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# Chapter 145: The End of Lies
The fluorescent light in the cafe flickered. One second, two seconds. Then it brightened again. In that moment, Sae-ah saw Kang Ri-u’s face completely for the first time since the verdict. Under the fluorescent glow, he looked like a different person. Or rather, the same person seen from a different angle. The Kang Ri-u from the courtroom still had something to hide. There was room for argument. But here in this cafe, under the fluorescent light at eleven at night, he was completely exposed. Not stripped of his clothes, but stripped of all language.
“You lied when you said you’d save me.”
Sae-ah spoke without waiting for his response. She had to finish what she needed to say first. Otherwise, this moment too would become another lie. It would be corrupted by the words coming from his mouth. His voice changed people. Like magic. Or rather, like a trick.
“You didn’t save me. You were trying to save yourself. You wanted to prove you could save someone. Because you couldn’t save someone in Berlin.”
Kang Ri-u’s hand stopped moving. Not trembling—moving. As if someone had seized his wrist. And Sae-ah knew. She was right. From the moment she heard her mother’s story, she had begun seeing Kang Ri-u from a new angle. And that angle explained everything. Why he was obsessed with her. Why he tried to “save” her. Why his fingers trembled.
“You were a pianist. In Berlin. And someone died there. Someone important.”
Sae-ah was speaking things Kang Ri-u had never said in court. In a place where no lawyer could stop her. Where there was no evidence. Where there were only two voices. And in Kang Ri-u’s silence, Sae-ah knew her suspicion was certain truth.
“You couldn’t save them. Even though you played piano well. Even though you had money. You couldn’t save them. So you hated yourself. And to ease that hatred, you tried to save me. You tried to be redeemed through me.”
The cafe’s background music changed. A piano piece began to play. Classical. A piece Sae-ah didn’t recognize. But Kang Ri-u would know. His body reacted. His shoulders hunched. As if trying to make himself smaller.
“You thought I could heal you. And if I healed you, then you could heal yourself. But that was a lie. Because you never saw me. You weren’t looking at me—you were looking at your own guilt. You were projecting your wounds onto my face.”
Sae-ah’s voice grew quieter. But it didn’t mean weakness. It grew stronger instead. As if her words were cutting through the air. Cutting through the fluorescent light. Cutting through all of Kang Ri-u’s lies.
Kang Ri-u opened his mouth. But no words came out. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Like watching a dubbed film with the audio removed. And that was more devastating. Because Sae-ah could read his lips. She knew what he was trying to say. I’m sorry. Those two words. The easiest words, and yet the most false.
“Don’t apologize.”
Sae-ah spoke first. “That’s another lie. You’re not sorry to me—you’re sorry to yourself. And you’re trying to pass that sorrow back to me. As if to prove I could be your redemption. But I’m not your redemption. I’m just someone. Just a girl.”
Kang Ri-u’s fingers began trembling again. This time not at three-second intervals. Faster, more irregular, more intense. Like a signal that his body could no longer control his emotions. Sae-ah saw the trembling. And she knew it was different from her own. Her trembling came from fear. His came from despair. It ran deeper. It was older.
“Who died in Berlin?”
Sae-ah asked. Now she wasn’t guessing. She was confirming.
Kang Ri-u spoke. His voice rose like something emerging from water.
“A friend. From music university. We competed together. In the same piano competition. I placed third, and he… he didn’t place.”
“And?”
“He killed himself. The night after the results came out.”
The cafe’s music changed. From piano to strings. Someone’s violin. A sad piece. No—beyond sadness. Despair. And that despairing music made Kang Ri-u’s words clearer.
“I survived. And he died. That’s all. I don’t understand why I survived. Why I had to live. I was weaker. Smaller. More afraid. But I survived. And him… he couldn’t move his fingers anymore.”
Sae-ah looked at Kang Ri-u’s hands. Those trembling hands. They couldn’t play piano. When the lawyer asked in court, Kang Ri-u had answered “trauma.” His fingers locked up. He couldn’t move them when he sat at the piano. But now Sae-ah understood. It wasn’t trauma. It was the physical expression of guilt. His body punishing itself by refusing to move his fingers.
“And I couldn’t accept that. I couldn’t accept it. So I started deceiving myself. That I could save someone. That even though I couldn’t move my fingers, I could change someone’s life. And then I met you.”
Now Kang Ri-u looked at Sae-ah directly. For the first time. For months, he had seen his own guilt. His own need. But now, in this moment, he saw Sae-ah. The complete Sae-ah. Not his projection. Not his redemption. Just one person named Sae-ah.
“You weren’t my redemption. You were just someone. But I tried to make you my redemption. So you had to burn. Because I set you on fire.”
Sae-ah sat down. Finally. Across from Kang Ri-u. And in that moment, both their fingers trembled at three-second intervals. The same rhythm. The same speed. As if their hearts were beating in the same time. But it wasn’t love. Sae-ah understood now. It was the resonance of wounds. That acoustic vibration when two wounds meet. That’s what they had mistaken it for. That’s what they wanted to call “love.”
“When did you know?”
Kang Ri-u asked. His voice was completely broken. No defense. No lies. Only facts.
“When Mom talked about Dad. Those words… they were your words. The same structure. The same lie. The lie about saving someone.”
Sae-ah’s voice was cold now. Emotionless. Or rather, so full of emotion that it had turned cold. Like water so cold it felt like ice instead of cold.
“I have nothing to say to you. Sorry won’t work. Forgiveness won’t work. Those are your problems. Your guilt and your trauma and your dead friend. All of it belongs to you. And I can’t carry it. It’s already heavy enough.”
Kang Ri-u said nothing. He just sat there. Listening to her words. And that silence, that acceptance, that surrender made Sae-ah sadder. Because even that could be another lie. His silence. His tears. His trembling. All of it could be false. Because he had already told so many lies.
“We’re done.”
Sae-ah said. “It’s already over. It was over in court. No—it was over before that. Since the moment we first met. Since the moment I said ‘no’ to you.”
“Then… why did you come?”
Kang Ri-u asked. That question contained everything. Why did you come to me? Why did you come to meet me? Why did you come all the way to Gangnam to hear these words?
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at her fingers. Trembling at three-second intervals. And now she understood what it meant. It wasn’t fear. It was anger. Her anger. The anger she had been suppressing for so long.
“Because you stole my time.”
Sae-ah said. Her voice rising. “You didn’t steal my music. You didn’t steal my body. You didn’t steal my soul. You stole something more precious. You stole my time. The time I could have loved someone. The time I could have loved myself. The time I could have truly sung my music.”
Kang Ri-u’s face changed again. This time it wasn’t pain. It was realization. And that realization was the most devastating. Because it was too late.
“And my mom. You stole her time too. All the words she wanted to say to me. All the words she could have said to me. You made me hear them now. Only now.”
The cafe’s fluorescent light flickered again. One second, two seconds. In that brief darkness, Sae-ah clenched her fist. Trying to suppress the trembling of her fingers. But the trembling didn’t stop. It had already become part of her.
“Leave.”
Sae-ah said, not looking at Kang Ri-u.
“Sae-ah…”
Kang Ri-u said.
“Don’t call me by my name anymore. You don’t have that right.”
Sae-ah stood up. And she left the cafe. Following the path toward Gangnam Station. The night grew deeper. The clock passed midnight. And Sae-ah’s fingers still trembled at three-second intervals. But now it wasn’t fear. It was anger. Her anger. The emotion she could finally feel. And that anger was, strangely, warm.
On the escalator down to Gangnam Station, Sae-ah saw her reflection in the glass window. She was crying. Tears streamed down her face. But she made no sound. She cried in silence. Like her mother. On the sun. On the water. And that silent crying felt, for the first time, like it was truly hers. Something Kang Ri-u hadn’t given her. Something he hadn’t created. Something that belonged only to her.
The subway arrived. Line 8. The train heading back to Hongdae. Sae-ah boarded. She turned on her phone and texted her mother.
“Mom. I didn’t go to Gangnam. Actually, I did, but I met someone and came back. Thanks for telling me about Dad. I didn’t know until now. And…”
She read the message again. Deleted it and rewrote it.
“And I love you.”
Send.
The reply came immediately.
“Stupid girl. That was obvious from the beginning.”
And then:
“You did well.”
Sae-ah put down her phone. Outside the window, Seoul’s night flowed past. Lights twinkled. Like small flames. Like something was burning. But this time, Sae-ah understood. Those flames wouldn’t burn her. They were just light. And she could find her way in that light now.
The subway continued on. Toward Hongdae. And Sae-ah’s fingers still trembled at three-second intervals. But now it wasn’t a curse. It was a signal. A signal that she was alive. A signal that she could feel. A signal that she could be angry.
And that was enough.