Jin-Woo had spent another day in the hotel room, maybe a week.
He can't recall how long it's really been.
At almost 9 am he picked up his phone to see the date.
It was July 17th.
How could he forget it?
Not this; this was important.
He had never once been late for his mother's death anniversary.
Shoving away the haze, he took a quick shower, pulled on a suit that still smelled faintly of the hotel closet, and grabbed a bouquet of dahlias. Different colors. The kind she loved.
She had told him once that they represented eternal love and connection.
A lasting bond.
But she had left him alone.
Was he supposed to believe she was still out there, floating around him, bound by some invisible string?
Silly. He was no longer a child.
Wish it was me instead.
She would hate to hear that. She always hated when he spoke that way. But the thought pressed heavy against his ribs, suffocating him.
It's better to die loved than to live a long life without love at all.
But he can't stop thinking about it.
His life hasn't been any good.
He can't stop thinking about how his mom had handled the change in Da-Eun and the work hours of his dad.
Can't stop thinking about how he had turned out with her love and trust rather than the judgments of everyone.
But that's all he can do now, think.
Jin-Woo stood there longer than he realized, the weight of the dahlias pressing against the earth, his thoughts circling the same dark loops.
What would Mom think of me now?
Would she even recognize me?
Would she still choose love if she saw what I've become?
He stayed until the air grew heavy, until the silence seemed to bite at him.
That's when he felt a soft brush against his ankle. A cat, sleek and black, winding itself around him. He blinked, looking down—then up—to see a woman rushing toward him.
She was a mess trying not to look like one. Hair tucked under a loose tie, strands of too many colors spilling free; her blazer didn't match her pants, and both looked like they'd been pulled out of a suitcase that morning.
Jin-Woo studied her quietly. The way her scent pushed out, sharp and barely reined in—she was an alpha. And not from around here.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, her accent awkward, broken. "She never runs off like this." She scooped the cat into her arms, hugging it close. "Usually she doesn't even like strangers."
Jin-Woo's expression didn't soften. "It's fine." His tone was clipped and cold.
She hesitated, then tried again. "Cassie. Nice to meet you." She rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her weight.
He didn't ask for her name.
"Not from here?" His voice was flat, more of a statement than a question.
"No… Acirema (America). My dad was from here, though. I used to visit in summers." Her words spilled too freely, like she couldn't help it.
"And now?"
She followed his gaze to the grave beside them—fresh earth, too new to blend in with the rest. Her voice softened. "He wanted to be buried here, in the traditional way. I only came back a few months ago to take care of everything."
Jin-Woo's jaw tightened. She talks too much.
When she asked, "Who are you here for?" he hesitated. For a second, he wanted to say everything. Instead, he forced out two clipped words.
"My mom."
Nothing more.
He saw the way she nodded gently, not pressing further. Strangers were easier to speak to, but he couldn't afford that luxury.
So he turned away. "I should leave."
"Oh—sorry again. I should, too." She hugged the cat closer, scratching its chin.
It was then that Jin-Woo noticed—the black fur.
A black cat with one white paw and heterochromia.
How could he forget about that part?
Along with that guy, a cat was also deemed important.
In the files of his dad's secret that he had read
- - -
The three of them stood staring at the chaos of wires and circuit boards snaking across the floor, walls, and even the ceiling. It was meant to be a controlled system, but right now it looked like a nervous breakdown in steel and copper.
"Half of these lead directly into the lab," Byung muttered, pointing at the dense knot of cables. "Half is too much. Anyone with half a brain would notice."
Do-Jin pressed his hand against his chin, thinking quickly. "We don't have time to reroute. Cover them instead—make it look like a split system. If we create fake branches, they'll waste time following the wrong trails."
Byung gave him a sharp look. "That's sloppy."
"It's fast. And we've got sixty-five hours. Pick one." Do-Jin's tone was final.
Hyun-So stayed quiet, watching the way they moved around each other—fast, efficient, like they'd done this a hundred times. He crouched down to pick up Coco instead, letting the kitten bat at a stray wire while the others argued. He didn't belong in this world of cover-ups and technical deceit, but he was in it anyway.
By the end of the second day, the team had finished. False cables now branched like veins across the room, swallowing up the incriminating ones. Stacks of forged reports and polished financial files filled Byung's desk. Every paper stamped and dated, every number balanced—at least on the surface.
On the third day, they inspected everything again, tearing into their own work like wolves sniffing for flaws. Do-Jin demanded perfection; Byung demanded speed. Neither seemed satisfied, but both knew this was the best they could do.
The lab's entrance stayed untouched. No one outside would ever suspect that the elevator hid a second path—one card swipe in the right place, and it descended past the public floors into the shadowed underground.
When the work was finally done, Byung set his files down with a heavy exhale. "It'll hold if no one looks too deep."
Do-Jin didn't answer. His mind was already on the next problem.
And Hyun-So—Hyun-So was already thinking about Coco.
- - -
That morning, Do-Jin left for the company, sharp and focused, leaving Hyun-So at home.
He was an outcost there, in danger of being discovered.
He told himself he didn't mind. He could read, watch something, or nap. For once, time wasn't against him.
But then Coco vanished.
Maybe he slipped out through the window. Cats do that. But here, with the sprawling garden and its dangers, the thought made his chest tighten.
He called out, searched under benches, and peered behind bushes. Nothing.
The doorbell rang.
He opened the door, relief flooding him at the sight of Coco—purring, calm—in the arms of a young man he'd never seen before.
"Hey." The stranger grinned, like greeting an old friend.
Hyun-So paused. Something about the confidence in that smile didn't sit right.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply.
The man stepped inside without waiting. "Jin-Woo. Do-Jin's friend." He handed Coco over, brushing off the question. "Gentle little thing, isn't he?"
Hyun-So hugged Coco to his chest, frowning. "That's the last word Do-Jin would use to describe him." Still, he couldn't help but chuckle.
Jin-Woo made himself comfortable on the couch, eyes scanning the space like he was memorizing it.
Hyun-So hesitated, then brought two glasses of water. "I'm sorry—I hadn't heard about all of Do-Jin's friends."
"It's fine." Jin-Woo waved it off. "I didn't know he had a boyfriend, either."
The word hit Hyun-So harder than expected. His face warmed, but he didn't deny it.
"What did you come here for? He's at work right now."
Jin-Woo's smile sharpened. "I know. I came to meet you, Park Hyun-So."
Something in his voice made Hyun-So's stomach twist.
The name slid too easily off his tongue.
I never told him my name.