The Ha family was once a name of prestige and influence in high society. A loving husband, a devoted wife, and two young sons formed a picture-perfect household, soon to be completed by the birth of their third child, Il-sung. However, their seemingly happy life began to unravel the moment Il-sung entered the world.
Il-sung's father, Ha Joon-seok, was a respected yet corrupt businessman, deeply entangled in the underworld as a council member of a powerful syndicate. He built his empire through illicit dealings, but his downfall came when a trusted friend, fueled by jealousy, betrayed him. His enemies closed in, and desperation consumed him.
One evening, Joon-seok sat in his study, drinking heavily, his mind clouded with fear and rage. His wife, Ha Min-ah, entered cautiously, holding their newborn son, Il-sung, in her arms. The baby gurgled softly, unaware of the tension in the room.
"You're drinking again," she said softly. "Joon-seok, we need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about," he snapped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You don't understand, Min-ah. They want me dead. They want our family gone."
"We can leave," she pleaded, adjusting Il-sung in her arms. "Take the children and run before it's too late."
Joon-seok let out a bitter laugh. "And go where? You think they won't find us? No, I need to act first." His eyes darkened. "I have to make sacrifices."
Min-ah felt a shiver run down her spine. "What sacrifices?" she asked, already fearing the answer.
Joon-seok didn't respond. Instead, he stood up abruptly and left the room, leaving Min-ah clutching her infant protectively. That night, her worst fears came true.
As his power crumbled, his sanity followed. In a desperate bid to protect himself, he sold his ten-year-old firstborn son to human traffickers. Fortunately, the boy managed to escape. Soon after, the seven-year-old second son was whisked away by their mother's brother before he could meet the same fate. Only Il-sung, now nine months old, remained with their once-vibrant mother, who had become a shadow of herself—a powerless woman turned into a slave within her own home.
Min-ah, once a bright and delicate woman, was forced into servitude in her own house. The once-grand Ha estate became a prison, filled with whispers of betrayal and the lingering stench of despair. Joon-seok, consumed by his paranoia, spent his days locked away, drowning in liquor and self-pity.
Two years passed. Il-sung, now three, lived in silence, trapped in a house that was no longer a home. One night, the doors burst open. Armed men stormed in, their presence filling the space with dread. They weren't there for wealth or revenge—they were there for Joon-seok. They searched the house, overturning furniture and tearing through rooms, but they found nothing. Joon-seok had disappeared without a trace. Instead, their eyes fell upon Il-sung, a small, defenseless child left alone in the ruins of his father's sins.
He was taken.
The men had no use for a child, but they knew one thing—he was leverage. They filmed his suffering, sending the footage to Joon-seok as a final warning. If he didn't come forward, his son would be tortured until his last breath. But the man who had once claimed to be a father never responded.
Il-sung was no longer a child meant to live in warmth and love as his name suggested. He had become nothing more than an object for their twisted amusement. They starved him, beat him, and let him rot in darkness alongside other children who had met the same fate. The captors played cruel games, selecting children at random to satisfy their sadistic whims. His cries, like those of the others, were mere entertainment to them.
The torment continued for years. By the time Il-sung turned five, he was sold on the black market and thrown into the brutal world of mercenary training. Stripped of his innocence, he was transformed into a weapon. Training was merciless. They drilled multiple languages into him, taught him survival tactics, honed his combat skills, and conditioned him to kill without hesitation. Pain became a lesson, and suffering a norm.
By the age of seven, Il-sung's exceptional adaptability set him apart. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, excelling in every skill thrown at him. Though the brutality of his training was horrifying, he considered it a step up from the horrors of his earlier years. But at eight, reality struck again when he was assigned his first mission—a contract by a Russian syndicate to assassinate a factory owner. There, he witnessed a level of cruelty that shattered whatever illusion of control he had begun to build. Still, he carried out his orders, his hands stained with blood.
Years passed, and Il-sung became a name whispered in the darkest corners of the underworld. By fifteen, he was no longer just a tool; he was an elite operative, an integral member of a high-profile squad specializing in the most dangerous missions. Death followed him like a shadow, and with each kill, his humanity slipped further away.
One mission, however, changed everything.
Il-sung and his team were assigned to eliminate a Filipino-American presidential candidate in the upcoming election. The contract came from a rival politician determined to remove his competition. After successfully completing the assassination, they were instructed to board a private jet provided by their contractor to escape. However, upon landing, they were met with an unexpected sight—a squad of elite assassins, weapons drawn, waiting for them.
A deadly ambush unfolded. Though Il-sung and his team were highly trained, they were vastly outnumbered. The attackers belonged to a larger and more powerful organization—one that overshadowed their own syndicate. Their mission had sealed their fate; they had been marked for elimination the moment they completed the high-profile assassination. One by one, his comrades fell. Fighting was second nature to Il-sung, but even he could not overcome the overwhelming odds.
A sharp pain tore through him as a bullet found its mark, forcing him to the ground. Cornered and outmatched, he braced for the end. But just as his vision blurred, a shadow moved through the chaos—someone intervened. A mysterious figure fought off the assassins long enough to get Il-sung out of the battlefield. His consciousness faded as he was dragged away from death's doorstep.
When he awoke, he found himself in an unfamiliar place. Bloodied and barely alive, he was met with the gaze of a man—one who would soon become his unlikely savior. A detective, drawn by the chaos of the failed ambush, had found him lying in the dirt, a boy who should have never been on the battlefield.
That day marked the turning point in Il-sung's life. A new chapter was about to begin.
That same day, Il-sung woke up to the sound of a calm yet unfamiliar voice.
"Oh, you're awake. Does anywhere hurt?" The man beside him asked, his voice gentle yet firm. "By the way, I'm Detective Kang. I found you lying in a private airport, so I brought you here. You seem young—how old are you?"
Il-sung remained silent. He had never been one to start conversations, except during missions where words were just another tool for survival. He merely stared at the detective, his dark eyes filled with suspicion, as if trying to gauge whether the man was worth his attention.
Detective Kang didn't press further. He had seen that look before—one carried by those who had been through too much at a young age. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching over the boy in silence, his expression unreadable but his concern evident.
Earlier, before Il-sung woke up, the detective had a conversation with the doctor.
"Detective, it seems like that child has been abused for years," the doctor said grimly, holding up the test results. "As you can see, he has signs of severe malnourishment, multiple healed fractures, and internal scarring. It's as if he's lived a life of constant torture."
Kang's jaw clenched. "Does he know where he came from?"
The doctor hesitated before answering, "I asked him some basic questions while running the tests. It seems that due to his childhood experiences, he has repressed a significant portion of his memories."
Kang exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "So, he doesn't even remember himself..."
Back in the present, Kang decided to try again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ahm… kid, do you know your name?"
Il-sung hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, "Zero. They called me Zero."
Kang's brows furrowed. "Zero? That doesn't sound right. Do you want to live a new life?"
Il-sung looked up, searching Kang's face for any sign of deception. His whole life had been dictated by orders, pain, and survival. The idea of a 'new life' was foreign to him. "Do you think I can?" he asked, his voice cautious.
Kang gave a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, you can. Actually… I don't have a wife or a son. If you want, I can adopt you. Give you a new identity." He leaned closer, his voice firm yet inviting. "You can call yourself Jiheon—Kang Jiheon."
The room fell into silence. For the first time in years, Il-sung—no, Jiheon—felt something he had never dared to hope for.
Hope.
The days in the hospital were quiet yet filled with unspoken warmth. Kang visited every day, bringing books, food, and clothes for Jiheon. At first, the boy would barely acknowledge him, only watching in silence. But slowly, as the days passed, he began to accept the small acts of kindness.
One night, Kang found Jiheon staring at the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his pale face. "You don't have to decide everything now," Kang said gently. "But I want you to know that you're not alone anymore."
Jiheon didn't respond, but his grip on the hospital blanket tightened. For the first time in his life, someone was offering him something without expecting pain in return.
When the day of his discharge arrived, Jiheon stood beside Kang, a fresh set of clothes replacing the tattered ones he had arrived in. He glanced back at the hospital room one last time, as if leaving behind the ghost of his past.
Kang placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go home."
And for the first time in his life, Jiheon took a step toward something unknown.
Toward a future that was finally his own.
To be continued...