Abandoning It All: The Midnight Flight
All of it—ditched. Time to bolt.
……………
The next morning.
I'd wrapped up everything related to the Special Security Management Bureau as best I could. Before the first buses even ran, at 4 a.m., I hailed a taxi and headed to the office. To return my ID card and all the villain-suppression gear.
I'd submitted my resignation through the intranet. Along with a request to burn all my remaining vacation days. Sure, if it wasn't approved, I'd rack up unauthorized absences and get fired anyway—but after 18 years, I trusted they wouldn't go that far. And if they did… well, nothing to be done about it.
Once I handed over the gear, a familiar guard on the other side of the window rubbed his eyes and asked,
"Agent Han Kang? What brings you here at this hour?"
I didn't give him a straight answer, just waved awkwardly.
"Nothing much. Take care."
As I turned to leave, the lobby reflected in the glass doors behind me caught my eye. The workplace where Han Kang had spent 18 years—and where I'd commuted for months after possessing him, until it became second nature. All of it ended today. I'd never set foot in this building again.
But that was my choice. No room for regrets now. That would be a luxury.
Bitter taste lingered in my mouth, neither spat out nor swallowed, as I climbed back into the taxi.
I called the real estate agent too. Told him unilaterally that I'd forfeit the deposit and terminate the lease. He bombarded me with complaints about penalties and lease terms, but I just said sorry and hung up.
Back home, I packed. One suitcase. A few changes of clothes, toiletries, some cash. Like cooking beans with lightning—done in a flash.
"All set?"
Yeom Hana's voice came from behind me. She was slinging just a guitar case over her shoulder. That was her entire "luggage." Me with one suitcase, her with one electric guitar. Between us, 65 years of life—and that's all there is to show for it.
"Yeah. All done. Let's go."
As I slipped on my shoes, she pulled a crumpled envelope from her pocket.
"Before we leave, swing by my place one more time."
"Why? And what's with the envelope?"
"Uh… it's for the landlady grandma."
Yeom Hana rubbed her nose sheepishly.
"My room's a total wreck right now. Even if she keeps the deposit, repair and cleaning costs'll eat it up and more. Feels wrong just ghosting her."
"……Ah."
Come to think of it, I hadn't even considered that. My place had a decent deposit and no major damage, so the landlord wouldn't lose much—they could even keep the furniture I'd bought. But for the owner of Yeom Hana's basement studio? Total disaster. Door ripped off, furniture smashed, tenant vanished, and a piddly deposit.
Peeking through the opening: wads of 1,000- and 5,000-won bills. Tips from busking, scrimped meal money—pennies saved. Didn't look like 500,000 won even. But to her, it was blood money, emergency savings.
My chest twinged.
Struggling to care for herself, and here she was worrying about her wrecked basement landlord. Even I, older and better off, hadn't spared a thought for others.
But that's what made her Yeom Hana.
She's a real human, through and through.
"You're too good, you know that?"
I reached out and ruffled her hair. She grinned through her bruised, swollen face.
"Hehe. Gotta live right for the baby's sake."
"Yeah. Let's go."
I grabbed the suitcase handle and headed for the door. Yeom Hana went out first.
But—my feet stopped at the threshold.
One last time. Just once.
I turned and scanned the living room.
The TV came into view. Where I'd watched movies and dramas with Han Sol.
Will she be okay?
A flicker of worry surged. But resignation followed.
Nothing more I could do. I'd done it all. No time for pity now. Thinking of what Han Sol had done—what she was about to do—I had no right, no reason to worry.
My gaze shifted to the coat rack. The tie Lee Jin-ah had given me, tied it on me herself.
"……"
I owed her big, and she'd seen me at my worst. Sorry, but I wasn't taking it—or tossing it. So I left it.
No lingering. I turned, opened the door, and stepped out.
Click.
The door shut, the electronic lock beeping as it secured.
The pre-booked rental was a black sedan. Suitcase and guitar in the trunk, I slid into the driver's seat. Yeom Hana buckled up in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
I hit the accelerator, and we rolled out. Past the parking lot, down alleys, onto the main road.
Dropped the emergency envelope at her place, then merged onto the highway entrance.
Toll gate passed—sky opened wide. City skyline receding, horizon expanding.
"We're really leaving. Seoul."
Yeom Hana murmured, forehead against the window.
"Yeah. For real."
No turning back now. Destination vague, we just headed south. Toward the sea.
……………
Seoul fully vanished in the rearview, bluish mountain ridges appearing outside. Crossing from Gyeonggi into Chungcheong on the highway.
In those short dozens of minutes, we hadn't exchanged a word. Exhaustion from the dawn escape op? Or anxiety about the future? Maybe both.
The silence in the rental car—seeming endless—was broken by my phone's vibration.
Bzzzzt—
Phone rattling in the cupholder against the plastic—annoyingly loud.
Glanced at the screen: [Lee Jin-ah].
……Here it comes.
Hadn't eaten properly; stomach acid rose bitter.
Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt.
I kept my eyes on the road. Ignore. Don't answer. What good would talking do? Same old script.
Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt.
Calls wouldn't stop. Relentless. She was on the clock, but she'd dial a hundred, two hundred times till I picked up.
Fifth call ended—vibration paused.
Relief? Nope—started again.
But different sender.
[Han Sol]
Even I, resolved, flinched—hands jerking on the wheel. If Lee Jin-ah's call was the executioner's summons, Han Sol's was a drowning hand yanking from the muck.
Still ignored. But cold sweat slicked my palms; wheel slippery.
"Ajusshi, you sure we shouldn't answer?"
Yeom Hana peered up anxiously from shotgun.
"……Yeah. No need."
"Want me to turn it off?"
"Nah, leave it. I got this."
Muted it first. Irritating buzz gone—eerie quiet returned.
But no sound didn't mean no alerts. Screen flashing nonstop.
Silent screams. Missed calls hit 15; messages cascaded like a waterfall.
"……Hoo."
I thought I'd steeled myself, accepted it, sorted my heart.
Before leaving, gazing at that tie and TV—I thought I'd let go of all lingering ties.
But seeing their words hit me like this? Not even close.
You said you'd never ever abandon me.
Yeah. I did.
Held her hand, looked in her eyes, hugged her tight—promised over and over. No matter what, I wouldn't abandon her.
That promise turned a glaring lie.
The junior who'd warmed up to this lonely old man for years, offering comfort. The girl I'd believed was my loving daughter, twisted as it was.
Humans can't just slice emotions clean like a knife.
My eyes kept drifting to the flashing screen. Then warmth touched my right hand—gripping the phone instead of the wheel.
"Ajusshi."
Yeom Hana's hand. Covering mine and the phone.
To keep this would-be dad's heart from wavering more.
"Ajusshi… you okay, right?"
Worried eyes. She must've seen my face crumbling by the second.
Meeting her gaze snapped me back.
The one beside me now was Yeom Hana. Twenty-year-old girl with nowhere to lean but me—and the life growing in her belly.
Don't waver. You decided this.
Han Sol tracked her down and swung fists. Lee Jin-ah threatened to bury me socially unless I abort the baby.
What was I supposed to do?
Turn back to Seoul now, drop to my knees—would that fix it? Hell no.
Can't ruin the present chasing ghosts of the past.
"……Yeah. I'm good."
Grabbed the phone, set Do Not Disturb. Screen went dark. No more alerts.
"Just ignore 'em straight-up?"
"Later. Once they cool off, I'll give a quiet heads-up."
Back in the cupholder. Long road ahead. No time for looking back.