SACCHARIN
CHAPTER 32

“It was worth flying this stuff in over the past month. It really looks like real icicles.”

“They’re plastic, so up close, it’s obvious they’re fake.”

“The more I look at it, the more it reminds me of the tree we had back when I worked at the hotel. Wan-yi, you’ve got a good eye.”

“It’s thanks to you, Chef, for getting me everything I asked for. I appreciate it.”

“We owe it all to Gombo—no, our dear ballerina—who made this possible.”

“That’s why I’m trying to stay on her good side.”

In front of Chef Kwak, I pretended I wasn’t close with the ballerina and acted like I found her difficult, hiding our connection. In truth, the ballerina had used the excuse that I was the youngest to distract me with the tree, probably to keep me from sinking into depression. I was grateful—thanks to her, I didn’t spend those few days drowning in gloomy thoughts.

“Any word about your father?”

“…Not yet, it seems.”

“Pyeon Jae-ho must be livid. That guy’s probably losing his mind, swearing he won’t die until he catches your father.”

“…”

“In the meantime, Chi-woo’s probably getting crushed in the middle.”

To be honest, my mood had taken a nosedive since December began. When I first came to this island, I thought my dad would be caught soon—one way or another, I figured everything would be over within a month, whether he lived or died.

But I hadn’t expected him to remain out of reach for this long. According to Shin Chi-woo, “The whole underworld is buzzing with the rumor that Seo Kyoyong’s daughter was sold to an island.” So surely, my dad must’ve heard something about me by now.

Still, his whereabouts remained unknown. It felt like he had firmly decided to prioritize his own survival over his daughter’s. But I didn’t want to blame him for that anymore.

If I were in his position, I might have abandoned me too. Maybe it was time we each focused on surviving on our own.

“Let’s see… Christmas… Wan-yi, are you any good with your hands?”

Whether it was at Shin Chi-woo’s request or not, the ballerina brought up the tree decorations again. I was thankful for that.

Of course, there were always people scoffing like, “What’s the big deal about some decorations?” But I felt proud. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t just following orders—I had acted on my own initiative.

I might never get off this island. In the end, survival meant adapting, and only by surviving could I even begin to dream of revenge—like the scar-faced woman.

“Well then, I’ll get going.”

“Wait, Wan-yi.”

Rubbing the stiffness from my neck, I put on the thick padded coat I had taken off earlier. I had finished everything I needed to do for the day—it was time to head home.

“What kind of Christmas cake do you want? If you have a design in mind, let me know. I’ll make it special for you.”

“Hmm… Bûche de Noël? You know, that signature cake from Haeran Hotel that comes out every Christmas season.”

“Okay, I’ll make one just like it.”

“Will it taste the same too?”

“…It’ll be close. Probably?”

“I’m looking forward to it. Well then, I’m off.”

There was no need to keep my distance from Chef Kwak—his personality was surprisingly warm, with a good sense of humor, and he treated women with respect. Of course, that didn’t mean I had any reason to cozy up to him either.

One thing was clear: even if Shin Chi-woo acted out in jealousy, I didn’t need to follow his lead like some obedient servant. Sometimes, the only way to truly understand something was to face it directly.

Most people still found me difficult—or to put it more harshly, they rejected me. As the daughter of a traitor, it was probably hard for anyone to get close to me.

And that was fine. Being alone meant fewer mistakes. Staying right on the edge like this seemed like the best way to protect myself.

“Here, take this.”

Of course, that didn’t mean I was trying to play the outsider. I gradually won over people I thought I’d need—like Glasses—by giving them rings or necklaces. The meaning was simple: if I ever found myself in a life-threatening situation, I was asking for help just that once.

I couldn’t go on crying every day just because of my dad. I had to carve out my own path and keep living, one way or another.

“I’m really leaving now!”

“Yeah, good job today.”

With the hood of my long padded coat pulled over my head, I practically ran back to the dorm. The winter wind here felt like a weapon—so sharp it could slice skin.

As soon as I opened the door and headed toward my spot, the familiar mocking voice rang out like a daily greeting.

“Hey, dummy. Why do you care so much about some tree?”

“Because I want to.”

“Just focus on doing your job.”

“I am. I’ve been packaging boxes really well lately. No defects these days, either.”

“Well, look at you, bragging.”

There weren’t roll calls like in the military, but there were five of us in one room. They could’ve easily built private rooms, but they didn’t. The point was to have us watch each other.

Whenever I got into one of my endless back-and-forths with Glasses, who was always looking for something to nitpick, the others would chuckle from their spots. Our squabbles had become the daily comedy routine for our roommates—like a sitcom that wasn’t even funny anymore.

“Quit it. The kid’s gonna cry.”

“She’s been here for months and still talks back like clockwork, unni.”

“She’s a grad student, remember? Not like us idiots.”

“Unni, let’s be honest. Just because someone’s good at studying doesn’t mean they’re actually smart…”

No one could beat Glasses in a verbal battle. I let them say what they wanted while quietly doing my own thing.

I opened the wardrobe and packed a few essentials—underwear and toiletries—into a clear plastic pouch. As I moved past Glasses, who was half-lying on the bed across from mine, I caught her eye.

We exchanged a quick glance—just enough to say, “We’re doing fine.”

I didn’t even hate the others anymore, even though they kept slicing me up with their words while pretending to hold back. I’d come to understand that for them, this was just a sport. And paradoxically, the fact that I was still on their radar probably meant they were interested in me.

But I still didn’t enjoy the lewd jokes they made about me and Shin Chi-woo. Like just now.

“I’m going to shower.”

“Make sure you wash thoroughly—especially down there. Gotta clear out the cobwebs.”

“You too, unni.”

“Look, Wan-yi’s really gonna cry now.”

“Cry? Look at that attitude—she’s still talking back.”

“I’ll be back.”

As soon as I stepped out, I knew the remaining women would probably fill the room with filthy, vulgar comments, imagining whatever they wanted between me and Shin Chi-woo. But now I understood: letting them focus their attention on nonsense like that was how I could keep my secrets safe.

So far, Glasses had been keeping her promise to me. By pretending to bully me relentlessly, she kept the other hyenas from pouncing.

It wasn’t until later that I found out the ballerina was behind her. When Glasses first arrived on the island, the ballerina had apparently looked after her a lot. That bond turned into loyalty—Glass(es) now considered herself the ballerina’s right hand.

As always, I went into the bathroom first when I entered the shower room. Still fully dressed, I sat on the toilet and pulled my phone out from my coat, turning it on.

[I got in touch with Executive Director Seo last night. He’s alive and well, so try not to worry too much. He knows you’re on the island and says he’s really sorry for what you’re going through.]

The morning messages were always like this—a kind of business update about Dad’s situation. A few days ago, they’d said they’d found a clue, and now I knew he was alive. That was a relief.

Dad…

I gripped the phone with both hands and barely managed to hold back the tears welling up. No matter how things ended between us, for now, just knowing that we were both alive was enough.

Pushing down the overwhelming emotions, I read the next message. Messages received later in the day usually included more personal content, but today, there was nothing.

Maybe he was overwhelmed too, because of my dad. With Dad back in the picture, Shin Chi-woo probably had to lie low and couldn’t contact me as often.

For the past three months, we had messaged like this every day, sometimes even managing short phone calls in secret. We often talked about my and Dad’s situation, but sometimes it was just silly jokes or casual chatter.

[I can’t go back to the lab. I checked, and the professor is seriously pissed.]
[All that studying was for nothing. Ugh.]
[You’re alive—that’s what matters. You can always start studying again.]

We stayed in touch pretty often. When it rained or the weather was bad, he’d worry about me being alone on this remote island. Sometimes, we’d talk about personal things too.

Maybe that’s why, in the midst of my lonely and monotonous days, I started looking forward to those moments when I heard from Shin Chi-woo. Because I was in regular contact with the one person who might actually save me, I sometimes forgot that I was in a prison, a place of exile.

“Last night, my mom came to me in a dream. I’m feeling kind of down today.”

— Want me to sing you a lullaby?

“We can only talk for three minutes. What’s the point?”

— If it gives you peace of mind, even just for those three minutes, it’s worth it to me.

Every time he showed that he was thoughtfully and sincerely looking out for me, I felt like I could endure this lonely, painful life just a little longer. That’s why I wished—with all my heart—that this kind and gentle man would truly be the one to save me.