Miss Ji-hye sat alone at the small dining table, a bowl of freshly cut fruit resting in front of her. The late morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, warming the quiet apartment. She picked up a slice of apple, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Bang—!

The front door burst open so violently that the walls seemed to tremble.

Ji-hye flinched. “Jun—!”

A tall boy rushed inside, his hair slightly messy, backpack slung over one shoulder. It was Jun—her son, though not by blood. She hadn’t given birth to him, but she had raised him as her own ever since the day she found him abandoned, on a rainy night sixteen years ago.

Jun searched frantically, patting his pockets, his eyes darting around the room.

Ji-hye frowned. “Didn’t you leave forty minutes ago?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Why did you come back? You’re going to be late for college.”

Jun suddenly froze. His eyes lit up as he spotted something on the shoe rack.

“There it is.” He grabbed his wallet and let out a relieved sigh.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, already heading back toward the door. “I forgot my wallet.”

Before Ji-hye could scold him further, he was gone again, the door slamming shut behind him.

She shook her head and scoffed softly.
“Such a careless boy. I wonder how long this will last?”

She returned to her fruit, but before she could take another bite, her phone began to ring.

Ji-hye glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number.

This number had been calling for days. At first, she ignored it—assuming it was spam or a wrong number. But lately, the calls had become more frequent. Every day. Sometimes twice. Sometimes at odd hours.

The phone continued ringing, the sound sharp and unsettling in the quiet apartment.

After a long pause, Ji-hye finally answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was cautious.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Yes, is this choi Ji-hye?”

The person spoke.

“Who is this?” she demanded.

The voice on the other end was calm—too calm.
“He is alive right?”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she replied.

….

It was 11 p.m. when Jun finally arrived home, the cool night air brushing against his face as he trudged up the steps. His shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion, the adrenaline from the basketball game earlier still coursing faintly through him. Victory had tasted sweet, but the celebrations afterward had been… louder than he expected. A nightclub, a few too many drinks, the laughter of friends echoing in his ears—Jun tried to push it all away, but the nagging voice in his head reminded him: he was late. Again. And Miss Ji-hye, as always, would not let this go unnoticed.

As he turned the corner to approach his apartment, something caught his eye.

A luxurious black car was parked right in front of the building, gleaming under the dim streetlights. Its polished surface reflected the streetlamp in a way that made it look almost unreal, like it didn’t belong here. Jun’s heart skipped a beat.

Who…?

His curiosity wrestled with a sudden surge of unease. He slowed his steps, approaching cautiously, keeping his gaze fixed on the vehicle. The driver’s seat was empty, but the car seemed important—too important, somehow. Jun didn’t recognize it, and yet, there was an inexplicable familiarity about the way it sat there, as if it were waiting for someone.

Shaking off the thought, he quietly unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside. The lights were still on—a minor surprise, since Ji-hye usually turned everything off by ten. And then, he saw him.

An old man sat across from Ji-hye at the dining table. His posture was upright, regal, commanding. There was something about him, a weight in his presence that made Jun pause in the hallway. He didn’t know why, but the man felt familiar. Unsettlingly so.

“Jun,” Ji-hye said, her voice calm but firm.
“You’re late.”

“S-sorry,” Jun replied, his words stumbling over themselves as he tried to process the sight before him.

“You’re drunk again?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“N-no… just a little tipsy,” he said, forcing a casual shrug. “Don’t worry.”

She let out a soft sigh, clearly unconvinced.

Jun’s gaze drifted back to the stranger. His stomach churned. Something about this man… it didn’t sit right with him.
“Who is he, Mom?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Silence.

Ji-hye didn’t answer. Instead, she stood up, brushing her hands against her skirt.
“Go upstairs. Get cleaned. And stop this habit of going to nightclubs—you’re becoming rebellious.”

Jun frowned, lowering his head. He hated being lectured, especially when he had done nothing seriously wrong, but he didn’t argue. He obeyed, trudging up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. His mind, however, refused to settle.

The old man leaned back in his chair. “It’s been sixteen years,” he murmured, voice low. “It’s normal he doesn’t recognize me.”

Ji-hye nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “It will be a shock for him. Please… give me time to make him understand.”

The old man’s eyes softened slightly. “I will. But his eyes…” he said, voice thick with emotion. “They’re just like his father’s. Same color. Same shape. It’s as if I’m looking at him again.”

He paused, then added, “I will take him back to Seoul. Enroll him in a prestigious college. His future should not be left to chance.”

12:00 a.m.

Jun sat in front of his mirror, towel draped around his neck, hair damp from the shower. He stared at his reflection, combing through his wet hair with his fingers absentmindedly. His mind was in turmoil. The man from downstairs kept returning to him, unbidden. There was something familiar about him. The kind of familiarity that pricked at the edge of memory, teasing him, yet refusing to reveal itself.

Who is he?

Jun’s heart raced as he thought back to the brief moment he saw the man’s face—the sharp jawline, the slightly stern eyes, the presence that made the room feel heavier. He shook his head. No. He couldn’t think about it. He had Miss Ji-hye, and that was enough. That man… whoever he was… wasn’t part of his life.

A soft knock on the door made him jump slightly. “Come in,” he called.

Ji-hye stepped inside, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes looked tired, more so than usual, and something about her posture made Jun hesitate before speaking.

“Who was that man?” he asked again, trying to sound casual, though his voice betrayed the tension in his chest.

Ji-hye took a deep breath. Her hands rested lightly on her lap, trembling. “Jun… do you remember your real family?”

Jun froze. The question struck him like a punch to the gut. His mind went blank for a moment, as though the very air in the room had thickened.

“Why… why are you bringing that up now?” he said finally, his voice low and guarded.

“I’m just asking,” Ji-hye replied softly.

“Are you finally annoyed with me?” he shot back, frustration threading through his words.

She gasped. “Shut up! What are you saying?”

“How would I remember a family that never searched for me?” Jun’s voice grew bitter. “I don’t remember anything—except the part when some woman was with me that day then i got lost, That’s all I have.”

He reached for a glass of water, his hands shaking slightly from the anger and confusion swelling inside him.

Ji-hye’s voice broke through his haze. “That man… he was your real grandfather.”

The glass slipped from Jun’s hands and shattered on the floor. He stared at her, disbelief and anger mixing in his chest.

“You’re joking… right? Mom, you’re joking.”

She shook her head. “He wants to take you back.”

Jun’s mind spun. “Someone can’t just come back after sixteen years and claim me like I’m some object. A possession.”

“He can,” Ji-hye replied softly, pain and resolve warring in her expression.

“MOM!” Jun yelled, his voice cracking.

Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t argue,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ve done my job. I’ve raised you. Now it’s time for you to go back… where you belong.”

Jun clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. “No! I won’t—”

“Don’t be stubborn, Jun” she cut him off, her voice now firm, unyielding.

“Why… why are you being like this to me?” he whispered, broken and exhausted.

Ji-hye didn’t answer. She stood and left the room, leaving Jun staring at the shattered glass on the floor, a tangible reminder of his fractured world.

The next morning, Jun woke late. It was a holiday, and for once, he didn’t have college. The quiet apartment felt heavier than usual, laden with unspoken words.

He tried to ignore Ji-hye since morning.

Ji-hye approached him while he was sipping his breakfast, eyes cautious. “Jun… you need to talk to your grandfather today.”

Jun froze. He wanted nothing to do with that man, nothing to do with the past he had been shielded from for sixteen years. And yet… there was a pull he could not explain, a weight pressing at his chest.

Night fell, and the call finally came. Jun hesitated, then went downstairs.

“You know,” the old man said, voice calm but tinged with urgency, “my days are short now. The doctors have confirmed it. You are the first person I’m telling this to.”

Jun said nothing. Words felt useless here, inadequate for the storm raging in his chest.

“You have always been my most beloved grandson,” the old man continued. “Since the day you were born.”

Jun’s chest tightened. His heart thudded painfully, caught between defiance and something he couldn’t name. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and held the man’s hand.

“Before I die,” his grandfather said softly, “I want my whole family together. Just once. Please.”

Jun closed his eyes, the weight of the years pressing down on him. He wanted to resist, wanted to reject this intrusion into the life he had built, however ordinary it had been. And yet… this time, he knew he could not.

The night stretched on, filled with silent understanding and quiet resignation. Jun realized that the path before him had changed irrevocably. His life, once small and self-contained, was about to collide with a past he had no memory of.