Chapter 26:"Curtain Still Raised"
For the first time in weeks, the city felt quieter—but only on the surface.
Ji-hoon stood on the rooftop of Eunha's apartment building, watching the horizon. Below, Seoul buzzed with the chaos their broadcast had ignited. Protesters gathered outside Luma Entertainment's headquarters. Former employees came forward with more evidence. The police couldn't ignore it anymore.
Still, Ji-hoon felt no victory. Only weight.
Eunha stepped beside him, coffee in hand. "You haven't said much since last night."
Ji-hoon exhaled. "I keep thinking about how long it took. How many people were crushed before the world even blinked."
Eunha nodded. "It's not justice yet. But it's a beginning."
They stood in silence, the wind stirring their hair. Then Ji-hoon turned to her.
"There's one more place I need to go."
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Later that afternoon, they drove together through winding roads until they reached a small, hillside cemetery just outside Gangwon. They found her grave near a cherry tree, the petals already starting to bloom in soft pink.
Kang Sae-jin
1997 – 2023
"Even in silence, she sang."
Eunha knelt to place a white chrysanthemum. Ji-hoon stood still for a long moment.
"I should've seen it earlier," he said quietly. "She reached out. I dismissed it."
"You were surviving," Eunha said gently. "We all were."
He finally knelt, brushing a fallen petal from the stone. "I hope she knows now. That we didn't forget her."
Eunha put a hand on his shoulder. "She knows."
---
In the days that followed, a full-scale investigation into Luma was launched. High-profile resignations poured in. Former idols once branded "unstable" were speaking out—finally believed.
Seo Haneul's exposé became the most-shared piece in the country. Eunha's documentary series—Curtain Call—was picked up by a global streaming platform. Ji-hoon… kept his distance from the limelight.
Instead, he returned to teaching.
One day, while walking through the campus courtyard, a freshman stopped him.
"You're… Professor Yoon, right?"
Ji-hoon smiled faintly. "Depends. Am I late to your class?"
The student laughed nervously. "No. I just wanted to say… thank you. For what you did. My sister was one of them. She was trying to get out too."
Ji-hoon's breath caught. He nodded, unable to speak.
---
That night, Eunha sat at her desk, editing the final segment of Curtain Call. The footage showed Sae-jin's last recorded performance—a ballad she had written but never released.
The lyrics echoed softly:
I walked through fire with no name /
A voice, unheard, still burned the flame /
If no one sings, will silence win? /
But I remember where I've been.
Eunha added one final frame to the end of the episode: a dedication.
For Sae-jin. And everyone who was never allowed to finish their story.
She hit save, closed her laptop, and let the silence fill the room—not as grief, but as peace.
For the first time, the curtain didn't fall.
It stayed open.
And the truth stood in the spotlight.
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