Ji-Woo glanced at her phone.
The screen glowed softly in the dark.
"…I should go," she said, lifting her last can of soda. She finished it in a few quick sips and stood, tugging her hoodie down. "You should head home too. Safely."
Ji-Ho looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah."
She hesitated, then added, "Thanks. For listening."
He didn't answer right away. Just watched her walk off, her steps slow but steady, until the street swallowed her up.
Only after she was gone did he stand.
The world tilted.
Not enough to knock him over—but enough that he had to pause, hand braced against the table. His head felt light, distant, like the sounds around him were coming from underwater.
"…Great," he muttered.
As he straightened, something shifted at the edge of his vision.
A shadow.
Too still to be nothing.
He squinted through his glasses, heart giving a small, uneasy thump.
"Who—who are you?" he called, taking a cautious step forward.
The shadow moved.
Then ran.
"Hey—!" Ji-Ho took a few unsteady steps after it, but when he reached the corner, there was no one there. Just the hum of traffic and the flicker of a streetlight.
Something lay on the ground.
He bent down slowly and picked it up.
A watch.
Simple. Worn. Familiar in a way that tugged at the back of his mind.
"I've seen this…" he murmured.
But the name wouldn't come.
His head throbbed, the effort already too much. With a quiet sigh, he slipped the watch into his pocket.
"I don't even feel like going home," he whispered to no one.
He steadied himself, adjusted his glasses, and walked off into the night—leaving the question unanswered.
--
Mrs. Kim arrived in Jeonju just before evening.
The town felt slower than Seoul. Quieter. The kind of quiet that made thoughts louder. She stood in front of the Han house for a moment, steadying herself, then knocked.
The door opened.
"Oh—yes?" Mrs. Han said, surprised, then smiling warmly. "Please, come in."
Mrs. Kim bowed slightly and stepped inside.
The living room was neat, lived-in. On the couch sat a young man, posture relaxed, familiarity written into the way he occupied the space.
"That's Min-Ju," Mrs. Han said kindly. "He's like a son to me."
Min-Ju stood and greeted her politely. Mrs. Kim returned the gesture and sat when Mrs. Han motioned her to.
For a moment, there was only the sound of cups being placed on the table.
Mrs. Kim folded her hands together.
"I came today," she said slowly, carefully, "because I am the mother of the girl who was also in the accident."
The word accident hung in the air.
Mrs. Han's expression softened. "Ah… Kim Ji-Woo."
Mrs. Kim nodded.
"She was your daughter," Mrs. Han continued, her voice steady but tight. "She passed away."
Mrs. Han smiled gently, as if sharing condolences she had already processed. "I'm very sorry. That must have been unbearable."
Mrs. Kim blinked.
Min-Ju glanced between them, uneasy but silent.
Mrs. Kim swallowed, then spoke again, more firmly—as if clarifying something obvious.
"…It was Ji-Soo who died," she said. "Not Ji-Woo."
The room went still.
Mrs. Han's smile didn't waver.
"No," she replied calmly. "It was Ji-Woo."
Mrs. Kim's breath caught.
Her fingers dug into her palm.
For a heartbeat, her mind refused to accept it.
What do you mean?
That's impossible.
Her gaze sharpened, confusion twisting into disbelief.
"…Are you saying," Mrs. Kim asked slowly, "that Ji-Soo is alive?"
Mrs. Han nodded, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
"Yes."
Mrs. Kim felt the room tilt.
Her daughter—the one she mourned, thought went missing, cried herself empty over—was being spoken of as if she had simply… replaced someone else.
Is this a joke? A mistake? A cruel misunderstanding?
Mrs. Han turned toward Min-Ju.
"Min-Ju," she said gently, "could you go call Ji-Soo from inside?"
Min-Ju hesitated, glancing at Mrs. Kim, then nodded. "Okay."
He stood and disappeared down the hallway.
The sound of his footsteps faded.
Mrs. Kim remained seated, unmoving.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
Ji-Soo died. That was the truth she had lived with.
And yet—somewhere inside this house, Ji-Soo was alive.
And nothing made sense anymore.
Min-Ju came out first.
Ji-Soo followed, her phone in her hand, thumb still hovering over the screen as she brushed her hair back. She was half-listening, half-smiling—
until Min-Ju stopped walking.
Their hands were still linked.
"What is it?" Ji-Soo asked. "You said we were—"
"Wait," Min-Ju said quietly.
He didn't look at her. He turned her instead.
The living room felt smaller than before. Too quiet.
Mrs. Han stood near the table, hands folded tight. And across from her—
A woman.
Neat coat. Tired eyes. Hands clasped together like she was holding herself in place.
Ji-Soo didn't recognize her at first.
Then the woman lifted her head.
Her gaze locked onto Ji-Soo's face and didn't let go.
Mrs. Kim took a step forward.
"Ji-Soo."
The name fell out of her mouth like it had been waiting years to be said.
Not loud.
Not certain.
But desperate.
Ji-Soo's phone slipped from her hand.
It hit the floor, the sound sharp in the silence.
Her fingers flew to her mouth.
Her chest seized, breath coming in short, broken pulls as something deep inside her screamed no—no—no.
Mrs. Kim stood up fully now, chair scraping back.
"It's you," she said, voice trembling. "I would know you anywhere."
Mrs. Han turned sharply. "What are you saying?"
Min-Ju stepped forward, instinctively placing himself half in front of Ji-Soo. His voice shook despite his effort to steady it.
"…It's either you're Ji-Soo."
He swallowed.
"…or you're the real Kim Ji-Woo."
Ji-Soo's knees nearly buckled.
Tears spilled without warning—hot, heavy, uncontrollable.
"Why are you here?" she cried. "Why did you come now?"
Mrs. Kim opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Ji-Soo's voice rose, breaking apart. "When she disappeared—you didn't look for her. She was five. She was my sister"
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "Five years old. I waited. I waited for you to look for her."
''But I found her''
Mrs. Kim flinched like she'd been struck.
"And now you show up?" Ji-Soo sobbed. "Now you want me back? didn't you want her back."
"I came to take you home, Ji-Woo, I know I recognize you." Mrs. Kim said, forcing the words through tears she refused to let fall.
Ji-Soo shook her head violently.
"No."
Her voice was raw but firm.
"You're not my mother. And I'm not going anywhere with you."
Mrs. Han stepped forward, confusion flooding her face. "Is she… your daughter?"
Her voice dropped, fear slipping through. "Then where is mine? my...my..."
Min-Ju took a step back, his face drained of color.
"Is the real Ji-Soo…" His voice broke. "Dead?"
"No," Mrs. Kim said immediately. "If my Ji-Woo is here…"
She looked at Ji-Soo again, hope and terror tangled in her eyes.
"…then the girl living in my house is Ji-Soo. She's alive."
Ji-Soo froze.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
"She's… alive?" she whispered. "You're saying she's alive?"
Mrs. Kim nodded. "I need you to come with me, People are suspecting that...The Ji-Woo there is not Ji-Woo."
Ji-Soo stepped back instead.
She turned to Mrs. Han, tears falling freely now. "I want to stay. My sister is alive but I wanna stay."
Mrs. Han pulled her into her arms without hesitation, holding her like she might disappear.
"I know," she whispered. "But go."
Ji-Soo shook her head.
"Go," Mrs. Han repeated, her voice breaking. "And come back to me."
''Go and return Ji-Soo back to me. Please.''
Min-Ju opened his mouth.
No words came.
His chest felt hollow, like something had been ripped out without warning.
He turned and walked out.
Ji-Soo hesitated—
then ran after him.
The door closed softly.
And Mrs. Kim stood there, shaking, realizing that finding the truth didn't mean getting her daughter back.
The door closed behind them.
Soft.
Final.
Min-Ju didn't stop walking until he reached the edge of the yard.
The night air felt colder than it should have, like it was pressing against his skin, reminding him he was still here—still breathing—when nothing made sense anymore.
Ji-Soo stood a few steps behind him.
He didn't turn around.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Min-Ju laughed.
Not the warm kind. Not even bitter.
Just a short, breathless sound, like something snapping under pressure.
"So," he said quietly, staring at the ground, "when were you going to tell me?"
Ji-Soo's throat tightened. "I tried."
He finally turned.
His eyes were red—not crying, not yet—but stretched thin, like he'd been holding everything back for too long.
"You tried?" he repeated.
She nodded quickly. "I didn't know how. Every time I thought about saying it, I got scared. I didn't want to lose—"
"Me?" he finished.
She didn't answer.
That was enough.
Min-Ju looked away again, running a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly like he was counting just to stay upright.
"All this time," he said, voice low, careful, "I thought I was loving the right person."
His jaw clenched.
"I thought I was falling for you."
Ji-Soo took a step closer. "Min-Ju—"
"But it wasn't you," he continued, quieter now. "Not really. It was a version of you. A lie wrapped so neatly I didn't even question it."
Her eyes burned. "That wasn't fake. What I felt— I didn't know you felt that way."
"I know," he cut in softly.
That hurt more than yelling would have.
"I know it was real. That's the worst part."
His shoulders sagged.
"I was loving someone who didn't fully exist," he said. "And now I don't even know who I was standing next to this whole time."
Ji-Soo's tears finally fell.
"I didn't mean to trick you," she whispered. "I just… I wanted to be ready. I wanted to tell you when I could explain everything without you looking at me like this."
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, there was grief there—deep and quiet.
"So what am I supposed to do now?" he asked. "Pretend it doesn't hurt? Pretend I didn't build something with the wrong name attached to it?"
She shook her head desperately. "I never wanted you to feel like this."
He let out a slow breath.
"I know," he said. "That doesn't change anything."
Another pause.
Then, almost to himself, he added, "I don't even know who I miss right now."
That was when she broke.
"I'm still me," she cried. "I just didn't know how to be her in front of you."
Min-Ju looked at her.
Really looked.
And for a moment, something in his expression softened—just enough to show how much this hurt.
"I know you're still you," he said quietly.
Then he stepped back.
"But I need time to figure out who that is to me."
He turned away before she could respond.
Not because he didn't care—
but because caring like this hurt too much.