sanwoo yoonbum and sanwoo's brother

San-woo knocked carefully on the door—three short knocks, one long one. He knew this was the only way his brother would know it was him. The door opened slightly, and Taejo's surprised face appeared in the crack.

"San?" His brother frowned, but immediately stepped aside, letting him in. "And you're not alone..."

Behind San stood Yunbum, short, with a wary look, clutching the strap of a battered backpack.

"We need to stay here for a while," Sanu said as he entered, trying not to look his brother in the eye. "The police shouldn't lose the trail just yet, but I hope things calm down soon."

Taejo glanced at them both in silence. He was tall and strong, a true giant. His white hair reached his neck, neatly trimmed, but with a slightly careless strand falling across his forehead. His gray eyes, cold and penetrating, seemed to see right through them. It was understandable why the girls swooned over him: he combined strength with an almost aristocratic sophistication.

"Come in," Taejo finally said, retreating deeper into the apartment. "Since you're already here."

Sangwoo walked into the living room and sank onto the sofa. His gaze involuntarily slid over his brother, and something in his chest tightened. Taejo looked so much like his father. The same cheekbones, the same arched brow, the same jawline. Only his eyes lacked the cruelty that once made Sangwoo freeze in fear.

Memories came flooding back. His father. His heavy gaze. His hand rising to strike. The pain. Sanu clenched his fists, trying to push the images away. Sometimes they returned at night—in nightmares, where his father repeated over and over again, "You're no good."

"Are you okay?" Taejo's voice pulled him out of the whirlpool of memories.

Sanu looked up. His brother stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest. His white hair shimmered silver in the evening light.

“Yes,” Sanu exhaled, trying to keep his voice even. “It’s just… you look so much like him.”