Mrs. Kim settled into the backseat as the driver started the engine. The car eased out onto the road, smooth and practiced, the city unfolding beyond the tinted windows.
She glanced at the navigation screen mounted near the front.
"Take the Jeju route," she said calmly. "Not the shortcut."
The driver nodded, eyes on the road. "Yes, ma'am."
"I want you to learn it properly," she added after a beat. "We'll be taking it again."
Another nod. No questions.
Mrs. Kim picked up her phone, the movement small, almost hesitant.
She typed while the car waited at a red light.
Ji-Woo, I have a meeting outside the city.
I'll be back late.
There's food at home.
She stared at the message, then sent it before she could rethink it.
The reply came quickly.
Okay.
Nothing else.
Mrs. Kim leaned back, eyes drifting to the passing buildings.
Street after street slipped by, familiar places giving way to longer roads.
She folded her hands in her lap, expression unreadable.
"Once we pass the expressway," she said quietly, "pay attention to the exits."
"Yes, ma'am," the driver replied.
The car continued forward.
Ji-Woo sat cross-legged on her bed.
A pillow rested against her stomach.
Her phone was balanced loosely in one hand.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
She stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Then pressed call.
Video call.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then suddenly—
The screen connected.
Ji-Woo blinked.
"...What."
Ji-Bok blinked back.
Equally confused.
A toothbrush stuck out of his mouth.
Half his face was covered in toothpaste foam.
His hair looked like he'd fought a hurricane and lost.
For three whole seconds neither of them spoke.
Then—
"What happened to you?" Ji-Woo asked.
Ji-Bok pointed at himself.
"What happened to me?"
His words came out distorted because of the toothbrush.
"You called me while I was brushing my teeth!"
Ji-Woo stared.
Then immediately started laughing.
"Why did you answer?!"
Ji-Bok looked offended.
"Because you called!"
"Normal people finish brushing first!"
"Normal people don't video call people at night!"
Ji-Woo laughed harder.
Ji-Bok narrowed his eyes.
Then pointed the toothbrush at her.
A dangerous weapon.
"I was having a peaceful evening."
"You look homeless."
His eyes widened.
"Homeless?!"
"You do."
"I live in a mansion!"
"You look homeless inside the mansion."
Ji-Bok groaned dramatically.
Then disappeared from the screen.
Ji-Woo could hear muffled complaints.
Water running.
Something falling.
More complaints.
A cat meowing somewhere.
Then he returned.
Hair still terrible.
But at least the toothbrush was gone.
"There."
"You still look homeless."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Ji-Bok sighed.
Then flopped onto his bed.
The camera shook violently.
"Okay."
He pointed at her.
"Why are you calling me?"
Ji-Woo paused.
The smile faded slightly.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Ji-Bok immediately noticed.
Of course he did.
He sat up straighter.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"That's a lie."
"It isn't."
"It is."
She sighed.
Then rolled onto her side.
Phone resting against her pillow.
The screen showed Ji-Bok doing the exact same thing.
Mirroring her accidentally.
Neither mentioned it.
The room fell quiet.
Comfortable quiet.
The kind that only existed between people who talked often.
Eventually Ji-Woo spoke.
"I was bored."
Ji-Bok snorted.
"You called me because you were bored?"
"Yes."
"I feel used."
"You should."
He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.
"Heartbreaking."
Ji-Woo smiled faintly.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The drama."
"I am not dramatic."
"You absolutely are."
Ji-Bok pointed at himself.
"I am elegance."
Ji-Woo nearly choked laughing.
"ELEGANCE?"
"Yes."
"You skate into walls."
"That happened once."
"Three times."
"Allegedly."
She shook her head.
The smile stayed this time.
Longer.
More natural.
Ji-Bok noticed that too.
His expression softened slightly.
"Better."
Ji-Woo blinked.
"Hm?"
"You look better."
The words came casually.
Like an observation.
Not a compliment.
Not pity.
Just fact.
Ji-Woo looked away from the screen.
Toward her window.
The sky outside had turned gray.
Cloudy.
Quiet.
After a moment she smiled.
Small.
Genuine.
"Thanks."
Ji-Bok nodded.
Then picked up something off-screen.
A packet of chips.
"Good."
Crunch.
"You can now explain why you're sad."
Ji-Woo immediately frowned.
"I'm not sad."
Crunch.
"You are."
"I'm not."
Crunch.
"You called me while I was brushing my teeth."
"...And?"
"No one does that unless something is wrong."
Ji-Woo opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then laughed.
Because somehow—
Annoyingly—
He wasn't completely wrong.
A comfortable silence settled between them again.
Neither rushed to fill it.
Sometimes they just stayed on call.
Doing nothing.
Talking about nothing.
Existing.
Eventually Ji-Woo stood.
"Where are you going?" Ji-Bok asked.
"Outside."
He frowned.
"Outside where?"
"I don't know."
"Excellent plan."
"Thank you."
"That was sarcasm."
"I know."
Ji-Bok watched her put on a jacket.
Then a beanie.
Then grab her keys.
"You seriously don't know where you're going?"
"Nope."
"You're concerning."
Ji-Woo smiled.
"Goodbye, village boy."
Ji-Bok immediately gasped.
"EXCUSE ME?"
She ended the call.
The last thing she saw was him lunging toward the camera to continue arguing.
The screen went dark.
For the first time all evening—
Ji-Woo laughed.
A real laugh.
Then she slipped her phone into her pocket.
Locked the door behind her.
And stepped into the cool evening air.
Not because she had somewhere to go.
But because sometimes walking felt easier than staying still.
--
Mi-Sook's father returned without ceremony.
He didn't knock.
He didn't sit.
He walked straight to her desk and placed the folder down as if it weighed nothing at all.
The sound it made—paper against polished wood—was soft. Final.
"They expedited it," he said, already turning away."No contamination. No room for argument."
Mi-Sook didn't look up yet.
"You were right to be cautious," he added after a pause. "People lie. Numbers don't."
Then he left, the door closing behind him with a muted click.
The room settled.
Mi-Sook finally moved.
She reached for the folder, fingers calm, deliberate. She opened it the way one opens a book they already know the ending of.
The report was clinical. Clean. Cold.
DNA COMPARISON RESULT Probability of biological NOT match: 98.7%
Her eyes skimmed the rest—sample sources, lab seals, signatures. Official. Untouchable.
Ninety-eight percent Not match.
Not perfect. Perfect enough.
Mi-Sook exhaled slowly through her nose.
"So," she murmured, more amused than shocked, "you didn't disappear after all."
She closed the folder and slid it neatly into the desk drawer—no hesitation, no drama—then opened a second drawer beneath it.
Inside were two photographs.
She took them out and laid them side by side on the desk.
The first was the real Ji-Woo.
Shorter Bob cut like hair. Softer eyes. A careless smile caught mid-laugh, unaware of cameras or consequences.
Mi-Sook tapped the photo once.
"You were honest," she said quietly. "That's what doomed you."
Then she picked up the second photograph.
The real Ji-Soo. Longer hair. Sharper gaze. Lips pressed like she'd learned early not to ask for permission.
Mi-Sook studied this one longer.
"…And you," she whispered, a faint curve touching her lips, "were brave enough to survive."
She stacked the photos again, Ji-Soo on top.
Ninety-eight percent not a match.
Mi-Sook slid the photographs back into the drawer and locked it.
Click.
"Well," she said to the empty room, standing at last, "let's see which name you're wearing today."
The lights hummed softly above her.
And somewhere far away, a truth kept walking—unaware it had already been measured, labeled, and filed away.
--
The beach was nearly empty.
Not the loud, tourist-filled kind—this stretch of Seoul's coast sat tucked away, where the city softened into water and wind.
Pale sand stretched thin between stone steps and the sea. The waves didn't crash; they breathed.
Slow.
Repetitive. Like something patient.
Mi-Sook stood near the railing, back straight, hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck.
Her dress was simple but expensive—clean lines, muted color, fabric that didn't wrinkle even in the breeze. In one hand, a slim folder. In the other, her phone.
She didn't turn when she heard the sound.
The soft rattle of wheels against pavement.
A careless stop.
Ji-Bok rolled in on his skateboard, hoodie loose, hair a mess like he'd dragged sleep along with him.
He kicked the board up with his foot and caught it easily, eyes half-lidded, irritated.
"You seriously dragged me out here for this?" he said, voice rough. "Do you know what time it is? It's 3 AM. And it's the weekend."
Mi-Sook glanced at her watch.
"Time is relative," she replied calmly. "Truth isn't."
That made him pause.
He stepped closer, squinting at her face. "What's so important you had to wake me up like I'm some delivery guy?"
Without answering, Mi-Sook held out the folder.
Ji-Bok stared at it. Didn't take it.
"…What is this?" he asked, joking already lining his voice like armor.
Mi-Sook's gaze didn't waver.
"Do you remember Ji-Woo's thumbprint?" she asked. "The one I asked you to retrieve?"
His smile twitched.
She continued, unhurried. "The results came back."
A beat.
"I stand corrected."
Something shifted.
Ji-Bok's fingers closed around the folder despite himself. He opened it casually—too casually—until his eyes landed on the report.
Then they widened.
Just a fraction. Enough.
DNA COMPARISON RESULT — 98.7% NOT MATCH
Below it, the photographs.
Same face.
Different hair.
Same bone structure. Same eyes. Same curve of the mouth.
Signed. Sealed. Final.
His breath stalled.
For a moment, the ocean was too loud.
"…That's," he started, then laughed—a sharp, ugly sound. "Wow. You really went all out, huh?"
Mi-Sook watched him like a scientist observing a reaction.
Ji-Bok snapped the folder closed and looked up, grin plastered back on. "You know these things mess up all the time, right? Labs, paperwork—people love drama."
"Not this lab," Mi-Sook said gently.
He shrugged, rolling one shoulder. "So what, you're saying Ji-Woo is—what—some replacement doll?"
"I'm saying," Mi-Sook interrupted softly, "that the girl you've been circling isn't who you think she is."
Silence.
The wind tugged at Ji-Bok's hoodie.
He scoffed, forcing lightness. "You always talk like that? Must be exhausting."
Then, quieter—sharper—
"Stay away from Ji-Woo."
Mi-Sook reached out and took the folder back from his hands. Her fingers brushed his knuckles—deliberate.
A smile curved her lips. Slow. Knowing.
"Oh, Ji-Bok," she said, almost fondly. "You don't get to make requests."
She turned, heels clicking softly against the stone path.
"Especially when you're already standing on the wrong side of the truth."
She walked away without looking back.
Ji-Bok stayed where he was.
The sea kept breathing.
After a moment, he lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, then let it fall to his shoulder like it weighed more than it should have.
"…Damn it," he muttered, exhaling hard.
The skateboard tipped over beside him.
And for the first time, his grin didn't come back.