CHAPTER 85: CHAPTER 84 : KIMCHI PANCAKE

The next morning.

The younger me was about to leave for school, shoes untied, bag slung half-heartedly over my shoulder, when the door across the hall creaked open.

I turned.

And there she was. Han Ji-a. Hair tied back in a messy ponytail, still adjusting the strap of her schoolbag, her eyes still sleepy.

The girl who scolded me on the train.

The girl who was forced to sit beside me in class.

The girl who saw me smoking in an alley.

Now, the girl who lived right across the hall.

Younger me muttered, "Ah, hell..." under his breath.

Up above, I just laughed bitterly, almost fondly.

My neighbor.

Our new neighbor.

She stopped too. Our eyes collided—just for a heartbeat.

The spectral me saw hers dark, guarded, and sharper eyes than the day before. Mine? Blank, as always.

Neither of us spoke.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking.

Spectral Me groaned behind me, loud and exasperated, like a tired father scolding his idiot son.

"Really? That’s it? Nothing? No greeting, no smirk, not even a sarcastic jab? You didn’t even clear your throat. You’re pathetic, you know that? Hopeless."

"And look at her—look properly this time. Do you see it? The dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders are slouched? She hasn’t been sleeping, idiot. Probably working late. Probably carrying a burden you couldn’t even imagine back then. And what did you do? Walk away like a coward."

For a moment, the younger me looked back at her again—her face paler than yesterday, her steps slower.

Spectral Me muttered, his voice thick with guilt.

"Damn it... I should’ve seen it first. I should’ve noticed. Why didn’t I notice? What the hell was I doing back then—sleeping through life, picking fights, smoking in alleys...? God, I was a selfish brat."

We ended up in the same train carriage. Of course we did.

The morning rush hadn’t peaked yet, so a rare empty seat waited in front of me. My legs instinctively moved toward it.

But then—her hand.

Han Ji-a pressed her hands lightly against my chest with force. Her eyes flicked to the old man swaying by the door. Wordlessly, she nudged him forward, practically guiding him into the seat.

He sat with a grateful bow.

The younger Ye-jun stayed standing, gripping the rail, feeling like an idiot who had just been scolded without words.

Spectral Me pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

"Here we go again. She’s schooling you in public like you’re some toddler."

Younger Me didn’t retaliate. Didn’t sigh. Didn’t even roll his eyes. Just leaned against the rail and kept quiet.

Spectral Me clapped slowly, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Wow. Growth? No, wait. Not growth. Just surrender. At this rate, she’s the hero and you’re the NPC she keeps rescuing from himself."

By the time we reached the school gates, the day already felt long. I was ready to disappear into the crowd when a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"Hey! You!"

A boy in a different school uniform waved me over from the corner. His grin was smug, the kind of grin that begged for a fist in the face.

Younger Me stopped, eyes narrowing. Then, without hesitation, he followed.

Han Ji-a barely turned her head. She glanced once, almost bored, before walking through the gates like it had nothing to do with her.

Spectral Me groaned.

"There it is. The fork in the road. What’s behind Door Number One? Go to class, sit down, maybe survive the day bruise-free. Door Number Two? You follow some punk you don’t even know and what happens? Oh, right. You get your ass handed to you. Brilliant choice, past me. Really inspiring."

Hours later, the classroom door creaked open.

The younger me stepped in. My blazer hung crooked. My hair stuck out in every direction. A bruise, already deep purple, decorated my cheek.

The room hushed for a beat, then resumed its usual hum. Some whispered. Some stared. Some didn’t care.

Han Ji-a’s eyes flicked up. She saw everything.

For just a second, something in her gaze softened. Then she looked down, rummaged in her bag, and slid something across my desk—a small tube of menthol gel.

"For pain," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Younger Me shoved it back without looking at her. "Don’t disturb me."

Spectral Me slammed both palms against an invisible desk so hard it echoed.

"YOU—idiot! Do you even hear yourself? A girl—that girl—just offered you kindness. For free! And what do you do? Reject it like some stubborn, pride-drunk brat. I should drag you out of this memory and knock sense into you."

But Younger Me stayed silent, arms crossed, staring at the window.

Han Ji-a said nothing else. She went back to scribbling in her notebook, face unreadable.

And the moment passed. Just like that.

After school, I walked to Ye-Rin’s elementary, picked her up, and we trudged home together.

Her chatter was a shield against the silence, her small hand tugging at mine whenever I slowed down.

Back home, the first thing I saw was the note on the kitchen counter.

"Working late again tonight. Eat well."

Figures.

Spectral Me scoffed.

"Classic Mom.Not that I cared back then. She is probably with him".

Hours crawled by until the doorbell rang.

When I opened it, Han Ji-a stood there, a plate wrapped in foil balanced carefully in her hands.

"Kimchi Buchimgae," she said flatly. "Thank you. For the sweets yesterday. And... for being good neighbors."

I blinked, caught off guard. My first instinct was to push it back. Words were already forming on my tongue—cold, dismissive.

But before I could, a small whirlwind shot past me.

"Kimchi Buchimgae?!"

Ye-Rin’s eyes lit up like lanterns. She grabbed the plate with both hands, beaming. "Thank you, unnie!"

Han Ji-a’s lips twitched upward, a rare almost-smile. "You’re welcome."

Spectral Me chuckled, shaking his head.

"See that? Your kid sister has more social skills in her pinky finger than you had in your whole damn body. Smarter, braver, and she actually knows how to accept kindness. You could’ve learned from her."

Before the door closed, Han Ji-a glanced inside.

She saw Ye-Rin wagging her chopsticks like a sword, scolding me with all the authority of a general. And me—sitting there, silent, not daring to talk back.

For the first time, a faint smile touched her face. Gentle. Almost hidden.

Spectral Me froze.

*"...She smiled.And I missed it back then."

The door shut softly.

And all that was left was the weight of the words I never said.