As the bustling terminal of Incheon Airport thrummed with energy, the overhead speakers crackled, briefly stilling the hum of conversations and hurried footsteps.
"Attention, please. We would like to announce the arrival of flight LH 731 from Frankfurt, Germany. Passengers are now disembarking at Gate 12. Please proceed to the baggage claim area for your luggage."
Youn-jae emerged from the passenger exit, his presence subtly commanding even in casual attire—a stark contrast to the sharp business suits he was known for. His dark hair, impeccably styled just as it had been three years ago, framed a face that had grown more defined, maturity etched into every angle. His jawline was sharper, his expression more seasoned. Moving fluidly through the crowd, his once-youthful charm had transformed into a polished professionalism, exuding an air of quiet authority. Every step he took held a gravity that marked him as someone who had earned his place in the world.
After collecting their luggage, Youn-jae and Secretary Min made their way through the automatic doors, the cool Seoul air greeting them like an old friend. The subtle scent of the city—crisp with autumn and tinged with urban life—filled Youn-jae's senses. It was different, yet it brought a comforting familiarity, like a memory that had resurfaced after years away.
As they approached the waiting black sedan, Youn-jae's steps were steady, his posture relaxed yet undeniably authoritative. He paused briefly beside the car, letting the cool evening air settle around him. His expression was unreadable, but a glimmer of nostalgia softened his gaze as he took in the skyline.
Secretary Min quickly opened the door, ever attentive, and Youn-jae slipped gracefully into the backseat, leaning back into the plush leather with a sigh that betrayed a trace of exhaustion. Secretary Min joined him in the front, turning back with a warm smile.
"Welcome back to Korea, President," he said, his tone warm and respectful.
Youn-jae leaned his head against his hand, his gaze drifting out the window to the familiar cityscape passing by. His expression was distant, a flicker of a wry smile on his lips. "As if I'm the only one who left Korea," he murmured, his tone tinged with quiet irony.
Secretary Min glanced at him in the rearview mirror, a knowing softness in his eyes. "Where would you like to go first, President?" he asked, though he already sensed the answer.
"Let's go to him" Youn-jae replied, his voice steady, though a deep sigh escaped him as he reclined further into his seat. The tension in his shoulders lingered despite his seemingly relaxed posture, a shadow of guilt evident in his eyes.
***
An hour and a half later, the car pulled up to the grand estate in Gapyeong, nestled in the tranquility of the countryside. The mansion, sprawling and opulent, stood eerily silent—its vastness a solemn reminder of the life it once held. As Youn-jae stepped out, the cool night air brushed against his face, grounding him.
He walked slowly past the manicured gardens, each step deliberates as if he were reliving the moments of his past. The path felt endless, lined with memories he had tried to bury, each inch bringing him closer to the cliff's edge.
Finally, Youn-jae stood at the precipice, staring down at the dark, restless water below. The wind tugged at his hair, but he remained motionless, his face etched with sorrow that he no longer tried to mask. His chest felt tight as he broke the silence, his voice trembling.
"I'm back, Ji-won," he whispered, each word thick with regret. His eyes fixed on the waves below, his gaze unwavering. "I'm sorry… for leaving you here for so long. You must have felt so cold down there…"
His voice cracked as he swallowed back tears, his breathing shallow and unsteady. Kneeling, he pressed his hands into the cool earth, clinging to it as if he could draw comfort from the solid ground. His shoulders shook with restrained sobs, and the tears he had held back for so long finally fell, soaking into the grass beneath him.
"Were you lonely down there?" he choked, his voice barely a whisper. His grip tightened on the ground as if it could anchor him in his grief. "I should come home sooner... I should have never left you here. I'm so, so sorry."
The sound of his anguish echoed in the still night, raw and unguarded, the weight of his regret palpable. For a long moment, only the distant crash of waves filled the silence, a haunting reminder of what had been lost.
Standing a few steps behind, Secretary Min watched with quiet concern, his heart heavy as he witnessed Youn-jae's pain. He hesitated, reluctant to intrude on such a vulnerable moment, but as Youn-jae's sobs grew heavier, he finally approached, kneeling beside him and offering a handkerchief with a gentle hand, his voice a soft murmur.
"President... you need to rest," Secretary Min said, his hand resting on Youn-jae's shoulder in a steadying gesture. "It's already late... nearly midnight."
Youn-jae didn't look up, his grip on the handkerchief tight, though he didn't use it. His voice was rough, nearly breaking as he replied, "Just… one more minute."
With a shuddering breath, he gazed into the darkness, his voice soft. "Ji-won," he whispered, "I'm leaving now… but I swear, I'll come back for you."
In the heavy silence that followed, each word hung in the crisp night air. Secretary Min, sensing the depth of his sorrow, stepped back but remained close, unwilling to leave Youn-jae alone in his grief. He watched as Youn-jae's shoulders trembled, silent tears trailing down his face.
In the stillness, the only sound was the soft rustle of the wind, bearing witness to the raw, unrelenting grief pouring from Youn-jae's soul. Secretary Min's eyes glistened with empathy as he bore silent witness, offering his quiet, steadfast support.
***
Uncle Baek, having lost Ji-Won for three long years, had poured his grief into the café, making it a sanctuary of memories. After Ji-Won's passing, Youn-Jae quietly arranged for full ownership of the building to transfer to Uncle Baek, understanding how much the place meant to him. He meticulously ensured that every inch of the café, down to the smallest detail, looked exactly as it had when Ji-Won was alive, preserving it like a tribute frozen in time.
The second floor had been reconstructed with the same care, mirroring its original layout with the kitchen and Ji-Won's room just as they had been. Uncle Baek brought back all of Ji-Won's belongings, carefully arranging each item exactly as he remembered, as if his nephew might return at any moment. The space felt alive with Ji-Won's spirit, as though the café itself held its breath, still waiting for him.
Initially, Uncle Baek resisted Youn-Jae's offer to take over the café. Youn-Jae even made several trips to Jeju to persuade him, documents in hand. Finally, when Byeong-Ho graduated from high school and prepared for college, he added his own gentle pressure, pleading with Uncle Baek to return with him, not wanting to leave him alone in Jeju. He even threatened, playfully but sincerely, to forgo college if Uncle Baek stayed behind. Reluctantly, Uncle Baek agreed, sensing that maybe this was Ji-Won's way of helping them move forward, of nudging them to start over.
With that bittersweet resolve, they returned to the café together after Byeong-Ho's graduation and slowly began anew. But even amidst the bustle of customers and the comforting rhythm of work, Uncle Baek couldn't escape the ache left by Ji-Won. In quieter moments, he would pause mid-task, wiping away silent tears, his pain woven into the walls of the café like a whisper.
"The ones we love never truly leave us,"
"They remain in the spaces we've shared, waiting to find us in the quiet moments."
***
"Byeong-Ho, you're early," he murmured, still focused on aligning the pastries. "Sorry for leaving so early yesterday. Did you manage to finish packing up Hye-Rin's things?" When no response came, he paused, glancing over his shoulder to check on Byeong-Ho. "Are you hungry? Want some breakfast?"
But his words caught in his throat as he saw who was really standing there. It wasn't Byeong-Ho. It was Youn-Jae. His expression was calm, but the weight of years was etched deeply into his eyes.
"Good morning, Uncle," Youn-Jae greeted, his voice soft and steady, though there was an undercurrent of pain that was hard to miss.
Uncle Baek's hands trembled as he gripped the counter for support. "Youn... Youn-Jae?" His voice cracked with disbelief, blinking as if to confirm that this wasn't just a memory conjured by longing.
"I'm back, Uncle," Youn-Jae replied, voice low but resonant with sadness.
Without thinking, Uncle Baek moved forward and took Youn-Jae by the shoulders, his hands trembling as his gaze swept over his face. It was like a father's touch, as if making sure the son he hadn't seen in so long was truly there. "How... how have you been all this time?" he asked, voice thick with emotion. His hands shifted gently, as if checking for any signs of hardship. "Have you been eating well? Did you take care of yourself in Germany?"
Youn-Jae offered a faint, weary smile. "Don't worry about me, Uncle. I'm fine. And you? How's everything here?"
"We're managing," Uncle Baek sighed, reluctantly letting go but still lingering close, concern evident in every line of his face. "Byeong-Ho's still helping out, though I keep telling him to find a proper job and that I'll hire a part-timer. But he's as stubborn as ever."
A faint, fleeting smile appeared on Youn-Jae's face before it faded. "And you, Uncle? I hope you're taking care of yourself." He hesitated, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry… for turning away and leaving everything behind after handing the building over to you."
"Sorry?" Uncle Baek's expression softened.
Youn-Jae lowered his gaze, his voice heavy with guilt. "For everything… it must've been so hard for you… after Ji-Won. This is all because of me. If only I'd managed to go after him that day…" He paused, swallowing back the ache. "I saw his face so clearly, Uncle, right before he ran. He was completely broken, and I just… stood there. It haunts me every night."
Understanding and sorrow filled Uncle Baek's eyes. He reached up, squeezing Youn-Jae's shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. "Oh, Youn-Jae. Don't do this to yourself. None of it was your fault."
"But still… I failed to protect him. I couldn't even bring him the justice he deserves," Youn-Jae's voice broke, his face twisted with regret.
"Come on," Uncle Baek sighed softly, patting his shoulder and stepping back. "Let's sit down. I'll make you some coffee."
Youn-Jae nodded, moving quietly to a table while Uncle Baek disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of cake, setting them down in front of Youn-Jae before sitting across from him.
"So… when did you get back?" Uncle Baek asked, his tone gentle, trying to ease the weight in the room.
"A couple of days ago," Youn-Jae replied, wrapping his hands around the mug as if to draw warmth from it.
Uncle Baek nodded thoughtfully. "And… did the treatment help? Secretary Min updated me about a week after you left, but then there was no more news, so I've been worried."
Youn-Jae hesitated, staring into his coffee as if it held the answers. "It helped, yes. But there are still nights… nights when I dream about him. And when I wake up, the anxiety and panic hit hard." His voice grew quieter, laced with sorrow. "Ji-Won's death anniversary is coming up. I know I was a coward not to come back sooner… but I just… wasn't strong enough until now." Uncle Baek's face softened with a grief that mirrored Youn-Jae's. "Three years without him…" he whispered, his voice catching.
Youn-Jae's grip on the mug tightened, his knuckles turning white as he fought back the tide of emotions. Uncle Baek glanced upward, blinking back tears of his own.
"His room..." Uncle Baek's voice trembled, but he pressed on. "I've arranged it just as it was. It's the only way I can feel close to him." His eyes glistened, the grief still fresh and unchanged by time.
Reaching across the table, Youn-Jae placed a hand over Uncle Baek's, offering a silent support. "Uncle…" he whispered, his voice thick with empathy.
Uncle Baek let out a shaky laugh, trying to regain his composure. "This old man's too emotional," he murmured, wiping his eyes with a rough swipe of his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Youn-Jae. This isn't the kind of reunion I wanted."
Youn-Jae shook his head, his gaze filled with quiet understanding. "It's all right, Uncle."
After a moment of silence, Uncle Baek cleared his throat, glancing up. "By the way… any news about the gunman?"
Youn-Jae's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. "I'm doing everything I can to catch him. I never stopped investigating, even while I was in Germany. And, Uncle, about Ji-Won's body..."
Uncle Baek released a shuddering breath, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I know… I know I was the first to give up, but still… my poor Won-Won. Why did he have to suffer like that? We couldn't even hold a proper ceremony for him. It just feels so wrong…" He sniffled, wiping his face once more.
The café door creaked open softly.
"Uncle!" Byeong-Ho's voice echoed as he entered. Dressed in a sharp black suit, his figure appeared somber, his usually bright face subdued. The crisp white shirt and simple black tie were stark reminders of a recent loss. His steps were heavy, laden with grief.
"Where's Uncle?" he called, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Youn-Jae. Surprise momentarily lit his expression, even in the midst of sorrow.
"President!" Byeong-Ho exclaimed, crossing the room and bowing deeply.
Youn-Jae stood instinctively, glancing at the mourning suit before turning to Uncle Baek, silently asking for an explanation.
"How have you been, Byeong-Ho?" Youn-Jae asked gently, noting the boy's subdued demeanor.
"I'm… managing, President," Byeong-Ho replied, his voice strained. He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous gesture, as he glanced between the two men. The weight in the air was palpable.
"Oh, uh… Uncle, President… I'll head to my room first to change," he stammered, bowing once more before hurrying toward the stairs, his steps slow and heavy.
As Byeong-Ho disappeared, Youn-Jae looked back at Uncle Baek, curiosity in his gaze. Uncle Baek let out a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair.
"Hye-Rin passed away," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "Nasopharyngeal carcinoma. We scattered her ashes at the sea yesterday."
A heaviness settled between them as Youn-Jae listened, his face etched with empathy. Uncle Baek rubbed a hand over his face, weary with sorrow.
"She started having nosebleeds," Uncle Baek continued, his voice tight with emotion. "On her deathbed, she told me Ji-Won had once seen her have one, but she brushed it off and asked to keep it from Byeong-Ho. By the time we realized what was really happening, it was too late. Byeong-Ho was the first to notice—her weight loss, the exhaustion…" Uncle Baek paused, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I just hope she's already with Ji-Won in the afterlife, so he's not alone anymore." Uncle Baek's eyes grew distant, his voice soft with regret. "She kept it all hidden, didn't want us to worry. Even when the pain grew unbearable, she was silent. Stubborn. In the end, she spent her last days in the hospital. Byeong-Ho was with her through it all."
Youn-Jae lowered his head, his hand tightening around his mug, sharing the quiet grief that bound them together.
The story doesn't end here...
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