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# Chapter 93: The Interrogation Room
When the bus arrived, Sae-ah already knew where she needed to go. The USB drive in her hand felt heavy. Not physically—but in her pocket, it burned like a coal smoldering in the dark. It had weight. It had presence. Her evidence. Proof that she had truly existed.
The Hapjeong Police Station was lit even at 1:30 a.m. It operated twenty-four hours. Someone’s night was always someone else’s day. Sae-ah pushed through the door.
Inside were two officers. One sat at a desk; the other was drinking water. Both saw her. And in that moment, something shifted. The officers’ eyes changed. Eyes that categorized. Eyes that sorted her into “someone’s victim” or “someone’s perpetrator.”
“Hello. My name is Sae-ah.”
Her voice was small. But precise.
The officer at the desk picked up his pen.
“Are you the one who filed the report?”
“No. I’m looking for the person who received the report.”
“And who would that be?”
“Someone named Kang Min-jun. Also called Kang Ri-woo.”
Saying his name was pain. As if her tongue refused those syllables.
The officer turned on his computer. Typed for a few seconds. Then looked up.
“Kang Min-jun filed a missing persons report last week. Listed you as the missing person—Sae-ah. Last sighting was near the Han River. Are you that Sae-ah?”
“Yes.”
“You’re alive.”
The officer said it almost ritualistically. Like a weather forecast.
“Yes. I’m alive.”
“So you came to cancel the report?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She didn’t know what that word really meant anymore. Cancel? It was too weak. Too simple. What she needed to do was too complex for that single word to contain.
“I need to find Kang Ri-woo.”
“You mean the person who filed the report?”
“Yes. And… I need to tell you something about him.”
She touched the USB in her pocket. She had to take it out. Somehow, she had to.
“What is this?”
The officer stared as she placed it on the desk.
“My voice. Evidence.”
“Your voice is… evidence?”
His confusion was written across his face.
“Kang Ri-woo controlled me. He controlled my voice. Kept me from singing. From speaking. So I had to live in silence. But this file—it has my real voice. The voice I have when I’m free from him.”
She spoke without fully understanding what she was saying. But she had to continue.
The officer looked at his partner. His partner shrugged—a gesture that said: Is this a crime, a mental health issue, or just emotional drama? I don’t know.
“Could you explain in more detail?”
The seated officer pulled over a chair for her. It was cold and hard. Police station chairs were always meant to be uncomfortable—designed never to offer comfort.
“Kang Ri-woo. Or Kang Min-jun. He… found me.”
And she told him everything. Not everything, exactly. She didn’t mention Jeju. She didn’t mention the Han River bridge. She didn’t mention how close she’d come to death. But she told him about the control. The surveillance. The enforced silence. How her own voice wasn’t hers.
The officer wrote. With a pen. On paper. As if it might become evidence. As if it could be recorded somewhere official.
“And you don’t know where Kang Ri-woo is now?”
“No. I don’t.”
That was true. She really didn’t know. He could be in the gosiwon in Hapjeong-dong. Could be at the office in Gangnam. Or waiting for her somewhere. He was always waiting. As if it were his job.
“We’ll need to summon Kang Min-jun for questioning. This isn’t clearly criminal, but it warrants investigation.”
“What would you call it?”
“Unlawful confinement. Coercion. Emotional abuse. These require recordings or concrete evidence to prosecute. Your testimony alone…”
He trailed off.
“It’s on the USB.”
“What’s on the USB?”
“A recording. My voice—or more precisely, the waveform. A record of what I actually felt.”
He looked at his partner again. More bewildered this time.
“Can that be legal evidence?”
“I don’t know. But isn’t it better to have something than nothing?”
At 2 a.m., the officer turned on his computer and connected the USB. He looked at the waveform. Green mountains. Sae-ah’s emotions converted to digital form. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But at least he was looking. He was looking at proof that Sae-ah existed.
“Ms. Sae-ah, do you have any other evidence of your relationship with Kang Min-jun? Text messages? Call logs?”
She pulled out her phone. Entered the password. Showed him everything—hundreds of messages spanning days, weeks, months. And the recent ones: Where are you? Please call me. What did I do wrong? Come back to me. I reported you to the police. I’ll find you. Wherever you are.
The officer wrote faster. Harder.
“This is… very serious.”
He muttered.
“Yes. I know.”
At 3 a.m., the officer spoke to her again.
“Ms. Sae-ah. You need to go somewhere safe. Kang Min-jun may try to find you. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
She thought of Haneul. And the tattoo shop. The semi-basement that seemed impossible to find.
“Yes.”
“Good. And you’ll need to come back today—this afternoon—for a more detailed investigation.”
He paused. “And if Kang Min-jun tries to approach you, call us immediately. Understood?”
“Yes.”
But she knew she was lying. When he came—because he would come—would she really call? Or would she be pulled back into his orbit again? She didn’t know the answer.
She left the station and called Haneul.
“Yeah?”
Haneul’s voice sounded sleepy.
“Are you at the tattoo shop?”
“At this hour? What for?”
“I need to go. Now.”
“Fine. You woke me up. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
She hung up.
Sae-ah stood in the alley outside the station. Hapjeong-dong at 3 a.m. Empty streets. But there was something there. Silence. And in that silence, Sae-ah heard her own heartbeat for the first time.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Like Junho’s waveform. Like her life being recorded digitally. Like proof that she was truly alive.
When Haneul arrived, she saw her. And something registered on her face.
“What did you do?”
“I made a decision.”
“About what?”
“To live.”
It was the simplest decision. And the hardest one she would ever make.