The door creaked open, and Si-Woo stepped inside, his body trembling as he leaned against the wall for support. One of Ye-Jun's many paintings hung nearby, the colors swirling in a way that seemed almost mocking in their vibrancy. Si-Woo stood still, listening intently for any sound of his mother. A burst of canned laughter from the TV pierced the silence, and he exhaled a shaky breath of relief.

  Carefully, Si-Woo closed the door behind him, letting the warmth of the house envelop him like a familiar embrace. It provided a brief reprieve from the storm raging outside—and the one inside his chest. Pain radiated through his ribs and jaw, a constant, unyielding reminder of the fight. His mother's laughter drifted from the living room, light and carefree. It filled him with equal parts love and guilt; he couldn’t let her see him like this.

  Quietly, he climbed the stairs, each step a new wave of agony coursing through his battered body. The laughter faded into the background, replaced by the faint creaks of the old wooden steps beneath his weight. Reaching the top of the stairs, he leaned against the bannister, taking a moment to steady himself before limping down the hallway toward the bathroom.

  His hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob, the sharp pain in his side making him grimace. Si-Woo stumbled into the bathroom, gripping the sink for support as his vision swam. His other hand fumbled with the shower knob, and soon the sound of running water filled the room. It was a small comfort, a momentary shield against everything else.

  The steam rose quickly, misting the mirror and obscuring his reflection. Si-Woo peeled off his damp clothes, each motion revealing fresh bruises and scrapes that screamed with every move. Stepping under the warm spray, he gasped as the heat met his injuries, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he stood there, letting the water cascade over him like a salve for his broken body and spirit.

  The mix of rainwater, sweat, and blood swirled around his feet, disappearing down the drain in faint red trails. He sagged against the shower wall, closing his eyes. The rhythm of the water matched the rain outside, a steady cadence that began to slow his breathing.

  "I can't let them win," he whispered, the words more for himself than anyone else.

  As the water turned cold, Si-Woo turned off the shower and stepped out, shivering as the chilly air hit his damp skin. He reached for a towel, wrapping it tightly around his waist as he opened the cabinet above the sink. His fingers brushed against the contents of his mother’s makeup kit, and he hesitated.

  "I have to hide this," he muttered under his breath, steeling himself as he grabbed the kit. The faint scent of his mother’s perfume lingered on the brushes and bottles, mixing oddly with the damp air.

  Towel-clad, Si-Woo limped into his room, the chill of the floorboards biting against his bruised feet. His eyes flicked to the martial arts trophies Ye-Jun had once proudly displayed, a reminder of his brother’s strength. Setting the makeup kit on his desk, Si-Woo crossed to the closet and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. He laid them on the bed, his hands trembling with exhaustion.

  Dressing was a painstaking process, each motion a new battle. Pulling his shirt over his head sent a jolt of pain through his side, and his fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons. Once dressed, Si-Woo turned to the mirror on his desk. His reflection stared back at him: a bruised, bloodied boy trying to mask his pain.

  He opened the makeup kit and selected a bottle of foundation. His hand trembled as he dabbed at the dark bruises marring his face. The foundation was too light, but he made it work, covering the worst of the damage. His eyes, surrounded by dark rings, seemed to peer into his soul, but he quickly dusted them with powder.

  "Just a little more," he whispered, blotting his face with a tissue. The makeup wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to hide the worst of it. Si-Woo tried a smile, but it turned into a grimace, the pain refusing to let him forget.

  Satisfied—or as much as he could be—Si-Woo took a deep breath and made his way downstairs. The aroma of dinner filled the air, comforting and familiar. It wrapped around him as he entered the living room, where his mother, Mrs. Park, stood at the stove, humming a tune as she stirred a bubbling pot of stew.

  When she turned to greet him, her warm smile faltered. Her eyes widened as they took in his swollen face and poorly concealed bruises. The spoon slipped from her hand, clattering onto the floor.

  "Si-Woo!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with alarm. "What happened?"

  Si-Woo froze, his mind scrambling for an explanation. The lie came quickly, but saying it felt like swallowing shards of glass.

  "I... fell down," he muttered, the words barely audible.

  The excuse hung in the air, flimsy and transparent. Mrs. Park searched his face, her eyes brimming with concern and a quiet plea for honesty. But she knew better than to push him.

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  "Okay, my love," she said softly, her voice laced with unspoken understanding. "If that's what you want to say."

  She turned back to the stove, her movements deliberate and careful, as though afraid to shatter the fragile calm between them.

  "Dinner will be ready soon," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "You should sit down and rest."

  Si-Woo nodded, his throat tightening as he fought back tears. He shuffled to the dinner table, his body aching with every step. Sitting down, he watched his mother through her reflection in the kitchen window. Her back was to him, but even so, he could feel the weight of her worry.

  Mrs. Park set the table in silence, her hands moving with quiet efficiency. Every now and then, her eyes flickered to Si-Woo’s reflection, the sight of his battered face a reminder of the unspoken pain she couldn’t fix.

  Si-Woo stared out at the rain, watching the droplets race down the glass. Each one seemed to carry his guilt and regret, their paths blurring together like the ache in his chest.

  Mrs. Park’s voice broke the uneasy silence, her concern threading through her words. "Are you sure you’re okay, Si-Woo?"

  Si-Woo nodded, the lie pressing heavily against him with every repeated question. The cheerful sounds of a cooking show on the TV rose slightly, an ironic contrast to the tension thickening in the room.

  "I’m fine, Mom," he said, forcing a weak smile. "It’s just a little fall."

  Mrs. Park’s eyes lingered on him as she set the final plate on the table, her worry etched into every line of her face. The rain outside mirrored the unspoken words between them, its steady rhythm a backdrop to the pain Si-Woo struggled to conceal.

  As Mrs. Park sat across from him, her gaze never wavered. The steaming pot of stew sat between them, a silent witness to their fragile conversation.

  "You know you can tell me anything, Si-Woo," she said, her voice tight but gentle.

  Si-Woo swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It’s nothing, Mom," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just kids being kids."

  The lie felt like a weight dragging him down, but the truth seemed too much to bear.

  Mrs. Park nodded slowly, her expression a mix of acceptance and disappointment. "Okay," she said softly. "But if you ever need help..." Her words trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.

  Si-Woo gave another nod, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.

  The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, breaking the tension. Si-Woo stiffened as his older brother, Ye-Jun, stepped into the hallway, rain dripping from his clothes. His school bag hung over one shoulder, water pooling at his feet.

  "Si-Woo?" Ye-Jun’s voice was sharp with surprise as he entered the kitchen. His eyes immediately locked onto Si-Woo’s bruised face.

  Mrs. Park turned, her expression shifting to a mix of relief and worry. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Ye-Jun dropped his bag with a dull thud and took a step closer to Si-Woo, his gaze darkening as he took in his brother’s injuries.

  "Tell me the truth," Ye-Jun demanded, his tone low but firm. "Who did this?"

  Si-Woo hesitated, his gaze flickering between his mother and Ye-Jun. The silence stretched unbearably until he finally whispered, "Jung-Ho and his friends."

  Ye-Jun’s fists clenched at his sides, his anger barely contained. He turned to Mrs. Park. "Mom, I’ll handle this."

  Mrs. Park’s eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and pride as she looked at her oldest son. She knew the depth of his loyalty, but she also understood the dangers of letting anger take control.

  "Be careful, Ye-Jun," she said softly. "Remember what I’ve always told you."

  Ye-Jun gave a curt nod, his jaw set in determination. He turned back to Si-Woo, crouching slightly to meet his brother’s eyes.

  "You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore," Ye-Jun said, his voice steady and sure.

  Si-Woo’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears, a mixture of gratitude and dread washing over him. The fear that had weighed so heavily on him felt a little lighter with Ye-Jun by his side, but the thought of his brother getting involved twisted his stomach.

  The three of them sat around the small dining table, the rain’s steady patter providing a somber backdrop to their meal. Mrs. Park served the steaming dumplings with quiet efficiency, her eyes darting to Si-Woo with every movement.

  "Eat up, Si-Woo," she said, her smile forced but warm. "You must be starving."

  Si-Woo obediently picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks, but the comforting warmth of the food did little to ease the chill in his chest. He chewed slowly, the silence in the room heavy and unrelenting.

  "You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, Si-Woo," Ye-Jun said firmly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

  Si-Woo looked up, meeting Ye-Jun’s gaze. The determination in his brother’s eyes was fierce, almost overwhelming. For a fleeting moment, the burden Si-Woo carried didn’t feel quite as heavy.

  The rest of the meal passed in near silence, the clink of chopsticks against plates the only sound. Si-Woo picked at his food, the dumplings sitting heavily in his stomach. His mother’s gaze lingered on him, her unspoken worries louder than any words.

  Later, as he climbed the stairs, each step felt like an uphill battle. The wooden banister dug into his palm as he leaned heavily on it, his body protesting every movement. The soft glow of his bedroom light at the end of the hallway seemed impossibly far away.

  Si-Woo finally reached his room and pushed the door open. The dim light from his nightstand cast comforting shadows on the walls, but the familiar sight of his bookshelves loomed over him, their presence a silent reminder of all he couldn’t escape.

  He collapsed onto his bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. For a moment, he let himself lie there, staring at the ceiling as the rain outside tapped against the window. The sound lulled him into a brief, false sense of peace, but he sat up with a grimace, reaching for a book on the nightstand.

  "I won’t let them win," he whispered, the words a quiet vow.

  The book was about a young hero who faced his fears, a story that felt too close to home. Si-Woo opened it to the bookmarked page, his eyes scanning the words like they held the key to his own struggles. As he read, the steady rhythm of the rain outside matched the beating of his heart.

  Before long, his eyes grew heavy, and the words on the page blurred together. The book slipped from his hands as sleep claimed him, the storm outside fading into the background.