The pediatrics clinic, which remained open late, was teeming with children. Realizing she would be delayed, Na-eun called Ms. Kim.
“Jiho is sick. He’s running a fever, so we’re still at the clinic. I’m going to be late getting home.”
—Minho seems to have been waiting for you regardless, anyway. Even if he doesn’t say it, he keeps looking at the door.
“I see. Minho understands everything even if he doesn’t talk, so please tell him I had to take Jiho to the clinic because he was unwell.”
—Yes. Understood.
After ending the call, Na-eun hesitated before dialing Choi Kang-woo. He had instructed her to report anything regarding Minho to him directly. The phone rang only a few times before he answered.
—Hello.
“It’s Jiho’s mom.”
—Yes. Go ahead.
“Jiho is sick, so we’re at the pediatrics clinic. It’s crowded, so I think I’ll be quite late.”
—Which clinic is it?
“It’s not far from the kindergarten.”
—Understood.
Choi Kang-woo replied curtly and hung up. Na-eun waited nearly an hour before they could see the doctor. The physician examined Jiho with a practiced hand.
“It’s a seasonal virus. His tonsils are swollen, and I strongly recommend he takes tomorrow off from kindergarten to recover.”
The doctor spoke cautiously while scribbling on the chart. His expression was calm, yet underscored with a quiet gravity. Na-eun held Jiho’s small hand, her eyes locked on the doctor.
“Can’t I just take him to the kindergarten and let him rest there? I’m a teacher at the school.”
Her question carried a mix of maternal concern and a nervous desire not to become a burden.
The doctor shook his head with a gentle smile.
“He could end up spreading it to the other children. It’s quite contagious, and his fever is likely to spike further.”
He closed the chart and looked at Na-eun with renewed seriousness. Na-eun hung her head, feeling dejected.
“Is that so?”
She couldn’t mask her anxiety as she looked at Jiho, whose face was flushed with heat. He slumped against the chair, his breathing wheezy and labored. The doctor spoke again, attempting to reassure her.
“If he rests well for a day or two, he’ll be fine. But for the sake of the other children, please keep him home.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Na-eun emerged from the examination room, lost in thought, only to freeze when she saw a familiar silhouette standing in the hallway. In the crowded waiting room, Choi Kang-woo’s suited frame was jarringly conspicuous.
He possessed a naturally heavy presence, but in a space dominated by children and parents, his sharp, cool demeanor felt profoundly alien. Just standing there with one hand in his pocket, he drew every eye in the room. Na-eun approached him, bewildered.
“Chairman Choi? What are you doing here?”
Her greeting was laced with surprise. Choi Kang-woo gave a slight nod.
“You said the child was sick. Since you don’t have a car, I thought I’d give you a ride.”
His tone was detached, yet his presence was a shock. *He sounds just like Jiho’s father,* she thought, stunned. She opened her mouth, struggling for words.
“Thank you.”
It was a immense relief, as taxis were near impossible to find at this hour. Na-eun managed a faint smile as she glanced back at Jiho. She looked at Choi Kang-woo cautiously.
“But they say this is a contagious virus. I’m worried Minho might catch it too.”
Choi Kang-woo glanced down at Jiho and offered a faint smile.
“Well, children grow up while catching things. Let’s head home first.”
He looked at Na-eun, who was clutching Jiho’s hand. Perhaps because the child was ill, Na-eun’s skin looked paler than usual, making her appear all the more poignant.
*Ah. Why does she have to look so pretty even in a situation like this?*
Choi Kang-woo pressed his lips together, feeling a sudden pang of frustration with himself. At his gesture to head to the car, Na-eun followed him. His intervention felt like a small, unexpected grace.
After receiving his injection, Jiho fell asleep the moment he settled into the car. Na-eun sat in the backseat, her face tight with worry. Watching her through the rearview mirror, Choi Kang-woo said:
“Don’t worry too much.”
“Oh, yes. I was wondering if I should have Minho sleep in the main building tonight. Since they’ve been together, it’s inevitable he’ll catch it if they stay in the same house.”
“Let’s get there first.”
It was then that Ms. Kim called to report that Minho, too, had developed a fever. Na-eun spoke urgently.
“Ah. That must be the same virus. He needs to go to the clinic.”
—The family doctor is already here. He confirmed it’s the seasonal cold. He received an injection and is resting now.
“I see. I suppose I didn’t notice because Minho came home early.”
Just as she reached the front gate with the sleeping Jiho, Choi Kyung-hye appeared. She scanned Na-eun and the boy with a piercing gaze.
“Teacher Han, are you only just now arriving?”
There was a sharp edge to her voice. Na-eun answered carefully.
“Yes, Chairman Choi. My son is sick.”
Na-eun tried to offer a polite smile, but the air remained taut with tension. Choi Kyung-hye looked Jiho up and down.
“Is the child weak?”
Na-eun shook her head softly.
“No, he’s very healthy. He just happened to catch a passing bug.”
Choi Kyung-hye furrowed her brows.
“A passing bug? Then does that mean our Minho…”
“Yes, Minho has it too. I understand the doctor has already seen him.”
Na-eun spoke with forced calm, trying to acknowledge the older woman’s concern. Choi Kyung-hye folded her arms, sighed, and replied coldly.
“That’s the danger of sending him to a kindergarten. Didn’t our Minho catch it from him?”
Na-eun blinked, taken aback, but maintained her composure.
“Since they both fell ill at the same time, it’s likely they were exposed to the same source.”
“Having two children is the problem.”
Choi Kyung-hye’s tone remained frigid. Na-eun spoke softly, hoping to soothe the situation.
“Children inevitably get sick as they grow. Please, don’t be too concerned. I’m sure Minho’s uncle was healthy during his own childhood.”
Choi Kyung-hye lifted her chin, looking at Choi Kang-woo with sudden pride.
“Our Choi Kang-woo hardly ever caught a cold growing up.”
Her voice dripped with maternal vanity. Na-eun glanced at Choi Kang-woo and nodded.
“I see.”
“It can’t be easy to work while looking after a child. Is he catching this because you aren’t taking proper care of him?”
The remark was so cutting that Choi Kang-woo finally stepped in.
“Teacher, let’s head in. You’ll catch a chill standing out here with him.”
“Yes. Excuse me, Chairman.”
Choi Kyung-hye watched them walk toward the annex, then followed. Hearing that Minho was sick, she felt compelled to inspect the scene. When the three of them reached the annex, the children were just waking up for dinner.
“What is this?”
Choi Kyung-hye gestured to the table, which was set with only vegetables.
“Are you feeding the children nothing but grass?”
“No.”
“Then what do you call this?”
Na-eun kept her voice steady.
“I prefer to feed them in a specific order. Vegetables first, then protein, then carbohydrates.”
Choi Kyung-hye clicked her tongue, remembering the lavish, multi-course meals of her own past.
“What does the order matter? When Choi Kang-woo was growing up, I laid out a full table of rice, vegetables, and meat, all to be eaten in equal measure.”
“We don’t feed them like that anymore. That was thirty years ago.”
Na-eun didn’t back down. The clash between the old ways and the new was inevitable. While the elders favored mixing rice with soup and eating everything together, modern pediatric advice emphasized the importance of nutritional sequencing and reducing salt and sugar intake—especially for young, developing systems.
Seeing Jiho happily munching on chicory, Choi Kyung-hye was startled.
“Isn’t it bitter? Why aren’t you using sauce?”
“A little, but he enjoys the flavor as it is. He likes it.”
He then picked up a piece of crisp paprika and crunched into it. For Choi Kyung-hye, it was a meal she could not fathom.