There had never been a single phone call or letter from his missing mother. And since she had run away to Seoul with her cousin when she was young, she had long been out of contact with her original family. Judging by how angry his father had been, even the neighbors—who’d once been close to them—had no clue where she’d gone. She’d left no hint behind. Not a word to Kim Sibaek before disappearing.
It all felt hopeless—except for one small clue. On nights when his father came home drunk and didn’t make it back to the house, his mother used to hold him close, stroke his back, and whisper:
“I hated the sea. Got sick of the salty air and the stench of fish. I can’t stand them to this day. Thank God you boys love pork cutlets instead.”
“Where was that place?”
“The southernmost part of Korea.”
At school, he asked his homeroom teacher where that was. He was told either Marado or Haenam. Marado required a ferry ride, so he decided to save that for later. Haenam came first.
While their father was out, Kim Sibaek called the train station and the express bus terminal. There was no direct train to Haenam from Seoul, but there was a long-distance bus. The only issue was the ride—it would take over five hours.
“We’re going to find Mom. Can you handle being on a bus that long?”
His little brother didn’t respond, staying silent as always. It took persistent, calm coaxing for Sibaek to finally get him to understand.
“You’re coming too, right, hyung?”
“Yeah.”
As soon as he heard that, his brother nodded without hesitation. Just in case, Sibaek put him in a diaper, then they slipped out of the house unnoticed. He paid for the tickets with the money he’d been secretly saving—coins and bills skimmed from alcohol errands their father sent him on.
The trip to Haenam was rough. His brother struggled the whole way, but somehow, they made it. Carrying his exhausted brother on his back, Sibaek asked passersby for directions. If their mom was from a seaside town, then they had to head toward the water. That was their only lead.
But their tiny quest ended as abruptly as it began. Someone had seen two little kids wandering alone and called the police. The brothers were taken to a nearby station, and in the dead of night, their father stormed in like a wildfire.
He caused a scene—screaming and raging. Even back then, when people shrugged off child abuse as strict parenting, the cops were muttering behind his back.
“Honestly, those kids would be better off in an orphanage than stuck with a father like that.”
Those words hit Kim Sibaek like a brick wall. His father didn’t love him. Didn’t even see his little brother as his own. But still—he was family. Wasn’t he supposed to be? Wasn’t that supposed to mean something?
Was being fatherless really better than this?
Even after they were dragged back to Seoul, the thought wouldn’t leave him.
His little brother was too young for kindergarten and spent all day stuck at home—but he was growing. And as his features started to resemble Sibaek’s, their father’s violence began to shift toward him. It must’ve been fury—fury that this slow, dim-witted child really was his son.
When Sibaek was home, he could shield his brother, take the beatings in his place. But he couldn’t stop worrying about what might happen when he wasn’t there. What if their father snapped while Siwoon was alone?
So he made up his mind. They’d run away. Together. To an orphanage. Somewhere far, far away—where their father could never follow.
But they needed money. Whenever their father passed out drunk and tossed his wallet aside, Sibaek would sneak out a bill and stash it away. Bit by bit, he built up a small escape fund.
That day had felt like a lucky one.
Lunch was pork cutlet—his brother’s favorite. His teacher gave him some workbooks and told him to study hard. And the owner of the neighborhood fried food shop, who knew their situation, wrapped up some croquettes and handed them over with a kind smile. He even heated the pork cutlet.
Holding that warm bundle close, Sibaek raced home through the narrow alleyways. He couldn’t wait to see how happy his brother would be. How excited he’d get. How good it would all taste.
He flung open the rusted door, heart full of hope.
His brother wasn’t there.
Instead, his father was sitting in the yard, grinning ear to ear as he counted stacks of cash.
“Dad, where’s Siwoon?”
Normally, he’d have smacked Sibaek just for speaking. But today, in an uncharacteristically good mood, he actually answered.
“You know your grand-uncle, right? Kim Youngsik? He’s impotent—can’t have kids. Said he needed an adopted son, so I gave him Siwoon. Even a useless brat who does nothing but eat can be worth something, huh?”
It was a name Sibaek had never heard. He didn’t know a single relative from either side of the family.
His brother had vanished. Just like that.
And now this sudden pile of cash.
…….
A chill crept into his chest—the same sinking dread he’d felt the morning their mother disappeared. When he pressed his father for more details, he got slapped across the face. The pork cutlet and croquettes in his arms went cold.
Every time his father left the house, Sibaek tore the place apart, searching desperately. He flipped through drawers, rummaged through every pocket, even peeled up the flooring, hunting for any clue about this “Kim Youngsik.” At last, he found an old, dust-covered notebook shoved under the wardrobe. Inside—one phone number.
He called it. No answer.
So he took the money he’d been saving for their escape and headed for the address listed in the notebook. The place was in Samcheok, Gangwon Province.
“Kim Youngsik? Hm… We’ve been living here for seven years now.”
After asking around endlessly, he finally reached the address—only to find a completely different family living there. Hearing his story, the homeowner offered to check with the local real estate office. They confirmed that a man named Kim Youngsik had once lived there, but the contact number was the same one Sibaek had already tried.
The kind homeowner forced some cash into his hand and told him to take the Saemaeul train back to Seoul. The return trip was smooth—but his heart was heavy.
His father didn’t even realize his elementary school-aged son had traveled alone all the way to Samcheok.
That night, Kim Sibaek curled up under his blanket and cried in silence until morning.
Only one option remained: ask his father again.
But asking always led to a slap. And never an answer.
So he waited—waited for his father to be in a good enough mood.
And until then, Kim Sibaek decided to play the role of the good son, quietly watching, waiting for his chance.
“Sibaek! Sibaek! Something’s happened!”
It was a winter morning. The night before, he’d fallen asleep waiting, having cooked all his father’s favorite drinking snacks. But his father never came home. As dawn broke, the neighbor lady came banging on the door, frantic. Still half-asleep, Sibaek stumbled to open it—and heard the news.
The night before, his father had been stumbling drunkenly up a steep, narrow hill. He slipped. Fell down the steps. And froze to death.
The wad of cash he’d once gloated over was nowhere to be found.
The neighbors, who had always looked at Sibaek with pity, pooled together what they could for the funeral. But the wake was cold, in every sense. Not a single mourner came—not even this so-called Kim Youngsik, the man who’d supposedly adopted his little brother. The man who’d ruled their home like a tyrant died in a way that was pitifully empty.
Adults whispered their comfort as they watched him cry.
“Even a bastard like that—still, he was the kid’s dad.”
But it wasn’t his father’s death that made him cry.
It was the fact that his last thread of hope—his last chance to find his brother—was gone.
Sibaek was sent to a small church-run orphanage, far from the city. It was a place for kids who’d been orphaned or abandoned, clinging to the edge of society. But strangely enough, it was the first time he’d ever felt safe. He gained brothers, sisters—kids he could finally call family.
Pi Minhyung had been abandoned in front of the orphanage as a baby. Seo Gaeun arrived holding her bent old grandmother’s hand. One child was found by police in a marketplace and given a new name—Yang Eunho, after the nun who ran the orphanage. Lee Hangyeol lost his parents young and had been passed around from relative to relative before ending up here.
They were precious to him. But even surrounded by new siblings, the memory of his real little brother gnawed at him like a nail driven deep into his skull.
He missed Siwoon.
One of the orphanage’s patrons happened to be a fencing enthusiast—a wealthy benefactor who occasionally brought the kids to fencing gyms. That’s when someone noticed Sibaek’s talent. It didn’t take long.
The benefactor was ecstatic and offered full support. Training began immediately. He was enrolled in a middle school with a fencing program. It all happened without him really choosing it—but fencing was actually fun. It was thrilling.
Even so, no matter how far he advanced as an athlete, the memory of his brother stayed carved into him like a scar that refused to heal. His once-small frame grew tall and strong, his body lean and agile—but some wounds didn’t fade with time.
Around his brother’s birthday, the melancholy always crept back. One year, when his gloom became obvious, his coach offered a joke disguised as advice.
“If you can’t find him, then make him find you. Get famous. That way, maybe your brother will recognize you.”
“How do I get famous?”
“Ace the college entrance exam. Full marks and you’ll be on every news broadcast.”
“…Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Sibaek grimaced—academics were never his strong suit. The coach grinned.
“Then win gold with your sword. You take the top spot at the Olympics, and you’ll be impossible to miss.”
It was half a joke. But from that day on, Sibaek had a new goal.
Genius-level talent combined with desperate, relentless training—it was a recipe for records. And one by one, he started breaking them.
He won a national title. His brother didn’t come. Not surprising—who paid attention to domestic fencing matches, outside of family and diehard fans?
He took gold in the sabre category at the Asian Games, the youngest in history. Still no sign of Siwoon. Maybe the Asian Games weren’t big enough.
Then he won bronze at the Olympics. It was Korea’s first fencing medal in history. And yet, his brother still didn’t appear. Perhaps gold medals in more popular sports had stolen the spotlight.
Under blinding flashes of cameras, giving interview after interview, all he could think was—next time. Next Olympics, he’d win gold. Enough to be on the lips of people who didn’t even follow sports. Famous enough that even someone like his brother couldn’t miss it.
By then, Kim Sibaek was nineteen.
And that was when he met the child.
Locked in a half-basement room.
Even smaller than his little brother had been.
So small. So heartbreakingly small.
