chapter 19
Everyone else stood frozen, unsure what to do, while Jisoo looked at the overly bright intern with an incredulous stare.
Of course, she hadn’t flown all the way to Paris to buy those shoes. She’d simply taken them out of Yoon Seo-ha’s dressing room and put them on as she pleased.
But they were undeniably from the Paris Collection. It wasn’t something she had guessed or assumed — Yoon Seo-ha herself had written it clearly on the shoebox: Paris Collection, 2018.
An intern, and already this arrogant.
Jisoo’s face hardened as she asked coldly,
“Alright, Intern Jo Seo-ha. You said these were from the Milan Collection, right? And that there’s Italian engraved on the sole?”
“Yes. May I take a look?”
“Of course. Training interns is part of my job, after all.”
Jisoo slipped her foot out of one heel. Another employee hurried over and placed a pair of slippers on the floor for her to step into.
“Thank you!”
The cheerful intern, Jo Seo-ha, picked up the shoe and held the sole up toward the fluorescent light.
“Oh?”
Her puzzled expression was priceless. Of course — there was no Italian engraving on those soles.
“Why don’t the rest of you take a look too? See if you can find any engraving.”
Hesitating, Seo-ha reluctantly handed the shoe to Hwang Ju-hee, a new designer who, like her, had just started that day.
“There is an engraving… but it’s French. Not Italian.”
“I thought so.”
Jisoo shrugged lightly and tapped her toe against the floor.
“Now, would you mind putting my shoes back on, Intern Jo Seo-ha? And next time, don’t put so much faith in your shallow knowledge.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you for teaching me.”
Seo-ha crouched down and held out the heel to Jisoo’s foot — the very shoes she had once bought herself after a tiring dash to Paris.
“By the way, Team Leader.”
As Seo-ha knelt there holding the shoe, their eyes met — one looking up, one looking down.
“Who is Yoon Seo-ha?”
“What?”
Jisoo’s pupils shook violently.
“It’s written on the sole. In French.”
“W-What are you talking about? J-Jo Seo-ha, do you even read French?”
“Yes.”
Seo-ha flipped the shoe over and calmly read aloud the inscription.
“2018, Paris. Crafted by master Pierre Dubois. For Madame Seo-ha Yoon.”
This belongs to me.
From this shoe onward, you’ll start losing everything you stole from me — one by one. And on the last day, even Lee Seung-oh, who once loved you to death, will no longer be by your side.
“It says it was made by Pierre Dubois of Paris. For Madame Yoon Seo-ha. Oh, look at that — same name as mine!”
At the mention of Yoon Seo-ha, several people flinched. Even the new designers seemed to recognize the name.
“I must’ve mixed them up with another pair. So what? What are you getting at?”
Snapping, Jisoo yanked the shoe out of her hand. Seo-ha only gave a small shrug.
“Anyway, I was wrong — thank you for correcting me. I still have so much to learn. Please take care of me from now on!”
“Let’s see how much I can teach you in three months. Sit down and tidy your desk, Intern Jo Seo-ha!”
With that parting shot — which really meant I’ll make sure you’re fired before your internship ends — Jisoo stormed back to her desk.
Go ahead. Try, if you can.
Seo-ha’s eyes gleamed as she looked at what had once been her desk.
✦ ✦ ✦
There were only a handful of restaurants that Lee Seung-oh frequented.
After lunch, he would always stop by his regular café for coffee, take a short walk around the block, and then return to the office.
Seo-ha knew every bit of that routine — the exact restaurants, the routes, the times he went for coffee, even when he usually took his walk.
But she didn’t go out of her way to meet him. That would have felt too forced, too artificial.
“Hello.”
Instead, she chose the street itself — a tteokbokki stall he had to pass on his way from the restaurant to the café.
“How much is one serving of tteokbokki?”
“Three thousand five hundred won.”
“I’ll have one, please. Can I drink the broth too?”
“’Course you can.”
As the vendor scooped the spicy rice cakes into a plastic-lined bowl, Seo-ha sipped the warm broth.
He’ll be here in about five minutes.
Using Seung-oh would not only help her secure her place in the company — it would also give her a legitimate excuse to visit the hospital. To meet her mother. To see Yoon Seo-ha’s original body with her own eyes.
And she wanted to see it — the sight of their once-fierce love rotting into trash, collapsing into mutual contempt and ruin.
“Here’s your tteokbokki.”
“Thank you!”
The truth was, Seo-ha didn’t even like tteokbokki. Seung-oh did.
More precisely — Seung-oh liked watching Yoon Seo-ha eat tteokbokki at street stalls.
She hadn’t understood back then, but now she did.
Why he’d taken her to all those tiny food stalls and convenience restaurants like Kimbap Heaven.
Across the crosswalk, Seung-oh appeared — unfortunately with Ryu Kyung-jun stuck to his side like a shadow. She’d have to figure out later why that spy was clinging to him.
Seo-ha stuffed a mouthful of rice cakes into her cheeks, to the point they almost burst. The soggy tteok stuck to her teeth and clogged her throat.
“Oh my, miss! Eat slowly, you’ll choke!”
The kind vendor handed her another paper cup filled with fishcake broth.
“Kama-amnida!” (Thank you!)
Pounding her chest, Seo-ha barely managed to swallow the tteokbokki.
From across the four-lane road, the sight was oddly captivating. It was Kyung-jun, not Seung-oh, who noticed her first —
A woman, completely unlike Yoon Seo-ha, yet somehow reminding him of her, sat alone at a food stall, shoveling tteokbokki into her mouth like a starving runaway.
Yeah. Just the same name — there’s no way a woman like that could resemble Yoon Seo-ha.
“Jo Seo-ha…”
At Kyung-jun’s mutter, Seung-oh finally saw her too.
The light turned green. Seung-oh immediately started crossing, heading straight for the food stall. Kyung-jun hurried to grab his arm.
“Where are you going, sir?”
“Didn’t have enough lunch.”
A blatant lie. Kyung-jun noticed his eyes were fixed squarely on Jo Seo-ha and frowned.
“I’ll have someone bring snacks to your office.”
“Just one fishcake. That’ll do.”
Their bickering made Seo-ha turn around in surprise.
“Ah— hello! I’m intern Jo Seo-ha!”
She bowed a perfect ninety degrees, a smudge of red tteokbokki sauce on her lips. Seung-oh chuckled softly and pulled out a handkerchief.
“What’s so delicious that you’re eating alone like that?”
“Ah, just… tteokbokki…”
Instead of taking the handkerchief, she grabbed some tissues from the stall and roughly wiped her mouth — which only smeared the sauce worse, blending it with her half-smudged lipstick.
“You came here for tteokbokki too, sir?”
“Just thought I’d have a fishcake. Ryu, you want one?”
“No, thank you.”
Kyung-jun retreated behind the tent, watching the two closely, clearly uncomfortable. Seung-oh picked one fishcake skewer, brushed on soy sauce, and asked,
“You started today, right? How’s the company so far?”
“I love it. It feels like a dream.”
With lipstick and sauce still smeared around her mouth, she smiled bashfully — the kind of smile that made him want to wipe it for her.
“It’s all thanks to you, sir. I’ll work really hard — I’ll make sure to repay the kindness of hiring me!”
“Working hard is good, but…”
He wet the handkerchief with a bit of water and gently wiped the corners of her mouth.
“Try not to walk around with food on your face. Makes you look silly.”
“S-Sorry!”
Flustered, Seo-ha snatched the handkerchief and scrubbed her mouth furiously.
“Guess I ate too fast. I skipped breakfast, so I was starving…”
“You skipped breakfast too? Then you should eat a real meal, not tteokbokki.”
“Oh, um, that’s… I mean…”
“Hmm?”
Avoiding his eyes, she fidgeted with her fingers and shook her head quickly.
“No, it’s fine. I actually love tteokbokki.”
Beneath her navy uniform skirt peeked a pair of worn-out sneakers — cheap ones, probably from a street market, the kind that looked ready to split open any day.
Seung-oh’s gaze lingered on them for a moment before he took out his wallet.
“How much did she have?”
“One serving of tteokbokki. 3,500 won.”
“Here you go.”
“Huh? Sir, you don’t have to—!”
Ignoring her, Seung-oh handed the vendor a yellow 50,000-won bill.
“Keep the change. Next time she comes, give her tteokbokki. Maybe some fried food too.”
“Oh my, you’re such a generous boss.”
“Really, you don’t have to! I have money!”
Even her frantic wallet — the same one she’d once dropped by accident — only held a lonely 5,000-won bill inside.
“It’s fine. Consider it part of the company benefits.”
“Benefits?”
Blinking innocently, she broke into a wide grin.
“Thank you, sir! Best company benefits ever! When I get my first paycheck, I’ll treat you to tteokbokki and sundae!”
“I’ll hold you to that. Finish up slowly and head back.”
As Seung-oh turned to leave, Seo-ha suddenly grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait — your handkerchief!”
“Didn’t you just wipe your mouth with that? You used it, and now you want me to take it back and wash it?”
“N-No, that’s not what I meant…”
Her bright expression faded again, eyes drooping sadly. She looked even more pitiful than Jisoo had three years ago — so naive it tugged at his heart.
“Then I’ll wash it clean and bring it to you. I’ll even iron it.”
“And where exactly will you bring it? Don’t tell me you plan to walk into the CEO’s office yourself?”
“N-No, of course not!”
Nearly in tears, the poor intern shook her head frantically. Seung-oh stopped teasing and smiled faintly.
“Bring it to the office tomorrow morning. If I’m not there, just leave it on my desk.”
“Sir? How could I possibly…”
“I’ll tell them ahead of time. It’s fine. See you.”
With that, he waved elegantly and walked away. Kyung-jun gave Seo-ha one last look before heading toward the café.
Left alone, the hint of tears faded from Seo-ha’s face. Her drooping eyes lifted back to their natural sharpness, and the trembling of her lips stilled.
“…Disgusting.”
Always putting on that perfect act.
How much must he have squirmed in inferiority, living next to someone brighter than himself — Yoon Seo-ha.
The tteokbokki had gone cold. Seo-ha didn’t touch what was left; she simply stuffed Seung-oh’s handkerchief into her pocket.
“Thank you for the food.”
“You’re leaving already? There’s still some left.”
“I don’t feel well. Thank you.”
And she meant it. Her stomach truly did feel sick.
