The Captain’s Forbidden Girl

Ha-eun called Seo-jun for the sixth time. The call rang until it went to voicemail. Her last message remained unanswered. You busy? At least tell me you’re alive. Seo-jun was busy most days. Since earning a scholarship to Myeongseong High School, he had become even more serious about studying. But he always called her, even when he was sick. She used to tease him for calling so often, but she had grown accustomed to having him at the other end of the phone. They had grown up together in an orphanage, sharing a room, their worries, and the same stubborn dream: to attend their chosen university together. When Ha-eun was adopted, Seo-jun remained behind. Her new family gave her a comfortable home and treated her as their own, but having a bedroom of her own and people waiting for her at home never made her forget the boy she had left behind. They had promised to get into the same university, and Seo-jun had taken that promise seriously enough for both of them. He worked relentlessly, determined to secure his place and make their dream come true. The last time they spoke, he had seemed fine. He had sent her his mock exam results, and she had congratulated him. There had been no sign that anything was wrong. A cold feeling settled beneath her ribs. She scrolled through their recent messages, searching for something she might have missed. There was nothing unusual, only ordinary messages about exams and university plans. She called her mother. “Have you heard from Seo-jun?” Ha-eun asked as soon as the call connected. “No. Why? Is something wrong?” “He isn’t answering. I’ve called him all morning.” “Maybe he’s in class or studying.” “He would have called back by now.” Her mother fell silent for a moment. When she adopted Ha-eun, she had understood that the girl came with a history she couldn’t simply leave behind. Seo-jun was more than a friend from the orphanage. He was the person who had shared her childhood, and their bond had survived even after they went their separate ways. “I’ll contact the school,” her mother said. “Let me see if they can tell me anything.” Ha-eun ended the call, but the tightness in her chest did not ease. Her phone rang twenty minutes later. It was her mother. “I spoke to someone at Myeongseong,” she said. “They confirmed he missed a scheduled activity, but no one seems to know where he is. They thought he might have had permission to leave.” “He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere.” “I know. I’ll keep trying to reach the school. If you want to check his apartment, I can arrange for someone to accompany you.” “I want to go now.” “All right. Please be careful. Call me when you arrive.” Ha-eun searched through their old messages for the address Seo-jun had sent her when he first moved into the apartment. She found it and ordered a car. When she arrived, she called him again. His phone rang, but no one answered. The building manager accompanied her to his door. Ha-eun knocked, then knocked harder. When no one responded, she turned to the manager. “Could you open it, please?” He hesitated before unlocking the door with the spare key. “Seo-jun?” she called as she stepped inside. The apartment looked ordinary. His shoes sat beside the entrance, a cup rested on the kitchen counter, and a jacket hung over a chair. Nothing appeared broken or out of place. The normality made his absence feel worse. She checked the living room and bathroom before entering the bedroom. Textbooks covered the desk, their pages marked with sticky notes. Handwritten summaries lay beside a timetable filled with exam dates. On the wall, he had pinned a checklist of university application requirements. Their dream university’s name was written at the top. Ha-eun touched the edge of the paper. The application deadline was circled twice. He had never complained about the pressure. Whenever she asked how he was doing, he made everything sound manageable. Had he been hiding something from her? Had she mistaken his determination for happiness because she wanted so badly to believe he was all right? “Where are you?” she whispered. She searched the desk drawers and the space beside the bed. His phone wasn’t there. She checked the wardrobe, but found nothing. Then she noticed a backpack wedged into the corner beside the wardrobe. She pulled it out and unzipped the main compartment. Inside were several small packets of pills. Beneath them lay more packets and a plastic bag containing a white powder. She picked up one of the packets, her fingers suddenly clumsy. She examined the others, hoping to find an ordinary explanation. Her mouth went dry. She had seen enough crime dramas to recognise what the pills and powder might mean, but she refused to believe it. Seo-jun studied harder than anyone she knew. He wanted a future for both of them. He wouldn’t risk everything they had worked towards like this. Would he? Ha-eun lowered the packet, but her hand kept trembling. The room seemed to shrink around her. The building manager moved somewhere outside, but the sound felt distant. She had come here expecting to find an explanation for Seo-jun’s silence. Instead, she had found something she could barely bring herself to name. Seo-jun had been taking drugs.