Every inch of the walls was claimed by photographs—taped, pinned, crooked, overlapping.
Most of them were of his mother: her laughing at the seaside, her silhouette against sunsets, her reflection caught in shop windows.
Others were wide shots of cities at dusk, narrow alleys soaked in rain, rooftops glowing gold at dawn.
Beautiful places.
Soft places.
Places that looked like they could breathe.
The room itself wasn't big.
The bed, however, was absurdly so—a king-size monster taking up most of the space, big enough for four people to sprawl without touching.
It was covered in photo cards instead of blankets: some large, some tiny, some trimmed unevenly, all scattered like fallen leaves.
Ji-Bok lay back on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other flipping through a fresh stack of printed photos.
The smell of ink and paper lingered faintly in the air.
Click.Flip.Pause.Flip again.
Then he stopped.
A photograph rested between his fingers.
Ji-Woo.
She was mid-smile—caught off guard, eyes slightly widened, lips curved without thinking.
The kind of smile people didn't plan. The kind you tricked out of them.
You can't feel your tongue when you smile.
His mouth lifted before he realized it.
For a moment, he just stared at it.
Then the smile faded, replaced by a slow exhale. He sighed, dropping the photo gently onto his chest.
Right then, something warm and heavy landed on the bed.
A white, fluffy cat hopped up beside him, tail flicking lazily as it circled once and plopped down like it owned the place.
"Oh," Ji-Bok muttered, sitting up.
He scooped the cat into his arms easily. "You again."
The cat blinked at him, unimpressed.
He held it up, squinting thoughtfully. "Do you want a photo too cotton? You've got the face for it."
The cat meowed.
"Yeah, I thought so." He smirked. '' Cotton. No—Snowball. No, wait, that's bad I forgot your name. I'll work on it."
The door opened.
Ji-Bok didn't turn.
Mr. Choi stood in the doorway, taking in the room with a familiar look of irritation—the walls, the photos, the mess, the bed.
He scoffed. "Still playing with pictures."
Ji-Bok glanced over lazily, the cat still in his arms.
"They're called photographs," he corrected. "Pictures is kind of disrespectful."
Mr. Choi ignored that.
"You know you'll never make a living out of this. It's a hobby. A waste of time." He gestured sharply. "You'll take over the business. That's settled."
Ji-Bok looked down at the cat. Then back at his father.
"Huh," he said lightly. "That's funny."
Mr. Choi frowned. "What is?"
Ji-Bok tilted his head, completely relaxed. "I was just thinking—if I'm going to inherit something I hate, maybe you should try inheriting something you love. Like silence."
The room went very quiet.
The cat flicked its tail.
Mr. Choi's face darkened. "Watch your mouth."
Ji-Bok smiled—lazy, bitten at the edges. "I am. Through a lens."
He gently set the cat back on the bed, stood, and added with an innocent shrug,
"Don't worry. If photography fails, I'll always have a backup plan."
Mr. Choi narrowed his eyes. "And what's that?"
Ji-Bok glanced at the wall of photos, then back at him.
"Pissing you off professionally."
Mr. Choi turned sharply and walked out, the door slamming behind him.
Ji-Bok exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked down at the photo still on the bed—Ji-Woo's smile.
The cat jumped back onto his lap.
"See?" Ji-Bok muttered softly, scratching behind its ear. "At least someone in this house appreciates good taste."
--
Behind the school, the space felt sealed off from the rest of the world—the concrete walls tall, the bushes overgrown, the air thick with silence that pressed against the skin.
No laughter.
No footsteps. Just the distant echo of a ball hitting a wall somewhere far away.
Mi-Sook stood there like she owned the place.
Hair tied back neatly. Uniform immaculate. A thin folder held loosely in her hand, as if it weighed nothing.
Her expression was calm, confident—almost bored. The kind of calm that came from believing the ending was already written.
Ji-Woo arrived first.
She stopped a few steps away, hands in her pockets, gaze steady.
"You called," Ji-Woo said. Not a question.
Mi-Sook's lips curved.
Without replying, she slid the folder out and held it toward her.
Ji-Woo took it.
The paper rustled softly as she opened it.
Her eyes widened.
"…Not a match?" she breathed.
Her throat tightened as the words sank in."This is the DNA test Ji-Bok was talking about."
Mi-Sook clicked her tongue and snatched the folder back, tucking it against her chest.
"Yes," she said smoothly. "And with this, everything ends."
She stepped closer, voice lowering."I can expose you. I can destroy everyone who stands next to you. One by one."
Her gaze sharpened, cruel and precise.
"There's only one person I really care about hurting, though."A faint smile. "Eun-Woo."
Ji-Woo's face didn't change.
Mi-Sook continued, her calm slipping just enough to reveal resentment underneath.
"Because of your lie, everyone thinks I'm a killer now. That I murdered Ji-Soo. I tried to hide it. I really did." Her fingers tightened around the folder.
"But now I don't have to. This DNA will prove I was right."
Ji-Woo blinked.
Once.
Then she laughed.
It was slow. Soft. Empty.
A laugh that carried no fear at all.
"Oh, Mi-Sook," Ji-Woo said quietly. "You really think you've won."
Mi-Sook frowned. "What?"
Ji-Woo lifted her head, eyes clear, voice steady.
"Now if you show everyone," she said, "that Ji-Soo is alive…"
She took a step closer.
"…then Ji-Woo must be the one who died."
Mi-Sook's breath caught.
Ji-Woo went on, unhurried, almost gentle."And if Ji-Woo is dead, then there's only one conclusion."
Her gaze locked onto Mi-Sook's.
"You killed your classmate. On purpose."
Mi-Sook's face twisted. "That's not—"
"No one will believe you," Ji-Woo interrupted calmly."Not after everything you've said. Not after everything you've hidden."
Silence slammed between them.
Mi-Sook suddenly shoved her, fingers digging into Ji-Woo's shoulder.
"Since when do you talk like this?!" she snapped. "You think you're clever now?!"
Ji-Woo barely moved.
She straightened slowly, eyes colder than before.
"I told you," she said quietly. "I'm not the same Ji-Woo you knew."
Her voice dropped, sharp and final. "And my sister—Ji-Soo—you took her away from me."
Mi-Sook froze.
"You will regret it," Ji-Woo finished.
Then she smiled.
Not warm. Not kind.
She ran a hand through her hair, turned, and walked away—unbothered, unbroken.
Mi-Sook stood alone behind the school, chest heaving, nails biting into the DNA folder.
The paper didn't scare Ji-Woo.
And that was the problem.
For the first time, doubt crept into Mi-Sook's eyes.
If this won't destroy her…What will?
Mi-Sook stood exactly where Ji-Woo left her.
The silence behind the school felt heavier now, pressing in on her ears until she could hear her own breathing.
The folder trembled slightly in her hand.
She stared down at it.
98%.
Her jaw tightened.
"…She's right," Mi-Sook murmured to herself, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the papers.
If I prove Ji-Soo is alive…then Ji-Woo must be dead.
The thought made her chest tighten—not with fear, but with irritation.
"That would mean…" she whispered, eyes darkening. "Everyone would think Ji-Woo died in the accident."
Her mind raced ahead, fast and sharp.
And if Ji-Woo is dead… then who killed her?
Her breath hitched.
"…Me."
Mi-Sook scoffed, but it came out thin.
"No," she muttered, shaking her head. "That creates even more problems."
Her grip tightened until the folder bent.
"If Ji-Woo is declared dead, the police won't stop digging. The school, the parents, the media—everyone will start asking questions." Her lips pressed into a hard line.
"Questions I don't want answered."
She paced once, heels scraping softly against the concrete.
"Either way, it's messy," she said quietly. "Too messy."
She stopped, staring at the wall as realization settled in.
Exposing Ji-Woo wouldn't end this.
It would explode it.
Her eyes narrowed, calculating again.
"…So that's your move," Mi-Sook whispered, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "You turned the board over."
She slid the DNA folder back under her arm, posture straightening, composure returning piece by piece.
"Fine," she said softly. "Then I'll change the game."
But even as she walked away, one thought burned at the back of her mind—the one she couldn't silence.
Ji-Woo isn't scared anymore.
And that scared her.