The courtroom reconvened under lockdown.
No reporters.
No spectators.
Only the judge, the jury, the lawyers, the accused, and the truth.
Kang Dae-Shik sat in custody at the front, wrists cuffed, face blank. The scar that once made him look untouchable now looked like a crack running through a mask.
Hana sat beside Mr. Choi, her sketchpad closed for the first time.
She had already spoken.
Judge Min's voice cut through the silence.
"This court will now hear final testimony regarding Kang Dae-Shik."
The prosecutor stood slowly, confidence gone.
"For the record… the state withdraws all charges against the defendant."
A gasp echoed.
Hana's father closed his eyes and cried quietly.
Mr. Choi placed a steady hand on Hana's shoulder.
The prosecutor continued, voice heavy.
"Evidence confirms that Kang Dae-Shik manipulated witnesses, bribed a juror, falsified identity, and committed the crime for which the defendant was falsely accused."
Judge Min nodded once.
"Proceed."
In a small room behind the courthouse, Kang Dae-Shik sat across from Officer Lim.
"You could've stayed hidden," Lim said. "Why come back?"
Kang smiled faintly. "Because silence never lasts. Someone always remembers."
"You were watching the girl."
"She was watching me," Kang replied. "Even when no one listened."
Lim leaned forward. "You kidnapped a child fourteen years ago."
Kang's smile faded.
"She screamed. This one didn't."
He paused. "That scared me."
Later, Mr. Choi asked Hana's father to speak—this time with patience, not judgment.
"I saw him," the man said slowly. "That night long ago. Smoke. Scar. He pulled the girl away."
"Why didn't you chase him?" Choi asked gently.
"I tried," he whispered. "But I was scared. And no one believes scared people like me."
Hana reached for her father's hand.
He squeezed back.
For once, he was heard.
Rain poured as Kang was escorted outside.
Then—
A shout.
A sudden shove.
Kang broke free.
He ran.
Police shouted. Feet splashed against wet pavement.
Hana watched from the doorway, heart pounding.
Kang stopped under a streetlight and turned.
For a moment, his eyes met hers.
Not anger
Not hatred.
Regret.
Police surrounded him.
Slowly, he raised his hands.
It was over.
Weeks later, sunlight filled a small apartment.
Hana sat by the window, drawing—not shadows, not scars.
A house.
Two people inside.
And no one outside.
Her father watched quietly.
Mr. Choi stood at the door, smiling softly.
Justice had finally learned how to listen.
And silence—
Had finally been understood.