Episode 217
He keeps flooding my mind. So much that daily life feels heavy, and the collapse of Oh Yuri’s old worldview is starkly visible. That man, Seon Taeyang.
I felt a sense of crisis—this can’t go on.
So, squeezing out nonexistent time, I tracked down the quack doctor who sold my mother and me his treatment program. He’d retired, making it hard to find him, but when he heard I was looking, he contacted me personally.
Meeting again, the quack smiled warmly. “It’s been a while, Oh Chunja. …Or should I call you Oh Yuri now?”
“The name doesn’t matter.”
That wasn’t the issue.
“What did you do to me?”
“…What do you mean? Are you experiencing changes?”
“I am. Intensely.”
“What kind of changes?”
Despite my reluctance, I described the strange experiences since meeting Seon Taeyang.
“Someone keeps entering my mind. I try not to think about him, I don’t feel the need to, and there’s no value in it, but he keeps flooding my thoughts, over and over.”
It’s incredibly strange. Thoughts should flow only by my intent, but even without my will, that man overwhelms my mind.
This wasn’t normal.
“Is it everyone, or one person?”
“One person.”
“…”
The doctor, after a thoughtful pause, asked, “Can you guess what that person is thinking?”
No, I couldn’t. Understanding him was impossible for me.
“I don’t know. How could I?”
“Do you find yourself imagining what he might think?”
“…Yes, I do.”
“And what he might feel in certain situations?”
“Yes, that too.”
With a peculiar smile, the doctor said, “You’re empathizing, Chunja.”
“…What?”
It was an awkward word, one I’d never associated with myself.
“You said I’m a psychopath. How could I empathize? I’m a crazy person who sees only numbers and patterns, ignoring emotions, right?”
“Technically, it’s congenital antisocial personality disorder.”
“Same difference, isn’t it?”
“There’s a range. It depends on whether it encompasses more or is limited to specific cases.”
“You called it psychopathy back then.”
“That was for simplicity’s sake… No, rather than excuses, let me put it this way.”
With a bitter smile, the doctor looked at me. “A common misconception is that psychopaths lack emotions. That’s more like alexithymia or emotional expression disorder. They’re distinct.”
“…”
“So, Chunja, you’re not without emotions. …And if you can recognize your own, you can empathize.”
I scoffed. “Then I’m just normal, right? No way. I know I’m crazy better than anyone.”
“There are differences, of course. You feel fewer emotions than most. But psychopathy applies when you deviate from the norm. Empathy isn’t uniform—some empathize a little, some not at all, and some only with animals, plants, characters, or specific people.”
“…”
One person came to mind.
“I designed your program thinking you could empathize slightly, but I was wrong. You’re the last case.”
“…”
“You said someone keeps entering your mind, and you can’t stop thinking about what they feel or think, even unintentionally. That’s empathy. It seeps in naturally, whether you want it or not.”
This is natural? This dizzying, tingling, heart-pounding feeling—everyone feels this and lives normally? Is that possible?
“…Do others feel this all the time?”
“They do. Exhaustingly so.”
“…”
Dismissing my question swiftly, the doctor said earnestly, “Chunja, don’t ignore that impulse, that empathy. It might be your last chance.”
“And if I do?”
At my defiance, he looked surprised, then chuckled playfully. “That won’t be easy, will it?”
***
*Girl 100* ended explosively. I, at the center of that explosion, could no longer work with Flower Entertainment—especially since the company imploded. Even without my involvement, it would’ve collapsed.
Surprisingly, many agencies offered contracts to a whistleblower like me. My efforts to charm the staff paid off, and my above-average visuals and skills made me a prime commodity.
Most offers were cynical, aiming to exploit my notoriety for noise marketing, but some came from reputable agencies—shockingly good ones. They were lavish options for a whistleblower. Yet, I chose to beg TwoBear’s Seon Taeyang to take me, with exaggerated charm.
It was a short-term loss but a long-term investment. From what I’d seen, Taeyang and his fledgling company had immense potential.
Amid my desperate flattery, Taeyang said, “I’m not sure I’d pick someone like you.”
“…”
“You’re so casual about joining, it makes me skeptical. Choosing four members decides TwoBear’s fate. I want someone desperate, not flippant.”
He must know a high-quality asset like me walking into TwoBear is like a goldmine—flawed, but requiring no extra investment. My track record made his skepticism rational. I needed to gradually build my appeal, as persuasion works that way.
“Hmm… You’d need to grovel and lick my feet for me to get it.”
But playing hard to get once might balance the power dynamic. He likely said it to provoke that, and I’m worth it.
Yet…
“If you pick me, I’ll lick your feet daily! No, I’ll give you a full-body tongue bath! Trust Oh Yuri just once!”
My body moved first.
“Hey, stop—stop! Ack! You actually licked!”
Staring blankly at his flushed, flustered face, I snapped back to reality.
…What did I just do?
***
After signing with TwoBear, CEO Cheon Aram told me, “There’s something you should keep in mind as a TwoBear girl group member.”
“What’s that?”
Her commanding smile faltered, and she sighed. “The… other members aren’t typical, especially in relationships.”
I answered quickly. “That’s fine. I’m used to group life. Even if we clash, I’ll manage to avoid trouble.”
“No, it’s not about you clashing with them… Ha.”
Shaking her head, Cheon Aram said with an odd smile, “You’ll see for yourself.”
“…What does that mean?”
“You’ll find out soon.”
The next day, I learned the insane truth: all three trainees I’d spend seven years with were in love with our manager, Seon Taeyang.
***
I think I tried hard to delay the catastrophe of the precarious relationship between three girls with overwhelming feelings and that strange man, Taeyang, knowing their bomb would engulf me too.
Then Autumn unnie caused a disaster. She coerced Taeyang into promising to be her lover by threatening her life. It was a mad act no one predicted.
Well, I knew one of the three would snap eventually, but not this soon. I thought it’d be near the contract’s end.
Rushing to Taeyang’s office, I saw his face—racked with guilt, silently crying without tears.
“…”
In that moment, his heart, thoughts, and sense of responsibility flooded into me uncontrollably. They swam and burrowed, filling my chest with his piercing pain and sadness, making me *empathize*.
I tried to ignore it. It wasn’t like me. A selfish, crazy girl like Oh Yuri shouldn’t care.
“That won’t be easy, will it?”
But the quack doctor was right.
“…Yuri?”
I couldn’t leave it alone.
Handing him a stolen non-alcoholic beer, I thought desperately. For the first time, I didn’t hide from the wave of Taeyang sweeping my mind but plunged into it, engaging with that “empathy.” At its end, I vaguely knew what he needed.
“You can think of me as a friend.”
Calling myself a name I’d never claimed was my answer.
“A casual friend for a beer and chat, one who doesn’t judge rationally.”
Taeyang took it with his usual gruffness, but the faint smile on his lips and eyes was different. I understood his emotion without calculating patterns or averages. It shifted from worry to *relief*.
I found the right answer. He felt at ease. His wounded heart seemed slightly healed.
“…”
…But my chest ached and throbbed instead.