Perhaps it was because Baekgyeong’s stay in the U.S. had grown longer, giving Siron uninterrupted time to immerse himself in auditions. A part of him, the part that had resigned itself to never being able to stand alone, began to stir and lift its head.
Siron used the appearance fees he had carefully saved over time to rent a studio near his agency. He still owed Baekgyeong for everything—from beginning to end—but that didn’t mean he could let Baekgyeong keep meddling in his future livelihood. More than anything, Siron wanted to be recognized by others, genuinely. From now on, it was time to try standing on his own—not with Baekgyeong’s backing, but with his own true ability.
Everything he needed from Baekgyeong’s house fit into a single suitcase. While furnishing the small 9-pyeong studio in his own taste, March arrived without notice. Even as he waited for the final results of the Host Spirit audition, Choi Seongmin continued hounding him to do Director Shim’s film—and Baekgyeong, from overseas, suddenly informed him of his surgery.
It came out of nowhere.
[Baekgyeong:
I'm getting surgery.
They said I lost consciousness for a bit because of a partial seizure lol.
Be by my side when I recover.
Even if I turn into a vegetable, I want to at least recognize you haha.]
He had delayed surgery for so long because the risks were too high—but now, the tumor in his brain had become too dangerous to postpone any longer.
Siron sat frozen, staring blankly at his phone screen. He had always wondered—after Baekgyeong removed the parasite from his brain, would he still feel connected to Siron like a brother? Would that ridiculous “link” between them still persist?
But now that the surgery was imminent, Siron felt—vaguely, stubbornly—precisely the kind of connection Baekgyeong had always drilled into him. Just as Baekgyeong claimed, there really was something between them. Something nearly tangible. Something that pulled, undeniable and impossible to suppress.
If that strange mass inside Baekgyeong’s head was cut out, Siron felt he, too, would lose part of himself—just like Baekgyeong had lost the twins. No word like “severance” could fully express the anxiety Siron felt. It was like he would become an empty shell. The thought that Baekgyeong might not survive—that he might never open his eyes again—suddenly made Siron not want to open his own.
The realization hit him like a giant needle piercing through his body—an enormous pin to mount a butterfly, running straight through his soul and anchoring him to Baekgyeong’s. Like conjoined twins, it felt as if Baekgyeong’s death would lead inevitably to his own.
At that exact moment, like a cruel twist of fate, his agency CEO called.
The CEO excitedly informed Siron that he’d been officially cast as Geomae in Host Spirit, and warned him that he’d be impossibly busy from now on. He snapped at Siron to attend a dinner meeting with the director tomorrow, and said he’d send the time and place by text.
Both the notice of Baekgyeong’s surgery and the dinner appointment arrived almost simultaneously.
Siron didn’t hesitate long. Instead of packing a suitcase or grabbing his passport, he opened the closet. Everything hanging there was clothing he’d bought himself—there wasn’t a single neat shirt to be found. He picked up his wallet, stepped outside, hailed a taxi, and headed for the department store. Around this time tomorrow, he’d be smiling brightly—not at Baekgyeong, but at the director—wearing a stylish new outfit.
[Me:
Sorry. I can’t go to the U.S.
I passed the audition. Filming prep starts today.
Get the surgery. Come back safe.]
After reading Siron’s message, Baekgyeong lifted his head blankly. A nurse walking into the room met his gaze and smiled brightly.
“How are you feeling today? Starting this evening, we’ll begin fasting—including water—so please don’t—Baek, you can’t do that! Oh—don’t pull it! God, it’s bleeding! What are you—? Where are you going? Baek! Come back!”
Baekgyeong stared at the IV stand with dull eyes, then ripped the needle from his wrist in one motion. He paid no attention to the blood running down his arm and instead dug through the closet. From inside his father’s jacket, he pulled out a set of car keys. Unexpectedly, his passport was also tucked in the pocket. Behind him, the nurse was yelling and urgently calling for assistance, but Baekgyeong was already sprinting down the hospital stairs and heading to the parking lot.
He took his father’s car and drove straight to the airport. Upon landing in Korea on the earliest possible flight, everyone who passed him at Incheon Airport turned to stare. It was early March, with a sudden cold snap in the air—and he stood there in hospital slippers, bare feet, a blood-stained patient’s gown, and a gray jacket thrown on top.
On top of that, his head had been shaved, and he looked like he was ready to kill anyone who met his eyes. Looking like a dying man crawling back from the grave, he barely managed to flag down a taxi and gave the address of their home in Cheongdam-dong.
Siron wasn’t there.
At first glance, the house appeared untouched. But a certain chill lingered—the kind that clings to a space after someone’s moved out. Siron’s phone was off. Baekgyeong stepped into his room and searched it obsessively, piecing together the clues.
The framed photo of Siron’s grandmother was gone. The box of cheap trinkets he’d worn since America was missing. His phone charger was gone. A section of the shelf where his Blu-rays were stored was empty. He’d left behind all the things Baekgyeong had given him—left them inside this enormous, desolate house—and disappeared.
The saying that “extreme anger turns your mind blank” wasn’t just a metaphor. His head filled with a blinding, white emptiness. His heartbeat pounded like a drum in the hollow of his skull. His vision blurred as he looked around. He needed something, someone, to unleash this fury on. One pathetic, worthless face emerged in his mind—a face deserving to die for what he’d done to Baekgyeong.
After signing the Host Spirit contract in a pleasantly warm atmosphere and finishing dinner with the director and production team, Siron reassembled his phone, which he’d separated from its battery the day before. As if waiting for the moment, dozens of messages bombarded his screen like shrapnel.
None were from Baekgyeong.
He had surely read the message by now, but he was likely too preoccupied with surgery preparations—or already under the knife—to respond.
Most of the texts were from unknown numbers. Nearly all of them were from Choi Seongmin.
[Choi Seongmin:
At least read Shim’s script.
She wrote it with only you in mind.
You’ll regret turning it down, 100%.]
[Choi Seongmin:
Shim and the production company are fuckin’ all-in.
Without you, the whole project’s dead in the water.]
Staring blankly at Seongmin’s messages, Siron let out a long sigh and finally replied.
[Me:
Thanks for the offer, but I got the part in Host Spirit.
Contract’s already signed!
I’m blocking this number now, so please stop 😅
It’s too much 🙃]
Once the surgery was done, Baekgyeong would either recover normally, recover partially after a long rehabilitation, or become permanently impaired. Siron had coldly rejected Baekgyeong’s plea—that even if he became a vegetable, he wanted to recognize him—but it hadn’t been his intention to abandon Baekgyeong.
All he wanted was to seize the biggest opportunity of his life. Even if Host Spirit bombed, even if his acting was terrible and people ridiculed him—it didn’t matter. He just wanted to prove he could stand on his own without the burden of Baekgyeong’s help.
He had finally managed to free himself from the suffocating tension that Baekgyeong’s existence always brought—yet Seongmin was now trying to cling to Baekgyeong alongside him like a leech, sucking his blood to fatten himself up. But Siron no longer wanted help Baekgyeong forced upon him, and he certainly didn’t want to °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° keep swinging between love and hate for him.
Still, if one were to look at things plainly, it was undeniable—Siron’s behavior made him trash. Like a husband who abandoned his sick, devoted wife for the sake of success, pretending he’d never received help, all while trying to fly solo.
And the betrayed wife fully intended to make him pay for it.
[Choi Seongmin:
Baekgyeong’s in Korea!
You ungrateful motherfucker.
Get your ass over here before things get ugly.]
Siron read the message from Seongmin just before blocking his number—and his mood instantly sank into the gutter. With the feeling of walking into punishment, he headed for the house in Cheongdam-dong.
There, standing in the middle of the living room, chugging wine straight from the bottle, was Baekgyeong.
He looked like a madman who had escaped from a hospital after a violent struggle and broken into a stranger’s home.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter