In the end, the only ones who really knew what happened between them were the two of them.

If it had been a normal relationship, things might have been different, but that man only called Eun-sae when he wanted to have s*x.

If I wasn’t Eun-sae, then Lee Seol-won had no reason to be honest about anything.

And of course, with the only remaining victim who knew the truth now gone from this world, I’d have to live the rest of my life trapped in confusion and regret.

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

The decision came in an instant.

My voice trembled slightly.

But there was no time to steady it.

All I wanted was an answer.

I wanted to know how this man saw Eun-sae – what expression he wore, what voice he used when he spoke to her.

“How many times are you going to ask me that?”

For a brief moment, his emotions came out clearly.

He was visibly angry with me.

So Eun-sae had been a nuisance to this man.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“You already know. You were never worth much to me.”

But Eun-sae…

If he calls you nothing but a troublesome woman, what should I do?

If he says he threw you away because you weren’t worth anything, what should I say?

Can you really forgive a man like that-one who shows no remorse, no apology, no attempt to explain himself?

The ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop.

My mind had long since filled with static.

And suddenly a thought came to me:

How did I end up here, face to face with Lee Seol-won?

How did Heo Yeonseo decide to make her relationship with him official today of all days?

How could everything fall into place so perfectly, so eerily?

It had been such a strange, inexplicable day.

I came back after losing Eun-sae – only to meet every person connected to her, one by one.

It almost felt as if Eun-sae had somehow known this would happen… as if she had led me here herself.

A cold shiver ran through my chest.

“If you push me aside now, just because I’m no longer useful to you, you might regret it.”

He didn’t even look at me.

I could feel it – his gaze was slightly off, not quite meeting mine, as if I wasn’t even there.

He probably wasn’t even listening.

And I had no intention of being polite to someone who couldn’t even offer the most basic decency or respect.

“Keep looking at me. For a long time. You will have no choice.”

For I will be the misfortune that haunts your life – just as you were the scar on Eun-sae’s.

I reached out and poured every ounce of my will into the image of wrapping my hands around Lee Seol-won’s throat.

Clutching his perfectly *rect neck with both hands, I leaned in, imagining the sensation of sinking my teeth into that arrogant, serene face.

And then, without a moment’s hesitation, I kissed him.

While his fiancée was on stage announcing their engagement to the press, the groom-to-be was hidden just below, locked in a kiss with his secret lover.

Now that would be a scene worth filming.

His scent hit me first, flooding my senses – then came the heat.

What shocked me most was how warm he was.

He always carried such a chill about him that I wouldn’t have been surprised if his lips had felt like ice, like something long dead.

I wouldn’t have been shocked to learn that the blood running through him wasn’t even red.

Breath passed between our slightly parted lips—
breath that no longer felt like it belonged to either of us.
It felt pathetic, that all I could offer him was something as insignificant as breath.
If I’d had a poison potent enough to crush his windpipe,
I would’ve gladly inhaled it and pushed it past his tongue.

Just as Eun-sae had.

Eun-sae had drunk herbicide—something our parents had bought to clear the weeds in the yard.
She writhed in agony before being rushed to the hospital.
It hurt so much that she’d clawed at her own body until there wasn’t a single part of her hands left unscathed.

—”It would’ve been better to just die right then and there…”

Frozen with shock at Eun-sae’s death, I could only sit and sob as my parents held me.

—”If she had died on the spot, at least she would have suffered a little less.”

The doctors said there was nothing they could do, and all we could do was watch Eun-sae die in agony, unable to help her in any way, just waiting… until she took her last breath.

My parents told me that they couldn’t bring themselves to ask her to live through it.

They said all they could do was pray – please, just let her stop hurting.

—”Seo-hae, what the hell happened in Korea? Huh?”

Eun-sae would never have left like that, not without a reason… You know that too, don’t you, Seo-hae?

But now that I see this man… I understand.

To our family, Eun-sae was everything – cherished beyond words, deeply, fiercely loved.

But to Lee Seol-won, she was nothing. Just a temporary inconvenience.

Even if he ever found out how her life came to such a tragic end, he wouldn’t grieve.

He might even feel relieved, thinking that the annoying woman who once clung to him was finally out of the picture – no longer there to ruin his perfect engagement.

And the fact that she was pregnant?

He’d probably see that as a twisted silver lining, thinking how much more of a mess it would have been – and now, thankfully, it was all “taken care of”.

Not a single tear. Not a flicker of guilt.

Just cold indifference while the rest of us are left to mourn what he so easily discarded.

I couldn’t accept that.
Not in any way.

Click.

A camera flash flickered.

I released the pressure I’d kept on his lips.

With the warmth between our mouths, the moist surface parted with a sticky, wet smack.

The sound was lewd, unpleasant – and though it hadn’t been my intention, shame swept over me for a moment.

The auditorium, now plunged back into darkness, was too dim to see the man’s face clearly.

I was grateful for that.

Without hesitation, I rose from my seat, walked down the darkened aisle, and left the auditorium without looking back.

Whether the scandal of an affair caused SW’s stock price to plummet, whether his reputation as the head of the Songun Cultural Foundation collapsed, or whether Heo Yeonseo found out about her fiancé’s immoral behavior and broke off the engagement – none of that mattered to me anymore.

That was all he had to deal with.

I stepped out of the art hall and took a deep breath.

The warmth of his touch still lingered on my lips.

I pressed the back of my hand against it and slowly wiped it away.

As the tension finally left my body, a shiver ran through me.

I couldn’t believe what I had just done.

My body and heart were cold as one.

As I hunched my shoulders to wrap my arms around my chilled neck, I suddenly realized – I had left my scarf and gloves on the concert hall seat.

I had tried to stay calm, but apparently I wasn’t as calm as I thought I was.

The sting of the cold wind brushing directly against my bare fingers felt unfamiliar.

Since choosing the Gayageum, I had always taken care of my hands – wearing gloves had become a habit.

I zipped my long padded coat up to my neck and stuffed both hands into my pockets.

For some reason, the sky was especially clear today, and it made my eyes sting.

***

Even though we were twins and resembled each other in many ways, we weren’t identical in every way.

We were born only three minutes apart, but maybe because people often referred to us as “the older” and “the younger,” even our relatives used to say that:

Seo-hae feels more like the oldest daughter, and Eun-sae still feels like the youngest.

Whenever Eun-sae came home in tears after arguing with someone, it was my job to comfort her.

But when I cried, Eun-sae would sit next to me and cry with me.

Sometimes she’d cry louder than me, so much so that I’d forget why I was upset in the first place and end up comforting her instead.

We also had different interests.

Although we grew up in the U.S. because of our immigrant parents, I had a strong interest in Korea.

My parents felt the same way, so we took classes in traditional Korean culture at a cultural center near our home.

Of all the things we learned, I was most attracted to the gayageum.

Even when the tough silk strings wore down the skin on my fingertips and the blisters never had time to heal, I still enjoyed playing the gayageum.

When a blister burst and blood spurted out, I’d blow on the wound and keep practicing.

Eun-sae would look at me on those days and cluck her tongue, calling me relentless.

She said that playing gayageum only hurt her hands and wasn’t any fun.

While Eun-sae eventually quit after a few lessons, I continued to go to the practice room and pluck the strings without fail.

My teacher said it was a waste to keep my talent at the level of a hobby and encouraged me to return to Korea to study traditional music more seriously.

As luck would have it, a relative who heard the news offered to take me in, so I returned to Korea.

I continued to study gayageum under proper guidance and eventually graduated from university with a degree in it.

Along the way, I made a formal pledge not to use my foreign citizenship and became a dual citizen of Korea and the U.S. Eun-sae, on the other hand, attended university in the U.S., and as a result, her Korean citizenship was revoked.

If it weren’t for me, she would have had no reason to return to Korea.

I had never really questioned the decisions I’d made up to that point.

I was really interested in gayageum, and through consistent effort, it had naturally become my career.

Since it made more sense to live as a gayageum player in Korea than in the U.S., I decided to settle in Seoul, even though it meant being away from my family.

I wasn’t an extraordinary talent that would turn heads, but I was skilled enough to join a decent orchestra and make a living doing what I loved.

But now I can’t help but wonder.

If I hadn’t taken an interest in gayageum, if I hadn’t come back to Korea, if I hadn’t become a gayageum player and built my life here, and if she hadn’t had to travel back and forth between the U.S. and Korea just to see me – if she hadn’t met Lee Seol-won along the way – maybe Eun-sae would still be alive today.