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# Chapter 63: What We Leave Behind
The balcony was very high.
It was the first image that came to Minjun’s mind. When we said “on the balcony,” what materialized in his brain was height. Not the exact floor number, but an image of somewhere very high. As if that altitude mattered. As if he understood that the higher, the more certain.
Minjun moved his hand. Across the table. Slowly. Toward our fingers. But he didn’t touch. As if he felt he shouldn’t touch. Or perhaps feared that touching would make everything too real.
Junho still had his hand resting on Minjun’s arm. That hand didn’t move. As though if he let go, Minjun would scatter to pieces. His face was completely rigid. As if someone had poured plaster over it and let it harden.
“What was the name?”
Minjun asked. Still in that distant voice. As if he were hearing words emerge from someone else’s mouth.
Our fingers began tapping again. Tap, tap, tap. But this time there was rhythm. Steady rhythm. As if trying to externalize a heartbeat.
“Junho.”
We said.
The café suddenly fell silent. Or perhaps it didn’t. The background music probably still played, and other customers probably continued their conversations. But in Minjun’s world, everything stopped. Because of that name. The same name as Junho. Exactly the same as the person sitting beside him.
“Ah, my name is…”
Junho began to speak. But we raised our hand. A signal to stop. His voice wasn’t what Minjun needed right now.
“It was Junho. Twenty-eight years old. An actor.”
We continued. As if reading an obituary.
Minjun’s eyes turned toward Junho. Very slowly. As if turning his neck caused pain. Their eyes met. It was recognition. And simultaneously, denial. As if they were confirming they were different beings who happened to share the same name.
“That Junho was my friend. And you’re this Junho.”
We spoke. As if mediating between two worlds.
“I…”
Junho began. But the words stopped mid-sentence. As if he didn’t know what to say. Faced with the fact that his name had become the name of the dead.
“What happened to that Junho because of Lee Sujin?”
Minjun asked. His voice was becoming clearer. As if some emotion was crystallizing inside him.
We didn’t answer. Instead, we breathed. Deeply. As if we had just surfaced from underwater.
“Sexual harassment. And blackmail. And coercion.”
We finally said. With spaces between each word. As if each word were a separate weapon.
Minjun accepted those words. Into his body. Like drinking poison. And in that moment, something changed inside him. His eyes refocused. Not on distant things this time, but on the present.
“And how many people know this fact?”
Minjun asked.
“Officially? Sujin and that Junho’s parents. And a lawyer.”
We answered.
“Unofficially?”
Minjun asked again.
“Me. And you, now that you know.”
We said.
Minjun needed a few seconds to process that information. And in those few seconds, Junho gripped his hand tighter. As if knowing Minjun would try to escape.
“What did that friend’s parents say?”
Minjun asked.
Our fingers stopped. The tapping ceased.
“They thought money would make it okay. That’s how we were deceived. That money was medicine. That money could turn back time. That money could heal everything. But…”
We spoke. Our voice was very quiet. As if confessing something.
“And?”
Minjun urged.
“And there was a silence clause in the settlement contract. A clause saying they had to return all the money if they violated it. So that friend’s parents stayed silent. They needed the money. For living expenses, for treatment, for something… something to reclaim their lives. So they stayed silent.”
We continued.
“But silence wasn’t healing. Junho kept falling apart. He had therapy, took medication, tried everything. But money couldn’t fill deep wounds. And that friend…”
We stopped.
“That friend woke up one night. Not in the morning, but at night. And realized he couldn’t bear to keep living anymore. So…”
We spoke. But the words that followed couldn’t be heard. Instead, silence was heard. Very loudly. As if silence itself had a voice.
Minjun filled that silence with his imagination. A high balcony. Night. And a decision. His face went pale again. As if he were directly experiencing that moment.
“What happened after?”
Minjun asked.
“After that, I went into Sujin’s office. Alone. And I told her I knew what she’d done. And I asked her to bring my friend back. Of course it was already too late, but at least I asked her to acknowledge the truth. So that friend’s parents could find some comfort.”
We said.
“What did Sujin say?”
Minjun asked.
“At first, she pretended it was nothing. Acted like she didn’t know. But when I took out that Junho’s diary… that’s when her face changed. She really went pale. As if the past she thought was buried forever suddenly appeared.”
We continued.
“And then she laughed. Really laughed. And said, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Truth? What do you think truth is? How do you think that helps anyone?’”
Our voice kept getting quieter.
“And she said since that friend was already dead, nothing would bring him back no matter what. So revealing the truth would only cause pain. More suffering for his parents. So silence was mercy. Silence was for everyone’s good.”
The temperature in the café seemed to drop. As if someone had turned the air conditioning to maximum. Goosebumps rose on Minjun’s arm. But it wasn’t just from the cold.
“So what did you do?”
Minjun asked.
“So I stayed silent. Because maybe she was right. Because truth doesn’t always help. And I was alone. Because that friend’s parents were also staying silent. So I carried this burden alone. And kept carrying it. For years. Every single day.”
We said. Our voice was barely audible now.
“And the Netflix drama? Why did you offer it to me?”
Minjun asked.
“Because Sujin wanted assurance that I would keep staying silent. So she offered you to me. ‘Help this person. Make them successful. Then I’ll erase all records of you and your friend.’ So I…”
We said.
“So you offered me this role?”
Minjun asked. This time, emotion mixed into his voice.
“Yes. And I thought it was the best I could do. I thought if you became famous, maybe someday all this could come to light. And if you became strong enough, then maybe you could choose. To stay silent or to speak. But…”
We stopped.
“But?”
Minjun asked.
“But Sujin approached you directly. In a way she never did with me. She set your penalty clause to the same amount as that Junho’s settlement. That’s blackmail. Civilized blackmail, but blackmail. You now know what that amount is. You now know what the price of your success is.”
We said.
Minjun slowly moved his hand. This time toward our hand. And this time, it connected. Finger to finger. Very gently. As if confirming. Confirming we still existed.
Junho didn’t remove his hand from Minjun’s arm. As if knowing that if he let go, Minjun would disappear.
“What are that friend’s parents doing now?”
Minjun asked.
We didn’t answer. Instead, we looked out the window. Night was deepening. The street lights outside reflected in the café window. Lights around Gangnam Station. They were very bright. But also very cold.
“They’re still silent.”
We finally said.
“And you?”
Minjun asked.
“Me too.”
We answered. The answer was very simple, but very heavy.
Minjun accepted that weight. Into his body. As if someone had placed a stone on his shoulders. And he knew it wouldn’t be removed. That from now on, he would have to live forever with that weight.
“So what should I do?”
Minjun asked.
“You have to decide that yourself.”
We said.
“What about me?”
Junho spoke for the first time. As if he had been holding his breath until now.
We looked at Junho. And in that moment, something changed. As if we had been seeing him as the other Junho until now, but now we were finally seeing him as he really was.
“Are you… okay?”
We asked.
Junho’s face cracked. As if someone was trying to expose everything inside him. Tears formed in his eyes. But they didn’t fall. As if he himself didn’t know what these tears were.
“I… I don’t know what to do.”
Junho said. His voice was broken.
And in that moment, the café door opened. Someone came in. Actually, it wasn’t someone—it was something.
Wind.
Night wind from the streets. It was very cold and very fresh. As if it came from another world.
Minjun felt that wind. And realized he was still alive. Again. One more time. In a different way than before, but still alive.
His hand gripped our hand more tightly. And his eyes looked at Junho. At another person with that name. He still didn’t know what he should do. But he knew they could find the answer together.
“Let’s go.”
Minjun said. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a demand.
“Where?”
We asked.
“I don’t know. Anywhere.”
Minjun answered.
Junho tried not to let go of his hand, but Minjun stood. And we stood too. They left the table. Left the café. Went out into the night streets.
The lights around Gangnam Station were still bright. But now they looked different. As if something was hiding behind them. And they knew they had to find it.
Minjun’s steps were uncertain, but still moving forward. Holding our hand. And Junho followed behind them. Still confused about his name, about who he was.
But they kept walking. Through the night streets. And there was something in those steps. Whether it was truth or just despair wasn’t yet clear, but there was definitely something.
Back at the café, the table remained. And on that table, the marks left by our tapping fingers remained. Tap, tap, tap. It wouldn’t disappear. Just as history doesn’t fade away.
[End of Chapter 63]