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# Chapter 23: Lies Over Coffee
The coffee shop in front of Gangnam Station’s Exit 8 was smaller than Seyah had imagined.
Small, quiet, and expensive-smelling. Beneath the notes of espresso and chocolate, something chemical lingered—flavoring, perhaps. Or maybe just the scent of money burning. Seyah pushed through the door. Seven twenty in the morning. Rush hour, yet the shop was empty. Its clientele were either already at work or still asleep.
Kang Riou sat at the window table.
Seyah saw him 0.5 seconds after stepping inside. But he had seen her first—perhaps from the moment she’d exited the subway. He’d been watching outside. His face overlapped with Seoul’s early morning, reflected in the glass: sunlight glinting off vehicles, the screech of construction equipment, and his face.
She walked to his table. Her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. As though she were borrowing another person’s limbs. Left foot, right foot. Five steps across the tiled floor. Six. She arrived.
“Sit.”
Riou pushed out the chair diagonal to him. He was drinking black coffee, nearly finished—only a little remained in the cup. He’d been waiting long, or drinking steadily while he waited. To keep his mind occupied.
Seyah sat.
“What did you do all night?”
It wasn’t a question. A verification. His voice had already recovered. Beneath the bright morning light near Gangnam Station, he’d composed himself again. Slow, precise, controlled. But his eyes were different. The dark circles beneath them had deepened—or perhaps it was just the difference between dawn light and morning sun. Seyah thought she probably looked the same.
“I walked. Along the Han River.”
“Your phone.”
“I didn’t bring it.”
Riou blinked once. That was his only reaction.
“My father prepared the contract himself.”
Seyah said nothing.
“Without my knowledge. Well, I knew about it, but not the details. Father’s always like that—he tells me the important parts later.”
Riou drained his remaining coffee. The cup emptied. He set it down. It made a small sound against the table—ceramic against ceramic. A painful sound.
“You saw it.”
“Yes.”
“And what did you think?”
Seyah didn’t want to answer that. Instead, she looked outside. Gangnam’s morning. Tall buildings catching the light. Thousands of people inside them, working at desks. All of them, she thought, had read contracts like this. All of them knew its traps. Or knew and ignored them anyway.
“I thought there were many traps.”
Riou laughed—barely audible, almost like breathing.
“Yes. Many traps. Ones I didn’t design. My father did. And I pretended not to know. Or more accurately, I looked away.”
He lifted his hand. Long, knuckled fingers. Seyah thought they were a pianist’s hands. But he no longer played piano. Or couldn’t. She’d seen his hands tremble before—when he spoke of music. She’d thought it was from cold at first. It wasn’t.
“I wanted to bring you to the company.”
“I know.”
“Because of your music. For the right reasons. And I believed it was right. You’re someone who shouldn’t be buried. But my father saw it differently.”
Riou laughed again—a more genuine laugh this time. But sadder.
“He didn’t see your music. He saw that your music could be used to create something else. Someone else. Like Park So-jin. Or other artists yet to come.”
Seyah’s hands lay on the table. Riou saw them. He covered them with his own hand. Not a protective gesture. Just covered them. As though warmth didn’t matter. He simply covered them.
“I lied to you. Not intentionally, but in the end, I did.”
“You didn’t lie to me.”
“Na Seyah.”
He said her name. For the first time. Every time she’d heard it before, she’d been unsure if he was calling her or someone else. The name hadn’t felt like hers—as though she were merely its temporary keeper. But this was different. Now she felt it belonged to her.
“I’m going to sign.”
“What?”
“The contract. I’m going to sign it.”
Seyah watched him. His eyes looked toward the window. Morning light illuminated his face precisely. She could see the shadow beneath his eyes, and beneath that shadow, something else. Not decision. Surrender. No, not that either. Choice. Even that wasn’t quite right.
“Why.”
Riou looked at her.
“Because your music needs to reach the world. No matter how. No matter the cost. That’s the best I can do.”
Seyah heard those words twice—once from his lips, once in her head. And during the second hearing, she knew they were lies. Not completely, but half-lies. Or rather, incomplete truths.
“That’s not it though.”
Riou blinked twice. A sign that she’d seen through him.
“You already know.”
“I do.”
“Then.”
“Tell me what you really mean.”
Riou withdrew his hand. From hers. He placed it back on his lap. Seyah saw it tremble. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But it was definitely trembling.
“When I was in Berlin, I was a pianist.”
Seyah leaned forward. He continued.
“I was preparing for the Chopin Competition. My father paid for it. I had the best teachers. Everything was perfect. Or was supposed to be.”
He paused. He wanted to drink coffee, but the cup was empty. He picked up the empty cup anyway. Then set it down.
“Then one morning, I couldn’t sit at the piano. My hands wouldn’t move. Or rather, they moved, but no music came out. My fingers found the keys, but I didn’t understand what they meant. The keyboard existed, but the language was gone. Like your voice disappearing.”
Seyah held her breath.
“So I ran. Back to Korea. Told my father I was returning. And he didn’t force music on me. He forced something else instead. The company. Contracts. Making artists. But you know what? It was easier. I couldn’t speak in front of a piano, but I could speak in front of a contract. Contracts work with lies.”
Riou looked at her.
“And when I saw you, I saw myself. Your music was flowing out, but you were suppressing it. Like I did. So I wanted to save you. In the way I wasn’t saved. But I ended up pushing you down the same path. Like my father did. Becoming his tool.”
Seyah’s hand moved. Beneath the table. To her lap. She clenched her fist. Her nails dug into her palm. It didn’t hurt. That kind of pain was something she no longer felt.
“What changes if I sign.”
“Credits will be corrected. Not legally guaranteed, but Father promised. And you’ll become part of the company. Your songs will officially come to the world. Before under someone else’s name. Now under yours.”
“But after that.”
Riou didn’t answer.
“Your father will keep using me afterward.”
“Yes.”
He admitted it. This was what Seyah wanted—the truth without lies or promises. Just admission.
“What I can do ends here, but I want to do it. Not for you. For me. To face what I’ve run from. I’m pretending to save you, but really I’m trying to save myself.”
Seyah looked outside. Gangnam’s morning was beginning in earnest. People walked the streets. All in predetermined directions. All at predetermined speeds. Nobody looking to the side.
“You.”
“What.”
“Can you play piano again?”
Riou’s face changed. Barely. His eyebrows rose half a degree. That was all. But Seyah saw it.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you tried?”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Because I’m afraid. And… because I’m afraid it might not be my music. Or because I’m afraid to confirm that it’s not. It could be my father’s music. My teacher’s music. Just music I learned, not music I created. Music I copied, not music I made.”
Seyah understood. She understood that fear. The blurred line between your own music and others’ influence. Where yours ends and the borrowed begins. That fear of the unclear boundary.
“I’ll sign.”
Riou’s eyes widened.
“The contract.”
“Why.”
Seyah looked at him. His eyes turned back to the window. But his ears were toward her. All his attention waiting for her next words.
“When you were in Berlin, you were looking for your music. And you couldn’t find it. So you ran. But I’m already running. I’m not looking for anything. I’ve already given up. So I can sign. I can make the choice you couldn’t.”
“Na Seyah.”
“In return.”
Seyah took his hand. On the table. Openly. Where the shop owner could see, where people outside could see through the window.
“You have to play piano again.”
Riou didn’t move.
“In exchange for me signing, what you have to do. Finding your music. What I couldn’t find. You have to find it.”
“That’s not a negotiation. I can’t make you do that.”
“No. But I’m asking you now.”
Riou’s hand trembled in hers. Clearly. Undeniably.
“I can’t promise.”
“Just try. That’s all.”
Riou closed his eyes. For a long time. As though organizing something inside himself. Seyah did nothing. She simply held his trembling hand.
“Even if I play, I can’t save you.”
“I know.”
“You’ll still belong to the company. Still be controlled by my father. Your music will still become his music.”
“I know.”
“Knowing that.”
“Yes.”
Riou opened his eyes.
“You’ll still sign.”
Seyah answered.
“Yes.”
Outside, Seoul’s morning continued. Gangnam’s morning. Construction noise, car horns, someone’s footsteps. And beneath all of it, flowing music. Music no one else could hear yet. Music that only rang in Seyah’s head.
Riou let go of her hand.
“I’ll bring the contract tomorrow. And.”
“Yes.”
“From now on, you can ask me anything. Without lies.”
Seyah laughed. Very softly.
“You should ask me too.”
Riou looked at her.
“What should I ask you.”
“When you play piano, whose music it is. If it’s yours. If it’s your father’s. If it’s your teacher’s. Ask me.”
Riou laughed again. A real laugh this time. Sad, but real.
“You’re really strange.”
“I am.”
They said nothing more. Sitting in the coffee shop. Beneath Gangnam’s morning light. Seyah didn’t take his hand again, and Riou didn’t take hers. They simply sat. Beside each other. In silence.
Time passed. How much, she couldn’t say, but the angle of light shifted slightly higher. Riou stood.
“Let’s go.”
“Where.”
“The company. I should look at the contract beforehand.”
Seyah stood. They left the coffee shop near Gangnam Station. When they stepped into the street, Seyah was beside Riou. Very close. Almost touching. But not quite.
“Na Seyah.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Seyah didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer. Riou’s collar touched her shoulder. And she stopped there.
On Gangnam’s street, beneath the morning sun, two people walked. No one noticed them. This was Gangnam, where people looked at their goals. Ahead. Upward. Never to the side.
When they reached the company, it was nine o’clock.
The JYA Entertainment building was no different from other Gangnam buildings. Tall, black, glass. Riou placed his hand on Seyah’s arm as they headed for the elevator.
“My father will want to meet you.”
“Yes.”
“Without lies.”
“Yes.”
The elevator rose. From the first floor to the twenty-sixth. As the numbers climbed, Seyah felt herself descending. Or rather, becoming someone else. Like the match girl lighting matches one by one, drawn into different worlds with each flame.
The elevator doors opened.
The twenty-sixth floor. The heart of JYA Entertainment. Where Kang Min-jun’s office was located.
And without letting go of Riou’s hand, Seyah stepped forward.
In that moment, something switched off.
Seyah’s voice.
Or more precisely, Seyah pulled her voice up. From deep within. And made it sound like someone else’s. Cold. Quiet. Demanding nothing.
Riou looked at her.
“What are you doing.”
Seyah didn’t answer. Instead, she looked ahead. To the office at the end of the corridor. Where Kang Min-jun would be. Looking out the window. At his Seoul.
Riou gripped her hand.
“Na Seyah. What are you doing.”
Her mouth opened. But nothing came out. It simply opened. Closed. Opened again.
And finally, quietly,
“I’m ready to listen.”
She said.
Riou squeezed her hand tighter.
They walked together. Down the twenty-sixth floor corridor. Toward Kang Min-jun’s office. And Seyah thought.
Was this the beginning of burning, or the beginning of going out?
She couldn’t know yet.
But one thing was certain.
There was no going back.
End of Chapter 23