It was reckless, even for him — but when Ryu Seonyeong saw Kang Jihan lower his gaze, as if holding back tears, something unfamiliar and uninvited stirred inside him.
Not pity exactly — something closer to confusion at how despair could suddenly look so sincere.
He stopped at the door of a narrow room in the residential sector of Syncron Tower, hesitating before stepping in.
Is this the right thing to do?
The small hotel stood near Lirean Universal Hospital, where Kim Ranhee was still lying unconscious.
When he followed Jihan inside, a wave of dry heat met him; the cold soaked into his skin slowly melted away.
Apparently, Jihan had left the heater running.
To the left — a compact shower stall; to the right — a built-in wardrobe.
A single narrow bed against the wall, an old screen on the opposite side, a small table and one chair under the window.
The window itself — barely a slit.
For someone with his money, he lives like he's hiding in a box.
The room was smaller even than Seonyeong's old apartment.
Jihan threw him a brief look, took off his black coat, and hung it on a hook.
The thin turtleneck outlined his broad shoulders and arms; the tailored trousers did nothing to hide the tension in his body.
He collapsed onto the bed, eyes fixed on Seonyeong still standing by the entrance.
— Sit down.
— No. Speak from there. I'll stand.
— You already came in.
— I'm afraid a syringe might fly out of your sleeve. How do I know you won't try to inject me mid-conversation?
— I've got nothing on me.
— Don't believe you. Want to prove it? Undress.
— What?
Jihan exhaled sharply — not angry, just exhausted.
Seonyeong, however, stood firm; the fact that he'd stepped into a closed room at all was already an act of trust. He wasn't going to make another concession.
Then Jihan moved suddenly.
Seonyeong's muscles tightened instinctively, ready to react — but instead of attacking, Jihan turned his back, grabbed his waistband, and tore the turtleneck off over his head.
Muscles moved under his skin like living wires. A second later, the trousers followed.
Seonyeong froze — even his breath faltered.
Before him stood a man carved out of steel — clean lines, no excess, nothing soft.
Feeling the stare, Jihan turned, said nothing, and walked to the wardrobe.
He pulled out a white bathrobe, threw it over his shoulders, and tied the belt so tightly it looked like armor.
— Satisfied now? — he asked, sitting back down on the bed.
His neck and cheeks burned crimson.
Seonyeong had never seen him like this — irritated, but flushed all the way to the ears.
The robe slipped slightly, revealing strong wrists and a bare leg; no socks, no weapon, nowhere to hide anything.
Seonyeong watched him in silence, then finally removed his coat and sat down on the chair across from him.
— So. What's so important you decided to perform a strip show first?
Jihan laced his fingers together, gathering the strength to speak.
— The fall of Director Kim Ranhee… that was an accident. I didn't touch her.
Seonyeong said nothing.
— Don't believe me? Check for yourself. Talk to the orphanage staff. Dive into their memory if you have to. I'll allow it.
The blunt honesty in his tone made Seonyeong raise an eyebrow. Jihan noticed — and pressed on:
— I realized I shouldn't have gone near her. After your reaction when I contacted Oh Rian, it became obvious. Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking now.
Seonyeong's lips curved into a crooked smile.
— Meaning, if I hadn't interfered, you'd have tried anyway?
— Maybe. — Jihan's jaw tightened. — I'll be honest: I wasn't sure it was wrong. But if it disgusts you — I won't do it again.
He actually said that? Seonyeong didn't know whether to laugh or curse.
— Until recently, I had one goal — to kill Ku Lirean. Everything else was secondary. With the Syndicate head Matteo, our motives just happened to align. Different reasons — same target. And I thought that made everything permissible.
Then you appeared.
He paused.
— You agreed to help. But I kept waiting for the day you'd change your mind.
— Why would I? We had a deal with Blue-5.
— Because you might change your mind about wanting to be human.
— Are you insane? I told you exactly what I want.
— And from your eyes, I can tell — you're not someone who can kill another to save yourself. — Jihan's voice dropped low.
Seonyeong fell silent.
Those words hit too precisely.
— So you simply didn't trust me, — he said at last.
— Correct.
Jihan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.
— You know, when I joined your operation, I wanted to become human. But there was another reason too. — He stopped; the words almost slipped. — Because you said you wanted to stay close.
— What reason? — Jihan asked cautiously.
Seonyeong shook his head. — Doesn't matter. You betrayed me first anyway.
— I'm sorry, — Jihan said quietly.
A simple word — but it caught in Seonyeong's throat like a stone.
— Why don't you trust anyone?
— Because once, I trusted the wrong people.
Jihan reached for the communicator lying beside him, switched on the recorder, and said calmly:
— Ten years ago, I killed a man. Director Cho Minsan. He was sixty-four. The body's buried in the foothills near Kiren, wrapped in plastic. If you want, report it. This confession is your proof.
Seonyeong straightened.
— What the hell are you talking about?
— My confession is my weakness. If it gets out, I'm finished. — He extended the device. — Take it.
— You're insane, — Seonyeong breathed.
— No. I just don't want you to have doubts.
They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Then Seonyeong said:
— Tell me. From the beginning.
And Jihan began.
He grew up in the Soman Orphanage, southern Ark City — the eldest of three: himself, Lo, and a boy named Lee Hoon.
That day, sunlight streamed through the windows when Director Cho Minsan gave them the news: someone from outside wanted to adopt them.
— Lee Hoon and... me? — he'd asked.
— Yes, — the director smiled. — Isn't that wonderful?
His eyes gleamed behind his glasses; his tone carried a false gentleness.
— Their adoptive parents are scientists from Virein. Lost their sons — want to fill the void. Lucky you.
Lee Hoon, four years younger, had clenched his fists with joy.
Virein, the Federation of Astraea — new life, new hope — the words sounded like a dream.
But Jihan had felt a chill watching the director's too-perfect smile.
— What about Lo? — he asked.
Cho Minsan frowned. — They want boys only.
Lee Hoon looked between them, suddenly pale.
Jihan's fists tightened.
— Then I'm not going.
— You realize what chance you're throwing away? — The director's voice stayed gentle, but his eyes were cold. — You could start over there. Education, money, a home. Don't you want a better life for your sister?
— Not if it means abandoning her.
He stood, bowed, and walked out.
Outside, the spring wind was sharp. Rusted swings creaked, and the city beyond the orphanage walls murmured like some distant organism.
Moments later, Lo appeared — hair cropped short, far too mature for her age.
— They say you argued with the director, — she said quietly.
— Doesn't matter.
— It does, — she replied, smiling faintly. — You should've agreed.
He looked at her — and couldn't be angry.
— I won't leave you. Never.
— I know.
They sat together for a long time, listening to a dog barking somewhere far away.
Back then, he'd believed that as long as they were together, nothing bad could happen.
But a week later, the director gathered them again.
— Wonderful news! — he beamed. — The adoptive parents agreed to take the girl too.
Happiness burst like light through the room.
Lo couldn't believe it; Lee Hoon jumped for joy.
Even Jihan felt his chest tighten with hope.
— Their representative will arrive in three weeks, — the director said. — But tell no one. The other children might get jealous.
Everything felt right — until they vanished.
Lo, Lee Hoon, and Jihan left the orphanage that day — and no one ever saw them again.
The director's body was found ten years later, buried deep in the frozen earth at the base of the Kiren mountains.
Jihan lowered his gaze.
— Now you know who I killed, — he said quietly. — And why I never trust anyone again.