The screen of the old mobile phone flickered to life, the familiar numbers appearing in a steady rhythm: 2000.13.08. It was a date that seared in his soul, one he would never forget. It wasn't only his birthday. It was their birthday: Jinae and his. That number had formerly been the key to childish games on their mother's phone, the passcode that opened joy in a house that had gradually turned dark; it now unlocked silence.
Donghyuk, six, sat in the backseat of the police car. The weight of grief was too much for his small frame. His mother is now gone—his sister, twin, protector, his other heart gone. And his father? A monster dressed in uniform has disappeared into the darkness. Donghyuk wasn't sure where he had gone. He did not care.
All that mattered now was the suffocating feeling in his chest, sharp and hollow, and the memory. The memory of the place he'd only visited once, his uncles' assigned military camp. He didn't know the address. He barely remembered the route. But he remembered the feeling of safety when Uncle Hyunwoo had lifted him onto his shoulders and called him "Soldier in training".
When the officers stepped out to fill the tank and grab snacks. Donghyuk did not hesitate. He ran. Past the gas pumps. Past the trees. Past the bridge. Through roads and paths, his feet didn't know, but his heart did. Hours had gone by, it was once sunny, now the last remnant of light was being swallowed by darkness. No shoes. No plan. Just memory and desperation. And finally -
"Commander, there's a kid out here looking for you... says his name is Donghuk.
Hyunwoo froze.
The boy had found his way home.
Donghyuk had never known true silence until after the screaming and ragged, harsh breaths stopped.
The glass of the beer and soju bottles still sparkled under the dim living room light, a haunting constellation of broken shards. His mother's blood had dried into the cracks of the wooden floor. The smell of alcohol clung to the walls like unwanted spirits. But it was the stillness that scared him most, because before the silence came, there was chaos.
The smashing. The shouting. The pleading.
And then the suffocating, stillness, silence.
When he woke up, Jinae's small frame was draped over his, arms wrapped around him like a shield. Her body was cold. Her hair once smelled like the strawberry shampoo. Now it was different; the smell of alcohol lingered in her hair and blood. Her lips were pale.
His stomach churned, but he couldn't cry. He didn't cry when he stumbled out from under her. He didn't cry when he opened the front door to the police officers. Only when the female officer knelt and said his name softly, gently, like it was worth something to save, did the tears fall.
The room they took him to had crayon drawings on the wall, some old and faded, some new and vibrant. A shared bed with mismatched pillows. Stuffed animals lined up on the shelf. His life, frozen.
He remembered sitting on the bed, legs still on the edge of the bed, while voices blurred outside the door. He watched dust dance in the early sunlight and tried to believe none of it was real. A knock, the a woman entered.
"Donghyuk," she said, kneeling beside him. "Sweetheart, we have to go now. You'll be safe. I promise."
He nodded, clutching something behind his back. She noticed. "What's that?" He held up his mother's phone. The officer hesitated. "You took it?" He nodded again. She didn't take it from him.
Later, in the car, he sat with the phone clutched tightly to his chest. It was all he had left of her. Of Jinae. Of everything. His father despised family photos, yet that phone contained many hidden ones. When the car stopped, he saw the officers exit. He didn't hear the click of the door lock engage. So he tested it, and that was all he needed. His legs moved before he thought it through. His feet hit the pavement. His heart beat faster than his fear.
He ran.
He didn't know how long it took. His legs burned. His vision blurred. But he kept going. Past the gas pumps. Past the trees. Across a bridge. Through fields.
Then the gates. Fences. A guard booth. He stumbled forward. The gate guard looked down at him, brows drawn in confusion. "Kid? You lost?"
Donghyuk shook his head. "C-call Commander - Lee Hyunwoo... Please."
"What's your name, kid?" asked the guard as he dialed the commander's number on the landline phone.
"Donghyuk"
"Commander, there's a kid out here looking for you, his name is Donghyuk"
A pause
"...He's on his way now."
Donghyuk collapsed to his knees. He had made it. He was safe. For now.
As Hyunwoo arrived, boots heavy on the gravel. He stopped short at the sight. The boy before him was a shadow of his sister's son. Looking at his nephew, tired feet, scraped palms, and tears dried on his cheeks. He had made it, standing at the gate like a ghost child, too small to be so broken.
He knelt on both knees, embracing him. Family was family. "You're safe now, everything is going to be okay"
Donghyuk's mother, Seoyeon, came from a long line of military service. Her side of the family was forged in the fires of discipline and duty. The Men-Soldiers, Sergeants, Corporals, Captains and Commanders. The Women, who were Nurses and Paramedics, were considered to be healers on the battlefield. It was in her blood to protect, to serve. The same fire lived in her younger brother, Hyunwoo, now a Commander. When he took Donghyuk in, he did not hesitate.
For the first week, Donghyuk barely spoke. He clung to silence, hiding behind walls and routines. The camp had structure, rhythm, and safety. Nurses and Chefs offered kind smiles and warm food.
Orders were given with clarity, not cruelty. There were no surprises here. By the end of the week, he found comfort in the predictability of it all.
Six years later, Donghyuk was twelve, it had become home. Commander Lee Hyunwoo was now Captain Lee Hyunwoo, his promotion hard-earned and respected. Donghyuk watched everything in awe, he absorbed the discipline, the loyalty, the order.
He wasn't the same child who ran for his life, who ran to the gate. He wasn't the same child who would look at his father in fear and cowardice if he ever saw him again.
His father's blood ran colder.
Jieun had once been the youngest of a powerful lineage of lawmen. Prosecutors, inspectors, police chiefs. But his behaviour was never tolerated. Too reckless. Too self-serving. Too neglectful.
When he was kicked out of the family, no one looked back. Donghyuk's grandfather, a man of strict morals and unshakable ethics, believed in the law above all else. He did not know that Jieun had children, nor did he know that there was only one left.
Joo Seun-yeon, Jieun's older brother, had stayed on the 'righteous path'; his son Jin Hogae who is twelve years older than Donghyuk. Was once a rising police officer himself, now called Jindo dog.
It would be years before they met. And when they do, the truth and belonging will hit them both unexpectedly.
For now, Donghyuk stood between unknown legacies. One of strength and sacrifice, the other of Justice and Judgement.
And Donghyuk's story was just beginning.