The air in the Shin Mansion felt different that morning, heavy with memories and unspoken words. Saejoon sat in the grand living room, staring blankly at the framed photographs of his parents, older sister, and younger brother. They had all been taken far too soon, and the passage of time had done little to dull the ache in his chest. Today, the house was silent, save for the quiet footsteps of the staff and the soft murmur of preparations for the memorial service.

It was an event that Saejoon had to organize, both as the head of the Shin Group and as the sole remaining member of his immediate family. Despite his newfound role as chairman, he still found himself paralyzed by the weight of the day. It wasn’t just the solemn occasion that filled him with dread, but the realization that he was the one who had to carry on. His parents, his sister Yeseul, his younger brother Haneul—they were all gone, leaving him with the responsibility of an empire, and now, the duty to remember them properly.

The ceremony was small compared to what it might have been—fitting for a family that had once been whole, yet now seemed fragmented, scarred by tragedy. Only a few close family friends, colleagues, and distant relatives would attend. Hana was in her room, her face drawn with a quiet sadness, unwilling to join him just yet. She hadn’t been the same since the accident. She was still young, still processing what had happened, but Saejoon knew she would be there soon enough.

Saejoon had made it clear that he didn’t need the formalities of a large, extravagant memorial. The family’s personal space was where they would gather—just him, Hana, and a handful of important people who had been with the Shin family through thick and thin. But even in its simplicity, the memorial carried an unspoken weight.

The staff had prepared the room for the memorial service, placing incense and offerings on the altar with reverence. The photographs of his parents, Yeseul, and Haneul were arranged carefully in the center, the once vibrant faces now frozen in time, reminders of the family Saejoon could no longer hold.

Hana entered the room quietly, dressed in a simple black dress, her expression unreadable. She had always been the livelier of the two siblings, but today she seemed quieter than usual, the loss of their family weighing heavily on her as well.

Saejoon looked up as she approached. He was seated on a chair in front of the altar, his back straight, his expression solemn. Despite everything, he had prepared for this moment—this painful moment of remembrance. He would not cry. He couldn’t. Not for their sake, not for Hana's.

Hana walked up to him slowly, her eyes lingering on the photographs. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing over Yeseul's face in the photograph. For a moment, Saejoon watched her, unsure of what to say. Hana never had much to say about their parents' death, nor about the grief that had followed. But he knew that, in her own way, she was grieving, too.

"I miss them," Hana said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Saejoon didn’t reply at first, just stared at the pictures, lost in the past. He couldn’t afford to show weakness—not today, not in front of Hana. She needed him to be strong. "I know," he finally said, his voice low but steady. "I miss them, too."

He turned to face her, offering a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "But we’ll get through this, Hana. We still have each other."

She nodded but didn’t respond. She simply took a seat beside him, her presence comforting in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. For a long while, they sat in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in.

The door to the room opened again, and a few of their closest family friends entered, their expressions respectful but somber. The ceremony began.

Saejoon stayed focused on the proceedings, listening to the words spoken by the family friends, though his mind was elsewhere. All he could think about were the things left unsaid, the things left undone. He had inherited it all—his parents’ wealth, their business, their name—but the truth was, the inheritance was a burden.

As the incense smoke swirled in the air and soft prayers filled the room, Saejoon closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over him. He saw his father’s stern face, always guiding him, always demanding more. He remembered his mother’s kind smile, her gentle voice telling him that everything would be okay, that he would make it through. And then there was Yeseul—his older sister, so much like their father, so much stronger than him. She had always protected him, but now she was gone.

And Haneul… his younger brother, so full of life and energy, the one who always knew how to make Saejoon laugh.

It was too much to carry alone. The weight of it all, the silence, the void—he was used to shouldering it, but today, he felt like he might crumble. But then he felt Hana’s presence beside him, her hand lightly resting on his. He squeezed it gently, knowing that for as long as she was there, he would find the strength to keep going.

After the memorial service, the guests quietly departed, leaving the Shin Mansion still and silent once again. The staff returned to their duties, and the world outside went on, indifferent to the pain that lingered within the walls of the mansion.

Saejoon stood in the doorway of the memorial room, his hand resting on the doorframe. He could still smell the incense in the air, feel the heaviness of the occasion pressing down on him. He had done what was expected, had followed through with the formalities, but it didn’t bring him any closer to accepting the reality of what had happened.

Hana walked up behind him, her footsteps soft but steady. “Saejoon, you okay?”

He turned to face her, offering her a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

But the truth was, Saejoon wasn’t sure he would ever truly be okay. The weight of the world still felt heavy on his shoulders, and the emptiness that came with losing their family remained. But as he looked at Hana, standing there beside him, he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t face the world alone. They had each other, and that was enough.

For now.