“She died during the Cataclysm. On the very first day.”
Though years had passed since the Cataclysm, the grief of losing her mother still lingered, dull and unresolved. Hyoju Agnes’s expression clouded over, but her voice remained steady, not lost to sorrow.
“Every time I turned on the TV, there was a World Cup match on. I kept begging my parents to let me see one live.”
The fever surrounding the tournament had swept the entire country. Back then, the only tickets available were ridiculously overpriced scalped ones. But by chance, someone they knew had a last-minute change of plans and couldn’t go. Since her father was on shift work and couldn’t take time off, she and her mother went alone—just the two of them, heading to Seoul for a rare outing and the match.
That was when the Cataclysm struck.
“I don’t know all the details, but… I don’t think my mother’s first marriage was a happy one. Even so, she always regretted leaving my brothers behind. …I think that’s why she made the choice she did.”
Haunted by guilt over abandoning her sons, her mother faced the same crossroads again—and this time, she didn’t run. She died saving her daughter, weeping apologies until her final breath faded away.
Hyoju Agnes clenched her hand, then slowly opened it again, as though trying to recall the warmth of her mother’s last touch.
“She said sorry to me, but… I think maybe those words were meant for my brothers.”
“……”
“I’ve always wanted to find them. To pass on her words. But with the world the way it is now… it’s not easy. And Mother didn’t want to be a burden. She never even told me their names clearly, so it’s been even harder.”
Her voice turned sheepish as she scratched the tip of her nose. Kim Sibaek let out a soft breath, almost like a sigh.
“I’m sure your brothers know. Deep down, they understand how much she loved them.”
“I hope so. Anyway, I’ll take this over!”
Ending the long story left her suddenly flustered. In a rush to shake off the awkwardness, Hyoju Agnes gathered up the trash bags and hurried them over to the food truck. As her figure retreated, Kim Sibaek saw a flicker—an image of her mother, frying cutlets in a frenzy before heading out the door.
Thank God. After a lifetime of running, she’d finally found peace. The woman who had never once smiled had left behind a radiant one—on the face of the daughter who looked just like her. That was enough.
Kim Sibaek rubbed his face roughly, trying to settle the storm in his chest. He replayed her words, slowly letting the traces of his mother sink in. He’d learned more in that one conversation with Hyoju Agnes than in all his years living under the same roof with her.
The ache of a hometown she resented yet couldn’t forget. The names she carved into her children like fragments of herself. The guilt lodged in her heart like a rusted nail. The children she left behind—but never stopped loving. His mother.
Then, suddenly, a cold realization stabbed through his mind like ice.
Hyoju Agnes hadn’t said “half-brother.” She said “half-brothers.” She even remembered the name she gave the eldest.
…Then how is it that both my mother and Sister Hyoju Agnes still remember me?
***
The soft click of a mouse echoed through the dim lab, the pale light of the monitor casting a cold glow. Cloud didn’t even need to open the new email to know what it said.
- You did not enter the country through official procedures, and there is no record of your arrival.
- Seoul has not yet been restored, and after nearly 40 years, vague information isn’t enough to trace your former residence.
- Re-registration of individuals who died before the Cataclysm is extremely slow unless reported by family.
- Please try to remember at least your father’s or brother’s name.
The same investigation results—over and over, for ten years now, through countless agencies. The methods might differ slightly, but the conclusions never changed.
Cloud hadn’t expected anything, so he felt no disappointment. He closed the browser without a flicker of emotion.
It had been forty years.
His memories of Seoul, back when he lived under a different name, were fragmented and dim. All he remembered of the world beyond his room was the yard. He had never spoken to anyone outside his family. No—more accurately, his brother had been his entire world. His father’s “conversations” were nothing but screaming and beatings.
The only reason he still remembered his old name was because his brother had kept calling it. Gently. Repeatedly. Even when he didn’t respond. Never once annoyed. For Cloud, his brother had been the beginning and end of his childhood.
Now, even his brother’s face was too faded to recall.
His father had only ever existed in his mind as “Father,” not as a man with a name. His mother had disappeared before he even knew who she was. And his brother—he was just “Brother,” no different from how their father had been. Even their father never called him by name. Just “this bastard” or “worthless piece of shit.”
Cloud didn’t remember the address of their home. Not even the neighborhood. He only figured out that Seoul was his birthplace after backtracking through the organization that trafficked him to the U.S.
He often revisited his past—not out of nostalgia, but out of habit. To others, it might seem tragic. But to him, it was nothing more than a sequence of facts.
From Seoul. Forty years ago.
That morning had been strange. His father, who usually glared at him with contempt or ignored him outright, suddenly brought him pills and a glass of water. Cloud had shut his lips tight. If it wasn’t from his brother, he didn’t want it. But his father forced his mouth open and shoved the medicine down his throat.
Probably sleeping pills. Or something like them. He fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up, his head felt like it was splitting open, and strangers were looking down at him.
His brother was gone. The fear of unfamiliar people and a strange place didn’t matter. What crushed him was the loneliness—being without his brother. The boy curled up tightly, small and alone.
Everything after that was something Cloud pieced together later, as an adult, after the human trafficking ring collapsed and the truth came to light.
Now, whenever he thought back to his past, he marked each turning point like chapters—assigning them numbers, just like always.
- Congressman Mo’s grandson had dilated cardiomyopathy.
The golden window for a heart transplant is four hours. To ensure safe delivery and a swift surgery, the boy was smuggled into the U.S. through Canada using a forged passport arranged by the congressman. But before he could even make it to the operating table—while still on immunosuppressants—the boy died.
Just like that, his status was stripped away. And the organization? They immediately began scouting for another way to sell him off at a high price.
- A young Chinese woman married an elderly tycoon.
Like an animal hoarder, she indiscriminately adopted East Asian orphans, parading them across media outlets as symbols of her kindness and their supposed “miracle.” The ones with especially delicate, pretty faces—perfect for showing off—were sold for a premium.
The organization had disguised mild autism as simple shyness, but the lie quickly unraveled. It didn’t even take a week for the child to be neglected.
The woman’s marriage with the tycoon soon collapsed, and all of the children were abandoned.
- One of those abandoned children was formally registered with a child welfare center.
A couple took him in, not knowing his past or that he was autistic. Eventually, they adopted him as their own.
Through some Korean-American friends, they learned the only name the boy remembered. From that, they gave him the name Cloud. They didn’t realize until much later—after the name had already become part of their lives—that even if a Korean name sounded the same, the meaning could change entirely depending on the hanja used.
That was the final turning point in Cloud’s life.
To him, his parents weren’t the man and woman who gave him DNA. Not the Chinese woman, not the old tycoon. No, his real family was that final couple. The ones who raised him. His parents, his siblings—the ones he has now.
The only person he ever wished he could add to that family was his brother. The one who used to whisper his name, hold him close, and make sure he never forgot where he came from.
But Cloud didn’t even know his brother’s name. Didn’t know how old he was. Didn’t know where they used to live. Didn’t know what school he went to.
Everyone around him said searching was pointless. Some mocked him, saying it was no different than burning money in a trash can.
Cloud didn’t care what others thought. But chasing something you know deep down you’ll never find—it wears on you.
He took off his glasses and pressed his forehead with a sigh. His head throbbed. Just like the day he woke up after being drugged as a child.
Maybe… maybe it’s finally time to stop searching for his brother.
