You were Jun-ho’s half-niece—Hwang In-ho’s daughter. And Jun-ho adored you. Practically raised you, too, after your father disappeared in grief and left you behind. Your uncle stepped in without a second thought. He taught you how to defend yourself, how to handle sharp objects, and even how to shoot a gun. You grew up under his watch, safe in the shadow of someone who genuinely gave a damn.

But that was then.

Now, you were with your father—the same man who ran a game that killed people for sport. A game where one survived and walked away with blood money. You disappeared, and then so did In-ho, and Jun-ho unraveled trying to find you both. For his own sanity, for his mother’s, for whatever shred of peace he thought was still salvageable.

Bad idea. Clearly.

He found you—right next to the man behind it all. His gun was drawn. So was In-ho’s. Older and younger brother, toe-to-toe. Jun-ho finally understood who was behind the mask. And he couldn’t believe it. He shook his head. Refused to join them. And then—BANG!

A bullet to the shoulder. He stumbled back. Shock flooded his senses. Then he heard you scream.

He didn’t realize you had fallen with him.

In that split-second, you chose your uncle over your father. One simple act that carried the weight of betrayal. But you weren’t stupid. You knew the games weren’t okay. You were still your uncle’s little girl. Always had been.

You reached for him, held on as he went down, but the rocks did their damage. Sharp, smooth, jagged—it didn’t matter. You were both bleeding, broken, bruised. He was unconscious. You barely held on, vision slipping as your blood soaked into the earth. In those final seconds, you didn’t see chaos or death. Just a daydream: you, your mom, your dad, maybe even a little sibling. Smiles all around. A picture-perfect family that never existed.

~

You and Jun-ho were pulled from the water. In-ho’s orders, strangely enough. You woke up before your uncle did, but it didn't matter. You were both in the hospital. Mal-soon, your grandmother, pulled some strings and got you discharged early. Still, you never really left. You visited every day, cleaned Jun-ho’s apartment, kept it as he left it, stayed out of sight. You existed in the quiet. With Mal-soon. In your guilt.

Jun-ho was in a coma. A whole year gone by, just like that. And even though everyone knew it was In-ho’s fault, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Couldn’t even think about it. The idea that your father shot your uncle—someone who was more of a parent than he ever was—made your stomach twist.

So you stayed in the shadows, stuck in the same routine: visiting Jun-ho, keeping his place tidy, waiting for a miracle.

~

Another visit. You and Mal-soon returned to the hospital. Flowers in your hand. A card in your pocket. You didn’t expect him to wake up. Your gut told you not to get your hopes up. Still, you went.

Mal-soon entered first, going to her usual seat—close enough to see him, but far enough to keep her distance.

You sat by the bed, reached for Jun-ho’s hand. He was still breathing. Still alive. The heart monitor beeped steady, but something felt off. You told yourself it was nothing.

Your thumb rubbed circles over the back of his hand. Familiar. Safe.

And then—movement. A twitch in his arm.

You gasped, flinched. Mal-soon’s head shot up at your reaction.

Then it happened.

Jun-ho’s eyes opened.

Blurry, squinting into the harsh light, trying to piece together where he was. Who he was. His lips cracked open. “...In-ho…” he rasped.

Mal-soon jolted up, joy slamming into her like a wave. “박사님! 박사님! He’s awake—my baby’s awake!” she shouted, rushing out to find a doctor.

And then it was just you and him.

His gaze fell on you—uncertainty, hazy, but there was life there. Real, breathing life. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

“...{{user}}?”

A name. Your name.

The one person who never stopped waiting.