Interlude
The room was quiet, too quiet. Park stood by the window, staring out, just letting the hours pass. It’d been fourteen days—two weeks since the girls had vanished. Since their presence that had once occupied every corner of her life, had all disappeared. Now, only absence remained.
She stood by the hotel window, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, watching the chaos unfold below.
The street was packed. Reporters, news vans, and fans filled every inch of space outside the hotel, some holding up signs with messages in every language, others standing motionless, staring at the ground. A few wept openly, their sobs audible over the constant murmur of speculation, camera shutters clicking, and reporters giving their bleak updates into microphones.
At first, people had clung to the idea of a miracle. A rescue. A miscommunication, some mistake. But after two weeks, the tone had shifted. The world wasn’t waiting for good news anymore.
A knock at the door pulled her from the grim scene. She turned, spotting Lee in the doorway. He looked worse than the last time she’d really looked at him—which, she realized, had been days ago. His face was gaunt, his shoulders slumped under the pressure of it all. His eyes, rimmed red, barely met hers.
“The police want to meet in an hour.” His voice was hoarse, strained from too many conversations that led nowhere. “They’ve recovered some of the girls’ belongings.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Park straightened instinctively, fingers tightening around the edge of the table beside her. “Belongings?” she repeated, the word catching in her throat. She didn’t ask if they were sure—it wouldn’t have been said if it wasn’t confirmed.
And it felt like closure, in a way. If they had found things that belonged to the girls, then it meant...
Lee exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before nodding. “Their phones. And... some clothing. Mina’s.”
Park went still. A cold numbness spread through her, starting at her fingertips and traveling up her arms. The air felt heavier, pressing against her chest.
Mina’s clothes.
The room suddenly felt too small, too dull. She could already see Mina’s mother in her mind—the way she’d sat stiffly in the hotel lobby, hands clasped tightly together refusing to cry in front of strangers. She thought of all the other parents, their voices trembling with their immense grief as they asked for updates, as if the right words might change reality.
She swallowed, her throat dry. "How... how bad was it?"
Lee hesitated. That was enough of an answer.
Park turned back to the window, gripping the windowsill now, needing something solid beneath her hands. Outside, the cameras kept flashing, the world still waiting, still watching. They had to go downstairs soon, face the families, face the questions.
She inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together before exhaling slowly. Then she turned back to Lee, her voice as steady as she could make it.
“Let’s go.”
/////////
The briefing room was thick with tension, the only sounds coming from the occasional rustle of papers and the shifting of chairs. The lead investigator stood at the front, his exhaustion carved into every line of his face. No one moved. No one breathed. They were all waiting for the words that would make everything... real.
“Recovery operations began four days ago,” he started, his voice steady but devoid of any hint of comfort. He gestured toward the map on the screen—a crisscross of currents, GPS markers, and projected drift patterns. “We used the final signals from their phones, we calculated the most probable areas where objects—or remains—may have ended up.”
Remains.
A shudder chill crept down her spine, her stomach twisting as if rejecting the very thought. She curled her fingers around her chair, gripping tight enough for the pain to anchor her, to keep her from unraveling. Two weeks ago, they’d been waiting for news of a rescue. Now, they were being given the cold, clinical truth of a recovery mission.
The investigator continued. “This morning, three phones were retrieved from separate locations along the projected drift radius. Additionally, a piece of clothing was found. It has been identified as belonging to Myoui Mina.”
An officer stepped forward, placing a tray on the table. Three phones lay in a row, their screens shattered, their casings warped by water. Lifeless. Beside them, a sealed evidence bag held a familiar piece of soft gray fabric.
Park felt her stomach twist violently. She knew that shirt. Mina had worn it the morning they left—a simple, sleeveless top that hung loosely over her frame. Park could still picture her, arms tucked close for warmth as she leaned against the van window, drowsy from the early call time.
A sharp sound broke through the silence—a strangled, heart-wrenching sob. Mina’s mother had risen from her seat, her hands shaking as she reached for the evidence bag on the table, as if holding it meant she was holding Mina again. Her husband steadied her, whispering something, but the grief had already cracked through. She hesitated only a second before clutching the bag to her chest, her fingers gripping the plastic as though letting go would mean losing Mina all over again.
Park forced herself to look away. She couldn’t bear it. The walls of the room felt too close, the air too heavy. Her pulse pounded against her skull as she pushed back her chair and walked out into the hallway, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.
Lee was there, his back against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes were red, his jaw clenched. After a long silence, his voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
Park let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening. "Me too," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "I should’ve done more."
Lee exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the wall. "I just—God, I keep thinking about every moment, every little thing I could've done differently."
Park shook her head, her breath hitching. "I should've fought harder. Paid more attention. Something. I wish they were mad at me now for not letting them go," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I wish I could see their faces again, I..."
Lee let out a shuddering breath, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "I can't look at them," his voice thick with guilt. "The families... they should take it out on me. I’m waiting for them to do it. Hoping they do." He shook his head, his jaw tight. "Because if they don’t... I... I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with this."
Park looked at him, really looked, and saw the same wreckage inside him that she felt in herself. "I don’t think I ever will."
For a long moment, they just stood there, both of them drowning in something too deep to claw their way out of. Then Lee’s hand found her shoulder, his grip tight—not comforting, just something for him to hold onto.
“I have to go back in." She said. Her body resisting the thought of moving. Of stepping back into that room and hearing more of what she wasn’t ready to face.
But eventually, he let go. And with nothing left to hold her back, nothing left to stall, she drew in a deep breath and stepped inside once more.
The families sat in the same stiff chairs, hands gripping tissues, fingers interlaced in silent prayers. Some stared blankly at the walls, others fidgeted with the hems of their sleeves, waiting for more—bracing themselves.
The investigator still stood at the front, shifting slightly as he looked over the group. He cleared his throat, his voice careful. “I know you’ve all been waiting for updates.” His eyes moved across the room, landing on each of them as if trying to soften the impact of what was coming. “We’ve been working tirelessly these past two weeks, analyzing every piece of evidence, searching every possible location.”
Her palms ached from the way her nails dug into her skin, a desperate attempt to keep herself present—to stay in reality long enough to hear. Long enough to understand what everything truly meant. Her breath sat heavy in her chest, waiting to be let out, but she couldn’t exhale. She refused to.
She watched him pause, just for a second. “Unfortunately, the evidence we’ve recovered so far leads us to believe that your loved ones... did not survive.”
And just like that, the last fragile thread of hope lingering in the room unraveled. Even though they had seen it coming—even though, deep down, they had known the moment the phones were brought out—it was still impossible to accept. To let it sink in. To let her body and mind truly understand that, this time, it was real.
The end. A final dot to their lives.
The room fractured. A sharp intake of breath. A choked sob. A low murmur of disbelief. Someone whispered “no” under their breath, their voice cracking—choking . Momo’s mother clutched her husband’s hand, her face twisting as she let out abroken cry. Jihyo’s father bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. Tzuyu’s mother pressed her hands together in prayer, her lips moving soundlessly.
Park stayed still, frozen in place. The words had reached her ears, but they felt distant, hollow, as if they belonged to someone else’s tragedy.
The investigator continued, his voice gentler now, but it did nothing to soften the blow. “The phones we’ve recovered... and the currents they were carried by... suggest the girls were lost to the sea.”
A wail broke through the room, piercing. Sana’s mother. Her husband pulled her close, but she barely seemed to register it, her body trembling violently. Others followed—quiet gasps, stifled sobs, hands pressed against faces, shoulders heaving under the weight of grief.
Park clenched her jaw, her throat tight, her hands trembling against her lap. She couldn’t cry. She didn’t deserve it, not in front of them. Not with all the pain she caused.
“We will not close this case,” he continued. “We will pursue any new leads that arise, and we are still conducting additional searches. But at this moment, we have no further direction.” He exhaled, his posture straightening as if to maintain his own composure. “I encourage you all to begin focusing on finding closure... and saying goodbye.”
Park forced herself to move, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. She looked around the room at the grieving parents, the empty seats that should have been filled by laughter and complaints and... life.
There had been so much life.
Her gaze flickered to Lee across the room, he’d moved inside at some point without her noticing. He sat motionless, staring at his hands, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he lifted his head and met her eyes. There was no anger, no blame—just the same hollow devastation she felt carving its way through her chest.
No one moved to leave. The grief held them in place, in the cold, fluorescent-lit room that now felt like a grave.
Park swallowed, her fingers curling into fists. She had no words, no comfort to offer. The world had just been reshaped in front of them—abruptly and so... final.
/////////
Preparations for the funerals began immediately. The families agreed on a joint ceremony, a final farewell for all nine girls.
It was taking place in Japan, where their journey had last been traced. The world would watch. Cameras would be stationed at every angle, news crews would document the grief, and fans would gather in overwhelming numbers, their mourning stretching across every border.
She watched as the hotel became a griefstricken purgatory. Family members moved through the hallways like ghosts, their faces hollow, their voices hushed. Staff worked tirelessly to coordinate the ceremony, speaking in clipped whispers, their faces drawn with exhaustion. Outside, the crowds grew. A sea of people stood vigil, more candles flickering in the night, more flowers carpeting the sidewalks. A statement and a promise—they would not be forgotten.
The day of the ceremony arrived with a weight so heavy it settled in the air, like a heavy cloud, an impending storm. The memorial hall was filled to its edges, the silence deafening as families sat in the front rows, their hands clutching onto pieces of the daughters they had lost. A bracelet, a tattered plush toy, a well-worn sweatshirt. Keepsakes that meant everything now.
Chaeyoung’s father held a delicate silver charm bracelet, turning it over in his fingers again and again. Mina’s mother sat motionless, the same gray fabric that had been recovered held tightly against her chest, as though releasing it would mean accepting the inevitable. Jihyo’s mother hadn’t spoken since the morning, her lips pressed so tightly together they could easily seal forever.
One by one, the eulogies began. Words of love, of remembrance, of the bright light the girls had been to the world. Each speech carried the weight of a loss too great to measure. Stories of their lives, their kindness, their dreams—memories that now existed in past tense.
They had inspired millions, they had brought joy, they had changed lives... But they would never walk into a room again. Never speak, never sing, never smile.
Jihyo’s father stood at the podium gripping the edges, a to anchor, to keep the grief from knocking him over. His voice was hoarse, barely any sound coming out his mouth. “She was always moving, always searching for the next thing, the next challenge, the next dream. She was never content with standing still—she had so much left to do." He exhaled, his eyes lost and full of tears. "I don’t think she ever knew how to stop, how to slow down. There was always something more she wanted to reach for, something more she wanted to give. And she would have kept going forever, if we let her.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he couldn’t go on. “I just—I hope she knew... that she’d already done enough. That she had already given the world so much.”
Sana’s mother followed next, her hands trembling as she unfolded a note. “She wrote this to me a year ago,” she explained, her voice a sacred whisper. “She told me she was happy.” She paused, looking out at the sea of mourning faces. “She told me she was doing what she loved, surrounded by the people she loved. That she was proud of them.” Her breath caught. “I just... I just wish I had told her more often how proud I was of her.”
When it was time for the families to step forward, the air seemed to still. One by one, they approached the memorial, placing flowers in a growing bed of color that felt painfully wrong against the stark grief surrounding it.
Tzuyu’s mother moved to the front, her steps slow and unsteady. She placed a single white rose down and lingered, her hands hovering over it before pressing to her lips as silent sobs wracked her body. Dahyun’s father broke down entirely, his hands shaking as he set down a sunflower right in the middle.
Mina’s parents moved together, but it was her mother who stopped first. She clutched the shirt between her hands, the dull gray striking, the torn edges haunting, still her fingers traced the fabric, memorizing it. Not letting herself forget. Then, she whispered something—words no one else could hear—before setting it down among the flowers, her hands lingering over it before she finally let go. Her husband guided her back, his own face wet with tears he wasn’t bothering to wipe away.
Park felt the walls of the room closing in. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but feel the unbearable press of finality. Without thinking, she slipped away, weaving through the hall until she found herself in a quiet corridor, away from the watchful eyes, away from the suffocating grief that she could no longer contain.
She braced her hands against the wall, head bowed as the tears came fast and merciless. She’d been holding them in for days, weeks, but now there was no stopping them. The faces of the girls flashed in her mind.
Nayeon, laughing until she couldn’t breathe.
Dahyun, hiding a shy smile behind her hand.
Jihyo, determined in a way that never wavered.
Gone.
The word felt unreal. It felt impossible.
Gone.
But it wasn’t. And no amount of denial could change it.
Just... Gone.