It had been almost five hours since Mi-rae and Seon-gyeom left. The soft morning breeze carried the scent of damp earth, a remnant of the light drizzle that had passed at dawn. Patches of blue sky peeked through the clouds as the sun slowly warmed the day. Dewdrops clung stubbornly to the grass, shimmering like tiny crystals. The neighborhood remained peaceful, the occasional chirp of birds mingling with the distant hum of passing cars.

  Soo-jin had already finished her morning tasks. The porch pnts stood freshly watered, their leaves glistening under the sun. The floor outside was swept clean, free of fallen leaves and dust. Inside, the faint scent of undry soap lingered as she had taken the neatly folded clothes out to dry, the linens swaying gently in the breeze. With a satisfied nod, she made her way back to the kitchen.

  The rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock were the only sounds that accompanied her as she pced two small ptes on the dining table. Scrambled eggs, still fluffy and golden, sat next to small servings of warm steamed rice. A few pieces of peeled apple and neatly sliced banana completed the meal. Beside each pte was a sippy cup of milk, the creamy white liquid untouched, with no condensation forming this time in the cool indoor air.

  The twins’ booster chairs, one pastel yellow and the other soft pink, were tucked in pce, waiting. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a delicate golden hue across the room. The air was light and fresh, with the lingering comfort of a home waking up to a slow, peaceful morning.

  Just as Soo-jin reached for the fridge to grab a gss of orange juice for herself, the cool air brushing against her face, a small creak echoed from down the hall. The door to the twins' room was slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of pale cream walls, where colorful cartoon animal stickers danced in cheerful clusters. Plush toys y scattered across the floor — a well-loved stuffed tiger with a fttened tail, a pink rabbit with one floppy ear, and an assortment of smaller creatures forming an imaginary zoo. Sunlight filtered through the ce-trimmed curtains, casting a warm glow that softened the room's pale cream tones. Against one corner, a small wooden shelf stood proudly, lined with neatly arranged storybooks, their spines bent and faded from countless bedtime adventures. The gentle hum of the house lingered in the air, but it was the faint shuffling of tiny feet that pulled Soo-jin's attention toward the door.

  Min-hwan, still cd in his rumpled blue pajamas, peeked out with wide, sleepy eyes. His dark hair stuck up in all directions, stubborn strands refusing to settle. He blinked against the sunlight spilling through the windows, his chubby hands clinging tightly to the edge of the doorframe. The lingering haze of sleep softened his expression as he scanned the empty living room, his lips forming a small pout.

  “Mommy?” his tiny voice called, the sylbles slightly slurred in his drowsiness.

  Soo-jin’s ears perked up at the sound, and she quickly set her gss down on the counter. She approached him with a warm smile, crouching to meet his gaze.

  “Mommy will be back a little ter,” she said gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Come on now, let’s get you to your chair. Breakfast is ready.”

  Min-hwan rubbed his eyes with the back of his small hand but nodded, his bare feet padding softly against the floor as Soo-jin led him to the dining table. She lifted him with ease, settling him into his yellow booster chair. The soft clink of silverware and the faint hum of a passing car from outside filled the quiet morning air.

  With Min-hwan secure, Soo-jin straightened and gnced back toward the twins’ room. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Min-young stirred. Sure enough, the door creaked open wider, revealing the little girl still dressed in her pastel pink pajamas, the hem of her sleeve slightly twisted from restless sleep. Her small frame wobbled slightly as she stood beside the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes with delicate fists.

  “Daddy?” Min-young’s voice was soft and questioning, barely above a whisper.

  Soo-jin stepped inside with a reassuring smile. “Daddy’s out with Mommy, sweetheart. They’ll be back soon.”

  Min-young's gaze lingered on the empty room as if expecting her father to appear any moment. Then, with a sleepy nod, she allowed Soo-jin to guide her to the dining table. Her pink booster chair awaited her, the small pte of scrambled eggs, steamed rice, and sweet apple slices sitting neatly in front of her.

  Soo-jin adjusted the twins' bibs before returning to the kitchen to retrieve her gss of orange juice. As the twins took their first bites, their quiet munching the only sound, Soo-jin couldn't help but feel a small sense of contentment. Though the parents were away, the warmth of their presence remained, echoing softly within the familiar walls.

  The morning continued, the clinking of spoons and the twins’ quiet chatter filling the space. Soo-jin sat nearby, occasionally helping them with their rice or wiping away stray crumbs. Outside, the breeze shifted, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and distant blooms. The day had truly begun, but within the cozy warmth of the house, time moved gently, savoring the fleeting moments of a quiet morning.

  The twins ate in content silence, their little hands grasping utensils clumsily. The table was a cheerful scene with colorful ptes and the faint chatter of children enjoying their meal.

  A distant hum of an approaching car engine made the twins pause mid-bite. They looked at each other, their eyes gleaming with excitement, and then giggled as if sharing a secret only they understood. Min-hwan kicked his feet under the table, while Min-young pressed her hands over her mouth, trying to contain her excitement.

  The sound of the car pulling into the driveway, followed by the gentle click of the engine turning off, sent them wiggling in their seats. Small hands gripped their spoons tightly as they turned toward the door, anticipation bubbling in their tiny bodies.

  The front door opened a moment ter, and Soo-jin quickly wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, standing up to greet them. Mi-rae stepped in first, her shoulders slightly slouched but her expression soft with warmth. Behind her, Seon-gyeom followed, running a hand through his hair before adjusting his wristwatch.

  The distant hum of the car engine had barely faded when the front door swung open. Soo-jin, who had just finished wiping the counter, quickly dried her hands on a kitchen towel and stepped forward, her face brightening.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ki and Mrs. Oh,” she greeted warmly, offering a respectful bow. “Welcome back home.”

  “Mommy! Daddy!” The twins’ gleeful voices rang out as they waved their small spoons in excitement. Min-young’s grin was wide, while Min-hwan, in his eagerness, nearly tipped his bowl.

  Mi-rae’s face softened instantly. “Oh, my babies!” She crouched down, gathering both children in her arms for a flurry of kisses on their cheeks. “You two are still having breakfast? It’s almost lunchtime!”

  “They woke up a little te today,” Soo-jin expined gently, folding her hands together. “But they’ve been enjoying their meal.”

  Mi-rae straightened, taking a quick peek at the table. “Oh, scrambled eggs, rice, and fruit? That looks delicious!” She smiled pyfully at the twins. “Who made all this yummy breakfast for you?”

  Min-hwan beamed proudly. “Soo-jin eonni did!”

  “That’s right,” Soo-jin said with a soft ugh, “but only because I have two very hungry little ones to feed.”

  Seon-gyeom, who had stepped inside and was adjusting his wristwatch, gave the twins a pointed but gentle look. His voice, low and steady, carried that familiar warmth only a father could give. “And when someone makes you food, what should you do?”

  Min-young blinked, then grinned. “Say thank you!”

  “That's right,” Seon-gyeom nodded. “And did you thank Soo-jin eonni properly?”

  The twins exchanged a knowing gnce before chorusing sweetly, “Thank you, Soo-jin eonni!”

  “You’re very welcome,” Soo-jin replied, a slight flush of affection on her cheeks.

  Seon-gyeom nodded approvingly. “And now, what’s the next important thing to do when you have a nice meal?”

  Min-hwan, trying to mimic his father's serious expression, scrunched his brows in concentration. “Finish it all!”

  “Exactly,” Seon-gyeom said, his lips twitching with amusement. “Be thankful and eat well, alright?”

  “Yes, Daddy!” The twins giggled, scooping up another bite of rice.

  For a moment, the house was filled with warmth — the kind of comforting atmosphere that lingered after a happy reunion. But just as Mi-rae was about to ask how the twins had behaved, Min-young’s curiosity peeked through once more.

  “Where’s your friend from st night?” she asked, her big eyes filled with innocent wonder.

  Mi-rae’s smile faltered ever so slightly, though she quickly masked it. Before she could answer, Min-hwan’s small voice chimed in, filled with concern. “Is he feeling better? He looked sick.”

  Seon-gyeom’s jaw tensed momentarily, but his voice remained calm and composed. “He’s back at his home now,” he said simply, his words measured.

  The twins seemed to accept this answer easily, nodding as they returned to their meal. But Mi-rae couldn’t shake the slight weight in her chest.

  Just then, Seon-gyeom’s phone buzzed. He gnced at the screen, his expression unreadable. “I need to take this,” he murmured.

  Mi-rae nodded, watching as he made his way toward the small porch, phone pressed to his ear.

  Meanwhile, Soo-jin stacked the ptes, wiping down the table. Mi-rae turned to her, her tone gentle. “You can take the afternoon off, Soo-jin. I’ll be home today, so you should get some rest.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Oh,” Soo-jin replied, bowing slightly. “But I’ll just finish folding the twins’ clothes before I go.”

  Mi-rae smiled warmly. “That’s alright. Thank you for everything today.”

  With breakfast over, Mi-rae cpped her hands lightly. “Alright, time for a bath!”

  The twins squealed, scampering off toward the bathroom with little giggles. Mi-rae followed, gathering the fresh towels along the way.

  Inside the small, familiar bathroom, sunlight peeked through the frosted gss window, casting a soft glow that blurred the view of the alley beyond. The window’s simple metal tch, slightly rusted with age, stood firmly in pce. Pale blue square tiles lined the walls, their glossy surfaces reflecting the light. Some tiles bore faint cracks, remnants of years gone by, though they were carefully scrubbed clean. A matching blue sink with a single faucet stood beneath a small, rectangur mirror. Its edges were speckled with spots of corrosion, the silver coating behind the gss slowly fading.

  A pale green pstic bucket sat in the corner, next to a stack of folded towels that had softened with countless washes. The floor, made of beige linoleum with faint flower patterns, bore signs of wear, its edges curling slightly at the corners. A small floor drain, covered by a metal grate, gleamed from regur scrubbing. The scent of clean soap lingered in the humid air, mingling with the faint trace of vender as Mi-rae poured a capful of bubble bath into the rge, porcein tub.

  The tub itself, an off-white basin with visible scuff marks from years of use, quickly filled with warm water. Bubbles foamed at the surface, forming thick, fluffy clusters that floated like clouds. Tiny streams of steam rose, making the space feel even cozier.

  Min-young, dressed in her little white undershirt and cotton shorts, stood on her tiptoes, her small hands gripping the edge of the tub. She dipped her tiny fingers into the water, squealing in delight as the bubbles popped beneath her touch. Droplets spshed onto the rim, leaving little wet trails along the porcein.

  “Bubbles!” she giggled, poking at the foamy clusters.

  Not wanting to miss out, Min-hwan hurried to join her, his tousled hair bouncing as he approached. His chubby fingers eagerly joined in, stirring the water and sending the bubbles swirling. The sound of his ughter echoed through the tiled walls, mingling with the rhythmic dripping of a slightly leaky faucet.

  Mi-rae smiled, her heart swelling. She knelt beside the tub, carefully shampooing their hair, the floral scent mixing with the warmth of the water. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” she said gently to Min-hwan as she rinsed the suds away.

  The twins spshed and pyed, their ughter bouncing off the tiled walls. Mi-rae couldn’t help but ugh along with them. These moments — simple, joyous, and full of warmth — were what she cherished most.

  Once they were clean, she wrapped them both in soft, fluffy towels. Their cheeks were pink from the warmth, their hair damp and tousled. “All done, my loves,” she said, pnting a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads.

  After the pyful bath, Mi-rae lifted the twins from the tub one by one, wrapping them in soft, pastel-colored towels. The scent of vender lingered on their damp hair, mingling with the warmth of the humid air. Min-young giggled as Mi-rae pyfully tousled her hair dry, while Min-hwan squirmed under the towel, pretending to escape her grasp.

  “Hold still, mister,” Mi-rae ughed, pnting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  With the twins now mostly dry, she led them to their shared bedroom. The small room was bright and cheerful, filled with the soft afternoon light that streamed through the ce-trimmed curtains. The walls were painted a pale cream, decorated with colorful stickers of animals and stars. A row of neatly arranged storybooks lined a small wooden shelf, their spines worn from frequent bedtime readings. Plush toys were scattered across the floor, including Min-hwan’s beloved stuffed tiger and Min-young’s pastel pink rabbit, both well-loved and slightly misshapen.

  Against one wall stood their twin beds, each covered with patterned bnkets. Min-young’s had a floral pink design, while Min-hwan’s was a cheerful blue with cartoon astronauts floating across the fabric. Above each bed hung a framed picture — simple finger-painted artwork proudly dispyed by Mi-rae.

  Mi-rae opened a modest, white wooden dresser, pulling out fresh clothes. For Min-young, she chose a soft sky-blue dress adorned with tiny white daisies, and for Min-hwan, a matching blue shirt with white shorts. The siblings wiggled with excitement, eager to get dressed.

  “Alright, let’s get you two ready,” Mi-rae said, kneeling down as she helped Min-young into her dress. The little girl lifted her arms obediently, giggling as the soft fabric slipped over her head. “There you go, pretty girl.”

  Min-hwan’s turn came next. “Arms up,” Mi-rae instructed pyfully, and he obliged, grinning proudly once his shirt was in pce. His fingers brushed against the embroidered rocket ship on his chest, fascinated by the tiny silver stars stitched around it.

  Min-young twirled, the hem of her dress fluttering. “Look, Mommy! I’m a princess!”

  “You are,” Mi-rae agreed, cpping her hands with a smile. “And Min-hwan, you’re my little astronaut.”

  The twins beamed, their ughter filling the small room. Mi-rae couldn’t help but smile, soaking in the pure joy of the moment. The house may have been modest, the furniture worn from years of use, but here in this little room, it was filled with warmth, love, and memories yet to be made.

  Back in the living room, Soo-jin was folding the st of the twins’ clothes. As she smoothed down a tiny shirt, she paused, noticing Mi-rae’s gaze wander through the gss door. Seon-gyeom was still on his call, his expression tense and unreadable.

  Soo-jin gave a small bow. “I’ll be on my way now, Mrs. Oh.”

  Mi-rae turned, offering a grateful smile. “Thank you, Soo-jin. Have a good rest.”

  “Of course. You too.”

  Before Soo-jin could step out, Mi-rae gently pced her hands on the twins' shoulders. “Min-young, Min-hwan, what do we say to Soo-jin?”

  The twins, still slightly wiggling in their matching sky-blue outfits, straightened up. Min-young csped her hands together, her small voice piping up sweetly. “Thank you, Soo-jin eonni!”

  Min-hwan, though a little shyer, followed with a bright grin. “Bye-bye, Soo-jin eonni! Thank you!”

  Soo-jin's face softened, the warmth of their sincerity clear in her smile. “You’re both very welcome. Enjoy your day, I’ll see you again!”

  “We will!” they chimed, their tiny hands waving enthusiastically.

  With a final polite nod, Soo-jin stepped toward the door. As she passed through the living room, she caught sight of Seon-gyeom standing on the porch, still deep in his phone call. His brow was slightly furrowed, his voice low and steady. Despite the call, he noticed Soo-jin’s presence as she opened the door.

  She offered him a respectful bow. Without missing a beat, Seon-gyeom returned the gesture, his free hand lowering slightly in acknowledgment.

  The door clicked softly behind her, and the house grew quieter once more, save for the faint hum of the afternoon breeze through the slightly open window.

  The early afternoon light spilled gently into the living room, illuminating the small wooden table where the twins often pyed. A worn pstic container, its edges smudged with traces of crayon and paint, held an assortment of art supplies. Colorful markers, stubby crayons with the paper peeled back, and slightly bent colored pencils peeked from within. Sheets of white paper, some with faint scribbles and unfinished drawings, were stacked neatly beside it.

  Mi-rae sat cross-legged on the floor, watching as the twins inspected their supplies with eager anticipation. A soft breeze filtered through the open window, carrying the faint scent of fresh air and blooming flowers.

  “Tomorrow is an exciting day,” Mi-rae said with a smile, her eyes twinkling. “Can you guess why?”

  Min-young’s small face scrunched in thought, her hands fidgeting with a bright pink marker. “Umm… is it our birthday?” she guessed, her eyes hopeful.

  “No, silly!” Min-hwan giggled, his fingers drumming on the table. “Is it a holiday?”

  Mi-rae ughed softly, shaking her head. “Not quite. It’s even better.” She leaned in closer, her voice dipping into a pyful whisper. “Your favorite big brother is coming back home.”

  Their eyes widened in delight, their mouths forming perfect little ‘O’s.

  “Minho oppa?!” Min-young squealed, practically bouncing in pce.

  “He’s really coming home?” Min-hwan’s face lit up, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

  Mi-rae nodded. “That’s right. And wouldn’t it be nice if he had something special waiting for him? Why don’t you draw something for him?”

  “Yay!” The twins cheered, their giggles ringing through the room as they reached for their supplies.

  Min-young grabbed a fistful of crayons, carefully selecting her favorite pastel shades. Min-hwan, on the other hand, examined the colored pencils, as though deciding which would be the perfect color for his masterpiece. Their small faces were painted with pure concentration, lips pursed and brows furrowed as they began their drawings.

  Just then, the sound of footsteps approached from the porch. The front door creaked softly as it opened, and Seon-gyeom stepped inside, his phone no longer in hand. He straightened his shirt sleeves, his expression composed but distant.

  Mi-rae gnced up from the twins, her concern barely masked beneath her calm demeanor. “Everything okay?” she asked gently.

  Seon-gyeom gave a brief nod. “Of course.”

  Seon-gyeom disappeared into their room, the soft thud of the wardrobe doors opening and closing echoing through the house. Mi-rae stayed with the twins, absentmindedly adjusting the hem of Min-young’s dress as she colored. Despite the cheerful giggles and the vibrant hues dancing across the paper, her thoughts drifted back to Seon-gyeom.

  Moments ter, he emerged, now dressed in a simple button-up and scks. He adjusted his watch, smoothing down the wrinkles on his shirt. Mi-rae’s eyes followed him, her gaze softening with concern.

  “I’ll fix you a quick lunch,” she offered, her voice gentle but firm as she stood.

  He shook his head, a small, reassuring smile pying on his lips. “No need. I’ll grab something to eat on the way.”

  “But you haven’t eaten since morning,” she pressed, brows knitting together. “It’s a long afternoon, Seon-gyeom.”

  He stepped closer, his hands finding hers. His touch was warm, steady. “I’ll be fine, Mi-rae. Really.” He lowered his voice, his thumb brushing soothingly over her knuckles. “I won’t be long—I’ll be home for dinner.”

  Her lips parted as if to say more, but she held back, searching his face. His dark eyes remained calm, steady, though there was something beneath the surface—something she couldn’t quite pce. Still, the corners of his mouth lifted in a reassuring smile, one meant to put her worries to rest.

  “Promise?” she murmured, her fingers tightening slightly around his.

  “Promise.” He gave a small nod, sealing his words with certainty. “Everything’s fine, Mi-rae.”

  Despite the lingering hesitation in her chest, she nodded. The warmth of his touch lingered even as he pulled away.

  Before leaving, he knelt beside the twins, their drawings still in progress. Min-hwan had covered his paper with bold strokes of blue and green, while Min-young meticulously drew small, colorful hearts around a stick-figure version of their older brother. Seon-gyeom ruffled Min-hwan’s hair affectionately and pced a soft kiss on Min-young’s forehead, the tender act filling the room with warmth.

  “Be good for Mommy,” he said, his smile genuine.

  “Bye, Daddy!” they chirped in unison, their hands waving enthusiastically.

  Mi-rae followed him to the doorway, her arms crossed lightly over her chest as she watched him slip on his shoes. Before stepping out, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. It was soft, gentle — a silent reassurance.

  “I’ll be back,” he whispered against her skin.

  She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrist as though reluctant to let go. He gave her one st look before turning away, the familiar hum of the car engine breaking the quiet. The tires crunched softly against the gravel as he pulled away, the sleek bck car disappearing down the tree-lined street.

  The house settled into a peaceful calm once more, save for the cheerful chatter of the twins. Crayons scraped against paper, their giggles mingling with excited whispers about what they would draw for Minho.

  Mi-rae lingered by the window, her eyes tracing the empty street long after Seon-gyeom was gone. The smile on her face remained, but a faint unease stirred within her. The echo of his words — everything’s fine — lingered, though something in her heart told her otherwise.

  Still, she pushed the thought away, determined to focus on the ughter of her children and the simple joy of the moment. After all, tomorrow would be a happy day — Minho would be home. And perhaps, just maybe, everything really would be fine.

  Beneath the Dust of Old Photographs

  The soft creak of the staircase echoed through the vast Choi mansion as Kiho descended the polished wooden steps, Madam Yoon following closely behind. Sunlight streamed in through the grand arched windows, casting a golden hue across the marble floor. Despite the warmth of the day, an air of stillness lingered — as if the walls themselves held their breath, bearing witness to the presence of the son who had returned after decades.

  At the base of the stairs, Madam Yoon’s voice broke the silence.

  “Would you like anything, Jihoon?” she asked gently, though the words stirred a flicker of discomfort within him. The name — Jihoon — felt foreign now.

  Kiho shook his head, his expression composed. “I’m good. I’ll wait for Mr. Jang on the veranda.”

  Madam Yoon hesitated, csping her hands together. “I can keep you company until he arrives.”

  “That’s alright,” Kiho replied, his tone polite but distant. “You don’t need to.”

  She smiled faintly, her voice softening. “I don’t have much to do anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

  Still, Kiho stood firm. “Please. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  Understanding, Madam Yoon gave a slight nod. “I’ll be right back then. There’s something I’d like to bring you.”

  Without further expnation, she turned away, her footsteps retreating down the hallway. Kiho watched her disappear before stepping onto the veranda.

  Outside, the afternoon breeze carried the faint scent of blooming camellias from the well-manicured garden. The veranda’s stone pilrs stood tall, casting delicate shadows on the tiled floor. Beyond the gates, the world seemed quiet, the rustling leaves and occasional chirp of birds the only sounds that accompanied his thoughts.

  Kiho rested his hands on the railing, his gaze fixed beyond the estate. But it wasn’t the present view he saw.

  Twenty-five years ago.

  A younger version of himself had once stood in this very spot, his small hands gripping the stone balustrade, his ughter ringing through the air. His father’s booming voice had called from the wn, a rare smile on Chairman Choi’s face as he kicked a ball across the freshly mowed grass. His mother, radiant in a flowing sundress, had cpped her hands with delight, her ughter harmonizing with the joyful scene.

  They had been a family — a family of three.

  But that ughter had faded long ago. The joy that once lived within these walls was now nothing more than a whisper in his memory.

  Kiho blinked, the vision dissipating like mist. Only the emptiness remained.

  “Jihoon.”

  The gentle call of his name pulled him back. Madam Yoon stood at the doorway, her hands trembling slightly as she held two photographs. She approached, her eyes full of something unspoken.

  “I thought you might want these,” she said softly, holding them out to him.

  Kiho accepted the photos without a word. The first was a family portrait — one he had long forgotten. Yet as his eyes traced the edges of the photograph, a strange warmth stirred within him. The memory of that day, though buried beneath years of silence, resurfaced like a dream slipping through the cracks of time.

  He had been ten years old then. It had been a crisp autumn afternoon, golden sunlight filtering through the wide garden of the Choi estate. His ughter had echoed through the air as he chased falling leaves, twirling them in his small hands before Madam Yoon called him over. His parents were waiting, their smiles bright and unreserved — a sight so rare, it felt almost unreal now.

  In the photograph, his younger self stood proudly in the middle, dressed in a neatly pressed navy suit. His small hands were csped in front of him, his grin wide and carefree. His mother, elegant in an ivory dress that draped softly over her growing belly, rested her hand tenderly above the curve of her pregnancy. Beside her, his father wore a sleek bck suit, the crisp lines of his colr framing a face that, for once, was free of the shadows that would ter define him. There was joy in his eyes — genuine, unguarded joy.

  It seemed like yesterday. The way his mother had gently tucked his hair behind his ear, the light scent of her perfume lingering in the cool breeze. The rare sound of his father’s ughter, low but sincere, as Kiho pyfully tugged at the hem of his coat. The three of them, together. A perfect moment captured in a frame — one that had since grown brittle with the weight of time.

  For a fleeting second, Kiho could almost feel the warmth of that day. The echoes of their ughter. The soft rustling of leaves. But just as quickly, it slipped away, leaving only the faded photograph in his trembling hands.

  “We took this before your brother was born,” Madam Yoon said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Your father… he used to smile like that often.”

  Kiho’s eyes lingered on his younger self. So innocent. So unaware of what was to come.

  Then, his gaze shifted to the second photo. It was a portrait of his mother — alone. She wore a soft vender hanbok, the delicate silk draping gracefully over her slender figure. The fabric caught the light, casting a faint shimmer that softened her already radiant presence. Her dark hair was neatly pinned into a low chignon, a few wisps framing her face. But it was her smile that held him captive — tender and serene, like the warmth of spring sunlight.

  “She had just married your father when this was taken,” Madam Yoon said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “She was already carrying you then. The happiest times your mother ever had were when she had you and your younger brother.”

  Kiho’s fingers traced the edge of the photo, his thumb brushing lightly over the image of his mother’s face. The smile she wore, so gentle and full of hope, stirred something deep within him. He remembered this photo. It had once rested on a side table in the master bedroom, tucked into an ornate silver frame. The vender of her hanbok had always caught his eye, like a delicate bloom preserved forever in the stillness of the photograph.

  But the memory didn’t end there. Kiho could almost see the door to the master bedroom, slightly ajar. Through the narrow gap, the framed photo had been the only thing visible — a silent witness to the storm that brewed within. He could still hear the echoes of angry voices, his father’s stern words cshing against his mother’s trembling pleas. The walls had carried every bitter sylble, and though Kiho had been too young to understand the meaning behind them, the weight of it had lingered. He remembered standing frozen in the dimly lit hallway, his small hands clenched tightly at his sides. His mother’s face in the photograph had smiled on, oblivious to the pain that filled the room beyond the frame.

  It felt like yesterday. The memory pyed in his mind like a daydream — vivid, intrusive, unwilling to fade. The sharp sting of helplessness, the pit in his stomach as he strained to catch even a glimpse of her through the sliver of the door. But all he saw was that same smiling portrait, so heartbreakingly different from the reality it concealed.

  “Kiho.”

  The voice, steady and familiar, pulled him back. The memory dissolved like mist, and the warmth of the present returned. He blinked, his gaze lifting from the photograph to find Mr. Jang standing at the entrance. The older man held his usual composed demeanor, his hands neatly csped in front of him, bowing respectfully.

  Mr. Jang’s voice broke the stillness.

  “It’s time,” he announced gently. “Shall we return to the hospital?”

  Kiho’s expression remained unreadable, his fingers still loosely holding the photo of his mother. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, as though reluctant to part with the fleeting warmth the memories had stirred. But without a word, he carefully moved to hand the photographs back to Madam Yoon.

  She shook her head, her hands softly pushing his away. “No, Jihoon. These are yours. They always were.”

  “I don’t—” Kiho started, but her gentle insistence cut him off.

  “I kept them for you,” she said, her voice trembling. “All these years, I waited. For the day you might return.” She held his hands firmly, the photographs still nestled between their fingers. “They belong with you.”

  He lowered his gaze, the weight of her words lingering heavily. The images in his hands — a joyful family, a radiant mother — felt like remnants of a distant past. One he wasn’t sure he could cim.

  “Take them,” Madam Yoon whispered. “Not for anyone else. For yourself. Maybe not now, but one day, when you’re ready.”

  Kiho said nothing, but he didn’t refuse. The photos remained in his grasp, his touch hesitant as though they might crumble.

  “I understand it may not be easy to be back here,” she continued, her hands trembling. “But this house, it’s still yours. You’re always welcome. Even if it’s just for a short while…” Her voice trailed off. “I wish you could stay a little longer.”

  There was an almost pleading quality in her tone — a fragile hope that he might grant her just a little more time. She searched his face, longing to see even a flicker of the boy she once knew. But Kiho remained silent, his stoic gaze unwavering.

  Just as he turned to leave, Madam Yoon’s voice softened once more. “Jihoon,” she murmured, her gaze full of longing. “You don’t have to leave so soon. It’s been so many years… I had hoped we might talk more.”

  Kiho's grip on the photographs tightened. There was no hostility in his expression, but no warmth either — only a numb emptiness that refused to be stirred. He slowly withdrew his hands from hers, bowing once more.

  “I should go.” His voice was low, devoid of emotion.

  A flicker of sadness crossed Madam Yoon’s face, but she nodded, her hands falling to her sides. She knew better than to press further.

  Just as he turned to leave, her trembling voice called out one st time. “Jihoon.”

  He stopped, his back still facing her.

  “I hope you know you are still loved, Choi Ji Hoon.”

  The name — his true name — struck softly, like a whisper from a distant past. For a heartbeat, it seemed as though the words might reach him. But there was no reply. Only the faintest stiffening of his shoulders. Then, with practiced composure, Kiho stepped forward, the moment slipping away.

  Mr. Jang, who had been waiting respectfully by the door, bowed briefly to Madam Yoon before leading Kiho to the car. The sleek bck sedan gleamed under the sunlight, a stark contrast to the lingering shadows of the past.

  “Let’s go,” Kiho said quietly, his tone empty.

  “Yes, after you,” Mr. Jang responded with a slight nod, opening the back door for him.

  Once Kiho settled inside, Mr. Jang climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbled softly, and the gravel beneath the tires crunched as they pulled away from the mansion.

  But from behind the rge windows on the upper floor, hidden by sheer curtains, Chairman Choi stood motionless. His stern gaze followed the car as it disappeared beyond the grand gates. Though his expression betrayed nothing, the silence in the room spoke louder than words.

  And in the departing car, Kiho sat with the photos resting on his p. Yet despite the weight of the memories in his hands, his face remained as unreadable as ever.

  As they drove down the long path leading away from the Choi estate, Kiho remained silent, his gaze fixed on the world outside the window. The familiar view of the estate faded in the distance, but his thoughts lingered behind. The grand gates closed with a soft click, and the car continued down the winding road, the soft hum of the engine filling the otherwise quiet space.

  What Kiho didn’t notice was the figure watching from the second-floor window of the mansion — Chairman Choi. His expression was unreadable, his eyes following the car’s every movement as it disappeared beyond the gates, the distance between father and son growing wider by the second.

  Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Mr. Jang, ever the professional, could sense the weight of the silence pressing down. He gnced at Kiho from the rearview mirror but received no indication that the young man was aware of his presence. After a beat, he decided to break the silence.

  “So, Kiho…” Mr. Jang began, his voice tentative but warm, “how was lunch?” His attempt at casual conversation was strained, the forced cheer in his tone obvious.

  Kiho barely moved, his eyes still focused on the view outside the window. His answer came quickly, but it was short, clipped.

  “Fine,” he said, his voice ft. The word seemed to hang in the air, its ck of emotion underscoring the distance between them.

  The clouds above drifted zily across the sky, a thick bnket of gray rolling over the sun. Outside, the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in the breeze, but Kiho was oblivious to the beauty around him. The world beyond the gss seemed to blur as he sat, lost in his thoughts. The quiet rhythm of the car’s movement felt mechanical, like he was simply passing through time, waiting for something to change that might never come.

  Mr. Jang gnced at him again, his brow furrowing slightly as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. He cleared his throat before speaking again, trying to keep his tone light and conversational, though there was a slight quiver of uncertainty in his voice.

  “Chairman Choi has made all the arrangements for your move to Seoul,” he said, as though sharing good news, though he wasn’t sure how Kiho would react. “The paperwork will be completed within the week. There’s a house waiting for you — a beautiful one. You’ll have a fresh start. You’re going to have everything you need.”

  Kiho didn’t respond. He stared ahead, his face a mask, unreadable. His thoughts were too tangled to process the words. The prospect of a new life felt distant, something someone else might be excited for.

  “A small company has already been secured for you,” Mr. Jang continued, his enthusiasm growing, perhaps in an attempt to match the mood he wished to see. “The Chairman ensured everything is set. Your bank cards are activated, and you’ll be living independently. A fresh beginning. A new start. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

  Kiho’s expression remained unmoved. He heard the words but couldn’t find any emotion to attach to them. A fresh start? It felt more like another page in a book he didn’t want to read.

  The car’s tires hummed against the pavement, the road leading them further away from the mansion, further into the city’s gray expanse. Mr. Jang gnced at the rearview mirror again, gauging Kiho’s reaction, but there was nothing. He seemed to fade into the silence of the car, his gaze distant, absorbed in whatever memories pyed behind his eyes.

  After a long stretch of silence, Kiho’s voice broke the quiet.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he said, his voice steady but soft, as if the words had been building for some time.

  Mr. Jang blinked, slightly startled by the suddenness of Kiho’s request. His attention sharpened as he quickly turned his focus to the rearview mirror. “Of course, Kiho. What is it? Anything.” He tried to keep his voice upbeat, eager to offer assistance, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty in his tone.

  Kiho’s gaze never shifted from the window. His expression remained impassive, his words coming slowly, each one carefully chosen.

  “I want to visit a pce,” he said simply. “The tomb. The one for Choi Ji Hoon.”

  The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unexpected. Mr. Jang’s smile faltered, and he quickly masked the surprise with a stiff, practiced smile. His hands tightened slightly around the wheel as he tried to process the request.

  “Oh,” he stammered, the words catching in his throat. “That’s… unexpected.” He forced a light chuckle, trying to ease the tension, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I understand. I’ll have to request permission first. It’s… not a problem, though. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  Kiho didn’t respond. He simply stared out the window, his face unchanged. His silence stretched, filling the car with an almost palpable weight. The sound of the car’s tires on the road, the occasional rustle of leaves, seemed louder in the absence of his voice.

  Mr. Jang, sensing the gravity of the moment, cleared his throat again. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements. It’s a small request, really. I’ll ensure we get the permission, and we can go there when you’re ready. Just let me know when.”

  Kiho’s gaze never wavered. His mind was elsewhere, wandering down roads long forgotten, lost in the echoes of the past. He was here, but his thoughts were still somewhere distant, far away.

  The car continued its quiet journey down the road, the hum of the tires on asphalt steady and monotonous. As the skyline of the city began to emerge on the horizon, the sky above darkened further, the thick clouds pressing down with an oppressive weight. The air seemed to hold its breath, suspended between the promise of rain and the stillness that came before a storm. The streets outside were lined with the ever-growing bustle of the city, yet there was a stark contrast between the life in the city and the quiet storm brewing within Kiho.

  Mr. Jang gnced at him once more through the rearview mirror, but Kiho didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the world outside. He didn’t notice the subtle worry that lingered in Mr. Jang’s eyes, nor did he acknowledge the fact that they were nearing the hospital — the very pce that had been his home for the past twenty-five years.

  As they neared their destination, the towering, sterile building came into view. The hospital stood tall and imposing, its gray facade reflecting the heavy sky above. The wind picked up, sending a chill through the air, and a few raindrops began to tap lightly against the car windows. It was as if the weather itself mirrored the heaviness in Kiho’s chest — a cold, unyielding feeling that had settled there long ago. The hospital, with its stark, unforgiving lines, was a reminder of the life Kiho had been living for so long, a life he hadn’t chosen but had come to accept as his own.

  Mr. Jang cleared his throat, the sound almost lost in the quiet, as he gnced again at the young man in the backseat. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice softer now, as if he feared disturbing the fragile silence that enveloped Kiho.

  Kiho didn’t respond. His face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on the fading view outside the window. The familiar hospital building loomed closer, and with it, the life he’d been trapped in for twenty-five years. The world outside seemed to move faster than he could follow, yet Kiho remained still, caught in the web of memories, of days gone by. His fingers rested on the edge of the car seat, his grip tight but unfeeling.

  The car slowly pulled into the hospital parking lot, the tires crunching over the wet pavement as it came to a halt. The sound of the engine idling was a faint hum in the background, barely noticeable against the heavier sound of Kiho’s thoughts. The rain began to fall more steadily now, tapping against the windshield in a rhythmic pattern, almost like a heartbeat.

  Still, Kiho remained unmoved. The world outside could change, the weather could shift, and the city could continue to evolve — but Kiho was still there, anchored in a past he couldn’t escape.

  As the car stopped, Mr. Jang hesitated for a moment before he spoke again. “We’re here.” His voice was quieter now, almost as if he too could feel the weight of the moment.

  Kiho didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on the hospital, his eyes distant and unfocused. The familiar building, once a pce of routine, now seemed like a cage — a reminder of everything he had been and everything he had lost.

  He finally blinked, the briefest flicker of movement, but it was enough to show the deep resignation in his eyes. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped out, his footsteps heavy as he walked toward the hospital’s entrance. The rain had started to fall more steadily now, and it seemed like the heavens themselves were weeping in time with his every step.

  As Kiho made his way toward the building, his expression remained bnk. The world around him felt distant, muffled, as though he were walking through a fog. Everything he’d known — every step, every memory — was here, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a pce he’d been tethered to, a pce that had once been his refuge, but now only served to remind him of the years he’d lost.

  Inside the car, Mr. Jang watched Kiho with a quiet concern, but he didn’t move. He simply let the young man walk away, the silence between them growing once more, thick and heavy. The sound of the rain outside was the only thing that seemed to break the stillness.

  The hospital doors opened, and Kiho disappeared inside, his figure swallowed up by the vast, sterile halls that had once been his world.

  Loyalty Written in Quiet Ruin

  The moment Ki Seon-gyeom stepped out of the house, he knew—things would never be the same. The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the quiet neighborhood. It was only after lunchtime, but the weight in his chest made it feel much ter. The warmth of home still lingered behind him—Mi-rae’s ughter as she pyed with the twins, the sound of little feet padding across the wooden floors, the smell of fresh fruit from their earlier meal. Yet, all of it blurred the moment his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  Chairman Choi.

  His stomach clenched.

  Without hesitation, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him as naturally as possible—no signs of urgency, nothing to draw suspicion. He walked down the stone path leading toward the porch, his fingers tightening around the phone before finally answering.

  “Chairman Choi.”

  “Did you arrive home safely?” Chairman Choi’s voice was calm but firm, with no trace of emotion.

  “Yes, Chairman. We just got home.”

  “You did well today.”

  Seon-gyeom let out a slow breath. It was what he expected to hear, yet it did little to ease his unease.

  From where he stood, he could see through the window—Mi-rae was gathering the twins for their afternoon bath. Their small hands clutched their favorite bath toys as they toddled toward the bathroom, their giggles filling the space. It was such an ordinary moment, but Seon-gyeom could feel the gap between himself and that scene widening.

  Chairman Choi’s voice pulled him back. “Everything has been settled. The house in Seoul, the company, the financials—Ji-hoon’s new life is set in motion.”

  Seon-gyeom’s jaw tightened. He knew what that meant. Choi Ji Hoon wasn’t just being given a new life—he was being pced exactly where Chairman Choi wanted him.

  Seon-gyeom’s heart raced as Chairman Choi’s voice echoed through the phone, each word pressing down on him like a heavy weight. His grip on the device tightened, his knuckles whitening. The world outside his window was peaceful, almost serene, with the twins’ ughter drifting in from the bathroom as Mi-rae pyed with them. But inside, everything felt like it was unraveling.

  Chairman Choi’s voice broke the silence, pulling him back to the conversation at hand.

  “All arrangements have been made,” the Chairman said, his tone steady but tinged with authority. “Ki-ho’s move to Seoul is set. He’ll be working at a small company under a different name. Everything has been pnned to ensure he stays out of the public eye.”

  Seon-gyeom’s chest tightened at the mention of the new name, Ki-ho. He could feel the weight of the entire situation bearing down on him. The stakes were higher now, irreversible. He didn’t answer immediately, as the full realization of the consequences began to sink in. How had things escated so quickly? How had they come to this?

  “You already knew about him before Mi-rae did,” Chairman Choi continued, his voice unyielding. “It wasn’t a question, Seon-gyeom. I’m not blind to what’s been happening under my nose. And yet you let her find out.”

  Seon-gyeom knew all too well.

  Mi-rae had been acting strangely for weeks. At first, he thought it was exhaustion from caring for the twins, but soon, he noticed it—the hesitation in her words, the distant look in her eyes, the way she almost spoke but always held back. He didn’t need to ask. He already knew.

  What Mi-rae didn’t know… was that Seon-gyeom had always known.

  As one of Chairman Choi’s most trusted men, he had access to the family’s deepest secrets. And Kiho’s existence—the truth of who he really was—was one of them.

  Seon-gyeom’s jaw tightened. He had always known this moment would come, when the Chairman would confront him. “I didn’t tell her anything, Chairman Choi,” he replied, the words coming out quieter than he intended, a slight tremor in his voice. He could feel the weight of the truth—the truth that had been lurking beneath the surface for so long.

  “But you didn’t stop her either,” Chairman Choi retorted, his words like a sh, sharp and deliberate. “You allowed her to dig deeper, to find out what she wasn’t meant to. Do you know what kind of trouble this could bring?”

  Seon-gyeom’s mind raced as he stared out the window. The twins’ innocent chatter was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his thoughts.

  “I understand, Chairman,” he said, his voice a quiet resolve. But his mind was already elsewhere, shifting between memories of the past, Mi-rae’s concerned expressions, and the weight of the secrets he had kept from her for so long.

  The Chairman’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts once again. “You cannot tell her anything beyond what she already knows,” Chairman Choi commanded, his voice now edged with a cold finality. “She is to remain unaware of the full details, Seon-gyeom. You will keep your distance. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Chairman,” Seon-gyeom replied quickly, almost mechanically. His stomach churned. It was a clear command, one he would follow without question, but it didn’t stop the unease creeping in. The more he tried to push it away, the more it pressed in on him.

  There was a long pause before Chairman Choi spoke again, his tone now shifting to something more neutral, but still ced with authority.

  “I’ve made arrangements for Jihoon. He will be working at a company, Hwangjin Tech Solutions,” Chairman Choi expined. “It’s a small but reputable firm in the tech industry. The company is located in Yongsan District, Seoul. The position he’ll be taking is a Junior Systems Analyst, under the name Jang Ki Ho. You’ll need to make sure he stays within the confines of this new identity.”

  Seon-gyeom frowned at the name, Jang Ki Ho. It was a perfect choice, one that would blend seamlessly into the background of the city. “Understood, sir. I will ensure that the new identity is fully reinforced.”

  Chairman Choi’s voice softened slightly, but there was still that commanding tone. “He must adopt the name as if his life depends on it. And he must never slip. No one can find out his whereabouts, not even Mi-rae. Everything must stay quiet, controlled.”

  Seon-gyeom nodded, though Chairman Choi couldn’t see him. “Of course, Chairman.”

  “The move to Seoul has been arranged for August 30th,” Chairman Choi continued. “Ki-ho’s new residence will be a modest apartment in Seocho District, a small but comfortable pce. Nothing too extravagant, nothing that will raise any suspicion. He’ll need to adapt quickly. He’ll be introduced to the company staff with the fabricated story of a recent graduate from Sindo Private University with no prior history in the public eye.”

  Seon-gyeom’s mind swirled with the details—the small apartment, the fabricated past. This was all so carefully orchestrated. He couldn’t help but wonder, however, how much longer he could keep up the facade.

  “You will also meet with the person I’ve assigned to monitor him this afternoon,” Chairman Choi added, his voice turning sharper again. “You’ll ensure that Ki-ho’s every move is observed. It is imperative that we keep him under surveilnce. He’s too valuable, too dangerous to be left unchecked.”

  Kiho was a secret—a ghost of the past that was never supposed to return. And now that he had, Chairman Choi was making sure he remained under control.

  Seon-gyeom’s throat tightened. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made the weight of it all feel heavier. “Understood, Chairman. I’ll meet with him as pnned.”

  “Good,” Chairman Choi replied. “And Seon-gyeom…” He paused, the silence heavy on the line. “Do not disappoint me. Do not let anything—anything—fall apart. The stakes are too high now.”

  “I won’t, Chairman Choi,” Seon-gyeom promised, though he could feel the knot in his stomach tighten. The finality of Chairman Choi’s words left no room for error.

  With that, the line went dead. The coldness of the call hung in the air long after the connection was severed. Seon-gyeom lowered the phone slowly, his heart still racing.

  He exhaled slowly, slipping his phone back into his pocket before turning toward the house. The sound of his own footsteps against the porch barely registered in his mind. Mi-rae and the twins were back in the living room now, the children freshly bathed, their hair still damp. They looked up at him with bright eyes, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

  Across the room, Mi-rae looked up from where she sat with the twins, her fingers idly smoothing the fabric of Min-young’s dress as she colored. The concern in her eyes was subtle, but he caught it immediately—Mi-rae had always been able to read him too well.

  “Everything okay?” she asked gently, not prying but leaving the door open for honesty.

  He gave a brief nod, the practiced ease of his smile barely meeting his eyes. “Of course.”

  The lie slid off his tongue effortlessly.

  Without another word, he disappeared into their bedroom, his footsteps slow, deliberate. The familiar creak of the wardrobe doors filled the silence as he reached for a fresh change of clothes. He undid the buttons of his shirt with steady hands, but his mind was anything but calm. Chairman Choi’s voice still echoed in his ears, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him like an iron grip.

  You already knew about him before Mi-rae did. And yet you let her find out.

  He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought from his mind as he pulled on a crisp button-up and a pair of scks. He adjusted the colr, fastened his watch, and ran a hand over his shirt to smooth out any wrinkles. His reflection in the mirror was composed, unreadable. Just another errand. Nothing more.

  When he stepped out of the room, Mi-rae’s gaze followed him, her brows knitting slightly in concern.

  “I’ll fix you a quick lunch,” she said, standing before he could reach for the door. Her voice was gentle, but there was an insistence in it, a quiet way of saying stay just a little longer.

  He shook his head, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “No need. I’ll grab something on the way.”

  Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But you haven’t eaten since morning. It’s a long afternoon, Seon-gyeom.”

  She was right, of course. But food was the st thing on his mind. Stepping closer, he reached for her hands, his fingers wrapping around hers. She was warm—so warm it nearly pulled him back from the coldness he had just stepped into outside. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, the small motion both an apology and a reassurance.

  “I’ll be fine, Mi-rae. Really.” He lowered his voice, softening it just for her. “I won’t be long—I’ll be home for dinner.”

  Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something more, but she hesitated. Instead, her gaze searched his, looking for cracks in the mask he wore so well.

  “Promise?” she murmured, tightening her hold on his hands.

  “Promise.” He nodded, giving her the certainty she needed, even if he wasn’t sure of it himself. “Everything’s fine, Mi-rae.”

  He felt her reluctance, the way she lingered even as she gave a small nod. The warmth of her touch stayed with him even as he pulled away.

  Before leaving, he knelt beside the twins, who were still lost in their world of colors. Min-hwan’s paper was covered in chaotic swirls of blue and green, while Min-young carefully surrounded a stick-figure drawing of their older brother with tiny, colorful hearts.

  Seon-gyeom ruffled Min-hwan’s hair, chuckling when the boy whined in protest, and pced a soft kiss on Min-young’s forehead. The simple gestures filled the space with warmth, a stark contrast to the weight in his chest.

  “Be good for Mommy,” he told them.

  “Bye, Daddy!” they chirped in unison, waving enthusiastically.

  Mi-rae followed him to the doorway, her arms crossed lightly over her chest as she watched him slip on his shoes. He could feel her eyes on him, the silent questions she didn’t ask.

  Before stepping out, he turned back, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. It was soft, gentle—a silent promise.

  “I’ll be back,” he whispered against her skin.

  She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrist as if reluctant to let go. He gave her one st look before turning away, stepping out into the cool air.

  The familiar hum of the car engine broke the quiet, the tires crunching softly against the gravel. As he pulled onto the street, the image of Mi-rae and the twins lingered in his mind, growing smaller in the rearview mirror.

  He gripped the wheel tighter, exhaling slowly.

  This was the life he had built—the life he needed to protect.

  But as the road stretched ahead, a cold sense of unease settled in his chest.

  Seon-gyeom grabbed his keys and stepped outside. The sun was still high, its warmth pressing against his skin, but it felt distant. As he slid into the car, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

  Chairman Choi was not a man who tolerated loose ends. Now that he knew Mi-rae had learned the truth about Kiho, there was no telling what he would do to ensure the secret stayed buried.

  Seon-gyeom had to reassure him. He had to promise that their family would keep this secret, no matter what.

  And yet… something about this felt wrong.

  The hum of the car engine was the only sound accompanying Seon-gyeom as he drove, his grip firm on the wheel. The cityscape blurred past his window, tall buildings casting long shadows under the dimming afternoon sun. The further he drove, the quieter it became—skyscrapers giving way to older streets, the polished pavement transitioning into cracked asphalt.

  His mind raced with thoughts, tangled and restless. Chairman Choi’s words echoed in his head, intertwining with his own concerns. The weight of secrecy pressed heavily against his chest, suffocating in a way he couldn’t shake.

  Twenty minutes ter, he pulled up to an old, abandoned-looking building on the outskirts of town. The structure stood alone, its once-white exterior faded to a dull gray, cracks splintering through the concrete like veins. Rusted metal bars covered the lower windows, and faded remnants of signage hinted that this pce had once been something else—before time left it behind.

  Seon-gyeom cut the engine, the silence that followed thick and expectant. Stepping out, the air was different here—drier, tinged with dust and the sharp scent of sun-warmed concrete. It smelled like something forgotten.

  A lone figure stood near the entrance.

  The man was dressed entirely in bck—a well-worn leather jacket, dark jeans, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. The te afternoon light cast long shadows across his face, but Seon-gyeom could make out sharp, watchful eyes, assessing him the moment he stepped forward.

  The man inclined his head slightly. “You must be Mr. Ki Seon-gyeom.”

  His voice was steady, polite, but there was an edge to it—something practiced, something restrained.

  Seon-gyeom nodded, his own expression unreadable. “And you must be the man Chairman Choi assigned.”

  The man gave a curt nod before extending a hand. “Shin Kyung Soo.”

  Seon-gyeom hesitated for half a second before accepting the handshake. It was brief, firm—neither overly familiar nor dismissive.

  “This way.” Kyung-soo turned toward the entrance without another word.

  Seon-gyeom followed him inside, stepping over the threshold into the cold, stale air of the building. The dim interior smelled of dust and wood long left to decay. The walls bore signs of age, peeling in pces, and the wooden floor creaked under their weight as they made their way up a narrow flight of stairs.

  Their footsteps echoed in the empty space, a rhythmic reminder of the secrecy binding them together.

  At the second floor, Kyung-soo led him down a short hallway before pushing open a heavy door.

  Inside, the room was dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting weak, yellowish light. Two other men were already waiting. They stood as Seon-gyeom entered, their postures straight, expressions carefully composed. With a quiet show of respect, they bowed.

  Kyung-soo shut the door behind them with a quiet click, the heavy air of the abandoned building settling once more around them. The space was dim and sparse, save for a rusted metal table and two chairs in the center of the room. Dust floated zily in the sunlight seeping through the sts of the boarded-up windows.

  He turned to face Seon-gyeom, his hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Chairman Choi has given clear instructions,” he said, his voice even but alert, as though testing Seon-gyeom’s temperature before proceeding.

  Seon-gyeom remained standing, his posture upright and composed, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “And you were briefed about the job?”

  Kyung-soo gave a small nod, then walked over to the table. From his satchel, he withdrew a thick mani folder, bound with a bck estic band. He id it down gently and undid the binding, flipping it open with practiced care.

  “I was. Everything has been arranged,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost respectful. “From identity to residence to employment. Nothing’s been left to chance.”

  He turned the first page and slid it forward for Seon-gyeom to see. “His new name is Jang Ki-ho. As of st month, that’s the only name that exists for him in every legal database that matters.”

  The page showed a cleanly formatted identity profile. A photograph of the young man, slightly altered with a new haircut and a more mature wardrobe, stared back at them. Below the image were neatly typed details:

  Name: Jang Ki-hoFormerly: Choi Ji-hoonDate of Birth: December 14, 1980Pce of Birth: RedactedEducation: Graduated from Sindo Private University, Department of Computer Science (Fabricated)Occupation: Software Development Assistant

  “Everything you see here has been verified and run through the system,” Kyung-soo continued. “Digital records, school transcripts, even a basic social media presence. It all leads to the same person—Jang Ki-ho.”

  Seon-gyeom said nothing, but his fingers curled against his side as his eyes scanned the page. The name Choi Ji-hoon had vanished.

  Kyung-soo flipped to the next section of the file—a printed map and an apartment lease agreement.

  “He’ll be living in the Yongsan District. A modest studio unit in a quiet building—Unit 601, Saebyeok Heights, 11-3 Seonghwa-ro. Mostly students and mid-level employees live there. We’ve ensured the neighbors keep to themselves.”

  He tapped the next page, a photo of the nondescript apartment exterior. “Safe, unremarkable, and quietly monitored. No cameras inside the unit itself, but Mr. Jang will be living in the same building—two floors down, Unit 403. He’s been keeping an eye on Kiho for the st twenty-five years, ever since the Chairman took measures to protect him. Former NIS, retired early. Steady, discreet, and loyal to the Chairman above all. He’s been reassigned to Seoul to continue his watch—just close enough to intervene if necessary, but far enough to avoid suspicion. Any irregurities, any red fgs—he’ll report directly to me.”

  He paused, then flipped to a printed family registry form. “To further solidify the identity, Mr. Jang has been officially registered as Kiho’s father. The records state his mother passed away when he was six—nothing eborate, just a clean expnation in case anyone ever checks. From now on, that’s who they are on paper. No contradictions, no room for questions.”

  Seon-gyeom let out a quiet breath through his nose, absorbing every word.

  Kyung-soo then turned to the final set of documents: an employee file stamped with a corporate logo.

  “Hwangjin Tech Solutions,” he expined. “It’s a small but reputable firm in the tech industry, specializing in AI-driven applications and software development. Based in Yongsan District—1427 Namsan Boulevard. Conveniently located about fifteen minutes from his apartment by foot.”

  He flipped through several pages, showing photos of the office building, staff IDs, and an onboarding schedule. “He’s been hired as a Junior Developer. Low-tier but respected enough to make his presence there believable. He’ll be introduced as a recent hire from Gwangju who relocated to Seoul for better opportunities. His department manager is unaware of his background but has been briefed to treat him as a standard probationary employee.”

  Kyung-soo tapped a specific date on the onboarding calendar, printed in clean, blue ink. “He moves in on August 30. The briefing on his new identity and protocols will happen immediately after he settles. He’ll start work officially on September 5—gives us enough time to make sure every detail is cemented before he sets foot in that office.”

  He looked up, his tone shifting—sharper now, more resolute.

  “There are two things Ki-ho must remember above all else. First: He is no longer Choi Ji-hoon. That person no longer exists. Even in private moments, even when no one is listening—he must think, speak, and breathe as Jang Ki-ho. There can be no slip-ups. Not even one.”

  Seon-gyeom’s jaw tightened. His eyes dropped briefly to the papers, then returned to Kyung-soo with unwavering focus.

  “And second,” Kyung-soo continued, “he must not contact anyone from his past. No old friends, no calls to familiar pces, no messages under pseudonyms. If he ever needs anything, it goes through me. No exceptions.”

  He reached into a side compartment of the file case and pced a sleek bck phone on the table between them. “This is the only phone he’ll be allowed to use. Preloaded with encrypted contacts, one of which is mine. No social media, no app store, no GPS tracking. It’s clean and untraceable.”

  Seon-gyeom stepped closer, his eyes scanning the phone before settling back on the open file. The weight of it all—the crafted lies, the precision, the irreversible transformation—pressed heavy against his chest.

  “Do you understand how confidential this is?” he asked, his voice low and calm, but ced with unmistakable warning.

  Kyung-soo didn’t flinch. “I do. I’ve handled worse. This won’t leak.”

  But Seon-gyeom wasn’t reassured. He’d seen what secrets like this could do.

  He knew the way silence can crumble, how carefully managed stories begin to rot from within.

  Because no matter how thoroughly the past is buried, some things always find a way to cw back to the surface.

  END OF CHAPTER 17