Episode 30 – Red Hands, Silent Lies
Rain hammered the hospital windows, streaking glass with silver tears.
Bright light washed sterile white walls, humming machines, smell of antiseptic and blood.
Miran lay pale and still on the stretcher, eyes closed, skin shockingly colorless. A doctor barked orders; nurses wheeled her through double doors.
"Gunshot wound. Thoracic cavity. Prepare OR!"
---
Minjae lunged to follow, but a nurse's hand shot up.
"Family must wait outside!"
"I am family!" he shouted, voice cracking. But the doors slammed in his face, shutting him out.
He stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched.
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In the waiting area:
Kevin's hand shook around a paper cup of burnt coffee.
Guen sat hunched, blood crusted on her blouse, eyes fixed on nothing.
Dohee wiped her wet cheeks, Alex beside her, silent but close, hand resting gently on her shoulder.
Minjae paced, back and forth, boots echoing on polished tile.
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The minutes crawled by.
Machines beeped behind walls. A nurse ran past, blood staining her gloves.
Kevin ran a trembling hand over his face. "If she dies—"
"She won't," Minjae snarled. His voice was rough, raw. "She won't."
His chest rose and fell like a cornered beast.
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Police arrived.
Two detectives in plain clothes, dark coats dripping rainwater.
"We need statements," the older one said, voice hard.
Dohee swallowed. "She's in surgery—"
"All the more reason to talk now," the detective cut in. "Start from the beginning."
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Kevin spoke first, calm but cold:
"We were on a group trip. The girls disappeared. We searched — found them in that warehouse. The man had a gun."
"And how did you get there so quickly?" the detective pressed.
Kevin's jaw flexed. "We split up looking. Guen called when she saw the factory."
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Guen picked it up, voice hoarse:
"We tried to call police — but… everything happened too fast."
"And the shooter?" the second detective asked.
"He kidnapped us," Dohee whispered, shaking. "He… he tried to kill us."
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Alex added, voice steady but dead-eyed:
"When we got there, he was already crazed. The shot hit Miran before anyone could stop him."
The older detective studied Alex's face, searching for cracks.
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Finally, Minjae:
His gaze was empty, voice like gravel. "We were too late."
"Did you see who saved you?" the detective pressed.
Minjae's lips twitched — almost a smirk, almost a snarl. "No one. We didn't see anyone."
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The detectives glanced at each other. One scribbled notes.
"You're telling us a psycho kidnapped your friends, you miraculously rescued them — and you didn't see the shooter go down?"
Kevin's voice cut like a blade: "You think we care about details while our friend's bleeding out?"
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A tense silence.
The detective's eyes swept over Guen's bloodstained blouse, Dohee's red-rimmed eyes, Minjae's clenched fists.
Finally: "For now, stay in Seoul. We may call you back in."
---
The detectives walked off, rain dripping from their coats.
The moment they left, Minjae's shoulders sagged.
Alex exhaled, breath shaking. "They don't buy it."
Kevin's gaze stayed on the OR doors. "Doesn't matter. We stick to the story."
---
Minutes felt like years.
Rain drummed on glass. Hallway clocks ticked, each second louder than the last.
Guen's voice cracked. "She took the bullet for Dohee."
Dohee buried her face in trembling hands. "It should've been me," she sobbed.
Alex pulled her into his chest, silent, haunted.
---
Minjae sat apart, head bowed, hands stained red.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Images burned behind his eyes: Miran's wide eyes, the bloom of red on her back, her body crumpling to the floor.
His chest hurt — sharp, alien pain.
Why does it feel like this?
---
Kevin watched him.
Saw the mask cracking.
"You can't do this again," Kevin whispered.
Minjae didn't lift his head. "Do what?"
"Lose control. Kill out of rage. You almost did it back there."
Minjae's knuckles whitened. "And if I had? He deserved worse."
Kevin's gaze softened, but stayed hard at the edges. "And Miran? What would she think, waking up to find you turned butcher?"
Minjae's shoulders shook. For a heartbeat, he looked… afraid.
---
A nurse stepped out, mask down.
"She's alive. Surgery went well. Bullet missed the heart — but there's lung damage. She's unconscious, but stable."
The words hit like a tide.
Guen exhaled, tears spilling silently.
Dohee's knees buckled; Alex caught her.
Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, relief cutting deep.
---
Minjae stumbled back, chest heaving.
Alive.
She's alive.
His breath shuddered out, the weight of terror loosening — but guilt settled heavier.
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An hour later:
White sheets. Machines beeping slow, steady rhythm.
Miran lay pale, lashes dark on wan skin, oxygen tube taped to her cheek.
Kevin, Guen, Dohee, Alex gathered around her bed.
Minjae hung back, by the door, fists in pockets.
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Miran stirred.
Lashes fluttered, breath caught.
Eyes opened — glazed, unfocused. Then blinked, clearer.
"...Guen?" her voice barely a rasp.
"We're here," Guen choked out, grabbing her hand.
Dohee's tears spilled fresh. "You scared us," she whispered.
Alex forced a broken laugh. "Took a bullet to prove you're brave, huh?"
---
Minjae couldn't speak.
Couldn't move.
Their eyes met.
Hers were weak, but soft — no blame. Just quiet relief.
He wanted to say a thousand things.
All that came out was a rough whisper: "Idiot."
She smiled, barely. "Sorry…"
---
Outside, rain eased.
But inside, weight settled: what they did wasn't just shadows and secrets.
It was blood.
It was Miran's shallow breaths.
And it would never leave them.
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