Chapter 13: Oaths in Silence
The days had grown colder, the leaves outside curling into shades of burnt amber and brittle gold, yet Yunseo felt nothing but a dull ache in his chest. His world had narrowed into a sequence of silent meals, ignored greetings, and accusations wrapped in smiles. His once warm home, where he and his mother shared laughter over steamed buns and noodle soup, had become a theater of discomfort where he played the unwanted extra.
He used to wait for his father's return from work with excitement. Now, he dreaded the sound of the key turning in the door.
It had happened again the day before.
"Why would you break Minjae's toy, Yunseo? Are you jealous of him or something?" his father had thundered, holding up the smashed remote-control car like evidence in a courtroom.
Yunseo's voice had cracked trying to defend himself. "I didn't! I wasn't even in the room—"
"Don't lie!"
He had looked at his mother, whose eyes were filled with tears but whose mouth stayed closed. She didn't say anything. Not once.
That night, Yunseo lay in bed with the blanket pulled up to his chin. His mother came in quietly and sat beside him, brushing his hair back with gentle fingers. Her voice was a whisper, too soft to drown out the ache.
"I believe you."
He turned to her, blinking away the moisture that clung to his lashes. "Then why didn't you say anything?"
She looked down at her lap, fingers clasped tightly. "Because if I say something… it gets worse. For both of us."
That night, something cracked open inside Yunseo.
He lay awake long after his mother had gone to bed. His eyes, dry now, stared at the ceiling, and his fists were clenched beneath the blanket. He was tired of being powerless, tired of being blamed, tired of the silence.
His thoughts shifted to the things he could control. He might not be able to fix the way his father looked at him or stop the way Minjae always got away with everything, but he could control his future.
He pulled out his notebook and opened to a blank page. On the top, he wrote in careful letters:
"I will become great. I will make something of myself. I will protect Mom. And no one will be able to look down on us again."
He didn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks as he wrote.
From that morning onward, something changed. He woke up before the alarm, reviewed his class notes during breakfast, and stayed late at school to finish extra work. His teachers noticed the change almost immediately.
"Yunseo," Mr. Park, his homeroom teacher, said one afternoon, "you've always had potential. I'm proud to see you putting in the effort."
He only nodded, feeling the words settle like small stones in his chest. He didn't study for praise. He studied because it was the one thing they couldn't take from him.
At home, his new routine drew attention.
"Why are you always studying?" Minjae sneered once, tossing his bag on the couch. "Trying to impress someone?"
Yunseo didn't answer. He had learned silence could be stronger than words.
The stepmother scoffed. "Children who act too perfect are usually hiding something."
His father barely looked up from his phone. "Let him be. At least he's doing something useful."
Useful. That was all he wanted to be. He wasn't here to win their love. He was here to build something better.
At school, Yunseo found moments of peace. He joined the library club and began helping classmates with difficult assignments. People started to notice him not just as the quiet boy, but as someone dependable.
He formed a tentative friendship with a girl named Haeun, a quiet top student who also spent her breaks reading alone. She didn't ask too many questions, and she respected silence. One day, while solving a science worksheet together, she said, "You look like someone who's building armor."
He looked up. "Armor?"
She nodded. "You study like you're trying to protect something."
He didn't reply, but the words stayed with him.
He was building armor. Not to keep people out, but to survive the world he'd been thrust into.
Some nights were harder than others. He'd overhear laughter from the living room—the kind his father never shared with him anymore. Or he'd catch his mother quietly washing dishes after everyone else had gone to bed, her hands red and raw, her face tight with sadness.
He didn't always have the strength to smile.
But each time he felt himself faltering, he would open that notebook and read the promise he wrote. Then he'd pick up his pen and keep going.
Far away, across the city, another promise had been made in a quiet room.
Jiha sat in a small study space at the back of the school library, surrounded by books and notes. Her fingers were stained with ink, her eyes tired but bright. Like Yunseo, she had known betrayal. She had known what it meant to be replaced, ignored, and pushed aside.
But like Yunseo, she had chosen a different path.
She too had whispered to herself in the dark: "I will become something greater than what they think of me."
Jiha didn't have anyone who believed in her. Her stepmother sabotaged her efforts. Her father ignored her existence unless she made him look bad.
But she was determined.
Even if it meant studying until midnight, eating alone, and walking past groups of students whispering behind her back, she would keep going. One grade at a time. One achievement after another.
In different parts of the city, two teenagers bore the weight of rejection. Both driven by a deep desire to rise above it.
They hadn't met.
Not yet.
But their hearts were making the same vow.
And someday, those paths would intertwine.
Their pain would find echoes in each other's silence.
Their hopes would give rise to something far stronger than what they had lost.
But for now, they studied.
And dreamed.
And built.
Because sometimes, survival is the quietest form of rebellion.
[End of Chapter 13: Oaths in Silence]