The morning broke gray and heavy, like the city itself had forgotten how to breathe. Detective Choi stared at his computer screen, the flicker of old security footage painting shadows across his face. It wasn't the first time he'd watched Ji-woo's last day alive, but this time… something was different.
He slowed the video.
Frame by frame.
The timestamp blurred into focus, a loading bay behind Kang Industries, one week before Ji-woo's death. Ji-woo was there, head down, holding a file pressed to his chest. A man followed him, tall, wearing a Kang security badge. But the camera caught only half his face before the feed cut.
Choi leaned closer, heart tightening.
It wasn't the man that caught his attention.
It was the van parked behind them.
The plate number matched one from an internal shipment file he had found two nights earlier, KM-D-11A, the same tag that appeared in the ledger Ara had decoded.
He whispered to himself, "Got you."
He picked up his phone and dialed Areum.
________________
The café was quiet, one of those rare Seoul corners where even secrets sounded smaller. Areum arrived first, notebook in hand, nerves disguised as calm. She hadn't slept much; her thoughts had been looping in circles since the scandal, since Joon-ha's silence, since her brother's name refused to rest.
Then the door opened.
Detective Choi entered, and behind him, a familiar face.
Ara.
For a second, Areum froze.
The world seemed to pull its breath taut.
"Kim Ara?" she asked, disbelief lacing her tone.
Ara nodded once, her expression measured, eyes colder than she remembered. "It's been a long time, Areum."
"Since Ji-woo's funeral," Areum said quietly.
"Yes."
Detective Choi sat down between them, as if anticipating the storm that could come from old grief. "Before you say anything," he began, "you should know, Ara's been helping me for months. Most of the intel we've got on Kang Industries came through her."
Areum blinked, confusion twisting with relief and suspicion. "She works with them."
"She works inside them," Choi corrected. "That's exactly why I trust her."
Ara leaned forward, voice steady but laced with something fragile. "I didn't betray him, Areum. I was trying to survive in the same world that killed Ji-woo."
That silenced her. For a long while, all Areum could do was look at the woman who had once shared her brother's laughter, now hardened by years of secrets.
Finally, Areum asked, "Why are you doing this now?"
Ara's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Because truth has a strange way of coming back when you think you've buried it deep enough."
Choi slid the printed photo across the table, Ji-woo and the van.
"This was the night before he died," he said. "And that van belongs to a Kang subsidiary."
Areum's throat tightened. "So it's true. My brother—"
Choi cut in softly. "It's more complicated than that. We don't have the full picture yet. But we're close."
"And what about Joon-ha?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Ara's eyes flickered, sharp, knowing. "What about him?"
Areum swallowed hard. "Nothing."
Choi looked between them, sensing more than he said. "Whatever personal history you have with him, keep it quiet. If Kang's people sense you're digging, you won't just lose the story, you'll lose yourself."
Areum nodded. "Understood."
But deep down, she already knew she wouldn't stop.
Not now.
Not after everything.
Across the city, Joon-ha's penthouse was filled with silence too loud to bear. His manager, Min-Joon, paced the living room, phone in hand, panic etched into every movement.
He'd seen the signs for weeks now, the sleepless nights, the trembling hands, the vacant gaze. But this time, it was worse.
"Joon-ha?" he called softly, knocking on the bedroom door.
No answer.
He entered and found him sitting on the floor, back against the wall, sketchbook open beside him. The pages were filled with frantic lines, faceless portraits, half-finished words, the same sentence written over and over again:
"I am real. I am real. I am real."
"Joon-ha," Min-Joon whispered, crouching beside him. "You need to rest. You're not well."
"I can't stop hearing him," Joon-ha murmured. His voice was low, raw. "Ji-woo. Every time I close my eyes, he's there. Like I owe him something I can't remember."
Min-suk's heart twisted. He didn't know how to tell him the truth, that the depersonalization, the trauma, the illness eating at his mind, none of it was his fault. But words were useless when someone no longer believed in their own existence.
"I'll call Areum," Min-Joon said quietly. "You need someone you trust."
Joon-ha didn't protest. He just whispered, almost to himself,
"She shouldn't see me like this. I'm not… me anymore."
Areum was walking home when her phone rang.
She hesitated before answering.
"Han Areum?" the voice on the other end said, strained and desperate.
"This is Min-Joon, Joon-ha's manager. Please… he's not okay. I wouldn't call you if it wasn't serious."
Her chest tightened. "What happened?"
"He's—" Min-Joon exhaled shakily. "He's breaking, Areum. Please. Just come."
For a moment, she froze. She thought of Ji-woo's face, of the investigation, of Kang's name on every document, of Joon-ha's voice saying 'She's the only real thing I have left.'
And then she whispered, "I'll be there."
When she arrived, the penthouse smelled faintly of rain and medication. Joon-ha sat on the couch, hair disheveled, eyes unfocused, the kind of eyes that looked at you but didn't see you.
He looked smaller than she remembered.
Like the light in him had been replaced by static.
"Hey," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You look terrible."
He laughed weakly. "You always knew how to compliment a man."
She smiled faintly, but her eyes lingered on the trembling in his hands.
He tried to speak, but his voice cracked. "Areum, I—"
"Don't," she whispered. "You don't have to."
He nodded, like someone giving up on his own defense. The silence between them was heavy not empty, but full of everything unsaid.
After a while, she placed her hand over his. "Let's just stay like this for a bit, okay?"
He closed his eyes. For a fleeting second, he seemed at peace.
That night, after he finally fell asleep, Areum sat by the window, watching the city pulse beneath her. Her reflection stared back, a woman caught between tenderness and vengeance.
She whispered to herself, voice trembling between guilt and resolve:
"Joon-ha, forgive me. But I have to use you. Please… be my weapon this time."
It wasn't hatred that drove her. It was survival.
Because in a world ruled by men like Kang, love alone was never enough to win.
The next morning, Detective Choi met Ara outside the hospital where he'd been gathering witness statements. His eyes were tired, but there was a fire in them that hadn't dimmed.
He handed her a new file. "The van driver, he's missing. They're cleaning house."
Ara frowned. "What do we do now?"
"We wait," he said. "And we move carefully. The truth's close, but the closer we get, the more dangerous it becomes."
Ara nodded. "And Areum?"
"She's walking a thin line," he said quietly. "Between love and destruction. I just hope she knows which side she's standing on."
Ara's voice softened. "You don't think she'll stop, do you?"
Choi looked out toward the skyline.
"Once you've seen what power does to the innocent, you don't stop. You just bleed quieter."
And somewhere across the city, Joon-ha stirred in his sleep, the sound of her voice echoing faintly through a dream he couldn't hold onto.
He reached out into the darkness, whispering her name, not knowing she was already gone.
Not knowing she had already chosen her war.
Because love, in this world, wasn't about saving each other anymore.
It was about who could survive the longest without breaking.