Chapter 30
It was a lonely profession just to hear about.
When Jeong Jikhan didn’t respond, Yoon Hyejeong laughed heartily and spoke up.
“Puhaha! Still, it’s not so bad. It gets comfortable once you get used to it.”
“Can you really get used to it? It seems lonely.”
“Do you know why people feel lonely?”
“Because they’re alone?”
“No. It’s because I’m not close with myself.”
What kind of answer was that?
As Jeong Jikhan scratched his beard in confusion at her cryptic words, Yoon Hyejeong smiled warmly and continued.
“Your most precious friend in the world is yourself, and your worst enemy is also yourself.”
He didn’t know how to respond.
Choosing silence instead, Yoon Hyejeong smiled faintly and went on.
“If I become close with myself, even walking through a tunnel alone isn’t so bad.”
“I’m not sure I understand what that means.”
When Jeong Jikhan spoke frankly, Yoon Hyejeong crossed her arms and fell into thought.
Then she explained slowly, as if to help him grasp her meaning.
“Writing is an act of exposing your inner self to others. At first, it’s embarrassing. Terrifying, even, to show it to someone.”
Exposing your inner self……
Revealing your shameful memories, moments, and emotions exactly as they are.
Even the parts you’d rather keep hidden seep into your writing.
“Doesn’t that feel awkward?”
“Right? But you get used to it gradually.”
“You can get used to that? Didn’t you struggle?”
“If I get hit with review bombs or malicious comments…… it really stings. No wonder people develop social anxiety, panic disorders, or depression.”
“So you become afraid of being judged.”
“Oh? Exactly. Many writers quit because they fear that judgment.”
Being judged by others for a lifetime.
Maintaining your sanity amid harsh criticism from countless strangers must be difficult.
‘It’s probably similar to standing in front of a camera.’
Wouldn’t celebrities feel the same?
If Jeong Jikhan became an actor…… he’d experience exactly what Yoon Hyejeong described.
Singers were no different.
Behind their radiant smiles and dazzling stage presence lay grueling effort and pain.
Some feel homicidal rage from hateful comments and review bombs; others succumb to depression.
They work endlessly for a single moment onstage, yet few acknowledge their effort.
And waiting beyond that is cold judgment, whether they want it or not.
Writers, too, must write daily without rest until their work is published, awaiting approval from publishers or platforms.
There would be countless moments of despair. Even if their novel finally saw the light of day, facing review bombs and hate comments would be mentally crushing.
Yoon Hyejeong propped her chin on one hand, staring at her mug before speaking with a wry smile.
“That’s why you have to befriend yourself. Just to endure.”
“…….”
“When I get harsh criticism, I first curse the trolls. But over time, I lose confidence in my writing… and end up blaming myself for creating it.”
“…….”
“Then you can’t help growing distant from yourself. You turn negative. Pessimistic about everything.”
Yoon Hyejeong resembled a comic book character.
Her bright demeanor had masked it.
One couldn’t begin to imagine how much hardship she’d endured to reach this point of laughter.
As Jeong Jikhan listened with sealed lips, Yoon Hyejeong smiled thinly.
“So I ask myself—will you keep doing this despite everything?”
“Huh?”
“If I still love this work… if I still want it despite everything… then I have to continue, right?”
“You’re stronger than you look, Ms. Yoon Hyejeong.”
“Eh? Do I seem weak?”
“No… just eccentric.”
“Puhaha! That’s also correct!”
Yoon Hyejeong laughed boisterously.
“Aish! The mood’s too heavy. Tension up! Tension up!”
“Te-Tension up!”
When Jeong Jikhan awkwardly parroted her, she grinned brightly.
“So Mr. Jeong Jikhan, no matter what you do, love yourself. Cherish yourself.”
“……I will.”
“That’s how you stand tall. I’m no bestselling author, but I’ve managed to survive in this industry.”
“Surviving in that industry alone sounds like success.”
“We call it ‘Geulmeok.’”
“Geulmeok?”
“‘Living by the pen’—Geulmeok.”
Geulmeok writer Yoon Hyejeong.
Though her eyes smiled lazily, even that expression commanded respect.
Jeong Jikhan nodded slowly.
“When this novel comes out, I’ll flood it with positive comments and ten-star reviews.”
“Your words alone mean everything.”
“I mean it.”
“Ah, I’m honored! Haha!”
Yoon Hyejeong chuckled like a sly uncle, rubbing the back of her neck.
He’d heard writers longed to treat readers who left kind comments and perfect ratings—coffee, meals, anything.
He sincerely wished them happiness in return.
Listening to her, Jeong Jikhan recalled a nun’s words:
-All gods reside within the human heart.
-Those who trust themselves, nurture their inner selves, and reflect—they are the ones who truly believe. The purest souls.
To keep moving forward steadfastly, no matter the hardship.
Wasn’t Yoon Hyejeong exactly that kind of person?
As the current customers left the café, the next wave entered.
Among them was a man wearing a gleaming gold watch.
Jeong Jikhan took orders, input them into the POS, and swiftly brewed coffees.
Finally preparing the man’s americano, he called out:
“Your americano is ready!”
The man reading newspaper jerked upright and approached the counter.
So he had noticed but pretended not to.
“Thanks.”
“Ah, sir.”
When Jeong Jikhan stopped him, the man tilted his head.
“What, want another stock lecture today?”
“No, it’s about…”
“Like I said yesterday, build your seed money first. With your tiny funds, you’ll just stress over peanuts.”
“It’s about Hope Orphanage.”
“……!”
At the name, the man’s eyelids twitched.
He slid onto a barstool and spoke.
“How do you know that place?”
“I visited today.”
“Why?”
“I’m here to help you achieve enlightenment, Representative.”
The representative narrowed his eyes, placed both arms on the counter, and clasped his hands together.
“Not achieving enlightenment is my own choice. It’s not something for you to meddle in.”
“Helping customers achieve enlightenment is my job.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Sister, Manager Choi, and Mr. Sucheol seem to have different opinions.”
The representative’s eyes widened, and he made a somewhat displeased expression.
It seemed he was uncomfortable with Jeongjikhan having looked into his background.
But Jeongjikhan wasn’t one to back down.
From the representative’s demeanor, it was clear he had a lone wolf temperament.
Such people often didn’t understand their own emotions.
Jeongjikhan knew this because he shared the same tendency.
Working at the Café of the Dead, he found himself questioning and answering himself more often, and through this, he came to realize something.
He had been living without truly knowing who Jeongjikhan was.
Jeongjikhan exhaled sharply and asked the representative,
“Representative… do you resent Manager Choi, Mr. Baek Sucheol, and Sister?”
“Resent? I don’t do things like resent. It’s more beneficial to focus on my own work than waste time on that.”
“Then what part of yourself do you think holds regret?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
“Before coming to the café, how did you usually spend your time?”
“Do I have to answer that?”
The representative bristled like a porcupine.
Jeongjikhan stared straight into his eyes without flinching.
The representative, not one to be easily intimidated either, stared back without saying a word.
Sparks flew between their eyes, and neither backed down.
One minute passed, then two, then three.
After three minutes of this standoff, the representative finally stood up.
“Tsk, what are you so curious about? Why are you doing this to me?”
In the end, the representative raised both hands in surrender.
He had no choice.
While he might have been an impressive figure in life, at the Café of the Dead, Jeongjikhan held absolute authority.
If Jeongjikhan didn’t serve coffee, the spirits here would turn into malevolent ghosts.
They came to the café to avoid becoming malevolent ghosts, but if the staff refused to serve coffee…
To prevent this, the contract explicitly stated:
The staff must listen attentively to the spirits’ stories and actively engage in conversation.
The staff must not argue with the spirits.
The problem was that the current staff member at the Café of the Dead was an invincible being with a goblin emblem.
The term “staff” in the contract felt almost meaningless in this context.
Jeongjikhan finally smiled faintly and spoke.
“You once said that even if you invest, you need at least three thousand won and that money earned through hard work shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
“…….”
“That’s why I do my best at my job. This place is where I work hard for my living. Even if it feels coercive, please understand.”
“Understand? This feels more like coercion.”
The representative grumbled but still raised the corner of his mouth slightly.
He seemed to be enjoying this situation—the psychology of someone who relishes challenges.
Is this how such people rise to leadership positions?
“So what? You want me to talk about what I did before coming here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, doing good deeds earns you an invitation to the café, so of course I helped people.”
“And in your free time?”
“I read news or newspapers… things like that.”
“Could you elaborate? Specifically where and what you did.”
The representative licked his lips and took a sip of steaming Americano coffee before speaking in a low voice,
“I visited my company… watched how things were going and how Sucheol was doing.”
“Why?”
“I was curious. I wanted to see how the company I spent my life on was doing… and if Sucheol was doing well… I worried about him too.”
“Manager Choi and Mr. Baek Sucheol worry about you a lot—didn’t you know that?”
“Didn’t see them talking about me.”
Jeongjikhan clenched his fist confidently.
‘It’s curiosity.’
The desire for those left behind in their vanished world to remember them.
This was a commonality among all spirits.
The longing for someone to acknowledge them.
Jeongjikhan nodded slowly and asked,
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you could talk directly?”
“That’s right. I tried, but they didn’t seem to hear or see me.”
“They really can’t hear or see you, so don’t take it too much to heart.”
“Human hearts aren’t so easily swayed. Disappointment is disappointment.”
Embarrassed to reveal his inner thoughts, the representative scratched his forearm and avoided Jeongjikhan’s gaze.
Jeongjikhan smiled warmly and said,
“There’s a way. I can help.”
“How?”
“We can communicate through dreams.”
“…You mean I can enter their dreams?”
“Yes. I can help.”
The representative’s pupils wavered.
A mix of anticipation, embarrassment, and above all, worry—was it right for someone who had been gone for fifteen years to appear in their dreams?
“It’s been fifteen years since I left the world. Wouldn’t appearing now just make things awkward?”
Wanting to appear in their dreams yet hesitating, he asked Jeongjikhan again.
Despite having led a company, when it came to expressing emotions, he was an ordinary person.
He even resembled a bashful boy, prompting Jeongjikhan to smile warmly and say,
“You once said you wanted to rediscover your初心 (original intentions), so you visited the orphanage.”
“That’s right.”
“Then you continued volunteering and dedicated yourself to the children.”
“Dedicated is a bit…”
Embarrassed, the representative rubbed his forehead and avoided eye contact.
Jeongjikhan held the representative’s hand and smiled faintly.
“It’s time to leave now.”
“…….”
“Let go of the lingering attachments there. That way, you can start anew.”
The representative remained silent.
Had he become lost in thought?
Jeongjikhan couldn’t press further and patiently waited for his answer.
If the representative still refused, Jeongjikhan wouldn’t force him.
Respecting his opinion was necessary.
Before long, the representative opened his mouth.
“What do I need to do?”
