Into The Thrill

It was Professor Park Jong-hoon.

A weary sigh escaped Haewon's lips. He answered the phone.
"Yes."
"This is Park Jong-hoon. Are you… is this a good time? Are you alone?"

"Yes, it’s fine. Go ahead."
"If you’re not too busy, could we meet briefly today?"
"Right now?"

It was a vague hour to meet someone. Especially someone he couldn’t exactly call close. The time on the dashboard touchscreen had already passed nine p.m.
"I’m scheduled to fly out tomorrow for a seminar, so I won’t be available after tonight."
Park Jong-hoon’s voice carried a slight urgency, as if this was his only chance.

"What’s this about? If it’s a performance, I can’t. The orchestra’s schedule for the second half is already set."
Haewon spoke as he gently stroked the violin case resting beside him. A breath of hesitation spilled out through the phone.
"It’s not that. There’s something I have to tell you."
"Can’t you say it over the phone?"

"It’s not something I can say on the phone."
Haewon cracked the window open. Warm wind blew in, lifting strands of his hair.
"I think I already know what you’re trying to say… Sorry, but I’m not interested."

"Excuse me?"
"I’m seeing someone. You saw him back then, didn’t you?"
"Ah, no, it’s not about that. Actually, it’s… I have something to say about that friend of yours."

The unexpected comment made Haewon raise the window again. The car went quiet. The chauffeur, focused on the road, glanced at Haewon through the rearview mirror.
That friend—he meant Woojin.
The vague thoughts that had been lingering in his mind might just find a concrete connection through what Park Jong-hoon had to say.

"Where are you right now?"
"I’m at the university. Could you come here?"
"I’ll call when I get there."

Haewon gave the chauffeur a new destination. The car made a U-turn.
About twenty minutes later, Haewon’s car entered the university grounds, where the occasional light still glowed in the research building. The car stopped in front of the music department. Haewon added ten thousand won to the fare and handed it to the chauffeur.
When he called, Park Jong-hoon replied quickly, saying he’d come out right away. Haewon stepped out into the summer breeze and waited.

Maybe Park Jong-hoon could explain Woojin’s mother’s strange behavior—as if Woojin carried some fatal flaw. After all, he said he had something to say about Woojin.
Woojin hadn’t recognized him, but Park Jong-hoon seemed to know him. The way his eyes had flinched when he saw Woojin at the Jeju hotel was still vivid in Haewon’s mind.
Before long, Park Jong-hoon appeared, walking briskly. Haewon, who had been leaning against the car, straightened and greeted him.
"Sorry for asking you to meet at such a late hour."

"It’s all right."
"Shall we go inside?"
"No, just tell me here."

The campus, emptied of students, was cloaked in still silence and darkness. Park Jong-hoon led Haewon to a nearby bench, suggesting they sit.
They sat on a bench placed beneath a large plane tree. There was a rustling sound nearby—perhaps from some rodent—then it disappeared.
"Professor, how do you know Woojin hyung?"

Haewon asked bluntly. Park Jong-hoon looked at him and pressed his lips together, uncertain.
Haewon felt increasingly gripped by a strange sense of déjà vu.
Choi Hyunmi was strange. Park Jong-hoon was strange, too.

They knew things he didn’t. They worried about him, the one who didn’t know. They pitied him. There was something about Woojin that made others pity Haewon.
"Prosecutor Hyun Woojin… is actually my junior from high school."
"Then why did you act like you didn’t know him? You saw him at the hotel."

"…Well, he probably doesn’t remember me."
He looked troubled. He was about to say bad things about Woojin—the man Haewon was seeing.
Normally, Haewon wouldn’t have listened. He would’ve dismissed him. Treated him like nothing. But the call from Park Jong-hoon after his visit with Woojin’s mother wasn’t something he could brush off.

"Did Woojin hyung have some kind of mental illness back in school?"
"Excuse me?"
"He’s a bit strange. You’re trying to warn me about him, aren’t you? About Hyun Woojin. Am I wrong?"

"…Honestly, yes. This might be a mistake, but you’re a violinist I’d really like to work with someday. To be frank, I reached out because I’m genuinely worried about you."
He looked sincerely concerned as he spoke.
"You’re worried? About me? Why?"

At this point, Haewon was convinced. There ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) really was something fatally wrong with Woojin.
"I know it feels like I’m just badmouthing someone behind their back, and that’s unpleasant… but still, Hyun Woojin is a dangerous person."
"What do you mean? Is he mentally ill?"

"It’s not exactly that…"
"Then what? Is he a player? Not just two-timing, but twenty-timing? Does he make everyone he dates cry, break their hearts, leave them torn apart?"
Haewon spoke mockingly, almost attacking. He was determined not to believe anything this man said about Woojin. But then he flinched.

Everyone he dates ends up crying, heartbroken… or dead.
Two people who had said they loved him had died by suicide.
When he recalled Woojin’s fiancée and Taeshin, Haewon faltered. Park Jong-hoon’s eyes gleamed—there was something there.

"There is something weird, isn’t there?"
"What’s weird is that there’s nothing weird. What’s weird is you, acting weird."
"How long have you been seeing him?"

"Over a year."
"And in that time, you’ve never noticed anything strange?"
"I said no. There’s nothing. But everyone keeps acting like there is. Why…?"

Haewon was confused. There was nothing strange. Woojin was so gentle. He was a genuinely good, loving man. But everyone—his mother included—spoke about him like he was something else.
"When I moved up to third year, Woojin entered our school. He was the freshman rep. You know how it is—his outer shell was striking, so he got a lot of attention. I didn’t go to school much because I was in the arts track, but even I knew who he was. That’s how noticeable he was."
The way Park Jong-hoon kept referring to someone’s appearance as a "shell" was unsettling, but Haewon didn’t interrupt.

"There were ‘iljin’—delinquents—back then too. Especially in our school, full of cunning and cruel kids who did whatever they wanted because of their parents’ background. No way Woojin looked good to them. I heard he was severely bullied. About a month or two after admission—right before midterms, I think—it happened."
"What happened?"
"The kids who bullied Hyun Woojin… three of them died."

"…"
"All three… died."
"What does that have to do with him? Do you have any proof Woojin hyung killed them? They probably just got what they deserved."

That’s what he said, but Haewon felt his heart drop. Park Jong-hoon stared at him vacantly, likely dredging up memories buried under years of silence.
The bullies. The ones who died. All listed as accidents. No perpetrators ever found. The rumors that haunted the school halls for years.
There was never any proof that Woojin did it.

"How could a seventeen-year-old kill three people? Even if he did, they would’ve caught him. What, the police are idiots?"
"…Right. It’s probably just overthinking."
"…"

It didn’t make sense. A seventeen-year-old, still barely past boyhood, killing three people? Park Jong-hoon nodded as if agreeing with Haewon’s reasoning—that it was impossible.
Staring blankly down at his feet, Park Jong-hoon continued.
"But strangely, everyone thought it was Hyun Woojin. Even I, who barely knew him, just accepted it. Everyone believed he did it."

"They were just desperate to blame someone. Three kids died—someone had to take responsibility. And Woojin hyung was an easy target."
Haewon defended him. He imagined the bitterness Woojin must’ve endured at seventeen and pitied him. Pity rose within him, swelling with all his strength. And yet, from somewhere deep in his chest, an uneasy fog—like blue smoke—began to curl upward. Haewon ignored it. Forced himself to pretend he didn’t see it. Convinced himself Woojin would never do such a thing. That he wasn’t like that. That the cruelty of those who framed him was the real horror. He burned with disbelief at how anyone could do that to a boy who had already suffered.
"When Chairwoman Seo Ok-hwa mentioned Hyun Woojin’s name, I felt a sudden jolt. I thought, no way—it must be someone with the same name. But when I saw him standing next to you at the hotel that day, I was so shocked… and scared."

"…"
Park Jong-hoon shuddered as if a murderer’s blade had brushed the back of his neck.
"I heard something at a reunion."

"What now?"
"That his fiancée died by suicide…"
"That had nothing to do with Woojin hyung. I know. She was badly injured in a car accident and took her own life out of despair. It wasn’t because of him."

"That’s what I heard too. But do you know what’s really strange?"
Haewon didn’t want to listen anymore. He wanted to plug his ears. But he just sat there, staring at Park Jong-hoon, whose face twisted with disbelief even as he opened his mouth.
"Of the three kids who died back then, one of them killed himself. He was the one who used to rage blindly and torment Hyun Woojin. He ended up hanging himself with his own hands."

"…"
"What I’m saying isn’t that Hyun Woojin did it. It’s just… isn’t it too much to call it coincidence, when there are that many deaths around him?"
"…"

There was someone else Park Jong-hoon didn’t know about.
Taeshin.
After saying all that, as if even he was shaken, Park Jong-hoon shook his head and muttered that Haewon should just forget he said anything. Then he turned and left.

Haewon sat dazed in the car. Ever since the moment Park Jong-hoon said three people had died, the pounding of his heart hadn’t subsided.
He, who barely flinched at most things, who hadn’t even cried much during his mother’s funeral—he was now overcome by an unrelenting anxiety and fear that shook him to his core, as if all his inner barricades had been ripped open.
Haewon believed what he saw, and listened to what he heard. Other people’s opinions were just that—their opinions. The Woojin he knew, at least, wasn’t like that.

Just this morning—
When he complained about a stiff neck and shoulders from sleeping wrong, Woojin had spent a long time massaging the back of his neck and shoulders. He had asked if it was loosening up, kneading Haewon’s shoulders, and when Haewon said it still hurt, he had patiently pressed into the nape of his neck. Then he had kissed his shoulder and teased him, making him squirm beneath him in laughter. And after that, the dull ache in his shoulders had completely vanished.

They were the strange ones. Choi Hyunmi. Park Jong-hoon. They misunderstood him. Park Jong-hoon could be excused, but Choi Hyunmi—her strange tone, her cryptic question about whether her son was normal, her odd behavior…

Haewon shook his head instinctively and muttered, "No," under his breath. Just then, his phone rang, and he flinched as if someone had pushed him off a cliff. The name on the screen was the very person who had been weighing on his chest, making him tremble without end. He brought the phone to his ear.
"…Yeah."
"Where are you? Why aren’t you here yet?"

"I’m on my way. I had some wine."
"Your mom said she already arrived. Said it’s been a while since you parted."
"…Did you know I met Choi Hyunmi?"

"I spoke to my mother."
She had told him not to say anything. Choi Hyunmi had specifically asked him not to tell Woojin. And yet she herself had apparently told him.
Unless…

Unless Woojin just knew. Knew everything. Even without being told.
Because he always knew everything.
What kind of paintings Haewon liked, what food he liked, what music he liked…

Which hotel room he stayed in, what positions he preferred—everything.
"I had wine, so I was waiting to sober up before driving."
"Call a driver service."

"I can’t. It’s a new car. I’ll drive myself."
"…You didn’t meet someone else, did you?"
"Who would I meet at this hour?"

It felt like he was being interrogated. His heart pounded.
"Haewon."
"Yeah…"

"Call a driver. Don’t drive."
"I sobered up. I’m leaving now."
"You’re not driving after drinking. Call a driver."

"Okay. I’ll call one. I won’t drive."
"Hurry and come."
As soon as he ended the call, Haewon called for a driver service. Then he called Woojin’s mother. He hoped she wouldn’t answer. If the vague suspicion flickering in his heart suddenly solidified and crashed down on him like icy water, if those ominous thoughts turned out to be real—Haewon knew better than anyone that he wasn’t capable of handling it.

But she answered.
"Haewon? You’re not home yet? Is something wrong?"
"No. I just called to check if you got home safely. I was walking a bit, planning to drive back once I sobered up."

"You won’t get stopped for that little wine."
"Still. I only just got my license. I have to be careful."
Her voice was light and cheerful, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Haewon’s faint reflection showed on the dark car window.

"Did you happen to tell him we met today?"
"Woojin called. I thought you had told him."
"…Yes. I actually did. We don’t lie to each other. I… really hate lying."

"That’s good. Even little lies shouldn’t exist between people. Trust is the only way a relationship can last."
She gave him kind words. Haewon nodded. After saying goodbye, he hung up.
Not long after, Haewon was being driven somewhere in the car. To the penthouse he shared with Woojin.

After a long shower, Haewon didn’t leave the bathroom. He stood silently in front of the mirror. Water dripped from his wet hair, soaking the white nape of his neck, trailing down his shoulders and chest.
Maybe what Park Jong-hoon said was true. Or maybe, those stories from back then had been inflated rumors—spiteful inventions meant to damage someone people envied in their youth.
But still, just like Park Jong-hoon said… too many people had died. So many that calling it coincidence felt like a stretch.

Knock, knock. At the sound of the knock, the pale face in the mirror flinched. Haewon turned his head. Neither he nor Woojin ever locked the bathroom door when they showered. Haewon had rarely locked doors in his life. And yet, the fact that the door was unlocked startled him. The door opened, and under the distinct bathroom lighting, Woojin stepped inside.
"What are you doing?"
"Just looking in the mirror."

At his words, Woojin chuckled softly. It was a handsome, elegant smile. A smile like that, on a freshman class rep, was bound to provoke jealousy. It was the kind of smile that stoked the insecurities and envy of teenagers raised in less privileged homes. He was someone who shined no matter where he was. And the brighter the light, the darker the shadow.
"Looking at yourself and realizing how pretty you are?"
"…Do you think I’m pretty?"

Teasing, Woojin’s voice held amusement, but Haewon didn’t smile. He turned back to the mirror. The flawlessly polished surface reflected both of them without filter.
Woojin looked at Haewon in the mirror.
As if remembering something, the corner of Woojin’s lips curled. He slowly touched Haewon’s cheek and wet hair. His thumb brushed along Haewon’s long lashes. Haewon closed his eyes, then opened them again. Their gazes met in the mirror.

"What? Did someone say you’re pretty?"
"Between the two of us, who’s prettier?"
Haewon didn’t answer his question, and instead posed his own. Woojin looked at his own reflection, then Haewon’s. After a moment of consideration, he gave his verdict.

"If I had to score it, I’d say me."
"Why?"
"No one’s using your face as their phone wallpaper, are they?"

Haewon had saved a screencap of Woojin leaving the Central District Prosecutors’ Office during a news segment and set it as the wallpaper on both his laptop and phone. It was blurry, but unmistakably him.
Among all those prosecutors, Haewon could spot him instantly. Even in a sea of people, he shone.