UNBROKEN BONDS
"A truth exposed is a power unleashed—one you might not be ready to wield."
The small, run-down apartment was always too quiet. Sarang, at 12 years old, sat cross-legged on the living room floor, her books spread out in front of her. The dim light of the single bulb flickered faintly, casting long shadows on the peeling wallpaper. Across from her, Minho—just 7—was humming to himself, drawing stick figures on scraps of paper.
"Noona," he called out suddenly, holding up his latest masterpiece. It was a childlike sketch of a family: a boy and girl standing hand in hand, their parents behind them in neat military uniforms. "Do you think Mom and Dad would like it?"
Sarang paused, her pencil hovering over her notebook. She forced a smile, swallowing the lump that always formed when he mentioned their parents. "Of course, they would. You're the best artist ever, Minho-yah."
He grinned at her praise, his face lighting up in a way that never failed to soften her heart. But his expression turned serious a moment later, his small brow furrowing. "When are they coming back?"
The question hit her like it always did—sharp and sudden, even though she should have been used to it by now. "Soon," she lied gently, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Don't worry about it, okay? They'd want you to focus on your drawing."
Minho nodded, though she could tell he wasn't convinced. She watched him return to his paper, his small shoulders hunched, and for the hundredth time, she felt the weight of her responsibility pressing down on her.
She couldn't let him see her worry. He needed her to be strong.
Two Years Later
Sarang was 14, and Minho was 9.
The evening slipped away in silence, broken only by the occasional scratch of Sarang's pencil and the shuffle of Minho's feet. When the clock struck 7:00, she set down her notebook and grabbed her bag, standing with a determined expression.
"Where are you going?" Minho asked, looking up.
"Work," she said simply, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "I'll be back later."
Minho frowned. "But you're always working, noona. Don't you ever get tired?"
Sarang hesitated at the door, glancing back at him. "Of course I do," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But I don't mind. Someone's gotta keep us going, right?"
Minho didn't answer, his gaze dropping to his hands. Sarang felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside. She couldn't afford to stop, not now, not ever.
Four Years Later
Sarang was 18, and Minho was 13.
Sarang returned home late from her part-time job, her legs aching from standing all evening. The smell of instant ramen greeted her as she stepped inside, and she blinked in surprise to see Minho standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot with a determined look on his face.
"What are you doing?" she asked, dropping her bag.
He turned to her with a sheepish grin. "Making dinner."
Sarang laughed softly, walking over to him. "You're supposed to be asleep."
"You always take care of me," he said, his voice quiet. "So, I wanted to take care of you for once."
Her heart swelled at his words, and she reached out to ruffle his hair.
"Minho-yah, as long as you're happy, that's all I need."
"But I want you to be happy too," he replied, looking up at her with wide, sincere eyes.
Sarang smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I am," she said, sitting down at the small table. "Now hurry up before your noodles burn."
Sarang's days were a blur of endless work, study, and training. At 21 years old, she was juggling more responsibilities than anyone her age should have to. Every morning began before sunrise, her alarm cutting through the quiet apartment like a knife. She'd wake up, quietly slipping out of bed so as not to disturb Minho, and begin her morning routine: quick stretches, a cup of instant coffee, and a mental checklist of the day ahead.
By 6 a.m., she was at the local dojo for her martial arts training. The wooden floors echoed with the sounds of her bare feet, the sharp crack of punches hitting the training pads, and the instructor's firm voice correcting her stances.
"Focus, Sarang," her instructor would say, his voice sharp but encouraging. "Every move you make has to be deliberate. Your body is your strongest weapon—don't waste it."
Sarang nodded, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead as she delivered another precise kick to the pad. She didn't allow herself to rest, even when her muscles screamed for it. Her dream of becoming a military officer wasn't just a goal; it was a promise—to herself, to her parents, and most importantly, to Minho.
After training, Sarang would rush to her part-time job at a local convenience store. She worked long hours, standing behind the counter, restocking shelves, and handling customers. The work was tiring, but it paid the bills and allowed her to save for Minho's school fees.
Her coworkers often marvelled at her work ethic. "You're like a machine, Sarang," one of them joked. "Don't you ever take a break?"
Sarang would laugh it off, but deep down, she knew the truth: she couldn't afford to stop. Every extra shift she took meant Minho would have what he needed, whether it was new books, a school uniform, or a treat for his birthday.
Despite her packed schedule, Sarang always made time for Minho in the evenings. She'd come home exhausted, but the sight of her 16-year-old brother waiting for her with a grin made every ache worth it. He'd often have dinner ready—a simple meal of rice and side dishes he'd learned to prepare himself.
"Noona, sit down," Minho would insist, pulling out a chair for her. "You've been on your feet all day."
Sarang chuckled, ruffling his hair as she sat. "You're getting better at this, Minho-yah. Maybe you should be the one taking care of me."
He'd roll his eyes but smile proudly. "I'm just doing what you do for me."
After dinner, they'd sit together at the small table, Sarang helping Minho with his homework. She'd patiently explain math problems or quiz him on history facts, her exhaustion melting away as she watched him try his best.
Sometimes, when Minho noticed her stifling a yawn, he'd take the books from her hands and say, "Noona, it's okay. You've done enough for today. Get some rest."
But Sarang would shake her head. "I'll rest when I know you're ready for tomorrow."
Minho couldn't help but marvel at his sister's strength and dedication. She seemed unstoppable, balancing everything without complaint. But he also saw the toll it took on her—the dark circles under her eyes, the way she winced when she thought no one was looking after a long day of training.
One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Minho turned to her suddenly. "Noona," he said, his voice serious. "You don't have to do all of this alone."
Sarang raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… you do everything for me," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "You work, you train, you take care of the house… I just wish you'd take a break sometimes. You deserve to rest too."
Sarang's expression softened, and she pulled him into a side hug. "Minho-yah, I do this because I want to. Because I love you. You're the reason I keep going."
Minho swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding. "But I want to help you too. I want to take care of you, like you take care of me."
Sarang smiled, kissing the top of his head. "You already do, Minho. Just by being here."
After Minho went to bed, Sarang would stay up late, pouring over her textbooks or perfecting her forms from martial arts class. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet as she practiced her stances in the living room.
Sometimes, she'd glance at the photo of their parents on the shelf and whisper softly, "I'll make you proud. I promise."
Her determination burned brighter than her exhaustion. She knew that every sacrifice she made now was paving the way for a better future—for herself and, more importantly, for Minho.
One night, as Sarang finally drifted off to sleep at the kitchen table, her head resting on a pile of notes, Minho tiptoed into the room. He gently draped a blanket over her shoulders, his heart aching at the sight of her worn-out face.
"I'll take care of you too, noona," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "One day, I'll make sure you don't have to do everything alone."
Sarang's morning started like any other. The crisp winter air seeped through the thin walls of their small apartment, and she wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck as she finished cleaning the kitchen. The kettle on the stove whistled, signalling her tea was ready. She poured herself a steaming cup, setting it carefully on the table before grabbing her notes.
Even on her days off, Sarang couldn't bring herself to rest. She reviewed her study materials meticulously, underlining sections and muttering key points to herself. Martial arts training had taught her discipline, but her real motivation—the burning desire to honour her parents' legacy—was what kept her going.
As she leaned over her notebook, the sound of the mail slot clattering broke her concentration. A stack of letters hit the floor with a soft thud. Sarang frowned slightly, brushing her hair back as she walked to the door.
She knelt to gather the letters, flipping through the usual assortment of bills and flyers—until her fingers froze. Among the mundane envelopes was one that stood out: pristine white with the National Military Academy's official seal stamped in bold red.
Sarang's heart skipped a beat. Her hands trembled slightly as she turned it over, her mind racing. She held her breath as she tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside.
Her eyes scanned the words, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur around her.
Congratulations, Ms. Park Sarang. You have been selected for the National Military Training Program.
Sarang's breath caught in her throat. She read the words again, her chest tightening with disbelief and pride. She had done it. After years of hard work, sacrifices, and unrelenting determination, she had finally achieved her dream.
"Minho," she murmured to herself, a smile tugging at her lips. She quickly folded the letter, holding it close to her chest, before glancing at the clock. "He'd be home soon." She couldn't wait to tell him.
By the time Minho walked through the door that evening, Sarang had dinner ready. The scent of steaming rice and stir-fried vegetables filled the small kitchen as she set the table, the letter carefully tucked under her plate.
Minho, now 18, slung his bag onto the chair and collapsed into the seat across from her, groaning dramatically. "Noona, school was brutal today. You wouldn't believe how—"
Sarang cut him off, sliding the letter across the table with a small smile. "Minho-yah, look at this."
Minho blinked, his expression shifting from playful to curious as he picked up the letter. He unfolded it slowly, his eyes scanning the words. Sarang watched his face carefully, holding her breath as his expression changed.
"Noona," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "You did it. You're going to be a soldier… just like Mom and Dad."
She couldn't help but smile, pride swelling in her chest. "I told you I'd make it, didn't I?"
Minho nodded, but his smile faltered slightly. He set the letter down, his gaze dropping to the table. "But… you'll have to leave, right? For training?"
Sarang leaned forward, reaching for his hand. "It's only for a while, Minho. I'll come back. And I'll still be here for you, always."
Minho nodded again, this time trying to put on a brave face. But Sarang could see the sadness in his eyes—the slight quiver in his voice as he said, "I'm so proud of you, noona. But I don't know how I'll manage without you."
Her heart ached at his words, but she squeezed his hand tightly. "You're stronger than you think, Minho-yah. And I'll write to you every chance I get. You'll see—I'll come back, and we'll be stronger together."
Later that night, after clearing the table and finishing their chores, they found themselves on the rooftop. The city lights glittered like stars below, blending with the real ones above. Sarang leaned back against the cold concrete wall, Minho beside her, silent but pensive.
"Noona," he murmured after a long pause, his voice barely audible above the distant hum of traffic. "I'm going to miss you so much."
Sarang wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. The winter chill was biting, but his warmth against her side made her feel grounded. "I'll miss you too, Minho," she said softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "But this is for both of us, Minho. I'll make you proud."
Minho turned to her, his eyes glistening in the faint light. "You already do," he said with a small, sincere smile.
Sarang felt her throat tighten, but she managed to smile back, resting her head lightly on his. In that moment, with the stars above and the weight of the future ahead, their bond felt unshakable—strong enough to endure anything.
The day Sarang left for training dawned cold and grey, the winter sky heavy with clouds. The air felt still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Sarang stood in the small living room, her packed suitcase by the door, double-checking everything for the third time. Her uniform was neatly folded, tucked into the bag along with a small photo of her and Minho—a quiet reminder of why she had worked so hard to get here.
Minho walked in from the kitchen, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, his expression unreadable. He glanced at the suitcase and then at Sarang, his lips pressing into a thin line. The sight of her leaving felt surreal, and the weight of it pressed down on his chest.
"Did you pack everything?" he asked, his voice deliberately casual.
Sarang nodded, zipping the suitcase closed. "Yeah. I think so." She straightened and gave him a small smile. "Thanks for making breakfast, by the way. Best pancakes I've ever had."
Minho shrugged, looking away as if the compliment didn't matter. "I figured you should have a proper send-off."
Her heart ached at the effort he'd put in—the perfectly golden pancakes, the clean apartment, the way he kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn't looking. She knew this was as hard for him as it was for her, but they were both trying to be strong.
When the taxi arrived, the sound of the horn jolted them both. Sarang grabbed her coat and scarf, wrapping them tightly around her as she hoisted the suitcase. But before she could step outside, Minho stopped her.
"I've got it," he said firmly, taking the suitcase from her hands. His grip was tight, as if holding onto the bag gave him a reason to delay the inevitable.
They walked out together, the cold biting at their faces. The taxi driver got out to open the trunk, but Minho waved him off. He carefully placed the suitcase inside, taking his time as if each second could stretch out forever.
When he finally closed the trunk, he turned to Sarang. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The world around them seemed to blur, the distant hum of traffic and the soft crunch of snow underfoot fading into the background.
Minho stood straight; his shoulders squared. Then, with a trembling hand, he raised a perfect salute, his expression set with determination. "Good luck, Noona," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "You're going to be amazing."
Sarang froze, her breath hitching at the sight. She had always seen herself as the strong one, the one who held everything together. But seeing Minho like this—so grown up, so determined to make her proud—made her heart ache in a way she hadn't expected.
She stepped forward, pulling him into a tight hug. "You take care of yourself, Minho-yah," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Eat properly. Go to school. And don't forget to call me, okay?"
Minho nodded against her shoulder; his arms wrapped tightly around her. "I will, Noona. But…" His voice faltered, and he pulled back slightly, looking at her with tear-filled eyes. "Who's going to take care of you?"
Sarang smiled, even as tears spilled down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, as if to pretend they weren't there. "I'll be fine. I've got you cheering me on, don't I?"
As the taxi driver cleared his throat impatiently, Sarang stepped back, wiping at her face one last time. Minho stood still, his fists clenched at his sides, trying so hard to be strong. But as Sarang opened the car door, he couldn't hold back any longer.
"Noona!" he called, his voice breaking. She turned to look at him, her own composure shattering as she saw the tears streaming down his face. "You'll come back, right? Promise me you'll come back."
Sarang nodded, her voice trembling but resolute. "I promise, Minho. I'll come back."
She climbed into the taxi, her hands shaking as she closed the door. Minho stepped back, standing at attention like a soldier, his tear-streaked face lifted toward her. The car pulled away slowly, and Sarang couldn't stop herself from looking back. Through the fogged window, she saw him standing there, a small but unbreakable figure against the grey sky.
As the distance grew, the tears she had been holding back came in full force. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing, but the ache of leaving him behind was unbearable.
In the rearview mirror, Minho wiped his face roughly, his shoulders shaking. But even through his grief, a small, determined voice echoed in his mind: I'll make her proud. No matter what.
For both of them, the goodbye was more than just a parting. It was a promise—of strength, of love, and of the unbreakable bond that would carry them through whatever came next.