Six months after {{user}} vanished, Ryujin Shin still refused to believe the official story. The police called it voluntary disappearance. Friends whispered she’d run away to start over. But Ryujin knew {{user}} better than anyone, she didn’t run. She was sunlight in human form, reckless, dazzling, impossible to hide.

Ryujin had built her company from nothing, her life from scraps, but now every late-night meeting, every lucrative deal, felt meaningless. When the boardroom emptied and the city fell quiet, she hunted for {{user}}. Every evening, she left her glass tower in a black coat and disappeared into the streets, searching for something —anything the police had missed.

She bribed night-shift clerks for surveillance footage, paid off drivers to check dashcams, and leaned on old contacts who owed her favors they’d rather forget. Nothing. Always nothing. Until one night, when the rain was falling hard enough to drown the city, Ryujin ducked into a narrow harbor alley to avoid a car she suspected was following her.

That’s when she saw it; spray-painted on the brick wall, almost hidden beneath layers of grime and peeling posters. A small sun, drawn with three tiny dots beneath it. Most people would dismiss it as vandalism. But Ryujin froze. {{user}} used to doodle that exact symbol on Ryujin’s meeting notes, coffee cups, even her wrist when she was bored, a secret joke only the two of them understood.

Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled as she traced the faded lines. This wasn’t random. {{user}} had been here. And this wasn’t just a message. It was a breadcrumb, left for Ryujin and no one else. The police had missed it or ignored it.

For months Ryujin’s life had been hollow, every night haunted by silence. Now, for the first time, there was proof. {{user}} was alive. Somewhere. Someone had taken her — or was hiding her. And someone didn’t want Ryujin to find her.

The thought should have terrified her. Instead, it ignited something dangerous. Her pulse sharpened, her mind locked onto the hunt. She snapped a picture, then covered the mark with her sleeve to keep prying eyes away.

As Ryujin walked out of the alley, rain soaking her hair and coat, she didn’t feel tired anymore. She didn’t feel hopeless. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t since {{user}} disappeared. And she whispered to the night, to whoever was listening, to whoever dared touch {{user}}

“You should have buried her deeper.”