Chap 50 : The Girl Who Fell From the Sky (Pt 4) : A New Life
A New Life
When Minjae woke up, the sun was rising.
The rooftop was empty.
No bodies. Lots of blood. No creature. No girl.
Just him, lying on the concrete, covered in cuts and bruises and glass.
And the sound of sirens in the distance.
The police came first.
Then the ambulance. Then the social worker.
Minjae sat on the curb wrapped in a blanket that smelled like someone else's laundry detergent, and he answered their questions with blank eyes and a voice that didn't sound like his own.
"What happened tonight, Minjae?"
I don't remember.
"Do you know where your parents are?"
I don't remember.
"Can you tell us how you got those cuts on your arms?"
I don't remember.
"Can you tell us about the blood?"
I don't remember.
He didn't remember. He didn't remember anything. That was what he told them, and that was what he kept telling them, and after a while, they stopped asking.
The doctors said it was amnesia. Traumatic stress. The mind's way of protecting itself from things it couldn't handle.
Minjae let them believe it.
Because what was he supposed to say?
"A girl with purple hair fell from the sky and killed my parents with a sword made of liquid shadow, and then my father's girlfriend turned into a monster and ate their brains, and then the girl and the monster fought, and then everything went black."
No.
No, he would keep that to himself.
He would carry it alone.
He had been carrying everything alone since twelve years old. What was one more thing?
Her name was Yoon Seo-ah.
The social worker who took him in.
She was in her late forties, with gray-streaked hair and kind eyes and the kind of patience that only came from years of seeing the worst things people could do to each other. She had five children already—foster kids, all of them, each with their own stories of hurt and survival.
She looked at Minjae, sitting on the curb with his bloody feet and his hollow eyes, and she didn't ask him what happened.
She just sat down beside him and said, "You must be tired. Let's get you home."
Home.
He had never heard that word used to describe anywhere he was going.
He followed her.
Her husband was Lee Jung-hoon—a doctor, a researcher, and a man who had made millions developing medical technologies that saved lives. Minjae didn't fully understand the intricacies of Jung-hoon's work: machines that could see inside the human body, drugs that fought diseases once considered death sentences. What he understood was the man himself—steady, brilliant, and endlessly generous.
Jung-hoon was affiliated with a company called Vance Applied Biologics, run by a man named Kaelen Vance. Jung-hoon spoke of Vance with something approaching reverence.
"He started with nothing," Jung-hoon told Minjae once, early in his first year with the family. They were sitting in Jung-hoon's study, surrounded by books and blueprints and the soft hum of expensive technology. "No money. No connections. Just a brain and a will to succeed. Now he's one of the most powerful men in the world."
Minjae looked at the photograph on Jung-hoon's desk—a handsome man with sharp features and eyes that seemed to see through everything—and felt something stir in his chest.
Hope.
"I want to be like him," Minjae said.
Jung-hoon smiled. "Then work hard. Study. Don't let your past define you. You can be anything you want to be."
As it turned out, Minjae's opportunity to meet Mr. Vance came sooner than expected.
Seo-ah and Jung-hoon had recently founded a charitable organization called the Horizon Foundation, dedicated to helping children from difficult backgrounds discover their potential in environments where opportunity was nearly nonexistent. The foundation's mission was personal to them—every child in their care, including Minjae, was living proof of what could happen when someone extended a hand.
Mr. Vance became one of the foundation's most generous donors. Minjae understood why, watching Jung-hoon explain the work over dinner one night: Vance had come from nothing himself, and men who climb from the bottom rarely forget the weight of the climb.
The foundation's inaugural fundraising gala was held on a cool autumn evening, in a ballroom that glittered with crystal chandeliers and the quiet hum of wealthy people pretending not to notice one another. Seo-ah and Jung-hoon had insisted the entire family attend—not for show, as they were not the kind of people who sought the spotlight, but as a living monument. A testament to what was possible. A message to every child and family in attendance that night: Look at us. Look at what can happen when someone believes in you.
Minjae wore a suit that fit him properly for the first time in his life. He stood among his foster siblings—each of them polished, nervous, radiant—and felt, for the first time, like he belonged somewhere that wasn't survival.
After the formal speeches and the clinking of champagne glasses, Jung-hoon pulled Minjae aside.
"Come," he said. "There's someone I want you to meet."
Kaelen Vance was even more striking in person than in his photographs.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of presence that made the air around him feel heavier—not in an oppressive way, but in the way the atmosphere changes before a storm. His handshake was firm. His gaze was direct. When he looked at Minjae, he looked at him like he was already measuring his potential.
"Jung-hoon tells me you're interested in science," Vance said.
"I'm interested in a lot of things," Minjae replied, surprising himself with the steadiness of his own voice. "But mostly, I'm interested in what we don't know yet."
Vance's eyebrow rose a fraction. "Go on."
Minjae took a breath. He had never spoken these words aloud before—not to Jung-hoon, not to Seo-ah, not to anyone. But something about Vance's presence made him feel like he could.
"I think there are... forgotten worlds," Minjae said carefully. "Forgotten worlds that existed before our current understanding of reality. Things we've lost. And I think if we could find them again—if we could prove they were real—it could change everything. For humanity. For our future."
He expected Vance to laugh. To dismiss him. To pat him on the head and send him back to the dessert table.
Instead, Vance leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp with interest.
"Forgotten paradigms," he repeated, as if tasting the words. "That's an unusual ambition for someone your age at 18."
"I've had an unusual life," Minjae said.
Vance studied him for a long moment. Then he smiled—a small, genuine smile that transformed his sharp features into something almost warm.
"I'm interested in forgotten things too," Vance said. "The gaps in our knowledge. The places where the records go silent. I've spent my career chasing what others have overlooked." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card—heavy, matte black, with silver lettering. "When you graduate, come see me. We'll talk."
Minjae took the card with hands that trembled slightly.
"An internship," Vance added, as if reading his mind. "And if you prove yourself, a job. Vance Applied Biologics is always looking for young minds willing to ask the questions no one else is asking."
Minjae barely remembered the rest of the evening. He floated through it—shaking hands, accepting congratulations, smiling until his cheeks ached. That night, lying in bed, he held Vance's business card up to the moonlight and read the words over and over.
Kaelen Vance. Founder and CEO, Vance Applied Biologics.
"When you graduate, come see me."