EPISODE 46: Your Last Message, Our Final Choice
Minjae's arms tightened around her trembling frame, a desperate, futile attempt to stop time, to hold onto the warmth that was already slipping away. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her, a scent he knew would forever haunt him, forever associate with this unbearable, soul-crushing loss. Her blood, warm and sticky, seeped through his shirt, a searing brand against his skin.
Miran, with blood dripping slowly from her lips and soaking through his shirt, lifted her shaking hand. It felt impossibly cold against his cheek as she cupped his face, her thumb stroking gently, a final, tender caress.
"Anneyong... Minjaeya," she whispered, her voice breaking like fragile glass, each syllable a shard piercing his heart, tearing at the very fabric of his being. "Saranghae... I love you."
Then her eyes, which had held so much light and life just moments before, slowly, irrevocably, shut. The light behind them extinguished, leaving only a profound, terrifying darkness.
Her body slumped in his arms, the last vestige of tension leaving her. She became impossibly heavy, yet impossibly light, a hollow shell, a ghost already slipping away.
"Miran...?" Minjae's voice cracked, a desperate, broken sound, a raw plea torn from his throat. He shook her gently, frantically, as if a jolt, a desperate shake, could bring her back from the precipice. "Miran—answer me! Please, Miran! Don't do this!"
There was no reply. Only the deafening silence of her stillness, a silence that screamed louder than any explosion.
Guen rushed forward with the paramedics, her face a mask of professional urgency battling with raw, personal anguish. Her hands, usually so steady, trembled as she immediately checked Miran's pulse, then her breathing, her fingers pressing against her neck, searching for any flicker of life, any sign. Her eyes, usually so sharp, scanned for a miracle that wouldn't come. She placed one of a paramedic's stethoscope to Miran's chest, listening, listening, willing a beat to return, her face blank, devoid of hope, slowly crumbling. ...Then slowly, painfully, her shoulders slumped. She lifted her head, her own eyes glistening with tears that finally spilled over, a river of grief, looking at Minjae with a profound, shared sorrow that mirrored his own.
"She's gone," she said quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears, barely a whisper, the words a brutal, undeniable truth that ripped through the air. "Miran is no more."
Silence thundered across the area, a crushing weight that stole their breath, suffocating them all. Minjae didn't speak. He didn't move. His hands still held her close, cradling her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, as if letting go would shatter him into a million irreparable pieces. The world spun, a dizzying, meaningless blur, but he was anchored to this single, devastating point of unbearable loss, unable to comprehend a world without her.
Dohee dropped to her knees beside them, her own body trembling uncontrollably, a guttural sob tearing from her chest. "No… Guen, no—do something! You're a doctor, you can't just—please!" Her cries echoed, raw and desperate, as she grabbed Guen's arm, shaking her, pleading with her to undo the impossible, to bring back the life that had just vanished.
Kevin's jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached, a sharp pain mirroring the one in his chest. His fists balled at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage and sorrow. Tears gathered in his eyes, hot and stinging, but he refused to let them fall, his face a grim mask of controlled agony, a desperate attempt to hold himself together. Alex looked away, swallowing hard, clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw popped, a dry, rasping sound. His vision blurred, unable to bear the sight of Miran's stillness, unable to process the finality, the sheer emptiness she left behind.
Then chaos struck, a harsh, unwelcome intrusion into their private grief.
Reporters, like vultures drawn to carrion, stormed in, their cameras flashing wildly, blinding bursts of light against the grey sky. Their voices, loud and intrusive, shattered the fragile peace of their sorrow, turning their tragedy into a spectacle.
"Who is she?! Was she involved with ZEROFACE?!"
"Why did she die protecting that team?!"
"What's your connection with the criminal military group?!"
Kevin stood up, his eyes blazing with a cold, protective fury he rarely showed, a dangerous glint. "No comments," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the noise, a warning. "Get out of the way. Now."
They surrounded Miran's lifeless body, forming a protective circle around her, a desperate shield, with Minjae still kneeling, holding her, refusing to let go, his world having shrunk to just her, to this final, agonizing embrace. Guen finally, gently, pulled her from his arms, her touch reverent, almost a caress, laying her carefully on a stretcher. Minjae watched, numb, as they covered her face, the white sheet a final, cruel curtain.
Minjae's hands were stained crimson, her blood, a terrible, indelible mark that would never wash away. His eyes were hollow, lifeless, reflecting the void that had opened inside him, a bottomless pit of despair.
Their parents arrived just then, rushing through the police tape, their faces etched with fear and frantic concern. Their relief at seeing their children alive quickly turned to horror as they took in the scene: their children, disheveled, injured, and utterly broken, surrounded by the aftermath of a war they hadn't known was being fought.
Minjae's mother dropped her purse in shock, the contents scattering across the ground, forgotten. She rushed to her son, her own voice thick with terror and a mother's anguish. "Minjae—Minjae, what happened?! My son, what have they done to you?!" She reached for him, but he was unreachable, lost in his own silent torment.
He didn't answer. Just stared at the ground, at the phantom warmth of her body still in his arms, at the space where she had been, a space that would forever remain empty.
Miran's body was taken away, wheeled silently into the waiting ambulance, disappearing into the flashing lights, a final, cruel exit. She took a piece of each of them with her, leaving behind only echoes and an unbearable silence.
Funeral Hall
A grey, weeping sky mirrored the mood of the city, each raindrop a cold, silent tear falling from the heavens.
The funeral hall was crowded with people, all in black, a sea of somber faces, hushed whispers, and the occasional muffled sob. The air hung heavy with unspoken grief, a suffocating blanket of sorrow. The scent of lilies mingled with the faint, metallic tang of loss.
Kevin stood near the casket with his parents beside him, cold and unreadable, a fortress built against the pain, his jaw tight, his eyes distant. Guen looked utterly exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from endless crying, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, a restless agony. Dohee held a single white lily close to her heart, its pristine petals a stark contrast to her black dress, her face pale and drawn, streaked with dried tears. Alex stood silently, staring down at the framed photo of Miran—their friend, their comrade, her vibrant smile a cruel, mocking reminder of what they had lost, of the laughter that would never echo again.
Minjae was dressed sharply, his suit immaculate, a stark contrast to the utter devastation within him. He had been forcefully taken by his parents to the hospital for first aid and stitches for a gunshot wound on his arm before arriving at the funeral, the sharp, throbbing pain a constant physical reminder of the day's tragedy. Something inside him was clearly broken, irreparable, a wound that would never heal. He hadn't spoken since that day, since her last breath. Not a single word had passed his lips. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he were seeing a world no one else could perceive, a world where only Miran existed. He felt a phantom weight in his arms, the ghost of her body.
As the priest began to speak, his voice a gentle drone, flashes of Miran's memories began to flood each of their minds—her infectious laughter echoing in the quiet room, a sound that now felt like a cruel taunt; her fierce courage in the face of danger, a courage that had ultimately cost her everything; her endless, unexpected support, a warmth they would forever crave. For Kevin, it was the memory of her quiet, insightful questions that always pushed him to think deeper, to see beyond the obvious. For Guen, her shy smile when she praised her medical instincts, a rare moment of vulnerability. For Alex, her exasperated but fond eye-rolls at his tech jokes, a shared moment of lightness. For Dohee, the warmth of her hand in hers during a moment of shared fear, a silent promise of solidarity.
But for Minjae, there was only one memory, replaying endlessly: the feel of her body slumping in his arms, the last whisper of her name, the fading warmth. He remembered the first time she had truly smiled at him, a shy, hesitant curve of her lips that had stolen his breath. He remembered the feeling of her hand in his, so small, so fragile, yet so strong. Now, all he felt was the phantom weight of her, the cold emptiness where her warmth should be. He couldn't cry, couldn't scream. He was just… numb. A living monument to a love lost too soon.
Outside, the relentless hum of the city continued, a cruel reminder of a world that moved on without her, punctuated by news channels broadcasting updates, their voices detached and clinical, dissecting her life and death with cold precision:
> "Miran, the young toxicology expert involved in the tragic conflict against the military rogue known as ZEROFACE, has been confirmed to be his biological sister. The connection shocked the nation, raising questions about her true loyalties, her hidden past—"
> "But questions remain—who were the other people in the black operation unit with her? Rumors say they belonged to a secret civilian organization known only as CHIPER, operating outside official channels, a shadow group linked to a national tragedy…"
>
The words were like daggers, twisting the knife in their wounds, turning their private sorrow into public spectacle, tainting Miran's memory with suspicion.
Family Residence
Kevin's father paced the opulent living room, his movements agitated, the tension in the air almost palpable, thick with unspoken accusations and political maneuvering. "You all need to cooperate with the press," he stated, his voice tight with frustration, his gaze sharp. "They're hounding us with questions. Your silence is only feeding speculation, making us look guilty, making CHIPER look like a rogue entity."
Kevin sat still on the plush sofa, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the wall, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "We didn't ask to become public figures. We didn't ask for any of this. We just tried to save lives."
"I'll handle the press," his father conceded, running a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him. "Just attend the interview. Say what needs to be said and walk away. Keep it brief. Keep it clean. Don't give them anything more."
Interview – Live Broadcast
The five members sat before the harsh glare of the cameras—Kevin, Guen, Alex, Dohee, and Minjae. The studio lights were unforgiving, highlighting the dark circles under their eyes, the lingering shadows of their grief, the exhaustion etched onto their faces. They looked like ghosts of their former selves.
A reporter, sharp-eyed and relentless, stepped forward, microphone in hand. "Can you tell us who Miran really was? Beyond the headlines, beyond the accusations?"
Kevin cleared his throat, his voice carefully controlled, betraying nothing of the storm raging within him, a master of deflection. "She was a brilliant woman. Brave. Honest. A friend. She was… family to us. She was a victim of circumstances beyond her control, and she chose to fight for what was right."
Another reporter, undeterred, pushed harder: "What was her connection to ZEROFACE? Was she complicit in his actions? Was she a double agent?"
Dohee, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, stepped in, her gaze direct, unwavering. "We were as shocked as you were by the revelation of their connection. Miran worked with us as a specialist in cases involving chemicals and toxins. She never mentioned him. Never used her past against us. She fought against him, to the very end, to protect innocent lives. She sacrificed herself for us, for this country."
Guen nodded, her voice hoarse, thick with emotion. "She helped us solve many murder cases. She saved countless lives. She was one of us, through and through. Her loyalty was to humanity, not to any flag."
"But how did Kevin, CEO of a tech giant, and Minjae, his cousin, meet her? What was the true nature of your association? Were you operating illegally?"
Kevin looked calm, almost serene, a master of deflection. "Guen is my childhood friend. She introduced her to us. We trusted her. She became family, a vital part of our team, working to combat threats that official channels couldn't always address."
Minjae remained silent, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his knuckles white, almost bone-white. His eyes stared at the floor, seeing nothing but the memory of her face, her last smile. The questions, the flashing lights, the entire world seemed distant, muffled, meaningless. He was a statue of grief.
The press tried to prod him, sensing his vulnerability, their microphones thrust forward, but Kevin's father stepped in, his presence commanding, his voice cutting through the clamor. "That's enough. The children have been through immense trauma. This interview is over." He gestured to his security, who quickly ushered the relentless reporters away, leaving the team in a stunned, exhausted silence.
Dohee finally broke the silence, her voice soft but firm. "Maybe… maybe we should stop," she said, her gaze sweeping over their tired faces. "This… this isn't worth it anymore. We nearly lost Minjae. We lost Miran."
Alex nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. "She's right. We can't keep doing this. Not if it means putting everyone else's lives on the line. Miran wouldn't have wanted this for us."
Guen, tears welling up again, murmured, "It hurts too much. Every mission feels like a gamble with our lives now. I don't know if I can face it again."
Kevin looked at each of them, his gaze heavy with the weight of their collective grief and exhaustion. "We've done so much good, but… at what cost?" He didn't say it directly, but the unspoken question hung in the air: should CHIPER cease to exist?
Minjae remained motionless, a ghost among them, his silence more potent than any words. He merely stared, his eyes empty.
Just then, Minjae's father and Kevin's father re-entered the studio, their faces grim. Minjae's father's gaze fixed on his son, then on Dohee. "You two," he began, his voice cold and sharp, "You shouldn't have taken those guns. You shouldn't have shot anyone." He turned to Minjae, his voice escalating, "You bastard! Why did you shoot that criminal for another criminal girl, huh? How dare you do that?! Do you know how much trouble I'm facing because of you, you stupid bastard? Thanks to me that you have a father like me... Next time if you do anything like this, I will send you abroad! Understand?! Come home with me now!" He grabbed Minjae by the arm, pulling him up roughly.
Then, his eyes darted to Kevin and the others, a clear threat in his voice. "Don't need to say anything to anyone. I will handle it. Otherwise, I will send all of you to jail." He dragged Minjae with him, while Kevin's father, with a stern look, simply ordered Kevin to follow him.
The remaining members of CHIPER watched them go, a somber silence descending once more. There were no grand goodbyes, just a lingering, shared sorrow. Each of them, burdened by loss and the harsh realities of their world, turned and went their separate ways, leaving the empty studio behind.
The question lingered: with Miran gone and their families pulling them in different directions, would the CHIPER group ever reunite, or would this be their final, forced surrender?