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# Chapter 34: Moments of Confession
The car came to a stop in a parking lot near Gangnam Station. Sae-ah was staring at Kang Ri-woo’s fingers gripping the steering wheel. Those fingers should have been on piano keys. Long, thick-knuckled, precise enough to play any score. But now they were merely driving.
“What did Do-hyun say to you yesterday?”
Sae-ah spoke first. Kang Ri-woo turned to her with a startled expression. That reaction was proof enough—he knew about Do-hyun’s call. Or at least that Sae-ah had answered it. He was monitoring her phone.
“You shouldn’t have taken that call.”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice wasn’t cold. If anything, it was warm. That was what made it dangerous. A command wrapped in warmth was indistinguishable from violence.
“That’s my brother.”
“I know. Na Sae-ah, seventeen years old. Second year of high school. In the music club. Frequently KakaoTalks your mom for bus fare.”
Sae-ah’s body went rigid. Kang Ri-woo knew the details of Do-hyun’s life. This was no longer protection. This was surveillance. This was extortion.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Watching Do-hyun.”
Kang Ri-woo sighed. There was disappointment in that sigh—as if frustrated that Sae-ah couldn’t grasp something so obvious.
“I’m doing it to protect you.”
“I don’t want to be protected.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His voice turned sharp. The temperature inside the car dropped. The air conditioning was on. Outside the window, Gangnam Street bustled with early afternoon traffic. People passed by, each living different lives. How many of them were being monitored without knowing it?
“Last night, you worked at a convenience store. 2 AM to 10 AM. Then you bought two triangular kimbap from GS25. 5,200 won. Then you went back to Hapjeong-dong. Before entering the gosiwon, you stopped at another convenience store. Do you know what you bought?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. She couldn’t remember what she’d bought yesterday. Her memory was foggy. Everything lately had become a blur.
“Cold medicine. Cough medicine. You were sick again. If you keep living like this, you’ll keep getting sick.”
There was genuine concern in Kang Ri-woo’s voice. That was the most dangerous part. If his surveillance had been pure malice, it would have been easier. But it was indistinguishable from something called love.
“I’m doing this to protect you, Sae-ah. To keep you safe.”
“You’re not protecting me. You’re caging me.”
“They’re the same thing in this industry.”
Kang Ri-woo removed his hands from the steering wheel, placing them on his lap. A gesture of surrender. But even surrender was tactical.
“I want to be honest with you. Do you know who your father is?”
“The CEO of JYA.”
“Right. And he’s watching you very closely. Your music. Your potential.”
Sae-ah already knew this. Kang Min-jun’s gaze. The contracts. The copyright transfers. It was all directed at her. But hearing it from Kang Ri-woo’s mouth was a different dimension of terror.
“And my father never lets go of what he wants. Never. That’s why I’ve been avoiding this.”
“Avoiding what?”
Kang Ri-woo looked out the window. The buildings surrounding Gangnam Station. All erected by capital, maintained by capital, destined to be destroyed by capital.
“In Berlin.”
His voice changed. It became lower, more cautious.
“Why I quit piano. Have I ever told you?”
“No.”
“My father wanted me to go on the international stage. To become famous. And he said it would help JYA’s image. Lots of people love classical music. The kind with money.”
Kang Ri-woo placed his hands back on the steering wheel but didn’t start the engine.
“I competed in the Berlin Concours. My father arranged it. An international competition. Big prize money, and if you win, European tour offers come in. It was perfect. A perfect plan.”
“So you won?”
“Third place.”
His voice cracked. Third place. It was success—a dream come true for most people. But to Kang Min-jun, it would have been failure.
“My father only wanted first. Because he’d invested. Do you know how much he spent on my education? The best teachers from childhood. The best instruments. The best of everything. And third place.”
Sae-ah said nothing. Listening to Kang Ri-woo, she reconsidered her own situation. It was similar. What Kang Min-jun wanted. What Kang Ri-woo was trying to protect. All of it was part of someone’s plan.
“After that… my hands froze. Starting the day after the competition. I couldn’t place my hands on the instrument. Medically, there was nothing wrong. I saw neurologists. Everyone. But my hands wouldn’t move. The moment I sat in front of a piano.”
Kang Ri-woo raised both hands, showing them to her. His fingers trembled slightly.
“It still happens. I’m fine in front of you, but in front of a piano…”
Sae-ah looked at those hands. Long, elegant fingers. Fingers born for music. And now those fingers were driving cars, monitoring her, controlling someone.
“So I came back. To Seoul. I told my father I was quitting piano. Of course he opposed it. Fiercely. But I decided. Instead of my hands being mine, I’d become my father’s hands.”
“That’s not a deal. That’s surrender.”
“I know.”
Kang Ri-woo answered flatly. There was no regret in his face. Only reality.
“But you can be different. You’re still twenty-four. I made my choice at twenty-three. You can make a different one now. If I help you.”
“What do you want in return?”
Sae-ah’s question was direct. Kang Ri-woo laughed—genuinely. The first real laugh she’d heard from him. His laughter sounded like piano music, clear and pure.
“You’re smart. Really smart.”
“In return?”
“In return, you have to become mine. Completely.”
Sae-ah looked out the window. The people around Gangnam Station. All living within someone’s plan. Their parents’, their companies’, society’s, money’s. What was called freedom was just the illusion of choice.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“I’m thinking about betraying you.”
Sae-ah answered. It wasn’t a lie. She wanted to betray him. To get out of this car, never see him again, reset everything. And she knew it was impossible. Too many things were already connected.
“That’s fine. You can betray me. I’ll still protect you.”
“That’s not protection. That’s coercion.”
“In this world, they’re the same thing, Sae-ah. Even more so in this music industry. You need to understand now. Someone will always want you. And if that someone is the kind of person who protects you properly, you’re very lucky. Extremely lucky.”
Kang Ri-woo started driving again. The car moved slowly through Gangnam’s streets. Sae-ah heard her phone ringing. The screen showed “Haneul.” Her fifth call. Sae-ah didn’t answer.
“Haneul keeps calling.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to see her?”
Sae-ah didn’t respond. She did want to see her. Really. But she understood what that would mean. Putting Haneul in danger. Her choices affecting Haneul. Every relationship becoming a target of surveillance.
“You should see her. If that friend keeps looking for you, it’ll only raise suspicion.”
Kang Ri-woo said this strategically. Meet her, yes—but within his sight.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. 7 PM. A cafe in Hongdae.”
As she heard this, Sae-ah realized she was already in Kang Ri-woo’s hands. And worse, she realized this wasn’t entirely bad. Kang Ri-woo was protecting her—that was true. Monitoring Do-hyun, telling her not to see Haneul—all of it was to keep her safe. And that was most dangerous of all.
Because surveillance and love were indistinguishable.
The car continued forward. The buildings of Gangnam passed by. Inside each one was someone’s ambition. Someone’s plan. Someone’s dream. And beneath all of it was someone’s sacrifice.
Sae-ah saw her reflection in the window. She had no face. Only a black outline with the background reflected through it. As if she didn’t exist.
“What are you thinking now?”
Kang Ri-woo asked again.
“I’m thinking about who I am.”
“And?”
“I don’t know. Who am I now?”
Kang Ri-woo didn’t laugh. He just sighed. That sigh existed somewhere between love and despair.
Three hours at the convenience store passed in an instant.
Sae-ah entered at 4 PM and left at 7 PM. In between: ten customers. Twenty transactions. One customer asking about cigarettes. One customer requesting a refund. Manager Kim Young-hee bringing new paper bags. All of it remained hazy in Sae-ah’s memory.
7 PM. A cafe in Hongdae. The place Kang Ri-woo had designated.
Sae-ah opened the cafe door. An alarm. Eyes turning toward her. The clearest among them was Haneul’s face.
Haneul was already sitting at a table in the corner. And next to her, exactly as Sae-ah had anticipated, sat Kang Ri-woo.
Sae-ah’s steps stopped.
“This seat is prepared for you.”
Kang Ri-woo pointed. The chair between Haneul and himself. Exactly in the middle.
Sae-ah walked to that seat. One step, then another. Like walking to an execution. Then she sat.
“What are you? Seriously.”
Haneul spoke first. Anger in her voice. Real anger.
“What did I tell you? Come on. Talk to me. Why don’t you answer my calls, and why are you so anxious about this person?”
Sae-ah didn’t respond. What could she say?
“Let me introduce you. This is my friend Haneul. A tattoo artist. A good friend. Very concerned about Sae-ah.”
Kang Ri-woo interjected, his tone like a gracious host introducing two people for the first time.
“And you?”
Haneul glared at Kang Ri-woo.
“I’m someone trying to protect Sae-ah.”
“Protect? Look at her. Her fingers. Her face. Her eyes. Everything’s a mess. How is that protecting her?”
Haneul grabbed Sae-ah’s hand. It was warm. Really warm. Not the purposeful warmth of Kang Ri-woo’s hands, but the simple warmth of someone worried about a friend.
“This is a process.”
Kang Ri-woo answered.
“A process? What do you do?”
“I’m just someone who protects people.”
Kang Ri-woo sipped his coffee. Americano. No sugar. Sae-ah knew this about him. What coffee he drank. What music he liked. What time he called. She knew everything about him. But she still didn’t know who he was.
“Sae-ah, why aren’t you saying anything?”
Haneul shook her gently.
“What?”
Sae-ah’s voice was small. Tiny as a bird’s.
“Why are you living like this? You pulled an all-nighter at a convenience store? Why are your fingers like that? And who is this person?”
Haneul’s questions poured out. And Sae-ah couldn’t answer them. Because the answers themselves were dangerous.
“Let me explain.”
Kang Ri-woo stepped in.
“Sae-ah is at a crossroads right now. Two paths. One is living with a friend like you. The other is truly pursuing her music. My way.”
“Music? When she’s this broken?”
“That’s why I’m protecting her. Before she breaks. Or as she’s breaking.”
Kang Ri-woo looked at Sae-ah. His eyes were warm. Really warm. And that was most dangerous.
Sae-ah squeezed Haneul’s hand tightly.
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“Sorry for what?”
“Everything.”
The cafe’s music changed. Someone’s music. As Sae-ah listened, she wondered where her own music was. Who her music was crying for.
And she knew it was impossible. Her music wasn’t hers. It already belonged to Kang Min-jun. From the moment she signed that contract.
Haneul kept looking at her. With pity. With the fear of losing a friend. And Sae-ah turned her gaze away from that look.
Kang Ri-woo sipped his coffee again. He said nothing. He simply existed. Like a threshold. Between Sae-ah and Haneul. Between Sae-ah and her past.
“Did you read the contract again?”
Kang Ri-woo suddenly asked. It was less a question than a declaration.
Sae-ah shook her head. She couldn’t read it again. Reading it meant clearly recognizing what she’d given up.
“Page three, clause seven. Read it again.”
Kang Ri-woo slid a folded paper toward Sae-ah’s hand. A paper she didn’t remember him taking out. A contract.
Sae-ah unfolded it.
“All copyrights belong to JYA Entertainment, and the artist cannot create, distribute, or sell music without company approval. In case of violation, compensation of 500 times the contract fee is required.”
Kang Ri-woo read it. For Sae-ah.
“500 times. 500 times 2.5 million won. 1.25 billion won. You’re now 1.25 billion won in debt. If you ever write your own song.”
“What…?”
“So you can’t write your own music now. Never. Not without my father’s permission.”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice was flat. Emotionless. Simply stating facts.
Haneul stood up abruptly.
“What is this? Is this a contract? Isn’t this a crime?”
“It’s legal. Under Korean law.”
Kang Ri-woo answered.
“And now it begins. My father will ask you to write songs. My songs. Under my name. You’ll do it, and no one will know. You’re a shadow. A good shadow. But a shadow.”
As Sae-ah heard this, she realized this wasn’t an Andersen fairy tale. This was a more realistic hell. The Little Mermaid at least made her own choice. But Sae-ah? Sae-ah had sold her voice under false promises.
“How can you do this?”
Sae-ah asked Kang Ri-woo.
“Because I’ve already done it. My hands. My music. My life. I sold it all to my father. And I wanted to lead you down the same path. Because…”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice trailed off.
“Because?”
“Because it’s easier to bear when you’re not alone.”
Kang Ri-woo drank his coffee again. This time his hand trembled slightly.
Sae-ah saw those trembling hands. And she understood. Kang Ri-woo was a victim too. But when a victim becomes a perpetrator, it becomes an even more complex tragedy.
Haneul grabbed Sae-ah’s hand again.
“Let’s get out of here. Now.”
“You can go.”
Kang Ri-woo said.
“But then you won’t know what happens to Do-hyun. You won’t know what we do. So we’ll know what you do…”
Kang Ri-woo’s words didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear.
Sae-ah released Haneul’s hand.
“I’m sorry. Really.”
“Hey…”
Haneul cried out like a scream. But it was too late. Sae-ah was sitting next to Kang Ri-woo. And she couldn’t know where they were heading.
The cafe’s music kept playing. Someone’s music. Not Sae-ah’s, but someone else’s. And the difference, she was beginning to understand, was enormous.
Kang Ri-woo stood up. Sae-ah followed. Like a puppet controlled by invisible strings. Against her own will.
As they left the cafe, Sae-ah looked back. Haneul was still sitting there. Her trembling hands holding her phone. She looked like she was trying to call someone. But who? The police? Would that police be moved by Kang Min-jun’s money?
Sae-ah looked ahead again. Kang Ri-woo’s back. Those long, thick-knuckled fingers.
And she realized.
She was already a flame. And that flame was burning for someone else. Not for herself.
# The Music of Shadows
The piano melody flowing from the cafe’s ceiling irritated Sae-ah’s ears. Chopin’s Nocturne. Reborn through someone else’s interpretation, that piece was no longer hers. That was what hurt most. The arrangement she’d created, the music she’d spent countless nights perfecting, was now echoing under someone else’s name.
Sae-ah stared at Kang Ri-woo’s face across from her. His expression was composed, but his eyes held a black shadow. Like a bottomless well, that darkness contained layers of years of despair and compromise.
“Under international music law, copyright infringement is a civil matter. Criminal charges are difficult. But that doesn’t matter. Because my father’s lawyers have already gotten our signatures on every contract. Legally, it’s completely clean. There’s nothing to do.”
Kang Ri-woo spoke coldly, like a judge pronouncing sentence in court. Each word was a small nail driven into Sae-ah’s chest.
Sae-ah traced the rim of her cold coffee cup with her finger. The chill of the glass transferred to her skin. It felt like the only reality in this uncertain, blurry situation. Only this cold temperature proved she was still alive.
“And now it starts.”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice came again. Lower, deeper.
“My father will ask you to write songs. My songs. Under my name. You’ll do it, and no one will know. You’re a shadow. A good shadow. But a shadow.”
Sae-ah’s body went rigid. Like a block of ice hardening, and in that sensation, she finally understood her situation clearly. This was no longer vague fear. This was a confirmed future. Beautiful words wrapping a gilded cage, essentially no different from a prison.
She thought of the Little Mermaid. That woman in Andersen’s tale sold her voice, but at least it was her choice. Her choice for her dream, for her love. But Sae-ah? Sae-ah was selling her voice under false promises, under threats, to protect someone she loved.
“How can you do this?”
The words from Sae-ah’s mouth were a whisper. But that whisper carried despair as loud as a scream.
“Because I’ve already done it.”
Kang Ri-woo answered. His voice held a surprising calm, as if finally telling someone the secret he’d been keeping.
“My hands. My music. My life. I sold it all to my father. Ten years ago. And…”
He paused. In the silence, the cafe’s background music grew louder.
“…and I wanted to lead you down the same path. From the start.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
At Sae-ah’s question, Kang Ri-woo picked up his coffee cup. His hand trembled faintly. It was a tiny tremor, but Sae-ah’s eyes caught it. In that trembling were emotions suppressed for years.
“Because it’s easier to bear when you’re not alone.”
The moment those words left his mouth, Kang Ri-woo closed his eyes. Briefly, less than a second, but in that moment lived deep wounds and guilt. He knew the nature of what he was doing. But he couldn’t stop. Because being alone terrified him too much.
Sae-ah watched Kang Ri-woo’s hands. Those long, thick-knuckled fingers. They were a musician’s hands. Hands born to play instruments. But now they were being used to control someone. And most horrible was the fact that Kang Ri-woo himself knew this wasn’t his will.
Sae-ah understood. Kang Ri-woo was a victim too. But when a victim becomes a perpetrator, it becomes an even more complex tragedy.
At that moment, Haneul grabbed Sae-ah’s hand. His hand was warm, slightly damp. Cold sweat from fear. Sae-ah didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to release this hand, the only one in the world carrying genuine feeling toward her.
“Let’s get out of here. Now. Right now.”
Haneul’s voice was desperate. Almost crying, it mixed both love and fear for Sae-ah.
“You can go.”
Kang Ri-woo said matter-of-factly. But the next sentence changed everything.
“But then you won’t know what happens to Do-hyun. You won’t know what we do. So we’ll know what you do… And my father doesn’t like that.”
Kang Ri-woo’s words didn’t finish, but the meaning was crystal clear. It was a threat. A beautifully packaged threat, but fundamentally as sharp as a blade. A suggestion that Do-hyun, Sae-ah’s brother, might be in danger. A hint that something could happen to Haneul if she resisted.
Sae-ah’s hand left Haneul’s. It felt like it was being manipulated by someone else, but it was actually her own choice. The worst choice, to protect her brother.
“I’m sorry. Really.”
Sae-ah’s voice cracked. It felt like someone else’s voice, not hers. But that was exactly what Kang Ri-woo wanted. For Sae-ah’s distinctive voice to slowly disappear, transforming into a tool that followed someone’s commands.
“Hey… Sae-ah!”
Haneul screamed. It was pain, rage, despair. His voice pierced through the cafe’s background music. But it was too late. Sae-ah was sitting next to Kang Ri-woo. Almost automatically, like a puppet. And from that moment on, Sae-ah couldn’t know where she was going or what she would become.
The cafe’s music continued to play. It was someone’s music. Someone’s soul packaged as music. But it wasn’t Sae-ah’s music. A song created by Sae-ah’s hands but not bearing her name. And now, for the rest of her life, Sae-ah would create only such music.
Kang Ri-woo stood up. His movement was gentle but forceful. Like plucking a string with a finger. And Sae-ah rose too. Like another instrument tied to the same string. Against her own will.
As they left the cafe, Sae-ah looked back. Haneul was still sitting there. His hands trembling, holding his phone. Trying to call someone, it seemed. Probably the police. But Sae-ah knew. She knew how long and deep Kang Min-jun’s reach was. How much power that money could move.
Sae-ah looked ahead again. Kang Ri-woo’s back. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his gait heavy. Like someone carrying a burden placed on them by another. But he kept walking. Because he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he would collapse.
Sae-ah stared at those long, thick-knuckled fingers. What were they doing now? Maybe playing someone else’s composition on a piano. Or maybe sketching notes on manuscript paper to create a new piece. But those notes would be placed under his name. And Sae-ah’s name would appear nowhere.
And finally, she understood.
She was a flame. But that flame wasn’t meant to illuminate herself. That flame would burn to illuminate someone else, to bear someone else’s name, to fulfill someone else’s desires.
The Little Mermaid at least knew what she was giving up. But Sae-ah? Sae-ah was walking into the shadows now, not even knowing what she was sacrificing.
The night air was cold. From the moment they left the cafe, that chill burrowed into Sae-ah’s skin. It felt like her very identity was slowly melting away.
Kang Ri-woo kept walking forward. Sae-ah followed. Without question, without resistance.
Only their footsteps echoed through the night street. And from somewhere distant, someone’s music drifted.
Was it Sae-ah’s music? Kang Ri-woo’s? Kang Min-jun’s?
It no longer mattered. Because from now on, all that music would become the same thing.
Music of shadows. Music without a name.