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# Chapter 87: The First Hand at Gangnam Station
Beneath Gangnam Station, on the first basement level, Seo-ah waited for Haeul by the vending machines at the end of the platform. Her hands were empty. The only luggage she’d brought from Jeju was a single small suitcase—a few clothes her mother had packed and some cash. That was all. She’d left nothing behind from the hotel where Kang Ri-u had lived. Not even the clothes she’d worn there. Those belonged to someone else’s Seo-ah. A fragile, dependent Seo-ah who was constantly burning away.
Gangnam Station was silent at night. 8:35 PM. That liminal hour between the end of the commute and the beginning of the evening rush. The station was half-empty, which felt strange to Seo-ah. She’d never known a subway station could be this quiet. Hapjeong Station, where she’d worked, was always crowded—a line connecting Hongdae and Gangnam, with drunk people wandering even late at night. But Gangnam Station was different. Time moved with precision here. People moved with precision. Every movement had purpose.
A middle-aged man in business attire sat on a bench beside the vending machine, loosening his tie and checking his phone. He didn’t notice Seo-ah. A young woman waiting on a Gangnam Station bench was too commonplace to warrant attention. Everyone was waiting for someone. Everyone was going somewhere.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Haeul.
“Five minutes. Let’s meet in front of Exit 1.”
Seo-ah picked up her suitcase and stood. The warmth from the bench lingered against the back of her legs—a strange sensation, really. The residual heat from where someone had been sitting. Like holding hands with an invisible person. But she hadn’t been holding anyone’s hand.
An escalator led toward Exit 1. Seo-ah stepped onto it and climbed each step as it moved—walking on an escalator, moving twice as fast by moving while standing still. Going while not going.
When she reached ground level, the sky above Gangnam Station’s Exit 1 was bright. A luminous night sky. Seoul’s nights were always bright. Street lamps, building lights, neon signs—everything illuminated the darkness. Jeju’s nights had been different. Jeju’s nights were truly black. Whether with her mother or alone.
“Hey!”
Haeul waved from beside a car. A gray Porsche. A beautiful car. It looked like something Haeul had bought while Seo-ah was in Jeju. Haeul always bought cars, investing every won she earned in them. “Money rots if you save it. Cars make you happy when you drive them,” was Haeul’s philosophy.
Seo-ah got in. When she closed the door, Seoul sealed shut outside. Everything beyond the glass disappeared. Only then could she breathe.
“Seriously? Why are you so thin? You got thinner in Jeju?”
Haeul looked her over once, before even touching the steering wheel. Haeul’s eyes were always accurate. They read everything—what Seo-ah had done, where she’d been, what state she was in now.
“I couldn’t eat much.”
It was half-true, half-lie. Seo-ah had eaten plenty in Jeju. Her mother had taken care of that. Seaweed soup every morning, fish at lunch. Food made by her mother’s hands. But Seo-ah’s body hadn’t accepted it. Everything turned to thorns passing down her throat.
“Right. Let’s get some food first. There’s a lot I need to take care of for you.”
Haeul started the car, pulling into the street in front of Gangnam Station. 8:45 PM. Still a busy time.
“I think I need to start working at the convenience store again,” Seo-ah said, watching out the window.
“GS25? The one in Hapjeong?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously? You think that manager will take you back? You just disappeared without a word.”
Haeul spoke while stopped at a red light, leaving Gangnam Station behind.
“I don’t know. But I have to try.”
It wasn’t courage. She just needed it—money, a music studio, her own music. If her mother was right.
“A music studio? You’re really going to do it?”
Haeul asked again as the light changed and the car moved.
“I’m going to try.”
“What kind of music?”
“My music. Under my name.”
Her throat ached saying this. But not because of Kang Ri-u this time. This was a different kind of pain. The pain of fear. Now that she’d said it, it was real. And if it was real, she could fail.
“Good. Then let’s eat first, find you a place to stay. That goshiwon—do you still have it?”
“Yes. I’ve been paying the deposit.”
“A goshiwon. Really. You’re going to make music in that tiny room?”
Haeul laughed. But it wasn’t mockery. It was the laugh of understanding—recognition of how impossible Seo-ah’s life seemed.
The car passed through Myeongdong. Twenty minutes from Gangnam Station. The streets were packed. Tourists. Shoppers. Couples on dates. Everyone was buying something. Clothes, shoes, makeup, food. Everything. In that consumption, Seo-ah wondered what she needed to buy. Studio time? A microphone? Headphones? Or just confidence?
“Haeul, did Kang Ri-u really try to find me?”
Seo-ah asked suddenly, remembering what Haeul had said on the phone.
Haeul’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. The light was red, the car still.
“Yeah. He called you first, but you didn’t answer. So he called me. Asked where you were. I said I didn’t know. Then he came to my shop himself, walking through all those alleys where you used to be. Like he’d lost something. Like he couldn’t survive without finding you.”
Haeul’s voice was flat, but anger simmered beneath it. Not anger at Seo-ah. Anger at Kang Ri-u.
“Then why did he give up?”
“Don’t know. He came around for about a week, then I didn’t see him anymore. You?”
“I was in Jeju.”
“Yeah, I know. But you can’t go back to him this time. You understand?”
Haeul looked at her once. The light was still red. Myeongdong’s night remained bright.
“No. I won’t go back.”
Seo-ah said it quietly, but it wasn’t a lie.
The light changed. Green. The car moved again.
Haeul headed toward Gangnam. Shinnonhyeon. Still Gangnam. But a different Gangnam this time. The Gangnam of restaurants and bars. The Gangnam where young people gathered. Not the Gangnam where Seo-ah had worked in a convenience store, but the Gangnam people enjoyed.
“The beef soup here is good. I come often,” Haeul said, parking in what looked like an apartment basement.
The restaurant was small. Four tables, only two occupied. Two businessmen drinking at one, three women eating at another. When they sat, the owner came out—a middle-aged woman in an apron.
“Oh, Haeul’s here. Brought a friend today?”
“Yeah. An old friend. She’s been going through a hard time, so I wanted to cheer her up with good food.”
Haeul spoke like Seo-ah’s mother. Like someone who understood everything about her.
“That so? I’ll make you some beef soup. One bowl?”
“Two. For both of us.”
Haeul ordered without giving Seo-ah a chance to object.
The restaurant fell silent. The owner disappeared into the kitchen. The rest of them focused on their meals. In that silence, Seo-ah could breathe. For the first time since leaving Jeju, her breath felt like her own.
“So what kind of person was Kang Ri-u, really?” Haeul asked suddenly, despite the other diners.
“That’s… hard to explain.”
“Why? Did he hit you?”
“No.”
“Then what? Steal from you? Drugs? What?”
Each question came like a knife—precise, quick, fatal.
“He just… thought he was saving me. And I accepted that. But it wasn’t love. It was control.”
Seo-ah’s throat ached, but she continued. She had to.
“And when I realized it, he… we both almost died. On a bridge over the Han River.”
Haeul set down her spoon loudly. The other diners glanced over, then looked away.
“That bastard…”
Haeul didn’t finish. Her anger had swallowed the words.
The beef soup arrived—steaming, rich, with chunks of beef floating in dark broth. Like someone’s blood boiled down. But it smelled warm. And delicious.
“Eat,” Haeul said, her eyes still full of anger but her voice soft.
Seo-ah picked up the spoon. One spoonful of broth. Into her mouth. Hot. Her tongue would blister. But that was good. Heat was real. Heat woke her dead tongue.
“What does Kang Ri-u actually do? Really?” Haeul asked again.
“He’s the son of JYA Entertainment. A music company.”
“Chaebol kid. Pathetic. But why was he so obsessed with you?”
“I think… because of my music. But not because he liked it. Because he thought he could save me through it. It was an ego thing.”
Seo-ah spoke calmly, like reading news. Her throat didn’t hurt this time. Maybe because she’d said everything. Or maybe because Kang Ri-u mattered less now.
Haeul ate her soup deeply, then looked up. Her eyes still full of anger, but it wasn’t directed at Seo-ah anymore. It was for Kang Ri-u.
“Okay. So from now on, we make sure that bastard can’t touch you.”
“How?”
“Music. You beat him with your music. Not with his money or power. You beat him with your voice. Understand?”
Haeul spoke like Seo-ah’s mother. Like someone watching something greater.
Seo-ah listened, but she also heard something else. Music. From the restaurant speakers. A pop song. English. Someone’s voice. Played without emotion. Consumed music. Background music. Music no one actually listened to.
Seo-ah didn’t want her music to become that. She didn’t want it to be background. She didn’t want it consumed. She didn’t want it to become someone’s profit.
But she didn’t even know what her own music was yet.
“Haeul, I have a question.”
“What?”
“I wrote some songs. Songs that JYA sold without my name. What should I do about those?”
Haeul stopped her spoon.
“How many songs?”
“I don’t know exactly. I counted twelve, but there might be more.”
“Twelve? Twelve songs? And they all sold?”
“Yes.”
“How? Under whose name?”
“Another singer. I think a singer named Park So-jin performed my songs.”
Haeul set down her spoon—louder this time.
“Hey, let me search something.”
Haeul pulled out her phone and typed quickly. Park So-jin. The results came back. The name was quite famous. New artist award. Number one on charts. An album. All using Seo-ah’s songs.
“This woman stole your songs?”
“Yes. Probably.”
“Probably? You’re not sure?”
“No. I’ve never met her. The company did it. I wrote songs without credit, and they gave them to another singer. Then that singer became famous. Under her name.”
Seo-ah spoke matter-of-factly.
“This is… this is grounds for a lawsuit.”
“Yes. But I don’t have money. Or a lawyer.”
“Okay. We’ll think about it later. For now, focus on music. We’ll deal with that company later.”
Haeul’s fingers kept pressing the phone screen, staring at Park So-jin’s photo.
Night deepened. 9:30 PM. Gangnam’s night remained bright. Restaurant lights, street lights, building lights. Everything bright. Not dark like Jeju’s night.
“Stay at my place tonight. We’ll go to the goshiwon tomorrow,” Haeul said.
“Is that okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? You can’t be alone right now.”
Haeul said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Seo-ah looked at her. A tattoo artist. Living alone in a basement studio in Hongdae. Not much money. Busy with her own work. But now taking Seo-ah to her home. Sharing her space. Her night.
“Thank you, Haeul.”
“Don’t thank me. Make music. That’s the only payment I want from you.”
Haeul smiled as she said it.
They left the restaurant. The night sky remained bright, the streets still crowded. But it looked different to Seo-ah now. This was no longer a path toward Kang Ri-u. This was a path toward herself. Toward her music.
In the car, Haeul turned on music. Classical. Piano. Chopin’s Nocturne. The music flowed through Gangnam’s night like something from another world. Like someone’s soul crying.
Seo-ah listened and thought.
When Kang Ri-u’s fingers moved across piano keys, perhaps this was the sound he made. Perhaps this sadness flowed from him. But those fingers couldn’t move anymore, he’d said. They trembled. He could no longer play.
Then what about Seo-ah? Seo-ah could still sing. Seo-ah still had her voice. Someone had taken it from her, but she could find it again.
Her mother had said so.
Go and sing. With your name. With your voice.
That voice echoed in the car now. With Chopin’s nocturne. With Gangnam’s night.
The car drove toward Hongdae. Almost an hour since leaving Gangnam Station. They were nearly there now. Where Haeul lived. The safest place Seo-ah had felt since meeting Haeul in high school.
Music continued to flow. And in Seo-ah’s chest, music began too. Formless yet. Wordless yet. But it was there. Burning. Slowly. But surely.
I’m not burning out. I’m lighting a fire.
Seo-ah thought.
I’m not a match that burns away. I’m becoming an eternal flame.
The car drove on toward Hongdae. Night remained bright, and the first hand at Gangnam Station had become Haeul’s hand.