Chapter 4c Walking Alone
Walking Alone
I need some air. The thought hits sharp, like a physical need. “I’m going for a walk,” I announce, not looking at Shin directly.
He looks up from his laptop, worry instantly creasing his brow. “Alone?”
“I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman, Shin. I think I can handle a ten-minute walk without a security detail.” The sarcasm cuts sharper than I intend.
He looks like he wants to argue, but he just says, “Okay, but we’ll need to go to the police station. The faster, the better. Our team says it’s best to be proactive. Don’t stay out too late.”
I sigh and nod, then pull on an oversized hoodie, tug my cap low, and slip on a mask. The door clicks shut behind me.
I know it’s a terrible idea. One blurry photo, one person recognizing me, and the internet will have another field day. Words move fast; rumors move faster. I’m already the main character in their storm. I don’t need to give them another chapter.
But being stuck at home with my overcaring manager feels smothering. So I leave.
Outside, the Seoul night is crisp, edged with the tang of street food and the gritty scent of the city. It feels like a held breath—poised between everything changing and nothing ever changing at all.
I shove my hands in my pockets and walk with no destination. Past shuttered shops and neon-lit convenience stores. Away from Shin’s quiet concern. Away from Suho’s chaotic pull. Away from the cameras, the headlines, the hashtags. Just… away.
It hits me then—how utterly alone I am. No manager, no lover, no family, no stylists, no entourage. Just me and the pavement.
For the first time in over fifteen years, nothing is mapped out. It’s unsettling—and somehow liberating. Maybe that’s why I don’t stop.
If I go home—my real family home, right now—I know exactly what I’ll find. My father slumped on the couch with a half-empty soju bottle, the TV blaring to an empty room. The stale, heavy smell of alcohol and regret.
Best case: he’s passed out. Worst case: he’s awake, asking for money, his eyes never quite meeting mine. And sometimes, it could be both in the same evening—switching from unconscious to insistent, as if my presence can feed the void he carries.
I still have nightmares about being sixteen—hands shaking, panicking as I check his pulse and call for an ambulance. I’m terrified of opening that door and finding that same scene waiting for me, of hearing him mutter her name in his sleep—my mother’s name.
Sometimes I think my career doesn’t just give me a future; it saves me from my past. The grueling trainee life—the dorms, the endless rehearsals—is an escape. I’m too busy, too exhausted to think about anything else. Especially not my family.
As if on cue, my pocket buzzes. A message from my brother, Yeong-gi.
Guess you’re not picking up. Hope you still got a job after this mess.
Not, Are you okay? Not, I’m here for you. Just a passive-aggressive jab disguised as concern. He only ever cares about the allowance I send him.
I used to hope he’d hit rock bottom and finally get his life together. But rock bottom, I’ve learned, has a basement. And he’s still digging.
I take a sharp turn into a quiet residential street in Mapo-gu, not far from my aunt’s place. She’s the only one who ever tells me anything about my mother.
“She’s in Jeju now,” she says years ago, her voice laced with pity. “Opened her own little coffee shop, I heard. Still too soft-hearted for her own good.” She gives me the only thing she ever received from my mother: a faded postcard of a Jeju beach, no return address.
The rushed scrawl on the back is achingly familiar. It’s the kind of ache you press on just to make sure it’s still real.
I find myself in a tiny neighborhood park and sit on a cold, metal swing, pushing off gently with my toes. My thoughts drift to my mother.
Is she happy?
Has she found someone new, started another family?
Or is she like me—a little lost, a little lonely, never quite sure where she belongs?
Did she see the news and worry? Or am I just a ghost to her, too?
I lean back, looking for stars behind the city’s orange glow. You have to squint to see them here. A distant, mathematical certainty. A reminder that the universe doesn’t really care about your little scandal.
And in the quiet, a thought forms—clear and sharp.
The career I’ve built is crumbling. My family is a lost cause. Friendships have faded.
The men in my life… Shin and Suho… represent two very different kinds of cages: one safe and gilded, the other passionate and broken.
What if I don’t want either? What if I just want to be my own person—not someone’s project, not someone’s secret?
I could go back to Shin, let him make me tea, and slip back into the safety of being managed.
Or I could turn on my phone, reply to Suho, and dive into the familiar chaos.
Or I could book a ticket to Jeju. I could find the woman who gave me my name, ask her why she left. I could see her coffee shop. I could stand on that beach from the postcard.
I rise from the swing, a new kind of resolve settling in my chest.
I will…
? Go back to the apartment to see Shin.
Turn to page 58
? Reply Suho’s text and meet him.
Turn to page 40
? Skip both and go to Auntie’s place.
Turn to page 217