Dual Persona

Seoul, South Korea.

A steady hum of tires on asphalt filled the night. The headlights of the sedan sliced through the thick evening fog that clung to the streets of Seoul, casting brief glimpses of empty sidewalks and shuttered storefronts. Inside, the soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated the face of a woman slumped against the passenger seat.

Her hair, tousled and wild, spilled over her shoulders. Smudged eyeliner framed half-lidded eyes, staring blankly at the glittering city beyond the window. She let out a small, drowsy laugh, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Did you have to drink that much?" her husband asked, glancing sideways at her. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, the faintest hint of irritation in his voice.

"Success tastes better with champagne," Kang Sae-ri mumbled, words lazily tangling together. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest, a half-smile curling her lips. "I deserved it. They loved me, you know? Loved me."

His eyes flicked toward her, softening, but before he could respond, the sharp trill of her phone cut through the quiet. Her hand fumbled lazily at the side pocket of her coat, eyes still closed, but the persistent ringing continued.

"Ugh, just..." She pushed the phone toward him. "You deal with it."

He sighed, taking the phone from her with a quiet shake of his head. Glancing at the screen, his brows knitted together. "It's your uncle."

At this, she didn't stir. Still motionless, still somewhere between dreaming and the haze of alcohol.

He swiped to answer. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was hurried, low. He listened for a second, and then his eyes widened. His hand clenched the phone a little tighter.

"What? Hospital?"

The rhythmic hum of the engine faded into the background as Kang Sae-ri's thoughts cut through the alcohol-induced haze. The words hung in the air, slicing through the remnants of her drunken euphoria.

"Hospital?"

The words, distant at first, sank into her bones, dragging her down from the artificial high of success. She blinked, her head turning sluggishly toward her husband. His face was unreadable, eyes locked on the road, fingers tightening around her phone. The glow from the dashboard cast sharp shadows across his features.

"Give it to me," she said, voice hoarse.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing the phone in her outstretched hand. She cleared her throat, gripping it tightly. "Uncle? What happened?"

"Sae-ri, it's your father." Her uncle's voice was taut, urgent. "He's in the hospital. It looks quite bad. He's asking for you and your brothers."

A breath hitched in her throat.

Her father. The man who had billionaires of dollars and was one of the most influential persons in South Korea yet left her to claw her way up the brutal entertainment industry alone, all because she took a path different from his expectations. Memories crashed into her, swift and unrelenting—the cold silence at the dinner table, the disappointment in his eyes when she chose acting, the years of struggling without his support.

And yet.

Her fingers curled around the phone, knuckles white. The small, wounded part of her—the part that had once craved his approval—stirred.

"He wants to see us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," her uncle said. "Come quickly, Sae-ri. He doesn't have much time."

She exhaled, long and slow, pressing her palm to her forehead. The remnants of champagne in her system felt like poison now, curdling in her stomach.

Her husband glanced at her, waiting.

She could say no. She could turn away, let the past stay buried. But the image of her father, frail and waiting, gnawed at her. She swallowed hard.

"Take me there," she said.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and quiet desperation. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly as Kang Sae-ri strode down the corridor, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The alcohol had all but burned away, leaving behind something sharper—something raw.

She already knew. Before the words were even spoken, before the pity in the nurse's eyes reached her, she knew.

"They're not coming, are they?" she murmured.

The man waiting outside the hospital room, her father's longtime assistant, hesitated before shaking his head. "No, Miss Sae-ri. Your brothers... they made it clear they wouldn't come."

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "Of course they wouldn't."

And yet, she was here.

With a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

Her father lay in the hospital bed, a pale ghost of the formidable businessman he once was. Wires and machines kept him tethered to life, but just barely. His eyes, sunken but aware, flickered open at her entrance. For the first time in years, he looked at her—not through her, not past her, but at her.

"Sae-ri-ya," he rasped, voice fragile as paper.

She hesitated at the threshold, years of resentment pressing against the walls of her chest. But then, she stepped forward.

He lifted a trembling hand, and without thinking, she moved closer. His fingers brushed against her cheek, an unfamiliar gesture.

"I wasn't... a good father," he whispered. "I can certainly see that now."

A lump formed in her throat. "Appreciating that on your deathbed is a little late, don't you think?"

His lips twitched—a ghost of a smile, or maybe just pain. "It is. But I wanted to see you. To say... I regret it. Not being there. Not... seeing my sons one last time. I always wanted my children to stand on... their own feet. But... in that process, I... wronged you all. I'm sorry."

"Appa!" Her chest tightened. She didn't know what she had wanted to hear from him, but it wasn't this.

A deep, shuddering breath rattled from his frail body. His fingers slackened against her cheek. The machines whined, the beeping slowing, stretching further apart.

And then, silence.

Kang Sae-ri stood there, staring at the man who had shaped so much of her life—through both presence and absence. Her father, the indomitable billionaire, the man she had spent years trying to prove herself to, was gone.

Her vision blurred, but no tears fell.

The past had already taken them all.

*

Novosibirsk City, Siberia, Russia;

A vast cathedral loomed in the stillness of the night, its dimly lit interiors casting elongated shadows against the cold stone walls. The pews were empty, save for a single man sitting at the front. Han Sungjun. His sharp features remained impassive, the glow of candlelight flickering across his face. In his hand, he cradled a vase, fingers tightening against its smooth surface.

A dozen men in suits stood silently behind him, their presence an unspoken threat.

A suited man leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sir, the plane is ready for takeoff. The young miss is on the way."

Han Sungjun gave a slight nod but did not look away from the desperate figure kneeling before him—the trembling priest, hands clasped in pleading prayer.

"As a servant of Jesus Christ," Sungjun's voice was calm, almost detached, "you committed an unforgivable sin. Taking advantage of a young teenager's confession, violating her trust, and blackmailing her for money—your actions led her to attempt suicide."

The priest sobbed, grabbing onto Sungjun's leg. "Please, I beg you—I will repent!"

Sungjun exhaled, his grip loosening on the vase. "Repentance? This is mercy."

As he raised his hand, a gun with a silencer attached to its barrel was placed in his grip.

Sungjun took a glance at the statue of Jesus Christ and mumbled. "May the Lord have mercy on your soul."

The silencer whispered against the silence with the click of a trigger.

The priest's body crumpled to the floor, lifeless. It was a straight shot to his forehead.

Sungjun tossed the gun to one of his men before rising to his feet. His gaze lifted to the towering statue of Christ.

"That makes 283," he murmured, his voice void of remorse. "And I won't ask for forgiveness for this one either. If the Lord deems me a sinner, then burn me when I come to you. Until then, I'll cleanse the filth of this world myself."

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen."

Two days later, at a columbarium in Seoul, Han Sungjun stood in front of the compartment where his mother's portrait and ashes were stored. He stood there in silence, his expression unreadable.

Kang Sae-ri approached with a bouquet of flowers, her steps hesitant. As she whispered his name, emotion thickened her voice. "Sungjun-ah!"

Sungjun turned around and smiled faintly. "It's been a while, noona."

Tears welled in Sae-ri's eyes as she nodded, her voice breaking. "Yeah... it has been."