ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ sobangie

The cold lights of the police station beamed down on her, though it no longer bothered her as much as it used to. After seven-hundred-twenty days, she was sure that anyone would have adapted to such harsh lighting. The room was silent for the most part with the only noise coming from the shuffle of papers on the desk in front of her and the soft chatter of the officers on the other side of the office walls.

"One-hundred and four weeks. That's how long you've been coming here, Ye-ji."

Chief Kim leaned back in his leather chair, setting his coffee down with a quiet sigh. 

Their weekly meetings had long since lost their purpose. What started as concern for Ye-jun turned into routine for Ye-ji. It was an obligation neither the Chief nor Ye-ji could quite shake.

"As much as I admire your determination," he continued, "this… this is becoming excessive."

"Technically, one-hundred and three," Ye-ji corrected flatly. "I was sick one Thursday."

"Ah… yes. The office mourned your absence deeply."

There was no reaction. Not even a blink. Two years of this had burned out any reaction she once had for his sarcasm.

"I understand how important this is to you. What you need to understand is that cases cannot remain open indefinitely without new evidence. We may have to close it within the next few weeks."

The words were a heavy blow to her gut.

"What?" Her voice sharpened instantly. "No, you can't do that. I've been bringing you everything I can—"

"And it's the same information every time. There's nothing new. There's nothing we can act on," he replied firmly.

The words left her speechless. She had poured everything she had into this—every spare moment and ounce of energy was used on this case. She chased leads that went nowhere, spoke to people who didn't care, and returned here week after week with the same hope that something would finally change, but it never did.

Her grip tightened slightly on the strap of her bag.

"I gave you the brown card—the one with the numbers? They have to mean something. Did you even try calling it?"

Chief Kim leaned forward with a sympathetic sigh. 

"Ye-ji, I know this is hard," he said, "but there comes a point where you have to consider letting go. If you allow yourself to mourn and heal now, rather than later, you won't need to carry this forever. You're too young for such stress."

She couldn't muster a response. Letting go was never an option in her mind, not when there was still a possibility Ye-jun was alive.

"I'll tell you what," he added after a moment. "There are private investigators who specialize in cases like this. If they find anything at all, I may be able to justify keeping your case open longer."

There was just a bit of hope that ignited in her.

"How much?"

He hesitated before answering. "Roughly forty-five million won… for a month."

Forty-five million won? That was double what she made in a year. Her minimum-wage job was barely allowing her much money outside of the necessary expenses. Forty-five million would put her in debt that she was sure she'd never be able to pay back.

"I don't just have forty-five million sitting around," she said.

"I'm sure there's ways to get it," he replied. "Not that I'm suggesting anything reckless, but if it's something you truly want to continue doing—"

"Something I want to keep doing?" She cut him off. "I don't want to keep doing this. You tell me, if it were your family, would you just sit here and do nothing?"

A pause.

"…No."

Silence stretched between them. She knew he was only trying to help, but his proposition was anything but that. If anything, it made everything worse. She had clung to the smallest bit of hope that she could find the only family member she had left, but that hope was close to non-existent now. 

She didn't look up. She couldn't look into the eyes of the man she begged to keep her case open just a month ago. If she looked up, she'd be accepting defeat. And if she accepted defeat, she'd be accepting the loss of her brother.

"Fine," she said as she stood up. "If I can find any new information, I'll bring it back."

Her eyes stayed locked on the grey flooring as she maneuvered out of the chair, giving a quick bow before exiting his office. 

Only a handful of officers occupied the main room. Some sat behind their desks, illuminated by the glow of computer screens as their fingers tapped steadily against keyboards. A few lingered near the coffee machine, speaking in low voices between exhausted laughs.

Ye-ji recognized nearly all of them. After two years of weekly visits, it would've been harder not to. 

A few glanced up as she passed. A small nod of acknowledgement from one and a quick glance from another. It was nothing new.

The familiar disappointment settled heavily in her chest. Every week she'd walk through these doors hoping she would leave with some sort of answer, but she left with the same sadness she came in with.

"Leaving so soon, Nam Ye-ji?"

"That's a name I haven't heard in a while."

Ye-ji closed her eyes for a brief second. There were only two people in the entire precinct who still greeted her like that.

Their laughter rang out from the reception desk, loud and grating. Several officers shot them annoyed looks, but neither seemed to care. Both of them lounged in their chairs with smirks already forming on their face.

Ye-ji turned slowly, unimpressed. "What do you want?"

Their laughter faltered as Officer Jin-woo leaned forward, dramatically sighing.

"Must be rough coming all the way here and your favorite officer isn't even on shift."

Officer Sang-hyuk snorted. "Ah, young love. Wandering the streets of Ssangmun-dong in search of her little officer."

"I'm twenty-two," Ye-ji deadpanned.

"A child," Sang-hyuk shot back instantly. "Should I call your parents?"

The precinct doors swung open before she could respond. A gust of cold air cut through the room as Hwang Jun-ho stepped inside. A dark jacket hung on his shoulders, posture still sharp despite the long day. His tired eyes softened as they landed on Ye-ji.

"Are you okay?"

"I was just checking on the case," she responded.

He nodded, then glanced toward the officers. 

"Working hard, I see."

They scrambled immediately. The stack of cards Jin-woo had been using to build a house quickly disappeared beneath a pile of paperwork.

"Very!" Jin-woo responded before looking at Ye-ji. "Enjoy your night, Miss."

Ye-ji rolled her eyes and headed for the exit. Jun-ho followed her outside. 

The night air was colder than she expected. She zipped her hoodie up, adjusting the sleeves as the precinct doors slammed shut. The only thoughts that her brain could muster were the ones that reminded her of how few visits she had left before the case became another forgotten file collecting dust in a cabinet. There would come a day where she'd walk through those doors and it would be the last time, whether she found Ye-jun or not.

Jun-ho adjusted the strap of the worn leather bag slung across his chest before stopping beside the brick wall of the station. He leaned against it and crossed his arms. 

"What did the Chief say?" he asked.

She sighed. "They're closing the case in the next few weeks if I don't find anything new."

His eyes widened. "They're actually going through with it?"

She nodded.

"I'm sorry," Jun-ho said quietly. 

Neither of them spoke. The words hung heavily between them. She wanted to be angry at the officers who did nothing but sit on their asses all day, or the people who had stopped searching long before she had. Instead, she could only feel the tiredness cling to her bones and drain her body of the anger she'd felt for months. 

Jun-ho stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. For one short moment, Ye-ji let her shoulders sag. The tension she kept wound tightly beneath her skin loosened just enough for her to breathe. She rested her forehead against his chest and weakly settled her arms around him as every noise around her dulled into a distant hum. 

The grief she carried only weighed heavier day after day with nowhere to put it. The dead ends only added to the exhaustion that never seemed to go away. Somehow, with Jun-ho, she could allow herself to let go. It was as if he understood exactly when she needed that relief. 

However, even now, the hug didn't ease the pain. It only reminded her how unfair it was to be forced to accept no solution.

"I could talk to him. Maybe he'll change his mind, or I can buy you some more time—"

Ye-ji quickly leaned back, pulling from the hug. She shook her head.

"No."

He frowned. "Why not? It'll give us more time to find something, Ye-ji."

"I know, but you're already searching for your own brother," she said. "You can't do both."

Jun-ho's jaw tightened.

Ye-ji didn't want to say it, but she couldn't let him get any more involved with the case than he already was. He'd been searching for his own brother just as long as she'd been searching for hers. Asking him to carry her burden too would be selfish.

It was her responsibility to find Ye-jun. Not his.

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated. "I've been managing both just fine."

"And I'm grateful," she said. "Just… don't push it with the Chief."

"Okay."

The murmur of engines filled her ears as cars sped by. Soft chatter could be heard from the few people that walked the streets. Silence had taken over their conversation, but Jun-ho was one of the only people who made it feel comfortable. She never felt the need to fill it with meaningless conversation, especially in moments like this. Somehow, he just understood.

After a moment, Jun-ho straightened.

"Actually," he said, as though remembering something, "I responded to a call a few neighborhoods over earlier."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.

"I saw a café I thought you'd like."

He handed her the card, watching as a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

"A Tuxedo Sam café?"

Of all the things he remembered about her, it was somehow the ridiculous Sanrio obsession.

"Yeah, it looked pretty cool. I guess you could—"

"When are you free?" Ye-ji asked.

His eyes darted away from hers for a second as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I should be free some time tomorrow. I could uh… text you when I'm free…?" He stuttered his way through the sentence.

Huh. Jun-ho rarely stumbled over his words. She wondered if something else was bothering him. Between her brother's case and the search for his own, he carried more than enough stress for one person. He was probably just tired.

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan, partner."

A small smile formed on his face.

Ye-ji stuffed the card into the pocket of her sweater. Of all the places in Seoul, he somehow managed to find the one thing guaranteed to distract her from a terrible day. The thought brought a smile to her face.

"Do you need a ride home?" Jun-ho asked.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

She chuckled, playfully smacking his arm. "Go to work and stop making excuses."

She'd taken the train home alone hundreds of times before. She knew she'd be okay, though Jun-ho rarely ever agreed.

"I will, I will," he laughed. "Let me know when you've made it back home."

Ye-ji nodded and bid farewell, turning around to walk in the direction of the main street. By the time she reached the train station, exhaustion had settled deep into her bones, but her thoughts refused to slow.

The case was ending.

She'd spent two years of searching. She questioned strangers and chased dead ends. She even showed up to the precinct every week without fail so they could never forget her brother's name. In the end, it seemed to mean nothing. The case would end regardless of her effort.

Forty-five million won was all it took to try and keep the case alive. That was the price of one final chance—one final month. Forty-five million.

Ridiculous.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Ye-ji looked up.

A man stood in front of her, dressed far too well for a train station at this hour. His dark suit looked freshly pressed with no wrinkle in sight, and a leather briefcase hung neatly at his side. Even his shoes glimmered in the harsh subway lighting. Everything about him seemed polished to an almost unnatural degree.

He was handsome, unfortunately. It was the kind of handsome that usually came with an inflated ego.

"Yes?" She hesitantly responded, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

The man smiled.

Something about it unsettled her. It felt too friendly. Too practiced.

"Could I talk to you for a moment?" He asked.

"If you're here to preach about some religion, I'm not interested."

"Lucky for you, I'm not."

It was far past the hour of conversing with strangers in the middle of a train station, so if he wasn't selling religion, what could he possibly want? 

His smile never faltered despite her obvious wariness. It was a polite smile. Pleasant, even. She couldn't deny she was curious of what he had to offer.

"I'm here to offer you… a game," he said.

"A game?"

The man nodded. He set his briefcase down on the seat beside them and sat down beside her. 

"I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?" he asked her, receiving a nod in return. 

Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he held up his hand and showed her a blue card and a red card.

"The rules are simple. You play a few rounds of ddakji with me, and each time you win, I'll pay you one-hundred-thousand won," he explained.

Yae-ji scoffed. 

A game of ddakji for money? What a load of bullshit. Nothing in life came that easy.

"Do you know what time it is?" Yae-ji asked. 

The man nodded. "Eleven o'clock on the dot, Miss."

"Right." She gestured toward him. "And you expect me to believe you're wandering around train stations at ten at night handing strangers one hundred thousand for a children's game?"

"Yes."

The answer came so quickly that it almost annoyed her.

"You're a liar."

The smile on his face didn't budge.

"I assure you, I'm being completely honest."

"That's somehow less convincing."

Amusement flickered in his eyes. 

"Would it help if I told you there was a condition?" he asked.

There it is.

Ye-ji crossed her arms. "Let's hear it."

"If I flip your card, you pay me the same amount."

A laugh escaped her. He had to be out of his fucking mind if he thought he was going to get paid that much for a child's game.

"There's no way in hell I'm giving you that much."

The man tilted his head.

"Why?"

"Because I—you know what?" Ye-ji shook her head. "Just fuck off."

The man took no offense. If anything, the smile on his face seemed to widen.

Great. Apparently telling him to fuck off had only encouraged him. That should've been her cue to leave.

"I insist. Just one round of ddakji, that's all."

Ye-ji stared at him for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

Unbelievable.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time. 

11:04 PM.

Should she just call Jun-ho?

She craned her neck to look behind her at the LED screen that showed the time of the train's arrival. It was only six minutes away. She couldn't drag Jun-ho back here because some strange businessman had decided to harass her at a train station. 

Ye-ji looked back at the man who still had a smile on his face.

"You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"Not until you've heard me out."

She groaned.

"Fine. One round." She stood up. "And it better not be a scam."

The smile that spread across his face was immediate, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. She was already regretting it as she watched him stand up and eagerly thrust his arm forward to show her the cards.

She took the blue card from his hand and watched as he placed the red one on the ground in front of her. He took a step back, gesturing for her to begin the game.

She only had enough to pay him back twice before she was left with nothing to give him in return. If she had no money left—

Wait.

What exactly did he say?

She raised her arm and brought it down in one quick motion, releasing the card. The blue tile struck the red one cleanly, then it flipped.

“Ha!” she said, half-laughing in disbelief. “There’s no way.”

The man gave a slight chuckle. He turned toward his briefcase and unclasped it with practiced ease. 

Ye-ji's breath caught.

Inside were stacks of money. Not a few bills or even a wad of cash—stacks. The thick, tightly packed bundles were layered so neatly they looked almost artificial. 

Her eyes flicked from the briefcase to him. 

What kind of person just walks around with this much money? A drug dealer? Scammer?

Her grip tightened slightly around her phone. He gave no reaction to her silence. Instead, as if nothing about the moment was unusual, he reached into the case and pulled out two crisp yellow bills. He held them out to her.

Ye-ji hesitated for a second before taking it.

"Thank you," she said, dipping her head slightly before sliding the money into her pocket. 

The man bent down, picked up the red card, and placed the blue one with the same precision as before. He stepped back and hit it.

The blue card flipped.

He straightened his posture and looked at her expectantly.

"You actually want the money back?"

"Yes. Those were the rules we agreed on, miss."

Even with his answer, she didn't budge. The truth was, she needed that money. It wasn't a fortune, but it was still money. She couldn't afford to lose it to some random man's game of ddakji.

"What was the other way you said I could pay you back?" she asked.

"You can pay with a slap," he responded. 

"…A slap?"

He nodded once, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

A muscle in her jaw tightened. Of course it was something like that.

"…Okay."

She didn't let herself think about it. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact. 

His hand struck her cheek, the impact stinging more than she expected. Her head turned slightly with it, heat blooming across her skin almost instantly. She opened her eyes and tears prickled from the corner as she pressed a hand to her cheek like it could ease the sting. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. 

The man moved his arm back to his side. "Would you like to play a few more rounds?"

The loud screech of metal cut through the station. She turned slightly, watching as the train pulled into the station. A moment later, the doors opened and people began to step inside.

Ye-ji glanced at the train, then back at him. He stood still, waiting patiently like he already knew she wouldn't walk away. 

At this point, what did she even have to lose?

The numbers circled back in her head. Forty-five million won. That's all she needed. What he had to offer wouldn't solve everything, but it would get her closer than she had been in two years of empty visits to the precinct.

"The doors are now closing," the train announcement echoed through the station.

Ye-ji looked at the man and gave a small nod just as the doors closed.

He stepped back immediately, resetting the cards.

They played again and again until time began to blur. About fifteen minutes passed before Ye-ji finally slowed down. She had won more than she expected—close to a million in total. Her cheeks stung, but the payout was finally enough to matter. 

She handed the man his two cards.

"Thank you for inviting me to play," she said politely. 

The words felt strange in her mouth. Just twenty minutes ago, she was contemplating calling Jun-ho just to escape him, yet here she was.

"You know, miss," the man said as he closed his briefcase, "you can play other games like this for a larger amount of money. It would only take a few days."

"Games like this?" she repeated. "What, children's games?"

"Yes. Are you interested?"

Ye-ji didn't answer immediately. Her mind started running ahead of her before she could stop it. She had work she couldn't miss and bills she couldn't ignore. There was barely enough time in her week as it was. How was she supposed to fit something like this into her life even for just a few days?

But, then again, playing those games could possibly give her enough money to find Ye-jun. She'd have her one chance of freeing herself from the constant stress she'd been living under for two years. Maybe she could be tired for just a few days. What difference would it make if she was exhausted from work or exhausted from this? At least this would move her forward.

Before she could answer, the man spoke.

"Nam Ye-ji."

She froze. How did he know her name?

"Born on the seventh of June in the year of nineteen-ninety-eight. Resident of Ssang-mun Dong for twenty-two years. You attended Yonsei University and currently work at Myeongdong Katsu as a server."

Ye-ji took a step back in horror.

"Your parents, Choi Jae-hwa and Nam Ye-seo, are both deceased, and your only sibling, Nam Ye-jun, went missing two years ago. Your father left you with forty-five million of debt. You have no living kin, and you have put yourself in further debt as you searched for your last living family member."

How did he know that?

Her lungs tightened, refusing to draw in a breath as she stared at the man with wide eyes. She should have left when she was given the chance. 

"How— What the fuck? How do you know this?" Her voice cracked slightly before she forced it to steady. "Who the fuck are you?"

He reached into his pocket, completely unfazed by her panic. 

"There aren't many spots left," he said as he handed her a brown card. "Give us a call if you are interested."

The world seemed to blur around her once Ye-ji looked down at the card in her hand.

It was identical. The same cheap cardboard material. The same three shapes pressed neatly in the center—a circle, a triangle, and a square. Even the phone number on the back was printed in the exact same place.

Was she imagining this? Did the exhaustion of the day finally catch up to her?

Her vision blurred as she stared down at the card like it was impossible it existed again. The memory of standing in Ye-jun's room two years ago, staring at the identical card sitting on his desk was as clear as day. At the time, it was just another piece of clutter among his books and loose papers. It wasn't something worth asking him about. But the next day, he was gone. 

She had shown the card to police officers, investigators—anyone that was willing to listen. Every conversation ended the same way. No one recognized it. No one could explain why Ye-jun had it, especially after the number on it led to a dead end. That card was the closest thing she had to a lead, and it led absolutely nowhere.

Warmth pooled in the pit of stomach as she looked back at the man.

Did Ye-jun meet him too?

The thought refused to leave. It ran circles around her mind, digging itself deeper with every passing second that seemed to last forever. Ye-ji believed in coincidences, but this was not one. Not after everything the man just revealed about her life.  She finally stood in front of something real—someone that knew Ye-jun in some form or another. That man interacted with her brother. There was no way he couldn't have a slight clue on where he went.

"Where did you get this card?" she demanded. 

He only smiled that same empty smile. 

"Do you know Ye-jun?"

He turned and began walking away.

"Hey—!" She called, stepping after him. "Where did you get this? Do you know my brother?"

A few people glanced at her as her voice echoed through the station.

"Hey!"

She called after him again, quickening her pace.

He never stopped. He didn't spare a glance. Within seconds, he disappeared up the station stairs and out of sight.

Ye-ji didn't move an inch as she stared after him. Her gaze drifted back down to the card, her eyes tracing the shapes again, lingering on each. She turned it over, brushing her thumb across the numbers. 

She tried to make sense of it. Maybe there was an explanation, or perhaps those cards and their symbols were more common than she realized. Maybe the card wasn't actually connected to her brother. After all, even Jun-ho's brother had this card before his disappearance. But after everything that man knew about her, she couldn't bring herself to believe that.

If there was even a chance this card had something to do with Ye-jun, there was no way she could ignore it.

She slipped the card into her jacket pocket and made her way toward the platform.

She wouldn't call—not yet. Maybe not even tomorrow. She had to talk to Jun-ho first, then she could decide what to do. At least, that was what she told herself as she waited for the next train to arrive.

copyright © 2026 by sobangie | no copying, reposting, translating, or modifying my works.