The child had no memories from before the age of five.
Doctors said the trauma might have been too great, that the memories could come back slowly over time. But they never did.
Meeting that child was the moment that upended and reshaped Kim Sibaek’s entire life. He was stripped of his national athlete title and banned from competing after a disciplinary ruling by the association. His coach and manager did everything they could to reverse the decision, but nothing worked. Even the wealthy patron who had discovered him—once enamored by his talent and drunk on vicarious pride—turned on him in fury.
The world of the nineteen-year-old prodigy, once filled with applause, was now drowning in criticism. All his accomplishments were dragged through the dirt.
And still, Kim Sibaek didn’t regret it.
Because when he looked into the child’s dark eyes, quietly staring up at him from beneath that tiny basement window, all he saw was the gaze of his little brother. Turning his back on this child would’ve been no different than abandoning his brother. Even if he’d known what it would cost him, he still would’ve saved the child.
The only thing the boy remembered was that his name had been a single syllable. It didn’t take long for Sibaek to make up his mind. He gave the boy his brother’s name.
My little brother. This time, I won’t lose him.
Even after Tae Chul-hoon’s investigation cleared his name, it barely made a ripple. The media, which had once crucified him as a disgraceful national athlete—throwing in his age and orphan status for extra spice—only issued a dry, lifeless correction.
Though the ban was lifted and he was allowed to compete again, Sibaek turned his back on it all. It wasn’t that he hated fencing. He still loved it. Even if he’d never been chosen for the national team again, he would’ve stayed a fencer at heart.
But the weight of the accusations had worn him thin, and hoping that his brother would just happen to see him on TV felt far too passive. His brother might not even watch television. He was always different. In that case, there was only one thing to do—go find him himself. That’s when Sibaek decided to become a police officer—someone who could track people down.
He got lucky. The following year, the martial arts special recruitment program was being revived after a long hiatus, and fencing was being added on a trial basis. While preparing for the exam and wrapping up high school, he also took care of the child.
The boy had a deep fear of adult men and would fall into a panic if separated from Sibaek for even a moment. Naturally, he ended up in a church-run orphanage. Sibaek combed his hair, gave him warm baths, and stuffed him full of his favorite food—tonkatsu. He gave him piggyback rides and played with him at the park. Everything he used to do with his brother—and all the things they never got the chance to do—he now shared with this child.
There were still some kids at school who whispered behind his back, but he graduated without much trouble. He studied for the college entrance exam, but his score was so bad it would’ve been better to guess at random. Still, he passed the special recruitment exam and became a patrol officer in a pale blue uniform.
“Hey, you’re that Kim Sibaek, right? Man, I was cheering for you so hard during the Olympics.”
It was shortly after his assignment when Detective Park recognized him during a visit to the precinct. Friendly and outgoing, Park struck up a conversation, and when he heard Sibaek’s story, he quietly ran a background check for him.
No death certificate came up for a “Kim Siwoon” born the same year as his brother. Sibaek had been clinging to a small, gnawing fear, and only then did he finally exhale.
Next, he searched for a name he hadn’t forgotten even once over the years: Kim Youngsik.
But when Detective Park pulled up the record, his expression darkened.
“He’s dead.”
“…What? When?”
Sibaek leaned in to check the monitor. His great-uncle, Kim Youngsik, had died twenty-three years ago—before his brother was even born. It felt like a chunk of ice dropped straight into his chest. Park tried to comfort him, saying maybe he’d just confused the name with someone else he’d heard as a child, but the words didn’t really land.
He searched orphanages across the country and reached out to every relative on his father’s side. Nothing. On a whim, he searched for his mother too—only to find out that she had been declared legally deceased because of a missing persons report his father had filed.
Meanwhile, time kept moving.
After arresting a fraudster and earning a promotion, Sibaek was assigned to the Violent Crimes Division.
The boy, who had once barely spoken to anyone but Sibaek, eventually started elementary school. He was still quiet and blunt, but he’d opened up enough to hold a conversation, and that alone felt like a miracle. Watching him grow was the only solace in the frantic, breathless days spent chasing shadows of his brother.
“Hyung, how old is your brother?”
“If he was still in school, he’d be in high school by now. So yeah, older than you.”
“Then he’s my hyung too?”
“Yeah, he is.”
“I hope you find him soon, hyung.”
Sibaek laughed at the boy’s chatter and patted his little head. That small boy had now grown older than his brother had been when they were separated. Time really was cruel.
And still, no sign of his brother. He never let it show, but he could feel the hope inside him slowly wearing thin. Every time that happened, Sibaek doused himself in cold water or trained until his mind went blank.
He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want thoughts like Maybe he’s gone for good, or I’ve tried hard enough. Maybe it’s time to let go.
He refused to think that way.
But maybe he should have.
Because eventually, Kim Sibaek did find his brother’s name.
It happened during the bust of a massive human trafficking and organ harvesting ring that shook the entire country. Sibaek was part of the raid team as a Violent Crimes detective. Among the confiscated evidence was an old, tattered ledger—set aside for blackmail.
Children. A wealthy man obsessed with the superstition that leprosy could be cured through child organs. Someone who needed a child that could disappear without a trace. Parents desperate to save their own sick child…
Children. So many children.
Kim Siwoon.
Date of purchase.
Price paid to the biological father.
Expected profit: significant.
***
Hyung.
His little brother called out to him with a dazzling smile—just before his small body was torn apart, shredded into pieces and crumbling like ash.
Kim Sibaek didn’t know how his brother had died.
The sight of that body breaking apart wasn’t a memory. It was a nightmare—his mind’s worst, most horrifying projection.
Maybe his brother had somehow survived. Maybe he’d been adopted overseas. Maybe he’d escaped and found a good foster family, living safely and happily somewhere…
Bullshit.
Goddamn it.
Those pathetic excuses—empty lies he’d repeated and thrown away a thousand times—came tearing back, clawing at his mind like razors.
Kim Sibaek knew this was just a nightmare, a hallucination born from guilt and fear. His brother was dead. And even if by some miracle he was still alive somewhere, he wouldn’t look like a child anymore. He’d be in his forties now.
His reason told him that. But the older brother who’d lost everything still let out a broken moan.
“…Siwoon.”
Bloodied and torn, his brother smiled at him—a bright, clear smile.
A smile he had never once seen while he was alive.
[Death and Beauty is shouting at you to get a grip.]
The Divine Words beamed straight into his mind, appearing across his vision— but the message blurred. Unreadable.
The caw of a baby crow echoed in his ears, distorted, warped, like static tearing through his brain.
Kim Siwoon.
Date of purchase.
Price paid to the biological father.
Expected profit: significant.
That old, blood-stained ledger—burned into the deepest layer of his memory—flipped open again.
And with it, the despair and horror of that day—emotions he thought long buried—came surging back to life.
“…I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry, Siwoon.”
He should’ve begged their mother to take his brother instead. Should’ve never gotten caught in Haenam. Should’ve run to the orphanage and stayed there.
He shouldn’t have waited around for goddamn tonkatsu—he should’ve left school early, gone straight home.
Even if it meant being beaten half to death by their father, he should’ve found out exactly where his brother had been taken.
Siwoon’s world had been slow. Small. He had no one else. It had been just the two of them.
And Sibaek hadn’t been there.
He wasted all that time clinging to a stupid fantasy—thinking that if he just made it big as an athlete, his brother would somehow come looking for him.
“I was wrong… I’m sorry…”
The world shattered.
Screams twisted through the air. Something heavy crashed. Sirens blared, so loud they split his ears.
People were running past him, panicked. Chunks of debris from a collapsing building plummeted nearby.
But none of it reached him.
He was right back there—trapped in the nightmare that had begun the day he saw that ledger.
Guilt. Crushing, suffocating guilt.
And terror so complete, it stole the air from his lungs.
He’d tried to die.
As a detective, he’d seen enough corpses to know.
Slashing your wrists took too long. Stabbing through the ribs to hit the heart? Too tricky. He tried cutting his carotid artery. But the knives were dull—cheap kitchen blades.
So he chose to hang himself.
He remembered the rope biting into his neck. The way his breath caught, choked off. The way his legs gave out beneath him. His fingernails scraping helplessly at his throat.
The same rope—he could feel it now, wrapping around his neck again.
Siwoon smiled.
And stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
Three.
In his hand, the black dagger gleamed.
He was the one who should’ve died that day. The one who didn’t.
“Hyung!”
Just like back then— The desperate scream of a child cut through the haze of his consciousness.
His vision snapped back into focus. The murky, blood-soaked dream was gone.
And in its place—The sharp, iron scent of real blood filled the air.
