There were no walls between Min Yugeon and Seo Suho.
Even during small childhood squabbles, even when Seo Suho couldn’t accept Min Yugeon’s feelings—never once did they feel they couldn’t understand each other. They knew each other so well that both were subconsciously aware of this truth.
So the emptiness in Seo Suho’s eyes now…
Min Yugeon inhaled sharply without meaning to. It felt like his heart had dropped with a heavy thud.
“…Suho.”
He instinctively reached out his hand. Seo Suho didn’t pull away. Instead, he silently took Min Yugeon’s hand in his own.
Though there was a trace of concern in the gesture, Min Yugeon couldn’t help but feel it was more of a habit than genuine comfort. Seo Suho’s hand was colder than usual, and it lacked the strength to hold on—as if he might let go at any moment.
Min Yugeon’s jaw began to tremble. Swallowing dryly in fear, he opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Wait…!”
He gasped as he grabbed Seo Suho’s wrist tightly. At that moment, Seo Suho’s gaze shifted elsewhere. The medical staff, who had been keeping their distance, cautiously approached.
“Sir, please lie down again. We need to check your condition.”
One of them reached for Min Yugeon’s shoulder, and he instinctively twisted away, rejecting the contact. But the moment he saw Seo Suho gently pull his hand away and give a slight shake of his head, a crushing helplessness swept over him.
Min Yugeon allowed himself to be guided back onto the bed, then turned his head to keep his eyes fixed on Seo Suho. He stared with an expression full of fear.
As if the moment he looked away, Suho would disappear.
Seo Suho met that gaze with an unreadable expression.
“……”
“……”
After what felt like an endlessly long examination, only the two of them were left in the hospital room.
In the silence, Seo Suho quietly approached Min Yugeon’s side without saying a word.
“All…”
Min Yugeon asked, his eyes red and swollen.
“Did you find out everything?”
His voice cracked with pain, fear soaked into every syllable.
Seo Suho simply stared at him, not answering.
…Was it because he was afraid of this moment?
Min Yugeon realized now why he hadn’t wanted to wake up. He’d been afraid to face Seo Suho, who might have learned the full truth. That’s why—like a coward—he had avoided opening his eyes.
His face twisted with shame and guilt. Seeing his complexion grow visibly worse, Seo Suho finally spoke.
“You haven’t been awake for long.”
“……”
“Don’t think about anything today. Just rest.”
His voice was calm, but the faint tremor at the end couldn’t be missed.
Min Yugeon flinched, trying to say something—but Seo Suho had already turned away.
He didn’t say he was leaving. He didn’t say he’d come back.
The sight of Seo Suho’s back overlapped with the image from his nightmares. Eyes wide, Min Yugeon bolted out of bed.
“Don’t go!”
He threw his arms around Seo Suho in desperation. Suho staggered slightly, caught in his embrace.
“Don’t go. Please, Suho.”
His damp, trembling voice brushed against Seo Suho’s ear.
Seo Suho didn’t reply. He simply stood there, eyes fixed forward. His eyelids fluttered faintly. The warmth of Min Yugeon’s skin was strangely cold, revealing just how tense he was.
“I know… I know I must be disgusting to look at. That you must hate seeing me.”
“……”
“Even so…”
The selfish words rose to his throat. That shameless plea he had uttered right before losing consciousness reared its head again.
He knew all too well how cruel it would be to ask Seo Suho to stay by his side now. He remembered vividly the moment he had turned his back on Suho—and that made this all the more shameless.
Lowering his head, he buried his face into Suho’s shoulder. Seo Suho’s shoulder rose and fell faintly, following his unsteady breath.
“…Min Yugeon.”
Seo Suho finally spoke quietly.
“I don’t want to believe what I heard. I mean, how can I trust the words of someone who faked their own death?”
“……!”
“So that’s why…”
The voice that had tried so hard to sound composed finally broke. He paused to collect himself, took a slow breath, and then turned around. Min Yugeon didn’t let go, locking eyes with him.
“You. Not Ji Chanwoo—you tell me.”
That was a cruel demand for both of them.
“As you know it.”
Min Yugeon’s eyes trembled with a sorrowful, pleading look.
***
What had I been hoping to hear?
A denial? Something like, “What nonsense did Ji Chanwoo tell you? It’s all bullshit—ignore it”?
I exhaled a breath that had long gone cold, shut my eyes tight, then slowly opened them. Min Yugeon’s tear-soaked face had long since lost its composure.
I already knew. From the moment the hospital called, telling me that Min Yugeon had been whispering my name nonstop, unable to calm down after regaining consciousness—when I rushed to his room and saw him—I couldn’t help but realize.
The look on his face when he saw me—anxious, full of fear and guilt—gave me the answer.
Ji Chanwoo had told the truth. That it was Min Sanghan who ordered my parents killed. That Rai had gone berserk trying to protect me. And that the only reason I had survived… was because I was with Rai.
“……”
The one who took my mother and father was Min Sanghan. The one who orchestrated my kidnapping was also Min Sanghan. And the one adult I had relied on all this time—was Min Sanghan, too.
Min Yugeon looked visibly tormented as he recounted everything. Of course it made sense that talking about the man who had driven me into despair, and revealing that it was Min Sanghan of all people, would be nothing but agony for him.
But even so, I had to hear the truth from Min Yugeon himself.
Only then could I accept it as reality.
Just like now.
I stared at Min Yugeon in a daze. My mind felt like it was frozen solid and boiling hot all at once. An odd, contradictory sensation. Maybe that’s why it didn’t feel real. Maybe it was because I’d already heard it from Ji Chanwoo that I could keep myself together better than I’d expected.
But I couldn’t make my mouth work. It was the same feeling as when Min Yugeon collapsed in front of me, stabbed in my place.
“I’m sorry.”
Min Yugeon lowered his head and whispered the words to me, who was just standing there, unmoving. His white hair, unkempt and loose, spilled into the air. From within it, clear droplets of tears fell fast and heavy. My fists clenched tightly.
…Why? Why are you apologizing?
Min Yugeon had no reason to say sorry to me. The one who had plunged me into misery was Min Sanghan—not Min Yugeon.
He hadn’t known the truth and kept it from me. He hadn’t deceived me for his own gain.
On the contrary, he had done everything he could to bring Min Sanghan’s crimes to light—even resorting to extreme measures, like pressuring Ji Chanwoo into turning himself in.
No, the one who disgusted me to the end was Ji Chanwoo, stubbornly insisting on apologizing as if it mattered. Saying he didn’t want forgiveness while still insisting on telling me he was sorry—his hypocritical stance reeked of selfishness. It was like he only said it to ease his own guilt.
If he hadn’t stalled for so long, this entire nightmare might’ve ended sooner.
Sure, he helped save me this time by assisting Min Yugeon. But that didn’t erase his sins.
Min Sanghan. Ji Chanwoo. Both of them had crimes they had to pay for.
Min Yugeon, on the other hand, had risked everything to save me—he had even made a deal with Min Sanghan to do it. He had sacrificed himself.
“Ugh…”
But still, my throat wouldn’t open.
I wanted to say, “Thank you for saving me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“…Suho?”
Min Yugeon raised his head, searching my face. I reached up to clutch my throat, breathing raggedly. Harsh, broken breaths spilled out.
I wanted him. But the thought that I couldn’t have him violently clashed with that desire.
The fact that he’d nearly died—facing off against his own father because of me—was unbearable.
No. My mind was already at its limit.
“Su…!”
I yanked my arm from Min Yugeon’s grasp and fled the hospital room.
The moment I tore myself away from him, his face went pale. But I couldn’t stand there in front of him any longer.
I heard him calling after me, voice breaking, as if his throat might tear. But I didn’t look back. I rushed down the hallway, passing stunned onlookers.
By the time I’d escaped the hospital, my hair and back were drenched in sweat.
I moved without thinking, my body simply taking me forward.
“Oh? You’re here at this hour…?”
“Researcher Seo Suho?”
“……”
At some point, I had arrived at the research facility. I ignored the confused stares of the security guards and walked inside.
The lobby was empty—no one in sight.
I moved with slow, dragging steps toward Building B. A place all too familiar to me.
—Creak?
As I entered the observation room, Cat—S8A152—widened his already round eyes and stared directly at me.
Saying nothing, I walked slowly to the barrier wall.
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against it.
A cold sensation seeped into my skin.
