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# Chapter 218: What the Voice Left Behind
Dohyun’s fingers froze on the door handle. Seah watched his hand—it was trembling. Just like her own. Just like their mother’s. Just like Kangryu’s. Everything in this hospital room was shaking. As if the tremor were contagious. Or as if this was the very essence of family.
“Wait.”
Seah spoke. Her voice was small. She surprised herself. For these past few days, she hadn’t thought she could speak like this.
Dohyun turned around. Something lived in his face. Anger. Confusion. And a loneliness no seventeen-year-old should carry.
“What.”
Dohyun said it. Not a question. A statement.
“We need to find Kangryu.”
Seah said.
“Why? What’s he doing?”
Anger threaded through Dohyun’s voice. The kind of anger that made sense. The kind that was justified.
“I don’t know. But I don’t think he should be alone right now.”
Seah answered. And she knew it was true. Kangryu’s trembling fingers. The careful way he’d released their mother’s hand. Those were the movements of someone broken. Someone still fighting not to shatter completely.
Dohyun stared at Seah for a long time. As if seeing his older sister for the first time.
“What are you doing, noona?”
Dohyun asked.
“What?”
“Taking care of him.”
Seah didn’t answer.
“You’re taking care of Mom. You’re taking care of me. Now you want to take care of our brother too?”
Dohyun’s voice rose. For the first time. For the first time in these hours.
“What are you, noona? Are you our mom? Are you our dad? What do you do?”
“Dohyun—”
“No, seriously. I want to know. What are you doing right now? Mom woke up. Mom told us who our father is. She told us we have an older brother. And now you want to go find him?”
Dohyun moved closer to the bed. Looking at their mother.
“What about Mom?”
He asked her. But their mother still stared at the ceiling. As if the world existed only there.
“Why isn’t Mom doing anything?”
Dohyun’s voice was breaking now. This wasn’t anger anymore. This was despair.
Seah watched her younger brother. And she realized something. This was the first time Dohyun was falling apart in front of them. These past few days, he’d thought he had to be strong. The youngest sibling had to be the strongest. But now that mask was shattering.
“Dohyun. Sit down.”
Seah said.
“I don’t want to.”
He answered.
“Sit down.”
Seah said again. This time it wasn’t a command. It was a plea.
Dohyun moved. Toward the chair. Across from their mother’s bed. And sat down. As if all his energy was draining away.
“What am I supposed to do?”
He asked. His voice small as a child’s.
Seah couldn’t answer. It was a question she didn’t know herself. A question a seventeen-year-old asks his older sister in her thirties. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ It wasn’t a question. It was a cry.
Seah took Dohyun’s hand. His fingers were trembling.
“For now, just be here. Next to Mom.”
She said.
“And then?”
“Then… we’ll figure it out later.”
Seah answered. It was a lie. Or the truth. The distinction seemed meaningless now.
The hospital room door opened. A nurse came in. Blood pressure check. Routine. Everything continues. Their mother’s body. The monitors. Fluorescent lights. Time. And beneath it all, a family destroyed.
The nurse left. The door closed again. And silence returned.
Seah didn’t let go of Dohyun’s hand. His fingers trembled less and less. Or perhaps her hand was absorbing the tremor. Either way, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that two hands were touching.
“We need to find Kangryu.”
Seah said again. Not to Dohyun, but to herself.
“Where?”
Dohyun asked. His voice returning slightly to normal.
Seah thought. Where would Kangryu go? He’d know Seoul well. JYA Entertainment. Kang Minjun’s office. That place must have been hell. Or it was the only home left. The only thing left to a son who didn’t legally exist.
“Dad’s company.”
Seah said.
Dohyun looked at her. There was a question in his eyes. But he didn’t ask. Instead, he stood up. Slowly.
“I’m coming too.”
He said.
“No. You stay here.”
“No. I’m coming.”
Dohyun answered. It was a tone that left no room for debate.
Seah looked at her younger brother. Seventeen years old. Still soft and vulnerable, but in this moment wearing an expression that wouldn’t break.
“Tell Mom we’re going.”
Seah said.
Dohyun approached their mother. To the side of her bed. Their mother still stared at the ceiling. But sensing him approach, her hand moved. On the bed. As if searching for his hand.
“Mom. I’m going out for a bit.”
Dohyun said.
“Where?”
Their mother’s voice came. Weak, but present.
“To find my brother.”
Dohyun answered.
Their mother’s hand grasped his. And Seah watched her try to do something. Move her lips. Speak. But no sound came. As if her voice had vanished. Or rusted from disuse.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
Dohyun said. It was a lie. Nothing was okay. But he thought he had to say it. Perhaps because it was the only choice.
Seah and Dohyun left the hospital room. The hallway was bright with fluorescent lights. Past eleven at night, but it was bright. Hospitals had no night. Everything maintained the same brightness. As if time had stopped. Or as if time didn’t matter.
Walking toward the elevator, Seah took out her phone. She wanted to call Kangryu. But she stopped. What would she say? What should she say?
‘Hi, we’re looking for you. We want you.’
That was a lie. At least not the whole truth.
‘Hi, you’re our brother. We didn’t know you. But we do now. So what?’
That wasn’t it either.
Seah put her phone back in her pocket. And looked at Dohyun.
“Should we take a taxi?”
She asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go fast.”
Dohyun answered.
When they came out of the hospital, the wind blew. Night wind. The wind near the Han River was always cold. Seah wrapped her arms around herself. Her clothes were thin. They always were. Seah wore thin clothes to feel the cold. To confirm she was alive.
A taxi stopped. Seah and Dohyun got in.
“Near Gangnam Station Exit 9. Toward Sinnonhyeon Station.”
Seah told the driver.
The driver didn’t answer. He just drove. As if every passenger had the same destination. As if every night was the same.
Seoul flowed past the window. Night Seoul. Neon signs. Convenience store lights. Street lamps. And beneath it all, people. Living their lives. Holding their secrets. People who’d lost their voices.
Seah started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five. Again. Left hand. One, two, three, four, five. It was no longer a conscious action. It was an incantation. A spell to prove her own existence.
“Noona.”
Dohyun said.
“What?”
“Is Kangryu a bad person?”
Seah didn’t answer. It was a question that couldn’t be answered.
“I don’t know. He just seems like a person.”
Seah finally answered.
“A good person?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“A bad person?”
“That either.”
Dohyun looked out the window. The Seoul night. It was still beautiful. Or seemed beautiful. Seah watched her younger brother’s profile. And realized something. He was growing up. These past few days, he’d been growing up. And that was sad.
JYA Entertainment was still lit. Past eleven at night. Seah felt something odd when she saw it. Why were the lights still on so late? Why was someone still working?
Seah and Dohyun entered the building. The lobby was spacious. JYA Entertainment’s lobby. Seah remembered the first time she came here. With Kangryu. Back then she didn’t know him. Or he was a different Kangryu. Different from now.
They took the elevator. Floor 20. Kang Minjun’s floor. Seah knew where to go. The structure of this building. As if she’d lived here.
The doors opened. Floor 20. The hallway was long. The fluorescent lights were bright. And at one end, in front of Kang Minjun’s office—
Kangryu stood.
He was staring at the office door. His fingers trembling. As if he wanted to open it but couldn’t.
Seah approached slowly.
“Kangryu.”
She said.
Kangryu turned. His eyes met Seah’s. And Dohyun’s.
“You…”
He said.
“We came to find you.”
Seah answered.
Kangryu looked at Seah. Then at Dohyun. In his eyes was something. Recognition. Weight. And a deep, deep loneliness.
“I was going to meet Dad.”
Kangryu said. His fingers trembling.
“Not yet.”
Seah said.
“Why?”
“Because you can’t. Not yet.”
Seah said again. It wasn’t a rational answer. It was instinct. Intuition. The way of knowing that something isn’t ready.
Kangryu stared at Seah for a long time. And slowly, he lowered his hand. Trying to transform the trembling hand into a steady one.
“Then what?”
He asked.
Seah didn’t answer. Instead, she took his hand. The trembling hand. And Dohyun took his other hand.
They stood like that. In front of Kang Minjun’s office. Three people. One family. Or three people becoming one.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Seah said.
“Where?”
Kangryu asked.
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Somewhere that’s not here.”
Dohyun answered.
They walked. Down the hallway. To the elevator. And down. To the lobby. To the street.
Gangnam at night. Neon signs and cars and people. And above it all, the sky. Stars forming constellations. Seah looked up. And thought of their mother. Still lying in that hospital bed. Still staring at the ceiling.
“Is this where Mom performed?”
Dohyun asked.
“Yeah. Underground at Gangnam Station. At a club.”
Seah answered.
Kangryu said nothing. He just walked. His fingers still trembling, but less.
They went to Gangnam Station. Underground. It was night there. Or it always seemed like night. The underground had no time.
Seah felt as if she heard music from somewhere. Their mother’s voice. The voice Kang Minjun had stolen. It was still here. In the walls. Beneath the floor. In the air of this street.
“Here.”
Seah said.
Dohyun and Kangryu looked at Seah. They stood there. Underground at Gangnam Station. Night. In the place their mother’s voice had left behind.
“What happened?”
Dohyun asked.
Seah didn’t answer. Instead, she started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five. It was an incantation. A spell to prove her own existence. And now it held another meaning too. A spell to prove her family existed. A spell to prove Kangryu was standing there. A spell to prove Dohyun was here.
“Mom sang here.”
Seah finally said.
“Here?”
Dohyun asked.
“Yeah. Here. And someone heard it. Someone wanted Mom. Wanted her voice.”
Seah said.
“That someone is our dad?”
Dohyun asked.
Seah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at Kangryu. At his face. The face that carried part of their father’s structure. But with different eyes. Eyes that held their mother’s gaze.
“That someone made me.”
Kangryu said. For the first time. His voice trembling.
“And abandoned me.”
“You weren’t abandoned.”
Seah said.
“Then what?”
Kangryu asked.
Seah thought about it. It wasn’t abandonment. It was a choice. Their mother’s choice. She chose not to have Kangryu, but he was born anyway. It was a contradiction. Or it was the truth.
“It’s complicated.”
Seah finally said.
“Complicated?”
Kangryu repeated.
“Yeah. Complicated. Our family is all like that. Complicated.”
Seah answered. And it was the truest thing she’d said.
They stood like that. Underground at Gangnam Station. The night was deepening. And their mother’s voice was still here somewhere. In the walls. Beneath the floor. In the memory of this street.
Seah stopped counting her fingers. She took Dohyun’s hand. She took Kangryu’s hand.
“Let’s go home.”
Seah said.
“Where?”
Dohyun asked.
“The hospital. Where Mom is.”
Seah answered.
They walked. Out from underground at Gangnam Station. They took a taxi. And headed to the hospital.
Seoul flowed past the window. Still a bright night. Still an alive night. And in that night, Seah understood something.
What their mother had sung. It hadn’t ended. It was still resonating. Somewhere in this city. In someone’s ear. In someone’s heart.
And now, in Seah’s heart too.
END OF CHAPTER 218