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# Chapter 44: The One Who Cannot Leave
Min-jun left the café. The time was 4:37 PM. We remained at the table, unwilling to move from that spot. As if the moment he stood, everything would scatter like dust.
The street was still bright under May’s sunlight. A narrow alley near Gangnam Station. The sound of construction equipment, taxi horns, someone’s laughter. Min-jun walked through it all. But he didn’t know where he was going. His feet moved automatically, and his brain kept replaying the words we’d thrown at him.
Run. Ignore the penalty fee. Never come back.
Those words repeated like an incantation. But the spell wasn’t working. Min-jun kept walking. Without direction, his feet carried him toward the path he knew. Destar Entertainment. The company. His only foothold in this world.
The lobby of Destar. When Min-jun entered, it was 6:15 PM. The receptionist saw him but showed no particular reaction. Just a habitual greeting. Min-jun headed for the elevator. Basement Level 1. The practice room area.
Basement Level 1 was quiet. The lights were dim. A place where the very essence of being underground felt pronounced. Min-jun’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. One step, then another. Each sound felt like his own heartbeat.
Before opening the door to his “home,” his hand hesitated. His fingers trembled above the doorknob. Everything he had was in this room. A sleeping bag, his belongings, scripts from the Netflix audition, a mirror. And his own face reflected in it.
He opened the door.
The room was unchanged. But now it looked different. Since our words, this space felt like a prison. A well-decorated one, but a prison nonetheless.
Min-jun sat on his sleeping bag. Then he picked up his phone. He turned on the screen. Nineteen KakaoTalk messages. All from Jun-ho.
“Min-jun, where are you right now?”
“What did we say?”
“Reply to me. Seriously.”
“What are you doing?”
“Do you know what we told you?”
“Please. Just reply.”
The last message was from twenty minutes ago.
Min-jun didn’t reply to Jun-ho. Instead, he opened his contacts. And found Lee Su-jin’s number. Her name was saved as “Lee Su-jin (Director).” With an honorific. It showed Min-jun’s mindset.
He didn’t call. Instead, he opened KakaoTalk.
“Director, do you have time right now?”
The reply came in five seconds.
“Min-jun. What’s up?”
Min-jun read that message. And read it again. He felt Su-jin watching him through those words. As if he were in a transparent glass box, and she was observing him through it.
“I’d like to talk about the current situation. Do you have time?”
“Come to my office now.”
Lee Su-jin’s office was on the 27th floor. When Min-jun entered, it was 6:47 PM.
The office was spacious and bright. Through the windows, Seoul’s night view stretched out. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but the city lights were beginning to flicker on one by one. Like stars falling from the sky.
Su-jin sat behind her desk. Her face looked soft in the light. But that softness was a mask. Min-jun understood that now.
“Sit.”
Su-jin said it. Min-jun sat. The chair in front of the desk. The most uncomfortable seat in this space.
“What is it?”
Su-jin asked again. Her pen rotated between her fingers. A gesture suggesting she had complete control.
Min-jun opened his mouth, then closed it. Several times. As if his mouth wanted to say something different from what his brain intended.
“About the Netflix role.”
Min-jun said.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Did I get it?”
Silence. That was Su-jin’s answer. She continued rotating her pen. One rotation, then another. The movement seemed to measure time itself.
“The decision hasn’t been made yet.”
Su-jin said.
“Ah.”
Min-jun replied. That was all. He felt something settle inside his chest. As if his heart was leaving his body.
“Why are you suddenly asking this?”
Su-jin questioned. The pen stopped. Her eyes fixed on Min-jun.
“Just… curious.”
Min-jun answered.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Su-jin’s voice sharpened. A tone higher. Like metal scraping.
“What lie?”
“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden? What did you hear?”
Min-jun closed his mouth. That was his answer.
Su-jin stood up. And walked to the window. Her silhouette stood against Seoul’s nightscape. A pose suggesting she ruled the city.
“You’re the most promising actor in our company.”
Su-jin said. Her voice softened again. As if the sharpness from moments before had never existed. That made it more frightening.
“Thank you.”
Min-jun said.
“I want to nurture you. Really. You’re different from the other actors. You still have something. Do you know what it is?”
Min-jun didn’t answer.
“Innocence. Something rarely found in this industry. And I want to protect it.”
Min-jun’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the chair. Su-jin didn’t see it. She still gazed out the window.
“But you heard something from someone. And that something shook you. Who said those things? Woo-ri?”
Min-jun didn’t move.
“Right. Woo-ri. Woo-ri is an actor who doesn’t understand me well. Someone living their own life poorly, yet offering advice to others. That kind of person.”
Su-jin turned around. And looked at Min-jun.
“Do you trust Woo-ri?”
“Yes, I—”
“No. Don’t answer. I already know. You want to trust Woo-ri. Because Woo-ri was the first to see you. The first to take interest in you. But…”
Su-jin sat on the desk. Nearly at the same height as Min-jun. Her face drew closer. Her perfume entered Min-jun’s nostrils. Like a scent that captured him.
“Woo-ri wants to use you. Because Woo-ri owes me a debt. A deep one. So Woo-ri doesn’t want to keep you by my side—Woo-ri wants to betray me through you.”
“What?”
Min-jun asked.
“Woo-ri left me five years ago. And now Woo-ri’s back. You think that’s coincidence? No. Woo-ri came to use you. To find a way to hurt me again through you. So you must never trust Woo-ri.”
Min-jun’s breathing quickened. His chest began to rise and fall.
“But I believe in you. You’ll pass the Netflix drama audition. And you’ll become famous. And you’ll stay by my side. Why? Because that’s how this industry works. Strong people protect the weak, and the weak follow gratefully. That’s the law of this industry.”
Su-jin stood. And walked to the window again.
“You can go. And never believe what Woo-ri said. Understood?”
Min-jun stood. And left the office.
Inside the elevator. Min-jun was alone. Mirrors surrounded him on all sides. His face was reflected multiple times. Each reflection wore a different expression. One looked afraid, one angry, one almost dead.
The elevator stopped on the first floor. The doors opened. Jun-ho was standing there.
“Where are you coming from?”
Jun-ho asked. His face twisted with worry.
“I had something to do.”
Min-jun replied.
“Do you know what we told you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Min-jun didn’t answer. Instead, he passed Jun-ho and walked into the lobby. Jun-ho followed.
“Min-jun, what are you doing?”
“Just going home.”
“Where’s home? Where are you living?”
Min-jun stopped. That question laid bare everything about him. He had no home. He was living in Destar’s basement practice room. That was his reality.
“Min-jun, you can’t leave.”
Jun-ho said.
“Why?”
“Because… because I don’t want to lose you.”
Jun-ho’s voice was trembling. Min-jun heard it. And it shook every resolve he’d made.
“Hyung…”
Min-jun said.
“You’re the only thing I can do right. I couldn’t do anything else for anyone. I haven’t looked after the other trainees. But you—I’ve watched you. You’re someone I have to protect. So please… please don’t leave.”
Min-jun didn’t move. His heart was racing.
“I’ll protect you. Because I’m here. So please.”
Min-jun looked at Jun-ho. His eyes held the same desperation as Min-jun’s own. Fear and urgency mixed together.
“I have to leave right now.”
Min-jun said.
“Why? Why do you have to leave?”
“Because… because I don’t even know. But it feels like I have to.”
As he said those words, tears fell from Min-jun’s eyes. Small tears. As if they fell without his knowledge. They showed how desperate—and how painful—his resolve was.
Jun-ho grabbed Min-jun’s shoulder.
“Don’t go. Please.”
The warmth of that hand transferred to Min-jun. It was a hand trying to hold him here. And Min-jun genuinely wanted that hand. Genuinely wanted it to keep him.
But he had to leave.
“I’m sorry.”
Min-jun said. And he pulled away from Jun-ho’s hand. His own hand was trembling. As if his body knew he was betraying himself.
The lobby door opened. Min-jun stepped outside. Behind him, Jun-ho’s voice called out.
“Min-jun!”
But Min-jun didn’t look back. If he did, everything would end. His resolve would crumble.
The night air of the street struck Min-jun’s face. Cold, heavy, suffocating. As if the entire city was trying to push him away.
Min-jun walked. Without knowing where. Letting go of someone’s hand. Leaving his only foothold behind.
In his pocket, his Destar employee ID card remained. Should he throw it away? Or keep it?
Min-jun kept walking. And found no answer to that question.
The night was growing deeper.
# The Weight of Departure
## Part 1: The Weight of Reality
Destar’s basement practice room. That place was Min-jun’s everything.
A basement painted in dark gray concrete. Fluorescent lights cast dim illumination from the ceiling, beneath which scattered chairs and worn tables came into view. The air was humid and suffocating. As if it continuously reminded his lungs that he was buried dozens of meters below the surface.
Min-jun sat on the floor. His back leaned against the cold wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes fixed on a single point on the ceiling, but in reality, he saw nothing. In his mind, only one thought repeated endlessly.
This place is my home. This is my only home.
Home. How different was that word for other people? A place where father existed. Where mother existed. Warm meals and someone waiting for you. Min-jun had never had such a home. Or rather, there was a time when he should have had such a home, but it shattered.
His parents divorced three years ago. His mother said she couldn’t stay with his father. His father said he couldn’t take care of him. And Min-jun was left in between, belonging nowhere. He drifted between relatives’ houses, rejected by both sides, until he ended up on the streets.
That’s when he met Jun-ho.
Jun-ho was the representative of Destar. It wasn’t a music production company. It wasn’t a dance studio. It was simply… a place that took in people with nowhere to go. When Jun-ho saw Min-jun, he didn’t ask other questions. “Where are you from?” “What about your parents?” He didn’t ask those things. Instead, he only asked, “Have you eaten?”
From that day on, Min-jun began living here. He laid a mattress in one corner of the basement and called it his bed. During the day, he learned to dance. At night, he slept with the other kids. It wasn’t enough, but at least it gave him the feeling of belonging somewhere.
The smell of this basement. The scent of concrete. The sweat and passion of the children. Jun-ho’s voice. All of it was Min-jun’s reality.
But today, that reality was trembling.
## Part 2: The Moment of Decision
“Min-jun, you can’t leave.”
Jun-ho’s voice echoed through the basement. It wasn’t its usual calm tone. Something desperate was woven into it. Almost pleading.
Min-jun slowly looked at Jun-ho. Jun-ho stood before him, arms at his sides, his eyes appealing to something. Jun-ho was usually a confident person. When guiding other trainees, when handling Destar’s affairs, he was always composed and decisive. But now he was different. He looked like someone desperately trying to prevent something from slipping away.
“Why?” Min-jun asked.
Jun-ho fell silent for a few seconds. His mouth opened, then closed. As if he was about to say something, only to realize it was too enormous.
“Because…” Jun-ho said slowly. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”
His voice trembled. Quietly, but distinctly. Min-jun heard that tremor. And it burrowed into his heart. Like someone squeezing his chest.
That Jun-ho needed him. That Jun-ho didn’t want him to leave. That realization began shaking every ounce of Min-jun’s resolve.
“Hyung…” Min-jun said. His voice was trembling too.
Jun-ho stepped closer. His eyes were full of sincerity. As if he was about to speak the last words he could.
“You’re the only thing I can do right. I couldn’t do anything else. I created this space for the kids, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t look after the other trainees. I don’t know where they went, whether they’re doing well. But you’re different. You’re here. You’re someone I have to protect. So…”
Jun-ho’s voice grew thinner.
“So please… please don’t leave.”
Min-jun’s heart began racing rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. Like small hammers striking his chest. His hands trembled, his throat tightened.
Jun-ho’s words were a shackle for him. No—Min-jun knew it was a shackle, yet he desired it. He wanted someone to hold him back. He wanted someone to say he was needed. He wanted someone to beg him not to go.
“I’ll protect you. Because I’m here. So please.” Jun-ho continued.
Min-jun looked up at Jun-ho. He met his eyes. The same emotion dwelled there. Fear. Desperation. Terror at losing someone.
Hyung is just like me.
That realization shook Min-jun even more. Jun-ho was his hyung, his protector, but also a person afraid of losing something, just like Min-jun. He wasn’t a perfect adult—just someone desperately trying to hold on to him.
“I have to leave right now.” Min-jun said.
But even as he said it, his voice lacked conviction. It felt like someone else was speaking through him. Not his will, but some greater force compelling him to leave.
“Why? Why do you have to leave?” Jun-ho asked. His voice carried the pain of incomprehension.
Min-jun was silent for a moment. Why did he have to leave? He couldn’t articulate it precisely. But something deep inside was pushing him out. Like a premonition that if he stayed, something terrible would happen.
“Because… because I don’t even know. But it feels like I have to.” Min-jun said.
As those words left his mouth, tears fell from Min-jun’s eyes. Small tears. As if they fell without his knowledge. The first tear told him his face was burning. And they showed how desperate his resolve was—and how agonizing.
## Part 3: The Last Touch
Jun-ho grabbed Min-jun’s shoulder.
His hand was warm. It wasn’t mere physical contact. It was a connection. A lifeline. A hand desperately trying to keep him here one last time.
“Don’t go. Please.”
Jun-ho’s voice was almost a whisper now. As if he was pouring all his strength into that hand.
The warmth of that hand spread through Min-jun’s shoulder to his entire body. Warmth. Protection. Evidence that someone was holding him. Min-jun wanted that sensation to be branded onto his body. He wanted to remember it forever. What such warmth felt like.
And Min-jun genuinely wanted that hand. Genuinely wanted it to hold him here. Wanted it to keep him from drifting away from this place.
If I just held onto this hand, I could stay. Because hyung is here. Because hyung wants me here. I could stay.
But his legs were already moving.
“I’m sorry.”
Min-jun said. And he pulled away from Jun-ho’s hand. His own hand trembled. As if his body knew he was betraying himself. His arm muscles resisted. His nerves commanded: Stop. Don’t. Stay here.
But Min-jun moved forward.
Jun-ho’s hand fell from his shoulder. In that moment, Min-jun felt like he was falling somewhere. The warmth vanished. Cold air filled its place.
## Part 4: The Departure
There was the lobby door. The passage upward from the basement. The way out of Destar.
Min-jun opened that door. It was heavier than expected. No—it wasn’t the door that was heavy. It was his own legs. His heart. They held him back.
Behind him, Jun-ho’s voice cried out.
“Min-jun!”
It was a cry of despair. Like the voice of someone trying to climb out of a deep abyss. It contained everything. Anger, sorrow, and above all, a plea for help.
But Min-jun didn’t look back.
If I look back, it’ll all end. My resolve will crumble. That hand will grab me again. And I’ll… I’ll stay here forever. For hyung. But that’s not for me. That’s not what I’m supposed to do.
Min-jun continued forward. His feet stepped onto the lobby stairs. One step, two steps, three steps. With each step, the basement grew more distant. Jun-ho’s voice grew fainter.
## Part 5: The Night of the Streets
The night air of the street struck Min-jun’s face.
It was completely different from the humid, suffocating air of the basement. This air was cold, heavy, suffocating in a different way. It felt like the entire city was pushing him away.
The street lamps cast dim light. Beneath them, Min-jun’s shadow stretched long. Even his shadow follows him. At least it doesn’t abandon him.
People passed by. Other people walking the night streets. They were all going somewhere. Home, work, to meet someone. But Min-jun? Where was he going?
Min-jun walked. Without knowing where. Letting go of someone’s hand. Leaving his only foothold.
In his pocket was still Destar’s employee ID card. It was his only form of identification. Without it, Min-jun was nobody. Just a ghost on the street.
Should I throw it away?
Min-jun put his hand in his pocket. He touched the ID card inside. The cold plastic. On it was his photograph. Himself from a year ago. He looked brighter then. Or was that just his imagination?
Should I throw it away? Or keep it?
He didn’t know how important that question was. Or how meaningless it might be.
Min-jun kept walking. And found no answer to that question.
The night deepened. The city’s lights flickered out one by one. The streets grew darker and darker. And in that darkness, Min-jun continued walking.
Behind him lay the basement. Jun-ho would be there. Standing before the door, waiting for him to return.
But Min-jun couldn’t go back.
Because… because he didn’t know why.
The night continued to deepen.
—
Min-jun’s footsteps grew faster. Afraid his resolve would waver. Afraid his heart would return to that place. Wandering the night streets like this, he asked himself: Who am I? Where must I go?
And there was no one who could answer those questions.