Chapter 29
After listening to the nun's story, Jeongjikhan found himself deep in thought.
Does religion also admit the world isn't beautiful?
Jeongjikhan asked with a conflicted expression.
"In Catholicism... aren't we supposed to believe humans are inherently good?"
"It's the opposite."
"The opposite?"
"Are you saying all humans are defined as evil?"
Startled by the nun's unexpected answer, Jeongjikhan scratched his sideburns and asked:
"Then... do you think humans are evil?"
"Do you follow any religion, Jeongjikhan?"
"I don't."
"Ah, that makes sense for someone who can see the departed."
Even before gaining the ability to see spirits, he hadn't believed in religion. If gods existed, they wouldn't have taken his father away.
The nun continued in a measured tone:
"Most religions are founded on the concept of original sin."
"That's surprising. I thought it was the opposite."
"Religions argue that since the world contains so much evil, we must believe in God, purify our souls, and strive for heaven."
"Do you agree with that philosophy?"
The nun responded to Jeongjikhan's question with a faint smile.
"My perspective differs slightly."
"How so?"
"Where do you believe God resides, Jeongjikhan?"
"I imagine Him above us or below us."
As someone who converses with spirits and shares coffee with grim reapers, Jeongjikhan knew deities existed but remained indifferent to human affairs—a perspective unique to an employee of the Spirit Café. The nun's answer diverged sharply:
"I believe all gods dwell within humans."
"Within us?"
"Believing in God doesn't make people virtuous. The existence of those who exploit faith proves this."
"..."
"Therefore, I consider those who trust themselves, nurture their inner selves, and practice self-reflection to be the true believers. Their souls are pure."
Her words left Jeongjikhan both flustered and awed by their profundity. He bowed his head instead of replying. Faith—in others, in religion, in work—never came easily. Self-trust proved hardest of all.
Am I on the right path?
Am I doing enough?
What if my choices are wrong?
Such doubts made him feel like the least reliable person in the world. Yet persisting in self-belief... Wasn't this the nun's true message?
Jeongjikhan pressed his palms together.
"Amen."
"Amen."
A lingering concern surfaced.
"Sister."
"Yes?"
"Earlier, you mentioned a child who called wanting chicken. What became of him?"
While Manager Choi's situation was one matter, how had that chicken-craving child coped?
The nun smiled bitterly.
"He suffered greatly too."
Gazing at the Virgin Mary statue, she recalled:
"His name was Baek Sucheol."
"What happened to him?"
"Guilt consumed him. He wept nightly, grieving as if he'd lost his own parents."
"..."
"Yet he overcame it."
"Could you share how? If I meet the director later... I suspect he'll ask."
The nun nodded slowly.
"Sucheol was nineteen then—preparing for college entrance exams while aspiring to become a doctor."
The word "doctor" reminded Jeongjikhan of his sister Jeong Suhye. Both shared the same age. Had Sucheol conquered his pain through studies?
"What kind of person was he?"
"A dependable older brother figure. That day, he took charge when the younger children begged for chicken."
"..."
When Sucheol heard that the chairman had passed away... he cried so much. He was really struggling. He had looked up to the chairman like a father, so he grieved as if he had lost his own parents.
"..."
"The chairman also cared deeply for Sucheol. When Sucheol was about to enter medical school, the chairman even gave him tuition money in advance for when he needed it."
The man who came from the late chairman’s cafe.
He said he had 12 daughters and 13 sons.
Among them, it seemed he cherished his eldest son, Baek Sucheol, the most.
"What happened to Baek Sucheol?"
"He’s now at OOO University Hospital."
"He became a doctor?"
"Yes. After the chairman passed away... he overcame his grief through studying. He’s a strong-willed young man."
"Wow..."
It couldn’t have been easy.
To think someone he’d looked up to like a father had died because of his phone call...
I wouldn’t survive.
Just imagining it made his heart plummet, as if blood had stopped flowing through his veins.
The nun took a deep breath and spoke.
"Sucheol vowed to become a doctor so he could save patients like the chairman, no matter what. He studied relentlessly, swallowing his tears of blood."
"It must’ve been hard for those watching him too."
"Yes. Back then, many teachers prayed for the chairman and Sucheol."
"Can you still contact Baek Sucheol?"
"He volunteers here on his days off. Oh, he’s supposed to come this evening—would you like to meet him?"
"No, that’s alright. It’s impressive, though. He must be busy with hospital work."
"Yes. He’s exhausted himself... but still comes to examine the children and buy them treats. Just like the chairman used to."
Baek Sucheol seemed deeply influenced by the chairman.
Jeongjikhan quietly stroked his chin, then turned to the nun.
"Thank you for sharing this. I’ll ensure the chairman finds peace in a good place."
"Thank you. Truly... in every way."
"Don’t mention it. It’s my duty."
"Thanks to you, I feel at ease too."
"You do?"
"Yes. I often doubted whether my prayers reached anyone. But meeting you has given me certainty."
Prayers to an existence of uncertain reality—no ordinary ordeal.
Simply believing in an afterlife seemed to comfort the nun’s heart.
Jeongjikhan nodded slowly.
"Then I’ll take my leave. Please give my regards to the manager."
"Of course. If the chairman finds peace... let me know somehow."
"I will."
Jeongjikhan bowed to the nun and left the orphanage.
A story the chairman once told him surfaced unexpectedly:
- Have you ever concretely considered how, through what means, by what process, or why you want to become rich?
At the time, he hadn’t grasped it fully. Now he understood.
The reason chasing money alone isn’t enough—the clear purpose behind seeking wealth.
It meant defining your goals first, then examining their roots.
The chairman’s driving force—the orphanage children—had kept him earning tirelessly.
Jeongjikhan realized he needed such a force too:
- Do well while you can. Don’t plan to succeed later and then show filial piety—start doing right now.
- Time waits for no one.
The chairman had exposed the flaw in Jeongjikhan’s desire to become rich to fulfill filial duty: In the end, it was just my greed.
Filial piety required no wealth—it could be shown immediately.
Why had this simple truth eluded him?
Was this why humans lived perpetually unfinished lives?
On his way to the cafe, Jeongjikhan called his mother for the first time in ages.
"Hello?"
- Oh, son!
"Mom, what are you doing?"
- Working. Why? Something wrong?
"No, I just... wanted to hear your voice."
- Since when does my son call first?
Her thrilled voice revealed his neglect.
"I’ll call more often from now on."
- Really? That’d make me happy! Have you eaten?
"I’m eating well. Don’t worry. You should eat properly too."
His heart grew heavier with her voice, yet a faint smile touched his lips.
11 PM.
Customers flooded in the moment they opened. Jeongjikhan swiftly took orders and served coffee.
"Mr. Jeongjikhan?"
Yun Hyejeong approached the counter.
"Ah! Ms. Yun. I was just about to call you."
He retrieved a bag from behind the counter and handed her a laptop.
"Here’s the laptop."
"Ooh! You really brought it!"
"Of course. I’m excited to see your work."
"Hehe, thanks!"
She immediately powered it on and opened a document, but frowned after typing a few words.
"Any issues?"
Startled, she waved her hands.
"Ah, no! It’s just... the content’s fuzzy in my mind now."
"Did you back it up?"
"Right! Yes!"
She laughed awkwardly, scratched her head, then logged into her email and sighed in relief.
"Phew, it’s here. Thanks!"
"Credit yourself for backing it up, Ms. Yun."
"Haha! You think?"
Grinning, she opened her novel file and began rereading from Chapter 1.
"It’s amazing. I’d completely forgotten, but seeing it again... it all comes flooding back."
"Really? They say writers must hold everything in their minds. Seems true."
"Even the emotions I felt while writing resurface. Fascinating, right?"
Jeongjikhan listened intently.
"Remarkable. I didn’t expect the emotions too."
"Right? Looking back, it was tough... but equally joyful."
She beamed and showed him the manuscript.
"Want to read it?"
"May I?"
"Of course! You’re my first reader—it’s an honor!"
"Honor’s too much... I’m nervous."
"Read it and give feedback!"
Blushing, he scratched his nose bridge and started Chapter 1.
Her novel was a romance—a genre he’d never engaged with. His hesitation stemmed not from dislike, but fear of inadequate feedback.
Yet as he read, Jeongjikhan became captivated by the protagonists.
Clean prose.
Intuitive vocabulary and concise sentences. Seamless readability.
Even the scene where the leads confessed feelings with a passionate kiss... stirred this lifelong bachelor’s heart.
The plot was lean, humor deftly placed.
After devouring ten chapters, he looked up.
"Ms. Yun, what’s your pen name?"
"Haha! Secret!"
"Are you a famous author?"
"If I were, I’d refuse to die poor—I’d spend every penny first!"
Her self-deprecating humor left him unsure whether to laugh.
Jeongjikhan sipped cool water.
"What’s it like—being a writer?"
"Being a writer..."
She pouted her lower lip, chin in hand—a living cartoon character.
Then she fiddled with her bangs, smiling.
"It’s like walking through an endless tunnel."
"A tunnel?"
"Yes. So dark you can’t see an inch ahead. Eventually, you don’t even know if you’re moving forward... or backward."
