Garchifam LoVeR

I didn’t know the plot was this interesting?! ╥﹏╥

Chapters 37 and 38 of Killing Stalking stand out to me as the most powerful, emotionally complex, and psychologically layered parts of the entire series. These chapters offer a rare and haunting glimpse into what might have been between Sangwoo and Bum if their relationship hadn’t been built on trauma, abuse, and violence. For a brief moment, the chaos slows down, and something resembling normalcy—however artificial—takes its place. The characters go on a date, laugh together, visit a theme park, share soju, take a silly picture, and exchange a small gift. These aren’t just plot points—they’re emotionally charged contrasts to the brutality that defines the rest of the story. What makes this interlude so compelling is the fragile, confusing tenderness between the two. Bum’s joy is genuine and raw; it breaks my heart to see him smiling so innocently, because we know he’s clinging to the illusion of love. But what truly strikes me is how Sangwoo lets it happen—not to make Bum happy, but to study him. He’s not entirely unaffected. There are moments—like when he almost throws away their photo but keeps it after Bum calls his name, when he returns the frog keychain, or hesitates as Bum smiles—that reveal Sangwoo is feeling something. Something that unsettles him. And that’s what fascinates me the most: Sangwoo is scared. He’s scared of the feelings that begin to rise within him. He’s scared of warmth. Of care. Of what emotional vulnerability could mean. And in his twisted mind, vulnerability equals danger. So instead of exploring these feelings, he tries to destroy them—to remind himself that he is in control.

Chapter 38’s infamous bathtub scene is the emotional climax of this illusion. When Sangwoo sits in the tub, laughing and whispering “I win,” it’s not just a declaration of dominance—it’s a self-reassuring mantra. On the surface, Sangwoo believes he’s reclaimed control over Bum, who, despite everything—captivity, abuse, trauma—has become even more attached to him. In Sangwoo’s warped worldview, that’s the ultimate win: to break someone so thoroughly that they love you anyway. The theme park date, the soju, the haunted house, the sex—none of it was genuine for Sangwoo. It was a calculated power game to measure Bum’s dependency. When Bum smiled, laughed, blushed, and asked for closeness, Sangwoo didn’t feel joy—he felt validation. He had succeeded in breaking Bum so deeply that Bum now clung to him willingly. His words, “I win,” echo with multiple meanings. He has won control over Bum again, after watching him show signs of healing and independence. He has beaten the “better” version of Bum—the one who might’ve escaped him emotionally. He has proven that even when he feels nothing, he can still get everything: love, attention, fear, and obedience. In that moment, he believes he has triumphed over his own emptiness.

But beneath that hollow victory lies something unstable and frightened. The brief moments where Sangwoo’s mask slips—during the rollercoaster, while watching Bum light up over the frog keychain, or hesitating before discarding their photo—suggest that he is not immune. He feels something, even if he doesn’t understand it. And that confusion terrifies him. So instead of facing it, he kills it—emotionally, symbolically. Sangwoo’s “I win” isn’t about defeating Bum; it’s about defeating his own feelings before they get too strong. It’s his last defense against vulnerability, because to someone as emotionally wounded as Sangwoo, emotional connection is more dangerous than violence. It is that vulnerability, not the police, that poses the real threat to his identity. This is why his win is so hollow and tragic—because it’s not truly a win. It’s a terrified man trying to bury the last flicker of his humanity before it undoes him.

These chapters are my favorite not because they are romantic—but because they show just how tragically close these characters come to something real, only to destroy it out of fear and survival. It’s the heartbreak of what could have been that stays with me. Bum truly believed they shared something special that night. He laughed, opened up, and genuinely wanted intimacy. But Sangwoo was playing war while Bum was hoping for love. One thought they were healing; the other thought it was checkmate. Sangwoo reduced everything—Bum’s hope, affection, emotional growth—into a twisted power play. His whispered “I win” is more than cruelty. It’s a lullaby from a monster—not shouted in rage, but whispered in satisfaction. It means: “I still have you. I’ve erased the parts of you that tried to escape. You are mine—body, mind, and trauma.” That’s what makes it so horrifying. That’s what makes it unforgettable. And that’s why, despite all the disturbing parts of this series, Chapters 37 and 38 will always be the most emotionally haunting—and my favorite.