The rain didn't stop.
Not fully.
It softened into a quiet drizzle that felt less like weather and more like memory.
Seo-yeon stayed late again.
Not because she needed to.
Because she couldn't leave.
Because leaving meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering.
Across the office, Kang Jae-hyun stood near the window, reviewing files Director Ma reluctantly handed over.
His presence felt like pressure.
Like gravity had shifted.
Seo-yeon tried not to look at him.
But she failed.
He didn't resemble the boy from five years ago exactly.
He was broader now. Harder. Sharper.
Back then—
He had been laughing beside his sister at the university festival.
Ji-eun had been explaining something animatedly, waving her hands.
He had rolled his eyes affectionately.
Seo-yeon had stood under string lights holding a paper cup of lemonade.
And she had looked at him longer than she should have.
She remembered thinking:
"He looks like someone who protects people."
She had wanted to talk to him.
She never did.
That night—
Snow fell in July.
Seo-yeon shut her eyes briefly.
Across the room, Jae-hyun suddenly looked up.
As if he felt something shift.
Their eyes met.
This time, she didn't look away immediately.
That startled him.
He walked toward her desk.
"You've been staring at me all evening."
Seo-yeon blinked. "I haven't."
"You have."
He leaned slightly forward.
"Have we met before?"
Her heart skipped violently.
Outside, a gust of wind rattled the windows.
She forced a small, calm smile.
"No."
He studied her face.
For a long moment.
"You look familiar."
Seo-yeon swallowed.
"I get that sometimes."
"That's not what I meant."
His voice softened slightly.
"Five years ago… were you studying at Haneul University?"
Her pulse froze.
The air felt thinner.
He was close.
Too close to the truth.
"I transferred," she answered carefully. "Why?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his coat pocket.
Pulled out an old, slightly bent photograph.
He placed it on her desk.
It showed a university festival.
Blurry lights.
Crowds.
And in the background—
A girl under string lights.
Looking toward someone.
Seo-yeon felt her lungs empty.
It was her.
You couldn't see her face clearly.
But she knew.
Jae-hyun watched her reaction.
"I've been reviewing everything connected to that week," he said. "I found this in my sister's belongings."
Her throat tightened.
"Your sister?"
"Ji-eun."
The name struck like thunder.
Seo-yeon's fingers trembled.
But she kept her face steady.
"She liked taking random photos," he continued. "I've been analyzing people in the background."
Seo-yeon forced composure.
"That seems excessive."
"Nothing about her death was normal."
Silence stretched.
Then Jae-hyun looked at her carefully.
"You reacted when I said her name."
Seo-yeon's heartbeat spiked.
Outside, thunder rolled faintly.
He saw it.
He definitely saw it.
She looked down at the photo.
And for the first time in five years—
She whispered softly.
"She looks kind."
Jae-hyun's expression shifted.
"She was."
The room grew quiet.
For a second, grief stood between them—not accusation.
Not suspicion.
Just shared weight.
And that made it worse.
Because Seo-yeon wasn't innocent.
She was the storm.
Jae-hyun slid the photo back into his coat.
"You said we haven't met."
"We haven't."
"But you were there that night."
It wasn't a question.
Seo-yeon met his gaze.
"Yes."
The rain outside intensified slightly.
"And?" he pressed.
"And nothing."
He studied her for another long moment.
Then finally said—
"If you're hiding something, Intern Han… I will find out."
He walked away.
Seo-yeon stayed frozen in her chair.
Her chest tight.
Because she had once liked the way he smiled.
And now she feared the day he would stop looking at her entirely.