I am not a Yandere chapter 121

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Thursday slipped into Friday, and soon it was the weekend.

The final day of Yeongdeok’s business arrived quicker than expected.

Despite the shop closing for good today, the customers who came to say goodbye were disappointingly few.

Just a handful of regulars stopped by.

“I can’t believe it’s your last day… I’ll really miss this place,” one regular said.

“I always loved your chicken,” another added.

The loyal customers, finishing their meals and paying their checks, expressed their regret that there would be no place left to enjoy chicken like Yeongdeok’s.

They also shared words of encouragement, wishing him well in whatever he pursued next.

As Yeongdeok listened to them, a peculiar feeling washed over him.

Even though there wasn’t much work to do due to the lack of customers, time still seemed to fly on the shop’s final day.

The phone that once read “afternoon” now showed “morning,” and in the blink of an eye, it was already 2 a.m., closing time.

As the hour struck, Yeongdeok picked up a broom and silently began his last round of cleanup.

Saying goodbye to the store made him feel heavy and stifled.

What was this emotion?

As he blinked, fleeting images played before his eyes like a reel of memories.

Opening the shop for the first time, the Beautiful Life members visiting and drawing in a flood of new customers, Jihoon joining as an employee, Gwakdupal and DaerimdongFist stopping by, Ha Wonjin becoming a regular, and Baek Seonwoo showing up to bother him.

The memories of people he’d met and moments shared while frying chicken floated through the air like drifting bubbles.

Pausing in the middle of cleaning, Yeongdeok’s hands stilled, and Jihoon, concerned, placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Worry shone in Jihoon’s eyes, shimmering softly.

He observed Yeongdeok like a loyal dog watching its owner, trying to gauge his state.

“It was just a hobby,” Yeongdeok replied. “I never had any real attachment to this place, so I’m fine.”

Whether the shop prospered or closed, it didn’t matter to Yeongdeok.

He had more than enough money to live comfortably without ever working.

The shop had only ever been a way to get back at PetitRolang, an effort to escape the obsession-driven life he was trapped in.

His expression was calm, indifferent, as if he truly felt nothing.

To anyone else, he might have seemed unaffected, but Jihoon knew better.

Beneath that defensive exterior, Jihoon could see that Yeongdeok was far from fine.

“No, maybe that’s how it started, but I’ve seen how much you care about this place,” Jihoon said softly.

“Me? That can’t be,” Yeongdeok retorted.

In Yeongdeok’s world, his number one goal was always revenge against PetitRolang.

The shop was just a means to that end.

At least, that’s what he had always thought… until now.

Jihoon’s words made him look around the shop with fresh eyes.

The dining area where customers once ate, the kitchen where he fried chicken, the storage room filled with supplies, the counter where he rang up sales—everything felt so familiar, like a second home.

Creating new menu items, keeping the place spotless, working diligently, striving to serve the best chicken possible…

Had he really never cared?

Did it truly not matter to him?

Lost in thought, realization struck him like a shooting star in his mind. It did matter.

It mattered so much.

The shop, the customers, the chicken, and everything that made up this space—they were all incredibly precious to him.

As he acknowledged his true feelings, his heart, long dormant, began to pound with overwhelming force.

The weight of his emotions pressed against his chest, so intense he could hardly bear it.

Desperate to shake off the heaviness, he threw the broom into a cabinet and turned to Jihoon.

“Forget cleaning. Let’s call it a night. We won’t be opening tomorrow anyway,” he said.

Jihoon, seeing how tired Yeongdeok looked, simply nodded without a word.

He knew how exhausted Yeongdeok must be, and maybe, after everything, taking some time to rest wouldn’t be so bad.

As they stepped outside, Jihoon glanced up at the bright red sign reading “Yeongdeok Chicken.” Would this be the last time he saw that rustic sign?

It was hard to believe it was all ending so suddenly.

Standing beside him, Yeongdeok also gazed at the sign, staring at the vivid color as if being pulled into a daze.

A few days ago, Wonjin had asked him something that suddenly resurfaced.

“Aren’t you thinking about reopening someday?”

A small, bitter laugh escaped him.

Could he really open another shop?

With the supernatural forces lurking around him, it felt like a miracle just to survive day by day.

As he brooded, an overwhelming presence intruded on his thoughts.

“Even if it feels sudden, you’ve worked so hard. Really,” Jihoon said, his hand resting on Yeongdeok’s shoulder, patting it gently.

“Even if the shop is closing, I’ll always be here for you. If you ever need me, just call, and I’ll come running.”

The way he spoke and the warmth in his eyes were nothing like how they had been when they first met.

It was almost hard to believe they had once been enemies in the original story.

When Yeongdeok’s gaze filled with Jihoon’s face, the thought of PetitRolang, which had been consuming his mind, began to fade away.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, an earsplitting roar shattered the moment.

The sound was so deafening it felt like a rocket launching rather than a motorcycle revving.

“What the hell is going on, making noise like that in the middle of the night?” he grumbled.

The noise drew closer until a sleek black motorcycle skidded to a stop, circling them before coming to a halt nearby.

“What the…” Yeongdeok muttered.

The rider, dressed head to toe in black with a helmet obscuring their face, climbed off the bike.

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, ready for trouble, but the face revealed under the helmet was one they both knew well.

“Yeongdeok,” Wonjin said, smoothing down his flattened hair and flashing a genuine smile.

Without his usual silver-rimmed glasses, his plain but handsome features stood out in the dim light.

It was past 2 a.m. now, the dawn of Monday.

Yeongdeok couldn’t understand why this guy, who had work in just a few hours, would show up here.

“What’s this? Why are you here at this hour… The shop is closed,” Yeongdeok said.

“I know. I came at closing time on purpose,” Wonjin replied with an innocent smile.

Maybe he’d come for a last meal of chicken, but Wonjin clarified his intent, his eyes gleaming confidently under the streetlight.

“Come on a drive with me, Yeongdeok.”

“A drive?” Yeongdeok echoed.

“Yeah, a drive,” Wonjin confirmed.

“At this hour? Why should I?” Yeongdeok asked, puzzled.

“It’s your last day running the shop. A little change of pace might be nice. Besides, have you ever been on a bike before?” Wonjin asked.

“Never,” Yeongdeok admitted.

Yeongdeok’s gaze shifted to the motorcycle that Wonjin had brought.

He couldn’t understand why Wonjin had suggested a drive at such a late hour, especially on a motorcycle instead of a car.

It didn’t seem like typical behavior for someone usually so possessive and obsessive.

“Is there a destination?” Yeongdeok asked.

“Nope. That’s the charm of a drive.”

For Yeongdeok, transportation was merely a tool for efficient movement from one place to another.

The idea of driving aimlessly without a set goal felt like a waste of time.

He’d rather head home and get some sleep—much more efficient.

Efficiency-driven, Yeongdeok decided he should just go home.

Yet, a memory of something Seonwoo had once said floated into his mind.

“It’s not a waste of time; it’s about getting a breather on a drive. And it’s snowing—how nice is that?”

A breather, huh?

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