"…!"

Buried deep within the entrails of the goldfish was something small and inconspicuous.

Baek Saeon pulled out a tiny USB drive.

Returning to his office without delay, he inserted the USB into the computer’s port. Inside was a single video file.

He slipped on his earphones and pressed play.

『Hey, sis. How’ve you been?』

“...!”

The lively, energetic voice of a young man filled his ears, almost bursting with vitality.

An unfamiliar face leaned in close to the camera.

『Long time no see, call boy. It’s been a while.』

“….”

『Oh, right. Are you still using my phone?』

The blindingly blue sky stretched endlessly behind the man, his bright smile glowing like a midsummer’s day.

His curly hair slightly shadowed his eyes, but his distinct features were unmistakable—playful smirk, mischievous tone, and glinting eyes.

『Keep making calls, sis. Just keep going.』

『You’ll keep being my voice, won’t you?』

『You have to be my messenger.』

『Just like how you want to hear those divorce words, I have something I want to hear, too.』

The man seemed to be on a swing, his face drawing closer and then pulling away in rhythm.

The moment their eyes met through the video, Baek Saeon’s complexion turned ashen.

If ― had survived, he would have grown up to look just like this young man.

『There’s something I want to hear from you, too.』

The sound of crickets chirping on a summer night, the sticky air by the riverbanks, the cabin near the fishing spot…

Old memories rushed at him like a torrential flood.

The slap of water against the surface. The desperate splashing and thrashing—

And the eerie silence that followed when someone’s struggling began to fade.

Every sensation came crashing down like a thunderstorm.

The end, and the beginning, of everything.

It felt as though he was suffocating.

At last, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to click into place.

“You… you were alive.”

And now, he began to grasp what—or rather, who—Heeju had become entangled with.

***

“Interpreter, over here!”

A staff member from the workshop eagerly waved her arm, signaling Heeju. When Heeju approached, the woman added apologetically, “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting. My head’s all over the place today... whew.”

She placed a hand over her knit sweater as if to steady herself.

“Something really disturbing happened earlier.”

“...?”

Heeju tilted her head slightly, her large, attentive eyes encouraging the woman to continue. The employee, seemingly disarmed by Heeju’s calm demeanor, lowered her voice.

“Well... there was this really creepy delivery sent to our office today.”

The woman shivered, visibly unsettled.

“A bunch of severed goldfish heads.”

“...!”

Goldfish?

Heeju froze momentarily, but the staffer quickly changed the subject, trying to brighten the mood.

“We’ll wait here for now. The President’s speech just wrapped up, and the spokesperson will be down shortly.”

The briefing room was packed with journalists from various media outlets, each occupied with their laptops, making calls, or hastily tying back their hair. The air was sharp with anticipation.

Suddenly, a ripple of murmurs spread through the room, and heads turned in unison.

“...!”

What’s happening?

Even the broadcast cameras lit up, their red indicators glowing as they aimed in one direction.

Feeling the weight of curious stares, Heeju glanced behind her and froze. Towering behind her was Baek Saeon, his commanding presence drawing all attention.

“Ah...”

The sound escaped her lips involuntarily, its meaning unclear even to herself.

Without lowering his elevated gaze, Baek Saeon adjusted his tie.

“I told you not to call me here, yet here I am.”

“...!”

His muttered complaint was audible only to her, and she instinctively flinched.

As she stiffened, his cool voice brushed over her shoulder.

“Don’t just stand there. Find a seat.”

With that, he strode toward the podium, leaving her rooted in place.

The cameras flashed, and the tension in the room spiked as Baek Saeon took his place behind the Presidential podium.

“The President’s special address covered his administration’s key accomplishments and candid views on current issues,” he began, his voice sharp and resonant. “Please raise your hand if you have any questions.”

His stern yet persuasive tone commanded attention.

Watching the palpable tension among the journalists, Heeju swallowed hard. The atmosphere was primed for dissection, as expected.

Hands shot up, and the room buzzed as questions flew and answers volleyed back, a rapid exchange akin to a ping-pong match.

Baek Saeon handled the inquiries with seamless precision, and even observing him stirred Heeju’s nerves.

What if I were standing beside him?

She resolved silently to practice keeping pace more diligently.

Lost in concentration, she was jolted when a female journalist stood up. The woman had been keeping her head low until now. Heeju’s gaze followed her instinctively.

“Good afternoon, I’m Hong In-ah from Myungji Daily.”

“...!”

What?

“The government’s task force investigating real estate speculation has been active for over two months now,” the journalist began.

Heeju felt her breath catch.

Her sister?

The sister who had vanished without a word the night before her wedding? It had been three years since Heeju last saw her.

The upturned corners of her sister’s sharp eyes, her loosely tied long hair, and her sculpted features—all unchanged.

Heeju stared in stunned disbelief. More bewildering was seeing her sister working for a competing outlet, not their family’s favored Sankyeong Daily.

“Inadequate progress has been made despite the widespread nature of illegal speculation. There are concerns that the investigation is failing to produce substantial results. What is the government’s stance on this?”

The same sister who had avoided speaking altogether after losing her hearing. The one who hated sounding clumsy so much that she’d practiced sign language until her hands bruised.

But now, In-ah spoke with unmatched clarity and confidence. Heeju’s heart twisted in awe, pride... and a pang of loneliness.

This new, complete version of her sister no longer needed her. It felt as though Heeju was now the only broken one.

“What’s the government’s response?”

“...”

Baek Saeon’s gaze locked with Hong In-ah’s.

Even the fleeting silence between them seemed weighted with significance.

“Spokesperson Baek, your answer, please.”

His brow twitched subtly, and his fingers tapped rhythmically against the podium. His nails looked oddly discolored, tinged blue.

For a fleeting second, it felt as though his eyes flicked toward Heeju, but she was too disoriented to notice.

Once again, she felt herself pushed to the margins.

“The task force has investigated over a thousand individuals to date,” he began, his tone cool and detached. “Of those, 113 have been referred to prosecutors, and 27 have been detained.”

“How many of those thousand are high-ranking officials?”

“Twenty.”

“Only twenty.”

“Investigations into high-ranking officials are not intentionally delayed. The need for stricter adherence to due process compared to the past presents challenges to accelerating the pace,” he explained without breaking his even composure.

“We ask for your continued patience as the investigations progress. The government is committed to pursuing these cases thoroughly until the end of its term.”

“Very well. I hope that commitment holds.”

Hong In-ah’s hand dropped the microphone a bit too forcefully. The colleague beside her nudged her sharply and mouthed, “Are you crazy?” In-ah responded with a visibly irritated expression.

Phew...

Heeju unclenched her trembling hands, only now noticing how pale her palms had become.

She flexed her fingers and looked up again—

“...!”

Her eyes met In-ah’s.

When had her sister started staring at her?

It wasn’t a random glance. In-ah’s gaze was steady, as though she’d known Heeju’s location all along.

The abruptness of their locked eyes left Heeju frozen, unsure of how to react. What expression should she make? Should she say something?

And then, unexpectedly, In-ah signed.

“...!”

As the microphone shifted to another reporter’s question, her sister’s gestures were subtle, meant for no one but Heeju.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Heeju couldn’t comprehend what those words truly meant.

***

Heeju fled before the briefing ended, her footsteps quick and erratic.

By the time she reached the parking lot, rain was steadily falling, soaking her clothes as she ran. Her breaths came short and fast, as if her tangled thoughts were physically choking her.

“Hey, didn’t you check the weather forecast today?”

“...!”

Someone grabbed her arm abruptly and tilted an umbrella over her head.

“What the hell are you doing, running around like this?”

The voice was unfamiliar yet natural, like a forgotten memory that had resurfaced. Heeju froze, her eyes widening as she registered it.

Her sister’s voice.

“In-ah...”

It was time to stop avoiding it. She had to face this moment. Swallowing her hesitation, Heeju lifted her hands and began to sign.

“Where have you been all this time?”

While Heeju continued to sign, In-ah responded aloud, speaking directly.

“I was in Germany. See?” She gestured toward her ear, giving it a light tap.

“I had surgery. Risked my life for it.”

“...”

“It was experimental. Illegal.”

“Are you okay now?”

At the mention of “illegal,” Heeju’s hands moved rapidly, her expression brimming with concern. She scanned her sister’s face, searching for traces of strain or pain.

Up close, In-ah’s face seemed more gaunt, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion—she looked different than she had three years ago.

“I’m fine now. But you...”

In-ah’s gaze sharpened, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Why can’t you speak yet?”

“...!”

“I thought once I was gone, you’d be able to talk again.”

Heeju’s face turned pale, her hands trembling as her sister’s words struck deep.

“You didn’t think I’d figure it out? That you faked your muteness because of me?”

The tremor in her hands intensified.

Now, her secret had been uncovered by another—first Baek Saeon, and now her sister.

A cold wave of shame swept over her, leaving her shivering like she’d caught the flu.

“I knew all along,” In-ah said, her voice calm but cutting. “I just pretended not to notice.”

Turning her face away, she stood on the edge of vulnerability, her profile sharp as a blade.

“You didn’t want to be the only patient.”

“...!”

“You were scared.”

“...”

“And I... needed you. Desperately.”

Their eyes met again, and In-ah let out a small, self-deprecating laugh.