Chapter 89: Unsecured network (3)

Part 6

“Oppa,” I said.

“Huh?” Junseok replied.

“I guess I was really hung up on wanting to hear you called ‘oppa.’”

The cup in Junseok’s hand tilted precariously, nearly spilling milk before he steadied it. I stared blankly at the cup, then slowly lifted my gaze to his face. His expression was even weirder than when he’d caught me singing days ago. Well, fair enough—it was a ridiculous thing to say. I couldn’t blame him for looking baffled. With that thought, I sipped the coffee I’d brewed after a while. Too much water made it taste bland, unworthy of the “black coffee” name.

“…Uh, so, Yoonseo?” he ventured.

“I’m not gonna tell you what happened,” I said.

“Another thing you can’t talk about?” he asked.

“No…” I trailed off.

I let the word drag. With course registration done and three weeks until the semester started, this golden weekend stretched lazily, like my lingering voice. Not in a meaningful way—just sinking into worthlessness.

Seeing Junseok’s tense yet feigned nonchalance, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. If I dragged this out, I might actually get scolded, so I’d better stop teasing.

“Just too lazy to explain,” I said.

As expected, a light flick landed on my forehead. It hurt so much I decided I’d better not mess with him again.

Part 7

“So, what’s really going on?” Junseok pressed.

“Nothing special, really,” I replied.

Even though it was Saturday and he didn’t need to go to work, Junseok seemed determined to spend extra time prying into my odd behavior. Sure, if he weren’t half-asleep and barely washed up, he wouldn’t be short on time. He’s always hustling, but maybe he can afford this much leisure.

“I just had an experience that made me feel something,” I said.

“What kind of experience?” he asked.

“Went to karaoke with a friend,” I answered.

“…Something bad happen at karaoke?” he asked.

I shook my head. Would Sihyun get mad if he knew I called him a friend? His face, that of a mentally unstable person who’d caused this sentimental mood, flashed in my mind. Was it good or bad? For me, at least, it was neither—just something.

“He said I’m bad at singing,” I said.

“…How does that connect to what you said earlier?” he asked, confused.

“Specifically, he said my voice is fine and I seem to understand instructions, but when I sing, I try to sound ‘like a woman,’” I explained.

His head tilted, clearly puzzled. Of course he’d be confused. Honestly, I didn’t fully get it either. That kind of diagnosis probably came from someone deeply trained.

“He knows about your situation?” Junseok asked.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“And this friend said you’re trying to sound overly feminine when you sing?” he clarified.

“Exactly,” I said.

“…So how does that relate to what you said before?” he asked.

Ugh, I wish he’d pick up on it without me spelling it out.

“Sigh…” I exhaled.

“That sigh feels oddly offensive,” he remarked.

“…The coffee’s hot. I was cooling it,” I lied.

My head throbbed, so I averted my gaze and sipped the coffee again. Despite its blandness, the over-diluted brew seemed endless.

“…Hearing that, I wondered if I’ve been unconsciously obsessed with ‘acting feminine’ when doing ‘feminine things,’” I admitted.

“Singing’s not just for women,” he pointed out.

“Now that I think about it, I picked all female vocal songs,” I said.

“…Hmm,” he hummed.

“Once I realized that, I started wondering if I’ve been overly conscious of this stuff. Like with cooking…” I trailed off.

“Or wanting me to call you ‘oppa’?” he added.

His dry chuckle followed. I couldn’t decide whether to agree or deny, so I just sipped my coffee slowly. Belatedly, I worried I’d burdened him with guilt.

“…Do you still feel uncomfortable or grossed out by the gender change?” he asked.

“…Not really, these days,” I said.

“These days?” he pressed.

I carefully set down the coffee cup. His forced smile felt heavy—was I being too selfish for thinking it was burdensome?

“…I wonder if I’m just thinking I should feel okay,” I said.

“Hmm…” he hummed.

“I decided I won’t bottle things up and let them fester like before,” I added.

“Choosing me as your first family confidant? That’s heavy,” he teased.

“No way I’d tell Mom and Dad. You know how thrilled Mom is to have a daughter to cook with,” I said.

His head nodded slowly with a low hum, as if picturing Mom’s recent joy. She’s not just enjoying a new hobby—it’s like she’s found new life. Whatever my inner turmoil, as long as it’s not a problem, I want to let her enjoy this.

“You hate cooking?” he asked.

“…Honestly, it’s kinda fun now,” I admitted.

“Was singing forced?” he asked.

“…It started half-forced, but learning it was pretty fun,” I said.

“Oh, you were learning?” he asked.

“My friend’s an expert,” I explained.

“So, singing was fun?” he confirmed.

“Yeah, not bad,” I said.

“Calling me ‘oppa’?” he teased.

“Oppa? It’s not like I couldn’t say it…” I trailed off.

Realizing it was too late, I shut my mouth. His trembling shoulders, shaking with suppressed laughter, caught my eye. Was hiding his face his last shred of decency?

“…I’m being serious,” I pouted.

“It’s obviously a pointless worry,” he said.

“What if it suddenly explodes later?” I countered.

No booming laugh came. He shrugged off my sulky tone, letting out a few huff-huff sounds before finally looking up. The lingering smirk annoyed me.

“You’ve never had outbursts except, what, during your period? I don’t get it, but I figure it’s understandable,” he said.

“There were plenty of moments you didn’t see. Like crying while drinking,” I said.

“Pfft,” he laughed.

“You just laughed!” I accused.

“Nope, not at all,” he denied.

No shame, huh?

“…Anyway, you don’t know, but I’ve got a rap sheet of incidents. I’m anxious. Some random trigger I didn’t see coming could make me snap,” I said.

Lifting my coffee, I let out a soft sigh. The breath I took in carried a rich coffee aroma, despite the bland taste. Junseok, who I thought was managing his expression well, kept coughing lightly, unable to shake his amusement.

“Call me ‘oppa’ once,” he said.

“No way,” I refused.

“Why?” he asked.

The silence stretched. His absurd request, after such a long pause, left me flustered when he countered my glare with a confused look.

“…Why? Because I don’t want to. Why so bold all of a sudden?” I asked.

“No, why don’t you want to?” he pressed.

Why? Well…

“…It’s embarrassing, changing how I call you,” I admitted.

“See? It’s not a big deal,” he said.

“…Now I’m the one who doesn’t get how this connects to earlier,” I said.

Grinning, Junseok stood, grabbing his greasy spoon and plate. I watched his back as he headed to the sink, waiting for an answer.

“It’s not ‘gross’ or ‘hate’—just ‘embarrassing.’ Even siblings born as brother and sister sometimes feel shy calling each other ‘oppa’ or by name,” he said.

“…Oh?” I replied.

“Your worries are just that. No need to overthink,” he said.

He turned the faucet to hot water briefly, then back to cold. Steam rose, then stopped as the head went silent.

“I’ve got tons of female pop songs I’d love to belt out in their original key, hitting those high notes. It’s cool. You probably picked songs you wanted to sing back when you were a guy,” he said.

True, I picked songs I thought were cool without much thought.

“Now that you’re kinda a woman, you want to sing them as imagined. But I know you’ve never been good with singing,” he teased.

“Ugh…” I groaned.

“Even as a guy, you’d be the same—trying to sound ‘manly’ and getting laughed at. Obvious, right?” he said.

His snickering laugh rang out. As if no more needed to be said, he started walking toward the kitchen exit.

“…You make it sound so simple,” I said.

“Simple’s better,” he replied.

His steps paused. Preparing for work, his face had returned to that of a moderately attractive, tired office worker.

“Or who cares? You said it’s fun, right? Just lean into it. If you’re having fun, what’s there to be upset about?” he said.

With that, he walked off. His final smile, though subtle, felt seasoned somehow.

“…Oppa, you’re kinda cool,” I muttered.

“Huh? What?” he called back.

“You’re gonna be late for work. It’s already 8:25,” I said.

“Oh, crap!” he exclaimed.

His poised exit turned frantic as he vanished with a clatter. Tracing my lips, I recalled my words.

Not gross or hateful—just embarrassing if it got out.

“…Yeah, that’s all it is,” I said softly.