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# Chapter 199: Things That Cannot Return
Seoul Station Plaza at 11:30 PM. Seo-ah stood there. One hour after Kang Ri-woo left. Forty-five minutes after Do-hyun closed the hospital room door. Twenty minutes after Ha-neul said, “Wait, let me buy you something,” and walked away. Alone. Among hundreds of people. In the loneliest way possible.
The night air brushed her throat. Not cold. Precisely neutral. Neither warm nor cool. Just there. Something you breathe in. In this air, Seo-ah felt herself becoming transparent. Could anyone see her? Under these lights? Among these hundreds of people? Would anyone ask, “Did you see that girl? That girl?” Or had Seo-ah already disappeared?
Her phone rang. Ha-neul.
“Where are you? I’m outside the convenience store.”
Seo-ah didn’t answer. She pulled the phone away from her ear. Ha-neul would keep talking. She’d bought something. Ramen, maybe, or kimbap, or just a canned coffee. Something Seo-ah wouldn’t eat, yet Ha-neul bought anyway. That was her way.
“Seo-ah? Seo-ah! Where are you, seriously.”
Ha-neul’s voice grew fainter. As if Seo-ah were drifting further away. Or the signal weakening. Or as if Seo-ah herself were slowly disappearing.
Seo-ah ended the call. Very slowly. Moving her finger over the red button with precision. Pressing. Holding for a second. Releasing. Then it ends. This connection. This voice. This specific moment with this person called Ha-neul. Ends.
How much time remained until Mother woke?
Kang Ri-woo said he was going to find Father’s documents. To Kang Min-jun’s house. Gangnam. It was probably a penthouse. Or a mansion. Seo-ah had never seen Kang Min-jun. She’d heard his name when Kang Ri-woo came to find her for the first time, but never seen him. Yet she could imagine him. An older version of Kang Ri-woo. Colder. More globally composed in his handshake.
What would he find in those documents? The name of Seo-ah’s father? Or more than that? Or not answers, but bigger questions? Would such things be in documents?
Seo-ah turned her phone back on. The screen lit up. Her KakaoTalk list appeared.
Ha-neul: “Seo-ah where are you seriously. The ramen’s getting cold.”
Ha-neul: “Answer me. Please.”
Ha-neul: “What did you do now.”
Ha-neul: “It’s because of Kang Ri-woo, isn’t it? Again?”
Ha-neul: “I’m losing it. Seriously losing it. What is that guy doing.”
Do-hyun: “Noona wait. Mom’s monitor readings went up. The nurse said something but I didn’t catch it. Noona come.”
Mother. Monitor. Readings going up—what did that mean? A good sign? A bad one? Seo-ah didn’t know medical terminology. There were too many languages she should have learned, and they all passed her by.
Seo-ah began to walk. From Seoul Station Plaza. With no specific destination. Her legs moved on their own. Independent of her command. Automatically. As if someone else were controlling her body.
People passed her. Travelers. Those waiting for trains. People picking someone up. Families heading to picnics. Everyone was going somewhere. They had destinations. They held train tickets. Or held someone’s hand.
Seo-ah looked at her hands. Her own hands. Thin and pale. Short nails, often broken from convenience store work. Her fingers were slender. Slender but strong. A paradox. Appearing fragile yet enduring nonetheless.
Would someone hold that hand? Again. Like Kang Ri-woo? Or someone else? Or would Seo-ah never hold anything with these hands again?
The phone rang again. Do-hyun.
“Noona. Mom—”
Do-hyun’s voice was trembling. Seo-ah heard it. The tremor. The fear. And something larger beneath it.
“What about Mom?”
Seo-ah asked. Her own voice sounded like it didn’t belong to her.
“She’s waking up. The nurse said there’s a response. Her eyes seem to flutter a little. Noona come. Now.”
Seo-ah lowered the phone. No—she lowered her arm. The phone fell from her ear. Do-hyun’s voice became quieter. Almost inaudible. But she heard it. All urgent things sound this small.
From Seoul Station to the hospital: fifteen minutes by taxi.
Seo-ah didn’t catch a taxi. Instead, she walked toward the subway entrance. Down the stairs. Fluorescent lights. Underground fluorescent lights. They illuminated Seo-ah. Under those lights, her face became someone else’s face. Someone very tired. Someone very pale. Someone almost transparent.
When she reached the platform, a train was pulling away. Its rear lights. Red glow. Someone’s song. No, a machine sound. An automated announcement. Next train in three minutes.
Three minutes. What could Seo-ah do with that time? Think? Feel? Or just stand?
She sat on a bench. A woman sat next to her. Around forty years old. Holding a shopping bag. A shoe shopping bag. Department store logo.
“You look like you’re struggling.”
The woman said, not looking at Seo-ah.
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
“I am too. These days.”
The woman continued.
“With what?”
Seo-ah asked. She was surprised at herself. At asking.
“Everything. My kids. My husband. Work. This city. Just everything.”
The woman looked at the shoe bag. As if it were evidence of it all.
“But we keep living. What else can we do? What can any of us do?”
The woman said.
Seo-ah heard those words. But didn’t agree. Because she wasn’t sure she was really living at all. Whether she was breathing, or if this was some form of apnea. Whether she was moving, or borrowing someone else’s body to move.
The train arrived. The doors opened. Seo-ah stood. The woman remained seated. Shopping bag in hand.
“Fighting.”
The woman said to Seo-ah.
Seo-ah boarded without responding.
She arrived at the hospital past midnight. 12:15 AM. Seo-ah took the elevator to the eighth floor. The floor where the ICU was. No—yesterday it was ICU, but today it’s a regular room, Do-hyun had said.
She stopped before the door. Without opening it. Just standing there. The door seemed transparent. She could see inside. A bed. Mother. And.
And Kang Ri-woo.
Kang Ri-woo was sitting beside Mother’s bed. Hours after Seo-ah had seen him. He’d said he was going to find Father’s documents, yet here he was. Kang Ri-woo was holding Mother’s hand. Gently. As if it were the most fragile substance in existence.
Seo-ah’s heart did something. Stopped or raced. It didn’t matter which. What mattered was that Kang Ri-woo was here. And he was holding Mother’s hand. And his face wasn’t visible. He had his head bowed.
Do-hyun was sitting nearby. In a chair. Seo-ah thought he saw her come in. But he didn’t move. Just sat. Alone.
Seo-ah opened the door. Slowly. So no one would be startled.
Kang Ri-woo looked up. His eyes found Seo-ah. In that moment, she watched his face change. From relief. Or to something else. Confusion? Guilt? Or some mixture? She couldn’t tell.
“Didn’t you find the documents?”
Seo-ah asked.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Mother. Then back at Seo-ah.
“Father was home.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
Those words filled the room. Even the monitor’s beeping sounded only around them.
“What?”
Do-hyun asked.
“Father was home. He was awake. And—”
Kang Ri-woo stopped. His hand squeezed Mother’s hand tighter.
“And what?”
Seo-ah asked. Without meaning to.
“And he said he needs to do something for you. That he needs to find you. Now. Today. He can’t put it off anymore.”
Kang Ri-woo spoke slowly. As if each word carried weight.
“Do what?”
Seo-ah asked.
Kang Ri-woo didn’t answer. Instead, he stood from the bed. Carefully lowering Mother’s hand. Then he looked directly at Seo-ah. Eye to eye.
“He’s coming to take you. Tonight.”
Do-hyun suddenly said. In a voice no one was prepared for.
“What?”
Seo-ah asked.
“Kang Min-jun is coming to take you. Kang Ri-woo told me. Father said it at home. Right now. In the middle of the night. He’s taking you.”
Do-hyun’s voice was rising. Anger. Or despair. Or both.
“Why?”
Seo-ah asked.
Kang Ri-woo remained silent.
“Why, Kang Ri-woo?”
Seo-ah asked louder.
“Because of Mom’s condition. Father said so. He said when Mom wakes up, she shouldn’t see you here. It’s too dangerous for her. The shock could be fatal.”
Kang Ri-woo finally spoke. As if the words weren’t his own.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Do-hyun shouted. In the hospital room.
“Do-hyun.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“And when Mom wakes up, Father will explain everything. To you. To me. To Seo-ah.”
Kang Ri-woo continued.
“What does that even mean?”
Seo-ah asked. As if her voice truly didn’t belong to her anymore.
Kang Ri-woo walked toward Seo-ah. Slowly. One step at a time. As if crossing a minefield.
“Father knows your mother. Has known her for a long time. A very long time.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“What?”
“And he said he let you go back then. That he had no choice at the time. But now is different. Now he can take you.”
Kang Ri-woo continued.
“What are you even saying.”
Seo-ah murmured.
“And—”
Kang Ri-woo stopped. Before Seo-ah.
“And?”
“And Father wants to tell you himself. Downstairs. In the lobby. Now.”
Kang Ri-woo gestured. Toward the door. Or rather, below the room. Somewhere down there.
Seo-ah looked at Kang Ri-woo. Then at Do-hyun. Then at Mother in the bed.
Mother’s eyes were fluttering slightly.
Seo-ah moved. Toward the door. Quickly. Almost running.
“Seo-ah!”
Do-hyun shouted. But Seo-ah kept moving.
The elevator.
Floor one.
The lobby.
Fluorescent lights.
And.
Kang Min-jun.
He stood there. Someone Seo-ah had never seen. Yet she recognized him. Everything about Kang Ri-woo existed in this man. His eyes. His cheekbones. His lips. All the same. But more than that. Power. Control. Fear.
“Hello, Seo-ah.”
Kang Min-jun said. His voice was warm. A false warmth.
“You’re—”
Seo-ah began. But stopped.
“I’m your father. And now I’m going to tell you everything.”
Kang Min-jun said.
“The woman who gave birth to you. And why I let you go. And why I need to take you now.”
Kang Min-jun stepped closer.
“What your voice is. And how dangerous your voice is.”
Kang Min-jun studied her face. As if it were a book he was reading.
“You need to know this. To protect yourself. To protect your mother. And before everything ends.”
Kang Min-jun said.
The fluorescent light hummed above Seo-ah. Or Seo-ah wept beneath the fluorescent light.
Seo-ah realized something. That she’d reached the deepest point. And the only way out was up. Or beyond.
“Before you take me, there’s something I need to say.”
Seo-ah said. The moment her voice finally became her own.
“What?”
Kang Min-jun asked.
“That I’m not your daughter.”
Seo-ah said.
In that moment, the fluorescent light flickered. Or the world flickered.
Seo-ah knew. That she was still burning. And now, that fire was for herself.
[Volume 8 Finale]
# The Choice in the Hospital Room
## Part One: Fractures
The moment Kang Ri-woo opened the door, Seo-ah immediately read his expression. Something serious had happened. The shadow draped across his face, the tension around his lips, and above all, the tremor in his pupils told her everything.
“Seo-ah.” Kang Ri-woo stopped beside the bed. His voice was low, deliberate. As if he were handling a bomb, carefully placing each word.
Seo-ah set down her book. She’d already forgotten what scene she was reading. In that moment, the only thing existing in the world was Kang Ri-woo’s face.
Mother—Lee Jun-hee—also moved. Her entire body went rigid with tension. Seo-ah could feel it clearly. The sound of the sheet wrinkling beneath Mother’s fingers—no, she couldn’t actually hear it, but Seo-ah could hear it. Mom always did that. When scared. When worried. When hiding something.
“What… what is it?” Seo-ah asked. She heard how unstable her voice sounded. “Is something wrong?”
Kang Ri-woo opened the door again. Do-hyun entered from behind. His face was pale. As if someone had drained all the color from his complexion. He wouldn’t meet Seo-ah’s eyes.
‘Something really serious is happening.’
Seo-ah’s heart began to race. The air in the hospital room suddenly felt heavy. The white light from the fluorescent lamp felt colder, and the sound of the oxygen respirator seemed like someone’s breathing—fast, irregular, filled with fear.
Kang Ri-woo moved closer. He stopped before Seo-ah.
“And?” Seo-ah asked. His silence was too long. Kang Ri-woo looked at her for a while. As if deciding something. “What’s wrong? Is Mom’s condition getting worse?”
“No.” Kang Ri-woo shook his head. “Father wants to tell you himself. Downstairs. In the lobby. Right now.”
Kang Ri-woo gestured toward the door. Or more precisely, beyond the door, below the room. Somewhere down there. Where the person Seo-ah had never met waited.
‘Father.’
That word exploded in Seo-ah’s brain. Father. Someone she’d never properly seen in her entire life. Someone she knew only from photos and stories. And now, waiting in this hospital’s lobby.
Seo-ah looked at Kang Ri-woo. Then at Do-hyun. Finally at Mother in the bed.
Mother’s eyes were fluttering slightly. Like ripples across a glass of water placed before a mirror, the surface trembling with micro-vibrations. Mother tried to open her mouth, then closed it. Tried again, then closed it once more.
“Mom?” Seo-ah took a step toward her.
“Go.” Mother said. Her voice was barely a whisper. But it was a command. “You… go.”
Seo-ah’s body responded. Regardless of her will, instinctively. Seo-ah moved. Toward the door. Quickly. Almost running.
“Seo-ah!” Do-hyun shouted.
But Seo-ah kept moving. Into the corridor. The fluorescent lights in the hallway illuminated one by one. Or her vision narrowed into a tunnel, and only the elevator was visible.
The elevator.
She pressed the button. Her hand trembled.
Floor one.
The elevator doors opened. The lobby unfolded.
The lobby.
Fluorescent lights. Countless fluorescent lights.
And.
Kang Min-jun.
## Part Two: Confrontation
He stood there. In the center of the lobby, as if that space existed for him alone. Someone Seo-ah had never seen. Yet she knew. Everything about Kang Ri-woo lived in this man. His eyes—the same shape, the same color. The angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips—all identical. But there was more.
Power.
Control.
And fear.
Seo-ah froze. She couldn’t step out of the elevator. She just stood there. Unable to breathe.
Kang Min-jun moved. Slowly, deliberately. Like a hunter approaching prey. But his face wore a smile. A warm smile.
False warmth.
Seo-ah could tell.
“Hello, Seo-ah.” Kang Min-jun said. His voice was genuinely warm. Like meeting an old friend. “We finally meet.”
Seo-ah opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“You’re—” Seo-ah began. But stopped. She didn’t know what to call him. Father? Kang Min-jun? Something else?
“I’m your father.” Kang Min-jun took a step closer. “And now I’m going to tell you everything.”
His voice remained warm, but beneath it lay steel. Something unyielding. Something that made refusal impossible.
“The woman who gave birth to you.” Kang Min-jun continued. “Who your mother is. And why I let you go. Why I’ve been waiting all this time.”
Kang Min-jun took another step closer.
“And most importantly. What your voice is. And how dangerous your voice is.”
Seo-ah’s heart seemed to stop.
‘Voice?’
Kang Min-jun studied Seo-ah’s face. As if it were a book he was reading. His eyes swept across every part of her face. Her forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, jaw. As if matching each piece to his expectations, like solving a puzzle.
“You need to understand this.” Kang Min-jun said. “To protect yourself. To protect your mother. And before everything ends.”
Seo-ah looked around the lobby. There were other people. Visitors, patients, medical staff. Everyone was ignoring her and Kang Min-jun. As if they were behind a transparent wall. As if this was Seo-ah’s reality alone, and everything else was meaningless background.
The fluorescent light hummed. Or Seo-ah wept beneath the fluorescent lights.
No. Seo-ah wasn’t weeping. She couldn’t weep. Her body wouldn’t respond.
Either way, Seo-ah understood.
She had reached the deepest point.
And the only way out was up. Or beyond.
Seo-ah opened her mouth.
“Before you take me,” Seo-ah said, “there’s something I need to say.”
In that moment, Seo-ah’s voice changed. Something deep, strong, and real resonated within it. The moment her voice finally became her own. Without fear, without anxiety, without falsity—pure, authentic voice.
Kang Min-jun’s face changed. His smile froze.
“What?” Kang Min-jun asked. For the first time, his voice cracked.
“That I’m not your daughter.” Seo-ah said.
In that moment, the fluorescent light flickered.
Or the world flickered.
Seo-ah knew.
That she was still burning.
And now, that fire was for herself.
## Part Three: Aftermath
Kang Min-jun’s face hardened. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. As if someone had drained all warmth from his face and filled the space with stone.
“What did you just say?” Kang Min-jun asked again.
Seo-ah trembled. Her legs, her hands, her voice—everything shook. But her eyes remained steady. Seo-ah looked directly at Kang Min-jun.
“My mother was never your wife.” Seo-ah said. “And I’m not your daughter.”
The lobby’s air stilled. Even the elevator’s sound stopped. The fluorescent hum disappeared.
Kang Min-jun took a step forward.
“Who told you?” His voice was low. More dangerous than a whisper. “Who.”
“No one.” Seo-ah answered. “I… I felt it. All this time. That something didn’t fit. From the moment I saw you.”
Kang Min-jun stopped. His expression shifted. From anger to something else. Disappointment? Or perhaps awe?
“You are…” Kang Min-jun spoke slowly. “You really are…”
The hospital’s entrance doors opened. Footsteps sounded. Quick footsteps.
Do-hyun appeared. Kang Ri-woo was behind him.
“Seo-ah!” Do-hyun shouted.
Kang Min-jun turned to face them both. His expression shifted again. Back to that cold, calculated mask. As if he’d put on armor.
“Were you trying to take away my grandson?” Do-hyun approached Kang Min-jun.
“No.” Kang Min-jun replied. “I merely wanted to tell her the truth.”
“A false truth.” Do-hyun said.
Kang Ri-woo approached Seo-ah. Seo-ah grabbed his arm. Her hand was still trembling.
“Are you okay?” Kang Ri-woo asked.
Seo-ah nodded. And in that moment, tears fell.
“Let’s go.” Do-hyun said. “Upstairs.”
Seo-ah gripped Kang Ri-woo’s arm tighter. She moved toward the elevator. She didn’t look back.
“Seo-ah!” Kang Min-jun shouted.
Seo-ah didn’t stop.
And when the elevator doors closed, Seo-ah felt her heart still burning.
But now, it was a fire for herself.
## Part Four: Reverberations
The return to the hospital room was eternal.
In the elevator, Seo-ah thought she should say something. Explain something. But no words came. Kang Ri-woo and Do-hyun didn’t speak either. Only silence remained. Heavy, relieved silence.
In the corridor, Seo-ah looked at her hands. They weren’t trembling. She didn’t know when they’d stopped. But it didn’t matter.
When she opened the hospital room door, Mother looked at her. And wept.
“Seo-ah.” Mother reached out her hand.
Seo-ah rushed to the bed. She took Mother’s hand. It was warm, weak, and loving.
“I’m sorry.” Seo-ah said.
“Sorry for what?” Mother asked. “You did well. You really did.”
Seo-ah gripped Mother’s hand tighter.
Kang Ri-woo went to the window. Do-hyun stood by the door.
“Now…” Seo-ah slowly asked. “What… what happens now?”
“I don’t know.” Do-hyun answered honestly. “But you’re not alone.”
“Never alone.” Kang Ri-woo added.
Seo-ah nodded.
The city outside was deepening into evening. Building lights were turning on one by one. As if someone were solving a massive puzzle. As if someone were remaking the world.
Seo-ah watched that sight. And understood.
That she was still burning.
But now, that fire was for herself.
## Part Five: Night
Night deepened.
Mother fell asleep. The sedative the medical staff had administered, no doubt. Her face was peaceful. As if all pain had been washed away.
Seo-ah sat in the chair beside the bed. Still holding Mother’s hand. Feeling the slow pulse. Feeling the warmth.
Kang Ri-woo came out of the bathroom. Do-hyun went to take a call in the living area. His voice was low, but Seo-ah could tell he was talking to someone. Probably a lawyer? The police?
‘Is it over?’
Seo-ah asked herself. But she already knew the answer.
No.
This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.
Kang Min-jun wouldn’t stay silent. He had power, resources, and above all, pride. And Seo-ah had trampled his pride. In the lobby, beneath the fluorescent lights, in front of everyone.
Seo-ah now understood what that meant.
Danger.
Not to herself. But to those she loved.
Danger to Mother.
Danger to Kang Ri-woo.
Danger to Do-hyun.
Seo-ah gripped Mother’s hand tighter. Mother didn’t move. She just slept.