The mansion was still, save for the soft rustle of the night wind against the windows. In the grand halls of the Shin estate, every room stood like a monument to the family that once lived there—the family that had been taken in an instant, leaving only two survivors.

Hana slept soundly, unaware of the struggle Saejoon faced in the dead of night.

The Night That Didn't End

Saejoon’s days were consumed with the crushing weight of responsibility. The Shin Group demanded his attention at every waking moment, and his physical limitations continued to haunt him. The wheelchair, which had once been his greatest source of resentment, was now a constant reminder of everything he had lost. But he wasn’t content to remain here—confined, helpless. Not when Hana needed him. Not when he had promised himself to be there for her, to somehow—someday—be able to walk again.

And so, when the mansion’s servants had gone to rest, and the moon hung high in the sky, Saejoon would slip away from his desk, quietly leaving the chairman’s office behind. He moved with a deliberate calm, as though every step, every movement, was part of something larger than himself.

Training in Secret

Saejoon had become a master of silence. No one knew of the hours he spent alone, training his body to defy its limitations, each minute a battle against the paralysis that had once seemed insurmountable. The mansion’s vast corridors—too empty, too still—became his training ground, the cold marble floors a challenge he would rise to meet every night.

He had started slow. The first few nights were filled with pain—his legs burning, the muscles that had once been so accustomed to comfort now fighting against him. At first, he could barely sit up from the wheelchair without his arms shaking with the strain. But with each night, his resolve grew. His body, battered and broken, slowly became more cooperative. He would place his hands on the floor, pushing himself up with quiet determination.

The falls were inevitable.

The Quiet Falls

The first time he tried to stand, his legs buckled beneath him. He crumpled to the floor with a muffled thud, his breath catching in his throat. But it didn’t last long. His pride was too strong to let the moment defeat him. The sound of his fall was absorbed by the vast emptiness of the mansion, a silent cry of frustration that went unnoticed.

Saejoon didn’t yell. He didn’t shout out in pain. He simply paused, breathing through the sting in his chest, and pushed himself up again.

His movements were slow, methodical. His hands pressed against the cold floor, his legs trembling as he gathered the strength to rise once more. And when he did—no matter how shaky, no matter how exhausted—he stood, if only for a few seconds. The act of standing, of not being confined, was a small victory in a life full of loss.

For Hana

It wasn’t for himself that Saejoon pushed through the pain, though. No, this was for Hana. Every drop of sweat, every muscle that screamed in protest, every fall he endured—these were for her.

He remembered her small face, her innocent eyes that still searched for comfort in him, despite everything that had happened. She needed him—needed him to be strong, to be her protector, to be the brother who would never give up. And so he couldn’t stop.

No matter how many times he failed. No matter how much pain he felt.

The first time he managed to stay on his feet for more than a minute, he let out a quiet breath of relief. But it wasn’t enough. He was still too far from the person he used to be—the person who could chase after her, who could carry her when she was tired, who could be her support without limitation.

With each fall, with each moment of failure, he thought of her. Of her bright smile. Of the way she looked at him with that unwavering trust, even now.

And so, Saejoon would rise again.

A Promise in the Silence

As the clock ticked closer to dawn, Saejoon’s body ached in ways he hadn’t known were possible. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Hana was asleep upstairs, unaware of the hours he spent pushing himself to the brink. She was still a child—still young enough to believe that the world would one day make sense again.

And Saejoon knew that if he didn’t try—if he didn’t fight to stand, to walk again—he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his promise. He wouldn’t be able to be the brother she needed. He wouldn’t be able to be the person she could depend on.

He forced his legs to move, step by step, no matter how much they trembled. And even though his body screamed for rest, even though his mind threatened to buckle under the weight of exhaustion, Saejoon kept going.

The Smallest Victory

By the time dawn’s first light crept into the mansion, Saejoon was back in his chair, breathing hard, his hands resting on the arms as he stared out the window at the horizon. His body was drenched in sweat, but his heart was filled with something different. A quiet kind of resolve.

He had fallen again, but that didn’t matter. He had risen. He had stayed standing longer than before. And he would keep trying.

For Hana.

She would never know of the hours he spent training, of the pain he endured in secret. And that was fine with him. As long as she was safe, as long as she smiled, as long as he could stand for just a little longer every day, he would do it. He would keep fighting.

And one day, maybe—just maybe—he would be able to walk again.