As they exited the highway and cruised along a quiet road, rain began to fall. It felt almost as if the mention of Gwak Seon-woo had summoned it—a strange, almost eerie coincidence. That topic had passed quickly, ending after just a few brief remarks about Gwak Seon-woo’s recent whereabouts, but Seung-hyeon found himself unable to shake the thoughts. Because it had started raining.
But once the rain intensified and the car veered onto a more treacherous road, any room for idle sentiment vanished. The conversation between his parents tapered off, and a tense silence filled the car. Seung-hyeon stared out the window, his mood far from settled.
He wasn’t usually the type to get bogged down by ominous feelings, nor was he one to let such things rattle him. But now—something felt off. His mind was unusually cold and alert, as though a tragic and inevitable event was drawing near. A creeping sense of helplessness crawled over him, the kind that whispered there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. Just as he opened his mouth to suggest they pull over, hoping to stop whatever this was—
“Ha ha… At this rate, we won’t be able to enjoy the water at all once we arrive.”
His father broke the silence, clearly trying to dispel the tension with whatever words he could muster. His mother responded with an awkward smile.
“Looks like we’ll be stuck inside the lodging the whole time.”
Truly, it was nothing—just a throwaway comment. But that swelling dread made Seung-hyeon want to shout at them not to say such things. Don’t say anything. Just stop the car.
But in the end, he never got the chance to speak.
Suddenly, his father’s expression hardened. He gripped the steering wheel tight. The car, which had been coasting along cautiously, began to pick up speed. Seung-hyeon wasn’t sure whether the car’s body had jolted on its own or if his father had turned the wheel in response to it already shaking violently. Everything happened in an instant.
“What’s going on?” his mother asked. Her voice rose sharply as she cried out, “Stop the car!”
Still locked in place by that foreboding sense of doom, Seung-hyeon stared at his father’s face, his own features stiff with tension. His father, visibly rattled, glanced at the rearview mirror and answered in a strained voice.
“The brakes…!”
The car swerved sharply on the rain-slicked road and slammed into the flimsy guardrail along the right side of the path. Beyond that railing was a cliff. Not a sheer drop high enough for instant death—but the real problem was what lay below: a body of water. Not just rainwater. There was a raw stench, the reek of actual water…
As if the world had slowed to a crawl, Seung-hyeon’s eyes flicked between his mother’s face and his father’s. Then, almost instinctively, he turned to look behind them. The same sight his father must have glimpsed in the rearview mirror: a pitch-black car cutting through the rain, its headlights blazing.
And then—impact.
What followed felt unreal, like still shots from a movie. Their car plunged straight into the water.
By the time he came to, the water had already filled the cabin halfway. Seung-hyeon, who had been sitting in the backseat, quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and checked on his mother. The airbags had deployed in the front, packing the space so tightly it was hard to squeeze through. She had slumped over, unconscious—whether from the crash or the shock, he couldn’t tell.
Fortunately, his father had regained consciousness just a bit earlier and managed, with great effort, to unbuckle his wife’s seatbelt. The moment he allowed himself a breath of relief, the window fully shattered, and water surged up to the ceiling. Seung-hyeon, following his father’s urgent signal, kicked open the door and swam out, catching his mother as she was pushed out of the car. Then he frantically reached back toward his father.
The man who had always worn a gentle expression now had his eyes bulging wide like a ghost, shaking his head with terrifying intensity. Seung-hyeon instinctively opened his mouth to say “But—”, but being underwater, all that came out were streams of bubbling air.
His father vehemently waved his hand again. The message was clear: Go. Now. Seung-hyeon knew. He knew all too well. It would take his father much longer to escape, and if he tried to help him now, they’d all drown together.
In the end, he had no choice but to swim out, holding his mother tightly in his arms.
Barely making it to the riverbank, Seung-hyeon laid his mother down. She coughed violently, spitting up water, and then, as if possessed, her eyes snapped open. Jeong-hee quickly looked around, then screamed in horror.
“No! Honey!”
She tried to rush back into the water, but Seung-hyeon grabbed her in desperation.
“Mom, what are you going to do if you go in there?!”
She turned to her son, her eyes soaked—whether from rain, river water, or tears, it was impossible to tell. Gwak Seung-hyeon continued in a trembling voice.
“I’ll go.”
He really was ready to dive back in. He felt like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t. But Jeong-hee seemed to snap back to her senses at those words. Shaking her head, she gripped Seung-hyeon’s collar tightly.
“No. If you go in there, you’ll… If something happens to you too, what do you expect me to do?”
Hearing her trembling voice, Seung-hyeon realized it was a miracle they had even made it out. The water level was rising from the rain, and just like his mother said, if he jumped back in now, he might not even find his father—he could end up dead too. And if something happened while he was underwater—if his mother lost control and jumped in after him… If her body temperature dropped again and she lost consciousness…
Seung-hyeon stood there like a broken doll, blankly staring at his mother. But deep down, he knew these were all just excuses. Slowly, he nodded.
Immediately, his mother staggered and collapsed, fainting again.
He kept hoping his father might appear, but it never happened.
Until the rescue team arrived, Seung-hyeon stared blankly into the dark, deep water—the same water where his father was now dying, submerged below the surface.
***
Many people came to the funeral, but Seung-hyeon didn’t recognize most of the faces. He felt an unexpected distance between himself and his deceased father. But he didn’t have the emotional capacity left to feel hurt by it. His mind was already too dry and hollow. Wearing black mourning clothes, Seung-hyeon remained at his mother’s side without leaving for a second.
He was protecting her—from the words of the visitors.
“If he hadn’t married that woman, none of this would’ve happened.”
“That mother and son ruined a perfectly good man’s life.”
“They could’ve saved him. They chose not to.”
“Actually, that accident? It wasn’t even an accident—they planned it all.”
Other than saying “Thank you for coming,” Seung-hyeon didn’t utter a single word.
When the rescue team had first arrived, dazed and numb, he rambled incoherently, claiming that it was all his fault, that none of this would’ve happened if he had gone back in. A rescuer calmly told him that had he done that, they would’ve ended up with another body. Seung-hyeon knew that—rationally, at least—but that didn’t lift the crushing weight of guilt off his shoulders. So he endured the blame in silence.
But then—
Gwak Seon-woo came to the funeral.
The first thing he did was glare at Seung-hyeon with a gaunt, hollowed-out face. It was a face far more mature than the last time they’d seen each other, twisted now with something even deeper and darker than resentment.
Seung-hyeon doesn’t remember most of the venom Seon-woo spat at him. But this line burned itself into his memory:
“Would you have done the same if he were your real father?”
The moment he heard it, Seung-hyeon understood. Gwak Seon-woo was no different from the others whispering about him and his mother in the funeral hall.
He wanted to look away, but he didn’t even have the strength for that. So he met Seon-woo’s eyes head-on.
That gaze was painfully familiar. It was the same one he’d seen years ago—full of jealousy and hate.
Back then, there had been something almost pitiful in it, something that reminded him of a child who’d just had his candy stolen. Almost… endearing. But not now. Not anymore.
A sudden, unbearable sadness gripped Seung-hyeon.
Many people had looked at him with anger. Plenty had been jealous or envious. Fewer had looked at him with contempt, but they existed—especially after his mother remarried. None of those stares bothered him. They didn’t itch, didn’t sting.
But Gwak Seon-woo’s gaze… it had always felt different. Because something about the feelings in his eyes made Seung-hyeon curious.
Anger. Jealousy. Scorn. He wondered if, beneath it all, there was something softer, more vulnerable—something he wanted to hide.
And maybe, just maybe, Seung-hyeon thought, he could be the one to see it.
Maybe they could be the kind of people who didn’t feel awkward exposing their pain to one another.
Maybe they could become something more.
Maybe they weren’t as hopeless as they seemed.
But why do some relationships start off broken?
And why did theirs have to be one of them?
“If only you hadn’t existed…”
Hearing those words, Seung-hyeon finally accepted the truth about Gwak Seon-woo.
Even if it was something said in the heat of the moment, it didn’t matter.
That was who Gwak Seon-woo was.
There was no hidden feeling behind that cold, hostile glare. And even if there was, it would never be meant for him.
He had been completely wrong about him.
Even if Seon-woo wasn’t the person Seung-hyeon had hoped he was, he had no right to feel disappointed. It had all been in his own head—delusions, fantasies, wishful thinking.
It would’ve been nice if they could’ve walked the same path, even if it was with their backs turned to each other. It would’ve been nice if, on every rainy day, they could have shared the same kind of sorrow.
That day, as Gwak Seon-woo turned and walked away, Gwak Seung-hyeon said to him:
“This won’t ever happen again.”
And he never broke that promise.
