Nari dialed 119 with fingers that no longer belonged to her.
Her hands shook so violently she almost dropped the phone three times.
She couldn't feel her legs.
Nor her throat.
Nor her heart.
Only panic.
Pure.
Brutal.
Vibrating through her entire body.
The ringtone echoed once.
Twice.
Three times.
— Fire department, what's your emergency?
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
Unbearably calm.
Nari inhaled — or tried to — but no air would enter.
— I… I… he… he's breathing but… he won't wake up, I… please…
The words came out in broken hiccups, perched on sobs she half-choked back.
— Ma'am, calm down. Where are you located?
She gave the address, stumbling over every syllable.
— All right. Tell me: is the person conscious?
— No! He… he passed out… after… after someone hit him…
Her voice shattered completely.
— He won't wake up… please hurry… please…
— We're on our way. Stay on the phone with me.
Nari looked at Sion lying on the floor —
pale,
motionless,
his face deformed from the blows,
his lip still bleeding,
his breathing so weak it seemed each breath was a battle.
She burst into tears again.
— Ma'am, listen to me. Put your hand on his chest. Do you feel him breathing?
She placed her trembling hand against his sternum.
A faint warmth.
A barely perceptible rise.
— Yes… yes he's breathing… but… but it's too weak…
— Stay close to him. Don't shake him. Help is on the way.
— Okay… okay…
Her voice was nothing but a strangled whisper.
When the operator hung up, silence fell.
A cold silence.
Thick.
Suffocating.
She slid down next to Sion, knelt, curled herself against him, her head on his chest, her arm around his torso.
She was shaking.
Not a small tremor.
No.
A real, nerve-deep tremor — the kind that takes over the entire body after a scene too violent for one human being to endure.
She buried her face in his neck.
— I'm here… I'm here… I'm here…
She rocked herself and him at the same time, like two abandoned children.
And in that embrace, an ancient mechanism awakened inside her:
devouring compassion,
sacrificial love,
the absolute urge to heal his wounds,
to be his light,
to be his refuge,
even if it meant destroying herself.
She had never understood the responsibilities, the pressures of inheritance on Sion's shoulders.
She didn't understand that world.
But she understood the weight of a father who hits.
The pain of taking blows from someone you admire.
The violence of growing up afraid.
The shame of disappointing the one who is supposed to teach you how to live.
And that… that alone was enough to break her from the inside.
The paramedics arrived in less than five minutes.
Someone knocked.
She flinched.
— Emergency services!
She opened the door with a trembling gesture, still wrapped in a sheet, almost naked underneath, hair messy, face ravaged by tears.
Two firefighters walked in.
One of them looked her up and down, surprised by her state.
— Ma'am… are you… close to Mr. Jeon? he asked, softening his voice.
Nari lowered her head, ashamed, vulnerable, her hand gripping the sheet that barely covered her.
— Yes… she whispered.
They knelt beside Sion, checked his breathing, palpated his ribs with professional precision, placed a neck brace on him, then lifted him onto a stretcher.
— Don't worry. His life isn't in danger, one of them said as he looked up at her.
Nari held back a sob.
Her eyes glistened, huge, drowning in a primitive kind of pain.
— Thank you… thank you…
Barely a breath.
They carried Sion out.
Nari followed them to the landing.
Then the stretcher disappeared behind the elevator doors.
And silence fell again.
A silence crueler than everything before.
She closed the apartment door.
The metal latch snapped shut like a verdict.
The calm was heavy.
Thick.
Terrible.
A calm that makes you want to scream.
A calm that reminds you that you are alone.
A vast loneliness washed over her.
A freezing loneliness that seeped into her bones, her guts, every beat of her heart.
The emptiness.
The silence.
The absence.
She slid down the door.
Sat on the floor.
Head between her knees.
And let grief swallow her all over again.
Nari left the apartment like a ghost.
She had thrown on jeans, an oversized sweater, her hair still damp, her eyes still red.
Her steps echoed in the stairwell, sounding like hammer blows in her chest.
The taxi was already waiting, cold against the glass, emptiness in her gut, fear biting at her throat.
⸻
At the hospital
She rushed to the front desk.
— Are you looking for someone? a nurse asked.
— Sion… Jeon Sion… he was brought in early this morning.
The nurse nodded, checked a file, then gestured for her to follow down a white hallway, too bright, smelling of disinfectant and exhaustion.
She stopped in front of a glass door.
— Wait here. The doctor will come speak with you.
Nari stood still, heart suspended, hands trembling, breath fractured.
A door beside her opened suddenly, revealing a man in a white coat, round glasses, serious expression.
— You're Mr. Jeon's partner?
The question caught her off guard.
She nodded without thinking.
The doctor closed his chart.
— He regained consciousness this morning. He has severe contusions, some rib fissures, facial swelling, but no serious internal injuries.
Nari closed her eyes, throat tightening.
— He's… he's really okay?
— He must stay under observation one more night, as a precaution. But he is no longer in danger.
He paused.
— He asked for you when he woke up.
Her legs almost gave out.
She steadied herself against the wall.
— Can I see him?
— Of course. But… be prepared: he's downplaying the situation a lot. It's… typical for certain patients.
Nari immediately understood what that meant.
Typical of those who are used to it.
Typical of those who grew up in violence.
Typical of those who survive instead of live.
And she went in.
Without knowing what state she would find him in.