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# Chapter 21: Names and Silence
Seo-ah left her gosiwon room at three in the morning.
It was an hour after Haneul had gone. After Haneul saw both files, she fell silent. She’d started to point out the contract’s traps one by one, then stopped midway. She’d looked at Seo-ah’s face. Seo-ah’s expression already understood everything—what was wrong. So Haneul simply sat and watched her. Then she extended her hand. “Let’s go,” she said. Where they were going didn’t matter. What mattered was leaving this room.
The two of them walked all night. They strolled along the Han River. Watched lights reflect off the water. Went into a convenience store—not the one where Seo-ah worked—and drank caffeinated beverages. Without saying anything. Haneul’s silence and Seo-ah’s silence were different kinds of silence. Haneul’s silence meant she would stay by her side. Seo-ah’s silence meant she was sorting something out inside herself.
At two in the morning, on a Hongdae street, Haneul spoke.
“What are you going to do?”
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
“I’m asking seriously. What are you going to do?”
Seo-ah stepped forward. The street’s neon signs painted her face—purple. Then blue. The color changed by the second.
“I don’t know.”
That was Seo-ah’s answer.
Haneul tapped her shoulder. “Okay then. Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.”
And at three in the morning, Seo-ah left her gosiwon.
She didn’t pack extra clothes. Didn’t bring her phone. Only put her wallet in her pocket. Fifty thousand won in cash inside. Her convenience store part-time wages. Money not yet deposited in her account. Cash in hand.
The pre-dawn streets were quiet. Seoul felt like a different city—the Seoul of night and the Seoul of dawn were different countries. At night there were people. At dawn there were only construction equipment, cleaning trucks, and delivery motorcycles. Seo-ah walked toward Hapjeong Station. Not toward any particular destination, just walked. Following her feet.
She stopped counting blocks. She’d counted about thirty, she thought. She didn’t know where she was. It was a familiar alley, but dawn made everything unfamiliar.
Seo-ah found a convenience store. She saw the CU sign. Went inside. An employee sat at the register. Male. Maybe thirty years old. He looked up at Seo-ah, then looked back at his phone. It was common for people to come to convenience stores at dawn when there weren’t many customers.
Seo-ah went to the caffeine drink section. Reached out and grabbed a cold brew. Put it back. Grabbed it again. Put it back. She repeated this three times. She wasn’t choosing a drink—she was killing time.
Eventually she left without choosing anything. Didn’t spend any money.
She walked the pre-dawn streets again. This time with direction. Toward the river. Toward a place where she could see the Han River.
When she sat on a bench beside the Han River, she truly felt Haneul’s absence for the first time. Not the absence of company, but the inability to speak to someone when she needed to. Haneul would already be home. In her small one-room above the tattoo shop. Seo-ah had no phone. Couldn’t message. Couldn’t text. Couldn’t call.
The bench’s paint was peeling. Gray metal showed through. Seo-ah touched it with her finger. It was cold. Benches by the river on winter dawns were always cold.
The river water flowed. Without sound. Seo-ah watched that current. Water moving, yet moving silently. It was strange. Water flowing but no sound of water. Was it because it was dawn? Or was that just how water was? Were there things Seo-ah was always missing?
If she’d been holding her phone, she would have texted Gang Ri-woo by now.
“I don’t think I can sign the contract.”
And after that she would have said nothing. That was Seo-ah’s way—drop the bomb and stay silent.
But without a phone, she couldn’t even text.
She walked further along the riverside. Her feet moved mechanically. Left foot, right foot. She didn’t sync her breathing. Her breathing and footsteps operated separately. That was one of the strange things Seo-ah felt. A sense of being fragmented. Her legs were walking but her head was reading the contract.
Page 45.
Page 14.
Article 5.
Article 8.
“Best efforts shall be made.”
“In the event Party B enters into an exclusive contract.”
She heard Gang Ri-woo’s voice too.
“Your music makes people want to ask for an explanation. That’s rarer.”
Was that true? Or was it something he’d said to reassure her before having her sign the contract? Seo-ah couldn’t know. Now every word felt suspect. Gang Ri-woo’s words. Park In-cheol’s words. Kang Min-jun’s words. All of it could have been designed to push her toward signing.
Or it could have been genuine.
“It could be both.”
That’s what Haneul had said. About six hours ago. In the tattoo shop. “He could be sincere with you, and he could also be using you. It could be both.”
Seo-ah left the bench. She couldn’t sit anymore. Sitting just meant thinking. She had to walk.
At five in the morning, Seo-ah came to Hongdae’s live club district.
The street that was packed with people at night was empty at dawn. All the club doors were closed. Only the signs were lit. The afterglow of last night hung in the air—cigarette smoke, beer, sweat. It would be washed away during the day, but at dawn it was still there.
The club where Seo-ah worked was “Velvet.” The door was locked. Seo-ah went around to the side alley. There was a back door. Where employees entered. That was locked too. Seo-ah had no phone, so she couldn’t text or call anyone. She just had to wait.
Or go home.
Seo-ah sat on a bench in the narrow alley in front of the club. During the day, this was where club customers rested. Now there was no one. Seo-ah sat there and looked at the sky. The sky at six in the morning. Neither completely dark nor bright—gray.
A phone rang.
Seo-ah startled and looked up. The sound wasn’t coming from her phone. Someone’s phone rang in the alley. Seo-ah looked around. There was no one. The ringing continued. A vibration sound. Someone wasn’t answering their phone.
The ringing stopped.
And twenty seconds later it rang again.
Seo-ah stood up. She followed the sound. Inside the alley. Next to a pile of trash. A phone lay on the ground. The screen was glowing. A name appeared. But Seo-ah couldn’t read it—it was in English, not Korean. “RIWOO” displayed on the screen.
Seo-ah picked up the phone.
## It was Gang Ri-woo’s phone.
## The screen showed “MOM.”
Seo-ah didn’t press any buttons. She waited until the ringing stopped. And holding someone else’s phone felt wrong. Picking up a ringing phone that wasn’t hers.
The screen went dark.
Seo-ah looked around. There was no sign of Gang Ri-woo. Just trash piles and an alley. How had his phone ended up here? Had Gang Ri-woo come here? At this hour. In this place.
When Seo-ah turned, she heard a voice.
“Seo-ah.”
Seo-ah looked up.
Gang Ri-woo stood at the alley entrance. A cigarette in one hand. Nothing in the other. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. No watch on his wrist. No jacket on his shoulders. He looked like someone who’d been doing something all night. His face was pale. The dark circles under his eyes seemed deeper.
“Your phone.”
Seo-ah spoke.
Gang Ri-woo lowered the cigarette. A cigarette he hadn’t even lit. He’d just been holding it. When he tried to take the phone, Seo-ah spoke first.
“What were you doing all last night?”
It was a question.
Gang Ri-woo stopped. His hand froze in the air.
“I read the whole contract.”
Seo-ah said. Her voice didn’t waver. “The exclusive contract—45 pages. The copyright transfer agreement—14 pages. I read all of it.”
“Seo-ah.”
“I saw Article 5. It says ‘best efforts shall be made.’ I know what that means. It means you’ll try. Not that you’ll succeed.”
“Let’s go inside.”
Gang Ri-woo said. “We shouldn’t do this here.”
“Where to?”
“The club.”
“The club isn’t open.”
Gang Ri-woo said nothing. He put his hands in his pockets. And completely ignored that his phone was in Seo-ah’s hands.
“My mom called. Just now.” He spoke quietly. “From Berlin. Different time zone, so she calls at weird hours. She said my father was hospitalized yesterday with a heart attack. He needs surgery.”
Seo-ah’s hand trembled. Not from holding his phone, but from hearing those words.
“So you want to know what I was doing all last night? I called my father’s doctor. Talked about hospital bills. Insurance coverage. Asked if my father is awake now, when the surgery will be.”
Gang Ri-woo looked into Seo-ah’s eyes.
“And I thought about why I told you to sign that contract.”
Seo-ah couldn’t say anything.
“I told you ‘this will protect you.’ But really it was to protect my father. I didn’t know how much he depends on my bank account. Not until something like a heart attack happened.”
Gang Ri-woo opened his hand.
“Give me the phone.”
Seo-ah handed it over.
Gang Ri-woo took it and looked at the screen. Nine missed calls from Mom. Three messages. Gang Ri-woo didn’t read the messages. He just turned off the screen.
“The contract.”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign it?”
“No.”
“Why.”
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t you.”
“Because the contract doesn’t say what you promised. Article 5 just says ‘best efforts shall be made.’ There’s no guarantee I’ll get my copyright back. And JYA owns the songs I wrote. There’s nothing in the contract about them buying it. I won’t get paid for my songs, I’ll lose the copyright, and I won’t even get my name back.”
“That’s right.”
Gang Ri-woo said.
“All of it’s right.”
And he laughed. At six in the morning, in a Hongdae alley. Gang Ri-woo laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was a resigned laugh. The laugh of someone who knows everything is already decided.
“My father would be disappointed if I don’t produce better results at JYA. Recruiting one new artist is too small for my father’s standards. He wants me to grow the company bigger. So I gave you the contract and asked you to sign, so I’d have money to pay for my father’s hospital bills.”
Seo-ah stopped moving.
“So I thought you had to sign. Not for you, but for me.”
“But now.”
Gang Ri-woo spoke slowly.
“I realize I don’t have to.”
He looked at his phone again. The screen was dark.
“I’ll pay for my father’s hospital bills. I can’t ask you to give up yourself for me.”
Seo-ah’s throat tightened.
“But what do I do. What do I tell you. We need that contract and you won’t sign it? What do I tell my father?”
Gang Ri-woo looked at Seo-ah’s face.
“What are you doing right now. At dawn. Without your phone.”
Seo-ah answered.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you have a plan?”
“No.”
“Then think about it starting now. If you don’t sign the contract, what will you do? What will you do for your mom and Do-hyeon with just part-time work?”
Seo-ah didn’t have an answer to that question.
Gang Ri-woo stood beside Seo-ah. They looked at the alley together. Trash piles. Closed club doors. A pre-dawn street where nothing moved.
“Go to my father’s hospital tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give you the address. And after that, let’s think about what we do.”
“Okay.”
“And Seo-ah.”
Gang Ri-woo spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice truly sounded sorry. Or already resigned. Both.
Seo-ah didn’t answer. Instead she started walking toward the Han River. Gang Ri-woo stood behind, watching her. Her hair swayed in the wind. He stayed there until she disappeared into the darkness.
And alone, Gang Ri-woo took out a cigarette again. This time he lit it.
Seo-ah returned to her gosiwon at eight in the morning.
Haneul was already there. She had Seo-ah’s gosiwon key. She didn’t explain how she got it. Just said she’d closed her tattoo shop early and come over.
“Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. I just walked.”
Haneul didn’t ask further. Instead she made ramyeon. On a hot plate in the corner of the gosiwon room. She added an egg to the noodles and topped it with spam. Seo-ah didn’t eat it. Just watched.
“Gang Ri-woo came by.”
Haneul said. “Earlier. At the tattoo shop. He said you didn’t have your phone.”
“What did he say?”
“He said ‘I understand’ when you said you couldn’t sign the contract. And he really looked like he understood.”
Seo-ah looked at Haneul.
“And then what?”
“Then he said he’d think about what he could do.”
Seo-ah picked up the ramyeon. The noodles tasted good. The spam oil lingered in her mouth. The egg yolk was soft. Haneul had made it well.
“Seo-ah.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you really not going to sign the contract?”
Seo-ah chewed the noodles and thought. The contract. 45 pages. 14 pages. Article 5. Article 8. “Best efforts shall be made.” Kang Min-jun’s face. Park In-cheol’s kindness. Gang Ri-woo’s eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I really don’t know. It feels like I shouldn’t sign, but if I don’t sign then another problem comes up.”
Haneul sat beside Seo-ah.
“Then for now, don’t sign. If a problem comes up, we’ll think about it then.”
Seo-ah nodded while eating the ramyeon.
The fire didn’t go out. There was still fire inside Seo-ah. She didn’t know what it was burning, but it didn’t go out.
[Hooks for the Next Chapter]
— Did Gang Ri-woo really only say he’d “think about what he could do”?
— How will Kang Min-jun’s heart attack and hospital bills affect the story going forward?
— What is the “other problem” that Seo-ah thinks will arise if she doesn’t sign?
— What solution did Gang Ri-woo choose?