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# Chapter 43: The Fingers of Berlin
Seo-ah couldn’t meet Kang Ri-u’s eyes after she saw his hands trembling. Those fingers gone white against the counter. Hands shaking just like her own. Something shattered in that moment. Another fracture. She’d already broken so much—her confidence, her dreams, her voice. And now Kang Ri-u was breaking too. Or perhaps he’d been broken all along.
“What happened in Berlin?”
Seo-ah asked. The fluorescent lights hummed in the background. 2:15 AM. The convenience store remained open, its products still waiting for someone, and Kang Ri-u still pressed his hands against the counter.
“I don’t deserve to tell you.”
His voice was crumbling. Listening to it, Seo-ah understood something. He wasn’t trying to protect her—he was trying to protect himself through her. That wasn’t love. That was salvation. And the most dangerous kind of salvation always pushes the other person deeper into the hole.
“I already told you. That I gave up. That my fingers shook. That my hands froze whenever I sat at the piano.”
Kang Ri-u spoke, then raised his hands. Those trembling hands. He spread them before her like evidence.
“But why?”
Seo-ah pressed. Why the trembling. Why the stiffness. Why the surrender. Why was he telling her this now.
He tucked his hands back into his pockets. The gesture looked like he was hiding something. And he was—his deepest wound.
“I was twenty. Berlin Conservatory. The piece I was playing was Chopin. Ballade No. 1. Do you know it?”
He asked. Seo-ah didn’t answer. She knew it, but now she needed to listen.
“That piece is despair. The despair of losing someone. You have to express it with your fingers. Across eighty-eight keys. And I did. Perfectly. The judges watched my hands. ‘Those fingers are God’s gift,’ they said. ‘I’ve never seen technique like this.’ But the next day…”
He stopped. There was something in that silence. Seo-ah felt it—something thick in the stillness.
“What happened the next day?”
“My friend died.”
The words fell like a bomb. The convenience store’s fluorescent lights suddenly seemed too bright. Seo-ah’s ears rang.
“Died?”
“Suicide. In the concert hall. Right after the performance. He was my roommate. Same year as me. We competed in the same competition. He didn’t make it. Three years of preparation, and he didn’t make it. And I placed third. I stepped on his dream. And the next day, he swallowed sleeping pills on the concert hall stage and died.”
His voice cracked. Seo-ah heard it—the sound of a voice shattering. Like glass breaking. And once broken, it never fits back together.
She watched him. His face looked ghostly under the fluorescent light. Like a specter. Or something already dead.
“After that, my hands started to shake. Whenever I sat at his piano—at the place where he’d sat—my fingers would freeze. No sound came out. Nothing. Only silence. And I understood. That I killed him. That my success was his death. So I gave up. I should have played piano, but I couldn’t do what he couldn’t. So I let go. And…”
He stopped. Then raised his hands again. Those shaking hands. Still shaking.
“…and my father took me to JYA. Made me a music producer. Meaning, someone who doesn’t make music but manipulates others’ music. Someone who makes others do what he can’t. Someone who tries to fix through others what he destroyed. That’s my life. And you… you’re my last chance.”
He spoke and looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes. Hope? Despair? Seo-ah couldn’t tell.
“Me?”
“You’re someone who can resurrect what I killed. You can sing. You can write songs. You’re alive. You can do what I can’t. So I want to protect you. Through you, I want to bring my friend back. And at the same time…”
He stopped.
“At the same time what?”
“I want to kill you too. To make you like what I killed. So we’re on the same level. So I’m not alone.”
He said it. That truth. The most terrible truth. And Seo-ah understood something in hearing it. Kang Ri-u didn’t love her. He needed her. As a tool to ease his guilt. As someone to share his despair.
“Then what am I?”
He put his hand on hers again. A warm hand. But now Seo-ah knew it wasn’t warmth. It was possession. It was domination. It was violence wrapped in the name of love.
“You’re someone I need to save. And at the same time, someone I need to save myself with. You’re my piano. My Berlin. My second chance.”
Seo-ah looked at her own hand trapped beneath his. Her trembling hand. And suddenly, she realized—Kang Ri-u liked that her hands shook. Because they were like his. That’s why he wouldn’t let go. So she’d shake more. So she’d grow weaker. So they’d reach the same level.
“Let go of my hand.”
It wasn’t a plea this time. It was a command.
He didn’t.
“Kang Ri-u. Let go.”
She said it again and pulled hard. His grip slipped. Something shattered in that moment. Another fracture. Seo-ah looked at her hand. It was still trembling. But now it trembled differently. Not from fear. From anger.
“Do you know what I am?”
“You never saw me as a person. You didn’t see me—you saw someone to replace your guilt. And I accepted it. Because I was weak. You knew that. That’s why you chose me.”
She stepped back from the counter.
“I have to go.”
She untied her apron.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but with you.”
She walked toward the automatic door. Kang Ri-u tried to grab her arm. But she dodged. Quickly. Clearly.
“Seo-ah. Don’t go.”
He pleaded.
“Do you want me to save you while actually killing me? Making me like you?”
She said.
He didn’t answer. That was the answer.
Seo-ah walked out into the dawn air. It was cold against her face. Seoul’s streets. A Mapo-gu alley. And Seo-ah was alone. Truly alone for the first time.
And that was freedom.
Inside the convenience store, Kang Ri-u saw the lighter on the counter. The one Seo-ah left behind. He picked it up. His fingers sparked it. A small blue flame rose. Looking at it, he thought of that day in Berlin. In the concert hall. His friend’s fingers. Those fingers over the black piano. And the next day, those fingers no longer moved.
He tried to extinguish the memory by extinguishing the flame, but memories don’t extinguish. They never do. They keep burning. Like matches. Like fire. Like Seo-ah’s voice.
His phone rang. Kang Ri-u’s phone. His father’s name on the screen. Kang Min-jun. CEO of JYA Entertainment. His father. His master.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his hands. Still trembling. And in that moment, he understood. He hadn’t lost Seo-ah. He’d lost himself.
Outside the convenience store, Seo-ah walked the streets. 2:45 AM. Seoul still slept. But Seo-ah had awakened. Awakened herself. And in that awakening, she picked up her phone. And called someone.
“Haneul? I’m sorry. It’s so early…”
It was voicemail.
“I’m alone right now. And I don’t know what to do anymore. But one thing is clear… I can’t be controlled by anyone anymore. Not Kang Ri-u. Not JYA. No one. I need to find my voice. Really. This time, for real.”
She ended the call.
And on the dawn streets of Seoul, Seo-ah truly cried for the first time. Not tears for someone else. Tears for herself.