Yeonman-dong, with its small peaceful streets and elegant facades, seemed to be the perfect refuge to escape his nightmare and the pressure of work. The sun was still sleepy and Soojin had already started this daily routine. She had become accustomed to running every morning at the same time and even on Sundays. Dressed in a black outfit and a cap, she began her race.

  That morning, she was running to escape more than the daily stress. With her breath short, she tried to forget all this week and above all, this suffocating nightmare of the day before. Her feet hit the ground regularly, but her mind remained a prisoner of her past and oppressive that still haunted her. Whatever the day, month, or year. She was marked forever.

  She had taken the road to Yeonhui Park, a green space renowned for its tranquility and vast expanses of shade under the tall trees. The morning joggers crowded there, just like her, hoping to find a little peace in nature. The sun's rays crossed the foliage, depositing spots of golden light on the gravel paths, and a gentle breeze brought the fresh smell of the cut grass.

  Despite the invisible vice that squeezed her chest, she could not help but notice how magical this place was. The birds sang softly, their melodies melting with the whisper of the wind, and everything seemed bathed in a kind of timeless serenity. The park was a living painting, where every detail, from the wildflowers that lined the paths to the wooden benches worn by time, seemed to have been designed to soothe tormented souls, like his own.

  She finally slows down, her heart still beating, but her breath gradually regaining a calmer rhythm. Yeonhui Park enveloped her in a sweetness that she could not ignore.

  There was something inexplicable in that place. Even with her anxieties still present, she could feel a weight lighten, as if the park offered her a moment out of time, a moment to breathe. The centuries-old trees seemed to whisper secrets, promises of renewal and hope. Yes, here, despite everything, there was a space to forget, even for a moment, nightmares and pain.

  She continued to run, this time more gently, savoring this parenthesis of tranquility that Yeonhui offered her.

  After an hour in the park, soojin decides to go home, she begins to think about her journey. When she was younger soojin did not know what to do for later, while some acquaintances dream of being idols or actresses. She was the only one who did not know what to answer when they were asked the question.

  Then, one day in college she understood what a job she wanted to do, thanks or because of her harassment.

  She knew that only one victim could understand another, she had clung to this dream, to this idea of becoming an inspector in a world where everything, absolutely everything, seemed to conspire against her. Since she had crossed the door of the police academy, she felt this invisible weight on her shoulders, the one that did not weigh on men. She saw their looks, those of her superiors and colleagues. They never said it out loud, but their eyes spoke in their place: Are you really in your place here?

  She had given everything. She had fought for every point, every evaluation. The physical training, hard and relentless, left no room for weakness. But she knew it, it was not her endurance or strength that was tested. It was something else, an invisible filter reserved for women, a kind of persistent skepticism. When she passed the physical tests, she sometimes heard whispers - She is doing well... for a girl. These words stung her every time, like invisible needles that slowly sank into her skin.

  Once on the field, the reality was even harsher. In the neighborhoods where she had to patrol, the residents often saw her with surprise, sometimes with contempt. How many times had she heard -They send women now? Or wouldn't you be better off behind a desk? The doubt came not only from the criminals she faced but also from those she protected. His uniform did not seem to be enough to prove his legitimacy. She had to do twice as much, to prove that she had not chosen this route by accident.

  Then there were his colleagues. In this world where the spirit of male camaraderie reigned supreme, she was the foreigner. In the locker rooms, in the briefings, and even in the informal discussions, she felt that she was never completely included. We left it out of jokes, networks, and unofficial promotions. More than once, she had surprised looks of disdain and snickers as she passed. And those moments when she had to deal with inappropriate behavior? Implied jokes, inappropriate comments, hands that rested on his shoulder for too long. She had learned to ignore, to grit her teeth, but it never left her completely unharmed.

  The glass ceiling was very real. She had touched him several times. His performances could be exemplary, but the promotions were expected, always given to another, to a man. In the meetings where she took the floor, she was often ignored, her ideas swept away by the back of her hand or, worse, taken up by a male colleague who received the honors. Everyone saw her perseverance, but few respected her for that. She had to constantly fight to be taken seriously as if her gender was an impassable barrier in this environment.

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  To this were added social expectations. At every family meal, she heard the same remarks —When are you getting married? Why such a difficult job? A woman should think about starting a family. Her mother's words resonated in her mind with every new investigation, every sleepless night —You shouldn't exhaust yourself like this. It's not a job for a woman.

  The days stretched, and the mental fatigue became overwhelming. She saw her male counterparts advance in their careers, with fewer personal sacrifices, while she had to juggle the expectations of a society that wanted her both perfect on the ground and irreproachable in her personal life. The sleepless nights, the constant stress, and this implicit pressure of having to prove that, yes, she had her place here. Sometimes it seemed almost unbearable.

  But she continued. Because deep down, she knew why she had chosen this job. She wanted to change things, break prejudices, and open doors for those who would come after her. Every obstacle, every derogatory comment, only strengthened his determination. If she were to climb this mountain, she would do it, even if it meant carrying this burden alone. Because in the end, she knew that it was not her who was wrong, but a system that still refused to see her as she was.

  The miracle happened. After playing a key role in a corruption case that had shaken the whole country, the system had no choice but to promote her to the position she had long deserved, inspector. She had accomplished what some men, favored by this same system, could never have done. Yes, the road had been long, dotted with sacrifices, but she had finally won. She had triumphed from the system.

  However, there was one last obstacle. As in every system, there was a final boss. And in this one, it was his mother. A woman for whom equality made no sense, a woman convinced that men had to bring back the money and that women had to devote themselves to the home.

  Mother—So, are you finally an inspector?

  She had waited for this moment. She had imagined a whole bunch of scenarios in which her mother would congratulate her, where she would tell her that she was proud. But instead, she felt the weight of her mother's words fall on her like an icy wave.

  —Yes, I did. I am an inspector.

  Mother—And why? To leave your house empty? To prove to you what exactly? Do you think it will make you a better woman.

  She clenched her fists under the table, trying to contain her anger.

  —Mom, I'm not doing this to prove anything. I worked hard. I showed that I could be up to it, that I could accomplish what many thought was impossible. I'm proud of what I've done.

  Mother—What you should be proud of is having a clean house, well-behaved children, and a husband who loves you. Not a job that will take all your energy and time. Women are made for something else, not to hang out in police stations like a man.

  She felt anger rising, but also deep sadness. After all she had accomplished, what was the reward? The judgment of the one who, more than anything, should have supported her?

  She—What you don't understand, Mom, is that I can be more than that. I can be an inspector and lead a balanced life. I am not defined by a traditional role.

  Mother—The day you understand that your happiness is not in these titles, but in the home, you will come back to see me.

  The silence that followed was heavy, almost deafening. She had defeated a system, but faced with her mother, she found herself small again, having to prove her worth. But this time, she would not back down.

  —Maybe, but for now, I'm proud of who I've become.

  She got up from the table, her head held high. His victory, even if it was not recognized by all, remained a victory.

  Sitting in front of the painting she had begun to paint when she returned, she was lost in her memories. At her age, she understood that she could never change her mother's mentality. This was the education she had received in a country where no one thought that one day women could work and refuse to get married.

  Lost in her thoughts, she was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She took a look: it was her mother. With an annoyed face, Soojin knew that if she didn't answer, her mother would be able to land at her house at any time. She much preferred to take the call.

  —Hello?

  Mother—Soojin! Why didn't you answer? I've been calling you for an hour.

  —Sorry, I was busy.

  Mother—Occupied with what? To paint again? It doesn't bring you anything, you know it, right? And tell me, have you at least thought about marriage?

  —Mom, I'm happy with my work.

  Mother—Happy? Look at your sister, she is married and expecting a child. And Madame Jeon's daughter is getting married in a week. What are you waiting for? You are the only one in the entourage who is single!

  —Why do you always put me under pressure for this? I don't want to get married just to please everyone.

  —It's not to please, it's for your good! You should think about starting a family, that's the real success.

  —That's it! This conversation again. Mom, I'm fulfilled in my work and I'm not ready to give it up for a wedding!

  —Emplean? Do you think it will make you happy in the long run? Promise me that you will think about what I tell you.

  —I promise to think, but I'm not going to sacrifice my ambitions. I would like you to respect that!

  —Very well, but remember that I am always here to help you make the right choice.

  —Thank you, but I'm old enough to decide what's good for me.

  She hung up, the annoyance still palpable, but determined to chart her path.

  No one will make me retreat even less her

  Despite her annoyance, she finished her painting without even noticing that the sun was already set. It was an almost normal Sunday for her if we forget her mother's call, of course. This call had changed the tone of her day, leaving her troubled, her thoughts mixing with the colors she applied absently on the canvas.

  She had always found comfort in art, a way to escape dilemmas and difficult decisions. The art of choosing, for her, was often linked to this tension between following her instincts or sticking to the rules of society. However, that day, the art of choosing had taken an unexpected turn.

  She just rotted my Sunday

  Once again, his mother had managed to ruin his Sunday. With her reproaches and remarks, soojin felt like a victim of this conversation. How did the opinions of others concern her? Nothing, absolutely nothing.