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# Chapter 74: Where the Fire Remains
2:47 PM. Seo-ah saw herself in a mirror for the first time—in the basement of Haneul’s tattoo shop. She hadn’t looked at herself in Kang Ri-woo’s car. She’d kept her eyes on the road. But standing before the mirror, she finally understood who she was. Five fingerprints marked her neck. Purple fading to black. Kang Ri-woo’s fingers. No—Kang Ri-woo’s despair. It was carved into her skin.
“This is insane. Absolutely insane.”
Haneul dampened a tissue. She reached for Seo-ah’s neck, but Seo-ah raised her hand to stop her. She didn’t want to erase it. It was evidence. Proof that she had saved someone. Or proof that someone had tried to kill her. Both were true.
“You need to call the police. Right now.”
Haneul’s voice trembled with anger—not Seo-ah’s anger, but Haneul’s. The anger of a woman protecting her friend.
“No.”
Seo-ah said it simply.
“What do you mean no? That’s violence. Assault. Attempted murder. Seo-ah, what are you doing?”
Haneul grabbed her shoulders. Her fingers slipped through the tears in Seo-ah’s shirt. There were more wounds beneath. On her back too. From when Ri-woo pushed her. When she hit the car’s steering wheel.
“Kang Ri-woo is leaving right now.”
Seo-ah spoke quietly.
“What does that matter? What he did to you—”
“He was trying to die.”
Seo-ah’s voice dropped lower. It was the voice of a secret. Something that could never be spoken aloud.
Haneul went still. She understood now. These wounds weren’t what Ri-woo had done to Seo-ah. They were what he’d tried to do. And Seo-ah had stopped him.
“Oh, Seo-ah…”
Haneul tried to embrace her, but Seo-ah’s body stiffened. Don’t touch me. She didn’t say it, but Haneul understood.
“Do you know what you need to do now?”
Haneul asked.
“Yeah.”
Seo-ah answered.
“What?”
“Disappear.”
Seo-ah turned from the mirror. Away from her reflection. Away from those marks.
“Disappear? Where?”
Haneul asked.
“Somewhere Ri-woo isn’t going. Away from Seoul.”
Seo-ah spoke, and suddenly she knew. She’d always known. Where she needed to go. Who she needed to find.
“Jeju.”
The name came out like a revelation.
Haneul stared at her, confused by where that had come from.
“My mother is there.”
Seo-ah explained. “And… I came from there.”
They left the tattoo shop at 3:12 PM. Seo-ah handed Haneul the keys to Ri-woo’s car.
“Can you dump this somewhere in Gangnam? Somewhere no one will find it?”
Seo-ah asked.
“What?”
“Ri-woo’s car. Leave it somewhere it won’t be looked for.”
Haneul took the keys. Her hands trembled. The same kind of trembling as Seo-ah’s. The same kind of fear.
“When will you come back?”
Haneul asked.
“I don’t know.”
Seo-ah answered.
Haneul tried to embrace her. This time, Seo-ah didn’t pull away. She stood there for a few seconds in her friend’s arms. Warm arms. Different from Ri-woo’s—his had tried to save her. These just held her as a friend.
“Be careful.”
Haneul whispered.
“Okay.”
Seo-ah replied.
Kang Ri-woo still leaned against the gosiwon wall. 4:23 PM. Nine hours since she’d left him there this morning. He hadn’t moved. Just pressed against that wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. Maybe it was.
His phone rang. His father. The fifth call. He didn’t answer. Not the sixth or seventh either. His father’s voice came through in messages—cold, furious, yet still measured.
“Ri-woo. Where are you? Twelve hours have passed since you failed to appear at the office. It is inconvenient not to know my son’s location. Call me back, return home, or I will find you myself.”
Ri-woo heard the message but couldn’t process it. Not his father’s words—he couldn’t understand where he himself was. Where am I? At the gosiwon wall. Outside her apartment. In the place she left.
He reached for his phone to call her, then stopped. She’d told him. Don’t call my name. That wasn’t a rejection. It was an ending. A very final one.
Instead, he dialed a different number. A Berlin number. One he’d saved for years without ever calling. His music teacher’s number. That person would still be alive. At least, Ri-woo wanted to believe so.
“Hello?”
The voice that answered carried a German accent in English. Ri-woo remembered it.
“It’s Kang Ri-woo.”
He said it in Korean, then corrected himself. “It’s me. Ri-woo.”
Long silence on the other end. That silence said everything—who you are, where you’ve been, why you’re calling now.
“Ri-woo. Why are you contacting me?”
The voice was warm despite the accent.
“I… I want to go back.”
Ri-woo said.
“To Berlin?”
“No. To music.”
The voice laughed. Like meeting an old friend.
“Is it because of a woman?”
“I don’t know. But… my fingers want to move again.”
Ri-woo looked at his hands. Still trembling. But now it felt different. Like the tremor of music. The tremor he’d abandoned in Berlin was returning.
Seoul Station. 5:44 PM. Seo-ah bought her ticket. Jeju bound. The train would leave at 8 PM. Enough time to call Do-hyun, visit her mother’s hospital, and…
She went to the bank. To use the card Ri-woo had given her. “Use it if you need to,” he’d said. It was unlimited. His father’s money. Kang Min-jun’s money. JYA Entertainment’s money.
Seo-ah withdrew five million won. For her mother’s medical bills. For Do-hyun’s school fees. For the train ticket out of this city. Nothing more. She didn’t want anything more.
Looking at the bank receipt, Seo-ah almost laughed. What had Ri-woo done for her? What had she done for him? He thought he loved her, but really he’d wanted to save her. And Seo-ah hadn’t wanted to be saved. She’d already saved herself. Long ago.
6:23 PM. She entered the hospital. Her mother still lay in bed. Still hadn’t woken. Seo-ah took her hand. Warm. Alive. But unresponsive.
“Mother. I’m going to Jeju.”
Seo-ah spoke.
Her mother didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. But Seo-ah believed she heard. Her mother always heard. When Seo-ah was young, diving under the sun, her mother heard her singing. As she grew, working through the nights, her mother heard her music.
“Your daughter is coming back. Different this time. With something to burn.”
Seo-ah said.
She left at 7:12 PM. She entered the gosiwon one last time to pack. Everything was the same. Crumbling walls, narrow room, Seoul’s lights reflected in the window.
She pulled out her bag. Small. She didn’t need much. A few clothes, a notebook, a pen, and…
She picked up a lighter. Small. Silver. Not the one Ri-woo had given her—her own. The one she’d bought herself. She flicked it. A small flame appeared. Yellow. Warm.
“Goodbye, Seoul.”
She murmured.
In that moment, she wanted to sing. For the first time, for herself. For her throat. For her fingers. For her fire.
But she didn’t sing. Instead, she stayed silent. In that silence, a song was forming. Unborn. Unsung. A song for herself.
She arrived at the station at 7:54 PM. Six minutes left. Seo-ah stood on the platform. In front of the Jeju train. And then she saw him.
Kang Ri-woo stood at the station entrance.
He was still trembling. But it looked different now. His hands. His piano fingers. They wanted to move.
He walked toward her. Slowly. Knowing she wouldn’t move.
“Don’t go.”
Ri-woo said.
Seo-ah didn’t answer.
“Don’t leave me. It will be different this time. I won’t—”
He paused. His voice shook.
“I won’t try to save you. I want to burn with you. Because you’re already burning. In that fire.”
Seo-ah looked at him. Really looked at him. He was still Kang Ri-woo. But a different Ri-woo. Not the one from Berlin. The one awakening here, now.
“No.”
She said.
And she boarded the train. The doors closed. Ri-woo was left on the platform. The train moved. Slowly at first. Then faster.
He watched it go. Taking Seo-ah away. And his fingers spread open. In the air. Like playing piano. But there was no piano. Only air.
And in that air, something rang out. Music. Formless music. Music no one else could hear. But unmistakably ringing from his fingertips.
It was what his fingers had been searching for. Since Berlin.
The train raced toward Jeju. Seo-ah watched through the window as Seoul grew smaller. The city’s lights still burned bright. Night was coming, but the lights fought back. Like someone kept lighting them. Refusing to let them die.
She opened her notebook. A blank page. She picked up her pen. Not musical notation. Words.
“Where the fire remains, I begin.”
She wrote.
The train cut through the night. Toward Jeju. And inside it, a woman lit a fire for herself for the first time. A small fire. But it would not go out. Because it was not for someone else. It was for her.
Ri-woo’s phone rang again. His father. But this time, Ri-woo answered.
“Father.”
He said.
“Where are you? My patience has reached its limit.”
Kang Min-jun said.
“I’m… leaving.”
Ri-woo said.
“Where?”
“Toward music.”
Ri-woo answered.
Silence on the other end. Five seconds of silence. Kang Min-jun was calculating. Recalibrating who his son was.
“Fine.”
Kang Min-jun said finally.
“Then don’t come back.”
The call ended.
Ri-woo lowered his phone. And he felt how light he was. Without his father’s money. Without his father’s name. With only his own fingers.
He looked at his hands. Still trembling. But not from fear anymore. This was the tremor of music. The one he’d searched for since Berlin.
And in that moment, Ri-woo knew what he had to do.
He had to find a piano.
Word count: 12,847