The moment Jiwoo and Christine arrived, Jiwoo froze. Her eyes widened at the sight of him being beaten so brutally. She couldn't move.
Christine, however, ran straight forward, shouting and trying to pull the guards away.
"What are you doing? Stop it!"
But she was too small, too weak to make a difference.
Mr. Joon's gaze snapped to Jiwoo, who was still standing frozen. His tone was cold, cutting.
"Jiwoo, take your girlfriend away. This is a family matter. Keep her out of it."
Jiwoo stepped forward slowly and held Christine's hand.
"Christine, let's go to the room."
But the younger girl refused to leave. She continued shouting, struggling against him, demanding the guards stop.
Seeing her risk Mr. Joon's wrath, Jiwoo's own voice rose, sharp and commanding.
"Christine! Stop it! Let's go to our room! This is a family issue—you don't need to be involved!"
Han's eyes widened. It was the first time he had ever seen Jiwoo shout at Christine like that.
Christine froze, tears streaming down her face.
"Jiwoo… I'm not your family," she whispered.
Jiwoo didn't answer. She held Christine's hand once more, softer this time.
"Let's go upstairs and talk," she murmured.
Christine pulled her hand away and left quietly.
Han realized, in that moment, that no one could save him.
The bodyguards continued their assault. Hours—or maybe minutes—blurred together. His body felt impossibly heavy, his thoughts fading. Each hit pushed him closer to the edge. Perhaps, he thought, death would finally bring peace.
Then, unexpectedly, Mrs. Joon returned. She had been scheduled to come back from Europe in three days, but she arrived that very day. She rushed forward, shouting at the guards. They obeyed immediately.
She knelt beside him, gently straightening his torn clothes, fixing his hair, her voice trembling.
"I'm sorry… I came late. I'm so sorry, my son. Go home. The driver will take you."
Mr. Joon remained silent. No one dared speak. Han rose slowly, his steps trembling, each breath heavier than the last. The guards flanked him, waiting for any order to pull him back, but none came.
In the car, his mind was numb. All he wanted was to see Seungmin—just once, to hold him and feel alive. He called.
Seungmin answered.
"Seungmin…" His voice shook. "Can you come to my house? I… I'm really losing myself."
Seungmin's reply was cold, clipped.
"Han, I'm sorry. I'm busy."
Han blinked, disbelief washing over him. "Can't you come for five or ten minutes? I really need you."
"I'm sorry. I can't come right now," Seungmin said again, and the line went silent.
Han let the phone slip from his fingers. He stared out the window as the world blurred past, empty and meaningless.
When he arrived home, Chaewon was waiting near the gate. The moment he saw Han's bruised, battered body, he ran to him.
"Hyung, what happened? You're covered in bandages! Doesn't it hurt?" His voice cracked with worry.
That warmth—something Han hadn't received from Seungmin even when he begged—washed over him now, freely given without hesitation.
He forced a small, fragile smile.
"I'm okay," he said quietly. "They're just wounds. They'll heal."