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# Chapter 50: The Reconstruction of Berlin
After Kang Ri-u finished speaking, Sea stared out at the Han River.
The noon sunlight shattered across the water like someone had broken a mirror—fragments scattered everywhere. Watching it, Sea thought of Ri-u’s hands. How they trembled. How they stiffened at the piano. How they’d wiped her hands with a towel just moments ago.
He said he killed music. For his father.
“Then what are you doing to me?”
Sea’s voice came out small, careful—as if her question might wound him.
Ri-u kept watching the river, lifting his hands and dropping them again and again. Like they were trying to do something on their own, only for him to keep stopping them.
“I don’t know what I’m doing to you,” Ri-u said slowly. “At first, I thought you’d be another tool for my father. I knew you wrote good songs. But when I saw you…” He paused. “Sorry. Does this even make sense?”
Sea didn’t answer. Ri-u continued.
“When I saw you, those kids from Berlin came to mind. The ones making beautiful music. But they got trapped by people like my father—slowly giving up on themselves. And I should have stopped it. I didn’t. My hands were already broken in my father’s grip. So with you… I wanted to do things differently. I wanted to give you a choice.”
“A choice,” Sea repeated. It came out almost like a laugh. “Do I look like I have a choice right now? Does this look like a situation where I can choose anything?”
Ri-u looked at her directly for the first time.
“No.”
“You’re right,” he said. “You don’t have a choice. Because of me. I bet everything on you, so now you have to bet everything on me. That wasn’t what I wanted, but that’s how it turned out.”
“Then what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”
Sea’s voice held anger, but confusion dominated it more—as if she didn’t know what she should feel, so anger was a placeholder.
“Let’s go to Jeju.”
It wasn’t an answer. It was escape.
“I’m not running,” Sea said flatly. “I’m not packing and running away. I have a brother. I have a mother. I can’t escape alone.”
“I know.”
“That’s why I wanted to tell you there. Go to Jeju. Take some time. And then… then we figure out what comes next.”
Sea heard the words but couldn’t grasp their meaning. Taking time. Figuring things out. These concepts didn’t register in her mind. Like receiving a message in the wrong language—she heard the sounds but the meaning never arrived.
“Did you tell your father?” Sea asked.
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“Tonight. At the company. In his office. And in that moment… everything ends.”
“What ends?” Sea asked.
Ri-u didn’t answer. Instead, he started the engine and slowly pulled back onto the road, following the Han River without destination.
Sea entered her semi-basement studio at 2:45 PM.
Ri-u didn’t come up. He’d dropped her at the entrance with one instruction: “I’ll call at 9 tonight. Pack for three days minimum.” That was all.
The room was six square meters. A bed, a desk, an old wardrobe. And by the window, a small cat house. Jangpan—the cat—watched her. Those intelligent eyes seemed to know everything about her.
“Don’t stare,” Sea muttered, collapsing onto the bed.
She studied the ceiling. Different from the convenience store’s break room ceiling. This one was cleaner, but still damp with humidity. Semi-basement living. A place with almost no sunlight. She’d chosen this place.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Haeul.
“Hey why aren’t you coming? Skipping work? lol”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she looked out the window. Semi-basement meant she could only see shoes and legs passing by. Afternoon in Hapjeong-dong. People heading to cafes, convenience stores, academies. Everyone going somewhere. And Sea was here.
The phone rang. Her mother.
“Sea, honey. Did you eat?”
Her mother was in Jeju, in a care facility. She’d had a stroke last year and struggled to move. Sea sent 3 million won every month. Care expenses. Medical bills. Most of what she earned from the convenience store.
“Yeah, I ate.”
She lied.
“You’re lying again, aren’t you?”
Sea froze. How did her mother always know? But she always did. She could sense when Sea wasn’t being truthful.
“Eat first, then call me back,” her mother said. Then the line went dead.
Sea lay there unable to move—as if her body had already died while her brain kept running.
Ri-u had said go to Jeju. That was her past. Where her mother had been a haenyeo, a diving woman. The sea where she’d sung as a child. When her father was still alive.
She didn’t understand why Jeju. But if Ri-u said so, something must be there. Either a way to save her, or a deeper hole to fall into.
Around 4 PM, Sea started packing.
Three days of clothes. Toiletries. And her laptop. Inside were her songs. Twelve of them. Twelve songs. Three had already gone out under someone else’s name. Now the remaining nine belonged to JYA too. She looked at those files. Hers but not hers.
She closed the bag. A small carry-on. Her entire life in a small carry-on.
Then around 6 PM, Do-hyun came home.
“Noona! I have band practice today so—”
He stopped. He saw the carry-on.
“What are you doing?”
His voice suddenly sounded adult.
“Taking a short trip,” Sea said.
“How long?”
“Three days.”
Do-hyun looked at her. Then at the carry-on behind her. Then back at her.
“Is it because of that guy?”
Sea didn’t answer.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?” His voice cracked with worry. “Why do you never tell me anything?”
Sea looked at her seventeen-year-old brother. Still in high school, but his eyes looked so much older.
“I’m going to Jeju,” she said. “Not alone. With that person. Kang Ri-u. For three days.”
“After that?”
Do-hyun asked.
Sea couldn’t answer. She didn’t know.
“Do you know?” he pushed. “You always just endure everything. For my tuition. For Mom. Now for some guy. But when do you think about you? When do you do something for yourself? When?”
Sea couldn’t answer his questions. They were too old. They cut too deep.
“What are you going to do in Jeju?” Do-hyun asked again.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Just… something. He says something will be there.”
Do-hyun stared at her for a long moment. Then he set down his bag.
“I’m coming too.”
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“School.”
“I’ll skip. It doesn’t matter. You matter more.”
He went to his room. Sea didn’t stop him. Like she didn’t have the strength to stop anything anymore.
At exactly 9 PM, Ri-u called.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Can Do-hyun come?” Sea asked.
Silence on the other end.
“It’s fine,” Ri-u said. Then, “Come down now. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay.”
Sea looked at Do-hyun. He was already packed. A few clothes. His guitar.
“Why bring the guitar?” she asked.
“Like you wouldn’t know,” he said. “You’re going to sing in Jeju, right? I’ll back you up.”
Sea heard him but couldn’t understand. Sing? She wasn’t a singer anymore. She was a composer. And those songs weren’t even hers anymore.
They went to the entrance. 9:30 PM in Hapjeong-dong. The streets were quiet. Like the world was waiting for them. Then a black Genesis appeared.
Ri-u was in the driver’s seat. And there was someone in the back.
When Sea got in, she saw her face.
It was Park So-jin.
“Hi,” Park So-jin said softly. “Can I… come too?”
Sea looked at Park So-jin. Then at Ri-u. Ri-u avoided her eyes.
“What are you doing?” Sea demanded.
“I’ll explain in Jeju,” Ri-u said. Then he started the car. “Right now, I need to drive.”
Sea watched Hapjeong-dong disappear. The convenience store where she’d worked. The semi-basement where she’d lived. Everything she’d left behind.
The car was leaving Seoul.
And Sea realized: her life was changing. In a way that couldn’t be undone.
Ri-u must have told his father. That he was leaving the company. And from that moment, everything began.
Her phone rang.
Caller: Kang Min-jun.
She didn’t answer. It rang again. And again. Six times. No—ten times.
Ri-u kept his eyes on the road. His hands steady on the wheel. No trembling. Like this was the moment he’d been waiting for his whole life.
“It starts now,” he said quietly, speaking more to himself. “There’s no going back. From any of this.”
The car drove through the night highway. From Seoul to Jeju. To the past. And to a future no one could predict.
Sea looked at her own hands. The hands Ri-u had wiped with a towel. She didn’t know what they’d do next. But one thing was certain: they would never work the same way again.
In the back seat, Park So-jin watched her.
“Thank you,” Park So-jin said softly. “For giving me this chance…”
Sea turned to her. This woman who’d sung her song. Without credit. Without her knowing.
“For what?” Sea asked.
“I’ll explain everything,” Ri-u said again. “Once we get to Jeju. All of it.”
Sea didn’t respond. Instead, she looked out the window. The night was black. And in that black night, her reflection stared back at her from the glass. She looked like someone else.
Like someone burning. Like a match. And that flame was getting brighter and brighter.
END OF BOOK 2