On the way back home, beneath flickering streetlights that seemed to be gasping their last breath, Kim Hyeol finally broke the silence. His voice trembled like leaves shivering in a piercing wind.
-I… I wanted to tell you. About them. The ones who tormented me at school… and who hurt her. The girl I shared my childhood with.
Kim Ji Dan, walking a few steps ahead, stopped and turned his head. In his gaze, something sharp flashed—like the glint of a blade.
-You knew… they were bullying her? And you did nothing?
Hyeol looked away. His lips trembled, as if he were holding back something long-rotten inside.
-You wouldn't understand… You'll never understand what it felt like. This world… it belongs to the strong. The weak… they're just devoured. That's the rule—cruel like a blade without a hilt. If you'd been in my place, you'd… you'd have trembled too. All I could do was watch. Silent… and powerless.
-And now? - Ji Dan's voice was icy. - What's your relationship with her?
-Relationship? - Hyeol gave a bitter laugh. - There is none. I left her. Just… walked away when she needed someone. Anyone. She probably hates me now… or maybe she's erased me entirely. Wiped me from her memory like a smudge on glass.
-Disgusting, - Ji Dan said quietly. - You're trash.
-Don't say that… Please… - Hyeol whispered, as if hoping someone—anyone—might forgive him.
The night was thick, like ink spilled across the sky. Kim Ji Dan reached the old apartment building where he lived. The concrete walls were cracked, the paint peeling — like the building itself was trying to forget the years it had spent in this bleak neighborhood.
He climbed to the third floor. The metal stairs echoed dully beneath his steps. Reaching the door, he fished in his pocket for the key… but the lock gave way instantly. The door was already ajar.
Frowning, he pushed it open. The creak of the hinges echoed through the dark hallway like an omen of something sinister.
There were unfamiliar pairs of shoes in the entryway. Women's heels. Men's sneakers. They hadn't been there that morning.
Something twisted inside him — cold, like the touch of a dead hand.
He stepped further in. The air was thick with the scent of sweet perfume—overpowering, almost suffocating. A cloying fragrance that seemed to conceal something rotten just beneath the surface.
As he approached the door to his room, he suddenly felt… something. He saw it—just for a moment, a fleeting second—a transparent figure. The pale face of Kim Hyeol, twisted in unease. A ghostly voice echoed in his mind:
-Hey… Don't go in there… Don't go, do you hear me?
His face was warped by fear. Or… was it shame?
But Ji Dan had already reached for the door. The handle was cold — ice cold.
He opened it… and froze.
In the room, lit by the warm but slightly dim glow of a lamp, sat three girls and one guy. All four burst into laughter, as if reacting to some joke — but fell silent the instant they noticed him.
For a heartbeat, Ji Dan couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.
He immediately recognized his sister raven-haired, her expression cold, wearing black lipstick. Dressed in her usual gothic style: torn fishnet stockings, a black tank top, and a choker around her neck. The others—two unfamiliar blonde girls and a guy with bright red hair, looking around twenty—were strangers. The red-haired guy lounged back on his hands, grinning lazily, like the host of the party.
Ji Dan's fingers curled into a fist before he realized it.
They were all dressed far too lightly—like the heat in the room had stripped them of any sense of modesty. Bottles littered the floor, along with cheap snacks and a deck of cards. The girls were laughing, and one of them had already begun sliding a ring off her finger, as if she'd just lost a bet.
Everything pointed to the same conclusion they'd been playing cards. Probably strip poker.
He felt the tension slither beneath his skin.
Personality EvaluationName: Kim MiruAge: 21Ability:Weakened Gravity Control – Rank DElement: WindWeakness: Psychological instability, defeatist tendencies
-Tsk. What are you staring at?! - she snapped, throwing me a heavy, irritated glare. Her voice rang with annoyance, as if I'd just violated some unspoken rule of this place.
I couldn't hold back.
-What the... hell... - I muttered under my breath, almost unconsciously.
Silence.
All eyes in the room turned on me. Three girls and one red-haired guy stared as if I were garbage. Dirt stuck to the soles of their shoes. Someone who had no place here. The mood in the room shifted in an instant, as if hatred had thickened the air.
Not even a second passed before a bottle came flying at me. I slammed the door shut and ducked just in time—the glass struck the panel with a dull thud, miraculously not shattering.
-What a… family, - I breathed, backing away from the door.
My sister… What the hell had she become?
In my memory, she remained a blurry image—a quiet, sullen girl who could sit in silence for hours, sketching in her notebook.But now… a single glance from her could freeze a criminal's heart. Predatory. Sharp. Drenched in contempt.A look like that could make you forget how to breathe.
I knew those people she was with weren't a direct threat to her life. But still… they were revolting.Delinquents, living by their own filthy rules.And now she was just like them—my older sister, Kim Miru.
Ji Dan had inherited only fragments of Kim Hyeol's memories and had no idea she had turned into a thug at her Hero University.
I sat alone in the kitchen.Time dragged on, like dampness creeping down the walls of an old house.
All I could do was wait for evening.
And it came. Slowly. Heavily.
From beyond the wall came drunken laughter, shouting, foul-mouthed jokes laced with an almost deliberate aggression.It all blended with the clinking of bottles and the sharp slaps of palms against the table.I could imagine what they were doing in there—and it was... disgusting.
Finally, by six in the evening, my sister and her crew left the house.Probably off to wander the neighborhood in search of their next thrill.
A little later, closer to seven, the front door creaked open.
-Son, I'm home, - came my father's calm voice.
I peeked out from the kitchen, where I was frying eggs. The apartment had grown quiet again, and the smell of oil and eggs gently masked the stale odor of last night's drunken chaos.My father had already taken off his shoes and, without asking any questions, walked into his room to change clothes.
His face looked the same as always — tired, but calm.As if he knew everything was falling apart, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
And so, my father and I sat down for dinner.The table was simple — fried eggs, a bit of rice, kimchi, and seaweed soup. Nothing out of the ordinary.Yet, in that simplicity, something deeply warm had settled in. Something real.
We ate in silence, eyes downcast, until suddenly my father broke it:
-I… didn't expect that from you. Thank you, son.
His voice quivered. He turned away, but I saw it—tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes. Real tears. So rare I wasn't even sure I believed what I was seeing.
-You've never done anything like that before… so I didn't expect it, - he added with a faint chuckle, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his old work jacket.-Ha… sorry. Must be the dust in here.
I froze.
Something inside me snapped.Something flipped over in my chest and caught fire. Anger, shame, guilt—they all collapsed into one unbearable knot.My fingers trembled. Without thinking, I clenched the spoon… and bent it.The silvery metal curled in my hand like it was made of soft tin.
My teeth ached from how hard I'd clenched them. My cheeks burned.
And then… I allowed myself to break.
Ji Dan… you promised yourself you wouldn't cry anymore. That you'd be strong. Cold. Whole. But today… today, you have to…
I took a deep breath. And as if on purpose, I reached into that weakness. I wanted to cry.Not like a child.Not like a victim.But like a son.
-I'm sorry, Dad,
I said hoarsely. - I'm sorry for being such a… bastard. I… I'll really try to become someone better. You deserve a better son.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, burning like acid.But it was honest. It was real.
My father didn't say a word.He just sat across from me, quietly, as if absorbing every word I said.And in that silence, there was more love than in a thousand embraces.
Nearly an hour passed. Night had already blanketed the city.We stepped outside — for a walk, to breathe.The air was damp, carrying the scent of rain, though no drops had fallen.The streets shimmered with neon, and somewhere in the distance, music played from a cheap diner.