Chapter 1 — The Pleasure Game of Nameless Men - Part 1 (1)

Cash poker, mahjong, slot machines.

"Here you are, older brother."

Inside a dimly lit Japanese-style bar, buzzing with rowdy chatter.

Silver-framed, cold-looking glasses. Hair neatly styled, not covering the forehead—clean-cut, with a hint of severity. A slim, two-button navy-blue suit.

The man exuded his social standing and education through his appearance. He gestured toward another man—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sleek black suit that emphasized his refined, restrained elegance, his head turning slowly as he scanned the room.

The tall man caught the signal from the man in silver glasses, nodded with a faint, knowing smile—relief and recognition blending—and slowly approached.

"It's been a while. Dr. Jang."

"Older brother, you're well, I hope? It's been too long."

As the tall man sat across from him, the man in silver glasses awkwardly rose and bowed.

"Me? Oh, same as always. How's your clinic doing?"

"Fine. Getting by."

His words were polite, but his expression wasn't bright.

Was it the stress of work? Or resentment at having to bring this up over drinks? It was impossible to tell in that moment.

The tall man didn't miss the flicker of discomfort. But he didn't press.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, let's have a drink first. Haha."

"Yes! Please, let me pour you one."

Relieved that the subject wasn't pursued, the man in silver glasses hastily responded, tilting the soju bottle to fill the glass.

For the next hour, the two men exchanged stories—school days, workplace mishaps, gossip about mutual acquaintances.

Three soju bottles now stood on the table, the third nearly empty. A slight buzz had set in, and with it, a sudden lull in conversation.

The tall man finally shrugged off his jacket, loosened his tie, and carefully folded it, placing it neatly beside him as if afraid of creases.

"Alright. You seem like you have something to say. We've had enough to drink. Let's hear it before we get too drunk."

"No, it's not exactly that I have something to say."

The man in silver glasses stammered, suddenly flustered, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"You wouldn't have reached out if it wasn't important. It's fine. Take your time."

"..."

He lowered his head, silent, apologetic.

"I didn't mean to make you feel guilty. Seeing you like this—it makes me happy. But if there's a reason for this meeting, we should address it before moving on."

"Yes."

He regretted, just for a moment, not having kept in touch more often. It would've made this easier. But it was too late now.

"If you feel that way, then I feel even more guilty. I've just been busy with the clinic. I hope you understand."

"It's fine. I'm not exactly easy to reach either."

The man in silver glasses lifted his soju glass, drained it, and continued.

"Actually… I don't know what to do with my wife."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's not that I dislike her or anything. It's just… married life has become dull."

"You found someone else?"

"No. I'm not the kind of man who'd risk everything like that."

"Hmm. Fair enough. Then is it your wife? Did she do something?"

"She hasn't cheated or anything. In fact, I almost wish something like that had happened."

"?"

"It's just… after two years, seeing her face every day feels tiresome. The same routine—home, clinic, home, clinic. The repetition. I can't quite put my finger on it, but… I'm just bored."

"So there's no incident, no conflict. Just… boredom?"

"Yes."

The tall man crossed his arms, lost in thought.

"Does your wife feel the same? Or is this just you?"

"I don't know her true feelings. She's never been particularly outgoing. But when I come home, it feels like stepping into the Arctic—minus ten degrees. That can't be just me, right?"

"Probably not."

"I never felt this cold even when I lived alone as a bachelor. It's suffocating."

"And your intimacy?"

"What would I hide from you? I can't even remember the last time we were together. Neither of us asks for it."

Neither asks for it? So they've both come to see each other as little more than household fixtures?

Trapped in routine, too exhausted to feel or act. And his wife—did she see him as nothing more than a man who left on time, came home on time, brought money on time?

The tall man pictured it in his mind: two people exchanging stiff good mornings and good nights, faces blank, eyes empty.

"In a way, that kind of indifference might be more dangerous than a couple screaming at each other."

"Yes. Exactly. At least if we fought, I might feel some release. But we don't. I sometimes wonder if we see each other as not even worth fighting over."

"Hmm. So you want to divorce her?"

"But here's the thing—I don't. You know how much I love my wife. How much I respect her family. If I hated her, I'd just leave cleanly. But I don't hate her. I just… ugh."

"So you don't want to separate. You just want a breakthrough—a spark—to reignite what you once had? Is that it?"

"Yes. I can't fully understand my own feelings, but that's probably the closest way to put it. If this suffocation lifts, I'd endure even bad consequences."

"But if bad consequences come, that suffocation might only deepen. I take your words as just a cry of frustration—someone desperate to break through reality."

"Yes, older brother. If my words sound extreme, it's only because I'm struggling so much. Please understand."

The man in silver glasses looked slightly relieved, as if unburdening himself had brought some catharsis.

Whether it would be resolved or not could wait. For now, he'd found release.

The tall man crossed his arms again, head slightly lowered in thought.

A common problem in capitalist modern society—but the solution was as complex as an unsolvable math equation.

Who could easily fix matters of the human heart?

"When there's a lack of affection between spouses, the best solution is a moment that rekindles desire—a moment where they crave each other, feel possession, and ultimately merge."

"Are you suggesting…"

It was an awkward approach. In Korean society, such matters were taboo, despite their importance.

"In the end, it's about wanting to impress each other again, to see each other with fresh eyes. It's about the effort to truly desire each other again. To reawaken care, sincerity."

"There's truth in that. But will that really fix this?"

"It's not about doing something once. It's about the process—the effort to truly desire each other again."

"So you're saying… reconnect intimately to rediscover affection?"

"You could say that."

The tall man fell silent for a moment, then picked up his phone and dialed.

"Yeah. It's me. Still awake? I'm coming home with Dr. Jang—can you set out some light drinks? Yeah. Yeah."

It sounded like a call to his wife.

"Older brother, it's so late. You shouldn't trouble your wife like this."

"For the sake of the conversation, let's continue at my place."

Without giving room for objection, the tall man quickly stood, gathering his things.

The man in silver glasses had no choice but to follow.

He was stunned by the sudden invitation. The tall man rarely brought people home. What could this mean?

But he'd always trusted this man's wisdom, his psychological insight. This time would be no different.

Even in the taxi, he wanted to ask questions—but it felt rude to pester someone offering help so generously.

It was just… complicated.

"Welcome. It's been a while."

The apartment door opened, and his hyungnim greeted them with a warm smile.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited more often. I hope you're well."

"Don't worry. I know the clinic keeps you busy. Please, come in."

She wore white leggings, a plain white T-shirt, and a light gray cardigan—modest, but welcoming. Her long hair was tied up, practical and comfortable.

She exchanged brief greetings, then subtly moved close to her husband, half-hiding behind him—a quiet display of intimacy and her reserved nature.

"I'll talk with Dr. Jang in my study for a bit. Wait for us."

"Of course. I'll finish setting the table. Take your time. Don't keep him waiting too long."

Her expression, once cold, now softened with warmth and affection as she looked at her husband.

The man in silver glasses felt a pang—not just of admiration, but of envy, of jealousy. Here was a woman he knew only as "hyungnim," yet now he saw her as a woman—desirable, cherished.

And he, trapped in his own cold marriage, could only watch.

The tall man's study—somewhere even their close friendship hadn't granted him access before.

Bookshelves lined every wall. A massive desk dominated the window side. In the only empty space, a large LCD TV sat opposite a plush sofa.

The tall man sat silently at the desk, turning on his computer. The man in silver glasses slowly scanned the shelves.

Textbooks from university days. Political, current affairs, and psychology books—clear signs of interest. CDs, cameras, lenses—evidence of hobbies.

"Older brother, you still go out taking photos often?"

"One of my few hobbies. Sit comfortably. You can smoke if you want."

"Thanks. I'll have one."

He settled into the sofa, lit a cigarette. At the same moment, the tall man turned on the wall-mounted TV.

The screen lit up—revealing the desktop of his computer. Clearly set up for multi-monitor viewing.

"I'll show you the result of my hobby."

The next second, the TV filled with the image of a woman laughing brightly.

His wife.

Her hair fluttered slightly in the wind. She wore a slim skirt suit, sheer stockings, high heels—elegant, radiant.

"That's hyungnim. She looks great. You took a beautiful photo."

The man in silver glasses admired her slim figure, but more than that—he envied the joy between this couple, the shared passion.

Photo after photo passed—different poses, different locations. Some showed her in various states of dress, each more intimate than the last. He found himself leaning forward, drawn into images that seemed to capture private moments between husband and wife.

The tall man watched his guest's reaction with quiet satisfaction.

"These photos… they represent something between us. A way we found to stay connected."

The man in silver glasses couldn't tear his eyes from the screen—from the woman he had only ever seen as dignified and reserved, now captured in such vulnerable, beautiful moments.

"Older brother… these photos…"

"Just the result of my hobby, like I said."

The tall man spoke as if it were nothing. To the man in silver glasses, it felt like a revelation.

"I'm not telling you what to do. I just wanted to show you—this is one way. One of many. I'm not saying you should copy us."

So he was meant to find his own path—not by imitation, but by inspiration.

"Between couples, the ways to find pleasure are as numerous as the number of men and women. We're just enjoying one of them.

If you and your wife can find your own point of pleasure, you'll crave each other again."

The man in silver glasses fell silent.

This new perspective on marital pleasure was shocking.

It wasn't about the act itself. It was about the sudden, overwhelming urge to see his wife differently—to rediscover her as someone new.

How long had it been since he'd felt this kind of excitement?

His own wife, still beautiful—what if he learned to see her differently? What if they found something just for themselves?

He wouldn't be able to hold back.

"I… I think I understand your intention. And how to start looking for a solution."

"Good. You don't have to figure it out now. Relationships—especially marriage—are close, yet difficult."

He wondered—what did his hyungnim sound like? What expressions did she make? What did it feel like to share something like this with someone?

Knock knock.

"Older brother, are you still talking? I've finished preparing."

Hearing his wife's voice at the study door, he froze—just like as a boy caught by his parents.