Ji Woo finally got the photos he was looking for. He sent the one he and Hana were looking for. With the boxes of memories open in front of him which he did not dare to open since Joo Won left the orphanage, Ji Woo could not stop but cry. He cried like the day Joo Won left the orphanage. Not graceful, not movie like but like a child. He did not even notice the constant ring on his phone.
Once he was able to come back to his composed senses, he decided to send all the photos they had from their childhood to Hana if they help with some importance evidence
Once he was able to come back to his composed senses, he decided to send all the photos they had from their childhood to Hana if they help with some importance evidence.
Hana had to mute her phone so that Joo Won does not realize that she had been secretly connecting with Ji Woo
Hana had to mute her phone so that Joo Won does not realize that she had been secretly connecting with Ji Woo. If the threats Joo Won spoke about are real then, she cannot tell him about this either. Once the lipstick stain had faded from the fabric, she handed back the shirt and made a polite but hurried exit. Safely inside a cab, she finally exhaled. As the city lights streaked past the window, she opened Ji Woo's messages. Each notification unveiled another fragment of a stolen childhood—a story of two boys clinging to each other in a lonely world. A soft, aching smile touched her lips. It ached because the digital story in her hands and the physical one carved into Joo Won's skin were different chapters of the same brutal book. The scars she had witnessed, some parallel, some savagely intertwined, were not just marks. They were a brutal, tactile confirmation of everything he had told her, although, his scars were the part of the secret he never had intended to reveal to her.
Suddenly, everything about Joo Won made sense: his gentle humility, his desire to uplift student developers, his helping the elderly, the quiet strength that commanded a room without arrogance, the way his eyes often held a history he could never speak of. This was not the boy she had known. He treated everyone how he himself wanted to be treated. He never scolded any employee for any mistakes; he was calm in the fiercest of the storms, in the most impossible of the events. He wanted to come closer to people—wanted to show the kindness and warmth he never found in others. He wanted to make others feel that it was only the glass windows and door that separates him from the rest of the employees. His heart, his soul, his very self didn't differ from them. His humbleness was not a conscious character trait; it was his very own being.
The real Bae Hoon would never have offered a hand when she fell; he was often the one who pushed her. Still, she used to admire him in childhood which obviously stemmed solely from her mom pushing her to be good friends with Bae Hoon- the heir. But Hana realized that it was not Bae Hoon she fell for; it was Joo Won with his hidden pain and unwavering kindness, who had quietly claimed her heart.
The passing lights blurred into streaks of gold and white as her eyes welled up, her heart aching for the boy who had endured so much and became a man who carried that past with such grace.
**
Fifteen missed calls. With the discussion pending on the crucial notes for the meeting with the ministry, So Hee's need for Ji Woo's opinion had curdled into worry. Unable to wait any longer, she took a cab to his apartment. As the vehicle pulled away, she hurried up the stairs and rang the bell. The door was opened by Ji Woo's father, Mr. Kang. From inside the apartment, the nostalgic strains of Song Dae-kwan's rhythmic "Sunny Day" drifted out.
"Oh, So Hee," Mr. Kang said, his kindly face creasing with concern as he opened the door. "What's the matter? What are you doing here so late?" She remembered that Mr Kang wasn't informed about the recent disaster.
"Ji Woo—" So Hee gasped, the words catching in her throat. Her concerns earlier had propelled her up the stairs to their apartment, and she now stood doubled over, trying to reclaim the breath the climb had stolen.
Seeing her struggle, Mr. Kang hurriedly ushered her inside. "Come in, come in."
After a moment, she straightened up, gulping down air. "Ji Woo," she managed again, her voice firmer now.
"He is in his room," Mr. Kang said gently. He moved to the old stereo, turning down the volume of the classic Korean song that had been accompanying his dinner preparations. The sudden quiet felt heavy. "Go on inside." Mr Kang again turned up the volume of the song dancing in its soulful rhythm got back to cooking once So Hee entered Ji Woo's room.
Knowing how fiercely private Ji Woo was, So Hee had never dared to pry. Even at his mother's funeral, she had seen it: a silent, desperate plea for help in his eyes, a raw need for someone to anchor him. She just wasn't sure if that someone should be her.
She pushed the door open silently. The scene inside was nothing like the organized chaos of his gaming setup. Ji Woo was curled on the floor, surrounded by a scattered constellation of his past—faded photos of children laughing and singing, oddly shaped stones, and plastic wrappers kept like treasures. Her heart clenched.
The shift in the muffled music from the living room caused by her entrance made him flinch. Thinking it was his father, he quickly tried to wipe his face and hide the evidence of his breakdown.
"Ji Woo?"
His name, spoken in her voice, made him startle. He turned his head sharply, his eyes wide with shock and a flash of humiliation. "Oh... So Hee" The term was a reflex, but his voice was a broken thing, shattering any pretense of composure.
So Hee's planned words died in her throat. The ever-smiling, perpetually cheerful Ji Woo had been crying. How was she supposed to navigate this? She grasped for the safest, most neutral reason for her presence.
"The meeting...," she said, her voice timid. She let the word hang there, an offering. It was enough. It was a reason that demanded no explanation of his tears, a lifeline of normalcy she was throwing to them both.
"..Oh, right." He looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry. You could have called. You came all the way here. How will you get back? It's late." His concern for her was automatic, genuine.
"I did call you," she said softly. "We can finish the work here. Don't worry about me. I'll take a cab."
"You called? I didn't hear." He reached for his phone. The screen lit up, revealing the damning evidence: 15 Missed Calls [So Hee]. And just below them, a single notification that made his breath come to a halt: a message from Hana.
He opened it instantly. The message was brief, cryptic, and meant only for him:
I saw Alpha Centauri today.
I saw Alpha Centauri today
His entire world stilled. The meeting, his tears, So Hee's worried presence—everything faded into noise. The only thing that was real was that sentence on the screen. He knew that he found his brother. But the euphoria was instantly obliterated when he remembered the horrific context Hana had provided earlier. The story of the switch, the cold manipulation of the Hwangs, the gilded cage Joo Won lived in—it wasn't a reunion, it was a nightmare. His brother wasn't lost; he was stolen. And now, the very people the world called his family were his jailers, his greatest threat. And the only person who was his friend did not come to his protection. Ji Woo thought that Joo Won did not want to keep in touch with him anymore.
The phone slipped from his numb fingers, clattering against the floor. It was a twin fall: the shattering of a lifelong hope and the crushing weight of a terrible, imminent danger. The boy he had spent a lifetime searching for was living a lie, and his very existence was balanced on a knife's edge.
"Ji Woo... what happened?" So Hee rushed forward, kneeling beside him as his phone clattered to the floor. His face was a display of pure shock and dawning horror. "Is everything alright?"
"So Hee..." his voice was a hollow whisper.
"Yes...?" she prompted gently, her own worry spiking.
"I found him...I found Joo Won... Bae Hoon is Joo Won."
Joo Won? The name echoed from a distant past, a whisper from college days she'd barely registered. Her mind raced, connecting fragments. Bae Hoon... Joo Won... She chose her next words carefully, testing the air. "Oh... that's great news. But why were you looking for him? Is he an old friend?"
"Yes," he breathed, the truth tumbling out in his stunned state, the oath to Hana completely forgotten. "The oldest. The best friend. I did not know he was right in front of my eyes this whole time."
Friend.. "Ahh... I see. So where is this Ji Woo now?"
Suddenly, the initial shock melted away, replaced by a terrifying, cold dread that seized his features. "So Hee..." he said, his voice cracking with a fear she had never heard in him before. "I'm scared."
"Why?" she asked, her own heart beginning to race.
His eyes welled up, tears spilling over. "They will kill him. They will kill him."
The raw, unfiltered terror in his voice broke something in her. Seeing the always-smiling, resilient Ji Woo reduced to this vulnerable, terrified state ignited a fierce protectiveness in So Hee. In that moment, her motivation crystallized. She didn't need to understand the whole story. The only thing that mattered was stopping whatever—or whoever—was causing this pain. She would help him. She would help this Joo Won. If it would wipe this pain from Ji Woo's eyes, she would do anything.
She sat him down on his bed, pouring a glass of water from the bottle on his nightstand, she pressed it into his trembling hands. "Here. Drink this."
The simple, kind act shattered his last defenses. Ji Woo always knew with absolute certainty that he could trust her. The whole story—the childhood pact, the switch, the terrifying truth about the Hwangs, and Hana's recent discovery—tumbled out in a rushed, hushed confession. So Hee listened, her work forgotten, her world tilting on its axis as she absorbed the incredible secret.
Later, Mr. Kang's gentle call for dinner broke the intense spell. So Hee immediately rose, her manners reflexive. She shouted back, "It's okay, Mr Kang. I should get home, it's late."
But the insistence from both father and son was warm and genuine, a testament to how seamlessly she had been welcomed into their life. The dinner was a quiet, somber affair, a stark contrast to the usual boisterous energy Ji Woo brought to every meal. Mr Kang assumed it was something related to work.
Afterwards, Ji Woo walked her outside into the cool night air. While hailing a cab, she turned to him, her voice firm yet gentle. "Ji Woo, you can't carry this alone. You and I need to meet with Hana. The three of us should talk. We need a plan, not just panic."
As always, he nodded, his obedience born not from infatuation but from a deep-seated respect for her clarity and reason. "Yes, Noona."
The cab pulled up. He opened the door for her, a ingrained habit of courtesy. Once she was inside, he closed it softly, then bent down to the driver's window. "Hi....please drive safely," he instructed, his voice laced with a concern that extended far beyond this single car ride.
He stood on the curb, watching the taillights disappear into the stream of traffic, feeling the immense weight of his secret now shared, and for the first time, a little less crushing. He let out a long sigh and silently internalizing the series of events that took place in a short span of time.
Earlier in an office meeting, Colin awakened a weak suspicion in Ji Woo's mind. At the time, Ji Woo had dismissed it as paranoia. But now, layered with Hana's devastating revelations about the Hwang family's ruthlessness, the possibility felt terrifyingly plausible. It wasn't just a business rivalry; it was a targeted assassination.
And the poison was already working. In less than three days, YERIN was hemorrhaging. Key testers had resigned, their letters citing "ethical concerns" and "damaged reputation." The remaining team moved through the office like ghosts, their morale shattered, the vibrant energy of their victory replaced by the grim silence of a sinking ship. The foundation he had worked so hard to build was crumbling, and he now knew the demolition was not an accident, but a deliberate, personal strike.