Chapter 24
The man sat propped up in bed, turning the last page of the book Jaeyel had given him before his shift ended.
His fingers lingered there for a moment before he closed it with quiet finality, removed his glasses, and turned toward the window.
…
Then, suddenly- he spoke.
“…I didn’t expect to have a visitor,” he said, voice low but carrying in the stillness. “At this time, even.”
Silence.
Then-
From the dim corner near the door…
Yang stepped into clearer view.
He leaned casually against the wall, but the way his eyes fixed on the man said otherwise.
The man slowly turned his head, meeting his gaze. “…What are you doing here?”
“…That’s my line. What are you doing here? Father.” Yang’s voice was calm but edged.
The older man’s expression didn’t change, but something passed through his eyes.
Yang continued, “Your secretary wouldn’t tell me where you were after… that incident.”
The man exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“The company seems to be doing well. Everyone’s doing better without me.”
His voice held no bitterness – only exhaustion.
“I’m tired, Son. I just want to rest. You know this place is special to me… it’s where my parents lived, where they died. I just want to stay here.”
Yang’s reply was almost too casual.
“Do what you want. But you don’t have to act like you’re already gone.”
The man’s gaze dropped.
“I have to.” He hesitated, then asked quietly, “… How is Yin?”
Silence.
Yang’s jaw tightened.
“A lot’s happened. He’s in the hospital too.”
He paused, his voice dipping lower.
“I’ll handle it… though I don’t know if he’ll still be alive afterward.”
The older man studied his son, then sighed heavily.
“I’ve got a lot to be sorry for when it comes to Yin. I thought if I just let him be, gave him everything he wanted… it would be enough.”
Yang’s eyes hardened, the calm in his voice sharpening into something colder.
“Enough to stop him from doing what he did?”
The room seemed to shrink, the hum of the hospital faint against the words that hung between them.
Yang’s gaze locked on his father, unflinching.
“That day… when Yin drove a knife into you.” His voice was steady, but every syllable cut deep. “Out of rage because of me.”
The air grew heavy.
Neither man moved.
…
Back at the dorm, the members were scattered across the living room.
Some scrolling on their phones, one sprawled on the couch half-asleep, when a loud shout shattered the calm.
“WOAH!” Minseo’s voice rang out.
One of the members groaned without even looking up.
“What is it this time?” His tone carried the weight of too many false alarms.
“Jaeyel…” Minseo blurted, eyes wide.
A chorus of sighs followed, the kind that said here we go again.
“You’ve been saying that every day,” Steve muttered, passing through with a basket of snacks.
He plopped it in front of Minseo. “Here. Eat something and calm down.”
But Minseo didn’t reach for the food.
“No, hyung, listen! This time it’s real. I’m serious!” He spun his laptop toward Steve.
Steve barely glanced before exhaling in defeat, about to humor him.
But as his eyes focused, he froze.
The other members kept talking over each other, one of them warning,
“You know the authorities are already looking for him, right? If you keep making noise about it, you might actually mess things up-”
“No.” Steve’s voice cut through the room.
“This… might really be him.”
The chatter stopped.
Every head turned toward Steve.
In seconds, the group was crowding around Minseo’s laptop.
The photo wasn’t crystal clear, just a man in a cap, mid-step, carrying something across a hospital courtyard…
But the frame of his shoulders, the way he held himself… it was hauntingly familiar.
One member finally broke the silence.
“But… but if that’s him… then why’s he there working like… an errand boy?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.
Back at the hospital, the man shifted on his bed, eyes drifting toward the window as if Yang’s words had been nothing more than passing noise.
His hand lay loosely at his side, one scar among many hidden beneath his sleeve, the mark Yin had left him.
He didn’t flinch at the memory, didn’t even acknowledge it.
And, Yang didn’t press.
His father’s refusal to address it head-on was clear, and for now, there were bigger things he needed to confront.
The father drew in a breath, ready to speak, when Yang’s voice cut through the room.
“Jaeyel.”
Just that one name, flat, cold, stripped of everything but weight.
Even the man, who carried the same sharp presence, faltered.
He looked at his son, brows narrowing slightly as if unsure what he meant.
Then, slowly, recognition flickered in his eyes.
The boy he’d come to know in this place – the one who always had a comeback ready, a little too quick with his words, yet somehow still patient and dependable all the same.
The only one who seemed to care for him without expectation.
“… What about him?” the man asked at last, voice low, guarded.
Yang’s gaze didn’t soften.
“… I saw him. In the garden earlier. Taking care of you.”
His words were colder now, carrying a warning edge, as if one wrong answer could set him off.
The father blinked, then slowly shifted – confusion giving way to something else.
His voice hardened, protective.
“What do you want with that boy? Leave him alone. He’s just an errand kid at this hospital. Nothing more.”
Yang studied him, silent for a moment, and in that silence he realized his father truly didn’t know.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
The tension gone, replaced by something calmer, almost resigned.
Adjusting his suit jacket, Yang turned as if to leave.
“I’ll come back,” he said so casually.
“Yang.”
His father’s voice carried a warning. “Don’t do anything to him.”
Silence.
A small laugh left Yang, humorless but not cruel.
“Don’t do anything?”
He looked back, eyes unreadable.
“He’s the one person in this world I’d do everything for.”
Without waiting for a response, he stepped out of the room.
The man sat in silence.
He should have felt alarmed, should have felt the urge to stop his son – but what lingered instead was something unexpected.
There had been no malice in Yang’s words about Jaeyel.
No threat.
Only a feral kind of promise.
Not danger.
Protection.
Like a beast ready to tear apart anyone who dared lay a hand on that boy.
The night air was cool, the street buzzing with the easy hum of people heading home or drifting toward food stalls.
Jaeyel walked alongside one of the hospital staff, their conversation light, harmless.
His companion was chatting about the new tteokbokki shop down the street, and though Jaeyel’s mind wandered elsewhere, he nodded, smiled, made sure he responded.
“Wait- hold on,” the staff suddenly said, stopping mid-step.
His eyes had caught on another storefront across the road, bright lights spilling out onto the pavement. “That one looks new too. I’ll check if it’s still open!”
Before Jaeyel could reply, the man jogged off, disappearing into the glow of neon signs and chatter of the street.
Jaeyel lingered under the lamplight, watching his colleague’s retreating figure.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, so carefree.
For a fleeting second, it was almost enough to distract him from the heaviness pressing at his own chest.
Jaeyel shifted.
…
Silence.
The street had gone quiet.
He looked down.
Then-
He noticed the shadow stretching long across the walls.
The laughter and voices from the nearby shops felt… distant, muffled, as if a layer of air had thickened between him and the world.
His smile faded.
And then it happened.
An arm shot out of the darkness, seizing him with force.
Jaeyel gasped, air lodging in his throat – as his body was yanked backward, dragged into the cold void between buildings.
His shoulder slammed against something hard, and his heart lurched painfully, violently, as though it wanted to escape his chest.
No – no, not again.
The thought splintered through him like glass.
Every buried memory clawed its way up: hands pinning him, voices echoing, the helplessness that had nearly broken him before.
His knees went weak.
His pulse thundered in his ears, deafening, drowning everything else out.
He tried to move. To twist. To scream.
But his body betrayed him – frozen, paralyzed by fear so sharp it stole the very breath from his lungs.
The world tilted, spinning into haze.
Cold sweat traced down his neck.
His vision shuddered, narrowed, and then-
Darkness.
The last thing he felt was the grip that refused to let him go.
