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# Chapter 195: Fire in the Filing Cabinet
When Sae-ah returned to the hospital room, Do-hyeon was still sitting beside their mother’s bed. But something had changed. His fingers were moving—scrolling through his phone screen. He seemed to be watching something. Or searching for something. When Sae-ah entered, Do-hyeon quickly put the phone down. Too quickly. She could tell he was hiding something.
“What were you looking at?”
Sae-ah asked.
Do-hyeon didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at her. There was something in that gaze—a question. Or judgment. No, something deeper than that. Disappointment.
“Kang Ri-woo didn’t come.”
Sae-ah said, as if that were the most important information.
“I know. Do-hyeon told me.”
Haneul said. She was still beside Sae-ah, arms crossed. That posture was a warning. Or protection. Sae-ah could no longer tell the difference.
Their mother was still asleep. Or unconscious. The monitor continued its steady beeping. A rhythmic pulse. Proof of life.
Sae-ah walked to the window. It was night. Seoul at night. Cars passed outside the hospital, heading toward someone’s destination. Someone’s home. Someone they loved.
Where was Kang Ri-woo right now?
That question consumed her. In a taxi. Crossing the night-time Seoul. To her own house. To their father’s house. To find documents.
What would she find? Sae-ah tried to imagine. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t see Ri-woo’s expression clearly, couldn’t hear his voice distinctly. Only his breathing remained. Irregular breathing. Frightened breathing.
“Sae-ah.”
Do-hyeon said.
Sae-ah turned around.
“What exactly did Mom say? Precisely.”
Do-hyeon asked.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She couldn’t. To repeat those words, she’d have to return to that moment. Mother’s hand. Mother’s trembling voice. The voice was burning. Kang Min-jun heard it.
“Tell me properly.”
Do-hyeon said again. This time louder. More forcefully. With the voice of someone other than her younger brother.
“Do-hyeon. This isn’t the time.”
Haneul intervened.
“No. This is exactly the time.”
Do-hyeon stood up. Pushing the chair back. The sound echoed through the hospital room. Metal scraping. The monitor seemed to react momentarily, its beeping rising in pitch.
“Do-hyeon.”
Sae-ah said. Her voice was low. Almost a whisper.
“Mom keeps talking about Kang Min-jun. And every time she mentions him, your face changes color. What’s going on?”
Do-hyeon said. His fingers were trembling. Like Sae-ah’s. No, worse.
“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
Sae-ah said.
“Why? Am I not family?”
Do-hyeon asked.
That question pierced through Sae-ah. Family. The word broke something inside her. She looked at Do-hyeon. Seventeen-year-old Do-hyeon. The one who’d been alone beside their mother. The one she kept leaving.
“You’re…”
Sae-ah began.
“What am I?”
Do-hyeon finished.
Sae-ah lost her words. The fluorescent lights of the hospital room bathed them in harsh brightness. Too bright. A brightness that exposed everything. Do-hyeon’s tears—no, tears hadn’t come yet. But they would soon. His facial muscles were trembling.
Haneul placed her hand on Do-hyeon’s shoulder.
“Do-hyeon. This is complicated. We need time to explain.”
Haneul said.
“Time? Haven’t we had enough time already? Mom’s in the hospital, you’re calling Kang Ri-woo, and I’m supposed to sit here knowing nothing?”
Do-hyeon asked.
Sae-ah looked at her own hands. They were still trembling. Nerves trembling. Guilt trembling.
“Who is Kang Ri-woo?”
Do-hyeon continued asking.
“He’s…”
Sae-ah said.
“He’s our older brother.”
Do-hyeon answered for her.
Silence fell over the hospital room. Only the monitor’s steady beeping continued.
“What?”
Sae-ah said. No, it wasn’t words—it was a breath.
“I told you. When I called earlier. That Kang Ri-woo was looking for Mom. And Mom woke up for a moment. Just briefly. And she called his name.”
Do-hyeon said.
“So?”
Sae-ah asked.
“So I looked him up. Kang Ri-woo. I searched for him. And I found him. There were photos. And there were articles. Chairman Kang Min-jun’s son. A pianist. In Berlin.”
Do-hyeon spoke rapidly. Like he’d been holding his breath and was letting it all out at once.
Sae-ah’s world tilted. No, not tilted—shook. Like an earthquake. And Sae-ah was standing in that tremor.
“Do-hyeon…”
Sae-ah said.
“So our father is Kang Min-jun. Right?”
Do-hyeon said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement of something already known.
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“Right?”
Do-hyeon asked again. His voice trembling.
“Yes.”
Sae-ah finally said.
Do-hyeon sat down. No, it looked more like he collapsed. As if his legs could no longer support him.
“Why are you telling me now?”
Do-hyeon asked.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Why?”
Do-hyeon asked. A simple why. But it was the hardest question.
Sae-ah looked at her mother. Lying in the bed. Still asleep. Or unconscious. Her mother’s face was peaceful. As if holding all their secrets.
“Mom didn’t want me to.”
Sae-ah said.
“Mom? What does Mom want? Did Mom tell you that Kang Min-jun is our father? Or didn’t she?”
Do-hyeon asked.
Sae-ah opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.
“Mom…”
Sae-ah began.
“What about Mom?”
Do-hyeon asked again.
Haneul looked at Sae-ah. That gaze wasn’t pity. It was reality. The gaze of reality itself. This is your responsibility. This is your choice.
“Mom said something earlier. That my voice was burning. And that Kang Min-jun heard it.”
Sae-ah spoke slowly.
“What? Your voice was burning? What does that even…”
Do-hyeon said.
“I don’t know exactly. But Mom is afraid of my voice. And of Kang Min-jun too.”
Sae-ah said.
“So?”
Do-hyeon asked.
“So Mom told me not to tell you. Or anyone.”
Sae-ah said.
Do-hyeon stood up. Slowly this time. And picked up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
Sae-ah asked.
“I need to ask Mom directly.”
Do-hyeon said.
“Do-hyeon. Mom isn’t conscious right now.”
Haneul said.
“Then when will she wake up? In a few days? A week? What am I supposed to do until then?”
Do-hyeon asked.
Sae-ah had no answer. She didn’t know either.
Do-hyeon left the room. Slowly. But with determination. As if he’d already made a decision. And as if there was no going back.
Haneul looked at Sae-ah.
“What do you think Do-hyeon’s going to do?”
Sae-ah asked.
“I don’t know. But I think you need to stop Kang Ri-woo.”
Haneul answered.
Sae-ah’s phone rang. It was Kang Ri-woo.
When Kang Ri-woo arrived at his house, he realized it was dark. The lights weren’t on. His father wasn’t there either. Or he was, sleeping somewhere.
Ri-woo entered the living room. After the taxi driver dropped him off, Ri-woo stood there. His house. Where he’d grown up. But now it felt unfamiliar. Like he was seeing it for the first time.
Ri-woo’s fingers were trembling. They always did. Whenever he felt deep emotion. They trembled when he sat at the piano. And they were trembling now.
Ri-woo went to his father’s study. It hadn’t changed. Bookshelves. Books. And a massive desk. Beneath that desk was a filing cabinet. Ri-woo knew it existed. But he’d never opened it.
Ri-woo grasped the cabinet’s handle. His fingers trembled more.
The first drawer was locked.
Ri-woo searched through the desk’s drawers. Looking for a key. His hands moved quickly. Papers. Pens. Business cards. And…
A key.
Ri-woo picked it up. A small metal key. He wasn’t sure if it opened this cabinet. But it didn’t matter.
Ri-woo opened the cabinet.
Files. Many files. With labels. Names. Dates. Some marked only with numbers.
Ri-woo found them. Files with his own name. But that wasn’t what he was looking for. The name he sought was different.
Na Sae-ah.
There was a file for Sae-ah. A thick file. It seemed to contain many documents.
Ri-woo pulled it out. And opened it.
Contracts. Many contracts. And photographs. Photos of a young girl. That girl was Sae-ah. A much younger Sae-ah. Maybe six or seven years old.
And within that file was a memo. In his father’s handwriting. Small, precise script.
Ri-woo read it.
And Ri-woo’s world shattered.
Sae-ah’s phone rang. It was Kang Ri-woo.
“Kang Ri-woo?”
Sae-ah answered the call.
“Sae-ah. Do you know who your father is?”
Ri-woo’s voice came through. It was no longer controlled. It was broken. The voice of shattered glass.
“Yes. Kang Min-jun.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Right. But do you know what he did to you?”
Ri-woo asked.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Father…”
Ri-woo’s voice broke. No, something else shattered.
“Kang Ri-woo?”
Sae-ah called out again.
“Father created a contract. For you. To control your voice. So he could record it. And use your voice. Without your consent.”
Silence. Sae-ah couldn’t understand those words. Or she didn’t want to.
“And that’s not all.”
Ri-woo continued.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“There’s also a contract to separate you from Mother. To place you under his patronage. And to control your relationship with her.”
Sae-ah’s hand trembled. Her phone trembled. The world trembled.
“I’m on my way to the hospital now. With those documents.”
Ri-woo said.
“Kang Ri-woo. Wait…”
Sae-ah said.
“What?”
Ri-woo asked.
“You can’t tell Mom. Please.”
Sae-ah said.
Silence. A longer silence.
“I won’t scare Mom. She already knows.”
Ri-woo said.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“Mom tried to avoid that contract. So she hid you. In Jeju. And Mom stayed silent. Because she knew that if she spoke, something worse might happen to you.”
Sae-ah couldn’t speak. Her mother. Her mother had protected her.
“I’m going to the hospital now.”
Ri-woo said.
“Kang Ri-woo. Please. Not yet…”
Sae-ah said.
“What?”
Ri-woo asked.
“We’re not ready. Any of us. Mom isn’t.”
Sae-ah said.
Ri-woo didn’t answer. But Sae-ah knew what he would do. He would come. With those documents. And with that truth.
And Sae-ah couldn’t stop him. There was nothing she could do. Only wait. And burn. Again. Like always.
The hospital room’s fluorescent lights remained on. Too bright. As if the world was trying to blind Sae-ah. To expose everything.
Sae-ah looked at her mother. Still sleeping. Or unconscious. Not knowing. Soon to know everything.
And Sae-ah looked at her own fingers. Still trembling. Fingers of fire. Burning fingers.
Sae-ah opened her fingers. And turned on the flame. A lighter. A small spark appeared.
Sae-ah watched that spark. A small fire. But a clear one. A warm one.
And Sae-ah brought that flame to her arm.
Haneul screamed.
“Sae-ah!”
Haneul grabbed the lighter. And held Sae-ah.
Sae-ah felt nothing. Only the warmth of the flame. And the knowledge that she was burning.
“Sae-ah. Look at me. Look at me.”
Haneul said.
Sae-ah looked at Haneul’s face. Tears were flowing.
“What are you doing?”
Haneul asked.
“I’m burning.”
Sae-ah answered. Almost whispering.
“What?”
Haneul asked.
“Everything.”
Sae-ah said.
And the hospital room’s fluorescent lights continued to shine. Exposing everything. Burning everything.