* * *
“Hyung… I’m sorry. But the thing is, the lady had her reasons. No, actually, Mom asked me to do this. Damn it… I’m really sorry.”
Hearing “Mom’s request” from Siwon’s mouth once again sapped the strength from Junhee.
“Junhee, I… I’m so sorry. I really am. But could you meet me just this once? Just once, that’s all. Please, only once…”
Junhee had wondered how she even got his number to call him.
Now, he was almost certain it was the orphanage director who gave it to her.
Why? Why did they have to make his life so unbearable?
“I told you to never contact me again.”
Junhee shifted his glare from Siwon to the woman.
“I never asked you for anything my whole life. Just one thing—don’t contact me. Was that so hard to do?”
The woman’s trembling hands clutched the hem of her loose dress.
Her fingers, so thin and frail, looked like they’d snap with the slightest pressure.
“Junhee, I’m sorry. I really am…”
“Who’s my mother, exactly?”
Junhee’s venomous words, each syllable deliberate and sharp, made the woman’s eyes well up with tears.
He was sick of it.
All of it.
The things that tormented him, the misfortunes that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to shake them off—those cruel, inescapable ties.
“Hyung… I’ll step out for a bit, okay? Just five minutes. The lady said that’s all she needs.”
When Junhee remained silent, Siwon quietly closed the door and left.
Junhee didn’t follow him for one simple reason: This stubborn leech of misfortune—he had to rip it off himself, once and for all.
“So, what is it you want from me this time?”
“Junhee…”
“Wasn’t it enough that I disappeared? What more do you want now? For me to vanish from the face of the earth altogether?”
“No, Junhee, that’s not it—”
The woman reached out, but Junhee took a step back and swatted her hand away before it could touch him.
Her skin, dry and stretched thin over her bones, felt so fragile that for a moment, he doubted if it was even human flesh.
The woman curled her fingers into a trembling fist midair.
Tears as big as raindrops fell from her hollow eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I… I couldn’t take full responsibility for you because of my selfishness. I’m so sorry, my baby…”
The woman, old enough to have lived twice Junhee’s years, broke down like a child, sobbing uncontrollably.
She clutched her chest, clawing at her skin beneath her clothes as she wailed.
Junhee knew he’d been through worse.
But still, this was unbearable.
“Stop.”
“Junhee, I’m sorry. I really am…”
“I said stop.”
He grabbed her wrist to stop her self-harm.
Even in his relatively small hand, her wrist seemed so thin, so fragile.
Once, she had been much bigger than him.
But now, up close, she looked so much smaller, so worn-out. She wasn’t happy.
If that were the case, why did she abandon him in the first place?
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that burned in his chest.
“I thought that if I found you… it might just be my selfishness. I was scared you’d become even more unhappy because of me. I thought you’d be better off somewhere else, loved and cared for…”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. You abandoned me because I’m a defective omega. Isn’t that the real reason?”
The memory of the hospital visit with her remained vivid.
Blood tests, strange machines, and then the tonkatsu she bought him afterward.
‘Don’t tell your dad we went to the doctor today, okay? Promise me.’
With his mouth full of tonkatsu, he nodded enthusiastically.
Then they fought. He overheard everything.
And after that, she left him at the amusement park.
Did she really think he’d forgotten, just because he was a child?
“No, no, Junhee, it wasn’t because of that—”
“Don’t bother lying. I remember everything. You abandoned me. Am I wrong?”
“I… I wanted you to be happy. But that man… I didn’t think he’d come after you. I should have stopped him, I should have—”
When she mentioned that man, Junhee finally snapped.
“Shut up! Just shut up already! Both of you abandoned me! My dad, who said he couldn’t raise me, and you, who tossed me aside after hearing that! You’re both the same! Both of you ruined my life, so why? Why come back and make it worse?”
“Junhee…”
“Do you really want me to die? Should I just stop breathing? I hate this—I hate you both so much I’d rather die than see you again! Stop looking for me. If you do, I swear I’ll die right in front of you!”
Her hand weakly grasped at his collar, but he shoved it away and flung the door open.
“Hyung…? I-I was just about to come back in…”
Siwon’s large frame blocked his path as he stepped out, his eyes darting to Junhee’s reddened face.
Even Siwon’s concern was too much to bear.
Junhee tried to walk past him, but Siwon suddenly ran back into the room, shouting.
“Auntie!”
The sound of her collapsing made Junhee turn around.
Being admitted to a hospital room instead of the emergency room was only possible because of Kim Daeheon’s connections.
“Hyung, I’ll go get some water.”
Siwon glanced at Junhee, who stared blankly ahead, then quietly closed the door behind him as he left.
Junhee stood by the bedside, looking down at the unconscious woman with indifferent eyes.
Her frail arms, so thin her veins were barely visible, must have been pricked several times just to get the IV in.
Even during the few tests they ran, she didn’t regain consciousness.
The door clicked open—not Siwon this time.
“Are you the guardian for Seo Jeonghee?”
“Yes.”
Junhee stepped outside at the nurse’s call.
Guardian.
Was he even qualified to call himself that?
Junhee stared at the blank space next to “Relationship with the Patient” on the required form, unable to write a single word.
Click.
The door to the examination room opened, letting in the familiar smell of antiseptic, sharp and invasive.
“You’re here, Junhee? It’s been a while.”
“…Yes, doctor.”
Kim Daeheon greeted him with the same bright smile, his face still weary from exhaustion.
“So, you’re listed as Seo Jeonghee’s guardian, correct? What’s your relationship…?”
He glanced at Junhee after staring at the chart for a moment, then stopped mid-sentence, as if something in Junhee’s stiff expression made him hold back.
“Well, anyway. That’s not the priority right now. Did the patient tell you anything?”
“No, nothing.”
“Hmm.”
The clicking sound of the mouse filled the uneasy silence between them.
Though it wasn’t Junhee’s fault she’d collapsed, he couldn’t help but worry.
What if she’d hit something hard on her way down?
What if she was seriously injured?
Eventually, Junhee broke the silence first.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not exactly a problem… But I’m sure the patient is already aware of this.”
Daeheon seemed hesitant, as if he were debating whether to share the information with Junhee.
“Please, just tell me.”
“Well… This is directly tied to the patient’s survival.”
“…Survival?”
For the first time, an expression crossed Junhee’s face—one of genuine confusion and alarm.
“I went through the records and found some old data.”
“You mean she’s been treated at this hospital before?”
“No, it’s from the genetic disease database maintained by the Center for Hereditary Conditions.”
Daeheon spoke cautiously, carefully observing Junhee’s increasingly tense demeanor.
“It’s one of the incurable diseases typically seen in recessive omegas. But thanks to recent research, a treatment has been developed. The final clinical trials are ongoing, so it’s worth trying. Otherwise…”
He trailed off, but the unspoken implication was clear.
If nothing was done, there was only one possible outcome.
“Thank you for letting me know. Could you pass this information on to the patient once they regain consciousness?”
“They probably already know. The Center would have contacted them first.”
“…What? Then why…”
A foreboding feeling crept over Junhee.
After a pause, Daeheon finally spoke, his voice heavy.
When Junhee returned to the hospital room, everything was as it had been before.
The pale, unconscious woman.
The stifling quiet.
The lingering smell of antiseptic.
It would’ve been easier if he, too, could’ve remained unchanged.
“You…”
Standing by the hospital bed, Junhee let out a suppressed breath, his emotions spilling over.
“I almost fell for it again.”
A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips.
* * *
