The courtroom had never been this quiet.
Even the air felt like it was holding its breath.
Hana sat between Mrs. Park and Mr. Choi, her feet barely touching the floor. She clutched her teddy bear tightly, its worn fabric warm from her hands. Today felt different. Heavy. Like something was about to snap.
Judge Min adjusted her glasses. "The court will now hear supplemental evidence regarding the suspect known as Kang Dae-Shik."
A murmur spread through the room.
The name had weight now.
Mr. Choi stood. "Your Honor, this evidence comes from two places the court has previously ignored—an old witness statement, and a child's memory."
He turned slightly, his eyes landing on Hana's father behind the glass.
Officer Lim approached the stand with a yellowed document.
"This statement," he said, "was taken fourteen years ago. The witness attempted to describe a man lurking near a child's home the night she disappeared."
The prosecutor frowned. "Why was this never pursued?"
Officer Lim hesitated. "Because the witness had difficulty speaking clearly. His account was marked unreliable."
Hana's father lowered his head.
Mr. Choi's voice was steady but sharp. "That witness is the same man sitting here today. The same man now accused of a crime he did not commit."
The judge leaned forward. "Read the statement."
Officer Lim nodded and began.
"Tall man. Standing by window. Smoke smell. Scar on face. Took girl away."
Gasps rippled through the courtroom.
The description matched too well.
Hana felt her chest tighten.
Judge Min turned her gaze to Hana, gentle but firm. "Hana… you don't have to speak. But if you want to show us something, you may."
The room seemed to tilt.
Mrs. Park whispered, "Only if you want to."
Hana hesitated.
Then—slowly—she stood.
Her legs trembled, but she walked to the small table placed near the judge. Cameras flashed, but she didn't look at them. She opened her sketchpad.
Her pencil moved.
The courtroom watched in silence.
She drew:
• a younger version of herself
• holding the same teddy bear
• standing near a window
• a shadow outside
• smoke drifting in
• a man's face half-lit
• and a scar
Then she turned the page.
Another drawing.
A courtroom.
Her father pointing, trying to explain.
Police turning away.
No one listening.
A soft sound escaped Hana's throat.
Not a word.
Just breath.
But it echoed louder than any testimony.
Mrs. Park was crying openly now
Suddenly, a sound broke the silence.
A phone vibrating.
Everyone turned.
A man near the back of the courtroom stiffened.
The scarred man.
He reached for his pocket too late.
Officer Lim was already moving. "Sir—don't touch that."
The phone fell to the floor.
On the screen, a message lit up:
"Leave now."
Mr. Choi's heart pounded. "That's him," he said sharply. "That's Kang Dae-Shik."
The man tried to step back, but officers blocked the exits.
Judge Min rose to her feet. "You are not free to leave this courtroom."
The scarred man's eyes flicked to Hana.
For the first time, fear cracked through his calm
Hana met his gaze.
She didn't flinch.
She lifted her sketchpad one last time and drew quickly.
A pair of handcuffs.
Then she placed the drawing on the table and stepped back.
The message was clear.
Judge Min's voice rang through the room. "Court is adjourned pending immediate investigation. Detain that man."
Officers moved in.
The courtroom erupted—but Hana felt strangely calm.
For the first time, the truth wasn't trapped inside her anymore.
Later, in the holding room, Hana stood before her father.
No glass between them this time.
He knelt and wrapped his arms around her, careful, gentle, like she might disappear.
"You were so brave," he whispered. "Daddy should have protected you better."
Hana shook her head and hugged him tighter.
Some things didn't need words.
That night, Hana slept deeply for the first time in weeks.
Mr. Choi stood by the window, watching the city lights
The case wasn't over yet.
But the silence that once buried the truth had finally cracked.
And once broken—
It could never be ignored again