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# Chapter 203: The Lights of Gangnam, The Silence of Jeju
Kang Ri-u was in the elevator. An officetel near Gangnam Station. Glass walls. Seoul’s night view descending below—or rather, he was ascending. Floor 32. Floor 33. Floor 34. The numbers had lost their meaning. Only the height remained. The distance from the sky.
His phone screen lit up. A message from his mother’s hospital. No—not a message. A notification. From an unknown contact. A nurse had sent it. Something about his mother’s condition improving. About her showing signs of response. Ri-u read it without moving. The elevator kept climbing.
His father’s office. He didn’t know exactly where he was going. Father hadn’t given him an address, only said it was near Gangnam Station. “There are documents there. Documents you need to find.”
“What kind of documents?” Ri-u had asked.
Father had said nothing. An hour later, he’d sent the address by text. No explanation.
When the elevator reached the 34th floor, Ri-u’s hands were trembling. Like Sea’s. Like Sea’s mother. Like himself. Everyone was trembling. In this city. On this night.
The elevator doors opened. A hallway. Walls in deep gray. Carpet. A heavy smell hung in the air. The smell of money. Or secrets. Or guilt. Ri-u couldn’t name it exactly.
Room 3407. A small nameplate read “K.M.J INVESTMENT.” His father’s initials. Kang Min-jun. As Ri-u read those letters, he began to understand why his mother had never spoken his father’s name in thirty years. The name itself was a form of violence. Speaking it was itself a violation.
The door had no lock. Had father left it open deliberately? Or had someone else? Ri-u went inside.
The office was empty. Nothing on the desk. No monitors. No photographs. No trace of a person. Only furniture. A black desk. A black chair. A black cabinet. Everything was black. As if someone had painted his father’s heart.
When Ri-u’s hand touched the cabinet handle, he didn’t know if he truly wanted to open it. If he did, he would understand. Why his mother had stayed silent. Why Sea existed. Why he existed. But there was a part of him that didn’t want to know. He had no certainty that such knowledge wouldn’t destroy him completely.
His fingers trembled.
The hospital room was exactly 21 degrees Celsius. An appropriate temperature. Good for patients. But Sea was cold. Despite being clothed. Or perhaps because of it. The layers seemed to trap her own heat. She felt herself growing smaller.
Do-hyun was still holding their mother’s hand. One hour. Two hours. Time had lost meaning. Only the warmth of a hand remained. Had mother’s hand grown warmer? Or had Do-hyun’s grown cold? There was no way to tell.
“Noona.”
Do-hyun spoke again. This time, differently.
“What.”
Sea answered.
“Ri-u hyung said something earlier. He said Father took money from Mom. Money Mom saved working as a diver. Money Mom gathered to raise us. Father took it. And disappeared. When Mom was pregnant.”
Sea didn’t move.
“Ri-u hyung said Mom told him. She said she’d saved money before having children. To raise them. But the money vanished. Father took it. So Mom went back into the water. While pregnant. Doing dangerous work. To earn money.”
Do-hyun’s voice trembled.
“Why did Ri-u tell you all this?”
Sea asked.
“Because Ri-u hyung was trying to find you. He said he had a lot to tell you. But you kept avoiding him. So I listened instead. And I thought about what we should do when Mom wakes up. What do you think?”
Do-hyun asked. It was the end of what a seventeen-year-old boy could ask. Everything after that belonged to adults.
Sea didn’t answer. Instead, she looked out the window. Seoul’s night view. The lights of Gangnam. Somewhere in those lights were Ri-u, their father’s documents, and everything she didn’t know.
“Let’s go to Jeju.”
Sea said it.
“What?”
Do-hyun asked.
“When Mom wakes up, let’s go to Jeju. Mom, us, and… Ri-u hyung. And Hae-neul too. All of us together. While we listen to what Mom wants to say.”
Sea spoke. It wasn’t a plan. It was running away. But sometimes running away was necessary. Before you stopped to face things.
Do-hyun looked at his sister’s face. For the first time, he saw her make a decision. With fear. But it was still a decision.
“Okay.”
Do-hyun said.
Ri-u didn’t find the documents. The ones Father had mentioned. Sea’s birth certificate. Father’s signature. Things like that. He opened and closed the cabinet, opened and closed the desk drawers, opened and closed the closet. There was nothing.
The last drawer. At the bottom. The deepest place. Inside was a letter. An envelope. Handwriting. “To Ri-u.”
Ri-u picked up the letter. He didn’t open the envelope. He just held it. His hand trembled.
His phone rang. It was Father.
“Did you find it?”
Father’s voice came through. Calm. As if this had been expected.
“There’s a letter.”
Ri-u said.
“Read it. Then come back to Seoul. We need to talk.”
Father spoke, then hung up.
Ri-u didn’t read the letter. He simply put it in his pocket. He took the elevator down. Floor 32. Floor 31. Floor 30. He kept descending.
Sea’s phone rang. This time, it was Ri-u.
“What are you looking for in Gangnam?”
Sea asked.
“You.”
Ri-u answered.
Silence. The fluorescent hum of the hospital room. Their mother’s breathing. Do-hyun’s breath.
“Let’s go to Jeju.”
Sea said.
“What?”
“Let’s go to Jeju. When Mom wakes up. All of us. Including you. And tell me everything. All of it.”
Ri-u didn’t answer. In that silence, Sea felt that he too was trembling. The same blood. The same fear. The same burning.
“Okay.”
Ri-u said.
“But one thing. When Mom wakes up, don’t mention Father. Not yet. Not until she’s ready.”
Sea said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what Father’s trying to do yet. Because we don’t know what we should do yet. For now… we need silence.”
Sea said.
Ri-u didn’t answer. Instead, as he walked, he began to read the letter. Seoul’s night streets. The lights of Gangnam. His father’s handwriting. And everything he didn’t know unfolded across the paper.
4 AM. Time in the hospital room still flowed differently.
Sea lay in the chair, leaning against Do-hyun’s shoulder, holding their mother’s hand. Her arm had gone numb, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to let go of this warmth. She didn’t want this moment to end.
Their mother’s fingers trembled again.
Sea felt it. More clearly this time. As if their mother was rising up from deep water. Slowly. But surely.
Let’s go to Jeju. Sea repeated those words in her mind. Putting off what had to be faced. But postponement was sometimes necessary. To learn, through nights like this, holding hands, in silence, how not to burn.
The fluorescent light illuminated the room. White light. Light that revealed everything. But even under that light, Sea could see darkness. The shadows under their mother’s eyes. The tension around Do-hyun’s mouth. The trembling of her own hand.
And all of it would flow to the sea of Jeju.
Quiet waves. Their mother’s silence. Ri-u’s letter. And her own burning voice. Not yet spoken. But coming soon. Not for anyone else. For herself.
Sea closed her eyes. In the warmth of the hospital room. Between the lights of Gangnam and the waves of Jeju. Before she burned herself again. The last silent night.