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# Chapter 173: The Weight of Silence
11:47 PM. Minjun’s phone screen went dark. Battery at 5%. He kept turning it on and off, the small glow somehow steadying him—a fragile light against the darkness, like a lifeline. Three hours since filming wrapped. Twelve takes with Taehyun. Director Park Mira kept saying, “We need more emotion.” Minjun repeated the same lines. The same movements. The same look in his eyes. But something was always missing. He could see it in the director’s gaze: You’re not there. And it was true.
He sat alone in the company’s waiting room. The lights were off. Outside, absolute darkness—even Gangnam’s glittering skyline couldn’t penetrate this small, windowless box. His fingers tapped against his thigh without his permission. Tap, tap, tap. He tried to stop them. He couldn’t. His breathing quickened. Calm down. Calm down. It’s just fatigue. But he knew that was a lie. This wasn’t fatigue. This was fear.
His phone rang. The name on the screen: Junho. Minjun stared at it like it was a snake. His heart hammered. Three rings. Four. Five. He didn’t answer. Is there something you need? Junho’s voice echoed in his ears—from the café, 9:47 PM, cold and desperate and commanding. The question had destroyed him because Minjun himself didn’t know the answer. What did he need? Money? Fame? To be seen? Or was it all a lie, and what he really needed was death?
The phone stopped ringing. A text came through: “How’s set? Going well?” Minjun read it. Read it again. The tone was light, casual—as if nothing had happened. As if Junho hadn’t said those things at the café. Minjun’s fingers froze over the screen. What should I say? Yes, hyung. It’s going great. Like this? Or tell the truth? No, hyung. I’m somewhere between death and life right now. He typed nothing. He set the phone down.
Another text arrived: “Did we do something wrong? To you?” The word we pierced his chest. Junho and… who? We. That word meant intimacy. Togetherness. But Minjun was alone. He’d always been alone. The realization hit him with sudden, terrible clarity. Maybe Junho wasn’t trying to save him. Maybe he was trying to control him. His body went rigid. 11:53 PM. No, hyung. You haven’t done anything wrong to me. He typed it. Sent it. It was a lie. But what was a lie at this point? A lie was a tool for survival.
Junho called immediately. This time, Minjun answered. “Minjun.” Junho’s voice was calm, but underneath it, something trembled—emotion fighting to stay buried. “Yeah, hyung.” “What are you doing right now?” “I’m in the waiting room. Filming’s done.” Silence fell. Long silence. In it, Minjun could hear Junho breathing—the breath of someone making a decision. “Go home. Now.” “Okay.” “Promise me. Right now.” “Yes, hyung.” “No, really promise. I need to trust you. You need to trust me.” Something caught in Minjun’s throat. Emotion? Lies? Both?
“I promise, hyung.” “Good. Then… see you tomorrow.” The call ended. Minjun sat there, turning his phone over in his hands. 2% battery. He pocketed it and left the building.
11:58 PM. Inside the elevator. There was a mirror. He looked at himself. The makeup was gone, but something lingered on his face. The ghost of performance? Or just exhaustion? His eyes were dark. His lips, pale. He looked like a corpse.
He touched the cold elevator wall.
He descended to the underground parking garage. He couldn’t take a taxi. He had no money. No—he had money. But he couldn’t spend it. 2.5 million won. The price of silence. Every time he thought about touching it, his hands felt filthy.
He headed for the subway. 12:07 AM. The last train was pulling in. He boarded. The car was nearly empty—a homeless man sleeping in the back corner, a young woman next to him scrolling her phone. The screen’s glow lit her face. Minjun watched her. And suddenly, he felt invisible. No one sees me. No one cares. I could die on this train and no one would notice. Strangely, that thought brought him peace.
He got off at Sillim Station. 12:24 AM. The street was quiet. A convenience store’s fluorescent lights cut through the darkness. He went inside. Not to buy anything. Just to be somewhere warm. Somewhere with people.
A few people were there—buying late-night snacks, cramming for exams, or like him, just existing without reason. Minjun stood in front of the ice cream freezer. He wasn’t going to buy anything. He just wanted to stand there. To feel the cold.
“Minjun?”
Someone called his name. He turned.
It was Woori.
Woori stood at the kimbap counter, one hand holding a roll, the other a yuzu tea. Her face looked tired, but her eyes were bright—like she’d just come from doing something important. “Oh? Woori?” Minjun’s voice shook. He couldn’t hide it. “Yeah, it’s me. What are you up to these days? Busy on set?” She smiled naturally. No deception in it. Which made Minjun even more anxious. “Yeah, pretty busy.” “Why are you using formal speech? We’re friends.”
Friends. The word scraped across his chest. Do I deserve to be anyone’s friend? I’m someone who took 2.5 million won for silence. I’m a liar. I’m— “Sorry. I’m just tired.” “You really look exhausted. You’ve lost weight. Are you eating?”
Woori stepped closer and held out her kimbap. “Here, eat this. It’s pretty good for convenience store kimbap.”
Minjun looked at it. Plain convenience store kimbap. Mayonnaise and pickled radish visible. So ordinary. So warm.
“Oh, I’m fine—” “No arguing. Eat.” Woori pressed the roll into his hands. Her hands were warm. Alive. His hands, by comparison, felt cold and stiff.
“Thanks.” Minjun mumbled it.
“Don’t thank me, friend. But seriously, you look really worn out. Is something wrong? Something hard going on?”
The question made his chest drop. Does she know something? About my lies? My silence?
“No, it’s just… work is hard.” “If work is hard, you need to eat better. You’ve really lost weight. You’re going to get sick like this.” Woori tapped his shoulder lightly. The touch was affectionate. But to Minjun, everything felt false now. Because he was false. Because his falseness made everything around him feel like a lie.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful.” He took a bite of the kimbap. Rice, salt, carrot, radish. It tasted so real. So alive. He swallowed.
“So how’s the movie shoot going? Is the script good?” “Yeah, it’s good.” A lie. “Are you the lead or supporting?” “Supporting.” Not a lie. But it sounded like one now. Because he was performing. Always performing.
“Supporting is good too. Your day as a lead will come. You can do it. I know you can.” Woori smiled. Pure. But Minjun couldn’t accept it. He didn’t deserve it.
The convenience store clock showed 12:31 AM.
“Are you heading home now?” “Yeah.” “Good. Get there safely. And eat well. Promise?” “I promise.” Another promise. Another lie.
Woori left the store. Minjun followed her out. Night wrapped around the street. But the convenience store’s fluorescent glow spilled onto the sidewalk. And in that light, Woori and Minjun went their separate ways.
She walked in one direction.
Minjun walked toward his room.
12:35 AM. A semi-basement apartment. The ceiling still had mold. That moldy map hadn’t changed. Minjun lay in bed and stared at it.
What do I need?
The answer was still nowhere.
12:47 AM. A message came through: “Did you get home? – Junho”
Minjun texted back: “Yeah, hyung. I’m here.”
Then he stared at the ceiling for another hour.
By 1:47 AM, he finally closed his eyes. And in that darkness, he felt himself disappearing. Slowly. Certainly. Like drowning. But he didn’t reach for the surface. He didn’t resist.
He just sank.
2:15 AM. His phone rang. Junho.
Minjun didn’t answer this time either.
It was his choice.
To keep the silence. That was all he could do.