Chapter 30: Yoon Sera

The room was silent except for the faint beeping of the monitor. The air smelled of antiseptic, and the dim hospital lights cast a pale glow over Taesan's fragile frame.

He was awake. But he was too weak to move, too weak to even turn his head properly. His eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but confusion—his gaze hazy, trying to adjust to the brightness, trying to remember where he was.

Then, reality settled in. His breathing steadied, his fingers barely twitching against the white hospital sheets. He didn't say anything. The door opened softly. I tensed. His mother stepped inside. The woman who had abandoned him. The woman who had given birth to him yet chosen power over him. For the first time in years, they were in the same room again. Taesan's body stiffened. He didn't look at her. Not even once. His jaw clenched, his lips pressed together. He refused to meet her eyes. Dohyun, who was sitting near the bed, spoke first. His voice was calm, but the weight of the moment was heavy in every syllable.

"Your mom donated the blood."

A small silence followed. Taesan didn't react. He didn't even flinch. It was as if he had expected it. But his breathing changed—it grew uneven, slower, shakier. And then, I saw them.

Tears.

They slipped down his face silently, one after another, trailing along his temple, disappearing into the pillow. He still didn't look at her. His mother took a step forward. Her voice was barely above a whisper, weighed down by years of regret.

"I'm sorry for everything."

Taesan didn't move.

"You can hate me. I was the worst mother."

His fingers curled slightly, gripping the sheets.

"I won't come back into your life. I won't ask for anything. But if you can…" She hesitated, her voice breaking. "Just forgive me."

For the first time since she entered, Taesan's throat moved like he wanted to say something. But the words never came. He just lay there, staring at the wall, refusing to look at her. And then—she turned and left. The door clicked shut softly behind her. But Taesan still didn't move. He kept his gaze fixed on the opposite wall, his expression unreadable. But the tears kept falling. Dohyun exhaled, shifting in his chair before speaking, his voice softer now.

"How are you feeling?"

Zixuan leaned forward slightly. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

Taesan blinked slowly, his voice coming out weak, hoarse—like it hurt to even speak.

"I'm fine."

I was still standing. I hadn't moved since he woke up. I wanted to go to him, to take his hand, to tell him I was there, that everything would be okay now. But instead, I just stood there, watching the man I loved break silently. Dohyun and Zixuan must have sensed it. The unspoken words, the weight in the air. Without saying much, they gave us space. Dohyun patted Taesan's blanket gently, nodding at him before standing up. "We'll be outside," he murmured.

Zixuan followed, giving me a brief glance before exiting the room with Dohyun, leaving just the two of us. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, I slowly lowered myself into the chair beside his bed. Taesan was still weak, his breathing slightly uneven, but as soon as I sat down, he moved. With visible effort, he reached out. His fingers trembled slightly, but he didn't stop. He found my hand and held it. I exhaled, my chest tightening at the simple warmth of his touch. His grip was weak, nothing like the usual way he held me—firm, protective, reassuring. But even now, after everything, he still wanted to hold on. His thumb brushed against my skin, barely there, but it was enough to make my eyes sting. Then, his voice came, raw and strained.

"Are you okay?"

My breath caught.

Not how are you? Not how have you been?

Just—are you okay?

His fingers curled slightly, his warmth seeping into mine. Even now, even after almost dying, even after losing so much blood, all he cared about was me. Not himself. Not the fact that he had nearly been killed. Not the fact that his entire life had just turned upside down. He was worried about me. My throat tightened painfully. I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn't come out at first. I was afraid if I spoke, I would break down.

Finally, I whispered, "You got hurt for me."

His brows furrowed slightly, his tired eyes locking onto mine.

"That doesn't matter."

My chest ached. He was so stubborn. But before I could say anything, he spoke again.

"Sera... your name, our relationship… it's everywhere now." His voice was soft but uncertain. "Are you okay with that?"

That's what he was afraid of. Not that he almost lost his life. Not that he was lying in a hospital bed. He was afraid for me.

Afraid of how I would handle our relationship being exposed to the public. Afraid of how the world's judgment would affect me. I squeezed his hand gently, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"I don't care about that."

His eyes searched mine. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, holding onto him just as tightly as he held onto me. Because after everything—the threats, the betrayals, the dangers—what mattered was that he was here.

Alive. With me. And I wasn't going anywhere.

I looked down at our hands, at the way his fingers were still laced with mine, despite the weakness in his body. He held on like he was afraid I would disappear. And maybe, in a way, I had been planning to. My throat felt tight as I remembered that day—the day I had made up my mind.

I wanted to break up with him. It felt ridiculous now, sitting beside him, knowing he had almost died protecting me. But back then, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought leaving him would make his life easier. I thought I was doing him a favor. I was wrong. That day, after class, I had asked him, "Can we talk?"

I had rehearsed my words in my head, trying to prepare myself for what I was about to say. But before I could, his phone rang. And instead of telling him, instead of breaking his heart and mine, I had let it go. And now, looking at him—lying in a hospital bed, bruised and weak but still holding my hand, still choosing me even after everything—I felt ashamed. I had wanted to walk away from him. But when the world turned against us, he never even considered letting go. I bit my lip, trying to blink back the burning in my eyes. I almost lost him. If I had broken up with him that day… would things have been different? Would he still have gotten hurt? Would he still have stepped in front of me, taken that knife meant for me? Or… would he have still found his way back to me, no matter what? Because that's who he was. Even if I had left, he would have found me. Even if I had pushed him away, he would have come back. Because that's what love was. Not choosing what was easy. But choosing each other—even when everything was falling apart. Even now, even in this hospital bed, he was choosing me. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Taesan… I wanted to break up with you that day."

His tired eyes met mine, searching. But he didn't look shocked. As if he already knew. Taesan didn't look surprised. Instead, he smiled. A small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. I blinked, confused. Why was he smiling? Then, in a voice hoarse from exhaustion, he said something that made my breath catch.

"I knew."

I stared at him. What?

For a moment, I couldn't say anything. He knew? He had known that I was planning to break up with him? That day, when I was standing in front of him, trying to gather the courage to say it—he already knew? But how? I tightened my grip on his hand, searching his face. He had acted so normal back then. Like he had no idea.

I frowned. "If you knew… why didn't you say anything?"

Taesan just kept smiling, as if this conversation amused him. His eyes held a teasing glint, but they were also filled with something softer, something deeper. I felt frustration bubbling inside me. I needed to know. "How did you know?" I asked again, this time firmer.

He blinked at me slowly, as if debating whether or not to answer. Then, in typical Ryu Taesan fashion, he simply looked away. Avoiding my eyes. Avoiding the question.

Avoiding me. I narrowed my eyes. He was doing this on purpose.

"Taesan," I said, my voice sharper now. "Answer me properly."

But all he did was let out a small sigh, closing his eyes slightly as if he were suddenly too tired to continue this conversation.

"Mmm… I don't know."

I gaped at him. What kind of answer was that?!

"You don't know?" I repeated, my frustration growing. "You just said you knew!"

He let out a lazy chuckle, still not looking at me.

"I just knew."

I wanted to shake him. What did that even mean?! I felt heat rise to my cheeks. This was so typical of him. Always avoiding things, always brushing things off. And yet, I couldn't deny it—a part of me was relieved. Because if he knew back then and still chose to stay… Then maybe, deep down, I had always known I could never really leave him.