Unspoken Truths
The sky stretched wide above them, the stars twinkling in a quiet rhythm. The autumn wind had settled into a soft breeze, brushing against their skin as they lay together beneath the night sky.
Minjeong was still looking up at Rigel when Jimin spoke.
"Minjeong."
The way she said it soft, almost hesitant made Minjeong glance at her. "Hm?"
Jimin didn’t meet her eyes. She was looking at the sky, one hand playing with the bracelet on her wrist.
Then she asked, "What if someday I left?"
Minjeong froze.
It wasn’t a joke. Jimin wasn’t teasing like usual. Her voice was too quiet, too careful, like she wasn’t sure if she even wanted an answer.
Minjeong felt something heavy settle in her chest. “Why would you ask that?”
Jimin shrugged, still not looking at her. “I don’t know. Just… wondering.”
Minjeong clenched her jaw, stuffing her hands deeper into her hoodie pockets. She didn’t like this conversation. Didn’t like the way it made her stomach twist.
“Then go." Minjeong’s voice came out flat. Cold.
Jimin finally looked up, eyes wide. “What?”
Minjeong turned away, refusing to meet her gaze. “If you want to leave, then leave. It’s your choice.”
She didn’t mean it.
Not at all.
But something about this question—about the possibility of Jimin actually leaving—made her feel like a cornered animal, so she said the one thing she didn’t mean.
Jimin didn’t say anything right away. She just kept staring at Minjeong, her expression unreadable.
Then, finally, she let out a quiet laugh.
“You’re lying.”
Minjeong’s fingers curled into her fabric
Jimin took a small step closer. “If I left, you’d be mad. You’d sulk. You’d probably call me annoying in that grumpy voice of yours.”
Minjeong didn’t respond.
Jimin’s voice softened. “and you’d miss me.”
Minjeong sucked in a breath.
The worst part was—Jimin was right.
She would miss her. She would sulk. She would be mad.
But she still couldn’t say it out loud.
So instead, she whispered, “Just don’t leave.”
It was so quiet that if Jimin wasn’t lay this close, she wouldn’t have heard it.
But she did.
And instead of teasing her, Jimin just smiled.
A real one. A gentle one.
“I won’t.”
-
The clock ticked softly in the quiet apartment. The dim glow from the desk lamp illuminated Doohyeon’s tense face as he sat in front of his laptop, staring at the files loading from the flash drive Hakjun had given him.
At first, it was just numbers—transactions, invoices, hidden reports. But the deeper he dug, the darker it became.
Names. Locations. Fire incident reports.
Doohyeon’s heart started pounding. His breath caught when he saw a familiar document—the apartment fire from years ago.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, scrolling through files detailing how the fire was
never an accident. The company had buried the truth, leaving families to mourn without answers.
Doohyeon clenched his fists, his chest tightening.
They had been lying all these years.
A sudden sound made him jump—the door creaking open.
“Dad?”
Doohyeon’s heart nearly stopped.
Minjeong stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily, wrapped in her hoodie.
He quickly shut the laptop, his hand shaking. “Minjeong, what are you doing up?”
Minjeong blinked, noticing his pale face. “I was thirsty… What are you doing?”
Doohyeon forced a smile, trying to steady his breathing. “Just… some work.”
Minjeong frowned, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”
Doohyeon swallowed hard, glancing at the closed laptop. “I’m fine.”
But Minjeong wasn’t convinced.
She stared at him for a long moment before sighing. “You’re a bad liar, Dad.”
Doohyeon’s heart ached at how perceptive she was—just like her mother.
He watched as Minjeong shuffled toward the kitchen, completely unaware of the danger hovering over their lives.
Doohyeon closed his eyes, whispering to himself.
“I won’t let them take anything else from me.”
He would protect his daughters. No matter what.
-
Jimin never considered herself the kind of person who snooped around. She wasn’t the type to dig into other people’s business, especially not her father’s.
But this time…
She had to.
Jimin’s hands felt clammy as she stood in front of her father’s office door.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not like this.
But ever since she saw that name on his desk and then again on his phone, her mind had refused to let it go. Bae Joohyun. Who was she? Why was her father suddenly talking to her? And why did it feel like he was hiding something?
Her fingers hesitated on the door handle before she finally turned it.
The office smelled the same as always—paper, old books, faint traces of coffee. Everything was neat, too neat, as if her father had made sure nothing looked out of place.
Jimin moved carefully, her heart pounding as she started checking the drawers. The first was full of reports. The second had some personal files. She skimmed quickly, trying not to leave any trace of her search.
Nothing.
Then she saw it.
A thick book—one that seemed a little too out of place—sitting on the edge of the desk.
Slowly, she reached for it. As soon as she lifted it, something slipped out from between the pages. A small, rectangular card.
Her breath hitched.
Bae Joohyun.
There it was.
Jimin picked it up, flipping it over. There was a phone number written in small, neat handwriting.
Who was this woman?
Before she could think, her gaze drifted to the book she had just lifted. It was heavier than it looked. Something was hidden inside.
She flipped it open.
And her stomach dropped.
Inside was an old, faded photograph.
A younger version of her father stood in the picture, his expression much softer than she had ever seen in real life. But that wasn’t what made Jimin freeze.
It was the little girl next to him.
She looked no older than five or six. Her tiny hands clung to Hakjun’s sleeve, her dark eyes staring straight at the camera. There was something familiar about her, yet Jimin was sure she had never seen this girl before.
And beneath the photograph, in her father’s handwriting—
1998.
Jimin’s blood ran cold.
Who was this child? And why had her father never mentioned her before?
Suddenly—
A car door slammed outside.
Her heart lurched. Dad.
She had no time to think. In a rush, she shoved the name card into her pocket and slipped the photo into her schoolbag. She quickly put everything else back, making sure it looked untouched, before quietly slipping out of the office.
She had just closed the door when—
“Jimin?”
She turned too quickly.
Hakjun stood in the hallway, still in his work clothes. His tired eyes scanned her, his expression unreadable.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Jimin forced herself to breathe. “I just got home.”
Hakjun’s gaze lingered on her, as if he was searching for something. Then, after a pause, he nodded toward the kitchen.
“I’ll made dinner.”
Jimin clenched her fingers around the name card in her pocket. Her heart was still racing.
“…Yeah,” she muttered. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
Hakjun gave her one last look before walking away.
As soon as he was out of sight, Jimin exhaled shakily.
The photo in her bag felt heavier than it should.
And the name Bae Joohyun echoed in her mind.
She had no idea what her father was hiding.
But she was going to find out.
-
Jimin stepped off the train, the air of the unfamiliar city hitting her instantly. The address on the card led her to a quiet street, lined with small businesses.
And there it was.
A modest pharmacy tucked between a bakery and a bookshop. The glass door reflected her nervous face as she hesitated for a second.
Then, gathering her courage, she stepped inside.
The chime above the door rang softly.
Behind the counter, a woman in a white coat glanced up from the computer screen. At first, her expression was neutral, professional. Then—just for a split second—she froze.
Jimin’s eyes flickered down to the embroidered name on the white coat.
Bae Joohyun.
There was no mistake. This was the person Hakjun had been secretly contacting. The name that had been hidden among his belongings.
“Hey, do you have something for headaches?” Jimin asked, leaning on the counter.
The woman blinked. Her fingers tightened slightly around the pen she was holding, but her face remained calm.
Jimin clenched her fists, feeling her pulse quicken.
Meanwhile, Joohyun was frozen, her eyes widening as she took in the girl before her.
She didn’t need to ask again.
She knew exactly who Jimin was.
“…You’re Hakjun’s daughter,” Joohyun finally murmured, almost to herself. Her voice wavered, as if saying his name after all these years left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Jimin stiffened. “You do know him.”
Joohyun’s expression darkened for a split second before she masked it, glancing around the pharmacy. There were still a few customers inside.
“This isn’t the place for this conversation,” she said quietly. Then, to a staff member behind her, she instructed, “Take over for a bit.”
Without another word, Joohyun took off her white coat and stepped out from behind the counter. She walked toward the back door, gesturing for Jimin to follow.
Jimin hesitated—but only for a second.
She had come all this way. She wasn’t leaving without answers.
-
Minjeong knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into class.
Jimin’s seat was empty.
At first, she tried to brush it off—maybe Jimin had overslept, or maybe she had something to do. But as the morning dragged on, Minjeong couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at her.
She pulled out her phone under the desk and sent a quick text.
Minjeong [11.30] : Where are you?
Minjeong [12.00] : Are you okay?
No reply.
She glanced at the door every time it slid open, hoping Jimin would stroll in late like nothing had happened. But the seat next to her remained empty.
Her mind kept drifting back to Jimin, the way her voice had sounded distant.
The way she had fidgeted until her fingers bled.
Something had been wrong.
Minjeong had felt it, but she hadn’t pushed.
She should have.
When the bell rang, she barely waited for the teacher to dismiss them before grabbing her bag and rushing out the door.
“Maybe she’s in the medical room”
“Maybe she’s just at the rooftop, avoiding people.”
“Maybe—”
That was the part that scared her the most.
Jimin wasn’t the type to ignore her. Even if she was upset, even if she needed space, she would at least let Minjeong know.
So why wasn’t she saying anything now?
Minjeong exhaled shakily, shoving her phone into her pocket as she pushed past the students in the hallway.
-
The small break room at the back of the pharmacy was quiet, save for the hum of a refrigerator. Joohyun poured herself a glass of water, her movements slow and deliberate.
Jimin, on the other hand, remained tense, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.
“You look like him,” Joohyun finally said, breaking the silence. “Your eyes.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t come here for that.”
Joohyun sighed, rubbing her temple. She placed the glass down and met Jimin’s gaze.
“Why are you here?
Jimin pulled out the name card and placed it on the table between them. “I found this on my dad’s desk.”
Joohyun’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“Then I saw your name on his phone.” Jimin’s voice wavered slightly, frustration building. “I don’t know what’s going on, but my dad has been acting… weird. He’s hiding something from me.
and now, out of nowhere, he’s telling me we have to move. But I know that’s not the real reason.”
Joohyun remained silent.
Jimin exhaled sharply. “Tell me the truth. Who are you to him?”
Joohyeon chuckled “I should be asking. Skipping school, wandering around in another city—does he know?”
Jimin’s jaw clenched. “That’s none of your business.”
Then Joohyun reached for the phone on her pocket.
“I should call him.”
Jimin’s eyes widened. Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbing Joohyun’s wrist before she could dial.
“The hell are you doing?!” Jimin snapped.
Joohyun didn’t flinch. “Calling your father.”
Jimin gritted her teeth. “Don’t.”
“He’s probably worried.”
“I said don’t.”
Joohyun took a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. Then, she finally said,
“Hakjun and I grew up in the same orphanage.”
Jimin stiffened.
“He was like an older brother to me,” Joohyun continued, leaning against the small kitchen counter. “We were close until I got adopted. After that… we lost contact for years. But one day, he found me again. He asked for my help.”
Jimin’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know why, but her gut told her there was more to it—something Joohyun wasn’t saying.
Jimin inhaled sharply, emotions spiraling. She had spent weeks feeling like she was being lied to, like her father was keeping something from her. The stress, the secrecy, the way Hakjun had suddenly decided to move—none of it made sense. And then this woman—Joohyun—just happened to be at the center of it all. “…Is that why you’re being weird about this?”
She had been so sure.
Jimin swallowed the lump in her throat. “I thought…” She let out a humorless chuckle. “I thought you were my father’s—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
Joohyun blinked, staring at Jimin with unreadable eyes. Then, her lips parted slightly in realization.
“…You thought I was his mistress?”
Jimin refused to look at her.
The room was silent for a moment before Joohyun suddenly let out a quiet laugh—dry and almost bitter.
“Wow.” She shook her head. “That’s… unexpected.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched. “What else was I supposed to think? He’s been acting weird ever since I found your name. He suddenly wants us to move, he’s avoiding questions, and then I come here and find you?” She exhaled sharply, frustration boiling over. “I just— I don’t get it.”
Joohyun looked at her for a long moment before finally saying, “Because some things are better left unsaid, Jimin.”
Jimin hated the way her name rolled off Joohyun’s tongue like she had known her forever.
"Better left unsaid?" she echoed, her voice sharp. "That's bullshit."
Joohyun sighed, crossing her arms. "I told you what matters. Hakjun and I knew each other a long time ago. He came to me for help. That’s all you need to know."
Jimin stepped forward, challenging. "What kind of help?"
Silence.
Joohyun didn't flinch, didn't react. But the air between them grew heavier.
Jimin’s patience snapped. "If you're gonna drag me all the way here, at least have the decency to tell me the truth."
Joohyun met her gaze, unreadable. Then, finally, she spoke. "I promised him I wouldn’t."
Jimin sucked in a sharp breath. That— that stung.
Her father had never mentioned Joohyun. Never once hinted at knowing someone like her. And yet, here she was, standing in front of Jimin, speaking as if she had some unshakable loyalty to him.
"That's funny," Jimin let out a humorless chuckle. "He never mentioned you either."
For the first time, something flickered in Joohyun’s expression.
Jimin pressed on. "So why the hell did he trust you so much that he needed you, but not me?"
Joohyun looked down, exhaling slowly.
"I can’t answer that," she admitted, softer this time.
Jimin scoffed. "Of course you can't."
She turned toward the door, her chest tight with frustration. "This was a waste of time."
But just as she reached for the handle, Joohyun's voice stopped her.
"Jimin."
Jimin didn’t turn.
"One day," Joohyun said, "you’ll understand why I can’t tell you."
Jimin’s grip on the doorknob tightened.
-
Minjeong’s heart pounded as she ran through the streets.
The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of her own anxiety. Her fingers were cold despite the warmth of the sun, gripping her phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She dialed Jimin’s number again.
One ring.
Two rings.
Straight to voicemail.
“Jimin, where are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
She wasn’t thinking anymore—just moving. Her feet carried her through familiar roads, her school bag bouncing against her back as she sprinted toward Jimin’s house.
Minjeong turned the corner sharply, almost tripping over the pavement in her haste.
She barely noticed the man in all black until it was too late.
Their bodies collided hard, sending her stumbling backward. The force of it knocked the air out of her lungs, and she barely managed to stay on her feet.
The man barely reacted—just a sharp inhale, a turn of his head.
For a second, their eyes met.
Cold. Dark. Indifferent.
Minjeong didn’t have time to care.
She muttered a quick, breathless “Sorry,” before pushing past him, not even waiting for a response.
Her heart was beating too fast.
She reached the house, her breath hitching as she grabbed the gate.
The door was closed. The lights were off.
She rang the doorbell.
No answer.
She knocked. “Jimin?”
Silence.
Her stomach twisted. She pounded harder. “Jimin, open the door!”
Still nothing.
Then, the low hum of an engine broke through the quiet.
A sleek black car slowed in front of the house, its tires crunching against the pavement as it pulled into the driveway.
Hakjun.
Minjeong stepped back as the car door opened.
Hakjun emerged, his face unreadable, his suit slightly disheveled—like he had been in a hurry, or maybe hadn’t slept well. There was something tired in the way he moved, something heavier than just a long day at work.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, Hakjun’s sharp eyes landed on her.
“Minjeong?” His voice was low, surprised, but guarded.
Minjeong swallowed hard. She had never felt uneasy around Hakjun before, but now… there was a strange tension in the air.
She didn’t care. Not when Jimin was missing.
“Where’s Jimin?” she demanded, stepping forward.
Hakjun’s expression flickered—just for a second.
“She’s not home?” His voice was calm, but there was something off.
Minjeong felt her frustration rise. “No, she’s not home. She didn’t come to school. She’s not answering her phone. I’ve been calling her—”
She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “You really don’t know where she is?”
Hakjun didn’t answer right away.
His fingers tightened slightly against the car keys in his hand.
“Mr. Yu,” she said again, quieter this time, pleading. “Where is she?”
The air was thick with unspoken words, with tension so sharp it could cut.
Hakjun stood by the car, his fingers wrapped tightly around his keys, his entire body stiff as if bracing for impact. His phone was running out of battery, when he gonna enter his car—
Minjeong barely had time to process his words before the sound of hurried footsteps made her turn.
Jimin.
Still in her uniform, just like Minjeong. Her tie was slightly loosened, her sleeves rolled up in a way that showed she had been moving around too much, too fast. There was something wild in her eyes, something Minjeong had never seen before.
Jimin froze when she saw them—Hakjun standing rigid by the car, Minjeong just a few steps away from the house.
For a second, just a second, something flickered across Jimin’s face.
Fear.
Regret.
But then it was gone, replaced by something colder.
“Jimin!” Minjeong exhaled, her relief taking over as she moved toward her. “Where were you?! I—”
Jimin’s gaze snapped to her.
But before she could finish, Hakjun’s voice cut through the air.
“Yu Jimin inside. Now.”
Hakjun’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
Minjeong turned, startled by the cold finality in his tone.
Jimin clenched her jaw. She didn’t even look at Minjeong—her eyes were locked on Hakjun, calculating, guarded.
Minjeong’s stomach twisted.
Something wasn’t right.
Of course. Of course Hakjun would act like this.
Jimin took a slow step forward, her shoulders tense.
“Minjeong, go home.”
Hakjun’s voice was firm, but there was a tremble in it, just barely noticeable. Not just anger—something else. Fear.
Minjeong’s heart dropped. “Jimin..”
“You didn’t hear that? Go home” Jimin’s voice was sharp, colder than Minjeong had ever heard it.
No.
Minjeong shook her head and reached for her wrist, gripping it tightly. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jimin’s eyes snapped to her, and for the first time, Minjeong saw it—
That wall.
That distance.
Something was breaking inside Jimin, and she was shutting Minjeong out.
“Let go off me” Jimin muttered.
Minjeong held on tighter. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Jimin’s fingers twitched, her body stiffening. Her voice came out lower, colder.
“ Let go, Kim Minjeong!”
Minjeong flinched.
Full name. Jimin never called her like that.
Never.
It felt like a slap.
She had seen Jimin annoyed, angry, frustrated. But this? This wasn’t just anger. This was Jimin pushing her away.
Minjeong’s grip loosened just slightly—
And Jimin yanked her wrist free, stepping back.
Minjeong’s breath hitched.
Hakjun didn’t say a word, just watching the scene unfold, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
Minjeong swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart aching.
She wanted to fight back. She wanted to say something, anything, to make Jimin look at her properly.
But Jimin had already turned away.
The door to the house opened, and with heavy steps, Jimin walked inside.
Hakjun followed, sparing Minjeong one last glance before stepping in as well.
The door shut behind them.
Minjeong stood there, frozen.
The air was quiet again.
But inside her chest, everything was screaming.
The moment Jimin stepped into the house, the air was thick with tension. The door shut behind her with a dull thud, sealing them inside.
Hakjun stood in the middle of the living room, his back straight, his expression unreadable. But Jimin knew. She could feel the storm beneath his skin, the anger barely restrained.
"Sit," he ordered.
Jimin didn’t move. Her jaw clenched. "No."
Hakjun let out a sharp breath, his patience running thin. "Jimin—"
Jimin stood her ground, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Hakjun's eyes burned with barely contained fury, his hands still clenched at his sides. He had never looked at her like this before—never with this much anger, this much disappointment.
But Jimin? She was done.
Let’s see how much more you can take, Dad.
She took a step closer, lifting her chin defiantly. "You know, I used to think you were a hero."
Hakjun’s expression flickered. Just for a second.
"I thought you were someone I could look up to," Jimin continued, her voice low, sharp. "Someone who would protect me, who would always tell me the truth." She let out a bitter laugh.
Hakjun’s breath hitched.
Jimin saw the way his hands curled even tighter. But she didn’t stop.
"You always say you’re working late, always too busy. But for what, huh? What’s so important that you can’t even be here? That you can’t even look me in the eyes when you talk to me anymore?"
Hakjun's jaw clenched. "Jimin—"
"No." Jimin's voice cracked, but she pushed through. "You don’t get to tell me to stop. Not after everything you've kept from me. Not after you decided to pack up our lives and run again."
Hakjun’s nostrils flared. "You don’t understand—"
"Then MAKE ME UNDERSTAND!" Jimin screamed, her voice breaking.
The room went dead silent.
Hakjun’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the sheer force of her voice.
Jimin’s fists trembled at her sides.
"You never tell me anything," she whispered, her voice laced with betrayal. "You treat me like I’m some stupid kid who won’t get it. But I do get it, Dad. I get it now."
Hakjun's breathing grew heavier. "...What are you talking about?"
She took another step closer, her gaze locking onto his. Then, with every ounce of venom she had left, she said—
"Mom didn’t leave us, did she?"
Hakjun's entire body tensed.
Jimin saw the way his breathing hitched, the way his fingers twitched.
She had hit the mark.
She let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "She left you."
Hakjun staggered back a step as if she had just punched him.
Jimin felt a twisted satisfaction in seeing him like this, in finally breaking through that cold, unreadable mask. But it wasn’t enough.
She wanted to break him more.
"I bet she was tired of you," Jimin spat, voice shaking. "Tired of all your secrets. Tired of you deciding everything for her—just like you’re doing to me."
"Yu Jimin." Hakjun’s voice was a warning now, low and dangerous.
But Jimin ignored it.
"You probably tried to control her too, didn’t you?" Her lips curled into something cruel, something hurt. "That’s why she left. Because she didn’t want to be stuck with you anymore."
Hakjun’s entire body shook. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling violently at his sides.
Jimin let out a short, humorless laugh. “Why? Because you know I’m right? You’re a coward, Dad”
Hakjun took a step closer. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
And then—
For the first time in Jimin’s life—
He raised his hand.
“I said shut your mouth!”
His voice cracked like a whip, echoing through the walls.
Jimin flinched only for a second before she forced herself to stand her ground.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Hakjun’s hand hovered in the air, shaking violently.
Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the raw, unfiltered anger in her dad’s eyes.
He wasn’t her dad in that moment. He was just a man pushed too far.
Just before his palm could even move an inch closer—he stopped.
His hand trembled in the air, fingers twitching, before he let out a deep, shuddering breath and lowered it.
Jimin didn’t move.
She couldn’t.
She had never seen him like this before.
Hakjun ran a shaking hand over his face, his breaths uneven.
Jimin stormed up the stairs, her feet heavy against the wooden floor. Her breath was ragged, her chest tight, her hands still trembling at her sides. She could feel the heat behind her eyes, but she refused to let the tears fall.
She slammed the bedroom door behind her, pressing her back against it as if to shut out the world—shut out him.
Downstairs, Hakjun stood frozen. His hands clenched into fists before he exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his hair. His heart was still hammering in his chest, his body still stiff with barely contained emotion.
Then, his gaze fell on his phone lying face-down on the table.
The screen was black—dead.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the charging cable and plugged it in. The moment the battery icon appeared, the screen lit up with a flood of unread notifications.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Hakjun narrowed his eyes. His fingers hovered over the screen before unlocking it.
Then, his breath caught.
A message from Joohyeon.
Joohyeon : Jimin came to see me today.
Joohyeon : She found my name card.
Joohyeon : I told her some things, but not everything.
Joohyeon : No need to worry. I made sure she went back home safe.
Hakjun’s grip on the phone tightened. His jaw clenched.
She went to see Joohyeon? Alone?
His mind raced. He had been too focused on his argument with Jimin to even consider that she had already known more than he expected. That she had already started digging into his past.
He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply.
"Jimin..." he muttered under his breath.
He turned his head slightly toward the stairs, where Jimin was now behind her closed door.
She knew.
She didn’t know everything. Not yet. But she knew enough.
Hakjun exhaled, rubbing his temples as his exhaustion finally caught up with him. His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed back.
Hakjun: I’ll call you later.
Then, he put his phone down and looked up at the ceiling.
Jimin wasn’t done searching for the truth.
And he knew—this was only the beginning.
-
Minjeong sat on the edge of her bed, phone gripped tightly in her hands, the dim glow of the screen casting a cold light on her face. The messages she had sent to Jimin remained unread.
Minjeong [11.30] : Where are you?
Minjeong [12.00] : Are you okay?
Minjeong [20.15] : Please, just text me back.
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, wanting to type more—beg Jimin to answer—but what else could she say? Jimin hadn’t even looked at them.
She exhaled shakily and leaned back against the headboard, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The image of Jimin’s cold expression from earlier burned into her mind.
"Let go, Kim Minjeong."
Jimin had never called her by her full name like that. Never with that tone—sharp, distant, like she was pushing Minjeong away.
She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the phone.
Then, her mind replayed the moment she bumped into that man in black earlier. Something about him unsettled her, but she had been too distracted by Jimin’s absence to think much of it. Now, in the silence of her bedroom, unease crept in.
"What is happening to you, Jimin?"
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. But the weight of uncertainty settled heavily on her chest.
For the first time in a long time, she was scared.
Not because Jimin was ignoring her. Not because of the fight.
But because she didn’t know what Jimin was getting herself into. And the thought of losing her—even in a way she couldn’t quite understand yet—terrified her.
Minjeong was still lost in her thoughts, her phone now resting on her lap, the glow dimming as the messages remained unread. The silence in the room was deafening.
Her head was spinning, her heart heavy with worry over Jimin, and it seemed like everything was spiraling out of control.
Just then, a soft knock at the door broke her reverie.
“Minjeong are you okay?” a deep yet familiar voice called.
Her head snapped up. Standing at the doorway was her father, Doohyeon, his usual firm expression softened by concern and beside him—her heart clenched at the sight—was Rigel.
She blinked, trying to hold back the exhaustion that crept into her voice. "I’m fine, just… tired."
"You're not looking so great, kiddo. You’ve been in here for hours now. You wanna go get some ice cream? Maybe a little stargazing?"
Minjeong hesitated, her gaze flicking to the window, but she knew her father was right. She needed a break, even if just for a little while.
"Yeah…" She finally spoke, her voice a little weaker than she wanted it to be. "Okay"
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she stood up.
"Good. I’ll go grab the keys," Doohyeon smile, walking out of her room.
A few minutes later, they were on the road, the cool night air blowing through the open windows. Rigel sat happily between them, his tail wagging as if he, too, understood the need for a distraction.
They stop at 24hour drive-thru restaurant "Chocolate chip cookie dough, please," Minjeong said, her voice a little brighter now. "And can I get two scoops of vanilla?"
Doohyeon nodded, grabbing the ice cream, his eyes still assessing his daughter. When he paid, he tossed a wink at her. "You know, nothing a little ice cream and fresh air can’t fix, right?"
Minjeong didn’t respond right away, but she felt the weight on her shoulders lift just a bit. She knew he was right. Maybe it wasn’t a solution, but it was a small break from everything.
Once they were at the hill, the peaceful silence of the night wrapped around them like a blanket. The lights of the city twinkled in the distance, but here, it was just them—and Rigel,
who was happily sniffing around, his paws kicking up tufts of grass.
Minjeong set her telescope up quickly, the familiar motion grounding her. She loved the stars. The constellations felt like friends—constant, beautiful, and distant, reminding her that sometimes,
no matter what happens here on Earth, there were things far beyond that remained unchanged.
"Alright, Dad," she said, finally looking up at him, her smile a little more genuine now. "You see that star up there? That’s Sirius. It's the brightest star in the sky."
Doohyeon leaned down, his ice cream cone forgotten as he looked up, pretending to study the sky. "Ah, Sirius, huh? I thought it was just a big shiny light in the sky."
Minjeong laughed, her spirits lifting with the familiar sound of her father’s teasing. "No, Dad. It’s part of the constellation Canis Major. It’s the Dog Star. Perfect for us, don’t you think?"
“Also Rigel is extra bright tonight, our puppy has his own star” a small smile pulling at her lips as she pointed to a small, bright dot in the sky
Doohyeon, sitting beside her with his arms crossed, chuckled. “You’ve been talking about that star a lot lately.”
Minjeong didn’t look up. "It’s Jimin’s favorite.”
Her father raised a brow, amused. “Oh? So now we choose stars based on what Jimin likes?”
Minjeong scoffed, adjusting the focus. “It’s not like that.”
Doohyeon smirked. “Mmm, sure.”
Doohyeon chuckled softly, his gaze moving from the stars to the dog curled beside them. “Yeah, maybe that’s Rigel’s star,” he said. “You know, your mom loved stargazing, too.
She used to bring you and Sejeong out here when you were little. It was her way of finding calm after a long day, just like we’re doing now.”
Minjeong’s heart tightened a little at the mention of her mother. It was a rare topic for them to touch on, and in the quiet of the night, it felt like a small crack opening in her chest. But it wasn’t a painful crack—just a memory. A reminder of what used to be.
“She really loved the stars, huh?” Minjeong murmured, her eyes tracing the constellations.
Doohyeon nodded, a soft, distant smile on his face. “She used to say that no matter how hard life got, the stars were always there, shining through everything. I think she took comfort in that.”
Minjeong turned her gaze back to the sky, the familiar constellations feeling almost like an old friend. A way to connect with her mother without needing to speak the words aloud.
“Sejeong finally got her role in a drama,” Doohyeon added after a long pause, breaking the silence with a note of pride in his voice. “It’s only an extras role with a few lines, but it's a start.”
Minjeong smiled, happy for her older sister. It wasn’t the big break Sejeong had dreamed of, but it was a step forward, a small victory. “I knew she would get there eventually.”
Doohyeon glanced at Minjeong with a knowing look, his voice soft. “She’s always been strong, like you.”
Minjeong didn’t respond at first, feeling the warmth of her father’s words settle in her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them until that moment.
For a brief moment, everything felt... right. The stars above, her family beside her, and the peace that came from simply being in the moment. Even Rigel, with his fur ruffled by the wind and eyes glinting in the starlight, felt like he belonged in that small, perfect moment.
Minjeong glanced at her dad, her heart full but heavy with unspoken words.
“I guess we’re all just trying to find our way, huh?”
Doohyeon met her eyes, his smile soft and understanding. “We all are. But we’re not alone in it.”
The stars glittered above them, silent witnesses to the quiet bond between father and daughter, as Rigel lay by their side, content and at peace. For just a little while longer, they let the stillness of the night hold them, as if the universe itself was offering them a moment of calm before everything else returned.
Minjeong looked up at him, her eyes softening. "Thanks, Dad."
"Anytime, kiddo."
-
The next morning, the silence in the house still felt heavy, suffocating even. Jimin’s swollen eyes from last night’s argument were the first thing Hakjun noticed when he stepped into her room.
His heart ached, but he knew better than to try to say anything. His daughter’s eyes, red from crying, spoke volumes that words never could.
“Jimin,” Hakjun’s voice was low, strained with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.
“Come on, I’ll take you to school today.”
Jimin didn’t meet his gaze. She wasn’t angry now, not in the way she had been last night, but there was a coldness in the air between them. The kind of cold that only deepens with unresolved words.
She stood up slowly, wiping the last of her tears from her face, her movements sluggish.
The fight had drained her—emotionally and physically. She hadn’t slept much.
The usual hum of the engine felt different today, as if even the car knew something was wrong. Hakjun was about to say something, but he swallowed his words.
He could see the signs—the way Jimin’s shoulders were slumped, her eyes red, and her lips pressed tight, as if holding back everything she wanted to say. Or maybe, the things she had already said.
"Jimin," Hakjun finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual, like he was testing the waters. "I'm sorry... for what happened last night."
Jimin didn’t respond. Her eyes stared blankly out of the window, watching the world pass by without truly seeing it. She didn’t want to talk about it, not yet. Not when the pain was still raw, when everything her dad had said had cut deeper than she had expected.
Hakjun sighed, his grip on the wheel tightening. "I never meant for things to go like this. You have to understand, Jimin. I’m doing what I think is best... for all of us."
Jimin’s eyes flickered toward him for a brief moment. Her hands clenched in her lap, her nails digging into her skin. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She didn’t want to hear anything that would make her feel like this was all justifiable.
“Best for you,” she muttered under her breath, too quietly for him to catch.
As they pulled into the school parking lot, Jimin slowly unbuckled her seatbelt, her movements stiff and hesitant. She opened the car door but paused before stepping out.
For a moment, she stood still, feeling the weight of everything that had happened—the anger, the hurt, the confusion.
Hakjun watched her walk away, his heart aching with every step she took. He wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to make it right. But he was still lost. Still too afraid to truly face the truth of what had happened between them.
As Jimin disappeared into the school building, Hakjun remained in the car, staring at the empty space where she had been. His heart was heavy, his mind racing with thoughts of what he could have done differently.
The hallways felt colder today, the space between Jimin and Minjeong heavier than it had ever been. Jimin kept her gaze low, avoiding the eyes of everyone around her, the tension in her chest building with every step she took toward the lockers. She wished she could just disappear, but she couldn’t—not today.
Minjeong was waiting for her, standing near their usual spot, her face full of concern. But when Jimin’s eyes met hers, something shifted. Minjeong saw it immediately—the emptiness in her eyes, the guardedness in her every move. Jimin looked like a stranger.
“Jimin,” Minjeong called softly, her voice shaking. “Are you okay? I tried calling you last night. I—”
But Jimin didn’t even pause in her steps. She kept walking, her face hard and unreadable. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear Minjeong’s soft voice, full of pity and concern. She didn’t want to hear any of it. Not after last night.
“Stop,” Jimin said, her voice cutting through the air like a sharp blade. “Stop trying to fix me. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.”
Minjeong’s breath caught, and her chest tightened with something she couldn’t explain. Her hand reached out instinctively, but Jimin stepped back, her eyes cold, almost harsh. It hurt more than Minjeong could have anticipated.
“I wasn’t trying to fix you, Jimin,” Minjeong said, her voice trembling. She forced herself to take a step forward, trying to bridge the gap that was widening between them with every second. “I just—” She choked on the words. “I just want to help.”
Jimin’s eyes snapped to her, anger flashing in them. The words came out sharp and cold, a cruel layer hiding the vulnerability she was desperately trying to bury.
“You’re not helping. You’re just making it worse, why you come last night?” Jimin spat, her hands clenching into fists by her sides. “I don’t need your pity Minjeong. I don’t need anyone.”
The words struck Minjeong like a slap to the face. She stumbled back, her heart sinking deeper into the pit of her stomach. She had never seen Jimin like this. Never seen her so angry, so distant. It felt like a part of Jimin she had known, a part she had been so close to, had suddenly been ripped away, and in its place, this cold, detached person had emerged.
“Okay,” Minjeong whispered, her voice barely audible. “If that’s what you want.” She didn’t wait for a response. She just turned away, her footsteps echoing through the empty hall as she walked the other way, her heart shattered in the process.
Jimin watched her leave, feeling the emptiness settle in her chest. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Every word she had just said to Minjeong echoed in her mind, and the guilt was starting to eat at her from the inside out.
But she wasn’t ready to fix it. Not yet.
Jimin looked at her reflection in the glass window beside her, eyes bloodshot, and for a brief moment, she saw the person she had become. Someone who had pushed everyone away, even the one person who had always been there.
Her heart clenched painfully, but she didn’t reach out to Minjeong. She couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything was so broken.
Minjeong stepped out of the school gates just in time to see a familiar black car pull up at the curb. Hakjun. He was here to pick Jimin up again.
Her eyes instinctively searched for Jimin, and there she was—walking toward the car, her posture tense, her face unreadable. The same uniform, the same figure Minjeong knew so well, yet she felt like she was looking at someone completely different. Someone distant. Someone she could no longer reach for now
Jimin didn’t spare her a glance. She didn’t even hesitate before opening the passenger door and getting in.
Minjeong’s hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to call out to her. She wanted to do something—anything—to stop Jimin from slipping further away.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she just stood there, watching as the car door shut and Hakjun drove away, taking Jimin with him.
Minjeong let out a slow, shaky breath. She’s leaving me behind, isn’t she?
The tension was suffocating. Jimin sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her face turned toward the window. She hadn’t said a word since she got in.
Hakjun’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his expression unreadable. The only sound in the car was the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of Jimin shifting uncomfortably.
Then, without looking at her, Hakjun spoke.
“We’re moving next week.”
Jimin’s heart stopped.
Her breath hitched, and she finally turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”
Hakjun’s face remained calm—too calm. Cold. “I found a place. We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Jimin felt something crack inside her chest.
Next week. That soon?
Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. “You didn’t even ask me.”
“There was nothing to ask,” Hakjun replied, his voice steady. “It’s decided.”
Jimin let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Decided by who? You? Without even telling me why? Without explaining anything?”
Hakjun’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
And that silence—that silence was worse than anything.
Jimin turned away, staring out of the window as the city blurred past. Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy with anger, frustration, and something dangerously close to despair.
Next week.
She was running out of time.
Her grip on her skirt tightened as one thought echoed over and over again in her head :
I don’t want to leave.
Jimin pushed open the front door and stepped inside, her school bag slipping from her shoulder onto the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t bother picking it up. She didn’t say a word.
She just walked straight to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her without sparing Hakjun a glance.
Hakjun sighed. He was used to her silence by now, but something about today felt different. There was an edge to it, something deeper than anger—something he couldn’t quite place.
He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the living room. He had too much to do. There were still boxes to pack, documents to sort through. They were leaving next week.
It had to be next week.
The house was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustling of cardboard as Hakjun packed. But something nagged at him, a strange, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
His eyes scanned the room, landing on a small device near the bookshelf. Something that shouldn’t be there.
A black, very small and compact object, blinking faintly—too faintly.
Hakjun frowned, stepping closer. It was a timer.
Counting down.
00:00:52
00:00:51
00:00:50
His breath caught. His heart pounded.
“JIMIN!” he shouted, voice sharp and urgent as he turned toward the hallway.
And then—
BOOM.
A deafening explosion ripped through the lower part of the house. The floor shook. The walls trembled. The force of it sent Hakjun crashing onto the ground, his ears ringing as a wave of heat engulfed the space.
Flames. Smoke. Fire.
Not again.
His vision blurred as he struggled to push himself up, coughing violently as the thick, acrid smoke filled his lungs. Jimin. He had to get to Jimin.
Jimin had been lying on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, drowning in thoughts she couldn’t control.
Then she heard it.
A sharp, terrifying blast from downstairs.
The force knocked over her nightstand. The lights flickered, then died. The floor beneath her trembled.
And then—the smell of smoke.
Her chest tightened—
She scrambled to her feet, coughing as thick, black smoke seeped under her door. Her hands shook as she grabbed the doorknob, yanking it open—only to be met with fire.
Everything was burning.
Her home. Their home.
The hallway was a nightmare of flames licking up the walls, swallowing the ceiling. The air was suffocating, hot, unbearable.
And somewhere through the smoke—her father’s voice.
“JIMIN! WHERE ARE YOU?!”
She coughed, stumbling forward. “DAD!”
The fire roared in response. The heat was searing, closing in. Every breath felt like it was burning her from the inside out.
Her vision blurred. Her legs felt weak. She couldn’t breathe.
She was trapped.
She could hear Hakjun’s frantic footsteps somewhere beyond the flames, but the fire was growing too fast. There wasn’t a way out.
And for the first time in her life—Jimin was truly, utterly terrified.
Was this how it ended?
-
Doohyeon had just taken a sip of his coffee when the emergency alarm blared through the fire station. The air tensed immediately—every firefighter in the room went on high alert.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The emergency alarm blared, slicing through the room.
“House fire reported—central district!” the dispatcher called out.
Doohyeon straightened immediately, his exhaustion forgotten. Another emergency. Another fire. He grabbed his helmet, ready to move.
“Explosions detected,” another voice added. “This one’s spreading fast—”
Doohyeon was already reaching for his gear when another firefighter rushed over with a confirmed address.
And the moment he heard it—
His heart dropped.
That address. Hakjun’s house.
For a second, his world stopped.
Jimin.
Hakjun.
The flames.
Doohyeon barely registering the voices around him. He had to go. He had to get there before it was too late.
It wasn’t just any house.
It was Hakjun’s house.
No, not them.
“Doohyeon—” one of his teammates called, but he was already moving.
“Let’s go! MOVE!” he barked, his voice sharp and urgent.
His team scrambled, sirens wailing as they rushed to the trucks.
Doohyeon clenched his jaw, his grip on the paper tightening until it crumpled. Jimin. Hakjun.
He could see the flames already—hear them crackling in his mind, the memories of another fire, another lost child.
And as the fire truck roared to life, speeding toward the inferno, Doohyeon could only pray—
That he wasn’t too late.
The fire truck raced through the streets, sirens wailing, cutting through the suffocating silence in Doohyeon’s head. His heartbeat pounded in sync with the flashing lights, his breath short, his fingers trembling as he gripped the metal bar inside the truck.
“ETA three minutes!” one of the firefighters shouted over the noise.
Doohyeon barely heard them. His mind was racing. Jimin. Hakjun. Were they still inside? Were they—No. Stop. He gritted his teeth. They’re alive. They have to be.
As they turned the last corner, his worst nightmare unfolded before his eyes.
Hakjun’s house was engulfed in flames.
The fire wasn’t normal. It wasn’t the kind that started from a gas leak or faulty wiring. It was deliberate fast, violent. The entire front of the house was collapsing, glass shattering from the heat, smoke billowing into the sky like a monstrous black cloud.
Doohyeon ripped off his seatbelt before the truck even stopped.
“DOOHYEON, WAIT—” someone called, but he was already out the door, sprinting toward the fire.
“DO WE HAVE CONFIRMED PEOPLE INSIDE?!” a firefighter yelled.
“Two!” another responded. “Yu Hakjun and his daughter Yu Jimin!” Doohyeon scream
Doohyeon’s stomach twisted. He grabbed the radio, his voice sharp—desperate.
“ANY SIGNS OF MOVEMENT?!”
A long pause.
Then—
A scream.
His blood ran cold.
It was faint, barely cutting through the roar of the fire, but he heard it—Jimin.
“JIMIN!” Doohyeon shouted, running closer despite the heat scorching his skin.
Another firefighter grabbed his arm. “DOOHYEON, WE NEED TO FOLLOW PROTOCOL—”
“THERE’S A KID IN THERE!” he roared, ripping free.
He could barely hear anything over the fire’s deafening crackle, but then—another scream.
“DAD!!”
Jimin. She was still alive.
Doohyeon grabbed his radio. “I’M GOING IN.”
His team shouted behind him, but he didn’t stop.