The sky was turning dusky as Roby and his uncle left the crematorium.
But just before they could drive off, Roby spoke softly.
"Uncle… can we stop by Ji-hoon's house? Just for a minute."
Jong-woo glanced at him, then nodded without a word.
A few minutes later…
They arrived at a modest two-story house tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. Nothing luxurious—just warm, lived-in, and clean. It had that stillness that only homes with missing laughter carried.
Roby stood in front of the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.
The door creaked open.
A middle-aged woman appeared—hair slightly graying, wearing a soft gray sweater and a kitchen apron with a faint wet stain. Her eyes were tired but lit up with recognition the moment she saw him.
"Roby…?" she said, her voice cracking.
Roby gave a small, respectful smile.
"Hi, ma'am. It's… been a while."
She stared at him for a long second before murmuring, her eyes now glassy with tears:
"You've grown so much… You look more like your father now."
Roby chuckled quietly, eyes falling to the floor for a second.
"You're still living here?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes, Roby. Too many memories in these walls. Moving... feels impossible."
He glanced into the house.
On the living room wall, he caught sight of a framed picture of Ji-hoon from middle school, smiling in his uniform, beside a few awards.
"Would it be okay if I came in for a moment?"
She wiped her eyes and stepped aside.
"Of course, dear. This was your home too, once."
Roby nodded, his heart heavy, and stepped inside.
Elsewhere in Seoul...
A luxurious mansion gleamed under the evening lights.
Inside, Jun Hae lounged comfortably on a designer sofa, his school blazer tossed casually over the backrest. The coffee table in front of him was littered with energy drink cans and expensive snacks.
Two of his closest friends relaxed nearby:
Min Jae-suk, the calculating son of a high-ranking Ministry of Education official. Always composed, always with access to confidential school records.
Kang Dae-hyun, the flamboyant grandson of the CEO of Korea's top entertainment agency. A half-serious playboy with serious pull among trainees and rising idols.
Jun Hae tossed a sleek invitation onto the table.
"The event's tomorrow night. Strictly for elites. No seat for anyone outside the 'real class'."
Min Jae-suk smirked coldly.
"You sure it won't leak? That new American kid… he's turning heads."
Kang Dae-hyun scrolled his phone lazily.
"If he shows up… let's just say we'll remind him who runs this school."
Jun Hae's smile turned sharp.
"Or find out who he really is."
Meanwhile…
In a narrow backstreet near the center of Seoul, Roby and his uncle Jong-woo stepped into a cozy ramen shop. Steam curled out from the doorway, carrying the smell of broth and sizzling meat.
Roby slung a heavy backpack onto his shoulder.
Inside it, tightly wedged between a hoodie and an old comic book, was Ji-hoon's diary — the one he found hidden beneath the drawer in Ji-hoon's room just hours earlier.
As they approached the shop, Roby paused.
Seven students in the same school uniform were gathered outside. Loud. Stylish. A little too flashy for their age. Leaning on expensive scooters and motorbikes.
They looked like the kind of guys who never followed rules — and never faced consequences.
But only one of them caught Roby's eye.
Lucas.
Standing at the far end, arms in his pockets, Lucas looked tense. Not quite part of the group — but not refusing them either. His eyes briefly locked with Roby's.
Just for a second.
But enough for Roby to notice… Lucas was hiding something.
Jong-woo gave Roby a light pat on the shoulder.
"Come on. Eat first. A hungry detective's a stupid detective."
Roby chuckled quietly and nodded, but before he stepped inside, he glanced back.
Lucas was already walking away from the group, saying nothing to them… or to Roby.
The ramen shop buzzed with chatter, laughter, and steam.
But in the farthest corner—Roby sat alone, his backpack quietly dropped onto the seat beside him.
Jong-woo was still busy ordering extra toppings at the counter.
Meanwhile, Roby slowly pulled out something from his bag:
Ji-hoon's old journal.
The worn-out leather cover was cracked, the edges frayed. The small lock was broken long ago, its metal rusting. The book felt heavy—not from weight, but meaning.
Roby hadn't opened it yet.
Because his mind was still stuck on something Lucas said earlier at school:
"You might get messed with... for sitting there."
There?
Roby had taken the back-right seat since day one—the same seat Ji-hoon used to sit in.
He clenched his jaw and stared blankly at the steaming bowl of ramen in front of him. He hadn't touched it.
Outside, engines roared.
Seven motorcycles.
The same school gang from earlier.
They pulled up in front of the ramen shop, idling just long enough.
One of them… glanced directly through the window.
His eyes locked with Roby's for a split second before they rode off into the night.
Roby choked on a laugh.
"What is this, a Yakuza movie?"
But his smirk faded fast. His hands trembled just a little.
"Lucas warned me.
Then this gang shows up?
Do they know I'm sitting in Ji-hoon's old seat?"
His eyes dropped to the journal again.
He opened it.
The first page was normal—dates, a couple of to-do lists, sketches of class schedules.
He flipped further…
Then stopped.
There it was—circled in red pen:
"They don't want me to talk."
Below it:
"If I don't come to school for three days… maybe I gave up, or…"
The next page...
Blank.
Roby shut the journal slowly. His lips were dry.
"They... who's they?
Lucas knows something.
The gang might be involved.
And why the hell has that seat always been left untouched since Ji-hoon died?"
He glanced out the window one last time.
The motorcycles were gone.
But deep down, Roby knew—
He'd just cracked open a door… and whatever was behind it, might not let him walk out unchanged.