I didn't understand much of their conversation, but one thing was clear—Mom was involved in something dangerous.
I wanted her to stop, but I knew my mother well. She was righteous to a fault, unable to ignore anyone in need—even if it cost her life.
So, I secretly installed a GPS tracker in her phone.
From that day on, I began following her without her knowledge, because I knew if she noticed, she would confront me and shut me out.
That night, the location pinged in an industrial area on the edge of town—a place full of shuttered factories and rusting warehouses. No one went there unless they had a reason. I parked my scooter in a dark alley and followed her signal on foot.
I saw my mom entering an abandoned building—it looked like she was searching the area. Her flashlight flickered across the cracked concrete floor and graffiti-stained walls.
Inside, there was a boy tied to a chair, surrounded by several goons.
It was him. Choi Kang-Dae.
Why was he bound like that? And why were there so many men guarding just one boy?
My mom and her team launched into action, fighting the group head-on. I watched from behind a broken pillar, frozen. The fight was raw and fast—her team moved like they'd done this a hundred times.
There were six attackers in total, and during the chaos, two of them tried to smuggle Choi Kang-Dae out through the backdoor.
Without thinking, I rushed in that direction. My legs moved before my brain could protest.
As my mom's team kept the others busy, I pulled out the pepper spray from my hoodie pocket and hit one guy in the eyes. He screamed, clutching his face and stumbling back. The other one charged, but I kicked him hard in the groin, and he collapsed with a wheeze.
Then I grabbed the boy by the wrist and shouted, "Come on!"
We ran.
We didn't stop until we reached the main road. Neon signs blurred past as we sprinted toward the light and noise of the city. Eventually, we ducked into a 24-hour convenience store, the glass door sliding shut behind us with a ding.
Panting, we caught our breath near the back, behind a rack of instant noodles and rice crackers. I immediately pulled out my phone and called Dad. My fingers trembled as I spoke.
"Appa, please come get us. Now. I'll send you the location—just hurry."
As I was talking, I suddenly heard a loud growl.
It wasn't mine.
I turned and saw him—Choi Kang-Dae—blushing and looking away, clearly embarrassed.
I ended the call and quietly bought him some food—a triangle kimbap, a sandwich, a juice box.
He hesitated at first, eyes flicking between me and the food, like he was unsure if it was really okay. But hunger won over.
We sat there silently, backs against the cold fridge, as he ate. I noticed how he chewed slowly, like he hadn't eaten in days.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, my dad—my savior—finally arrived.
The moment he stepped inside and saw the boy, his expression changed. Dad rarely showed strong emotions, but this time, his brows furrowed in shock.
You wouldn't believe it, but the boy was just 14 years old.
He looked painfully thin and malnourished.
If not for his height, nothing about him matched his age.
He clutched the sandwich in both hands like it was treasure, and when our eyes met, he looked down, shy.
On the drive to the police station, the silence stretched thick between us.
Finally, Dad asked, "Who is this boy?"
I didn't answer directly.
His bruises already told the story—he was in danger.
But I didn't lie either.
"I followed Mom today," I said. "I wanted to see how she works… and that's how I found him. Mom was trying to save him."
Just then, the car jolted to a sudden stop.
Dad frowned and quickly called Mom.
A short, tense conversation passed between them—low, clipped words, heavy with meaning.
When he ended the call, he let out a deep sigh. "She wants us to bring the boy home."
Of course she did.
No one argues with Mom.
We turned back.
The house was dark when we arrived. Only the hallway light was on.
As soon as I stepped inside—
SLAP.
A burning sting bloomed across my cheek.
My head tilted with the force, my hair flying to one side.
I stood frozen.
Eyes wide.
Silence swallowed the room.
Mom was standing there, her hand still mid-air.