The door to the house opens, and Si-woo steps inside, his body trembling. He leans against the wall next to one of his brothers many paintings, listening for any sign of his mother. The TV's laugh track pierces the silence, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Si-woo shuts the door quietly, the warmth of the house wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He takes a moment to gather himself, the pain in his ribs and jaw a constant, pulsing reminder of the fight. He hears his mother's laughter from the living room, and his heart swells with a mix of love and guilt. He can't bear the thought of her seeing him like this.

Si-woo slowly climbs the stairs, each step sending a jolt of pain through his bruised body. His mother's laughter from the living room grows fainter as he ascends, the TV's chatter a distant echo.

Si-woo reaches the top of the stairs, his breaths shallow and quick. He limps down the hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath his weight. His hand shakes as he reaches for the bathroom door, the pain in his side a constant throb.

Si-woo stumbles into the bathroom, his vision blurring from the pain. He turns the shower knob with trembling hands, the sound of water a symphony of relief in the quiet room.

The shower comes to life, spraying warm water onto the tiles. Si-woo peels off his wet clothes, each layer revealing more bruises and scrapes. He steps under the spray, the heat enveloping him like a warm embrace. He closes his eyes, letting the water cascade over his bruised and bloodied body.

The water runs hot over Si-woo's injuries, mixing with the rainwater to form rivulets of red and clear that swirl down the drain. He gasps as the heat meets the bruises, but it's a pain he'll endure for the sake of the comfort it brings. His breathing slows, matching the rhythm of the rain outside.

The warmth of the shower starts to soothe Si-woo's bruised muscles, and he sags against the wall, letting the water wash over him. He opens his eyes to find the bathroom mirror fogged up, obscuring his reflection.

SI-WOO

(whispers)

I can't let them win.

The water runs cold now, the steam dissipating into the air. Si-woo turns off the shower and steps out, his body shivering from the sudden chill. He wraps a towel around his waist, the fabric sticking to his skin.

The chilly air hits Si-woo's wet skin, making him shiver as he reaches for his mother's makeup kit. He opens the cabinet with a soft creak, careful not to disturb the quiet of the house.

SI-WOO

(whispers to himself)

I have to hide this.

He opens the makeup kit, the scent of his mother's perfume wafting up to mingle with the dampness of the room. His hand shakes as he selects a bottle of foundation, a shiver running down his spine, he takes them to his room.

Wrapped in a towel, Si-woo limps into his bedroom and passes martial art trophies Ye-jun won, the floor cold against his bruised feet. Setting down the makeup kit on his desk, He opens his closet and pulls out a fresh set of clothes, laying them on the bed with trembling hands.

Si-woo dresses with painstaking care, each movement sending shockwaves through his bruised body. He winces as he pulls a shirt over his head, the fabric brushing against his injuries.

Si-woo examines his bruised and bloodied reflection in the mirror on top of his desk. He takes a deep breath and opens his mother's makeup kit, his heart racing as he attempts to conceal his injuries.

Si-woo's hand shakes as he applies the makeup, dabbing at the dark bruises with gentle strokes of the sponge. The foundation is too light, but it'll have to do. He doesn't want to raise any suspicion.

SI-WOO

(whispers)

Just a little more...

He blots his skin with a tissue, the crimson marks fading beneath the thick layer of concealer. His eyes are rings of darkness, but he covers them with a gentle hand, applying a light dusting of powder. He tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

With his face now a mask of concealed pain, Si-woo gathers his strength and heads back downstairs. The aroma of dinner fills the house, a comforting embrace that wraps around him as he descends.

Si-woo steps into the living room, the warm light and comforting aroma of his mother's cooking wrapping around him. His mother, MRS. PARK, is at the stove, her back to him, stirring a bubbling pot of stew. She's humming a tune, lost in her own world.

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MRS. PARK

(turns around)

Ah, Si-woo, you're back. How was your-

Her eyes widen when she sees his bruised and swollen face, the makeup barely concealing the damage. The spoon clatters to the floor, the stew forgotten.

MRS. PARK

(alarmed)

Si-woo! What happened?

Si-woo's heart skips a beat as he tries to come up with a believable excuse. The lie is on the tip of his tongue, but the sight of his mother's concerned face cracks his resolve.

SI-WOO

(swallows hard)

I... fell down.

The words hang in the air, a feeble shield against the storm of emotions on his mother's face. Mrs. Park's eyes searched his, a silent plea for the truth. But she knew better than to push him.

MRS. PARK

(softly)

Okay, my love. If that's what you want to say.

Her gaze holds his for a moment longer, filled with an unspoken understanding. She turns back to the stove, her movements careful, as if she's afraid any sudden action might shatter the fragile calm in the room.

MRS. PARK

(continuing to cook)

Dinner will be ready soon. You should sit down and rest.

Si-woo nods, his eyes stinging with ready tears. He sluggishly makes his way to the dinner table, each step echoing in the quiet kitchen. He sits, the chair creaking beneath him, and watches his mother's reflection in the kitchen window. Her back is a wall of unspoken words, a fortress of worry and love.

Mrs. Park sets the table with quiet efficiency, her eyes occasionally flickering to Si-woo's reflection in the window. His gaze is fixed on the rain, the droplets racing down the glass like tiny rivers of regret.

MRS. PARK

(concerned)

Are you sure you're okay, Si-woo?

Si-woo nods, the lie feeling heavier with each question. The TV's volume rises slightly, filling the room with the sound of a cooking show, a stark contrast to the tension simmering between them.

SI-WOO

(weak smile)

I'm fine, Mom. It's just a little fall.

Mrs. Park's eyes never leave him as she sets the final plate on the table. The rain outside seems to mirror the unspoken words between them, a constant reminder of the pain that Si-woo is trying to keep hidden.

The TV's chatter fades into the background as Mrs. Park sits opposite Si-woo, her eyes never leaving his face. The steaming pot of stew sits between them, a silent sentinel of their unspoken truths.

MRS. PARK

(voice tight)

You know you can tell me anything, Si-woo.

SI-WOO

(swallows hard)

It's nothing, Mom. Just kids being kids.

The lie feels like a knife twisting in his gut, but he can't bear to tell her the truth. Not yet.

MRS. PARK

(nods slowly)

Okay. But if you ever need help...

Her voice trails off, the weight of her words heavy in the air. Si-woo nods again, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.

The sound of the front door opening echoes through the house. Ye-jun, Si-woo's older brother, steps into the hallway, his eyes immediately drawn to the kitchen. He's soaked from the rain, his school bag slung over one shoulder.

YE-JUN

(surprised)

Si-woo? What happened?

Mrs. Park turns, her expression a mix of relief and fear as she sees Ye-jun. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Ye-jun walks in, his eyes scanning Si-woo's bruised form. He sets his bag down with a thump and takes a step towards his brother.

YE-JUN

(concerned)

Tell me the truth. Who did this?

Si-woo's gaze flickers to his mother, then back to Ye-jun. The silence is deafening.

SI-WOO

(whispers)

Jung-ho and his friends.

Ye-jun's eyes darken, his fists clenching at his sides. He turns to Mrs. Park.

YE-JUN

(to Mrs. Park)

Mom, I'll handle this.

Mrs. Park's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and pride as she looks at her oldest son. She knows the fierce loyalty Ye-jun feels towards Si-woo, but she also knows the dangers of letting anger lead the way.

MRS. PARK

(softly)

Be careful, Ye-jun. Remember what I've always told you.

Ye-jun nods, his jaw set. He turns to Si-woo, his eyes searching his younger brother's battered face.

YE-JUN

(Serious)

You don't have to deal with this alone anymore.

Si-woo's eyes fill with a mix of gratitude and dread. He doesn't want his brother to get involved, but the fear that has been his constant companion feels a little less oppressive with Ye-jun by his side.

The three of them sit around the small dining table, the rain's patter providing a rhythmic score to their silent meal. Mrs. Park serves the steaming dumplings, her eyes never leaving Si-woo's.

MRS. PARK

(forced smile)

Eat up, Si-woo. You must be starving.

Si-woo nods obediently, taking a dumpling with his chopsticks. The warmth of the food does little to dispel the chill in his heart. He chews slowly, the silence stretching out like a tightrope.

YE-JUN

(firmly)

You don't have to be the strong one all the time, Si-woo.

Si-woo looks up, his eyes meeting Ye-jun's, and sees the fiery determination in his brother's gaze. The weight of his burden feels lighter, just for a moment.

The three of them sat down to dinner, the sound of their chopsticks the only conversation in the otherwise quiet room. The dumplings, once a symbol of comfort, now felt like lead in Si-woo's stomach. He picked at them half-heartedly, the rain outside a backdrop to his somber thoughts. His mother's eyes searched his, but she said nothing more, understanding that sometimes, words could only do so much.

The stairs seem to stretch on forever, each step a testament to Si-woo's willpower. He leans heavily on the banister, the wood digging into his palm as he pulls himself upwards. His eyes are on the prize: the soft glow of his bedroom light, beckoning him to rest.

Si-woo opens the door to his room, the soft glow of his nightlight the only source of comfort in the darkness. His books, once a source of escape, now seem to loom over him.

He collapses onto his bed, the mattress sighing under his weight. He lies there for a moment, the rain outside lulling him into a false sense of peace. Then, with a grimace, sits up and reaches for the book on the nightstand.

SI-WOO

(whispers)

I won't let them win.

The book is about a young hero facing his fears, a story that mirrors his own. He opens it to the bookmarked page, his eyes scanning the words as if they hold the answer to his troubles. The story within the pages seems to pulse with the rhythm of his own heart. He sleeps.