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# Chapter 184: Mother’s Name, Carved Into Skin
Haneul’s car came to a stop in the basement parking lot beneath Gangnam Station. 12:03 AM. Fluorescent lights cast a pale, sickly glow from above, draining the color from both Sae-ah and Haneul’s faces equally. Haneul’s hand remained on the steering wheel, its color shifting with each pulse of the surrounding taillights. Red. Orange. Black again. Like a traffic signal. Like someone waiting for a sign.
“Kang Mi-jun wanting you—that doesn’t make any sense,” Haneul finally spoke. The voice was low, careful, like someone tiptoeing through a minefield.
“It’s not that he wants me,” Sae-ah said, staring at her own hands. Her fingers trembled—a tremor that had started when she’d let go of her mother’s hand in the hospital room, and it hadn’t stopped since.
“Not that? Then what?”
“He’s trying to find something. And I think he sent Kang Ri-u to do it.”
Haneul exhaled slowly. Not a sigh of surrender, but one of reorganization—as if she were rearranging the words she’d just heard inside her head.
“Sae-ah, are you even listening? I heard what your mom said. She told you something, and that’s why you’re like this. But is any of it actually true?”
It was a simple question, but it was also the most fundamental one. Was any of this real? Or was it your mother’s delusion? Or your own misunderstanding?
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she counted her fingers. Five. All there. All shaking as if someone were plucking directly at her nerves.
“What are you going to do now?” Haneul asked.
“I have to find Kang Ri-u. That man… he seems to know something,” Sae-ah said.
“In the middle of the night? Alone? Sae-ah, you’re out of your mind. In this situation—”
Haneul stopped mid-sentence, as if she’d lost track of what she wanted to say. Or rather, as if she’d realized she shouldn’t say it.
Sae-ah looked out the window at the gray concrete walls of the parking garage. Several support pillars rose from the floor, and the shadows between them were deep—the kind of darkness where someone could hide. The kind of darkness where even Sae-ah herself might disappear.
“Is Kang Ri-u my half-brother?” Sae-ah suddenly asked.
“What?”
“My father’s son. Kang Mi-jun’s son. Isn’t Kang Ri-u my half-brother?”
She asked again, more clearly this time, as if she already knew the answer. As if all the pieces were already falling into place.
Haneul didn’t respond. But the silence was answer enough—something she knew. Something she’d chosen not to tell Sae-ah. Or something she hadn’t been able to tell her.
“Did you know?” Sae-ah looked at her directly now.
“Sae-ah… you really—” Haneul started, then stopped. Instead, she gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“Did I ask?” Sae-ah said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
“Yeah. You asked Kang Ri-u what his connection to you was. He was about to tell you, but you never heard his answer. Because you were already—”
Haneul spoke, then trailed off.
“Already what?”
“Already leaving,” Haneul finished.
Sae-ah raised her hand again, studying her fingers. They seemed to be counting something—or trying to. But even she didn’t know what.
“What did Kang Ri-u tell you?” Sae-ah asked.
“That man asked your father if he could tell you. Asked your permission. But you never answered him. You just left. So I—”
Haneul paused again.
“What did you do?”
“I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t tell you. Because… your condition was already critical,” Haneul said.
The hospital room. The fluorescent lights. Her mother’s hand. Sae-ah rewound through these images in her mind, then inserted Kang Ri-u’s face between them. Kang Ri-u. My half-brother. The way he’d looked at her from the very first meeting. That gaze. As if he knew her. As if he pitied her.
“How long didn’t I know?” Sae-ah asked.
“From the beginning. From the moment Kang Ri-u first approached you,” Haneul answered.
“And you? When did you find out?”
“Telling you that Kang Ri-u was your half-brother… I couldn’t do that. Because it wasn’t your choice,” Haneul said. Her words weren’t an answer; they were another question.
Sae-ah got out of the car abruptly. Haneul said something, but Sae-ah pretended not to hear. She walked toward the gray wall of the parking garage, as if she could push through it. As if her answers lay on the other side.
Haneul followed.
“Sae-ah, stop! We need to leave!” Haneul called out.
Sae-ah didn’t stop. Instead, she walked to a corner of the garage where the lights had burned out—as if someone had deliberately killed the power there. As if darkness was what this space needed.
“Sae-ah!”
Haneul grabbed her arm. Hard.
“Let go,” Sae-ah said.
“I can’t. You’re not yourself right now. What are you trying to do?”
Sae-ah looked at her own arm, at Haneul’s fingers wrapped around it. Those hands. The hands of someone who wielded tattoo needles. Precise hands. Strong hands. Hands that drew permanent things.
“I want to get a tattoo of my mom’s name,” Sae-ah said.
“What?”
“A tattoo. My mother’s name. On my wrist.”
“Now?”
“Now. Right now.”
Haneul studied Sae-ah’s face—that expression she’d never seen before. As if someone had completely transformed into a different person. As if Sae-ah’s consciousness was leaving her body.
“In the car?” Haneul asked.
“I don’t care,” Sae-ah said.
Haneul sighed and walked back to the vehicle. She led Sae-ah to the back seat, which was filled with tattoo supplies—needles, ink, mirrors, and a small table.
Haneul pulled out her tools. Her fingers moved with precision and speed, professional and practiced. As if all of this had been predetermined. As if Sae-ah had been waiting for this moment.
“What’s your mom’s name?” Haneul asked.
Sae-ah opened her mouth, then closed it. Her mother’s name. A name she’d never known. Or more accurately, a name her mother had never told her. Her mother had always been “I.” Her mother had always been looking at “you.” No one else existed.
“I don’t know,” Sae-ah said.
“What?”
“My mother’s name. I don’t know it,” Sae-ah said.
Haneul stopped the needle.
“Then what do I carve?”
“‘Mother.’ ‘Mom.’ Just… mom,” Sae-ah said.
Haneul began again. The needle pierced skin. Once. Again. Sae-ah should have felt pain, but she didn’t. It was as if her body was already elsewhere. As if her body was already burning.
The needle traced the first stroke. Then another shape. Then another. And finally, the last syllable.
Sae-ah looked at her wrist. Blood was flowing. Small red droplets following the Korean characters. “엄마”—“Mom.” Two characters. The first word Sae-ah would permanently carve into her own flesh.
“Done,” Haneul said.
Sae-ah lifted her wrist. Red blood. Black ink. The boundary between them. As if she’d been marked by someone. As if she’d become someone’s property. But no—it was the opposite. This was her marking something. Her remembering someone. Her reclaiming someone.
“I have to find Kang Ri-u now,” Sae-ah said.
“In the middle of the night?” Haneul asked.
“In the middle of the night. Where do you think he’d be right now?”
Haneul pulled out her phone. The time was 12:34 AM. Gangnam Station basement parking lot. On Sae-ah’s wrist, the characters for “Mom” were freshly carved, still bleeding.
“Do you have Kang Ri-u’s number?” Haneul asked.
Sae-ah retrieved her phone. It was off. She hadn’t turned it on in days. She powered it on. The screen lit up to reveal dozens of missed calls and messages. All from Kang Ri-u.
10:23 PM. 10:47 PM. 11:05 PM. 11:21 PM. 11:44 PM. 12:02 AM.
The last call had come at 12:02 AM—just as they were leaving the hospital. As if Kang Ri-u had been waiting for her. As if he knew her every move.
Sae-ah placed her finger over the last call and pressed it.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Sae-ah?”
Kang Ri-u’s voice came through. He was awake. As if he’d been waiting all night. As if he’d been expecting this call.
“Where am I right now?” Sae-ah said.
“Gangnam Station basement parking lot. Where are you?” Kang Ri-u asked.
“How do you know that information?” Sae-ah asked.
Silence. And in that silence was every answer. Kang Ri-u knew where she was. Probably from the beginning. Probably because his father, Kang Mi-jun, had told him to follow her. Probably because all of this was a game that had been decided from the start.
“My mom told me,” Sae-ah said.
“Told you what?”
“That you’re my half-brother,” Sae-ah said.
Silence again. And in that silence, Sae-ah heard Kang Ri-u’s breathing—shallow, as if someone were pressing down on his chest.
“Should we meet?” Kang Ri-u said.
“Where?” Sae-ah asked.
“Hangang Park. Near Hapjeong Station. Within the hour,” Kang Ri-u said.
Sae-ah ended the call. She turned to Haneul.
“I have to go,” Sae-ah said.
“Alone?” Haneul asked.
“Alone,” Sae-ah confirmed.
“Sae-ah, you—”
Haneul started to speak but found herself without words. As if she knew she couldn’t stop Sae-ah. As if she knew Sae-ah was already gone, already somewhere else.
Sae-ah got out of the car. The tattoo on her wrist continued to bleed. “Mom.” Two characters. The first word Sae-ah had carved into her own body.
12:47 AM. The subway ride from Gangnam to Hapjeong took about fifteen minutes. Sae-ah walked toward the station entrance. Haneul didn’t follow. Instead, she watched from a distance, like someone saying goodbye to a friend. Like someone wondering if this might be the last farewell.
Inside the subway car at 12:55 AM, there were barely any passengers. A couple of drunk men. One homeless person. And Sae-ah. She looked at her reflection in the window. Whose face was that? Her father’s? Her mother’s? Or Kang Ri-u’s?
When she arrived at Hapjeong Station, it was 1:03 AM. Hangang Park was quiet. Like the end of the world. Like a stage prepared just for her.
Kang Ri-u was sitting on a bench. His hands were shaking. His expression was more shattered than any Sae-ah had ever seen.
Sae-ah moved forward and sat on the bench across from him. The distance between them was roughly two meters—as if someone had predetermined it. As if they couldn’t get any closer.
“I didn’t know,” Kang Ri-u said.
“Know what?” Sae-ah asked.
“Whether I had the right to tell you. I didn’t know that,” Kang Ri-u said.
Sae-ah raised her wrist. The characters for “Mom” were still fresh. Still red. Still bleeding.
“What is this?” Kang Ri-u asked, looking at her tattoo.
“Mom,” Sae-ah answered.
And the night continued. In Hangang Park. From 1:03 AM onward. As if time had stopped. As if Sae-ah and Kang Ri-u would sit on those benches forever. As if this were the end of everything.
[End of Chapter]