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# Chapter 177: What Haneul Knew
Twenty minutes into sitting on a bench in Hangang Park, Sae-ah watched a black taxi pull up to the entrance.
The night was 8:42. Sae-ah stared at her phone screen, re-reading the message Ryu had sent. “Yeah, what are guys like us even doing? But that’s our problem. You handle yours. Mom woke up.”
Mom woke up.
The words kept repeating, washing over her like waves. Something bubbled up in Sae-ah’s chest—laughter. Long, rippling laughter. She bit her lip to suppress it. The night wind off the Han was already stinging her cheeks, and if tears fell on top of that, she’d look completely unhinged.
Then she heard the taxi door open.
“Sae-ah!”
It was Haneul. She emerged from the taxi in black athletic wear, her usually neat hair disheveled, sweat still clinging to her face. She’d run straight from the gym.
Sae-ah didn’t stand. She just watched as Haneul approached, the yellow glow of the streetlights framing her like a scene from a film.
“What are you doing out here in this cold?”
Haneul sat down beside the bench. She was taller than Sae-ah, so her shoulder filled Sae-ah’s line of sight. The athletic wear made it seem broader still.
“I texted you.”
Sae-ah’s voice wavered. She heard it herself. Haneul definitely noticed too. But she didn’t call her out on it. Instead, she looked toward the river.
“What did Ryu say?”
“That Mom woke up.”
The moment Sae-ah spoke those words, tears spilled down her face—unexpected, unbidden. She didn’t know if she’d been laughing and it broke into tears, or if she’d wanted to cry all along and covered it with laughter.
Haneul reached out and took her hand. It was warm. Black ink stained her fingertips—as if all of Haneul’s thoughts left traces on her skin.
“Mom waking up is good.”
Haneul’s voice was low, composed. Like a lawyer building her case.
“It means Mom’s been holding on through all of this. And waking up means she’s ready to move again. When you see her, you need to look at her eyes. You need to see her light. She’s not going to stay down. She’s going to come back.”
Sae-ah said nothing. She just squeezed Haneul’s hand tighter, breathing in that ink smell—the same one from when Haneul used to draw as a kid.
The wind from the Han carried the acrid smell of summer exhaust. Seoul’s night was never quiet. Car horns sounded in the distance, and farther still, the rumble of planes. But to Sae-ah, it was all just background music. The only reality was the warmth of Haneul’s hand.
“What did Kang Min-jun say?”
Haneul asked.
“That he’s Ryu’s father.”
Sae-ah said it flatly.
“Ah.”
Haneul gave a single syllable, then fell silent for a long time. Sae-ah watched her profile. Haneul’s cheekbones tensed.
“He… he started all this and still hid who he was?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question was simple. But beneath that simplicity lay layers of anger and disappointment. Sae-ah felt every layer.
“I don’t know. Ryu says even he doesn’t know why Min-jun did it.”
The taxi driver honked lightly. Haneul raised her hand in acknowledgment. He rolled down his window.
“Ready to go, miss?”
“Yeah, in a second,” Haneul answered. Then she looked at Sae-ah.
“We need to get to the hospital. Your mom’s awake. Ryu’s probably already there.”
“Yeah. He should be.”
“Let’s go then.”
Haneul stood. Sae-ah stood with her. In that moment of rising from the bench, she felt the night ending—the night she’d thought would last forever.
The taxi was warm inside. The AC hummed quietly, and a late-night talk show played on the radio. The host’s voice was smooth, soothing. But Sae-ah didn’t listen. Instead, she watched Seoul slide past the window.
The lit windows of buildings along Gangnam-daero. Fluorescent lights in the Gangnam Station underground shopping center. GS25’s green sign. People smoking outside convenience stores. Nine o’clock at night, and the streets still teemed with people.
How many nights does this city hold? Sae-ah wondered. How many people are enduring this night right now?
“Min-jun… he lied to me, didn’t he?” Haneul asked suddenly.
“Yeah.”
“And Ryu too?”
“Ryu followed Min-jun. From the beginning. Since he was young.”
Sae-ah answered. The taxi pressed on toward the hospital.
“What kind of people are they?”
“I don’t know. Ryu said even they’re frustrated.”
The moment she said it, Sae-ah understood. That’s why Ryu said it. They don’t even know who they are.
“Frustrated?” Haneul scoffed. “That’s an excuse.”
“I’m not defending them. I don’t even know them. But I think you could understand them if you wanted to. That’s why I’m asking—what do you think?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She kept staring out the window.
They arrived at the hospital at 9:20 p.m. The university hospital’s exterior loomed massive, like a small city unto itself. The emergency room blazed with light, and people constantly moved through the entrance.
Haneul and Sae-ah got out. Haneul paid the driver. Sae-ah froze at the entrance. Once she went inside, everything would begin. She’d have to see her mom. See her mom’s eyes. Hear her voice.
Am I ready? she asked herself. There was no answer.
“Let’s go,” Haneul said, taking her hand again.
The hospital elevator was cold and bright. The fluorescent lights stung Sae-ah’s eyes. The display showed: Floor 5. The icon glided smoothly.
When the doors opened, Sae-ah saw Do-hyun first. He sat on a bench in the hallway, his face exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. When he saw Sae-ah, he stood. His lips trembled.
“Sae-ah.”
That was all he could manage.
“Hyun-oppa.”
She answered, and he pulled her into his arms. For a long moment, he said nothing—just held her. Sae-ah buried her face in his shoulder. His clothes smelled of hospital disinfectant.
“Mom woke up,” Sae-ah whispered.
“Yeah. She did. Just now.”
Do-hyun’s voice shook.
Haneul deliberately looked away, giving them their moment.
“Where is she?”
“Room 505. Down that way.”
Do-hyun pointed.
Sae-ah walked slowly. Haneul walked beside her. Do-hyun followed behind. The hallway was as bright at night as during the day. The fluorescent lights left nowhere to hide.
At the door to Room 505, Sae-ah stopped.
Mom was there.
Lying in the hospital bed. More white streaked her hair. Her face looked smaller. But her eyes were open. And they were looking at Sae-ah.
“Sae-ah,” Mom said. Her voice was weak, but clear. She knew who she was looking at.
Ryu stood quietly in the corner of the room. Seeing Sae-ah, he slipped out silently. Haneul and Do-hyun followed. Only Sae-ah and her mother remained.
Sae-ah sat beside the bed and took her mom’s hand. It was warm but thin—like paper. Still, Sae-ah held it firmly.
“Mom. It’s me. It’s Sae-ah.”
“I know. My Sae-ah.”
In that moment, Sae-ah wanted the night to continue forever. She wanted this moment to stretch into eternity. She wanted the night to never end, wanted morning never to come. Because when morning came, everything would start again—Min-jun’s identity, her connection to Ryu, why her mom woke up, whether she would recover.
And Sae-ah wasn’t ready.
She wanted this night to last. She wanted it to go on forever.