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# Chapter 190: Her Voice Was Burning
Her mother’s hand trembled. Over Sae-ah’s hand, and she could feel that tremor transmitting through her own fingers. Like an electric current flowing. Like her mother was releasing all the fear she’d stored inside her body in this single moment.
“Your voice…”
Her mother tried to speak again. But her breath cut short. The monitor wailed. A high-pitched beep filled the hospital room. Do-hyun jumped to his feet. Haneul turned toward the door. But Sae-ah didn’t move. She held her mother’s hand, keeping her eyes fixed on her mother’s gaze.
“Keep going. Please.”
Sae-ah whispered. Her voice was barely audible. But her mother heard it. Her mother’s eyes cleared for a moment. As if that single sentence had awakened her again.
“Your voice… was burning…”
Her mother spoke. One word at a time. Between fragmented breaths. As if each word was burning the last oxygen from her lungs as it emerged.
Sae-ah’s body went rigid. Was burning. Past tense. Her mother wasn’t talking about now—she was talking about the past. Something from childhood. Or before that. Deeper. Sae-ah ransacked her own memories. But there was only fire. Unclear fire, scattering like cigarette smoke. And someone’s voice. No—someone’s silence.
Medical staff entered. Two of them. A nurse and a doctor. Their movements were automated. This was their job, after all. But Sae-ah still wouldn’t let go of her mother’s hand. The staff didn’t push her away. Perhaps they thought it more dangerous to separate them. Perhaps her mother might wake more fully. Might say more.
“Kang Min-jun…”
Her mother began again. While the medical staff adjusted the monitor.
“Kang Min-jun what, Mom?”
Sae-ah asked. And in that moment, she realized what question she was asking. Kang Min-jun. Chairman of JYA Entertainment. Kang Ri-woo’s father. And her biological father. Sae-ah had known this before, but only abstractly. Now, in this moment, hearing that name from her mother’s lips, it felt devastatingly concrete. Too heavy.
“I heard… that…”
Her mother’s eyes began losing focus again. As if she’d said everything she needed to tell Sae-ah, and now she needed to return to her own body.
“Mom, what did you hear? What?”
Sae-ah asked. Louder. More desperately.
The doctor touched Sae-ah’s arm gently.
“The patient is in a very unstable condition right now. Could you step back for a moment?”
The doctor spoke politely. But it wasn’t a request. It was an order.
Sae-ah let go. Slowly. Her mother’s fingers followed her hand until the very end. As if her mother didn’t want to let go either. But the staff’s movements made that impossible.
Do-hyun and Haneul led Sae-ah out of the hospital room. The fluorescent lights in the corridor blinded her again. Too bright. Too clear. Sae-ah couldn’t bear it. She closed her eyes. But that didn’t help. Because she kept hearing her mother’s voice.
Her voice was burning.
Burning. Sae-ah looked at her hands. Her fingers. Still trembling. She couldn’t remember what she’d done with them. Had she played piano? Sung? Or done something worse? Had she hurt someone?
“Sae-ah, sit down. You look half-dead.”
Haneul grabbed her arm and led her to a bench in the corridor. Sae-ah didn’t resist. She knew her legs could no longer support her body.
Do-hyun sat beside her. The boy said nothing. But Sae-ah could hear his breathing. Fast, irregular, the breathing of someone frightened.
“What did Mom say exactly, Do-hyun? What were her exact words?”
Sae-ah asked.
Do-hyun bit his lip. As if deciding whether to speak.
“Do-hyun.”
Sae-ah spoke again. Softer. But more firmly.
“The first time… she kept muttering ‘Dad.’ Over and over. And…”
Do-hyun stopped.
“And?”
“And ‘sister.’ She kept calling for sister. Like sister was somewhere far away. Like she needed to find sister.”
Do-hyun said.
Sae-ah’s hand trembled again. More severely this time. Haneul grabbed her hand. Tightly. As if trying to hold Sae-ah in place.
“And yesterday?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Yesterday… she was calling sister’s name. And saying ‘I’m sorry.’ Over and over, ‘I’m sorry.’ And…”
Do-hyun stopped again.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked, almost in a whisper.
“And ‘I heard.’ That she heard sister’s voice. Or… that she heard it. I’m not sure exactly. Mom’s words were too broken up. But definitely something about voice and hearing.”
Do-hyun said.
Sae-ah’s body sank deep into the bench. As if she were melting. As if her body had decided it no longer needed to support her.
“Sister?”
Do-hyun shook her arm.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Sae-ah lied.
“Don’t lie. I saw your face. I don’t know what state you’re in right now, but you look really dangerous.”
Do-hyun said.
Sae-ah looked at Do-hyun. His eyes. They looked too old. Not the eyes of a seventeen-year-old boy. As if an adult’s eyes had been planted in that young face.
“I’m sorry, Do-hyun. I didn’t hear because I had to go do something for Mom… and…”
Sae-ah said.
“And what? Is it because of Kang Ri-woo? Were you with that guy again?”
Do-hyun asked. Anger mixed into his voice.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Her silence was the answer.
“Get it together, sister. Please. That guy is…”
Do-hyun spoke, then stopped. Haneul brushed his shoulder. A small gesture, but it carried meaning. This isn’t something you should say yet.
Sae-ah looked at her hands again. Her fingers. Still trembling. And now she could understand. What this trembling was. It wasn’t fear. It was anger. Anger rising from deep within, beyond her own control.
Her voice was burning.
That’s what her mother had said. Past tense. But Sae-ah knew. Her own voice was still burning. It had always been burning. Since childhood. Probably before that. Before she was even born.
And that fire had hurt someone. Her mother. Kang Min-jun. Someone else. Sae-ah couldn’t know exactly who. But it had happened. That fire existed. And Sae-ah had to know what it was.
“Did I do something?”
Sae-ah asked. To Do-hyun and Haneul. Or to herself.
“What?”
Do-hyun asked.
“When I was little. Did I do something? To Mom? To Dad? Did I… hurt someone?”
Sae-ah asked.
Do-hyun and Haneul exchanged glances. As if they were sharing something. As if they knew something. And as if they knew Sae-ah didn’t.
“Sae-ah, you didn’t do anything. It’s just…”
Haneul said, then stopped.
“Just what?”
Sae-ah asked.
“You’re just you. That’s all.”
Haneul said.
But Sae-ah didn’t believe it. It was too simple. Her mother’s fear, her father’s fear, Kang Ri-woo’s obsession—it couldn’t all just be because Sae-ah exists. There was something more. Something deeper. Something darker.
“I think I need to see Kang Ri-woo.”
Sae-ah said suddenly.
“What? Right now?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered. And stood up from the bench.
“Sae-ah, wait. Mom is…”
Haneul said.
“Mom will be asleep. The medical staff probably gave her a sedative. And I…”
Sae-ah said.
And counted her fingers. Still five. Still trembling.
“I need to know. Now.”
Sae-ah said.
The fluorescent lights in the corridor kept humming. Like a warning. Like a signal that something was going wrong. But Sae-ah ignored it. She picked up her phone. The battery was at 3%. It would die soon.
“Call Kang Ri-woo for me.”
Sae-ah told Haneul.
“What?”
“My battery’s almost gone. I need to find Kang Ri-woo. And I… I…”
Sae-ah trailed off.
“You?”
Haneul asked.
“I want to know what I am.”
Sae-ah said.
Haneul stared at her for a long time. As if looking at someone other than the Sae-ah she’d known. As if watching something burning beneath Sae-ah’s skin.
“Okay.”
Haneul said. And took out her phone.
The night in the hospital corridor was deepening. And Sae-ah’s hand continued to tremble. As if her body already knew what she would do. As if the fire was already burning. And now Sae-ah had to open her eyes to see what that fire was consuming. Whatever the cost.
Kang Ri-woo’s voice came through the phone. Seconds after Haneul called.
“Sae-ah?”
Kang Ri-woo asked. Anxiety in his voice.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Where are you? Are you hurt?”
Kang Ri-woo asked.
“I’m at the hospital. Mom woke up. And…”
Sae-ah said.
“And?”
Kang Ri-woo asked.
Sae-ah counted her fingers again. Five. Still trembling.
“I think I need to see you. Right now. I think we need to talk about something. Really talk.”
Sae-ah said.
Silence flowed through the phone. Seconds. Minutes. As if time had stopped.
“Okay. Where?”
Kang Ri-woo finally said.
“Han River. Right now. I’ll be there.”
Sae-ah said.
She hung up. The battery was at 1%. Her phone was ready to die at any moment.
“Sae-ah, are you really okay?”
Do-hyun asked.
Sae-ah didn’t look at Do-hyun. Instead, she looked at her hands. Her fingers. Still trembling. As if she was still ready to burn something.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Sae-ah lied.
And she slipped out of the hospital. Leaving Do-hyun’s voice behind. Leaving Haneul’s voice behind. Leaving the fluorescent lights of the corridor, the beeping of monitors, the footsteps of nurses behind. Leaving her mother’s bed, and her mother’s fear behind.
The night streets were still hot.
Or that’s how Sae-ah felt. Every time the night air touched her skin, it felt like fire. As if her body was burning from within. And now Sae-ah wanted to know who that fire should burn. Or what that fire was.
Outside the hospital, Sae-ah hailed a taxi. Her fingers still trembled. Even when she spoke to the driver. Even when she said, “Han River, please.” That voice was unfamiliar. As if she were using someone else’s voice.
In the taxi’s back seat, Sae-ah watched the night streets through the window. Neon signs blazed. Convenience stores, chicken shops, karaoke bars. Everyone was living their lives. Someone was laughing with friends. Someone was working. Someone was just walking. They were all not her. They were all normal.
Sae-ah continued counting her fingers in the taxi heading toward Han River.
Five. Still trembling.
And Sae-ah knew now. What this trembling was. It wasn’t fear or anger. It was recognition. Recognition of something she’d denied for too long. Some truth. Some terrible truth.
If she had to know what that truth was, she had to face it. With Kang Ri-woo. She couldn’t hide anymore. Couldn’t deny anymore. Now that the fire was burning, she had to end it.
When the taxi arrived at Han River, the sun had already completely set.
[12,847 characters]
## That Fire Was Sae-ah Herself
### Part 1: The Phone Call
11:47 PM.
When Sae-ah’s phone screen lit up, she was sitting on a bench in the hospital corridor. Here, under the white fluorescent light, smelling of disinfectant, counting her fingers one by one. Five. As expected. All in place.
But her fingers were trembling.
When she picked up the phone, the name on the screen was ‘Kang Ri-woo.’ Sae-ah felt her entire body stiffen when she saw it. As if someone were freezing her vertebrae one by one. Kang Ri-woo. Just hearing that name brought a wave of anxiety. Her lifted fingers trembled even more, without her meaning them to.
Now isn’t the time to call…
Sae-ah thought for a moment, but ultimately pressed the answer button.
“Yeah. It’s me.”
A voice came out. Her voice. But it didn’t sound like her own voice. As if someone else were speaking through her throat. That voice trembled, was unstable, was somehow broken.
“Where are you? Are you hurt?”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice came through the phone. Sae-ah felt a strange emotion hearing his voice. Was it concern? Or something else? Kang Ri-woo sounded worried about her. But Sae-ah no longer thought she deserved anyone’s worry.
“I’m at the hospital. Mom woke up.”
Sae-ah answered. When that word—hospital—left her lips, she thought of her mother. That image of her lying in bed. That image with the oxygen mask on her face. Sae-ah kept trying to erase that scene from her mind, but it kept resurfacing.
“And…”
Sae-ah said. But she didn’t know how to continue. What words to use in this moment.
“And?”
Kang Ri-woo asked. Tension filled his voice. As if he too could sense something bad approaching.
Sae-ah counted her fingers again. Five. Still trembling. That trembling didn’t stop. As if it had become part of her body. A rhythm carved into her bones.
“I think I need to see you. Right now. I think we need to talk about something. Really talk.”
Sae-ah said. Saying this, she knew what she was about to do. What she needed to say. But she also knew how difficult it would be, how terrifying.
Silence flowed through the phone.
Seconds. It felt like minutes. No, like hours. Sae-ah tried to imagine what Kang Ri-woo was thinking. Where he was right now, what he was doing. And what expression he must have made when he heard her words.
As if time had stopped.
“Okay. Where?”
Kang Ri-woo finally spoke. His voice carried a decision. No more questions or doubt. Just acceptance. Just an “okay.”
“Han River. Right now. I’ll be there.”
Sae-ah said.
She hung up. Her finger pressed the button, and in that moment, Kang Ri-woo’s voice disappeared. The screen went dark. The battery was at 1%. A red warning appeared on the screen: ‘Low Battery.’ Her phone was ready to die at any moment. Just like Sae-ah herself.
“Sae-ah, are you really okay?”
Do-hyun’s voice came. He was watching her from another part of the corridor. His face was full of worry. Do-hyun always worried. Always asked. ‘Are you okay?’, ‘What are you doing?’, ‘What are you thinking?’ Those questions suffocated her.
Sae-ah didn’t look at Do-hyun. Instead, she looked at her hands. Her fingers. Still trembling. That trembling was like a signal that she was still ready to burn something. Like a signal that the fire inside her body hadn’t gone out yet.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Sae-ah lied.
And she slipped out of the hospital. Leaving Do-hyun’s voice behind. Leaving Haneul’s voice behind too. Leaving the fluorescent lights of the corridor, the beeping of monitors, the footsteps of nurses behind. Leaving her mother’s bed and her mother’s fear behind.
### Part 2: Night
The night streets were still hot.
Or more precisely, that’s how Sae-ah felt. Every time the night air touched her skin, it felt like fire. As if her body was burning from within. And now Sae-ah wanted to know who that fire should burn. Or what that fire was.
After leaving the hospital, Sae-ah caught a taxi on the street. Her fingers still trembled. Even when she spoke to the driver. Even when she said, “Han River, please.” That voice was unfamiliar. As if she were using someone else’s voice.
In the taxi’s back seat, Sae-ah watched the night streets through the window. Neon signs blazed. Convenience stores, chicken shops, karaoke bars. Everyone was living their lives. Someone was laughing with friends. Someone was working. Someone was just walking. They were all not her. They were all normal.
Sae-ah continued counting her fingers in the taxi heading toward Han River.
Five. Still trembling.
And Sae-ah knew now. What this trembling was. It wasn’t fear or anger. It was recognition. Recognition of something she’d denied for too long. Some truth. Some terrible truth.
If she had to know what that truth was, she had to face it. With Kang Ri-woo. She couldn’t hide anymore. Couldn’t deny anymore. Now that the fire was burning, she had to end it.
When the taxi arrived at Han River, the sun had already completely set.
### Part 3: Han River
The water of Han River reflected the light of night.
Like fire. Like countless small flames dancing on the water’s surface. Sae-ah looked at that water. And at her own hands. Her fingers. Still trembling.
Han River was quiet. It was late at night, so there were few people. A few couples sat under trees, and someone was walking alone. Sae-ah felt a strange emotion watching them. Envy? Or something else?
She walked along Han River. Her shoes tapped against the pavement. Each footstep made a sound. That sound was like a bell announcing the passage of time. The minute hand. The second hand. Everything was moving. Time, and Sae-ah’s heart.
Where could he be?
Sae-ah thought. Where was Kang Ri-woo? Was he still on his way? Or was he already somewhere here?
And in that moment, Sae-ah saw a man.
He was sitting on a bench by Han River. Alone. Looking at the water. Black hair. Black clothes. Sae-ah’s breath caught when she saw him.
It was Kang Ri-woo.
He didn’t seem to have seen Sae-ah yet. He was still looking at the water. There was something in his face. Sadness? Anger? Or something else?
Sae-ah walked slowly toward him.
### Part 4: Face to Face
When Kang Ri-woo saw Sae-ah, his face changed.
“What happened tonight?”
Kang Ri-woo asked first. Before Sae-ah even sat on the bench.
Sae-ah didn’t speak. Instead, she sat beside Kang Ri-woo. There was distance between them. But Sae-ah didn’t close it. As if it were a shield.
“What happened?”
Kang Ri-woo asked again.
This time his voice was stronger. More desperate.
Sae-ah looked at her fingers. Still trembling. Looking at that trembling, Sae-ah thought: now she had to speak. She couldn’t avoid it anymore.
“Mom woke up.”
Sae-ah said.
“Yeah. I know. Do-hyun told me.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“And Mom remembered something. About that night.”
Sae-ah said. As she said it, she trembled. As if she were cold. No, this wasn’t cold. This was fear.
Kang Ri-woo moved. He turned his body toward Sae-ah. His eyes met hers.
“What did she remember?”
Kang Ri-woo asked.
Sae-ah looked into Kang Ri-woo’s eyes. There was something in them. Fear. And something else too. Sae-ah knew what it was. It was guilt.
“That night… there was a voice. A burning voice. Someone’s voice.”
Sae-ah said.
Silence flowed. The sound of Han River’s water. The sound of wind. And the breathing of two people.
“Sae-ah…”
Kang Ri-woo called her name. There was something in that voice. A plea? Or a confession?
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Sae-ah asked.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer.
“What happened that night? Really. Why did Mom get burned? Why did she have to go to the hospital?”
Sae-ah continued asking.
“And why did you always stay by my side? Why didn’t you leave me?”
When those questions came out, Sae-ah felt how badly her hands were trembling.
Kang Ri-woo took a deep breath.
“I… I did something that night.”
Kang Ri-woo said. His voice was almost a whisper.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“You’re better off not knowing.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“I want to know. Right now. Really.”
Sae-ah said.
Kang Ri-woo looked at the water of Han River. As if the answer lay somewhere in that water.
### Part 5: The Truth
“That night, Mom did something to me. She probably did it to you too.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
Sae-ah looked at her younger brother’s face. There was a wound there. Not a physical wound. A wound in his heart. A deep wound.
“And I was angry. Really angry. So I… I…”
Kang Ri-woo trailed off.
“What did you do?”
Sae-ah asked.
“I wanted to hurt Mom. Really. And I didn’t know how to handle that feeling. So I screamed. Really loud. Like I was venting my anger. And Mom… Mom got burned from fire in the process.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
Sae-ah felt her chest drop as she heard those words.
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean it. But I still have responsibility. Because I was angry. Because I created that situation.”
Kang Ri-woo continued.
“And I wanted to protect you. I wanted you to know that none of this was your fault. So I protected you. From everything.”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice trembled.
Sae-ah didn’t know what to do. Should she cry? Should she get angry? Or should she hold Kang Ri-woo?
In that moment, Sae-ah realized she was counting her fingers.
Five. Still trembling.
Her voice was burning.
Her mother’s voice came back. In Sae-ah’s ears. And now Sae-ah knew. Where that voice came from.
“Kang Ri-woo…”
Sae-ah said.
“I was angry too. That night. At Mom. And I didn’t know where to put that anger.”
Sae-ah continued.
“And I saw you. I saw your face. And I knew you were angry too. That you were suffering too.”
Sae-ah looked at Kang Ri-woo.
“We suffered together. We were angry together. And that fire burned up. Nobody intended it, but it happened.”
Kang Ri-woo looked at Sae-ah. There were tears in his eyes.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“And that fire is still burning now.”
Sae-ah said.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Kang Ri-woo answered.
### Part 6