Seo-yeon walked home faster than usual.
Not running.
Not drawing attention.
But faster.
Her mind replayed his voice over and over.
Your father mentioned you.
It didn't make sense.
Her father would never willingly expose her.
Which meant—
He was being pressured.
Cornered.
Forced.
Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.
The familiar streets didn't feel safe anymore.
Every parked car felt suspicious.
Every unfamiliar face felt like a threat.
She turned the final corner toward her house.
And stopped.
He was there.
Standing across the street.
Waiting.
Her heart stopped.
He wasn't pretending anymore.
He wasn't hiding behind school walls.
He stood in plain sight.
His posture calm.
Certain.
Expectant.
He had followed her.
Or maybe—
He had been waiting long before she arrived.
Her instincts screamed at her.
Don't approach.
Don't engage.
But her feet didn't move.
Because this wasn't just about fear anymore.
This was about her father.
He saw her.
Of course he did.
He always saw her.
He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Not chasing.
Not rushing.
Just closing distance.
"You're observant," he said.
Her throat tightened.
She didn't answer.
He stopped a few feet away.
Not invading.
Not retreating.
Perfect distance for intimidation.
"I was hoping to speak with your father," he continued.
"He's not home," she replied.
Not entirely a lie.
Not entirely truth.
He studied her face carefully.
As if measuring her.
Evaluating her.
"You're protecting him," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Her fingers curled into fists.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
His smile returned.
Small.
Knowing.
"You're very different from what I expected."
Her chest tightened.
What did he expect?
Weakness?
Fear?
Silence?
He tilted his head slightly.
"You remind me of someone who understands consequences."
Her blood ran cold.
Because he was right.
He stepped back.
Creating distance again.
"I'll return," he said calmly.
Not a threat.
A promise.
Then he turned and walked away.
Leaving her alone.
Standing in the quiet street.
Her body trembling.
Not from helplessness.
From realization.
This wasn't over.
It had only begun.