Eun-Woo stayed rooted in the same spot long after Mi-Sook had disappeared into the dark.
The wind on the back of the school didn't feel like wind anymore.
It felt like something pressing against his chest.
He lowered his phone slowly, staring at the last image still frozen on the screen—two identical faces that refused to make sense in his mind anymore.
"…Ji-Woo," he whispered.
His voice cracked on the name.
"How could you lie to me?"
Silence answered him.
Not peace.
Just emptiness that made the thought echo louder in his head.
Then he finally moved.
Not back home.
Not anywhere warm.
His feet carried him without permission toward the bridge.
The one Ji-Woo always walked when she thought no one noticed.
Streetlights flickered on one by one as night deepened, reflecting off the water below like broken pieces of light.
Eun-Woo slowed when he reached it.
And there she was.
Ji-Woo.
Walking alone.
Hands in her pockets, posture calm, almost soft under the night sky like she belonged to it more than the world behind her.
Eun-Woo stopped a few steps behind her.
"Ji-Woo!"
Her steps halted.
She turned slowly.
No surprise.
Just quiet awareness.
Like she had been expecting something all along.
"…Eun-Woo?" she said softly.
He didn't answer right away.
His chest rose and fell unevenly.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
She blinked once.
Then gave a faint smile.
"Home," she said simply.
As if nothing in the world had changed.
She stepped closer.
The movement made something in him tighten.
He stepped back before he could stop himself.
Ji-Woo noticed immediately.
Her smile faded slightly.
"…Why did you do that?" she asked, quieter now. "It's me."
Eun-Woo's grip on his phone tightened.
"It doesn't feel like you," he said.
The words slipped out before he could soften them.
Ji-Woo paused.
"…What does that mean?"
His throat worked, like he was trying to swallow something sharp.
Then he pulled out his phone.
The photo first.
Then the document.
He held it between them, hands shaking slightly.
"Tell me this is fake," he said, voice low. "Tell me all of this is fake."
Ji-Woo's eyes dropped to the screen.
The color in her face shifted.
"…Where did you get this?" she whispered.
Eun-Woo's laugh came out broken.
"That's your answer?" he said. "Not 'it's fake'—not 'Eun-Woo, listen to me'—just… where did I get it?"
He stepped forward suddenly.
Grabbed her shoulders.
Not violently.
But desperately.
Like if he held her still enough, reality might stop changing.
"Who are you?" he asked again, sharper now. "Just tell me that. Who are you really?"
Ji-Woo flinched under his hands.
"Eun-Woo—wait—"
"Don't tell me to wait!" His voice cracked. "Do you know what this does to someone? Do you know what it feels like to—"
He stopped.
His breathing hitched.
His hands loosened slightly.
Ji-Woo's eyes were already wet now.
"I didn't mean to lie," she said quickly. "I swear I didn't. It just… happened."
Her voice trembled.
"I didn't know Ji-Soo was alive when I started. I thought—she was gone. I thought I was just…"
She stopped.
Swallowed hard.
"…just surviving as her."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Eun-Woo…"
That did it.
Not the explanation.
The breaking voice.
Eun-Woo's hands dropped from her shoulders.
Slowly.
Like something had gone out of him.
"You're sorry?" he said quietly.
His eyes were glassy now.
Not fully crying.
But dangerously close.
"You're sorry… after all of this?"
He looked at her like he didn't recognize her anymore.
"I trusted you," he said, voice shaking. "I actually trusted you."
A pause.
Then softer—
"And you just… let me believe something that wasn't real."
Ji-Woo stepped forward quickly.
"Eun-Woo, please—listen to me—"
But he took a step back.
And that step felt louder than everything else.
"No," he said.
One word.
Final.
Behind him, the bridge lights flickered slightly, reflecting in the water like they were unstable too.
He looked at her one last time.
Not anger now.
Just hurt trying not to collapse.
"…Which part of you was real?" he asked quietly.
That question hit harder than anything else.
Ji-Woo froze.
Her lips parted—but no answer came out.
Eun-Woo nodded slightly, like that silence was already enough.
Then he turned.
And started walking away.
"Eun-Woo!" she called after him, voice breaking fully now.
"Wait… please—wait!"
Her footsteps moved forward instinctively.
But he didn't stop.
Not even once.
And for a second—just a second—Ji-Woo stood there on the bridge, the wind pulling at her hair, watching him disappear into the dark—
while the only thing louder than the night…
was the fact that neither of them knew how to fix what had just broken between them.
Ji-Woo didn't run.
Not at first.
She just walked.
Step by step.
Like if she kept moving forward, the weight in her chest would eventually loosen.
But it didn't.
The night air felt colder now, heavier somehow, pressing against her skin in a way that made it hard to breathe properly.
Her hands stayed in her pockets, fingers curled tightly around nothing.
Eun-Woo's face wouldn't leave her mind.
Neither would his voice.
"Who are you?"
That question kept repeating itself until it stopped sounding like words and started sounding like something breaking inside her head.
She turned a corner slowly.
Passed a small streetlight.
And then stopped.
There was a tree near the roadside—quiet, old, slightly bent like it had been there too long watching too many things it couldn't stop.
Ji-Woo stepped toward it.
Her pace slowed… then stopped completely.
She leaned her back against it.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Silent.
Then her hand moved to her chest.
Pressing lightly.
As if holding herself together physically might stop what was happening inside.
It hurt.
Not sharp.
Not dramatic.
Just constant.
Heavy.
Like something had settled there and refused to move.
Her breath trembled once.
Then steadied again—but barely.
"…I didn't want this," she whispered into the night.
Her eyes didn't cry.
But they didn't blink much either.
Just stared forward, unfocused.
"Why did it become like this…"
Her fingers tightened against her shirt.
Not anger.
Not panic.
Just exhaustion breaking through everything else.
Somewhere far behind her, a car passed.
Life continuing.
Like nothing had changed.
But Ji-Woo stayed there longer than she meant to.
Until even standing felt like effort.
At the same time, Eun-Woo walked.
Not fast anymore.
Not running.
Just walking.
Like his body had finally caught up with what his mind refused to process.
The bridge was behind him now.
The school too.
Everything felt distant, unreal—like he had stepped out of his own life and couldn't find the way back in.
His phone was still in his hand.
Still open.
But he wasn't looking at it.
He saw Ji-Woo's face instead.
Smiling.
Not like tonight.
Like before.
The small moments came back without permission.
Ji-Woo laughing quietly when he said something stupid in class.
Ji-Woo looking at him like she was trying not to smile.
Ji-Woo walking beside him without saying anything, but still staying close.
Even the silence felt different in those memories.
Warm.
Safe.
His grip on the phone loosened slightly.
"…That wasn't fake," he muttered under his breath.
Then stopped walking.
Because his chest tightened unexpectedly.
Hard.
He looked up at the empty street ahead of him.
And suddenly—
he remembered her hand brushing his that day.
At Jeju.
So normal.
So unimportant at the time.
But now it replayed differently.
Again and again.
His throat tightened.
"Why didn't you tell me…" he whispered.
But even as he said it—
another thought came.
What if she couldn't?
What if she was just as lost as he was?
His breathing became uneven.
And for the first time—
his eyes burned.
He blinked quickly, like he could force it away.
But it didn't go.
So he kept walking.
Slower now.
Head slightly lowered.
Not crying fully.
But not okay either.
Just carrying too many images at once—
Ji-Woo smiling.
Ji-Woo crying.
Ji-Woo saying "I'm sorry."
And somewhere in between all of it…
the version of her he thought he knew… slowly falling apart in his mind without asking permission.