Chapter 8: The Third Arc
Ju‑hyuk's idea was, as always, meticulously planned.
When Seo‑ah arrived at his office the next morning, he had a file waiting for her. Inside was a list of things she had never done.
· Go to a concert alone
· Stay out past 2 AM without checking work email
· Order the most expensive thing on a menu without looking at the price
· Travel somewhere without a plan
· Dance in public
· Tell someone how you really feel without calculating the consequences
"This is a bucket list," she said.
"It's a diagnostic tool." Ju‑hyuk sat across from her, looking annoyingly well‑rested. "You don't know what happiness looks like for you. That's fine. We'll try a few things and see what sticks."
"These are all things normal people do."
"Yes. And you've never been a normal person." He took the file back. "We have eighteen days left. That's enough time for six experiments. Three days each. Try something. See how it feels. If it works, we do more of it. If it doesn't, we move on."
Seo‑ah looked at the list again. "Dancing in public?"
"That one's non‑negotiable."
"Why?"
"Because you've spent your whole life making yourself small. Dancing is the opposite of that." He stood up. "We start tonight. Concert. Alone."
---
The concert was a jazz show in a small theater in Jongno. Seo‑ah bought the most expensive ticket—front row, center—and sat by herself while the musicians played.
She had never listened to jazz before. She had never listened to anything, really, except whatever was on the radio during her commute. But there was something about the way the saxophone moved—improvised, unplanned, responding to the moment—that made her chest feel tight.
Afterward, she stood outside the theater and called Ju‑hyuk.
"I don't know if I liked it," she said.
"That's fine."
"But I didn't check my email once. For two hours."
A pause. "How did that feel?"
"Like I was holding my breath. But in a good way."
She could hear him smile. "That's a start."
---
Over the next two weeks, Seo‑ah worked through the list.
She ordered the most expensive item on a menu—a dry‑aged steak that cost more than her weekly grocery budget—and ate it alone at a restaurant where the waiters called her "ma'am." It was delicious, and she felt ridiculous, and she did it anyway.
She stayed out until 3 AM at a noraebang with a group of people she had never met before—friends of a friend of Ju‑hyuk's, all of them strangers who treated her like she belonged. She sang a song she had loved in high school, badly and without apology, and no one cared.
She traveled to Busan without a plan. She got lost three times, ate fish cake at a street stall, and watched the sunrise from a beach she had never heard of. She didn't take a single photo.
Each experiment pushed the viewership counter higher: 82%, 85%, 88%.
But the dancing in public—that was the one she kept putting off.