From the café to the apartment — ten minutes on the motorcycle.
Ji Hun Min stopped it at the building.
He sat for a moment before getting off.
The question she hadn't answered was still with him.
He went up to the seventh floor.
The apartment as he had left it.
He took off his shoes at the door. Went in.
The large window — Seoul in the morning different from Seoul at night. More movement. More noise. But still asking nothing of anyone.
He went to the bathroom.
The hot water on his left shoulder.
He closed his eyes.
In his head — an old sound. Not his mother's voice asking him Ji Hun, did you eat?
A sound older than that.
When he was young — five years old perhaps. Six.
His mother sitting on the edge of the bath. Her hands washing his hair in slow movements. She was singing something — not a real song. Something she was inventing in that moment for herself and for him.
He hadn't understood the words.
But the sound — stayed.
The water running.
Ji Hun Min opened his eyes.
The bathroom before him. The white walls. The steam.
His mother would never sit on the edge of any bath again.
He turned off the tap.
At the same time — another place in Seoul.
A long corridor. Dark carpet. Paintings on the walls that don't hang in ordinary places.
A man in his thirties walking. His steps confident in the way of someone born in this place.
Kang Jae Won.
Kang Tae Joon's son. The group's heir.
Kang Ha Eun's brother.
He stopped at a door. Knocked once. Entered.
Han Jae Won was waiting.
Kang Jae Won looked at him.
"I heard there's a new fighter."
"Yes."
"He must be good." A pause. He looked at the window. "I don't want a losing horse like your old friend."
Han Jae Won looked at him.
Didn't answer.
Kang Jae Won turned to him.
"Is he good?"
"Yes."
"How good?"
"Good enough."
Kang Jae Won looked at him for a second — a measuring look, not an enquiring one.
Then he turned his back.
"Come."
Kang Tae Joon's office on the top floor.
A window overlooking all of Seoul. A large desk. A man behind it — sixty years old perhaps. Hair greying at the temples. His face didn't tell you much. But standing before him you felt something — the weight of people who had grown accustomed to being heard.
Han Jae Won stood.
"Good evening, sir."
Kang Tae Joon looked at him.
"How was the new boxer?"
"He won his match."
"I know." A pause. "But is he ready?"
"He has a shoulder injury. When it heals — yes. Ready."
Kang Tae Joon looked at the window.
"Han Jae Won."
"Yes, sir."
"He will fight for my son"
Silence.
Han Jae Won looked at him.
"Kang Jae Won"
"Yes."
"If you want to know his true level —" A pause. "Yes. That's the way."
Kang Tae Joon nodded.
"First — local deals. Then when he proves himself — international fighters." He looked at the window. "That's the path."
"Yes, sir."
Han Jae Won turned.
"Han Jae Won."
He stopped.
"I want him to succeed. Not just to stay." He looked at him. "The difference matters."
Han Jae Won nodded.
He left.
Ji Hun Min.
The old apartment in Yeongdeungpo.
He stood in front of the building. Looked at the façade.
The same cracked paint. The same letterbox that doesn't close properly. The same staircase that groans on the third step.
He went up.
The apartment — empty as he had left it.
Thirty-nine square metres. The white-yellowed ceiling. The damp stain in the left corner.
He stood in the entrance.
Something in this place still carried something.
He went to the small drawer beside the bed.
He opened the second drawer.
Photographs.
His mother and him at an age he couldn't remember. His mother in the hospital — a faint smile despite everything. His mother on the first day of training at the gym — she had insisted on coming.
He looked at them one by one.
He closed the drawer.
Put the photographs in his pocket.
And left.
At the door — a voice.
"Hello."
Ji Hun Min turned.
Choi Yeon Ju.
A pale beige coat. A bag in her hand. Her face when she saw him changed — something between relief and a question.
"I came more than once. You weren't here."
"I was out."
She looked at the bag in her hand.
"Are you eating? I made something for you."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
Then looked at the apartment behind him.
"Come in."
They sat.
She took out the food — kimbap. The same as what she had brought the first time.
Ji Hun Min ate.
In the room a silence that didn't need filling.
Choi Yeon Ju looked at the floor in front of her.
She saw the photographs Ji Hun Min had taken from his pocket and left beside him.
"May I look at them?"
"Go ahead."
She picked up the photographs. Looked at them one by one.
She stopped at one — his mother in the hospital. The faint smile.
"I know your mother wouldn't want to see you sad."
Ji Hun Min didn't answer.
"She talked about you every day." Her voice changed — something breaking slowly. "Every day. All the time." She paused. "She was such a deeply kind person. Every day I would look at her and wish—"
She went quiet.
The tears came quietly.
"I wish she had been my mother."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
Said nothing.
He just waited until she was calm.
After a few minutes — she calmed.
Her face flushed. Her eyes swollen.
"I'm sorry."
"There's no need."
A brief silence.
"There were some months—" Ji Hun Min began quietly. "The treatment was paid by a donor. Was that you?"
Choi Yeon Ju raised her eyes to him.
Then looked down.
She wiped her eyes slowly.
"Yes."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
"If I could cry like you—" He said it quietly. "Would I be better?"
Choi Yeon Ju looked at him.
Didn't answer immediately.
She looked at her hands.
Then:
"I don't know."
Silence.
"But I know that pain which doesn't come out — stays somewhere."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
Didn't answer.
But he heard.
Choi Yeon Ju raised her head.
"I grew up in an orphanage." She looked at her hands. "I don't have real parents. I was raised by a foster family — but they weren't good. A father who drank. A mother who didn't care. At some point they divorced."
Ji Hun Min waiting.
"At seventeen I started working and studying." She paused. "Harassment from an employer. A teacher. When they know you have no parents—" She went quiet. "Bullying too."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
"That's where I figured something out." She raised her head. "The biggest thing — to pretend to be strong. Not weak."
Ji Hun Min looked at her for a long time.
Then he stood.
Choi Yeon Ju stood too.
At the door — he stopped.
"When you need something — call."
Choi Yeon Ju looked at him.
A second between them.
"I'll be moving to another place. Mapo." He took out his phone. "This is my number. When you want to come — send me a message."
Choi Yeon Ju took the number.
Looked at him.
"Thank you."
Ji Hun Min looked at her.
"You're the one who deserves thanks."
They left.
In front of the building — the street. The afternoon beginning to turn.
Choi Yeon Ju looked at him.
"Take care of yourself."
She walked in her direction.
Ji Hun Min watched her until she disappeared at the bend.
Then he rode the motorcycle.
In his pocket — photographs of his mother.
And in his head — her voice singing something with no name in an old bathroom.