The weeks that followed were a blur of icy silence and unspoken anger. Eunji had become a shadow of her former self, her once bright demeanor now replaced with a cold, calculating presence. She moved through her days as if in a trance, never letting anyone see the storm raging within her. Her laughter, once spontaneous and bright, had disappeared. Her eyes, once full of hope, now held only a hollow, empty glare.

She hadn’t contacted Jihoon and Hyesoo. She hadn’t spoken to them in weeks, though they called her almost every day, their voices filled with concern and confusion. They didn’t know. They didn’t understand. How could they? They were as much a part of the lie as Hiroto had been, and Eunji couldn’t bear to pretend everything was fine when it never had been.

Her “siblings,” who had been a constant part of her life before, were now strangers to her. She didn’t have the strength to look at them, to see their smiles and pretend to be happy. She couldn’t even bring herself to speak to them. All of it—everything—felt like a farce, a performance. She had been living in a world of lies, and now she was left with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal.

But Eunji didn’t let anyone see the anger. She kept it locked away, buried deep within herself, where it festered like an infection. She had become an expert at wearing her mask, at hiding behind a wall of indifference. The anger, the hurt, and the confusion were hers alone to carry.

Every day, she forced herself through the motions. Hiroto’s mansion, now a gilded cage, felt suffocating. The marble floors beneath her feet were cold, the silence of the house oppressive. She couldn’t escape it—couldn’t escape him. But she didn’t need to. She had already cut herself off from everyone.

When the day came for her to sit for the University Admissions Test for the University of Tokyo, Eunji had no choice but to comply. Hiroto had arranged everything—everything, right down to the test dates. She hadn’t asked for this. She had never wanted it. The pressure of it all was suffocating. Yet there she was, sitting at a desk surrounded by strangers, a sheet of paper before her that held her future.

Her mind raced with thoughts, but she kept them locked away, even from herself. She could feel the familiar sting of anger rise within her as she filled in the bubbles on the test sheet, her pen pressing harder with each stroke as if to punish the paper for the injustice of it all. She had been pushed into this world, a world that was never meant for her.

She had been molded, shaped, and controlled to fit someone else’s idea of perfection. And now, she was left with nothing but the hollow shell of a person she had been forced to become. The anger churned in her chest like a storm, but she couldn’t let it show. She wouldn’t give Hiroto the satisfaction of seeing her break.

By the time the test ended, Eunji was physically and emotionally drained. She walked out of the building in a daze, the weight of her thoughts almost too much to bear. Hiroto had arranged for this moment, as he had arranged for everything. And yet, there was nothing to be gained from it. Nothing to fix the gaping hole he had left in her life.

Days later, in the midst of a press conference for his company, Hiroto did something that surprised everyone. On live television, he publicly acknowledged Eunji as his daughter, the truth now laid bare for the world to see. His voice was steady, his expression unreadable, but to those who knew him best, the underlying guilt was clear. He couldn’t hide it. Not anymore.

"The truth," Hiroto said, his words carrying the weight of years of silence, "is that Eunji is my daughter. Legally and biologically, she is mine. And I am proud of her, proud of everything she has become."

The world reacted as expected—shock, curiosity, whispers. But none of it mattered to Eunji. She watched the broadcast from her room, her heart pounding with fury. Hiroto’s words meant nothing to her. They were nothing but empty gestures, hollow acknowledgments of a truth she had known long before anyone else did.

"Is this supposed to make a difference?" she muttered bitterly, her hands clenched into fists. "Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

She could feel the anger, the hurt, and the betrayal building inside her, the weight of it almost too much to bear. She had lived her entire life in the shadow of lies, in a world that never felt real. Now, even the truth had been twisted into something she couldn’t accept. Hiroto had acknowledged her to the world, but it was too late. His recognition, his apology, meant nothing to her anymore.

Later that evening, in the privacy of her room, Eunji sat on the floor, her back against the wall. She stared at the posters on her walls, the trophies on her shelf, the pictures of a life that felt increasingly foreign to her. She had everything she was supposed to want—wealth, beauty, success—but it all felt meaningless.

In a burst of anger, she stood and swept everything off the desk, watching as her possessions scattered across the floor. A cold laugh escaped her lips, bitter and broken, as she kicked over a vase, sending it crashing against the wall. Her eyes were wild, filled with rage and pain.

"Is this all you wanted, Uncle?" she whispered to the empty room. "Is this what you wanted to make me?"

She collapsed to her knees, her hands trembling as she dug them into her hair, pulling at it as if the physical pain might numb the emotional agony. Her body shook with silent sobs, the only sound in the room the muffled rhythm of her broken heart. She couldn’t escape it. She couldn’t escape him.

She had been broken, molded into something she was never meant to be. And now, there was nothing left but the hollow ache of a life that wasn’t hers.

Eunji looked around the room, her once-perfect sanctuary now a mess of broken things. It was the only way she knew how to express the devastation she felt—the only way she could punish herself for the mistakes she had made, for the lies she had lived.

And as she sat there, broken and alone, the world outside her door continued to turn.