Mint Is Pure Love - Chapter 11

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“Ugh, seriously. Ji Yeonseo is so freaking annoying.”

I flinched when I heard my name. The voice coming from outside the bathroom stall belonged to Choi Sunyoung, who always stuck to Lee Hojung like glue.

“Isn’t she trying to seduce not just Kim Eunho, but now even Cha Seokyung?”

My heart sank at the name I heard.

“She’s the queen of stringing people along. She keeps giving Eunho false hope, and did you see her playing badminton with Seokyung? Clinging to him like a fox and whispering—ugh.”

I never led anyone on. If anything, it was Kim Eunho begging me to throw him even the tiniest hint of hope. And I wasn’t whispering—I was arguing.

Normally, I would’ve stormed out and corrected them on the spot. But hearing Cha Seokyung’s name mixed in held me back.

“I feel so bad for Kim Eunho… That girl’s just awful. Such a fake b1tch.”

Sunyoung sounded like she was on the verge of tears, angry and indignant. Then I heard Hojung’s voice, calm and cutting.

“Seokyung’s not the type to date someone just for their looks.”

“Oh, how would you know? Guys are all the same anyway…” Sunyoung snapped back, her voice laced with bitterness.

Hojung sounded smug.

“Because I’ve seen something.”

“Huh? Seen what?”

My ears perked up. I was already hearing everything clearly, but I found myself leaning closer to the stall door without realizing it.

“I mean, it’s private. I’m not gonna go around spilling people’s secrets.”

Cha Seokyung’s private life.

The phrase circled my mind for some reason.

Sunyoung, fueled by jealousy and irritation, turned the conversation back to me.

“Guys like Seokyung aren’t exactly common, okay? Eunho’s not like that at all. Seriously, just seeing Ji Yeonseo makes me want to punch something. What’s so great about her anyway? Other than being pretty, she’s got nothing. Everyone knows she’s a total b1tch. Why does Kim Eunho cling to someone like her? Just because she’s pretty? That’s not fair at all. And have you ever looked at her closely? Her eyelid folds are uneven.”

Sunyoung’s nickname was “Carrot.” It came from her long face and flushed cheeks. I’d never once thought anything of her looks.

But Sunyoung dissected my face piece by piece, like it was her job. As if it was only natural to try and knock someone down a few pegs just for being considered pretty.

Hojung clicked her tongue, then shifted her tone.

“Let it go. Ji Yeonseo’s actually kind of pitiful if you know her story.”

“What do you mean?”

A pause. I could feel her hesitating, debating whether to say more.

“I wasn’t gonna bring this up, but… do you know why she quit being a trainee back in middle school?”

My grip tightened on the bathroom door handle. My fingers felt cold.

“It was almost like… a targeted attack? Something like that. Her birthday is December 12th—”

I slammed the door open, hard enough to make noise on purpose. Hojung and Sunyoung both froze, halfway through putting on lip tint, eyes wide like deer in headlights. I looked them straight in the eye and pushed past them to the sink.

The water roared as I carefully washed my hands. Then I pulled out my handkerchief from my pocket and dried them slowly. Behind me, Hojung awkwardly continued the story she’d left hanging.

“I mean, calling it a ‘terror attack’ is dramatic. It was just… chaotic. That’s all. My birthday’s also December 12th, and there’s that one line in a famous song—you know it, right? Everyone thought I was the girl from that lyric. That’s all it was.”

It wasn’t just that.

There were hate-filled messages, letters, notes, and even older girls showing up at my house. My trainee photos circulated on fan forums with captions like “JSB trainee spotted outside the agency.” Comments followed, “Her dad’s the CEO, Ji Seongbeom,” or “She’s only there because of her connections.”

It all happened in my third year of middle school.

“I quit being a trainee because I can’t sing or dance.”

I told my dad I wanted to quit after just six months, and he slapped me for lacking persistence. But still—whatever.

“Hojung.”

When I called her name like I used to, her brown eyes trembled like an earthquake. I stared for a moment, then asked with a strange lump in my throat.

“Wanna get tteokbokki after school?”

“…With you? Are you insane?!”

Her reply came a beat late, eyes darting around in flustered panic. It was so unlike her that I caught a faint trace of guilt, and it hurt my chest.

“I was just kidding,” I said, scoffing like it was nothing.

Then I walked out of the bathroom.

A heaviness settled on my shoulders, like fatigue and sadness rolled into one. A dull ache throbbed somewhere in my chest.

Hojung—no, Hojung-ie—used to be my closest friend.

We became inseparable in our first year of middle school. If someone had asked who our best friend was, we’d have pointed to each other without hesitation.

I know I can be insufferable sometimes. But back then, the word friend gave us a kind of leeway to accept even the worst sides of each other.

That was around the time I learned affection could become obsession—and that when mixed with immaturity, it could create dangerous outcomes.

It was an age when excitement could easily turn into mania.

Things happened that couldn’t be dismissed as childish tantrums.

When rumors spread that CEO Ji Seongbeom was planning to remove a member from a group, fan club girls in raincoats camped outside the agency. Some even came to our house. When disbandment rumors circulated, someone smashed my dad’s car parked outside our building.

The business my dad started to squeeze lunch money out of fangirls ended up being attacked by them. Their fierce devotion—so pure in its intentions—often became violent, radical, and at times, cruel.

Even the one who built their so-called paradise wasn’t safe from that cruelty. So of course, someone like me didn’t stand a chance.

It was the first time I felt afraid that someone might know who I really was.

Hojung was there during that time—and then she left.

People always sing about heartbreak between lovers, but losing a friend hurts even more. That was the first time I truly understood that.

If only I had never known what friendship was—

I used to wish that, with all my heart.

Even though I knew it could never come true.

***

“Ugh, the smell of alcohol…”

A sharp, musty stench of booze hit me right in the face, and I instinctively covered my nose.

My dad stumbled in, completely wasted, with Mr. Kim from his office propping him up. He’d stuffed his tie into his br3ast pocket like a handkerchief, and his face was red and saggy like a squid slathered in gochujang. He couldn’t even walk straight.

My stepmom rushed to grab his other arm, and Grandma fretted, bouncing on her heels as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him coming home like this—drunk or overworked, no one could say for sure.

“Yeonseo, you little brat, don’t just stand there—go make some honey water!” Grandma snapped, pushing my shoulder with her wrinkled hand. With no choice, I headed to the kitchen. I poured some barley tea from the fridge into a ladle cup, scooped honey out of the jar, stirred it in, and carried the tray back.

Dad was sprawled out across the huge bed in the master bedroom.

Grandma was bustling around in the bathroom, saying she’d get a hot towel, and my stepmom hovered nearby, clearly unsure what to do.

“…Dad, here’s some honey water.”

“Uuuh…”

“Dad…”

I shook his chest without mercy until he groaned and cracked one eye open. His drunken, glazed eyes stared up at me as I held out the cup.

“Come on, drink it. Before Grandma starts yelling at Stepmom again.”

“Honey…water…?” he mumbled, his tongue slurring every syllable. Still muttering, he fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. A few green bills were plucked out and extended shakily in my direction.

“Kim Missy… here, a tip.”

“……”

Disgusting. What the hell has he been doing out there?

For a moment, I considered dumping the honey water right in his face. But it would just mean my stepmom would have to wash the blankets, so I held back.

When I didn’t take the money, Dad let out another groan and closed his eyes again.

I set the honey water on the bedside table without care and quietly slipped the black wallet from his limp hand.

Then I took all the remaining cash and shoved it into my pocket.

Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that he was my dad, I would’ve punched him in his sleep. And I would’ve had every right.

After all, my father was the first man I ever tried to hit—and also the one who made me miss the hardest.

I know what kind of man he is. My dad—Ji Seongbeom—is always cheating whenever he gets the chance. And tomorrow, when he sees his wallet empty, he’ll have no idea whether it was Miss Kim or Mrs. Choi who cleaned him out.

“Our poor son, working so hard all day out there. And what does he get? A wife and kids who only know how to sit back and eat, tsk tsk…”

Grandma had no idea who her son really was. Dad wasn’t out there making money to feed his family. He just liked running around. That it happened to earn him money was just a side effect.

Unlike Grandma, who always gushed over her son and grandsons, Dad didn’t seem to care much about Minjae and Mingyu. If I’m being honest, he found them annoying. No matter how much Grandma babbled about carrying on the family line, to Dad, they were just kids who existed because they’d been born.

And as for me…

“Go on up to bed, sweetie, get some rest, okay?”

My stepmom gently ushered me out of the room. Even after I left, it felt like the stench of alcohol still clung to my nose.

Back in my room, I changed into my pajamas. Just then, my phone buzzed.

A new text filled the square screen.

[Don’t flirt with my oppa. I’m watching you.]

“……”

And that was the truth. I was a daughter who had never once been protected by her father.

With a soft clack, I shut the flip phone, turned off the lights, and lay down on my bed.

I whispered to myself, It’s okay. I’m not scared.

“I’m sorry.”

That deep voice, those huge, clumsy hands gripping the strawberry milk carton like it was a toy—his flat, emotionless words echoed in my ears.

Maybe tonight, I’d be able to sleep.