…Was this really the time for him to be flailing around like this?
“……”
Min Yugeon quietly lowered his arms, stood up, and stripped off his clothes. Walking mechanically under the shower, he stood still as a cold stream of water poured over him.
The icy spray battered his skin with a biting sting, helping some of his reason return.
“That man never told me anything clearly, Yugeon. All I know is…”
“……”
“There’s an accomplice. That’s the one and only truth I have.”
The person who had murdered Seo Suho’s parents had been acting on Min Sanghan’s orders. There might even be a connection between that incident and the building collapse. The murderer hadn’t been caught, but he wasn’t free either—Min Sanghan was sheltering him.
That was the extent of the truth Min Yugeon had right now.
The ship was essentially Min Yugeon’s domain. No matter where the criminal might be hiding, as long as it was inside the ship, he could find them.
His previously clouded gaze cleared, sharp and glinting coldly.
He had to obtain irrefutable evidence and make sure Min Sanghan paid for his crimes. Doing that now wouldn’t erase what had already happened, wouldn’t count as atonement—but when the time came to reveal the truth to Seo Suho, Min Sanghan had to be behind bars.
If everything had already come to light and yet the criminal who had deceived him was still casually living his daily life… Yugeon couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony Suho would feel in that moment.
He stepped out of the bathroom, dressed quickly, and left the room.
“……! Where are you going?”
Lee Minha, sitting nervously in the living room, shot up to her feet. Yugeon turned to look at his mother with an expressionless face.
“Yes.”
“Wh-Where are you—?”
“……I’ll be back.”
Without feeling the need to offer any explanation, Min Yugeon turned toward the front door. Watching him, Lee Minha bit down on her lip.
The chill in her son’s demeanor stirred a deep sorrow inside her. Along with it came a shame so raw, it made her feel more than immature—it made her feel pathetic.
All this time, she’d endured what felt like walking on thorns, and it was all for him… How could he treat her like this…?
“Yugeon!”
His mother grabbed his arm, and Min Yugeon stopped walking. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t shake her off either. With a face full of anguish, Lee Minha began to speak.
“I never wanted to see you live your life being branded the son of a criminal.”
“……”
“I kept quiet only for your happiness. Do you really have to turn away from me like this?”
Her trembling voice wasn’t laden with regret or guilt—it was thick with the fear of losing everything. Her connection to Seo Suho, the morality and conscience she should’ve upheld as a human being, and now even the son who had once justified throwing all of that away.
If Min Yugeon turned his back on her, there would be nothing left. She would be nothing but the wife of a criminal, Min Sanghan.
“My happiness?”
Yugeon slowly turned his head. His eyes were darkly shadowed, lips dry and cracked, curling into a bitter smile. Startled, Lee Minha instinctively let go of his arm. For the first time, her son’s gaze made her feel overwhelmed.
“If you really wanted that, you should’ve done the opposite.”
“……!”
“Instead of lying to Suho all this time, you should’ve reported him to the Security Force the moment it happened.”
His tone was calm, completely unlike the storm of emotion he’d shown just days ago after hearing the truth in this very spot. But behind his unwavering eyes, a fury quietly simmered—so intense it could be mistaken for murderous intent. Even knowing that rage was directed at Min Sanghan, Lee Minha couldn’t help but retreat.
“Yugeon…”
“Mother.”
The sudden shift in how he addressed her stopped her cold. Eyes wide, Lee Minha stared at him.
“You’ve taken away even the right for me to look Suho in the face.”
What he said in that flat, steady voice sounded like: You’ve stripped me of the right to feel happiness as your son.
Lee Minha froze, her breath caught in her throat.
Even after seeing her like that, Min Yugeon didn’t flinch.
“All that finger-pointing you’re so afraid of… sure, people will whisper about me being the family of a criminal. But that can’t be helped, can it?”
“……”
“What’s far worse for me is knowing that I’m the child of the man and woman who betrayed Suho.”
With that chilling final remark, Min Yugeon turned away.
The front door closed behind him, and his figure disappeared completely.
And Lee Minha collapsed right where she stood.
***
In the end, I wasn’t able to contact Min Yugeon until the very last day of the holiday.
I had made up my mind to wait, however long it took, until he’d sorted through his thoughts and reached out on his own.
And yet, why did it feel like this…?
Standing blankly in the middle of the house, I glanced around.
“……”
Ever since I’d started living with Min Yugeon, I hadn’t spent several days alone like this. Maybe that’s why the house felt strangely foreign.
My routine over the break had been excruciatingly monotonous. I’d wake up absurdly early, wander into the living room, and drift meaninglessly through the empty house. Eventually, I’d head into the kitchen to fix a meal, but even then, I couldn’t bring myself to eat. Without taking a single bite, I’d clean everything up and shuffle listlessly back to the bedroom. As if escaping reality, I’d just close my eyes—and before I knew it, I’d fall asleep and wake up to morning again.
I had planned to do something more productive than this. But I couldn’t bring myself to touch anything.
Just for today, I avoided the accursed bed and settled onto the couch instead. I turned on the screen and picked a random channel. A scene from an animated show suddenly filled the display.
A character was happily hopping along with a beaming face when it abruptly ran into something. A monster—round, chubby, and adorably shaped.
Raaaawrk!
That over-the-top roar, so obviously voiced by a person, suddenly jolted my memory.
This was… the same anime I had once watched side by side with Ji Chanwoo when I was just a kid.
“Aren’t the monsters way too cute-looking?”
“Huh?”
“Ah—no, Suho. Just keep watching.”
Chanwoo had hesitated with an awkward smile, probably worried he’d ruin my childhood wonder. But I had already read enough monster encyclopedias by then to know that children’s books and shows often made monsters look ridiculously cute.
A soft wave of nostalgia gently washed over me as I watched blankly until the episode ended. Even after the screen turned off, I sat there for a long while without realizing it—until suddenly, I snapped out of it.
Glancing over at the empty seat beside me, I slowly got up. I’d finally thought of something to do with the time I had left.
I changed into outdoor clothes and stepped outside. Perhaps because it was the tail end of the holiday, there were fewer people on the streets than I’d expected. Riding a quiet train, I made my way to the hospital.
As I approached the front desk, I spotted a familiar face—a nurse I’d seen several times since my first visit to meet Ji Chanwoo’s son.
“Oh…!”
“Hello.”
I placed a small bag of simple food on the counter and greeted her. Technically, I was just a stranger to Ji Chanwoo’s son, which meant I wasn’t permitted to visit him in the intensive care unit. However, I was allowed to occasionally drop by and express a small token of gratitude to the medical staff who had cared for him closely over the years.
Ever since learning that Min Sanghan hadn’t been showing up at the hospital—perhaps because he was too busy—I’d been more conscious of it, too.
“Ah, um… Suho.”
The nurse today seemed oddly unsure of how to act, glancing awkwardly between me and the food. Normally, she’d be warmly asking how I’d been, so her hesitation felt strange.
I raised an eyebrow slightly and asked,
“Is something wrong?”
“Well…”
She hesitated, watching my reaction.
“I suppose you haven’t heard anything, Suho.”
‘Heard… what?’
“About patient Ji Sung-hyun… I’m so sorry, but he passed away a few days ago.”
“……”
What…?
I stood there like I’d been nailed to the floor, my face frozen stiff. The nurse looked uncomfortable, clearly unsure how to proceed.
She explained that his condition had suddenly deteriorated, leaving the medical team no time to intervene. They had tried to reach his guardian in a hurry, but weren’t able to get through—so in the end, he passed away quietly and alone.
“I actually really wanted to let you know, but… due to internal regulations, I wasn’t allowed.”
Strictly speaking, even the information she’d just given me wasn’t something they were obligated to share with an outsider like me. But perhaps because of the trust we’d built over time, she had chosen to tell me anyway.
I had left my contact info just in case, but it had still been too difficult, huh…
“I understand.”
“……Are you all right? You really don’t look well.”
Reassuring the nurse that I was fine, I offered a parting greeting and turned away. As I walked, I kept clenching and releasing my cold, stiff hands.
I exited the building and crossed through the hospital’s walking path, when black dots suddenly dotted my vision, and a freezing numbness swept through my body. It was likely from not eating properly. There wasn’t even time to berate myself for being this pathetic—for failing at something as basic as self-care. If I kept standing there, I’d probably end up crumpled on the ground in a disgraceful heap, so I staggered over to the nearest bench and dropped onto it.
Leaning forward, I cradled my forehead in both hands.
Why…?
Logically, Ji Sung-hyun’s death wasn’t shocking. A nurse had once told me in a hushed voice that he was surviving on nothing short of a miracle. So while it did hit me, I was able to accept it fairly quickly.
What had truly thrown me was something else entirely.
Why hadn’t Min Sanghan told me that Ji Sung-hyun had died?
