The restaurant hummed with happy noise around them. Soo-ah was laughing at something Jin-young said. Hae-rin and Shi-eok discussed the ceremony in quiet tones. Seo-ah sat beside Dae-hyun, a small smile on her face as she watched the team interact.
Dae-hyun's phone buzzed.
He glanced at it casually, the way anyone checks a message. Then his face changed.
His hand trembled—actually trembled—and the phone slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table and sliding to the floor.
The laughter stopped.
Everyone stared.
Dae-hyun stared at nothing, his face pale, his eyes unfocused. He didn't reach for the phone. He didn't move at all.
Min-jun was the first to react. He bent down, picked up the phone, and looked at the screen. His own face shifted—from confusion to understanding to something heavy and sad.
He locked the phone quickly and slipped it into his pocket.
"Captain," Min-jun said quietly. "Let's go."
Dae-hyun didn't respond.
Min-jun stood and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dae-hyun. Let's go."
Slowly, like a man waking from a dream, Dae-hyun stood. He didn't look at anyone. He simply followed Min-jun toward the door.
Soo-ah's voice was small. "What happened? Where are they going?"
Min-jun paused at the door and looked back at them. "Everyone eat. Then go home. I'll take care of him."
He was gone before anyone could ask more.
The restaurant felt suddenly cold.
Seo-ah stared at the door, her heart pounding. She had never seen Dae-hyun like that. Never seen him lose control, even for a second.
What could possibly do that to a man like him?
---
The drive to Muju was long and silent.
Min-jun drove, his eyes on the road, saying nothing. Dae-hyun sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the passing darkness. Hours passed. The city gave way to suburbs, then countryside, then mountains.
Finally, as the first light of dawn touched the horizon, Min-jun spoke.
"When did you find out about her?"
Dae-hyun's voice was rough. "Three years ago. I was in Muju on a case. She saw me on the street and stopped. Just stared at me like she'd seen a ghost. " He paused. "Then she said my mother's name."
Min-jun glanced at him. "She recognized you?"
"She had photos. Old photos. Of me as a baby, before I was abandoned. Of my mother when she was young." Dae-hyun's voice cracked slightly. "She'd been looking for me for thirty years. Never stopped. Never gave up."
The road unwound before them.
"Three years," Dae-hyun continued quietly. "Three years she gave me. Love, I mean. Real love. The kind I never had." He swallowed hard. "She cooked for me. Worried about me. Called me every week to make sure I was eating properly. "A pause. "I didn't know what that felt like. Not until her."
Min-jun said nothing. He just drove.
"And now she's gone." Dae-hyun's voice was barely a whisper. "Now I'm really alone."
The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Min-jun turned to look at him.
"You're not alone."
Dae-hyun didn't respond.
"You have me. You have my wife—hell, she's been feeding you for years whether you notice or not." Min-jun's voice was rough but warm. "You have my kids. They love you more than they love me, the little traitors."
A tiny sound escaped Dae-hyun. Almost a laugh. Almost.
"And you have Team Zero." Min-jun pressed the gas as the light turned green. "Those idiots back there? They'd follow you into hell. You know that."
Dae-hyun was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Find a good girl and get married," you said.
Min-jun snorted. "I stand by that advice. But that's for later. Right now, you just need to get through today."
The mountains rose around them, and Muju drew closer with every mile.
---
The funeral home was small and quiet, tucked away on a side street in the heart of Muju. Elderly neighbors filled the chairs, their faces etched with sorrow. A photo of an old woman with kind eyes smiled from the altar.
Dae-hyun stood before it alone.
Min-jun waited outside, giving him space. He'd seen enough death to know that some moments needed to be private.
Inside, Dae-hyun looked at the photo for a long time. His grandmother. The only family he'd ever known, found too late and lost too soon.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye."
The photo smiled back, unchanging.
"I'll carry you with me," he said. "Always."
He bowed deeply, holding it for a long moment. Then he turned and walked out.
---
The funeral was small but meaningful. Old friends of his grandmother spoke warmly of her kindness, her strength, and her endless capacity for love. Dae-hyun stood at the back, listening, saying nothing.
When it was over, when the coffin was carried out and the mourners dispersed, he remained.
Min-jun found him there an hour later, still standing in the empty room.
"Come on," Min-jun said quietly. "You're coming home with me."
Dae-hyun looked at him. "Min, I don't—"
"Not arguing." Min-jun's voice was firm. "My wife's been cooking all day. My kids are excited to see you, and you're not spending tonight alone."
For a long moment, Dae-hyun didn't move. Then, slowly, he nodded.
---
Min-jun's house was warm and bright and full of noise.
His wife, Mrs. Kim, met them at the door with a fierce hug for Dae-hyun and a knowing look at her husband. She said nothing about why he was there. She simply pulled him inside and sat him at the table.
"Eat," she commanded. "You're too thin."
Dae-hyun looked at the spread before him—rice, soup, grilled fish, and more side dishes than he could count. His throat tightened.
Their two children, a boy of ten and a girl of seven, appeared at his elbow.
"Uncle Kang!" The girl climbed onto his lap without asking permission. "Did you bring us anything?"
"Yuna! "Mrs. Kim scolded. "Mind your manners."
But Dae-hyun's arms had already wrapped around the child, holding her close. The boy, Min-jun Junior, leaned against his shoulder, showing him something on a tablet.
Min-jun watched from the kitchen doorway, a small smile on his face.
His wife came to stand beside him. "He'll be okay?"
Min-jun nodded slowly. "He will be, eventually."
"He has us. He has that team of his." She watched Dae-hyun with the children, something soft in her eyes. "And he has you. That's more than he's ever had."
Min-jun put an arm around her. "Yeah. It is."
At the table, Dae-hyun let the children's chatter wash over him. He ate the food Mrs. Kim had prepared. He listened to stories about school and friends and a world that seemed impossibly normal.
And for the first time since that text message, he felt something other than emptiness.
He felt like he belonged.
---
Later that night, after the children were in bed and the house had grown quiet, Min-jun sat with Dae-hyun on the small porch.
"She was proud of you," Min-jun said quietly. "Your grandmother. I could tell from the way you talked about her."
Dae-hyun stared at the stars. "I hope so."
"She knew what you did. She knew the kind of man you became." Min-jun lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the night. "That's what matters."
A long silence.
Then Dae-hyun spoke. "Thank you, Min, for everything."
Min-jun shrugged. "That's what family does."
Dae-hyun looked at him. "Family?"
"You're an idiot if you haven't figured it out yet." Min-jun grinned through the smoke. "You're stuck with us. All of us. Deal with it."
For the first time in days, Dae-hyun smiled.
It was small. It was fragile. But it was real.
"Deal," he said.