Mrs. Park dragged Ji-Ho through the front door and slammed it shut behind them.
The house felt smaller than ever—too quiet, too tight, like the walls were listening.
"Look at you," she yelled, shoving him forward. "Running away like a coward. Do you know how disgusting that is?"
Her hand came down hard across his face.
Ji-Ho barely reacted.
He just stood there, eyes fixed on the floor.
"You think you're suffering?" she continued, her voice sharp and relentless. "You think your life is hard?"
She struck his chest with her fist, once, twice, punctuating every word."I fed you. I raised you. And this is how you repay me?"
He swallowed. His breathing was uneven.
Then she hit him again.
Something in him finally broke.
"I listened," he said suddenly.
Mrs. Park froze.
"I listened," Ji-Ho repeated, lifting his head. His eyes were red, but steady. "I listened when you insulted my mother. When you said she was weak. When you said she ruined everything."
Her mouth opened, but he didn't stop.
"I endured it," he said, voice trembling now. "The beatings. The yelling. The humiliation. Every time you told me I wasn't enough. Every time you compared me to others. Every time you made me feel like I was nothing."
His fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms.
"I carried your pressure," he went on.
"Your criticism. Your anger. I stayed quiet. I obeyed. I tried to be good." His voice cracked.
"But it was never enough for you."
Mrs. Park stared at him, stunned for only a second before anger flooded back.
"I hate you," Ji-Ho said. The words came out raw, stripped of fear. "I hate what you did to me. I hate this house. I hate you."
Silence slammed into the room.
Her face twisted with rage.
She grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway, her grip brutal and unforgiving.
"You're going to you room," she hissed. "You don't get to run. Not ever."
From the doorway, Hoseok watched, frozen. "Ji-Ho—"
Mrs. Park turned sharply and yanked Hoseok back. "Leave him. He won't go anywhere anymore."
Ji-Ho didn't look at either of them.
He was already gone—mentally, emotionally—long before the door to his room closed behind him.
He left the house, Didn't turn when his name was called.
--
The school rooftop was quiet.
Night had wrapped the building in darkness, the city lights glowing faintly beyond the fence.
Ji-Ho sat on the cold concrete, knees pulled to his chest, his breath uneven.
The school was still open—lights on in distant hallways, a guard somewhere below—but the rooftop felt like another world. The only place he knew.
The only place he could go.
He stood slowly and walked toward the edge, gripping the railing, staring out at nothing in particular.
"Ji-Ho."
The voice cut through the silence.
He turned.
Mr. Yoo Joon stood a few steps away, his coat still on, his hair slightly disheveled.
His face—usually calm—was tight with worry, eyes scanning Ji-Ho like he was afraid he might vanish if he blinked.
"Come down from there," Yoo Joon said gently. "Please."
Ji-Ho hesitated.
"We can talk," Yoo Joon added, softer now. "You don't have to say anything yet. Just… come sit with me."
After a long moment, Ji-Ho stepped away from the edge.
They sat on the rooftop floor, side by side, the night air cool between them.
Yoo Joon didn't rush him. He just waited.
"What happened?" he finally asked.
Ji-Ho stared at his hands.
His voice came out quiet, but once it started, it didn't stop.
He told him everything—about the yelling, the insults, the pressure, the humiliation.
About listening as his mother was mocked. About enduring pain in silence because he thought that was what he was supposed to do.
"I didn't run because I was scared," Ji-Ho said, his voice shaking. "I ran because I hated that woman."
The words fell heavy between them.
Yoo Joon's expression changed—not shock, not anger. Understanding.
"I was ten," Yoo Joon said slowly. "I didn't know what was right back then."
He looked at Ji-Ho, really looked at him. "I wish someone had told me it was okay to leave pain behind."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was gentle.
"It's late," Yoo Joon said at last. "You should go home."
Ji-Ho shook his head. "I don't want to."
Yoo Joon didn't argue.
"Then come with me," he said. "I live with my mother. You can stay there tonight."
Ji-Ho looked at him, unsure. Tired. Broken—but listening.
"…Okay," he said.
Yoo Joon stood first, offering his hand.
Ji-Ho took it.
And for the first time that night, he didn't feel alone.
--
The kitchen was warm, filled with the gentle sounds of cooking.
Ji-Soo stood by the counter, her short bob tucked neatly behind her ears as she sliced vegetables with careful focus.
Mrs. Han moved slowly beside her, stirring a pot on the stove, the steam fogging her glasses.
"You don't have to help so much," Mrs. Han said lightly. "You're a guest."
Ji-Soo smiled. "I'd feel useless if I just sat there.''
''Besides, Mi-Ju said you'd burn the kitchen without supervision."
Mrs. Han chuckled. "That boy exaggerates."
They worked in comfortable rhythm, the kind that came from familiarity.
Ji-Soo glanced at Mrs. Han. "You should really rest more. You've been tired lately."
"I'm fine," Mrs. Han replied, waving it off. "Just a little cold."
Then she stopped.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she coughed—once, twice. Ji-Soo immediately set the knife down.
"Mrs. Han?"
The coughing worsened.
Ji-Soo grabbed a glass and filled it with water, rushing back.
"Here, drink this."
Mrs. Han took it, but when she pulled the glass away, Ji-Soo froze.
There was blood.
Her breath caught. "W–what…?"
Mrs. Han tried to speak, but another cough shook her, and more red stained the rim of her lips.
Ji-Soo panicked.
"No—no, this isn't okay," she said quickly, her hands shaking as she supported Mrs. Han by the arm.
"You're not fine. We're going to the hospital."
"I'll be alright—" Mrs. Han tried to say.
"No," Ji-Soo interrupted, already reaching for her phone. "I'm calling Mi-Ju. Right now."
She gently but firmly pulled Mrs. Han toward the door, her voice trembling but determined.
"Just hold on. Please. We're going to the hospital."
The warmth of the kitchen faded behind them, replaced by fear and urgency as Ji-Soo tightened her grip—refusing to let go.