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# Chapter 67: Malice of Broken Fingers
Kang Riou saw Sae. Or rather, he tried to. But the car’s interior was too dark, and his eyes were already blurred with tears. Sae’s face was nothing but a shadow to him. A shadow that rejected him. A shadow that said she’d been used. A shadow that called him alone.
“You want me to listen to my music?”
Kang Riou’s voice carried the tone of something ending. Sae recognized it. That voice that emerged when despair reached its peak. A voice like the decision that ending would be better.
“I don’t want to listen.”
Kang Riou gripped the wheel again. The car moved. But not toward any destination. Just movement for the sake of moving. The movement of escape.
They passed Hapjeong Station and headed toward the riverside road. 5 a.m. The Han River appeared black. Not like water, but like a hole. A black void torn in the world. The thought came naturally—falling into it would end everything.
“What changes if you listen to my music?”
Sae’s voice filled the car. Small but clear.
“You don’t understand what music is. Music isn’t just sound. Music is truth. It’s the raw form of someone’s soul expressed completely. And you just told me I’m a person made of lies. So what does that make my music? A sound made of lies?”
“No.”
Kang Riou spoke. The car traced the riverside. The nighttime road was desolate. A few taxis. A street cleaning truck. And their car.
“Your music is truth. That’s exactly the problem. Everything you’ve done to me is a lie, but only your music is true.”
“What are you saying?”
“You can’t listen to your own music. You can’t play piano anymore. So you try to confirm yourself only through other people’s music. After Junho’s death, you lost your fingers. And through my music, through my voice, you were trying to feel your fingers again.”
Kang Riou’s hands trembled. The fingers gripping the wheel shook violently. Sae saw it. She always sees it. Those fingers speaking lies. That tremor being fear.
“What did I do to deserve this?”
Kang Riou’s voice cracked now. Like a broken instrument producing sound.
“You offered me a contract. A contract with your label. You said you’d ‘protect my music.’ But what you protected wasn’t my music—it was your guilt. Your wounds. And every time I wrapped around that wound, you came closer. Every time I pushed you away, you held tighter.”
Sae looked out the window. The Han River flowed. Still flowing. It would flow all night, all day, forever. Water doesn’t stop. It can’t. To stop is to die.
“You think you saved me. But what you saved wasn’t someone I needed—it was someone who could ease your guilt. Someone to replace your friend.”
“Then what do you want? For me to leave? Until you’re alone?”
Kang Riou’s voice rose. From despair to anger now.
“You don’t need to leave. You need to change. You need to listen to your own music again. What your fingers were trying to do. Why they shake. If losing Junho wasn’t your fault, why do you keep punishing yourself?”
The car suddenly accelerated. The straightaway of the riverside road. Kang Riou’s foot pressed harder on the gas. 80 km/h… 90… 100…
“Do you think going faster makes the pain disappear?”
Sae asked. The car shook. High-speed driving on a dawn road was dangerous. But Kang Riou didn’t stop.
“It doesn’t work. No matter how fast you drive, it won’t work. Your fingers will still shake. Your guilt will still remain. And you’ll still be alone.”
Kang Riou wrenched the wheel. Abruptly. The car lurched toward the river. Sae didn’t scream. She just watched out the window. The water came closer. Black water. The end approaching.
In that moment, Kang Riou turned the wheel again. The car returned to the road. It hit the guardrail on the opposite lane. Not hit—shattered. Metal screamed. The car body convulsed. Sae’s head struck the window. Pain flashed like dim light.
And then everything stopped. The car. Time. Breath.
Kang Riou’s forehead rested against the wheel. His shoulders shook. Crying. It was crying. Sae recognized it. Real crying. Not acted. Broken crying.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Riou spoke. His voice shattered.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
The same words repeated. Like an incantation. As if repeating them could bring everything back.
Sae moved slowly. Her hand reached for Kang Riou’s hand. The hand gripping the wheel. The shaking hand. She took it. It was warm. Always warm. That was the problem. Warmth deceives people. Warmth works like a drug.
“You don’t need to apologize to me. You need to apologize to yourself.”
Sae spoke, holding his hand.
“You need to forgive yourself. For losing Junho. For everything you did after that. For using me. For hurting me. You need to forgive all of it. Otherwise, you’ll shake forever.”
Kang Riou slowly lifted his head. His eyes were crimson. Crimson from tears. Sae looked into those eyes. And for the first time, she saw Kang Riou in them. Kang Riou himself. Without lies.
“You’re going to leave me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“Yes.”
Sae answered, releasing his hand.
“When?”
“Now.”
Sae opened the car door. Dawn air rushed in. The scent of the Han River. The scent of concrete. And the scent of some ending. The car door closed. Kang Riou didn’t look at Sae. Couldn’t. He knew that looking would mean it was truly over.
Sae stood on the road. 5:22 a.m. Beside the Han River. Black water flowed. And she was alone.
It took twenty-five minutes to walk to Hapjeong Station. Sae’s head still ached. The pain from hitting the window remained. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was still alive. That she could still walk.
People began gathering in front of Hapjeong Station subway entrance for the morning commute. Office workers. Students. And others. Everyone was going somewhere. Everyone had a destination. Sae had one now too.
A convenience store. A new one this time. GS25 on the riverside road. The place Sae always passed on her way to work. The store manager knew Sae. The insomniac woman. The woman who stayed awake all night.
“Ah, Na Sae!”
The manager greeted her. 6 a.m. Shift change time.
“You weren’t coming in today? You called yesterday.”
“No. I want to work here starting today. Is that possible?”
The manager looked at Sae closely. At her face in detail. There was a bruise on her left temple. From hitting the window.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
Sae answered. It was a lie. But lies are sometimes necessary. Lies keep people alive. While truth kills them.
“Alright. I always wanted you to work here. This store is more comfortable. It’s quieter.”
The manager smiled. It was a kind smile. That was hardest for Sae. Kindness. That cuts deepest.
Sae changed into her uniform. New uniform. New color. It was symbolic too. A new beginning. Or rather, a new continuation. Because there is no end. Convenience store work doesn’t end. As long as night continues.
The first customer was an elderly woman. 7:15 a.m. She bought one carton of milk and one egg roll. For breakfast. Sae rang it up. 3,500 won. The woman handed over a 5,000 won note. As she received her change, the woman looked at Sae.
“Young lady, your eyes are tired. Did you stay up all night?”
“Yes. I didn’t sleep well yesterday.”
“It’s not that you didn’t sleep last night. It’s that you haven’t slept your whole life. Look at your eyes. Eyes speak, they say. Your eyes are always waiting for something. What are you waiting for?”
Sae looked at the woman. No one had ever seen her as accurately as this woman. No one.
“I don’t know.”
“If you don’t know, you’ll keep waiting. That’s the most dangerous thing. Waiting kills people.”
The woman left, climbing the stairs slowly, murmuring something. Sae couldn’t tell what. But it sounded like a song. An old song. A song someone sang long ago.
Kang Riou was still sitting in the car. 6:47 a.m. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The guardrail was shattered. The front of the car was crumpled. But Kang Riou didn’t care. The car didn’t matter. Things money could fix weren’t important.
His left hand was shaking. The hand that always trembles. But this was a different kind of trembling. Not the tremor of guilt, but the tremor after something has ended. Kang Riou couldn’t tell if that was better or worse.
His phone rang. His father. Kang Min-jun. CEO of JYA Entertainment. He couldn’t know where his son was or what he was doing, but the father always knew. As if controlling his son with invisible threads.
“Riou. Did you see the news?”
His father’s voice was polite. Too polite to be anything but threatening.
“No.”
“Park So-jin’s plagiarism scandal. Do you know whose song that is? It’s not from our company’s internal composers. It’s someone else’s. And who is that someone? A woman named Na Sae.”
Kang Riou said nothing.
“Riou. That woman came to our company because of you. Park So-jin plagiarizing happened because you didn’t stop it. Our company’s image falling is because of you. You said you’d quit the company. You said you’d start an independent label. It’s because of that woman, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Kang Riou answered. There was no need to hide anymore. Everything was over.
“That woman will leave you. My intuition. And you’ll be left behind. Alone. And you’ll have no company, no music, no fingers, no woman. Then what’s left? What will remain? You’ll become nothing.”
His father hung up. Kang Riou put down his phone. His father was right. That made it worse. If his father had been wrong, there would be hope.
His hand trembled again. But this time toward the piano. Kang Riou pulled something from the back seat. A small keyboard. A portable mini keyboard for music production software. He placed it on his lap.
He lifted his fingers. Shaking fingers. They began moving across the keys. A sound. The first note. C. Then D. Then E. Beginning to ascend the scale.
It wasn’t music. Just a scale. But for Kang Riou, that was enough. The fingers still move. Still alive. Still remember.
Sae called Haneul at 11 p.m.
“Huh?”
Haneul’s voice was sleepy. There was still plenty of time to sleep. Haneul slept during the day and woke at night. A tattoo artist’s schedule was inverted like that.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah. But it’s fine. What’s up? Something wrong?”
“Yeah. You’re my friend, right?”
“…What are you talking about? Of course. But why?”
“I’m working at a new convenience store now. On the riverside road. I ended things with Kang Riou.”
Haneul woke up. Sae could tell from her voice. An awakened voice. A clear voice.
“You ended it? What ended?”
“Everything. I left that person. I’m alone now.”
“Sae. That’s a good thing. But… are you okay? Are you?”
Sae looked at the fluorescent lights of the convenience store. Lights on all night. Under them, someone else would live on.
“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been alone. I was always alone. I just finally admitted it.”
“What are you talking about? Hold on, hold on. This isn’t sadness. This is something else. This is… this is…”
“Yeah. This is a beginning.”
Sae spoke. And for the first time, she felt it was true. Not an ending but a beginning. All flames go out. But they can be lit again. This time for herself. Not for someone else.
That night, around midnight, Sae began singing behind the counter. In a small voice. A voice no one could hear. But the fluorescent light heard her. The light danced to the movement of her lips.
It was a new song. A song without a name yet. A song with incomplete lyrics. But it was her song. Not for Kang Riou. Not for Haneul. Only for herself.
Under the fluorescent light, Sae was burning. But this time, differently.
Burning, but not to leave nothing behind.
Burning, but to illuminate.
Burning, but to live.
That was the difference from the Little Match Girl. The Little Match Girl lit matches to find warmth, and when those matches went out, she disappeared with them. But Sae was different. Sae was lighting her own fire. And it would not go out.
Because it was no longer a sacrifice.