THE LETTER IN RED
1677 Words
The dorm was quiet at 5:30AM.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet. The _held-breath_ kind.
Lisa lay on her top bunk, staring at the yellow sticky note stuck to the ceiling.
The glue was already peeling on one corner.
_“The stage is yours. Don’t let them take it.
Also you have rice on your cheek. - J”_
She touched her cheek. It was clean now.
But his voice was still there, low and tired and amused. _“Just Lisa.”_
No one had called her that in 17 years. Not without “Murderer” after it.
Her phone buzzed under her pillow. Violent.
Group chat. 5:31AM. Who was awake.
*Trainee Group - Hansei*
*Soo-young*: Evaluations moved up. 2 months. Not 3.
*Soo-young*: CEO wants debut group ready before summer.
*Min-ho*: 💀 we’re all dead
*Yuna*: My mom is gonna KILL me if I don’t debut
*Soo-young*: Practice rooms open 24/7 now. No curfew.
Lisa sat up. The blanket fell off her.
2 months.
Her chest tightened. Not panic. Pressure. Like a belt cinching around her ribs.
Debut meant cameras. Interviews. Articles.
Articles meant someone in Thailand would see.
Someone would remember the hospital. The blood. The headlines from 17 years ago.
_“Thai Businessman Dies After Wife’s Birth. Infant Survives.”_
Lisa threw the blanket off. Cold air hit her skin.
If she didn’t debut, she disappeared.
If she did debut, she might get exposed.
Dance or die. That’s what this was.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like kimchi, instant coffee, and exhaustion.
Fluorescent lights buzzed.
Jae-hyun was already there. Hoodie on, sleeves swallowing his hands. Hair still wet from a shower, dripping onto his shoulders.
He was making two bowls of ramen. No music. No phone. Just the sound of water boiling.
Without looking up, he slid one bowl across the table to her. Steam curled up between them.
“Morning, Shadow Eyes,” he said.
Lisa choked on air. “What?”
He grinned. Tired, crooked. The first real one she’d seen from him that wasn’t for cameras.
“You were dancing like you had shadows chasing you last night. Seemed fitting.”
Lisa stared at him. “You saw me?”
“I hear you,” he corrected. Tapped his ear. “Thin walls. Big difference.”
He pushed chopsticks toward her. His fingers were cold.
They ate in silence. It was nice. Not awkward. Just... quiet.
Two people who couldn’t sleep for the same reason.
Until the door opened.
Coach Min.
Thai-Korean. 40s. Suit at 5:40AM. Hair perfect. Eyes red-rimmed but sharp.
He didn’t look at Jae-hyun. He looked at Lisa. Like a laser.
“Monaban. My office. 10 minutes.”
His voice had no warmth. No inflection.
Jae-hyun’s chopsticks paused mid-air. Broth dripped back into the bowl.
“Coach, she has vocal at 8—”
“Then she’ll be late,” Coach Min cut in. Eyes still on Lisa. “Alone.”
The word _alone_ landed heavy.
The second he left, Jae-hyun turned to her. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Lisa said. But her hands were shaking. The chopsticks clicked against the bowl.
Jae-hyun reached across the table. Didn’t touch her. Just put his hand near hers.
“Hey. Breathe. He’s just trying to scare you before evals. It’s what he does.”
Lisa nodded. Didn’t believe it.
---
*COACH MIN’S OFFICE*
It smelled like cigarettes, old paper, and something metallic Lisa couldn’t name.
No windows. Just a desk, a laptop, and a manila envelope with her name on it.
L-I-S-A M-O-N-A-B-A-N. In black marker.
“Sit,” he said.
Lisa sat. The chair was too low. Made her feel like a kid.
Coach Min didn’t sit. He paced. Hands behind his back.
“You know why I’m calling you in?”
“No, Coach.”
“Liar,” he said softly. Not angry. Amused. “Everyone in this company is lying about something. It’s how we survive.”
He stopped behind his desk. Opened the envelope. Slow.
Pulled out one thing.
A photo.
Baby Lisa. Swaddled in a pink blanket too big for her.
And in the background, blurry but clear enough: a hospital bed. White sheets.
A man’s hand. Going limp. Blood seeping through his fingers.
Lisa’s blood went cold. Then hot. Then cold again.
Her vision tunneled.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered. Her voice sounded far away.
Coach Min leaned back in his chair. It creaked.
“Someone sent it to the company. Yesterday. Anonymous email. Subject line: ‘Our New Trainee.’”
He flipped the photo over. Tapped the back with one finger.
Red writing. Shaky. Like it was written fast.
*SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH.*
Lisa couldn’t breathe.
The air in the room was too thick.
“Do you?” Coach Min asked softly. Too soft. Like he was talking to a spooked animal. “Know too much, Lisa?”
Lisa shook her head. Lie. “No. I was a baby. I don’t remember—”
“You remember dancing last night,” he interrupted. “You remember crying. You remember running from something.”
He stood. Walked around the desk. Slow footsteps. Stopped right in front of her chair.
His shadow fell over her.
“I knew your father, Lisa. In Bangkok. 17 years ago.”
The room tilted.
Lisa gripped the armrest. Nails digging in. “What?”
“He was my business partner,” Coach Min said. Matter of fact. “Import-export. Before Hansei. Before Korea. Before you killed him.”
He didn’t say it cruel. He said it like he was reading attendance.
Like he was testing how she’d react.
Lisa stood up. Too fast. The chair scraped loud against the floor.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” she said. Voice shaking. “I was 30 minutes old. I couldn’t—”
“Then why is someone threatening you?” Coach Min asked. He picked up the photo again. Held it between two fingers. “Why now? Right before debut?”
He stepped closer. “Because someone thinks if you get famous, you’ll start asking questions. About that night. About who was in the room. About who left first.”
Lisa didn’t take the photo.
“Are you threatening me, Coach?”
Coach Min smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m protecting you. And this company.” He leaned down, until they were eye level. He smelled like coffee and cigarettes.
“If you want to debut, you keep your head down. You dance. You smile. You don’t ask about Bangkok. You don’t ask about your father. You don’t ask about me.”
He dropped the photo on her lap. It was warm from his hand.
“Or someone else will get hurt. Your mother in Thailand. Your roommate. Your little friend Jae-hyun.”
He straightened. “Understand?”
Lisa nodded. Couldn’t speak. Her throat was closed.
“Good girl,” he said. “Now go to vocal. You’re already late.”
---
Lisa made it to the bathroom before she threw up.
Stall 3. She locked the door and sank to the floor.
Her hands shook so bad she could barely wash her face. Cold water. Again. Again.
_He knew my dad. He was there. Was he the one holding the knife? Was he the one who called it an accident?_
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
No text. Just a picture.
It was her. 10 minutes ago. Walking out of Coach Min’s office. Pale. Shaking.
Someone was watching.
The door opened.
Footsteps.
Jae-hyun.
He took one look at her, at the sink, at her face, and didn’t ask.
Just handed her a bottle of water and a tissue. Then crouched down next to her, not too close.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” he said quietly.
Lisa took the water. Drank. It hurt going down. “Maybe I did.”
He leaned against the sink next to her. Shoulders touching hers.
“You can tell me. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
Lisa wanted to. God, she wanted to. To tell him about Bangkok. About the photo. About the red words.
But Coach Min’s words echoed: _Someone else will get hurt._
So she lied. Again. It was getting easier.
“Just evaluation stress,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Jae-hyun studied her. For a long second. His eyes were dark. Searching.
Then he nodded. “Okay.”
He stood up. Offered her his hand.
She took it. His hand was warm. Steady.
“But Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“If anyone hurts you...” His voice dropped. “I’ll burn this whole company down to find them.”
He said it so calmly. Like he was talking about the weather.
Like he meant it.
Lisa’s heart did something stupid. It believed him.
“Why?” she whispered.
Jae-hyun shrugged. “Because you dance like you’re trying to live. And this place eats people who try to live.”
---
Later that night. 2:14AM.
Practice room. Alone.
Lisa pulled out the photo from her dance bag. Stared at her baby self.
At her father’s hand.
Her fingers were shaking again.
She flipped it over. Read the red words. _SHE KNOWS TOO MUCH._
And then she saw it.
On the very bottom corner, in tiny pencil. Almost erased.
*“Ask CEO Han about Bangkok.”*
Someone wanted her to know.
Someone inside Hansei.
Someone who was scared enough to hide a message.
Lisa’s breath hitched.
CEO Han. The man who built Hansei with “business partner” money from Bangkok. Suspect #1.
The demon wasn’t in her.
It was in this building. In the walls. In the contracts. In the smiles.
Lisa folded the photo. Hid it deep in the lining of her bag.
Then she turned the music on. Bangkok street music.
And she danced.
Not to run.
To fight.
Because if they wanted her to keep her head down...
She was going to look straight at them.
- Writer
