Read Just Twilight Novel Translation Chapter 15

(Just Dawn | 그저 여명일 뿐 )

Romance, Drama, Slice-of-life, Josei, Mature

Original: Woo Jihye | Translation: Genie

---

Drenched from head to toe, Junyoung stood frozen in the doorway, clutching the door handle. Her shoulders shook unevenly as she stared at the floor. Unsure of what was happening, Beomjin could do nothing but call her name.

“What are you doing standing there half-naked? Are you some kind of pervert?”

Her sharp words quivered slightly at the end. Beomjin stared blankly at the back of Junyoung’s head as she brushed past him, her steps heavy with emotion. She marched up the stairs with defiant confidence.

She seemed completely unaware of the way her rain-soaked skirt revealed her pale, smooth thighs with every step. Beomjin hastily averted his gaze and shut the door against the pounding rain outside.

Soon, her shrill cries echoed throughout the house as Junyoung threw herself onto the bed and buried her head under the blanket.

“Ugh! I hate this! I hate it so much! It’s driving me insane! I hate rich people! I hate privileged people! I want them all to just rot! Argh!”

Her muffled voice screamed as her body thrashed, making the bed creak under her. Beomjin, wiping the sweat off his forehead from his earlier workout, couldn’t suppress a silent laugh.

“Sure, go ahead and vent. We’ll clean up when the time comes.”

“Ugh! Ughhhhh!”

After a quick rinse at the sink, Beomjin threw on a T-shirt and sat down in Junyoung’s chair. From his vantage point, he could occasionally see her arms or legs flailing wildly over the second-floor railing. Resting his chin on his hand, Beomjin had no idea how soft his own expression had become.

*She might lose her voice at this rate.*

Just as he thought that her screams abruptly stopped; Junyoung suddenly threw off the blanket and sprang to her feet, descending the stairs in a flurry of movement. Beomjin had to clench his teeth to stifle a laugh; her hair was a complete, tangled mess.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Beomjin frowned and stood up.

“That’s new,” he said, noting her outfit.

Junyoung stiffened, her breathing heavy. Gripping the untucked hem of her shirt, she gritted her teeth and muttered, “It’s from *that* house.”

“…What?”

“When I spilt a bit of juice on my clothes, they made me change into this. It’s the same shirt their hired staff wears. They did it on purpose—to mock me.”

Beomjin’s hand froze mid-motion as he reached for a towel. Slowly, he turned back to face her.

“So why are you still wearing it?”

Junyoung, brushing her tangled hair back from her face, snapped, “What do you want me to do? Walk around naked? I didn’t even have time to grab other clothes in my rush to leave!”

Before she could finish speaking, Beomjin pulled off his T-shirt and handed it to her. He gestured with a flick of his fingers.

“Deal with the sweat smell. It’s better than something completely soaked through.”

Though she pouted, Junyoung took the T-shirt without complaint. The first time doing something is always the hardest, after all.

Glancing out at the rain, Junyoung shot him a quick look and headed back upstairs. Beomjin understood her silent demand and turned his back, leaning against the sink.

*What kind of host sends their guest out into the rain without an umbrella?*

Unexplainable anger bubbled up in him. Looking down at his clenched fist, he noticed the blue veins bulging under his skin.

“So, what are you going to wear now?” Junyoung asked, her head poking out from upstairs, clad in his oversized T-shirt. Beomjin tilted his chin upward.

“Throw me the shirt.”

“You’re just going to wash it? Do you like doing laundry or something?”

Hoping she wouldn’t actually say, “Wash it,” Beomjin caught the shirt Junyoung tossed and immediately grabbed the sleeves, tearing it apart with a sharp ripping sound. He crumpled the fabric and threw it into the trash without a second thought.

“Hey!” Junyoung yelled, her voice sharp.

“What?” Beomjin replied.

“Why’d you rip it? What a waste!”

“…A waste?” he repeated incredulously.

“I was going to repurpose it into something else!” she said, leaning over the railing with a pout.

Beomjin sighed deeply, shaking his head. “I can’t tell if you have pride or not.”

Her expression briefly faltered at his words. Lowering her gaze, she murmured softly, “It’s about practicality. The fabric was good, you know.”
Junyoung’s sharp glare pierced through him as she let out a scoffing laugh, disbelief etched across her face.

“Flexing your muscles, are you? Could you at least put something on?”

“Why? You love staring at me.”

“You pervert! What kind of insane nonsense is that…?”

Her voice trailed into a shriek as she clasped her ears in mock exasperation. “I’m telling you to put something on so you don’t catch a cold! It’s chilly in here because of the rain. If you don’t have clothes, at least throw a blanket over yourself.”

That was unexpected. Sometimes, Junyoung’s casual remarks felt like they were digging right into his core, and it annoyed him. Letting out a bitter chuckle, Beomjin climbed the stairs. Junyoung, now sitting cross-legged on the bed, bundled up a blanket and held it out to him.

Beomjin pushed the blanket back toward her. “You wrap yourself up. I’m not cold.”

“You didn’t know? When I wear your T-shirts, they turn into long sleeves.”

She flapped her oversized sleeves playfully, the fabric nearly reaching her wrists. At moments like these, she was just a kid—someone who still seemed to need protection.

Beomjin stood still as she knelt on the bed and draped the blanket over his shoulders. Maybe it was the heat lingering from his earlier workout, but every time Junyoung’s rain-soaked shampoo scent wafted toward him, his neck felt hot.

Should I ask her what happened?

Or should I ask about her mom first?

If he didn’t start a conversation, she might just head back downstairs. As he struggled to find a topic, Junyoung spoke in a calm voice, cutting through his thoughts.

“The scratch on your neck hasn’t healed yet.”

Turning his head, Beomjin saw her resting her chin on her folded knees. Her pale face, framed by strands of damp hair, was so close he could see the shadows cast by her eyelashes. He quickly looked away, sighing as he replied.

“You shouldn’t hit people.”

“When would I ever hit someone—”

“Your mom’s got a pretty heavy hand. You might’ve inherited it. That’s scary.”

Junyoung blinked, her sharp retort interrupted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head.

“Your jokes are so weird. Do you know that?”

“I know they’re about as weird as you.”

“Want me to test if I’ve inherited it? Let’s find out.”

“How often do you get hit?”

Junyoung froze mid-motion, her clenched fist suspended in the air. Beomjin let out a short breath and turned to look at her. Beneath her long lashes, her clear eyes wavered. He asked softly, “Is it serious?”

“No.”

Her swift interruption came with a strained expression, her face stiffening awkwardly. Beomjin noticed her tapping her fingers nervously, and for a moment, he feared she might clam up entirely. But then she muttered, her tone defensive:

“It’s like a fit. You just have to wait for it to pass. Just be careful if she starts throwing things.”

Watching her mumbling lips, an ache formed in his chest. He had anticipated her answer, yet the shame Junyoung seemed to feel—over something that wasn’t her fault—stirred frustration within him. It wasn’t just the story itself; it was his helplessness, his inability to do anything more than listen.

“Then you tell me.”

Beomjin frowned at the sudden demand, turning to face her. Unfazed by his usual intimidating look, Junyoung stared at him with wide, expectant eyes. Her casualness only fueled his irritation.

His tense expression refused to relax as he leaned on his hand, hiding his face.

“Tell you what?”

“Something like my mom. You tell me, too.”

Junyoung shrugged as if to explain her reasoning. “It’d feel more fair that way.”

A faint laugh escaped him. Of course, this was her solution—tit for tat. It was so like Junyoung.

But then again, she could’ve just ignored it, pretended she didn’t know anything. The fact that she wanted to share this burden with him suggested she wanted to keep this connection alive. Rubbing his lips with his hand, Beomjin spoke in a low voice.

“My father was a gangster. He passed away a few years ago.”

He avoided looking at her, but from the corner of his eye, he caught her lips parting slightly.

Was this a mistake? Regret set in almost immediately, though part of him felt a slight weight lift from his chest. If Junyoung had her “mom,” then he had his “dad.” An unwelcome yet unavoidable presence that had shaped their lives profoundly.

His decision to share this wasn’t solely because of Junyoung’s request. Deep down, he wanted someone to know about his situation—someone like her.

Even while his father was alive, school life hadn’t been smooth. But after his death, it was chaos. Violence, disguised as “revenge,” hounded him relentlessly until he ended up in this town. He didn’t plan to share those details, though.

The silence stretched uncomfortably long. Beomjin didn’t have the courage to face her, afraid of seeing fear in her large eyes. He tilted his lips into a bitter smirk.

“Do you regret asking? Wish you hadn’t brought it up?”

“Not really…”

Junyoung hesitated briefly before continuing in a quicker tone.

“It just makes me think… You might have it better than me.”

Her unexpected response made him look at her. Whatever her initial reaction, Junyoung now showed no fear. If anything, her detachedness caught him off guard.

“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice low and sceptical.

“You said he’s dead, right? A dead king isn’t as scary as a living tyrant.”

What was she even talking about?