The flight from Gimpo to Jeju International Airport took barely over an hour—just enough time for my brain to enter a low-power hibernation mode against the window glass. When the wheels chirped against the runway, I woke up feeling slightly more human.
As not only the Representative of Foreign Student at Kirin, but also of Work-out, I immediately took charge of the baggage claim, until Ji-hoon had time to do so of course. Mrs. Lee had packed three massive dense boxes wrapped in traditional cloth, separate from our personal luggage.
"Careful, San-gun," she warned as I hoisted two of them onto my broad shoulders with a grunt of calisthenic pride. "Those are specialized health sets and premium supplements for my parents."
"I got it, Eomeonim," I wheezed, adjusting my grip. "In Ukraine, we carry sacks of potatoes twice this heavy up five flights of stairs. This is basically cardio."
Mr. Lee handled the paperwork at the terminal counter, securing a spacious rental SUV.
"The village is on the quieter, eastern coast of the island," he announced, tossing the high-tech key fob to Ji-hoon. "Traffic is light today. It shouldn't take us more than forty minutes."
We crams back into our designated rows, the sea breeze filtering through the vents. As the urban sprawl of Jeju City dissolved into rolling green hills and black volcanic stone walls, my insatiable curiosity overrode my physical exhaustion.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the front seats.
After some time, I wondered:
"Eomeonim," I said, pitching my voice above the hum of the tires. "What is your hometown like? Your parents... do they farm?"
Mrs. Lee turned her head slightly from the passenger seat, a warm, nostalgic smile softening her anchor-sharp facial features.
"Not farming, San-gun. My family is originally native to Jeju. My parents own and manage a small, traditional touristic complex of stone houses—guesthouses—near the shore. I spent my entire childhood running along those exact rocky beaches. We'll also pass my junior and middle school, you'll see it soon."
I looked between her perfect profile and Mr. Lee's calm expression on the steering line.
"If Eomeonim grew up by the sea... how did you and Abeonim actually meet? Was it a dramatic holiday collision? Like in the television dramas?"
Mrs. Lee let out a bright, musical chuckle that made her look twenty years younger.
"Ah, University days. It was during my second year at Yonsei."
From the seat beside me, Ha-neul let out a long, silent, and thoroughly long-suffering groan, shifting her weight to stare blankly out the window. 'Here we go again,' her posture screamed. Across the aisle, Ji-hoon closed his eyes and let out a faint, rhythmic sigh, signifying to the universe that they had survived this exact historical narrative at least a hundred times before.
But I didn't care about their sibling fatigue. Looking at how wide and genuine Mrs. Lee's smile was while setting the scene, it was obvious this specific memory was her true sanctuary. And the way Mr. Lee threw a sudden, warm, and incredibly soft glance across the console at his wife... it made me feel something strange. A quiet, grounded warmth in my chest that felt suspiciously like being at home. Even fine.
'Will my relationship with Sora eventually look like that?' my traitorous brain flipped pages to the Hongdae slow dance. 'Unified? Calm?' I quickly dismissed the thought, my face a little less than indifferent, and focused back on the monologue.
"At that time, I was suffering through an immense amount of stress," Mrs. Lee continued, her hands gesturing gracefully. "I was working a grueling part-time job at a publishing house, running to late-night library sessions, and completely neglecting my health. I ate nothing but convenience store instant noodles and cold gimbap at three a.m."
She shook her head. "So, one afternoon, my body completely gave out. I fainted right in the middle of a crowded student cafe near Sinchon."
"And luckily," Mr. Lee interjected, a teasing, lopsided smirk breaking through his professional doctor mask, "Min-hyuk-ah was around. I was already doing my practical residency as a young doctor at my family's clinic nearby. The cafe staff panicked, but I stepped in and quickly carried her straight to our facility to check her vitals."
Mr. Lee let out a sudden, loud bark of laughter, tapping the steering wheel.
"And San-gun, can you even imagine? I ran the diagnostic checks, expecting a major neurological emergency from overwork... and she just had a massive case of severe constipation!"
WHACK.
Mrs. Lee's hand flashed forward, lightly but sharply swatting his shoulder. Her face erupted in a brilliant, mock-furious blush.
"Min-hyuk-ah!" she yelled, completely breaking her professional news delivery register. "How many times have I told you to omit that specific medical detail?! I was entirely dehydrated! And besides, at the time, the abdominal pressure literally felt exactly like stage-four cancer!"
"Yeah, yeah, honey," Mr. Lee chuckled, entirely unbothered as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. "Whatever you say. It was a very historic, majestic case of dehydration."
Mrs. Lee smoothed down her coat, coughing quickly to regain her anchor composure.
"Anyway... later, after I graduated and secured my official entry-level position at JBC, my very first high-profile field assignment was a corporate interview with your father..."
She stopped mid-sentence. Her jaw tensed, her eyes widening behind her glasses as she realized what her tongue had just automatically spoken. She looked back at me in the rearview mirror, her expression turning deeply apologetic.
"Ah... San-gun. I am so sorry. It's just... because you've been living with us, I often find myself speaking without tracking the formal boundaries..."
"Why are you saying sorry, Eomeonim?" I interrupted, a genuine, lopsided grin breaking across my face. I shook my head, my messy fringe shifting over my brow. "Nothing is wrong. Technically... he is."
The interior of the SUV went dead silent. The casual banter instantly evaporated into a thick, heavy vacuum of absolute shock. Mr. Lee's eyes flickered in the mirror, and Ji-hoon's jaw tightened slightly as he looked away. The word father—Abeoji—carried a weight that none of us were prepared to balance.
The silence was shattered by a loud, mocking snort from beside me.
Ha-neul dissolved into a fit of sharp, helpless laughter, pointing a finger at her mother's stunned face.
"Aooo, San-ssi! You are truly worthy of being my mother's favorite!" she giggled, her eyes crinkling. "I think you two make a spectacular corporate company. Finally, there's someone else in this family with the stamina to spare her some listening hours!"
"Lee Ha-neul! Shut your mouth!" Mrs. Lee shrieked, her maternal authority rushing back to cover her embarrassment.
Mr. Lee cleared his throat loudly, trying to steer the vehicle back into neutral emotional territory.
"Yeah... and after that JBC interview, well... there were quite a few intense familial complications from my side of the board," he chuckled, an ominous, mysterious glint in his eyes. "But eventually... your mother chose me! The dental track won!"
With that final, booming laugh, the SUV swung off the main coastal road, tires crunching heavily over a path of black volcanic gravel. The vehicle purred to a definitive halt under the shadow of a massive, wind-swept pine tree.
"We're here," Ji-hoon announced, killing the ignition.
'Huh?' I blinked, looking at my phone. 'We got here so fast?'
We piled out of the rental car into the crisp, humid air of the southern coast. I walked around to the trunk, lifting the heavy packages of health tonics and swinging my backpack onto my shoulders. I straightened my spine, turned my face toward the horizon, and instantly went completely paralyzed.
My breath caught in my throat. My jaw dropped for the second time in twenty-four hours.
A cluster of traditional, low-slung stone cottages with dark thatched roofs—built from the rugged, porous black basalt of the island—sat nestled against a hillside vibrant with deep green palms and wild citrus trees. But it was the backdrop that made me completely bow in awe.
Directly beyond the low stone walls, the vast, emerald-blue expanse of the Jeju Sea stretched out into infinity, white foam crashing violently against the black volcanic rocks below. The sun was still low enough to paint the sky in violent streaks of morning gold, and pale lilac, the light reflecting off the water like a shattered mirror. It was raw, powerful, and more breathtaking than any green-screen background JBC could ever manufacture.
"Wow," I whispered to the open air, the wind whipping my messy hair across my forehead. "Daebak."