The Temperature Difference with Him (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 6

The white light from the wall clock faintly scattered across the gray bedding of the solid wood bed.

Ha Jun’s eyes locked onto the silent wall clock.

4:38 a.m. He’d tossed and turned last night before finally falling asleep, yet it was still earlier than usual.

Rolling onto his back, he gazed at the dark window and closed his eyes again. His inhaled breath slowly dispersed.

“Hoo.”

Giving up on falling back asleep, he lowered his feet to the floor.

His steps felt heavy, his mood foul—because of the file he’d been reading right before sleep.

[Daesung Electronics Jung Won Do]

Ha Jun tossed the file onto the island counter and pressed the button on the water purifier, placing a glass beneath it.

‘It’s such a complicated case that your team will be handling it.’

He laughed hollowly, recalling Representative Lee Geon Tae’s words.

“Complicated cases—sure, you love those.”

It’s just ignoring the truth.

Having chosen the bar exam over law school, he’d become a lawyer earlier than his peers.

‘Ha Jun-ah, I really hoped you’d become a prosecutor in a judge’s robe.’

He’d disappointed his father. His reality now was pitiful.

His first win in an ethically ambiguous case had become a second, then a third.

Ha Jun didn’t seek any extraordinary form of justice.

But covering up truth with lies—it was loathsome, repulsive.

Setting down the water glass, he muttered a curse under his breath.

“Choi Da Som, you crazy bitch. Jung Won Do, you damn bastard.”

He ate breakfast—a half grapefruit and freshly brewed black coffee—then headed back into the bedroom.

From the walk-in closet, he picked a tie, draped it over his shirt collar, and sat on the edge of the bed to knot it.

A space meant for deep sleep. Ha Jun loved this quiet bedroom.

‘You can study anywhere, but always sleep together in one room.’

Due to his father’s peculiar philosophy, he’d shared a room with his younger siblings until he moved out.

He’d realized too late that his father had been wrong.

‘Hyung, water.’

‘Hyung, bathroom.’

‘Hyung, I’m cold.’

Having gone through adolescence with siblings eight years his junior, he’d desperately craved a space of his own.

“Kim Ji An’s better than those twin monsters.”

His thoughts always ended with Ji An.

Stepping out the front door, he glanced at apartment 902. He knew Ji An would peek her head out any second.

Yet Ji An stayed silent until he stopped in front of the elevator.

Her unusual behavior made his heart creak oddly, and Ha Jun muttered,

“Kim Ji An. Doing things you normally don’t.”

The elevator halted at the 9th floor, its silver doors sliding open sideways.

“Go ahead without me. I forgot something.”

He offered a nonexistent excuse to someone he’d never even greeted.

As the floor indicator changed to 8, his eyes fixed on 902, filled with deep suspicion.

Rrrrr. Rrrrr.

“Yes. This is Yoon Ha Jun.”

Attorney, this is Office Manager Lee. You’ve departed for Sokcho?

“Already did.”

Ha Jun glanced down at his wristwatch and stepped into the elevator.

I’ve texted your accommodation details and shared the schedule. The NIFS autopsy results should be ready sometime today.

“Understood. Oh—and tell Attorney Kim to head directly to the incident site.

Entering the parking lot, he pressed his smart key, and his white midsize car flashed its lights.

He and Ji An always had minor quarrels, and it was always Ji An who came smiling softly to apologize first.

“She’ll call later, probably.”

Waiting for her call, Ha Jun already sensed this day would feel long.

⭐⭐⭐

That night. Sunbeach Hotel Residence Room, Sokcho.

Across the table from Ha Jun sat Attorneys Kim Moon Cheol and Choi In Hee, both exhausted.

Jung Won Do, detained at the scene, and his deceased wife—the case had hit roadblocks from the very start in proving his innocence.

Ha Jun ran a hand through his hair, his expression grim.

Office Manager Lee Jung Ah placed the autopsy preliminary report atop the crime scene photos.

“This is the official NIFS autopsy confirmation. Toxicology results will take about two days.”

Attorney Choi snapped the report shut irritably and spoke with disdain.

“It’s not murder, but he did assault her. Beat her right up to the moment she died—but technically, not murder. Seriously! How absurd.”

Ha Jun’s voice hardened.

“The person we’re representing is Vice President Jung Won Do. Keep that in mind.”

Attorney Choi watched Ha Jun defend Jung Won Do—the man was top-tier as a lawyer, yet impossible to read.

“We’ll re-examine the scene again tomorrow.”

Ha Jun set down the photos, picked up his phone, then put it back down. He was waiting for Ji An’s name to appear on the screen.

‘She wouldn’t just keep checking on me alone, right?’

Standing up, Ha Jun said,

“Let’s take a short break.”

His words loosened the tense atmosphere just slightly.

“Let’s grab coffee.”

Attorney Kim asked Office Manager Lee for coffee, then turned to Ha Jun.

“I heard Managing Director Choi went all the way to the CEO’s office. You really shut him down well.”

“News travels fast.”

“If he backed down that easily, your girlfriend must be something. If I’d known you two were getting married, I would’ve at least greeted her properly.”

“…?”

“You mean that friend who sometimes visits the firm, right?”

Ha Jun gave a small nod. Denying it now seemed just as ridiculous.

His thoughts drifted again to Ji An—and to her words.

‘Everyone at the firm looks at me like they’re silently cursing me.’

Now that he thought about it, he’d never properly introduced Ji An to anyone at the firm. Just “She’s my girlfriend.” That was all.

Though unprovable, something felt off.

Taking the coffee, Ha Jun sent Ji An a brief text.

[Won’t be home for a few days.]

It was the first time he’d reached out first after a minor quarrel.

As the coffee aroma blended into the air, he looked down at his phone.

The phone didn’t ring. Ji An, who should’ve answered with “What?”, still hadn’t called.

⭐⭐⭐

Bronze, a craft beer pub with a vintage vibe.

Ji An took a sip of beer and set her slender, tall weizen glass on the table.

She pulled her phone close and read the message.

[Won’t be home for a few days.]

Reading it, she murmured the dictionary definition of “parasite.”

“Parasite: an organism that lives on or in another and obtains nourishment from it. Someone who doesn’t live independently, but relies on others.”

At the end of her words, she bit her lip bitterly and rubbed her dry eyes.

Ji An had stayed awake all night, dozing fitfully.

Angry one moment, hurt the next—she’d felt utterly unnecessary in this world. And why did her chest feel so tight?

Parasite.

That word haunted her all day.

“Ji An.”

The voice interrupting her thoughts belonged to So Min.

She’d met So Min to discuss academy matters—and to vent her suffocating feelings.

Since So Min was the director of Lee So Min Language Academy, the excuse was solid.

“Director.”

“Director, my foot. Good timing—I was craving a drink. …Nothing serious happened, did it?”

Ji An couldn’t easily say her heart felt heavy.

“I had something to ask. Just thought I’d drop by.”

“Don’t lie. You and Ha Jun had a fight, didn’t you? Did that jerk make you do something weird again?”

It was always like this.

Ha Jun was attached to her life like a category. Suddenly, she wondered—was it the same for him?

Maybe not.

Because Ha Jun never caused anyone worry.

People linked their worries to Ha Jun—but never the other way around.

‘Maybe I really am a parasite.’

So Min asked again, slightly concerned—Ji An had called her instead of Ha Jun this late, which felt unusual.

“Did you two fight?”

“Why do you keep calling your first love ‘that jerk’?”

Ji An flared up, quick to defend Ha Jun—it suddenly felt wrong letting anyone else insult him. Only she got to do that.

“First love? Fine, let’s call him that. There’s only one thing I’m grateful to him for—he brought Kim Ji An to me.”

“That sounds nice. Say more.”

So Min recalled Valentine’s Day right before middle school graduation.

She’d liked Ha Jun, whom she’d met at a prep academy while preparing for foreign language high school—and planned to confess that day.

Instead of Ha Jun, Ji An had shown up.

Crying in Ji An’s arms that day, she’d gained a lifelong friend.

“It was such a relief you came instead of Ha Jun. You saved me from the worst Valentine’s ever. So you—you’re the gift that jerk gave me.”

“Wow! Kim Ji An’s really lived a good life.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t shrink back.”

Strangely, it comforted her.

Ji An smiled faintly and took a sip from her tall glass.

As she pulled the freshly served beer toward her, So Min asked,

“Should I open a class for you? Let me check.”

So Min picked up her phone, and an orange citrus-shaped keychain dangled.

“What’s that cute little tangerine? Vitamin supplement?”

“I bought it in Jeju. I did a one-week stay—just lounging around doing nothing. Figured I should get at least one souvenir.”

“Jeju?”

“Jeju was amazing. If I had time, I’d do a month-long stay. Hey, maybe I should open a branch there?”

“Madam Landlord of Daechi-dong isn’t playing around. …I can delay the class launch a bit. My older sister’s coming back.”

Ji An swallowed her usual “I don’t want to” and followed her sister’s schedule instead.

She could’ve just refused—but even telling herself “This is the last year” changed nothing.

She added, looking at So Min,

“You definitely don’t need to force yourself just for me.”

“It’s not forced. Why would you say that?”

“That… actually means a lot.”

Ji An’s gaze lingered on So Min’s dangling orange tangerine keychain.

A month in Jeju…

The idea popped into her head—and her mind was already making plans.

⭐⭐⭐

One week as a parasite. If one truly set their mind to it, a person could accomplish so much in just a week.

Storage moving?

South Korea’s moving services were diverse—and Kim Ji An was uselessly smart.

Having already acted on her Jeju month-long stay and storage move, she clearly had drive when it came to projects.

Her excuse was even grander.

“It’s about deceiving a skilled attorney like Yoon—this much is necessary.”

Watching her belongings packed into blue plastic boxes and loaded onto the moving truck, Ji An let out a long breath.

She was in the middle of unpacking for storage.

“I went out of my way to greet you during commute hours—how thoughtfully I lived! Try experiencing how lonely it feels to come home alone, Yoon Ha Jun.”

She thought of Ha Jun, who hadn’t contacted her since that one text. If you’re going to text, just call already.

Then again—he’d probably be waiting.

Because after every minor quarrel, she was always the one who called first.

Ji An murmured firmly, as if reaffirming her resolve,

“Right. If not now, when else would I try a month in Jeju? Don’t worry about others. Parasites don’t do that.”

Looking at her living room, now empty except for a suitcase, Ji An said,

“Just one month. I’ll be back soon.”

Ding.

[Hanmaeum Delivery. Your package #559388600⭐⭐⭐⭐ has been delivered to your parcel locker.]

“Oh! Pomegranates.”

Standing blankly in front of the open parcel locker, Ji An rubbed the back of her neck.

She’d ordered them to give to Aunt Yeon Woo.

She left her suitcase at home and picked up the pomegranate box.

⭐⭐⭐

Ji An got out of a taxi in front of Areumduri Workshop, run by Ha Jun’s parents.

Areumduri was a woodworking studio crafting handmade furniture.

Her view filled with handmade wooden chairs placed before floor-to-ceiling windows, their grain left beautifully natural.

Climbing the stairs to the shared basement workshop, the faint scent of sawdust tickled her nose.

It was the smell she associated with Aunt Yeon Woo.

The wooden whale-shaped sign read ‘Open’ in five characters—Aunt Yeon Woo’s handwriting.

Pushing the door inward, a clear chime rang out.

“Mom.”

Yeon Woo’s hands, sanding a furniture edge with sandpaper, stilled.

Surprised, she called out,

“Oh! Ji An-ah! What brings you here? No call or anything.”

“A surprise.”

Holding up the pomegranate box slightly, Ji An smiled softly.