Location: July 6th, Seoul, South Korea - An Empty Alleyway

The evening sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows in the narrow alleyway. Park Hana stood, her heart racing, a look of deep concern etched across her face. She glanced at Rafiel De La Cruz, who stood with his back turned to her, the tension palpable in the air.

"What's wrong, Rafiel?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear.

Rafiel turned slightly, the weight of his decision heavy in the silence. "I made up my mind, Hana. I'm leaving Korea."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "W-What are you talking about? What do you mean you're leaving?"

"I'm going back to the States," he replied, his voice cold and resolute. "And I'm never coming back here."

"You can't leave!" she exclaimed, desperation creeping into her voice. "What would Dad think? He worked so hard to take care of—"

"He's not my dad!" Rafiel snapped, the words slicing through the air like a knife.

Ha-Na recoiled, shaken by the force of his statement. "Wha—?"

"And you're not my sister!" he continued, his voice rising with each word. "Neither of you mean anything to me. My mom was the only thing keeping me here, and she's gone... so why the hell would I continue to stay!?"

The pain in his voice was unmistakable.

 "Tell Byung-Ho whatever you've got to tell him! I don't care. Just do me a favor and don't look for me."

"How can you say those things?" she cried, her voice breaking. "Me and Dad! We're your family! Everything you said, I know you don't believe it! You're lying! You're a liar! A big dumb stupid liar!"

"Goodbye, Hana," he said, turning away, a finality in his tone that made her heart sink.

"No! Stop it! You say it! Say you're lying! I know the truth! I know you're lying! Say it right now! Say it…! Please… s-say you're lying…" Her voice cracked as she fell to the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please… don't go… don't leave me…"

The weight of his words hung in the air as he walked away, leaving Hana in a heap of despair, whispering, "Please…"

Ten Years Later

The sun beat down on the bustling construction site as Rafiel worked, his hands deftly maneuvering tools. He was a man transformed, marked by time and experience, a thick salt-and-pepper beard framing his face, and an unkempt afro crowning his head. 

"Yo, Rafiel! Time to clock out!" a co-worker called, breaking through his thoughts.

Rafiel nodded, pulling off his welding mask. "Right…" He clocked out, the sound echoing in the stillness of the evening.

"Hey, are you coming to the bar tonight?" the co-worker asked, a casual tone in his voice.

"Not if Flex is coming," Rafiel replied, a shadow passing over his features.

"Still mad over that fight? It's been six months, man. You need to learn to let shit go. It ain't good for your mental health."

"Some shit doesn't deserve to be let go of," Rafiel muttered, lighting a cigarette. 

"Fuck it, whatever. See you tomorrow, Raf," the co-worker said, shrugging as he walked away.

Rafiel took in a deep drag, the smoke curling around him like a familiar friend. "What I need to do is stop smoking these fucking things…" He contemplated putting it down but lit it again instead. "Whatever."

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts.

Message: 

"Rafi? Is this your number?"

Rafiel's brow furrowed. Message: 

"Who's this?"

Message: 

"Byung-Ho. Can I please call?"

He hesitated, a mix of emotions swirling within him.

The call connected, and Rafiel's heart raced. 

"How'd you find my number?" he asked, his voice guarded.

"Hu-hah! It wasn't easy. It honestly took longer than you think. But I'm glad I can hear your voice again, my son," Byung-Ho said, his warmth cutting through the years of silence.

Rafiel paused, the weight of the word "son" hanging heavily. "So what's this about?"

"I... I know you had your reasons for leaving Korea, but I wanted to see if by chance there's any way you'd feel comfortable coming back, just for a few days?"

"What for? An impromptu trip to South Korea isn't exactly cheap," Rafiel replied, skepticism lacing his tone.

"If money is an issue, I'll gladly cover everything!" Byung-Ho insisted.

"What is this? It's been ten long years, Byung. What's so important that you want me back all of a sudden?" Rafiel's voice sharpened.

"It's Hana…"

Rafiel asked as he continued smoking, the cigarette hanging limply from his lips as he prepared to relight it. "What about her?"

"She's dead… Rafi."

The world around him faded as the words crashed into him like a tidal wave. He dropped the cigarette, shock rendering him speechless. "What…?"

When I was little, my mom met a man named Byung-ho at her college. They started dating, and eventually, they tied the knot. He was a good guy—dorky in a way that made Mom laugh, something I hadn't seen much of since my dad bailed on us. She had plenty of reasons not to smile, but Byung didn't mind stepping into the life of a single mother. In fact, he had a daughter back in South Korea, Hana, and when he got full custody of her, he offered to move us back with him.

I was young, maybe eight or nine, when we left for Korea.

18 years ago...

"Come on, Hana, come meet your big brother," Byung-ho encouraged, his voice warm and reassuring.

A small figure peeked out from behind his legs. A girl, no older than me, with dark eyes full of hesitancy.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, staring at her as Mom nudged me forward. "You too, Rafi. Say hello."

Hana stepped forward, her tiny frame rigid with caution. "H-hi," she mumbled.

"Hey," I replied flatly.

At first, we were just two kids forced to share a life together. But as time passed, we became something more. Almost like real siblings.

Then high school hit.

Being the only dark-skinned kid in a Korean school meant I was different. And different meant a target. The bullying wasn't unbearable at first—just a few side comments and jokes. But over time, it escalated.

The worst of them was Gim Ji-ho. He ran a small gang at our school and had a thing for Hana. A possessive kind of thing. And he hated how close we were.

So every day, he made sure I got knocked down in front of her.

Hana tried to help, but I was angry. Angry at the world, at the way I was treated, and most of all, at her. I blamed her for the way Ji-ho came after me, and one day, I just… walked away. I cut her out completely.

Then, I left Korea.

Years later, I found out she stayed with Ji-ho. Ten years, to be exact. And he never changed. If anything, he got worse.

They say he got caught up with some real killers. The kind of people who don't let you walk away from a bad deal. He got into some heavy shit and tried to bail on them. So they tracked him down to where he laid his head, but when they pulled up, Ji-Ho was nowhere to be found. Only person home, was Hana.

She tried to run.

When that failed, she tried to fight back.

But it didn't matter.

They beat her. They raped her. And when they were done, they dragged her to an open field…

And used my baby sister for target practice.

The funeral was a few days ago.

Byung-ho has been alone since then.

I understood why. First, my mom passed. Then, I left. And now Hana… Hana was gone too.

Byung-ho had always been a happy man, full of life, always treating me like his own son. I wondered if he missed it—the days when we almost felt like a real family. I could still picture him, smiling as he held the camera steady, trying to capture all of us in a single frame.

Now, all that was left were memories.

I stood inside his apartment, staring at an old framed photo from one of our family trips. In it, we looked like something out of a dream—Hana laughing, Mom rolling her eyes at Byung-ho's goofy pose, and me, standing off to the side, trying not to smile.

I set the photo down just as the scent of warm broth filled the air.

"Rafi!" Byung-ho's voice was as strong as ever, though it carried a weight I couldn't ignore. He walked in, carrying a steaming pot to the small table in the center of the room. "Come, sit! Sit!"

I hesitated before lowering myself onto the floor beside him. The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that weighed on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

I swallowed, watching the steam rise from the pot. "Was the service nice?"

Byung-ho smiled, but it was strained. "Very nice. So much love for Hana. She touched so many lives." His lips quivered. He turned his head, trying to keep the emotion from showing. "It was… an honor to have her as my daughter."

The words cracked as they left him, and the smile he forced onto his face trembled.

I lowered my gaze. "I'm… I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Byung-ho scoffed and swatted my shoulder lightly with a folded newspaper. "None of that," he said firmly. "The last thing Hana would want is for you to blame yourself." Then, his voice softened. "Though, if anyone does deserve blame… it would be me."

I looked up, but he wasn't meeting my gaze. His fingers curled into a tight fist against his lap.

"I knew that boy was trouble. I told her, warned her, but she wouldn't hear it from me. After you left, she changed. She wouldn't leave her room some days. I thought… I thought she just needed space. But maybe if I had stepped in then, maybe…" His voice wavered, and suddenly, the dam broke.

His shoulders shook as the tears started falling. He tried to cover his face, but the sobs pushed through his fingers, filling the room.

I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay…"

But it wasn't.

Not for him. Not for me.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

She changed because of what I said to her before I left.

Without me around, Ji-ho had no one in his way. He wrapped her around his dirty little finger, and she wasn't in the right state of mind to fight back.

I got Hana killed.

A sudden knock at the door cut through the silence.

I turned to Byung-ho. "You expecting more guests?"

He frowned. "No…"

The door creaked open.

A stranger stepped inside.

Byung-ho's confusion turned to alarm. "Hey! Who are you? Get out of my hou—!"

Gunfire erupted.

The first shot ripped through Byung-ho's chest. The second, his stomach.

I barely had time to react before gunfire carved through my own torso. The force sent me crashing onto my back, pain searing through every inch of me.

My chest burned.

My fingers trembled as they pressed against my torso, trying to stop the bleeding.

I coughed, feeling something warm spill over my lips. Blood. Too much of it.

My vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. I turned my head, searching.

Byung-ho.

He laid face down beside me, motionless.

(No.)

(No, no, no.)

I tried to reach him, my fingers barely grazing his sleeve.

"Byung….Byung…Dad…" My voice was weak. Broken. "Please… get up…"

A shadow loomed over me.

A heavy boot slammed into my ribs, flipping me onto my back. A gun barrel pressed against my forehead.

I could barely see the shooter's face.

My breath hitched.

"N-no… wait…"

The last thing I heard was the voice of my killer.

"Welcome home."

Then, the gun fired.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I gasped.

My lungs dragged in the air like I had been drowning, my chest heaving as I sat up, drenched in cold sweat.

Pain.

No—no pain.

I clutched my torso, expecting to feel the open wounds, the blood, the agony. But there was nothing.

What… What the hell?

I stumbled to my feet, the room spinning. My legs carried me forward before my brain could catch up, rushing into the bathroom.

I barely made it to the sink before my stomach twisted. Vomit surged up my throat, burning as it spilled into the basin.

I coughed, spitting out the last of it, my hands gripping the porcelain like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

Then, I looked up.

And my heart stopped.

The mirror reflected my face.

But not the man I had been.

Not the scars. Not the tired eyes of someone who had seen too much, lost too much.

Instead, an eighteen-year-old stared back at me.

Skin unmarked. Hair unkempt.

A face I hadn't seen in years.

I stumbled back, shaking. "What the…?"

This—this had to be a dream.

A nightmare.

I turned, scanning the interior of each room.

It was my old home. The one we lived in when we first moved to Korea.

This wasn't right. This wasn't possible.

A voice called from the stairwell.

"What are you still doing here?"

I froze.

I knew that voice.

Slowly, I turned.

And there she was.

Hana.

Alive.

Standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, looking at me with the same exasperated expression she always had when I did something dumb.

My throat tightened.

"Hana…?"

She frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"