Chapter 84: Single-mindedness (1)

Part 3

Sihyun’s eyes, coolly smiling, narrowed as they fixed on my shock-frozen face. The chair beside me trembled faintly—Dr. Kang was probably just as startled, wearing a similar expression. The thought flashed through my mind.

“Of course, I was certain my family wouldn’t believe me. I prepared thoroughly for that. Still, maybe because my family’s history isn’t exactly spotless, it took a while to gain legal recognition. But it was a fight I was bound to win. The problem came after,” Sihyun said.

Clink. The sound of his coffee cup being set down rang loud. My racing heart showed no sign of calming. What did I just hear? The information didn’t compute, my thoughts spinning uselessly. The pop song faded, drowned by the growing thud of my heartbeat.

“From… your parents?” I stammered.

“Oh, that’s what shocked you? You’re tougher than I thought, Yoonseo-ssi,” Sihyun replied.

“They told me that, yes. The day I was legally recognized as their child, across the dining table, from my parents’ mouths: ‘What’s your goal, going this far?’” he continued.

His coffee cup, still steaming, was in his hand again. As if unbothered by the heat, he downed the light brown liquid like it was cold water.

“…Sigh. Anyway, I’m alive, not dead. They weren’t the type to actually bury someone, regardless of their ability. But in the end, my family didn’t accept me,” he said.

“They couldn’t have missed it. No family lacks some bond. Families not recognizing each other? That shouldn’t happen,” I said.

“Habits, speech, shared memories, the warmth we give each other… is that what you mean?” Sihyun asked.

Thanks to Sanghyeon collapsing and being found, I didn’t have to convince my family or friends of my changed self. Even if that hadn’t happened, I believed they’d have recognized me as Yoonseo. That’s what family is, what friends are, what bonds are.

I nodded silently to Sihyun’s words. The café’s cool air was steadily sapping the warmth from my untouched coffee.

“I believed that too, before this. They were busy people, rarely around, but still—when I brought home good grades or won at competitions, they’d pat my head, say ‘Good job,’ and that was it. Turns out, they wanted my achievements, not me,” he said.

His icy voice didn’t reveal its target. All I felt was deep resentment—not just toward his parents or his situation, but a directionless bitterness. Maybe, to him, everyone, including himself, was a target.

“Do you major in arts or sports?” I asked.

“No, just a regular humanities student,” I replied.

“I did vocal music. Soprano, specializing in opera. I was the lead. Talented enough not to be embarrassed saying so. And I lost the voice I’d honed my whole life,” he said.

A bright smile, yet dead eyes. The disconnect made him seem unreal, like he wasn’t fully present. The root of his resentment, his loss—emotions only someone who’d lost everything could show, emotions I couldn’t grasp, bordering on fear.

“Maybe—no, definitely—the genius soprano who could’ve made the family name world-famous is gone. I couldn’t sing like before with this changed voice. But I thought it’d be fine. I had knowledge, above-average skill. I could start over with my family, aim a bit lower. That’s what I thought,” he said.

I couldn’t speak, despite wanting to run. Could someone who hadn’t truly despaired dare touch the shoulder of someone driven by raw emotion, fallen into the abyss?

“They probably understand, intellectually, that I’m Choi Sihyun. But to them, ‘Choi Sihyun as a man’ isn’t worth acknowledging. They’d rather deny reality, cling to the slim chance I’m a fraud after their money,” he said.

His hand, gripping the empty coffee cup, trembled lightly. Emotions he’d carried all this time, resurfacing with every retelling.

“They thought they loved ‘Choi Sihyun,’ but it was my illusion. They needed a billboard to flaunt their name. A male Choi Sihyun, with no potential left, was worthless compared to the genius soprano they hoped might return,” he said.

His trembling hand stilled. His eyes, once filled with dark, viscous emotion, regained their initial calm. The polite, mask-like smile returned, but its blatant mockery was aimed at me.

“That’s all I’ve got to share. So, has our ‘shared situation’… pfft… helped bond us?” he asked.

The words “shared situation” echoed in my ears. I realized no matter what I said, it wouldn’t reach him. Listening to his low chuckle, I thought as much.

Part 4

“…Sigh,” I exhaled.

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t expect him to come on so… aggressively,” Dr. Kang said.

Five minutes after Sihyun left, I stared at the cold coffee cup in silence. Dr. Kang finally spoke, his voice heavy.

“It’s not just about gender change or the struggles that come with it,” he said.

“Fundamentally, yes. But accepting it is the starting point,” he added.

“Not about resolving family conflict?” I asked.

“For him, his male self is the most resented thing in a world that stripped him of his value. He blames others, but deep down, he hates his changed self the most,” Dr. Kang said.

I lifted the cold coffee cup. The lukewarm sip was awful.

“I could accept myself because people around me embraced my changed self,” I said.

“But defining yourself as Yoonseo was your will,” he countered.

“Even that—walking that path—was thanks to others pushing me,” I replied.

“Who defined ‘being yourself’ within that kindness?” he asked.

My racing heart wouldn’t quiet.

“Who turned the acceptance of ‘female Yoonseo’ into acceptance of ‘Yoonseo’?” he pressed.

“I just thought they were the same. I’m not that strong,” I said.

“I know I’m not qualified to say this, but…” he began.

I thought it was beyond me. Any words to him would just be lukewarm pity. I thought it was simply outside my scope, regardless of will.

“Help him love himself, like you did. Stop him from kicking away a future where everything falls into place and he can smile,” Dr. Kang urged.

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“You might be the only one who can,” he replied.

“He’s too different from me,” I insisted.

“The you who first saw yourself in the mirror, who hated yourself while talking about streaming—how different is that you from him?” he asked.

I gripped the coffee cup. Loss, despair, self-loathing—emotions not so different at their core. The overwhelming powerlessness of a changed self, unchangeable by one’s own strength. I surrendered to the flow; he’s crashing into the storm head-on.

“…I don’t think we’re the same,” I said.

I understood now. I was afraid of being lumped with him, Choi Sihyun. The catastrophic end I might’ve reached. A cautionary tale, wallowing in directionless resentment. In my heart, that’s how I saw him.

I couldn’t say that was the sole source of my fear, but it held a significant share.

“…Thank you for indulging my unreasonable request,” I said, head bowed, voice barely audible.

In a similarly soft voice, Dr. Kang replied. Scrape. His chair moved. His legs and shirt hem briefly entered my view as he stood.

“…Next week!” I blurted, grabbing his shirt.

No rush, yet my head whipped around, honey-colored hair swaying. Dr. Kang’s wide eyes met mine.

“…Tuesday or Thursday, arrange for us to meet again,” I said.

“You were giving up,” he noted.

“I’m not thinking I can change anything,” I clarified.

For whom? The question lingered, unanswerable. Self-satisfaction? For Dr. Kang, who I owe? Mere pity? A brief silence. I bit my lip. No words came.

“…I said my brother’s the streamer,” I admitted.

“What?” he asked.

“I should’ve said I’m a streamer too, but I said it’s just my brother,” I explained.

His surprised expression softened into a faint smile. Right. I don’t know why, but knowing someone I recognize is destroying themselves, I can’t look away. That’s not Yoonseo-like. Maybe it’s selfish, not wanting a version of my possible ruin to remain, but still.

“…Being treated like a swan does suck,” I said.

“That’s how it is,” he agreed.

“Want a ride to your part-time job?” he offered.