I’d known for a long time that Min Sanghan harbored ill feelings toward my mother and father. But I’d brushed it off as the kind of emotion anyone could have. After all, human relationships weren’t built solely on positive feelings. For someone so obsessed with the honor of being the lab director, it was only natural that he’d try to check those who threatened his ambitions. Even if those people were longtime friends. Still, that ambition could never excuse the fact that he crossed a line that should never have been crossed.
I was curious what Min Sanghan would say when he saw my face. Would he claim it was all a misunderstanding and slander, that he wasn’t at fault? Or would he immediately confess it was his doing?
“S-Suho…!”
The moment he saw me, Min Sanghan cried out in desperation from behind the bars. He reached toward the bars, then suddenly stopped for some reason, hands dropping limply. His appearance was pitiful. Scorched hair singed to a crisp, melted patches of skin from burns, and filthy, ragged clothing—gone was the man who always took pride in his appearance.
I looked down at this unfamiliar version of Min Sanghan without a word.
“Suho, I think I must’ve lost my mind for a moment. I-I wasn’t in my right mind.”
He rambled, eyes darting around in panic.
“Yeah… I was crazy. That’s the only way to explain what I did to Heeseo and Jaejin…”
He nodded to himself, muttering like someone who had truly gone insane. Tears welled in his bloodshot eyes and spilled down his cheeks. To anyone who didn’t know better, the look in his eyes might have inspired sympathy—it was that pathetic.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you either.”
“……”
“I… I don’t even know how to begin begging for forgiveness.”
Tears streamed from his bowed face and soaked the floor beneath.
“I’m sorry, Suho. I’ve committed a terrible, terrible sin…”
He looked every bit the broken man—frail and pitiful—but not a single part of those tears felt sincere to me. They looked like nothing more than tears of fear—fear that he might die.
…And at that moment, I realized that I had no intention of forgiving Min Sanghan. Whether or not he confessed his crimes to my face didn’t matter at all.
And strangely, my mind and heart were calm. No act of revenge could ever bring back my parents. I only wanted to say something that would cut him the deepest.
Just as he’d deceived me for so long, I knew him well enough to know what words would have the most impact.
“Then.”
I slowly opened my mouth.
“Leave quietly.”
Min Sanghan flinched at the words, shoulders trembling.
“Let people remember you as a criminal unworthy of even the smallest ounce of pity.”
“……!”
“Lose everything—your position, the one you coveted so badly—and be remembered only as a man who exposed his filth for all to see.”
From what Yeo Wonjin had told me on the way here, it was clear that Min Sanghan had been responsible not just for my parents’ deaths, but also for the death of the former Captain. No doubt it had been a calculated move to speed up the day he could claim the position for himself.
Just like in the past. Killing someone to take their place. He’d had plenty of chances to stop before going through with it, but in the end, he’d chosen to repeat the same damn thing.
Now, with the evidence about to be made public, Min Sanghan’s life was as good as over. There could be nothing more horrifying to him than the realization that he’d lose not only his long-coveted social status aboard the ship but also his very life, along with the reputation of “Min Sanghan” as a person.
He suddenly snapped his head up.
“You… you…!”
His face turned red, then pale, then red again. He was clearly not getting the response he’d expected. I stared back in silence.
“How can you say that to me? After everything—I cared about you so much!”
He jabbed a peeling finger in my direction.
“You’re telling someone who was basically your father to die? Huh?!”
A scream more than a plea, it was a desperate outburst. So in the end, he’d been hoping I’d petition the ship for mercy on his behalf. The way he completely flipped his tone made it obvious.
If he couldn’t manipulate me through sympathy, he’d try some other way. I could see right through it.
Even in this cornered state, he had to know he was spouting insanity to the very person he tried to kill. And yet he pushed forward with shameless audacity. He must have truly believed I was still emotionally entangled with him.
That because we’d spent so many years together, I’d never be able to cut him off in a single moment.
“……”
A hollow laugh escaped me before I realized it. Min Sanghan flinched at the sound. No matter how much he tried to hide it, his entire body reeked of anxiety.
To the younger, more naive me, Min Sanghan had once been someone I was thankful for—someone I could rely on. That much was true. But he had never been anything more than that. If anything, what mattered more to me was the fact that he was Min Yugeon’s father.
That was why I didn’t want to believe the truth. Not because I couldn’t accept that Min Sanghan had killed my parents, But because I couldn’t accept that Min Yugeon’s father had killed my parents.
…And in the first place, no one could ever take my parents’ place.
I leaned down slightly and met Min Sanghan’s gaze through the bars. I nodded slowly, as if to say I understood him perfectly.
“Yes. That’s right.”
“……What?”
“But don’t delude yourself, not even in death. Dying doesn’t even come close to paying for what you’ve done.”
I spoke in a calm, detached voice, unwilling to waste even a shred of emotion on him.
Min Sanghan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, speechless.
“Suho, you… this…”
His breath came in short, shallow gasps, unable to continue. And slowly, one emotion began to spread across his face.
Despair.
He must’ve realized that he’d lost any ability to sway me, and with that, the reality of his fate must’ve finally sunk in.
I straightened up and looked down at him. Even as fear began to seep into his expression, I felt no satisfaction.
It was nowhere near enough to feel like justice.
“W-Wait…!”
As I turned to leave, Min Sanghan scrambled to speak.
“Wait just a second, Suho! Let’s talk a little more! I just realized—I didn’t apologize properly!”
“……”
“Come back! Come back here!”
His desperate shouts echoed through the room. It was clear he knew that once I walked away, everything would be over. He clung to me with everything he had, trying to stop me from leaving.
But I ignored him and kept walking. His voice grew more distant, fainter, until the last thing I heard was a wretched, pitiful wail that barely sounded human.
“Researcher.”
The moment I stepped outside, face blank, I came face to face with Yeo Wonjin, who had been waiting. When I stopped walking, he cautiously approached.
“Will that be the last time you see him?”
He asked gently, eyes searching my face with concern.
“Given that his sentence has already been decided as exile beyond the hull, today may very well be your final encounter.”
“……”
I silently shook my head.
“I’m fine.”
“…I see.”
Yeo Wonjin lowered his gaze slightly. Then, after a brief hesitation, he spoke again.
“Researcher. In truth, I’d like to give you the authority to decide Min Sanghan’s punishment.”
“…What?”
“Exile is the harshest sentence the ship can legally impose, but isn’t it still too lenient? For a man who stole and trampled your entire life?”
It was as if he’d looked straight into my heart.
“If you wish, I’ll help you punish him as you see fit. Officially, it’ll be reported that he was exiled from the ship. No one will know what really happened—except me and a very small handful.”
“Captain.” I met Yeo Wonjin’s gaze directly.
“You’re just as qualified as I am to punish Min Sanghan.”
He fell silent at my words.
“As a resident of the ship, I’ll follow your lead and the ship’s regulations.”
If I took revenge through personal means just to satisfy my own rage, I’d be no different from Min Sanghan— A man who abandoned humanity and lived by his desires alone. I had no intention of becoming the same kind of person.
“And actually, there’s something else I’d like to ask for instead.”
“Something else?”
Yeo Wonjin blinked in confusion. But I felt that this moment—his offer of kindness—was the answer I’d been waiting for. So I nodded without hesitation.
“Lee Shin… the survivor. And Min Yugeon. Please grant them both a full pardon.”
“……”
“You probably already know this, but the survivor didn’t abduct me. I released Lee Shin myself. And afterward, I chose to go with him to the surface. As for Min Yugeon… he risked everything trying to save me.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
Yeo Wonjin nodded quietly.
“I was planning to tell you not to worry about that.”
“…Ah.”
I had been prepared to argue that all the responsibility lay with me to win them both a pardon— But his answer had come quicker than I expected, and I paused mid-thought.
“I recommended that both of them visit the hospital for a checkup, just in case. The survivor went under the escort of Colonel Sun Woosung. But Min Yugeon… he insisted strongly on returning home, so I let him go.”
Yeo Wonjin explained softly.
“He also refused to visit Min Sanghan.”
“I see.”
“Still… I think it might be a good idea for you to stay at the hospital for at least a day, just to make sure…”
“No. I need to go home too.”
Because I knew Min Yugeon would be waiting for me.
“Thank you.”
“……”
I gave Yeo Wonjin a slight bow, expressing my gratitude, then turned silently to leave. As I turned, I caught a glimpse of his face— And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint trace of sadness in it.
