When Lee Han-seo stepped out of the dorm, the sun was shining brilliantly, but a light cover of clouds made the weather feel just right—so perfect, it almost felt like a waste not to take a walk. Blaming the weather for his leisurely pace, he strolled along slowly, taking the long way on purpose. By the time he reached the main gate’s visitor center, it had been well over thirty minutes since the call ended—almost an hour, in fact.
The security staff, leading him to the designated meeting room, kept sneaking glances at him with clear concern. When Lee gave a silent look of inquiry, one of them finally spoke, voice tinged with caution.
“Um, this might sound a little strange, but… Captain Park Woo-jun’s family seems to be acting a bit off. If you’d prefer, we can assign a guard to accompany you during the visit. Would that be okay?”
“Oh, no. Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. The CCTV in the room is functioning properly, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lee Han-seo gave a nod and pushed open the meeting room door with firm resolve. It was the first time all four of them had gathered in one place since that encounter at the villa, right after he returned to Korea. But compared to then, his mindset—and his emotions—had changed drastically. And he wasn’t the only one who felt that difference.
“It’s been a while. Did something happen? Why did you keep calling so much?”
He sat down across from them and greeted them like nothing was wrong. As expected, the first to explode was Park Seon-jun—the most hot-tempered and least composed of the three.
“This is all your fault! Put everything back the way it was, right now!”
He shouted, furious. Lee Han-seo snorted and theatrically dug at his ear with a pinky finger, clearly unimpressed. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair, relaxed and taunting. Seon-jun’s face flushed red with anger.
“Huh? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Mind speaking a little more clearly?”
Even if your mouth is twisted, at least speak straight—then maybe your nonsense would be easier to understand. He mocked with exaggerated sarcasm. Seon-jun snapped and lunged forward over the table, arm shooting out to grab Lee Han-seo’s collar. But both parents, looking just as strained, quickly reached out to restrain their hot-blooded son.
Still, they waited like scolded children—tense and uncertain. It seemed they’d finally started to grasp who held the power now, and just how far Lee Han-seo could drag them down if he really wanted to.
Though Seon-jun hadn’t touched him, the mere attempt was enough to piss Lee Han-seo off. He dusted off his collar with a sneer and, under the guise of adjusting his jacket, slipped a hand inside to activate the recorder.
“Dad! Let go! That son of a bitch, I swear—just one hit! I just need to hit him once!”
Perfect timing.
“Mr. Park Seon-jun, really. This is too much. You’ve been insisting we meet, and I barely managed to squeeze in the time. Is that really the kind of language you think is appropriate?”
“Shut the fuck up before I rip that mouth off your face—mmph!”
Before he could finish, a heavy slap of a hand clamped over his mouth—his father’s. Even if they didn’t share facial features, that broad, commanding frame clearly ran in the family. His father’s large hand covered more than half of Seon-jun’s face. Seon-jun’s underwhelming build must’ve come from his mother’s side.
“I won’t drag this out. I don’t know what exactly upset you, but if we’ve done something wrong, I’ll apologize. Let’s just end this here.”
The father, who had previously spoken down to Lee Han-seo like it was second nature, now addressed him with exaggerated politeness. Yet, even while apologizing, his tone held a strange sense of superiority. You’d think, after everything, they’d have figured it out—Ah, so Park Woo-jun must’ve told Lee Han-seo everything. We should start by apologizing for what we did to him. But they still acted like they had no clue what they’d done wrong.
Maybe they believed Park Woo-jun wouldn’t dare speak up. Or maybe, they were so used to treating him like nothing, they didn’t even consider their actions to be mistakes. Maybe it was both.
Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth. If they wanted to play shameless, Lee Han-seo would match them beat for beat.
“Sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Mind explaining a bit more clearly? Otherwise, this is just a waste of my time.”
“You…!”
His mother, noticeably more gaunt than before, looked like she was about to snap but barely held herself back. Despite the chaos their household must’ve been in lately, her neatly styled hair and pristine outfit made it obvious just how much she clung to appearances. Her husband was no better—just as obsessed with outward image, despite having nothing of substance underneath.
A quiet anger stirred again in Lee Han-seo’s chest. How could people who cared so much about appearances have so shamelessly neglected a child? Not even a single baby photo—nothing.
If not for school group pictures or graduation portraits, he wouldn’t have even known what Park Woo-jun looked like before joining the Center. In those photos, Woo-jun stood awkwardly, face clouded with gloom, swimming in a school uniform that didn’t fit. Lee Han-seo had once laughed looking at it, teasing, Baby, why do you look so dumb in this picture? And Woo-jun would just smile sheepishly and nod, saying, Yeah, I know.
The too-short sleeves that exposed half his forearms, the pants that ended far above his ankles—Lee Han-seo had thought it was just because Woo-jun had grown too fast.
But when he found out the truth—that the ragged outfit had come from a pile of donated uniforms at school, and that his parents had completely neglected him—Lee Han-seo was overwhelmed with shame. Ashamed of the life he’d taken for granted, and sickened by the memory of boasting about his own happy family in front of him. He couldn’t even meet his eyes anymore.
“What are you staring at, you piece of shit…”
And yet, the one who’d received everything—who lived as the golden child—was standing there acting like he was the victim. How could someone who’d never been denied a thing be so disgustingly self-assured? Lee Han-seo couldn’t comprehend it.
When the side effects of the Ring Amplifier had reduced Woo-jun to a childlike state, unable to even recognize Lee Han-seo, the things he cried out most often were pleas not to be hit, to not be hurt. “Mom… Dad… where are you…” he’d sob in ragged breaths.
Even if, by some massive stretch, you argued that favoritism was inevitable in adoption—fine. Maybe treating Park Seon-jun slightly better could be excused. But to beat a much younger child with that massive, brutish hand… to treat him like a punching bag and neglect him to the point of abuse?
That—Lee Han-seo could never forgive.
The psychiatrist currently overseeing Park Woo-jun’s therapy had once mentioned that while Woo-jun had improved significantly, there were clear signs he’d suffered from severe depression in the past. He suspected that Woo-jun’s intense inability to cope with being apart from Lee Han-seo—and his hypersensitive reactions whenever Lee Han-seo’s safety was involved—were symptoms of separation anxiety disorder.
For Lee Han-seo, accepting that the grand dream palace they’d been building together was, in reality, nothing more than a castle made of sand took a tremendous amount of strength. Piece by piece, he’d gathered fragments of the man he loved. And as he listened to the doctor’s words, it felt like his chest was being ripped open.
And all that pain… He wanted to hand it right back to the people who caused it.
“Looks like you’ve got no intention of apologizing. In that case, there’s no point wasting time talking. Just bring out my son.”
“Your son is right here.”
“…I meant Woo-jun.”
“Hah. That’s rich. And what exactly do you plan on doing once he’s here?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
The father’s voice finally snapped, rising sharply like a dam breaking. Lee Han-seo couldn’t hold back the low, bitter laugh that burst from his chest. So this was what they’d been banking on all along. They’d marched in here so shamelessly, so arrogantly, believing that if they could just get their hands on Park Woo-jun—just once—they could fix everything. Whether by begging, bullying, or manipulating.
As long as they got to him, everything would somehow go back to the way it was. Like magic.
Realizing that, Lee Han-seo felt his patience fray. He chuckled dryly, then pulled out his phone. After scrolling through his gallery, he found the photo he was looking for and held it out.
“Still don’t know your place, huh? Who do you think you’re trying to intimidate?”
“Th-This…!”
“Darling, wait—it’s a misunderstanding, I can explain everything. So-jung—no, Dr. Kim—just said she could lend me some money, that’s all…”
The photo showed his father just a few days ago, on a date with the woman he’d supposedly cut ties with years ago when she emigrated—his long-time affair partner.
Lee Han-seo watched as his mother’s eyes locked on the phone, her expression draining of color. Slowly, he began flipping through the photos, one by one. Sitting together on a bench by the lake. Going in and out of a motel. Each shot timestamped, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Only Park Seon-jun, as oblivious as ever, clicked his tongue and muttered, “Dad, are you seriously seeing that woman again?”
“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!”
People tend to lash out when someone hits a nerve—and his father was no exception. He exploded, grabbing Lee Han-seo’s phone and hurling it to the ground.
Crash.
The screen shattered on impact.
“Wow. Strong guy, huh? Think smashing the screen deletes the files? What a waste of effort. Seriously, that was just dumb.”
“My son changed because of you! His family—his parents—are being humiliated like this, and he won’t even look at us! That kid who spent his whole life obeying every word we said, who never once talked back—he’s ignoring our calls now! And there’s no way he changed on his own. It has to be you. You’re keeping him locked away, aren’t you? He told us he missed his mom and dad, that he wanted to help—and you’re the one stopping him!”
Impressive. If delusion were an art, this guy was a master. Practically foaming at the mouth, the man lunged again—this time grabbing Lee Han-seo by the collar and shaking him violently.
Strangely enough, Lee Han-seo let him. He didn’t resist. He let himself be grabbed, let himself be rattled.
“Give me back my son! Give me back our sweet Woo-jun!”
But something was off. Even as he screamed at Lee Han-seo, even with his fists clenched tight in his shirt, the man’s attention kept drifting—his focus split. And in that subtle shift, Lee Han-seo realized what was happening.
He wasn’t just lashing out. He was trying to distract his wife. Trying to draw her attention away from the exposed affair. Trying to avoid the divorce papers he clearly feared were coming.
“Did you know something?”
Lee Han-seo leaned in, whispering just loud enough for the father alone to hear.
“JC Holdings. Executive Director Choi.”
The man’s grip faltered.
Of course it did. Executive Director Choi was the husband of the woman he’d been so pathetically obsessed with.
“He used to play golf with my dad, actually. Part of the same group.”
“W-What…?”
“Small world, isn’t it? I heard they had a round scheduled today. Thought I’d send him a few interesting pictures. Oh—guess they’ve already reached him by now. Bet he’s having a blast…”
“YOU LITTLE BASTARD!”
Wham.
A brutal, cracking sound rang out as pain exploded behind Lee Han-seo’s eyes and stars danced across his vision.
