Chapter 54: The Ride.
"Ren, why don't you take the back seat? There's more space," Junhyeok said, voice light, like he was trying to make things less awkward.
Ren didn't even look at him. He opened the passenger door, sat down, and shut it. Hard.
Junhyeok blinked, his hand still half-aised. "...Right. Front seat it is."
Luther started the engine, and the car slid into motion.
The hum of tires on wet asphalt filled the silence. Outside, the city stretched endlessly, streetlights blinking through mist, buildings shimmering in pale gold. Inside, it was suffocating.
Ji-eun sat quietly beside Junhyeok, eyes fixed on her knees. Her reflection trembled faintly against the window.
Ren leaned against the seat, one elbow on the door, his expression unreadable.
Luther broke the silence first. "Estimated arrival in twenty minutes."
No one answered.
After a while, Junhyeok tried again. "So... what's this composer like? I heard they're kind of a big deal."
Ren's voice came out flat. "You heard right. They're big. Deals are all they make."
Ji-eun frowned. "You sound like you don't like them."
Junhyeok gave a small, nervous laugh. "Guess you're not a people person."
"Guess I'm not a puppet," Ren muttered.
Luther's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. He didn't say anything but his jaw flexed once, then settled again.
The silence returned, heavier now.
After a few minutes, Ji-eun finally spoke, soft and hesitant. "Ren... your grandfather's just trying to help."
Ren turned his head, slow and deliberate, just enough for her to see his reflection in the glass. "Help who?"
Ji-eun didn't answer.
Ren's voice dropped lower. "You ever notice how every time he says 'us,' it only means him?"
"Ren... your grandfather's just trying to help."
Ren turned his head, slow and deliberate, just enough for her to see his reflection in the glass.
"Help who?"
Ji-eun frowned. "You, obviously. Who else?"
Ren's tone was cool, too controlled. "You sure about that? 'Cause every time he says us, I only see him."
"Don't twist things. You think he doesn't care?"
"I think he cares about control."
"That's unfair."
"It's true."
Ji-eun crossed her arms. "You always do this – pretend you're the only one carrying the weight of the world."
Ren let out a humorless laugh. "I am carrying it. I didn't have the luxury to hand it off to anyone."
"You could if you tried."
"You mean if I obeyed."
"That's not what I said!"
"Then what did you say, Ji – eun? That I should smile more? Call him Grandfather like it actually means something?"
She clenched her jaw. "You act like every hand that reaches out to you is a chain."
"And you act like every chain is made of gold and soft roses, when all of them are made with thorns."
Luther's grip on the steering wheel tightened again. He kept his eyes on the road.
Junhyeok glanced between them, hesitant. "Uh, maybe we shouldn't – "
"Stay out of it," Ren and Ji-eun said at the same time.
Junhyeok raised his hands in surrender.
Then, silence.
Then Ji – eun's voice dropped, quieter but sharper. "You think you're the only one who's tired? You think I don't get sick of following orders too?"
"Then stop."
"It's not that simple."
"It never is, right? It's always someone else's fault. Always circumstance."
"Stop pretending you're some tragic hero."
"I'm not pretending."
She leaned forward, anger flashing now. "Then what are you doing, Ren? What's this attitude supposed to be?"
Ren's reply came slow, deliberate. "Trying to figure out why I'm still here."
The words hung heavy. Even Luther blinked, his eyes flicking toward the rearview mirror.
Ji-eun frowned, confusion breaking through her anger. "What does that mean?"
Ren's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "It means – "
A blinding flash of headlights.
Luther slammed the brakes.
Tires screamed.
A horn blared past them as a truck cut too close, missing the car by inches.
Everyone jolted forward. Ji-eun gasped, clutching the seat.
The world went silent again, save for the pounding of rain.
Luther exhaled slowly. "...Apologies. The driver came out of nowhere."
Ren's hand was gripping the dashboard so hard his knuckles had turned white. He didn't look scared – just blank.
Junhyeok broke the silence first, voice shaky. "Holy – okay, maybe the universe is telling us to chill."
No one answered.
Ji-eun turned back to Ren, her voice softer now, trembling just slightly. "You were saying... what does that mean?"
Ren blinked once, slowly. "Forget it."
"No," she pressed. "You can't just – "
"I said forget it."
"Ren."
He turned toward her fully this time, eyes darker than before. "You really want to know? Fine. It means I already died twice. I am a gosh darn teenager yet I feel like I am dead. I feel like I am being stabbed all the fucking time. You wanna know the most exciting, joyful part? I have to continue living like this. Why? Because, I want to repay my parents. That's why."
Her breath caught. "That's not – "
"Real enough for you? Too poetic?" He laughed once, short and bitter. "Welcome to the grand comedy of being me.
Ji-eun stared at him, words lost somewhere between her lips and her throat.
Junhyeok shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. "...Guys, maybe we can talk about this later?"
Ren leaned back, his voice calm again, too calm. "There's nothing to talk about. She wanted honesty. I gave it."
Ji-eun finally looked away, her reflection trembling against the rain – soaked window. "You really don't see it, do you?"
Ren's eyes stayed forward. "See what?"
"That everyone's trying. Even if they don't know how to reach you."
He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "Maybe I don't want to be reached."
The car fell silent again.
Luther spoke at last, low and steady. "We're here."
The massive glass building rose ahead, haloed by rain and streetlight.
Ren opened his door without a word and stepped out, the downpour swallowing him instantly.
Ji-eun stayed seated for a moment, her hands trembling slightly before she followed.
Junhyeok looked between them, then muttered to Luther, "You ever feel like we're extras in someone else's drama?"
Luther's eyes tracked Ren's fading silhouette. "Every damn day." He pressed his fingers against his eyebrows. "Even the day at Lament[1] didn't feel this headachy."
[1] [A place where a step could burn the soles of your feet; the next could chill your bones.]