And then—darkness.
The second room reeked of iron. Claut's eyes fluttered open, only to meet a nightmare more horrifying than his dreams.
Mariya's lifeless body hung grotesquely against the wall. Her head was gone. Her belly slashed open, crimson trails dripping downward, painting the floor with silence.
Kim stood nearby, his hands slick with blood, tracing patterns on the wall as though it were art. His smile was faint—too calm for such horror.
Claut's body trembled, every breath shallow. His lips barely formed the words:
"Stop it… Dad."
Kim's smile sharpened. In an instant, he gripped Claut by the hair and forced his head back, the blade of a knife grazing his throat.
"You dare speak?" Kim's voice was low, venomous. "You are not my son. You are the weapon I forged. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do you understand?"
Claut's tears blurred his vision. His voice cracked into a broken whisper.
"Y-Yes, Dad… I'm sorry."
The knife lowered. Kim's grip loosened. Claut stumbled away, shame wrapping around him like chains he couldn't break.
That night, Claut retreated to his bedroom. His trembling hands clutched his knees as he curled against the wall. His words poured out in a whisper, growing louder with each breath.
"Why… why did God curse me with this life? Why couldn't my father… why couldn't he love me like other fathers love their sons?"
The words broke into a scream—raw, hoarse, desperate. His voice shook the silence until exhaustion crushed him, leaving him collapsed on the floor, eyes swollen from tears.
Sleep claimed him, but it brought no peace.
Morning light spilled into the room. Claut groaned awake, rubbing at his sore eyes. He reached for the remote, turning on the television.
A flashing banner filled the screen:
BREAKING NEWS
A woman has mysteriously disappeared. No witnesses. No traces. No evidence.
Claut's chest tightened, the weight of the truth pressing against him.
Kim entered casually, buttoning his shirt, humming under his breath. To anyone else, he looked like an ordinary father.
"Ready for school, Claut? I'll make you breakfast."
Claut forced his lips into a smile.
"Okay, Dad."
The doorbell rang. DING-DONG.
Kim answered. Three police officers stood at the porch.
"Good morning, sir," the lead officer greeted.
"Good morning, officers," Kim replied warmly, his tone flawless.
"A missing person report has been filed. Her name is Mariya. Her family said you were the last to contact her."
Kim nodded with the perfect balance of concern and calm.
"Yes, I called her about a job, but she never showed up. Poor girl… has there been any update?"
"Not yet, sir. We're doing our best," the officer assured.
Kim tilted his head slightly, his smile sincere.
"Officer, could you give me her family's number? I'd like to check in, perhaps help them if I can."
The officer's eyes softened. "You're one of the kindest men I've met. Here, sir."
He handed Kim a slip of paper.
"Thank you, officer," Kim said, bowing his head politely.
The door closed. Behind it, Claut's heart pounded, dread clawing at his ribs.
Later, in the kitchen, Kim placed a plate of food in front of him.
"Eat quickly. I'll drop you off today."
Claut stared at him, bitterness seeping into his words.
"Don't act like this, Dad. Don't show me that smile. I know what's behind it. This is just… a mask."
Kim chuckled softly. "Maybe. But masks are what keep the world turning, my son."
He grabbed Claut's schoolbag, smiling as if nothing was wrong.
On the walk to the car, neighbors greeted them cheerfully.
"Good morning, sir! Good morning, Claut!"
Whispers followed.
"Look at them. Such a wonderful bond."
"I wish I had that kind of relationship with my son."
Claut forced laughter at his father's side, though inside, his stomach churned with disgust.
At the school gate, Kim knelt down and handed him the bag. He kissed Claut's head with a gentleness that didn't belong to him.
"Have a good day, my son. Study well."
Claut forced a smile back, empty, hollow.
"Thanks."
Nearby, students whispered.
"Look at him. So lucky."
"Rich brat…"
Then, from the crowd, a boy's voice rang out:
"Shut up, all of you! That's my best friend, Claut!"
It was Rick. His grin was wide, his tone too loud.
Claut raised his hand half-heartedly.
"Hi… Rick."
He turned away, feeling the weight of his father's false smile pressing on him like a shadow.
And in that moment, Claut realized—
The world would never know the monster behind that smile.