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Chapter 3

The mortuary was in shambles. At the sight of this absurd scene, Hae-ju squeezed her eyes shut. She could not explain this situation to her child. Steeling herself, she answered in a calm voice.

"Yes... This man is Mommy's friend. He came to pay his respects for Daddy's passing. But now you're awake—what should we do? Should we go to Aunt Jeong-hee?"

Sensing that his mother wanted to change the subject, the boy finally rubbed his sleepy eyes and nodded.

Hae-ju quickly wiped the blood trickling down her neck and hurriedly shielded her son from Seok-eon's view. Then, brushing past the man who stood blocking her way, she roughly threw open the mortuary door.

As the door banged open, she saw the people outside frozen with tension. Surely they must have heard the commotion inside. But two men, clearly Seok-eon's subordinates, stood guard at the entrance, allowing no one to approach.

Hae-ju stepped out of the room with her head held high, as if nothing had happened. From a distance, she spotted the boy's nanny watching with worried eyes. Having sensed the gravity of the situation, she quickly approached and took the child into her arms.

As the boy, drowsy, buried his face in her shoulder, Hae-ju finally let out a breath of relief. Leaving behind countless curious gazes, she roughly closed the mortuary door once more. Only then did her mind clear. She turned sharply and glared at Seok-eon as if she could devour him.

"What do you want?"

She shouted at the man standing before her.

"That child..."

"He's not your child! You died—no, you disappeared, and he was born a year later. So... don't delude yourself!"

Hae-ju gritted her teeth and spat out the warning. At her fierce defiance, Seok-eon let out a scoff.

"That old man really knows how to give me the finger till the very end."

Hae-ju looked up at him with a pale, bewildered face.

"..."

"Not content with taking my woman, he even had a child by her. Truly impressive."

"Don't speak about him like that!"

She cried out in helpless fury at the man who was insulting even her son. He didn't need to know the truth. Her child belonged to no one—he was simply Kang Hae-ju's son.

Then, the man approached her absently and examined her neck. The bleeding seemed to have stopped; she no longer felt any stickiness. Seok-eon traced his fingers along her slender, blood-stained throat. Hae-ju flinched and squeezed her eyes shut.

But contrary to her expectation, his touch was gentle. At his unpredictable behavior, she slowly opened her eyes.

"Fine, there's no rush. I've waited five years—a few more days won't matter."

The look on his face was utterly unreadable. It seemed like blazing firewood, and yet like a child wounded by a broken rose thorn. She felt she had seen this expression before, in the distant past—something she had never been able to forget, even through moments drenched in tears of blood.

"Our story... is only just beginning. Isn't that right?"

His calm voice stood in stark contrast to the horrifying scene around them. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, as if all the blood had drained from her body. With difficulty, she closed her eyes and murmured quietly.

"I have nothing to say to you."

At that, the hand that had been idly caressing her neck began, without hesitation, to constrict her soft throat.

"Ugh... kh!"

Her resolve to endure did not last long. In the end, driven by survival instinct, she grabbed his wrist and tried to pry it off. But he didn't budge, his eyes fixed on her.

"Hggh...!"

It was longer than a mere instant. She scratched and clawed at the arm threatening her, but against his expressionless chokehold, her strength was utterly useless. Unfamiliar with such suffocation, Hae-ju's pupils dilated in an instant.

As the strength left her and her hands, which had been tearing at his arm, fell limp, the pressure on her throat at last eased. Sliding down, Hae-ju braced herself on the floor and gasped for air.

"Haahk... ha... ah."

Then, Seok-eon bent one knee, lowering his gaze to whisper in her ear as she panted.

"No, I disagree. You should know... how I killed that old man."

Startled by his words, she lifted her head with difficulty, only to find his piercing eyes right before her. With every ragged breath, the scent of musk tingled at her nose.

"Killed... you say? That man?"

Even in her dazed state, she was shocked by the unbelievable reality. At that, all expression vanished from Seok-eon's face. He seemed to have mistaken her reaction for grief over Jung Ji-man's death.

But he quickly composed himself and gently lowered his hand to stroke her hair—as if it were just another ordinary day they had once shared.

"Curious?"

Despite his question, Hae-ju could not utter a word. Every function of her body seemed paralyzed. Seok-eon, tracking every flicker of her eyes, finally let out a soft chuckle.

"Take your time deciding what to tell me first. After all, we have plenty of time."

With a viscous smile, Seok-eon calmly rose, stepped back, and opened the mortuary door with a smooth, elegant motion.

As he stepped outside, his men bowed their heads. Without a word, he left the funeral hall. Like an ebbing tide, they all withdrew in an instant.

Watching his receding back from afar, Hae-ju collapsed on the spot. Vaguely, she heard people shouting as they rushed toward her.

---

Three days later, the remains of Jung Ji-man, once the head of the Jacheong faction that ruled Seoul, were laid to rest in a memorial park bathed in the warm southern sun. His only surviving family were his young wife, not yet thirty, and his four-year-old son.

In front of the memorial park building, bathed in that same southerly sunlight, a luxury sedan was parked. Beside it, a young boy played rock-paper-scissors with his nanny.

Inside the VIP hall of the building, Hae-ju, dressed in a black suit, stood alone in the chamber where the urn was enshrined, gazing at the portrait of the deceased. A heavy silence pressed down on her chest. In that moment, sudden regret washed over her, and she closed her eyes.

Troubling thoughts and a chaos of unanswered questions swirled in her mind. To endure the pounding headache, she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her soft flesh.

The sharp pain finally drove away the thoughts. Hae-ju slowly opened her eyes. Where the maelstrom had been, there was only emptiness.

Now, everything is over.

Steadying her breath as if to reaffirm the chance she had been given, she turned away without a backward glance—without even offering a final farewell to the deceased.

As she stepped outside, the cold, overcast days gave way to bright sunlight pouring down from above. It was so dazzling she could barely keep her eyes open.

In the distance, her son, holding the nanny's hand, ran toward her with his arms wide open. Hae-ju, who had worn a cold expression all along, finally smiled and opened her arms wide to welcome the boy racing toward her.

At that moment, the rear window of a limousine parked not far away in the lot rolled down. The occupant in the back seat was Lee Seok-eon. He steadied his breath and watched the woman.

In the sunlight, Kang Hae-ju was as beautiful as ever. There was no trace of a widow's grief on her face as she smiled at her son. The smile with which she pulled the child into her arms—as if he were a precious treasure—left a bitter, unfamiliar taste in his mouth.

A moment later, Kang Hae-ju took the child's hand and gracefully climbed into the back seat of the sedan. The car left the memorial park without a moment's hesitation.

He realized it anew. Yes, you were always that kind of woman. The kind who, for the sake of her goals, harbored not a shred of sentiment for the past. And yet, pathetic as I am, I wanted to confirm it once more—even knowing that the aftertaste would be just as bitter and foul as ever.

---

Fifteen Years Ago,

Seoul. A battered one-ton truck spewed black smoke as it rumbled up the hill of Songeun-dong, at the foot of Bukhansan Mountain.

Twelve-year-old Hae-ju sat in the passenger seat, absently watching the forest scenery flash past the window. As they neared the top of the hill, the truck's engine, which had been struggling up the slope, softly died down.

"What a savage incline."

Though it was only early June, the moving truck driver, wearing work gloves, wiped the sweat from his forehead and grumbled. As he got out and moved to the cargo bed, Hae-ju helped her father, who sat beside her, and followed him out.

A humid early-summer breeze brushed against her neck, and she paused to look around. From this high vantage point, Seoul stretched out far into the distance. Unlike living in the narrow alleys of Changsin-dong, Songeun-dong was close to the forest and offered wide-open views—it was hard to believe it was still part of the same city.

"Let's go in."

At her father's metallic voice, she turned to see a deep-green iron gate atop a few stone steps. This house, perched at the very top of the hillside village, was where they would live from now on.

Crimson rose vines, in complementary contrast, sprawled here and there—clearly the home of someone who loved flowers. Compared to the bleak morning of packing up their belongings, a sense of relief settled in her heart.

After her mother passed away, her father had scraped together what little deposit money remained to rent this single room. It could never have been a happy move, but the flowers blooming on the gate and walls seemed to welcome her.

Her father and the driver began to haul a narrow wardrobe up the steps. Once the meager belongings were roughly moved inside, Hae-ju went to the truck bed to organize the last of their things.

As she wiped the sweat from her brow while sorting the luggage, she suddenly felt a strange presence. Slowly turning her head, her gaze fell upon a boy with a deeply tanned face, a closely shaved head, and wearing a taekwondo uniform. He had a high-bridged nose and pitch-black eyes like Go stones, staring intently at her.

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