Ji-hye mentally braced herself for a verbal onslaught of unpleasant remarks as she bid farewell to Jieun.
However, to her surprise, the individuals who had returned Ji-hye said very little.
It made her wonder if they had anticipated all along that she would not be able to keep Jieun.
If that was indeed the case, it left Ji-hye feeling infuriated.
“You don’t need to take me back.”
Ji-hye uttered these words to the individual who appeared to be affiliated with the government and kindly offered her a ride.
Despite her initial wariness, Ji-hye believed that they wouldn’t resort to anything suspicious in such a brief period.
The mere thought of being kidnapped and used as a bargaining tool against her friend Jieun, or having Jieun threatened through her as a hostage sent chills down her spine.
However, Ji-hye couldn’t shake off the feeling that orchestrating the rendezvous between herself and Jieun today was a subtle form of coercion.
It felt as though an implied threat loomed over her, insinuating that harm could potentially befall her if Jieun didn’t comply.
The weight of this realization was heavy on Ji-hye’s conscience.
Furthermore, she couldn’t bear the idea that if Jieun did return due to her influence, the burden of guilt would plague her every time they crossed paths.
The guilt was already beginning to consume Ji-hye, knowing the intricate web of implications surrounding their fragile situation.
In this difficult situation, she found herself unable to provide any direct help to the child who had been like a sister to her for so long.
All she could manage was to quickly purchase a few items from a nearby convenience store and hand them over to the child.
With a heavy heart, she convinced herself that it was for the best not to hinder the child’s progress.
Making her way out of the building, she walked a short distance and found herself on a bustling main road.
Despite not being familiar with her current location, she knew she hadn’t strayed too far from Seoul, as she had never traveled that great a distance by car before.
Using her phone for guidance, she successfully made her way back to the orphanage.
Upon her return, she was warmly greeted by one of the teachers, whose face was filled with concern.
After reassuring them that there was no need to worry, she made her way back to her room.
She was pleasantly surprised to find that her previously messy room was now properly tidied up.
Unfortunately, she discovered that she couldn’t repair the broken devices or Jieun’s beloved CDs.
Despite wanting to use her allowance to fix or replace them, she quickly realized that she didn’t have enough money.
Left with no other option, she decided to arrange the intact items in her room to make everything look as neat as possible.
Ji-hye gazed contemplatively at her desk, deep in thought, before finally pulling out her chair and lowering herself into it with deliberate slowness.
How had everything led to this moment of reflection?
All Jieun had ever yearned for was a simple, ordinary life — a life that seemed to be just out of reach.
In order to blend in at a prestigious school and socialize with peers, it had probably required a significant amount of financial resources.
In retrospect, Ji-hye now understood just how little she had truly comprehended about Jieun, despite spending so much time together under the same roof.
There was a time when they had engaged in a conversation that still lingered vividly in her memory.
“Are we sisters?”
Ji-hye had asked this while lying on the floor, like she often did, probably not long after she started middle school.
It was around the time she’d begun making friends and hearing their complaints or subtle boasts about their families.
Although such stories were common in elementary school, it felt different as she approached adolescence, sparking similar sentiments in Ji-hye.
“Yeah? Aren’t we?”
The question, which Ji-hye had seriously pondered before asking, was met with a simple answer from Jieun.
Ji-hye sat up and stared at Jieun intently.
Jieun, sitting at her desk doing homework, didn’t notice Ji-hye’s gaze.
“Do you really think so?”
“Why not? We’ve been living in the same room for years now. It wouldn’t be strange to call us sisters. Plus, our names are similar.”
Jieun’s voice, as she replied, lacked any particular emotion.
It was as if her answer was self-evident, as if thinking otherwise would be odd.
“Even if we don’t call each other ‘sister,’ would anyone disagree if we said we were family?”
Looking back, Ji-hye had to admit Jieun was right.
There was no one Ji-hye had come to know as well as Jieun in her life thus far.
Though she didn’t know everything about Jieun, Ji-hye was the only one who truly understood how Jieun acted in this place.
Even if it was called an orphanage, they still referred to it as ‘home.’
In that sense, the two of them could be seen as family.
What Ji-hye had wrestled with, Jieun accepted as natural.
Of course, it wasn’t just that conversation that made Ji-hye treasure Jieun.
Even before then, in their relatively short lives, they had been the only ones to form such a deep bond.
And so, she didn’t want to lose her.
If Ji-hye were to lose Jieun, she would be losing the sole witness to her childhood.
The one person in the world who naturally thought of Ji-hye as family would be gone.
Ji-hye was terrified of that.
But even so, she couldn’t impose her desires on someone she considered family.
She had been raised to know better.
She didn’t really know how people with true blood-related families lived.
After all, there were people in the world who lied to their families or perpetuated domestic violence.
The kind of family Ji-hye wanted wasn’t like that.
She wanted people who cared for each other, people whose mere presence brought comfort.
Living with Jieun had made her feel that way.
Even if Jieun never openly expressed it, her words and actions showed she truly thought of Ji-hye as her sister.
If the roles were reversed, Jieun would undoubtedly have helped Ji-hye.
That’s why Ji-hye wanted to become someone like that, too.
Someone who could say, without a hint of hesitation, “I’m your family,” no matter the circumstances.
If you forced someone to do something just because you wanted it, could you really call that family?
Ji-hye brushed her fingers across the desk, then stood up again.
She spread out her bedding on the floor and lay down.
If things were like before, Jieun would have been beside her.
On nights when Jieun didn’t come home late, the two of them would chat about all sorts of things until they eventually fell asleep.
It took Ji-hye a long time to fall asleep that night.
She finally managed to drift off, though she knew it would take her a very long time to get used to sleeping alone.
If she ever got used to it at all.
The next day, Ji-hye went to school as though nothing had changed.
But the atmosphere around her was different.
In fact, ever since it was revealed on TV who Jieun really was, the mood had never returned to normal.
Today, however, was another level entirely.
Until recently, whenever Jieun was mentioned in front of Ji-hye, it felt as though people were viewing her as some “terrifying criminal.”
Ji-hye had never told anyone at school that she lived in the same place as Jieun.
But she had mentioned living in an orphanage, not considering it something to be ashamed of.
Perhaps because of that, and though she wasn’t sure how the information had spread, people had come to know Ji-hye and Jieun lived in the same orphanage.
Still, it seemed no one knew just how close Ji-hye and Jieun actually were.
Most kids assumed they were merely from the same place.
That’s probably why, when Jieun first appeared on the news, those “friends” had felt no hesitation turning her into gossip fodder.
Ji-hye couldn’t really blame them—she herself had discussed celebrities on the news with friends.
And this wasn’t just any news; it was about magical girls.
A few years ago, they were nothing more than characters from cartoons, but now they existed in reality.
How could anyone not be curious?
Magical girls weren’t simply like soldiers; they were fantastical beings dressed in elaborate outfits, fighting enemies with magic—a dream come to life.
Though the reality wasn’t something Ji-hye could easily embrace.
After all, this was Jieun they were talking about.
Others might accuse Ji-hye of being hypocritical, but it couldn’t be helped.
Hearing your family criticized never feels good.
“Did you watch the news yesterday?”
The classmate next to Ji-hye asked.
“The sixth magical girl.”
“…Yeah.”
She had watched it.
Ever since then, she had been reading every article related to Jieun, though it rarely made her feel good.
It was the only way to keep up with her.
“That person… that’s Jung Jieun, right? Did everyone have it wrong until now?”
The classmate had, until recently, believed Jieun was a terrorist.
Thinking Ji-hye merely came from the same orphanage as Jieun, the classmate had once casually remarked,
“That must’ve been scary.”
And all of it had been because of the news.
When kids from Jieun’s class were interviewed, they spoke as though they had always expected this, saying things like “I knew it” or “It was bound to happen.”
They were probably kids who didn’t get along with Jieun.
It wasn’t hard to imagine. Jieun often talked about her friend Hayoon, complaining about kids who tried to take advantage of her.
If Jieun was helping Hayoon, it was no surprise she wouldn’t get along with those types.
“Yeah, they were wrong.”
Ji-hye said firmly.
This time, she could say it with confidence.
“Jieun would never do something like that.”
“Uh, yeah… right?”
Her classmate seemed taken aback by Ji-hye’s conviction.
Ji-hye knew how she must look right now.
Probably like someone contradicting herself.
After all, she hadn’t denied the things people said about Jieun before.
“Yeah. She would never do something like that.”
But Ji-hye didn’t care.
From the beginning until now, Ji-hye had always believed in Jieun.
No matter what others said, that belief would never change.
Other kids in class were also talking about the “White Magical Girl.”