! This coincides with the decision of the painter to stop drawing erotic pictures! Yes… dropped amusement! At the same time, Yoon Seungho has long lost his interest for erotic publications. He also dropped this hobby. On the other hand, the books were dropped in front of the painter. (Chapter 1) Finally, the petition was dropped in front of lord Song (chapter 123) which announced his death sentence. To conclude, the papers have a strong connection to punishment and death.

As you could see, Byeonduck had many reasons to create such a chapter in the end. We are definitely getting closer to the end. And before closing this essay, I would like to point out that the Yoons’ mansion had been left empty, yet neither his father nor his brother moved in!! (Chapter 126) Yoon Seungho went to the father’s mansion, and it didn’t take him that long! As you can see, I consider this trip with Yoon Seungwon as a diversion. (Chapter 121) So why didn’t the elder master return to his old home? It is to drive the Yoons out of their propriety. In other words, the lies from the past are becoming a reality exposing the liars in the end. Their life lies will be ruined.

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

Mad Place: Contrition of the pure sinner ⛪👨‍❤️‍👨

This is where you can read the manhwa. https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/madplace_en  But be aware that this manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. Here is the link, if you are interested in more analyses about other manhwas https://bebebisous33analyses.com/2021/06/06/table-of-contents-of-analyzed-mentioned-manhwas/ I mentioned the following essays: https://bebebisous33analyses.com/2021/07/24/mad-place-smiling-ghost-and-sinful-priest/ and https://bebebisous33analyses.com/2022/07/06/painter-of-the-night-payback-innocent-or-not-guilty-%e2%9a%96/ and https://bebebisous33analyses.com/2021/06/21/who-are-you-the-significance-of-masks-in-manhwas/

It would be great if you could make some donations/sponsoring: Ko-fi.com/bebebisous33  That way, you can support me with “coffee” so that I have the energy to keep examining manhwas. Besides, I need to cover up the expenses for this blog.

First of all, I would like to thank the author Junah 😍😘 for mentioning my first essay about Mad Place on Lezhin in the creator’s note. Imagine my surprise and my joy, when I saw this. It truly means a lot to me, for I felt that my dedication and work were recognized.

1. Sin versus purity

But let’s turn our attention to the manhwa and season 2. I had already sensed the presence of religion in season 1, and this interpretation got reinforced in season 2. It even became more obvious in special episode 2 which I will elaborate more in details later. In my first analysis about the main characters, I had compared the chaebol’s son to a mysterious ghost and Gu Sehyuk to a sinful priest. The prosecutor’s house was like a temple dedicated to the “spirit” Gu Sihwan and the picture on the shelf served as an altar. And observe that in season 2, the protagonist confided to the suspect Ideun that he had felt the presence of Sihwan’s ghost in the house. (chapter 36) Hence you comprehend why my new title is once again referring to faith and sin. On the other hand, the readers could be surprised by the choice of my new title. How is it possible that a sinner can be pure? This represents a contradiction. I chose this oxymoron for two reasons. Junah ended season 2 with the same contrast: (chapter 44) In this scene, the prosecutor is pronouncing Ha Ideun for “guilty” for murdering Kim Jintaek. (chapter 44) However, in that moment the author chose to show the hand of Ha Sungmin, who is about to remove the mask of Ha Sungyeob. This means that the so-called brother is about to commit a murder on the former CEO, his official father. Thus I am deducing that despite the verdict of the prosecutor, Ha Ideun is actually innocent. The “real guilty” versus the “fake one”.

In addition, observe that when Gu Sehuyk is confronting the suspect Ha Ideun about the charges pressed against him, at no moment the chaebol is worried or scared. In verity, he looks calm and relaxed. (chapter 44) It was, as if a burden had been removed from his shoulder and heart. Furthermore, in special episode 2, the protagonist’s innocence became even more obvious. In his nightmare, Ha Ideun is imagining himself wearing a white bathrobe in a white room. Moreover, he looks busy cleaning himself. If you read my essays about Painter Of The Night, you are probably aware of the signification of white and “cleaning”. It is an allusion to purity and purification. Finally, Ha Ideun said that he would never lie by commision. (chapter 11) Everything is pointing out about Ha Ideun’s innocence.

However, he could be perceived as a “sin” and “sinner”, for he is not wearing the same name than his brothers: Not Sung- but Ideun! His name displays that he is the result of an illegitimate affair. (chapter 39) Hence the reporter Yoo Tae describes him as a bastard, and the official mother Choi Seolhwa doesn’t recognize the protagonist as her son. She doesn’t even call him by his name, but by the expression “the boy”. (chapter 41) He is not part of the family. On the other hand, Ha Sungmin and Ha Sungjoon views Ha Ideun as a relative. (chapter 37) We could even say that Ha Sungmin views himself as his owner, even as a surrogate father, for he was the one who raised the main lead. (chapter 37)

2. Crime or sin?

Nevertheless, I would like the manhwaphiles to keep in their mind two important aspects. First, it is important to make the distinction between a criminal and a sinner. The former belongs to the justice system, while the latter is a religious concept. In the essay “Innocent or not guilty?”, I had already outlined the difference. An accused will never be pronounced “innocent”, in the best case he can be found not guilty. Hence the defendant can still be judged as a sinner. His action or words could be judged as morally wrong or they contributed indirectly to a negative outcome.

In this manhwa, Ha Ideun is suffering from a immense guilt. Therefore he dreams that he will end up in hell. The demons are dragging him to hell. (special episode 2) He feels responsible not only for the death of Gu Sihwan but also for the death of Kim Jintaek. This explicates why in his nightmares, the suspect had the impression that he had stabbed himself the victims. (chapter 21) (special episode 2) The hands covered with blood were the symbol of his guilt. The manhwalovers can comprehend why Ideun felt terrible towards the prosecutor. Thus he constantly apologized to the prosecutor by kissing Gu Sehuyk’s wounds (chapter 13) (chapter 23) or by voicing his apology directly. (chapter 44) However, as you can imagine, the chaebol never killed the brother or the criminal. I have no doubt about it. He shouldn’t blame himself for their death. On the other hand, Ha Ideun is definitely involved in their vanishing. Thus Ha Sungmin blames him for everything. Ha Ideun is perceived as a sinner. And that’s how he judges himself too, therefore he dreams of being sent to hell. So when the prosecutor declares Ha Ideun (chapter 44), we should view it from a religious perspective. In verity, it is the priest Gu Sehyuk speaking to the chaebol. By recognizing his “sins”, the wrongdoer has the opportunity to seek contrition. It will help him to reveal his suffering which has been buried. This is no coincidence that the night before this “sentence”, the main lead begged Gu Sehyuk for his forgiveness. (chapter 44) Only the “priest” Sehuyk can give him the opportunity to confess his “sins” and obtain forgiveness. That’s his fault that his brother died, though the prosecutor is well aware that this is not correct. That’s the reason why I believe that during that night, the chaebol confessed to his lover about his past action, though we didn’t see it. Gu Sehuyk had already voiced that he would trust him no matter what. The other evidence for this interpretation is naturally the suspect’s nightmare in special episode 2. This scene took place right after the sexual abuse from Ha Sungmin. But what sin did Ha Ideun commit exactly?

3. Ha Ideun’s “sin”

This is related to the investigation about the slush fund. (chapter 8) which is linked to corruption and the project Heaventown. With the slush fund, Ha Sungmin could buy politicians and officials in order to buy the golden land in Gwanghae. (chapter 39) Note that in the beginning, Gu Sehuyk was supposed to investigate the slush fund. Yet due to his brother’s death, he was removed from the case, for he was left traumatized. His colleague Na Joohwan took over the case and look how it ended: (chapter 8) They found nothing which is highly suspicious. I am suspecting the smiling deputy prosecutor general behind the cover up. (chapter 8) I have two clues for this theory: he got promoted within a short time, he became deputy prosecutor general, and he is wearing glasses. After reading so many manhwas, I made the following discovery: characters with glasses are hypocrites and even backstabbers. 🧐 [For more read the essay “The significance of masks in manhwas”] Then the reporter Yoo Tae was supported by Ha Ideun to investigate the matter, because he wanted to maintain the good reputation of Hasung Hotel: (chapter 39) Moreover, I would like to point out that 2 years later, Ha Ideun was also monitoring Kim Jintaek, this means that he was again investigating about a case, where the Hasung group was involved. This truly exposes the main lead’s righteousness and purity. He chose to do the right thing, yet each time he failed, for he was powerless. People had to die. Therefore the brother said this to Ha Ideun in his dream. (special episode 2) Both brothers are goal-oriented, yet they both stand on different sides of the law. Ha Ideun stands for law and righteousness, while the other has no conscious. The goal justifies the means. This explains why Ha Ideun would ask Gu Sehuyk as the prosecutor for this case. The latter is famous for his uprightness and pure nature. Only through him, the truth can come to light. Consequently, I am suspecting that the trial concerning the murder of Kim Jintaek will serve as a mean to unveil all the dirty deeds committed by the Ha family. On the other hand, Ha Ideun wished that his family wouldn’t get into trouble: (chapter 40) Why did he make such a request? We have many possibilities. It could be related to Ha Ideun’s goodhearted nature and pride or his fear that Gu Sehuyk could get hurt. So far, people representing a threat to the brother got eliminated. This shows that the main lead was still under the influence of the terrible huyng here.

4. The other “pure” sinner 😉

The irony is that Ha Sungmin has a perfect reputation, because he has a clean record! On the other hand, Ha Ideun is perceived as a man living in debauchery. He would have sex with different men in hotels, he would be lazy. But what is Ha Sungmin’s dream? This panel exposes everything: (chapter 26) his ambition and greed. He would like to dominate the town and even the economy. His mentality is strongly influenced by his mother who appears as ruthless and selfish too. (chapter 41) She is already waiting for her husband’s death. Striking is that at no moment, the villain feels remorse. Why? It is because he has been gaslighting his brother. The brainwashing is detectable in this statement. (special episode 2) If Ha Ideun hadn’t started the investigation and as such betrayed the “family”, then none of this would have ever happened. Gu Sihwan and the informant wouldn’t have died. But as you can imagine, the reality is that his project Heaventown was only possible thanks to crimes (corruption, drug, murder). Besides, I would like to point out that the former CEO Ha Sungyeob only became the president of this group after his other siblings were ruled out. (chapter 39) I am definitely suspecting that there was a battle among the family, and Ha Sungyeob definitely used illegal means to achieve his goal. The oldest sister died in a car accident, and the second brother was judged unqualified. So we could say that Ha Sungmin is actually imitating his “father’s” past behavior, though they are not biologically related. Interesting is that (chapter 25) in this scene, Kim Jintaek revealed that he had been in contact with Sungyeob. He showed no real respect to the elder by calling him “crook”, though I have to admit that I am suspecting that Ha Ideun is not Sungyeob’s son. This truly shows that the family Ha is no ordinary family.

5. Ha Ideun’s confessions and contrition

But this doesn’t explain why Ha Ideun would constantly dream of his hands covered in blood. In my eyes, it is related to the sexual abuse he suffered from his “brother” Ha Sungmin. (chapter 37) In this chapter, it was already implied, and Sungjoon even knew about this. (chapter 37) Junah added the red traces in this panel for that reason. Moreover, Ha Ideun showed signs of PTSD in season 2. On different occasions, he was seen trembling (chapter 34), sweating, had difficulties to breathe (chapter 34), he had a lost and terrified gaze (chapter 33), and he is still suffering from insomnia. He can only sleep after having sex. (Chapter 36) This is an indication that the sexual abuse took place during the night. His panic attacks could get triggered by different elements: a certain position or a specific location. He is also suicidal, displaying his self-loathing. (chapter 21) From my point of view, Ha Ideun had tried to rebell and leave his brother’s side (chapter 35), but he had failed. The stabbing is the proof of his resistance. (chapter 35) Simultaneously, he was forced to remain by his side, for he had wounded his brother. The blood on the stomach was to make the main lead feel guilty. That way, he would remain silent and passive.

After reading season 2, I couldn’t help myself associating him to Yoon Seungho from Painter Of The Night. Both are smiling ghosts, because they are masking their pain and traumatic past. (chapter 26) They could never show their true self. In my eyes, Ha Ideun stabbed his brother during the sexual abuse (chapter 33), as he tried to protect himself, thus the brother has a huge scar on his stomach. (chapter 43) This explicates why Ha Sungmin tied his hands with the belt in the hotel. He made sure that the “brother” would never reject him. It was to control him. The hyung had learned his lesson. Moreover, it was his way to “convince” him to return home. In addition, Ha Ideun was definitely confined, for the nightmare revealed that Ha Ideun was trapped. The most terrible thing is that the huyng made sure to gaslight Ha Ideun. He shouldn’t have stabbed him, he had committed a huge sin against him. That’s the reason why Ha Ideun sees his hands covered with blood in his nightmares. He views himself as a sinner. The dirty hand symbolized his guilt. (special episode 2) Thus the main lead came to internalize that sex between “siblings” is normality. Don’t forget that Sungjoon never intervened. He became an silent accomplice. On the other hand, in his subconscious Ha Ideun is well aware that this is not right. This explicates why he felt safer to have sex with strangers than living with his brother. And now you comprehend why I wrote before that the main lead’s wish (chapter 40) was related to the brainwashing. At the same time, we have now the explication why the main character’s bedroom was so white and empty. (chapter 08) All traces of violence had to be removed and cleaned.

And this observation led me to the following deduction. Since Ha Ideun feels responsible for Gu Sihwan’s death, he decided to comfort the prosecutor by replacing the brother. Because the main lead had sex with his brother, then in his eyes, it should be the same between Gu Sihwan and the prosecutor. (chapter 23) This is no coincidence that Ha Ideun asked how his sexual partner felt about their sexual encounters. It was important that Gu Sehuyk would like it. (chapter 22) That way, the main lead had the impression that he was indeed capable to replace the brother’s loss. However, like pointed out above, Ha Ideun needed the protagonist on his side too, for he wished to unveil the truth about Heaventower and the father’s illness which is connected to the drug. This is no coincidence that sex with Gu Sehyuk was connected to a confession. The sinner was seeking relief from the “priest”, at the same time he was trying to redeem himself by give warmth to the wounded prosecutor. Simultaneously, he was hoping to obtain his forgiveness. This is important, because by interacting with the prosecutor, he came to discover a new form of family. This is not surprising that at some point, Ha Ideun came to question the nature of the relationship between siblings. (chapter 25) Hence I come to the conclusion that by interacting with Gu Sehuyk, the victim adopted slowly a new religion of HOME! Don’t forget that home has different significations: a household, a mansion and a clan. What caught my attention is that Ha Ideun started calling the prosecutor’s house HOME! (chapter 26) This truly exposes that he had moved from Sungmin’s fake religion of home and family. (special episode 2) They are only a family in name and as a family in the picture. In reality they don’t live under the same roof. Under this new perspective, it becomes comprehensible why Ha Ideun feared to return to his brother’s side (chapter 29) and at the end of season 2, he chose to reveal his secret to Gu Sehuyk: the sexual and physical abuse. Therefore it is not surprising that at the end, Gu Sehuyk said this to Ha Ideun. (chapter 44) He was now considering the “suspect” as his “family”. That’s the reason why I believe that this “sentence guilty” at the end of season 2 is just a subterfuge. This can only serve as an excuse to keep him by his side. At the same time, the prosecutor Gu Sehuyk can not be suspected of favoritism, for he is suspecting a chaebol to have committed a crime. The media already reported the case to the public. Under this new perspective, I came to understand why Ha Ideun never tried to defend himself right from the start. He needed to remain a suspect, so that he could influence the prosecutor in his investigations. That way, he could discover that his brother’s case had not been truly solved…. At the same time, Ha Ideun could be considered as a sinner, for he “seduced” the priest Gu Sehuyk to have sex. So far, the man was dedicated to his work, and as such had no sex life.

To conclude, Ha Ideun is on his way to discover that he has been a victim of sexual abuse all this time, and the Ha family can only be viewed as perverted and ruthless. Through his sexual encounters with the main lead, the “suspect” discovered a new form of home (chapter 36) where equity, love and warmth were oozing which stands in opposition to the cold and aseptic “temple” of the Ha. (special episode 2) The hyung was the highest authority and Ha Ideun had to obey blindly. The position of the characters reflects the nature of the relationship between Ha Ideun and his “sexual partners”: hierarchy versus equity.

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

Painter Of The Night: Yoon Seungho’s hands 👐 and feet in the first chapter

This is where you can read the manhwa. https://www.lezhinus.com/en/comic/painter  But be aware that this manhwa is a mature Yaoi, which means, it is about homosexuality with explicit scenes. If you want to read more essays, here is the link to the table of contents:  https://bebebisous33analyses.wordpress.com/2020/07/04/table-of-contents-painter-of-the-night/ 

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This won’t be a long analysis compared to “Conscious versus unconscious” but I felt the need to examine the scenes from the first chapter, after I made this discovery while analyzing the chapter 54: Yoon Seungho’s hands and feet are under the control of his unconscious, while his mouth speaks for the mind representing the conscious. Under this interpretation, certain scenes from the first season have now another significance. This helps us to understand why the lord had his mood swings. This proves that the lord was never an unsensitive character, in reality quite the opposite. There is a fire burning inside his body, a metaphor for the intensity of his feelings and the moment he gets wounded, he literally explodes. There’s anger mixed with pain.

However since his mind chose to live as a spirit, he could only repress any feeling. This explicates why due to the power of his repressed emotions, he could only get blinded by his rage and heartache, the moment they came to the surface due to a wound. As you can imagine, it is impossible for me to study all the scenes from the first season therefore I decided to pick the ones from the first chapter as an illustration. Consequently, when you read the manhwa from the start again, pay attention to the hands, the feet and the mouth because their actions mirror the inner conflict of this traumatized man and his growing desires for Baek Na-Kyum.

Let’s start with the first scene. What caught my attention is the noble is cleaning his sword while menacing in front of the servant that someone could die. Since the lord speaks about a bloodbath in a calm manner, he appears cold and even heartless. The cause for his lack of sensibility is that his mouth is controlled by his mind and the latter is denying the existence of any emotion. Striking is that his hands are busy as they are focused on wiping the sword. I perceive a contrast between the tranquility coming from the mouth and the activity of the hands. This scene already implies the first inner conflict between the conscious and unconscious. Notice that he is neither smoking nor drinking so that his feelings are not numb. The movement of his hands displays a certain edginess. With this first introduction, Yoon Seungho appears bloodthirsty due to the association of the blood and the sword. However, if you look again at the scene, you’ll notice that he only threatens, after hearing that the painter is no longer working. So the trigger for his menace is the fear that his wish to get new erotic paintings might not be granted. He denies that this news should concern him, yet right after he comes up with this thread. Someone could die. The contradiction between the hands and the mouth and even the disparity between “that’s nothing to concern myself” and “surely he won’t insist on it once he sees some blood” actually betray the aristocrat’s eagerness to have the artist by his side. He wants Baek Na-Kyum to paint for him. In other words, right from the start the noble felt the need to have the painter and his unconscious through the hands revealed his true emotions. However, in this scene he has never seen Baek Na-Kyum. He has no idea how he looks like but through the paintings, his unconscious had been triggered. The erotic images had aroused emotions in him.

And notice that when his servant has finally discovered Baek Na-Kyum’s real identity, the lord can’t wait to meet the artist. He follows the domestic to the tavern. As a powerful aristocrat, he could have sent his valet Kim in order to hire Baek Na-Kyum personally. No, he didn’t… his feet under the influence of his unconscious exposes his real desire and his dependency. He must see the painter himself and have him no matter what.

In the beginning of their first encounter, the lord shows a detached attitude. His face is expressionless, until the painter acquiesces about his identity. From that moment, the lord’s visage changes. There is a huge smile on his face and grabs his hands with such a speed and strength that Baek Na-Kyum is unable to resist. The lord is not even aware that he has dropped his mask of indifference. His eyes are shining, his mouth is even smiling. Striking is that the mouth lets even transpire a lot of affection: “very much enjoy”, “my boy”. His actions contrast so much to the first scene. In my first analysis of the first episode, I had compared him to a fan meeting his idol. However, from my point of view, his emotions are actually much stronger than I had envisioned. The mouth is not under the control of the mind, the conscious. Why such a reaction? It is because the painter has just spoken to him. Therefore I come to the observation that right from the start, the artist’s mouth plays a huge role in their relationship. Baek Na-Kyum’s mouth is the trigger for the unconscious to reveal itself. However, at no instant, Yoon Seungho realizes the contradiction between his body and his mind. He is so happy to meet the painter he admired so much, because he felt a connection through the creations. It’s as if his unconscious had sensed the power of the artist’s emotions (love, warmth) behind his pictures. The unconscious through the eyes recognized the sensitivity in Baek Na-Kyum’s works. For me, the lord had already fallen in love with Baek Na-Kyum, even before he met him for the first time. Yet, I believe, the moment he sees his face and hears his voice, his feelings become even more intense to the point he already has an erection. His body, led by his unconscious, is attracted by the low-born. Interesting is that at no time, Baek Na-Kyum’s status as a low-born is relevant. The noble feels the need to touch his hands, even treasures them. He allows the artist’s hands to touch his loins. There is such a closeness exposing the noble’s desire: his body wishes intimacy, yet his mouth is still fighting the urges expressed by the unconscious. That’s why he keeps talking about the paintings and the effect they had on him. Why do I think that the powerful protagonist is so fascinated by the painter’s mouth and the latter serves as a trigger for his unconscious to reveal itself? Let’s not forget that I wrote that the low-born’s face serves as a mirror to the lord. His face symbolizes the mirror of the truth. Since the aristocrat’s mouth is under the power of his conscious, his mouth is never allowed to speak the truth. Due to his philosophy to live as a spirit and to never feel any emotion, the lord forced himself to use his mouth to disguise himself and to never let transpire any emotion: only rationality and coldness. Therefore his mouth is never honest in reality. Not only it lies to others but also to the main lead himself. The mind through the mouth is ruling his life, telling him and others that he is cold, distant and even heartless. However, deep down his unconscious wishes honesty and genuineness. In reality, Seungho is a very passionate person.

Striking is that the moment, the painter denies that he’s the author of the erotic paintings the lord’s face slowly gets frigid and the smile vanishes gradually. For me, the lie triggered the return of his mask. Look at his faze: it was as if it was paralyzed. The conscious takes over the control of the lord’s face. He is disguising his emotions. He is deeply hurt. His feelings have been rejected, since the painter told him that he wasn’t the person he had been looking for. The conscious might control the face and the mouth for an instant, yet his hands are under the power of his unconscious. That’s why he grabs the sword so quickly. The manhwalovers only witness the sword leaving its protection outlining the rapidity of his hand. This gesture displays the anger he is hiding behind his frozen face. From my perspective, his hands and his feet are expressing what he is feeling inside. There is this rage and pain for being pushed away. He’s already the vengeful spirit, his unconscious feels the need to vent his inner emotions. However, since I observed the return of the lord’s mind, we have to imagine that the main lead has the impression, he is making decisions rationally. He is just following what he said the night before. If his wish is not granted, then someone has to pay. I believe, the speed of his hands and feet indicate that the latter are actually influenced by his unconscious, the lord can’t detect the power of his unconscious as they are actually obeying the order of his mind: someone needs to die. And note that soon after he rushes to the servant’s side. It was as if he was flying towards him, his feet are rushing demonstrating the intensity of his inner emotions. The painter’s mouth, which he is already treasuring, wounded his heart so deeply that he feels the need to punish someone but he can’t hurt the artist because he was somehow moved by the painter’s face. His unconscious must have sensed the innocence in the painter’s gaze. Let’s not forget that Baek Na-Kyum is sweating, when he lies to Yoon Seungho. As you can detect, there are many reasons why he didn’t touch the artist in the first place. Yet, since his mouth said that some blood would be spilled, he needs to find another target and that’s the domestic. Furthermore, the unconscious sees no problem with the killing. I would like to remind that the unconscious is something wild and knows no boundary, the emotions unleashed by the unconscious can be very violent. The mind might have decided that he would kill someone if his wish wasn’t granted and the unconscious might have agree to this in order to vent his fury. In other words, the lord’s body might seem now under the control of the mind, yet from my perspective, the lord’s emotions, led by his unconscious, are playing a huge role in this scene as well. Observe that the moment he is about to kill, his gaze is cold and ruthless, but his face seems like frozen. For me, he is here wearing his mask again. However, his eyebrows and mouth are betraying him. He has a frowning face.

A frown (also known as a scowl) is a facial expression in which the eyebrows are brought together, and the forehead is wrinkled, usually indicating displeasure, sadness or worry https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frown#:~:text=A%20frown%20(also%20known%20as,less%20often%20confusion%20or%20concentration.

This reveals that the lord’s action to kill the domestic isn’t causing him some pleasure, quite the opposite. He is rather displeased and even a little sad, but he is angry as well, because his hand is the one killing the low-born. For me, this murder can be explained by the pain caused by the painter’s lie and not by his thirst for blood. Yet, he is not in a dissociative state either. This is perceptible, when you contrast this situation with the one in the shaman’s house. (Chapter 102) (chapter) Here, the gaze is focused. It was, as if he needed to prove to himself and to others, he is not joking. At the same time, his unconscious needs to vent his frustration and agony. However, I believe what we are seeing here is the result of indoctrination and brainwashing. He has been conditioned, as it is his way to cope with his PTSD.

In my opinion, the heartache is the reason why he is so selfish in the first half of the first season. Everything revolves around himself: his desires, his wishes, his pains and his emotions. Due to the Stockholm Syndrome, Yoon Seungho has turned into a blind and self-centered man. He has adopted the principles of his tormentors. Hence, he’s oblivious to anyone around him. Therefore he didn’t pay attention to the painter’s discomfort, while he was touching his hands. Furthermore, I see a confirmation that the aristocrat was acting on his unconscious too, when he eliminates the domestic. Only after the murder, he sees the painter’s tool, while he explains the reason for his action in a rational and calm manner. My question is: Why didn’t he check out who lied in the first place? Why did he have to kill someone? From my perspective, in this scene, the lord’s heart played a huge part in his behavior. In my opinion, he’s already developed some feelings for the painter, hence he didn’t vent his anger on him. Deep down, he knew that his servant had deceived him, though he couldn’t tell how. He didn’t notice the servant’s discomfort. (Chapter 1) Thus he was portrayed with no eyes. Sure, not everything was a lie, yet the commoner mixed a lie with the truth, turning his testimony into a deception. What appeared as trivial was in truth betrayal. What the domestic didn’t know is that the lord hates lies, for they were the reason for his downfall. He needed to hurt someone, because he had been wounded by the painter’s lie. But the latter was just a white lie. So in the picture above, I see the lord’s conscious attempting to justify his action. Yet his gaze and smile contradict his mouth right after. There is a glimpse of a smile, his eyes are showing an interest. The idiom “the boy” illustrates a certain closeness. I mean, he could have called him “the low-born” but he didn’t. For me, this picture illustrates the lord’s satisfaction. He has obtained what he wanted: the painter.

Striking is that later at his mansion, the painter lies again. Yet compared to the first deception, the lord’s anger is less violent. He is even caressing the painter with his sword. It looks like the sword would remove the cloth so that he can see the artist’s naked body. The way he uses the weapon exposes that his unconscious doesn’t want to hurt the artist, although he is actually displeased to be lied again. This gesture expresses a certain sexual desire, but the counterpart is not noticing it due to his uncomfortable and frightening situation. That’s why there is no rage unlike at the tavern. The sexual desires have returned. Furthermore, we could say that the main character has got used to or that he is well aware that Baek Na-Kyum has the creator of the erotic paintings by his side. He feels less betrayed.

Observe that during this scene Yoon Seungho can’t stop his hands, therefore he starts getting touchy again. First, he wipes the painter’s tears and later he even grabs his hands again. I would even say, the gesture with the sword is another caress showing the power of his emotions. His unconscious feels the urge to touch and caress his face and his hands. Both have already become Yoon Seungho’s weaknesses. Notice that he even lowers himself to the painter twice and gets very close to him. His feet always lead him to the artist’s proximity. He remains by his side, until he is lied a second time. From that moment, he stands up and starts walking revealing a certain uneasiness and edginess. He is troubled and frustrated because he has been indirectly rejected again. Yet, unlike at the tavern, his reaction is less violent and this for two reasons. First, his unconscious is definitely more attracted than before. Secondly, his mind is well aware that the painter is not telling the truth. In other words, his heart and mind are not fighting each other. Their goal is the same, they want to have the painter by their side. Yet the conscious doesn’t realize that behind its decisions, the heart is already influencing his mind. Why does he want the erotic drawings?

The last image where you see the lord weeping his tears is quite interesting, because for the first time, the lord is wondering about the painter’s actions: his lie and his tears. Yoon Seungho is already fascinated by Baek Na-Kyum. Why does he keep lying? Why does he cry? The commoner is quite a puzzle for the noble. His mind doesn’t understand the artist’s behavior. For me, this drawing reveals that Yoon Seungho’s mind has already started thinking about Baek Na-Kyum a lot. Compared to the scene at the tavern, he is less selfish. He pays more attention to the artist’s reaction and words. Everything is pointing out that his mind is already influenced by his heart but the noble hasn’t noticed it yet. That’s why he doesn’t get aware that he is falling in love.

Striking is that he even sent his staff away, creating a certain intimacy. He definitely wants to get close to Baek Na-Kyum physically and mentally. But since he’s just a spirit, he doesn’t notice that his hands and feet have been acting on their own… led by his unconscious.

Yet compared to the chapter 54, the inner conflict between the lord’s unconscious and conscious is less palpable, as the heart and mind are not contradicting each other, since the noble is already rationalizing all his actions and decisions. This is only a matter of time, until his desires for the painter become so unbearable that he starts wooing him. The paintings become more and more just an excuse. I hope, with this essay, you will feel the desire to read the manhwa all over again under these two aspects.

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