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# Chapter 207: Silence Beyond the Window
Kang Riou stood before the window on the thirty-second floor. Seoul spread out beneath his feet. The lights of Cheongdam-dong and Sinnonhyeon Station glimmered above Gangnam Station, and farther still, the Han River flowed like a black ribbon through the darkness. Four in the morning. The city was still awake. A city that never sleeps. A city where night never ends.
His fingers touched the glass. It was cold. As if the entire city were trying to freeze his hand solid.
How long had it been since leaving his father’s office on the thirty-fourth floor? The passage of time had changed. Kang Riou no longer counted seconds or minutes. Now he counted breaths. One breath. Another breath. And another.
The folder was still in his hands. A black file folder. Inside it were two faces. Na Seia. Na Riou. Two children born of the same mother’s bloodline. And neither Kang Minjun’s daughter nor his son, but Kang Minjun’s assets.
Kang Riou heard his father’s words again, as if they’d been recorded in his brain.
“There are various ways to make money. Real estate. Stocks. And… people.”
People. That word pierced through him. The way his father listed people as one method of earning money. As if they were commodities equivalent to stocks. As if people could be bought, sold, used, and discarded.
And Seia. Seia, whom he thought of every night. Seia, whose hand he wanted to hold. Seia, whom he wanted to protect.
That Seia was connected to this city and to his father through her mother.
Kang Riou closed his eyes. The city lights danced behind his eyelids. Was one of those lights from Seia’s room? Or from the room where Do-hyun was sleeping? Or was it just someone’s bedroom light?
He took out his phone. 4:02 a.m. The last contact from Seia had been seven hours ago. Not even a message—just a missed call record. Proof that she hadn’t answered when he called.
His fingers trembled. Like his father’s. Like Seia’s. Now, like his own.
The hospital room was still filled with silence.
Seia had stepped into the corridor to call for a doctor, then returned. She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t sure if calling the doctor was right, if waking her mother was right, if she should contact Kang Riou.
The most important thing was that she didn’t know what state her mother was in.
Her mother’s eyes were closed again. But not completely. Beneath her eyelashes, her eyes continued to move in short, rapid movements. REM sleep. Rapid eye movement. A state where consciousness is awake but the body rests. Or a state of nightmare.
Do-hyun still held their mother’s hand. He’d been holding it like that for an hour. Without moving. Without speaking. Only feeling her pulse through his fingertips.
“Did Mom wake up?”
Do-hyun asked. His voice was still trembling.
“I don’t know.”
Seia answered. It was an honest answer. The only possible answer.
“It seems like she did, but her consciousness hasn’t fully returned yet. We need a doctor.”
Seia tried to stand. But Do-hyun grabbed her arm.
“Sister.”
“What.”
“What did Kang Riou say? At Dad’s office. What did he say?”
Seia looked into Do-hyun’s eyes. The eyes of a seventeen-year-old boy. But there was nothing seventeen-year-old left in them. Those eyes held an adult’s fear. A desperate need to know something.
“I haven’t heard yet.”
Seia lied. A very small lie. Not even a complete lie, really. Because Kang Riou hadn’t come back and told her directly.
“Kang Riou was carrying something. A black folder.”
Seia didn’t answer.
Do-hyun didn’t ask again. Instead, he gripped their mother’s hand more tightly. As if that were the only thing holding him up.
Time passed. How much didn’t matter. The fluorescent light in the hospital room still shone coldly, the heart monitor still beeped rhythmically, and their mother still lay with her eyes closed.
And Kang Riou didn’t come back.
Kang Riou hadn’t left the window on the thirty-second floor.
He stood alone. Holding the folder. With Seoul’s lights spread before him.
His phone rang. A vibration. It was on silent. The screen lit up.
Mom
He didn’t answer. The screen went dark. Then, moments later, it rang again.
Mom
He didn’t answer this time either.
A third call. A fourth. A fifth.
He shoved his phone into his pants pocket. The calls came with it. His mother’s calls too.
Kang Riou opened the folder. Again. He’d already opened it, but he opened it again. As if hoping the contents might have changed.
Na Seia. A black and white photograph. A young face. A face without expression.
Below it, bank records. Deposits. Withdrawals. Deposits. Withdrawals.
And other documents. Kang Riou tried to read them. Really tried. To read each line. But his eyes couldn’t process the letters. His eyes were open, but his brain couldn’t process this information. As if it were a foreign language. No—something stranger than that.
“What are you doing?”
His father’s voice came from behind.
Kang Riou didn’t turn around.
“Thinking.”
Kang Riou answered.
“About what.”
“If I let go of Seia, what will I have left? That’s what.”
There was silence. A long silence. Time for Kang Minjun to consider his response.
“You never had anything to begin with. So letting go should be easy.”
His father said.
Kang Riou laughed. A small laugh. Not from his throat, but from deep in his chest. Almost a sob.
“What about Seia?”
Kang Riou asked.
“That’s not your problem anymore. Not my problem either. It’s just… the result of business. When an investment fails, you accept the loss. That’s how business works.”
There was no emotion in Kang Minjun’s voice. As if he were talking about the weather. As if he were talking about someone else’s life, not his own son’s.
“And Na Riou?”
Kang Riou asked.
Silence.
“Na Riou is still young. Still useful. So I’ll keep her. Just in case.”
His father said.
Kang Riou lowered the folder. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold it.
“I have a question for you.”
His father continued.
“What.”
“Do you really love that woman? Or are you doing it to justify what I do? To be a good son? Or is it just… loneliness?”
Before that question, Kang Riou couldn’t answer.
He really couldn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know himself.
Did he love Seia? Yes. He knew that. Every cell from his fingertips to his chest told him so.
But he didn’t know what it was. Whether it was pure emotion, or guilt, or rebellion against his father, or a desire to fill his own loneliness.
His father was seeing right through him. Every crack in his soul.
“You’re going to leave me now. You know that, right?”
His father said.
“What.”
“You’ll quit the company. You’ll go find Seia. And you’ll feel like a hero for a while. But it won’t last. Because you can’t leave me. You can’t leave my money. You can’t leave my name.”
Kang Minjun’s voice was still cold and emotionless. But Kang Riou heard something in it. He wasn’t sure what. Compassion? Or superiority? Or just a statement of fact?
“And someday, when you’re tired enough, you’ll come back. And then I’ll accept you. Because we’re the same person. The same species. And in this city, people like us always return to our own kind.”
Kang Riou closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hear his father’s words. But he heard them. As if they were being carved into his bones. Recorded in his DNA.
“You can go. You can save that woman. But remember this: what I said is never a lie. It’s just the future. A future that hasn’t happened yet. But it will happen. Because humans cannot go against their nature.”
Kang Riou opened his eyes. And looked at his father. For the first time in front of the thirty-second-floor window. Kang Minjun’s face.
His own face was there. The same eyes. The same cheekbones. The same jawline. And the same, deep despair.
“Let Seia go. Father.”
Kang Riou said.
“What are you talking about. I can’t let anything go. Neither can you. That’s why we’re like this.”
His father answered.
Kang Riou raised the folder. And moved toward the window.
“What are you doing.”
His father asked.
“I’m going to destroy these documents.”
“That’s just a copy. The original is in a safe place. And no matter what you do, I can just make more. Find another child. Buy another voice.”
His father said.
Kang Riou pressed the edge of the folder against the window frame. Holding his trembling arm with his other hand.
“What do you want to become?”
His father asked.
“I don’t know.”
Kang Riou answered.
“Exactly. That’s why you can’t become anything.”
His father said.
Kang Riou let go of the folder. His fingers fell away. The folder remained in his hands. The window didn’t open. On the thirty-second floor, windows were designed never to open. For safety. Or to contain despair.
Kang Riou turned around. Toward his father. And spoke.
“I’m not the one leaving you. You already left me. Long ago. Before I was even born. So I have nothing to gain from you. Nothing to lose.”
Kang Minjun laughed. A deep, serious laugh. Almost sad.
“What are you saying. You have my name. You have my face. You have my fingers. And those things will never disappear. Even if you leave, you’ll always be mine. Whether that’s a curse or a blessing, I don’t know.”
Kang Riou left the office. Folder in hand. Hearing his father’s words as he went.
In front of the elevator, he looked at the folder again. Na Seia’s photograph. Black and white. Expressionless.
And he decided.
Instead of returning to the hospital room, Kang Riou went to the hospital’s underground parking garage.
His car. A black Mercedes. Sitting inside it, he turned on his phone for the first time.
Ten missed calls. All from Mom.
He called his mother back. For the first time since the conversation with his father.
“Riou. Where are you now. You said you’d come to the hospital. She woke up. She woke up!”
His mother’s voice rang with joy and despair.
“Mom. Listen to me. What did Seia’s mother say?”
Kang Riou asked.
“What? What are you talking about.”
“After Seia’s mother woke up. What exactly did she say.”
Kang Riou repeated.
Over the phone, he heard his mother thinking.
“Well… she’s having trouble speaking still… but she kept calling Seia’s name. And…”
“And?”
“And… it seemed like she was looking for something. Her hands kept moving. Like she was trying to push Do-hyun away.”
Kang Riou swallowed.
“Mom. What did you tell Seia? What did Seia say back.”
“Seia… hasn’t answered anything yet. Like she knows something but can’t say it.”
Kang Riou hung up the phone.
And then he called Seia. First call. Second call. Third call.
All of them rang.
And no one answered.
Kang Riou started the car. The engine turned over. And he drove out of the hospital.
4:47 a.m. Still dawn. Still dawn.
And Seoul’s lights still flickered on.