She found him where she expected. It wasn't because he had called, but because he always existed near structural boundaries.
Mr. Han stood near the edge of a parking structure, his posture calm and his expression completely unchanged.
"You knew," she said. It wasn't a greeting, and it wasn't an accusation; it was a statement.
He did not deny it. "Yes."
Her chest tightened. "You knew why my father was targeted."
He nodded once. He did not look surprised that she had discovered it; he looked unsurprised that she had reached this conclusion.
"That was the beginning of his isolation," he said. It wasn't a judgment, but an explanation.
Seo-yeon watched him carefully. "You didn't tell me."
He met her gaze. "It wasn't information that would have changed his outcome."
Her fingers tightened—not from anger, but from recognition. The system did not operate on fairness; it operated strictly on structure. Her father's refusal had placed him entirely outside of structural protection, and outside of that protection, pressure became inevitable.
Mr. Han spoke again. "He survived longer than most."
It wasn't meant as comfort. It was respect. Her father had endured. He hadn't escaped, but he had endured.