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# Chapter 173: A Father’s Name
Her mother’s hand moved. Very slowly. Like something stirring underwater. Toward the cup of water on the bedside table. Seo-ah immediately rose and picked it up. Her mother’s lips were dry and cracked. The hospital’s sterile air, the medication’s side effects. Seo-ah brought the cup to her mother’s lips. She drank slowly. Even drinking water seemed to exhaust her. As if her own body wanted to reject everything.
“Thank you.”
Her mother spoke. In formal speech. As if Seo-ah were a stranger. As if addressing someone other than her own daughter. That was the deepest wound for Seo-ah. Not anger, not love—this cold, courteous distance.
“Mom…”
Seo-ah sat back down.
“What are you sorry for?”
Her mother asked again. Repeating the earlier question. As if Seo-ah’s answer hadn’t satisfied her. As if she sensed lies hidden within it.
Seo-ah fell silent. She knew exactly what her mother wanted. Not to hear what Seo-ah was sorry for. Her mother wanted her to explain why she’d become this way because of her. Why she’d abandoned her. But Seo-ah couldn’t explain that. Because she didn’t know herself.
“Kang Ri-u.”
Her mother spoke the name. As if it were the most vile word. As if poison spread through her mouth merely by saying it.
“Yes.”
Seo-ah replied.
“You don’t know what that person is.”
Her mother said it. Not a question. A declaration. As if finally voicing something she’d wanted to say for decades.
“Who is he?”
Seo-ah asked.
Her mother slowly closed her eyes. As if to speak what came next, she couldn’t bear to see the world. As if the words could only leave her lips with her eyes shut.
“He’s your father’s son.”
Her mother said.
Seo-ah’s body froze. As if someone had replaced her blood with ice. As if time itself had stopped. She couldn’t ask her mother to repeat it. She’d heard enough. It was clear enough.
“Your father was…”
Her mother continued. But her voice grew weaker.
“In Jeju. When I was a haenyeo. Your father…”
Her mother breathed. Deeply. As if all the oxygen in the world was needed for these words.
“He left when I gave birth to you. And…”
Her mother’s voice broke.
“And what?”
Seo-ah demanded. It wasn’t a question. It was a command. For her mother to finish this.
“Kang Ri-u is that man’s son. Your father’s son.”
Her mother said.
Silence fell. In the hospital room, only the beep of the heart monitor sounded. That rhythmic pulse seemed not her own heartbeat, but the world’s own pulse. Seo-ah didn’t move. Didn’t speak. As if holding her breath might stop this moment too.
“Your father is Kang Mi-jun.”
Her mother continued. Now with clarity. With an urgency as if she’d never speak these secrets again if she didn’t now.
Kang Mi-jun.
Seo-ah’s mind tried to process the name. Kang Mi-jun. Someone famous. Someone with power in the music industry. Someone who is the CEO of… JYA Entertainment.
“No…”
Seo-ah barely managed.
“Yes.”
Her mother answered.
“Then Kang Ri-u is…”
Seo-ah said.
“Your half-brother. Technically.”
Her mother said. And it explained everything. Why Ri-u had chased her like that. Why he’d tried to save her. Why he’d obsessed over her. Why he’d fallen apart when she left.
“How long have you known?”
Seo-ah asked.
“When Kang Ri-u appeared. The first time I saw him. In his face…”
Her mother said. Then fell silent. As if that explained everything. As if a face proved all.
Seo-ah stood. From the chair, pressing her back against the hospital wall. As if she didn’t stand now, she’d collapse to the floor. The wall was cold and indifferent. Like a hospital wall. Absorbing all pain but giving nothing back.
“Then… why didn’t you tell me?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Your father told me not to. And…”
Her mother said.
“And?”
Seo-ah asked.
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to burden you with that. I wanted you to just…”
Her mother said. But didn’t finish.
“Just what?”
Seo-ah asked. Her voice rose. For the first time. During this entire conversation, emotion finally broke through.
“Just live. Without that burden.”
Her mother said.
Seo-ah laughed. Or rather, it was a sound that couldn’t be called laughter. Like something twisted from deep inside. Like her soul trying to escape her body.
“So what? I’m already…”
Seo-ah said. But couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say what she already was. Couldn’t speak how broken she already was.
“Seo-ah.”
Her mother called her name.
“What?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Stay away from that person.”
Her mother said.
“Why? He’s my brother. He’s my family.”
Seo-ah said.
“That person is not your family.”
Her mother said. Very clearly.
“Then what is he?”
Seo-ah asked.
Her mother didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly closed her eyes. As if wanting to end this conversation. As if she had no strength left to speak.
Seo-ah left the room. Without a word. Leaving her mother behind. Into the corridor. White space beneath fluorescent lights. That space didn’t embrace her. It seemed incapable of embracing anything. All color had been drained from it.
Seo-ah descended the stairs. Not the elevator. Her steps were quick. As if someone were chasing her. As if she’d suffocate if she didn’t leave this building.
She reached the first floor. Seo-ah passed through the hospital lobby. Evening visiting hours. Visitors were coming in. People carrying flowers. People carrying gifts. People coming to see someone. There was worry on their faces, but also purpose. The purpose of meeting someone. The certainty of being connected to someone.
Seo-ah passed through them. Like a ghost. Like she already didn’t belong to this world.
She went outside. The evening air struck her face. Cold and fresh. As if she were waking from something. But Seo-ah wasn’t waking. She was sinking deeper into a dream.
Her phone rang. It was Haneul’s number.
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
It rang again.
She still didn’t answer.
A message came through.
“Seo-ah. Where are you? The hospital? Did you see mom? Call me. Please.”
Seo-ah didn’t read it. Reading it felt like something would shatter. Her last defense.
Seo-ah just walked. Following the street. Not knowing where she was going. As if her feet were guiding her. As if her body knew better than her will.
The Han River appeared. Evening sunlight shattered across the water. Golden fragments. Like the pieces that would fall if someone broke the sun.
Seo-ah sat on a bench by the river. Alone. There were people enjoying the evening around her, but she didn’t see them. Or they didn’t see her. As if she existed in another dimension.
The river flowed. Endlessly. Never stopping. As if she too were flowing like that. As if she too were just something the river carried.
Seo-ah lowered her hand toward the water. As if her hand wanted to dip into it. As if she wanted to dissolve into this water and disappear.
“So you’re here.”
A voice came.
Seo-ah didn’t look up. But she recognized the voice. Kang Ri-u’s voice. Though now even his name sounded different. It wasn’t a name anymore. It was a lie. A lie she’d believed.
“Leave.”
Seo-ah said.
“Did you find out?”
Ri-u asked.
“Mom told me.”
Seo-ah said. Still watching the river.
Silence fell. Ri-u didn’t move either. As if he too were watching the river.
“So?”
Ri-u asked.
“So what?”
Seo-ah asked. Now she looked at him. At his face. She tried to find traces of her father in it. But she couldn’t. Or she’d looked too much and couldn’t see anymore.
“What did you think I was?”
Ri-u asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered. And it was the truth. She really didn’t know who Kang Ri-u was. Didn’t know, still didn’t, and probably never would.
“I tried to save you. Really.”
Ri-u said.
“Save me from what? To erase your own guilt?”
Seo-ah said.
Ri-u didn’t answer. That was his answer.
“I don’t know anymore.”
Seo-ah said. Her voice cracked.
“Know what?”
Ri-u asked.
“What’s real and what’s a lie.”
Seo-ah said.
Ri-u sat beside her on the bench. In silence.
“I really loved you.”
Ri-u said.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered. And it was the most honest answer she could give.
Silence fell again. The river and its flowing water. The evening sunlight falling on it. All of it continued. Over Seo-ah and Ri-u’s silence. Over Seo-ah’s chest where a new name was inscribed.
“What will you do?”
Ri-u asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Mom?”
Ri-u asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered.
“Me?”
Ri-u asked.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. That was all the answer she had.
Ri-u stood. From the bench. Slowly. As if his body had become very heavy.
“I’m going to tell him. About you. About this.”
Ri-u said.
“No.”
Seo-ah said.
“It doesn’t matter. You have the right.”
Ri-u said.
“Right? What rights do I have?”
Seo-ah asked.
Ri-u didn’t answer. Instead, he left. Into the evening darkness. As if he too weren’t part of this world.
Seo-ah was left alone. By the Han River. Evening turning into night. The sky darkening. Like the inside of her own chest.
At that moment, her phone rang. A different number. An unknown number. Seo-ah answered.
“Seo-ah?”
A man’s voice. Seo-ah didn’t know this voice. But it felt familiar. Like something coming from inside her. Familiar in a way that made her heart quicken.
“Who is this?”
Seo-ah asked.
“I’m Kang Mi-jun. Your…”
The voice stopped.
Seo-ah hung up.
And watched the river. Still flowing. Endlessly. Never stopping. Like her own life.
Next Chapter Preview: Kang Mi-jun’s first call. And what Seo-ah must finally face. With a name inscribed on her chest.