The apartment door closed behind Soo-jin with a soft click that seemed to seal her inside a forgotten world. Standing in the entryway, she inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of her sister's favorite jasmine perfume still lingering in the stale air. The small space felt both foreign and achingly familiar a strange amalgamation of Min-ah's presence and absence.
Soo-jin's eyes swept methodically across the living area. The half-eaten breakfast on the table, a mug with dried tea residue coating its bottom, textbooks splayed open on the floor near a small cushion that was preserved like artifacts in a museum exhibit titled "The Last Morning." The remnants of Min-ah's final hours in this apartment before she had walked to school, unaware that she would end the day on that rain-slicked rooftop.
"Focus," Soo-jin whispered to herself, shrugging off her school blazer and draping it over a chair. Despite her determination to begin investigating immediately, the state of the apartment made her pause. She couldn't think clearly surrounded by this decay—the physical manifestation of her sister's interrupted life.
A sense of melancholy settled over her as she steeled herself for what lay ahead. If she was going to use this apartment as her base of operations during her time at Hankuk, she needed to restore some order. Investigation could wait a few hours; right now, she needed to clean.
Starting with the kitchen area, Soo-jin approached the small table where Min-ah's final breakfast sat abandoned. Rice had hardened in the bowl, and what appeared to be fish soup had evaporated, leaving only dried remnants clinging to the sides. She carefully lifted the dishes, struck by how ordinary they were—simple white ceramic, the kind found in countless households across Seoul.
"How could you do it?" she murmured, gripping the plates tightly as she carried them to the sink. "You even had the energy to cook breakfast that morning."
The mundane normality of it struck her harder than any dramatic scene could have. Min-ah hadn't woken up planning to end up on that rooftop. She had made breakfast. She had prepared for a normal day.
Rage bubbled up suddenly within Soo-jin, her fingers tightening around the bowl until her knuckles whitened. What had happened between this ordinary morning and that desperate evening? What had pushed her sister past her breaking point?
With deliberate care, she set the dishes in the sink and turned on the tap, watching as water cascaded over the dried food, softening what had hardened with time. Like memories, she thought, that became less sharp around the edges when examined after the fact.
After dealing with the dishes, Soo-jin moved methodically through the apartment. She found a vacuum cleaner in a narrow utility closet and ran it across the floors, erasing months of accumulated dust. The mechanical drone filled the silence, giving her something to focus on besides the thoughts swirling in her mind.
She wiped down windows in the living room, surprised to find childish drawings on some of them—faint outlines of flowers and butterflies drawn in washable marker. Had Min-ah done these herself? Or perhaps they were from the children Mrs. Park had mentioned? The thought of her serious, studious sister drawing playful scenes on glass panes brought an unexpected lump to Soo-jin's throat.
As twilight fell outside, casting long shadows across the freshly cleaned floors, Soo-jin finally approached the bedroom. This felt more invasive somehow stepping into the most private space of her sister's life. She hesitated at the threshold, feeling like an intruder despite having every right to be there.
The bedroom was smaller than she'd expected, dominated by a neatly made twin bed with plain white sheets. A small desk stood under the window, covered in textbooks and notes arranged in precise stacks. Typical Min-ah—organized even in her academic chaos.
Taking a deep breath, Soo-jin moved to the closet and slid open the door. What greeted her was so quintessentially Min-ah that she couldn't help but smile despite the heaviness in her chest. The clothes hung in perfect order blouses separated from skirts, everything color-coordinated, all pressed and proper. Nothing flashy nor revealing, but not conservative either just tasteful, feminine pieces that suited Min-ah's quiet elegance.
"Still the same fashion sense," Soo-jin chuckled softly, running her fingers along the sleeve of a pale blue cardigan. She had fond memories of her sister trying to coax her into wearing similar outfits, always met with Soo-jin's insistence on athletic wear.
"You never understood the appeal of stretch fabrics, did you?" she murmured, pulling out a neat white blouse with pearl buttons. "Always had to look proper, even when no one was watching."
The contrast between their personal styles had been a running joke between them—Min-ah with her prim collars and flowing skirts, Soo-jin perpetually dressed for a workout that might never happen. The memory of Min-ah holding up a floral dress while Soo-jin stubbornly crossed her arms in her track pants was so vivid that for a moment, she could almost hear her sister's exasperated laugh.
With careful hands, Soo-jin began moving Min-ah's clothes to one side of the closet, creating space for her own limited wardrobe. The task felt symbolic somehow—making physical room for herself in this space that had been entirely Min-ah's, acknowledging that she was now living her sister's life in more ways than one.
Once the closet was organized, Soo-jin turned her attention to the nightstand beside the bed. This, she suspected, might hold more personal items—things that couldn't be left on display, thoughts that weren't meant for daily viewing.
She pulled open the drawer slowly, bracing herself for whatever emotions might be triggered by its contents. Inside was a collection of seemingly random items, each adorned with Post-it notes in Min-ah's neat handwriting. A small photo album with a yellow note reading "Mom's birthday—print these for a gift." A half-used ticket book for the cinema with "Dad loves the historical films here" scrawled across a pink sticky note. A dried flower pressed between two pieces of clear tape, labeled "From Grandma's garden—press more for Soo-jin."
Each item was a reminder of their family each note a testament to Min-ah's thoughtfulness. Unlike Soo-jin, who lived mostly in the moment, Min-ah had always been the one to remember birthdays, plan gifts, preserve memories.
Carefully lifting each item, examining the notes with a mixture of tenderness and growing grief, Soo-jin continued her excavation of the drawer. Near the bottom, partially hidden beneath a small journal, was a colorful flyer. She pulled it out gently, recognizing the logo of an elite mixed martial arts gym that had opened in the neighborhood several months ago.
Attached to the flyer was a bright blue Post-it note. Min-ah's handwriting here was particularly careful, as though she had wanted to make sure it was perfectly legible: "Soojin would love this gym. Introduce her to this place if she comes to visit."
Something cracked within Soo-jin's carefully maintained composure. The simple note—evidence that Min-ah had been thinking of her, planning for her visit, wanting to share something that would bring her joy—was devastating in its ordinariness. This wasn't a dramatic last message or a hidden clue about school corruption. It was just a sister thinking about what would make her younger sibling happy.
Soo-jin's vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, her fingers trembling against the paper. She hadn't visited. Wrapped up in her own training, her own competitions, her own life, she had always promised to come "next month" or "during the next break."
A sob escaped her throat, raw and unexpected. She pressed the flyer to her chest as her shoulders began to shake, no longer able to contain the grief she had been channeling into determination and anger.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Min-ah."
The carefully constructed dam holding back her emotions finally burst. Soo-jin sank to the floor beside the bed, still clutching the gym flyer, and allowed herself to truly weep for the first time since hearing of Min-ah's fall. Not the controlled tears she had permitted herself in hospital corridors or during late-night training sessions, but deep, body-wracking sobs that seemed to come from the very core of her being.
She cried for the sister who had always thought of others, even when her own world was collapsing. She cried for the visits never made, the phone calls that grew shorter and less frequent, the growing distance she had allowed to develop while focusing on her own path. She cried for the signs she might have missed, the help she could have offered if only she had been paying attention.
As the night deepened outside the apartment windows, Soo-jin remained huddled on the floor, surrounded by the physical remnants of her sister's thoughtfulness, face wet with tears of regret and renewed resolve. Whatever had happened at Hankuk Elite Academy whatever forces had driven Min-ah to that rooftop would not remain hidden. Soo-jin would uncover the truth, not only for justice but as penance for her own failure to be there when her sister needed her most.
In the quiet aftermath of her breakdown, as her breathing steadied and her tears subsided, Soo-jin carefully tucked the gym flyer into her own pocket. Tomorrow would be about investigation, about pulling threads and following leads. But tonight had been necessary a reckoning with her grief, an acknowledgment of her regrets, as she finally had a chance to let it all out.
Tomorrow, she would be the fighter she had trained to become. Tonight, she was simply a sister, mourning what had been lost and what had never had the chance to be.