Seo Won stared coldly at Yoon Jeong-ho, his gaze completely different from the way he looked at Han-gyeom.
“You should be grateful I held back.”
“Wasn’t it because Cha Han-gyeom passed out that you had to stop?”
Jeong-ho sneered with a snicker. Seo Won shot him a frosty glare, then brushed past him.
“Go back inside. Lim Du-hyuk, call the team and clean this up.”
“Yes, Director.”
Du-hyuk bowed respectfully toward Seo Won’s back. He then gestured toward the security team who had been waiting at the far end of the hallway, signaling them to come forward. He’d stationed them there in advance, already anticipating the kind of noises that would erupt the moment Han-gyeom entered the office.
As the security team briskly made their way toward the office, moving opposite them was Jung Ah-young, who had been anxiously standing guard. She quickly scurried after Seo Won.
While Seo Won escorted Han-gyeom to the bedroom and returned, Jeong-ho, having stepped into the now-empty office, let out a string of curses as he flung the windows wide open. The smell was so heavy it stung his nose—it was no surprise, considering how long it had gone on, even if the noise had been the main issue.
Leaning against the windowsill with the window ajar, he watched as Lim Du-hyuk and the other security personnel efficiently cleaned the office with well-practiced movements. They sprayed deodorizer thoroughly enough to wipe out the thick, fishy stench that had permeated the space.
Just as the security team was finishing up and heading out, Seo Won reappeared as if perfectly timed. He looked pristine—so put-together it was hard to believe he’d just been in the middle of an intense, drawn-out sex session.
Only then did Jeong-ho, now seated on the sofa, finally get the chance to glare fully at Seo Won, who sat across from him.
“You didn’t call me here just to watch how long a deep Guiding session could go, did you? So what’s up? I seriously almost teleported in here just now.”
Despite the bluff, Jeong-ho would never actually teleport into the office. He’d tried it once before without permission and nearly lost his limbs to the flying ice shards that had launched at him from every direction.
Remembering that murderous aura from back then, Jeong-ho gave a visible shiver as he waited for Seo Won to speak.
But something felt different about Seo Won today.
‘Is he in a bad mood? Not that he’s ever particularly cheerful to begin with…’
Even Yoon Jeong-ho, who’d known Seo Won for a long time, could sense something was seriously off. Seo Won didn’t seem angry or annoyed—his mood was far too subdued for that. It was more like… something complex was weighing on him, something too tangled to even guess at.
“Do you really think everything in Kangsan Group will become yours if I die?”
Jeong-ho’s expression froze at Seo Won’s unexpected words.
“What…?”
“I’m not talking about being murdered. I’m talking about if I kill myself.”
“What the hell… What are you even saying right now?”
Jeong-ho let out an awkward laugh and scrambled to process what he’d just heard.
If Seo Won were murdered, not only would Jeong-ho gain nothing, he’d be thrown out without hesitation. But if Seo Won ended his own life, everything he owned would go to Jeong-ho, the designated successor. That was the scenario Seo Won was presenting now.
‘Could it be… Did Cha Han-gyeom say something?’
Seo Won, who clung to life with such tenacity, would never toss around a word like suicide so lightly. The only possible clue was what had happened that day, when he and Ha Tae-soo tried to persuade Han-gyeom.
But it was also undeniable that Han-gyeom harbored a deep grudge against Seo Won.
There was no way he would’ve directly relayed their thoughts to him—not even about his own hidden ability.
At least, that’s what Yoon Jeong-ho believed.
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. There’s no way you’d ever think of suicide.”
Jeong-ho waved his hand dismissively, feigning his usual playful demeanor, as if to brush off nonsense.
“People don’t just talk about suicide out of nowhere. You have to want to die to even start thinking about that. And someone like you, who would do absolutely anything just to survive…”
Jeong-ho trailed off, his voice cutting short when he saw the cigarette case Seo Won pulled from his coat.
Click.
With a satisfying snap, Seo Won opened the case and took out a cigarette, letting out a faint laugh as he did so.
“Well, you never know.”
Was he trying to prove his point?
Seo Won placed the cigarette—identical to Han-gyeom’s—between his lips, then pulled out a lighter that looked completely out of place for someone like him. A disposable one, the kind you’d expect to find tossed in a trash can on the street.
Tsskt. The feeble hiss of gas flickered into a struggling flame, which finally caught on the end of the cigarette.
With practiced ease, Seo Won took a long drag and exhaled a plume of ash-gray smoke. His expression was languid, bored—so much so that, for a moment, it felt like Cha Han-gyeom was sitting in his place.
It wasn’t until he saw Seo Won exhale the smoke like it was second nature that Jeong-ho finally snapped out of it and jumped to his feet in panic.
“What the fuck—are you out of your mind?!”
“You’re probably the only person on the planet who’d ask someone if they’re insane just for smoking in their own house.”
“It’s not just the smoking! Look at the situation!”
Yoon Jeong-ho was genuinely shocked.
This was Seo Won. Seo Won. He was the one who, ever since they were kids, had fought tooth and nail just to keep breathing. And Jeong-ho had been there, right beside him, watching it all.
‘The same guy who once swore he’d never touch alcohol or cigarettes for the rest of his life—why the hell is he doing this now?’
Seo Won looked up at Jeong-ho’s stunned face and took another drag from his cigarette.
“So, are you going to answer my question?”
With a bitter grimace, Jeong-ho sank back into the sofa.
Seo Won’s question was simple.
Did Jeong-ho really believe that if Seo Won committed suicide, everything in Kangsan Group would become his?
Jeong-ho couldn’t read the full depth of Seo Won’s thoughts, but he gave an honest answer.
“Yeah.”
Curling his lips into a smirk, Jeong-ho leaned back against the sofa, arms sprawled along the backrest. His long legs were crossed, and he wiggled his foot with blatant arrogance.
“Once you’re dead, there’s no bloodline left in Kangsan Group. That’s why Grandfather brought me in early—to prepare for that moment.”
Jeong-ho stared at Seo Won, eyes sharp as if to say you know this already, while fixating on the cigarette in his hand.
“Of course, I’ve got no intention of gobbling up all your labs or companies. Too many ties to the Association—what a hassle. If I want to avoid indigestion, it’s smarter to give up that part cleanly.”
“Not bad for someone claiming I’d never commit suicide. Sounds like you’ve thought it through.”
“You never know what people might do, right?”
Jeong-ho met Seo Won’s frigid stare with a calm, smug smile. And yet, beneath that relaxed exterior, he was working hard to decode Seo Won’s true intention.
Just because Seo Won smoked a cigarette didn’t mean he was seriously contemplating suicide. A cigarette couldn’t even make a scratch on his sturdy body, much less do any real damage.
Suicide was not something ordinary people, let alone those barely surviving each day, could decide on so easily. And if anyone was far removed from such a notion, it was Seo Won—a man with an almost pathological attachment to life. This conversation had to be nothing more than another one of his tests, a calculated provocation.
Even so, there was no reason to lie.
If anyone knew that Yoon Jeong-ho secretly wished for Seo Won’s death, it was Seo Won himself.
“Indigestion, huh…”
Seo Won let out a low laugh, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
“Here’s what I guarantee: no matter how carefully you try to chew, you’re still going to end up with a stomachache.”
“What kind of cryptic bullshit is that now?”
Yoon Jeong-ho furrowed his brows deeply. He couldn’t help the sense of unease creeping up his spine—because when Seo Won made such strange declarations, they always came true.
“You know the details of my deal with the Association, don’t you?”
“Yeah. You’re supposed to deliver a fully-developed ability device that lets ordinary people use powers—using your heart as the core.”
Jeong-ho wasn’t just familiar with it—he had collaborated on it. Thanks to being at Chairman Seo’s side, he actually knew more about the heart and the negotiations surrounding it than Seo Won himself.
Seo Won flicked his cigarette lightly into the ashtray, then asked in a casual tone,
“What do you think would happen if I died before the device is completed?”
“What do you mean what? Dead is dead. So what?”
Jeong-ho blinked dully, not seeing the point.
“I’m the cornerstone of the current research. It’s built around my ability. For security, I even split the work among my clones—no one else knows the full blueprint.”
Seo Won’s voice was calm but firm, laced with undeniable confidence.
“No one can carry on my research. Only I can do it.”
“You bragging now? That much, I already knew.”
“Then you still don’t get why I’m saying this?”
Seo Won’s sharp eyes softened into a smooth arc. Beautiful, almost like a painting—but there was nothing warm or gentle in that smile. It was pure mockery.
“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Yoon Jeong-ho.”
But Jeong-ho still couldn’t grasp the full meaning behind his words. No matter how much he wanted Seo Won dead, that didn’t change the fact that he acknowledged the man’s brilliance—and so, a part of him felt unjustly accused by the remark.
And yet, with what Seo Won said next, Jeong-ho’s mind began to go completely blank.
“Right before finalizing the contract with the Association, I asked them to revise the agreement. Told them not to name me as the sole party responsible for fulfilling the terms—change it to ‘Kangsan Group successor.’”
As Seo Won sneered, smoke—thin and gray like ash—floated gently into the air.
“Which means if I die, the obligation to complete my research and hand it over to the Association falls to you, the next successor.”
“W-What…?”
“The deadline we agreed on is December this year. Less than half a year left now.”
“W-Wait, hold on—”
“If the research isn’t completed and made practical by then, the Association has the right, under contract, to claim the heart of the ‘Kangsan Group successor.’”
“Seo Won, you…!”
“If I fail to complete it before I die, then your heart becomes their war trophy.”
“Hey!”
Jeong-ho finally shouted, unable to take any more of Seo Won’s cold, cutting words. His face had gone just as pale as his reeling thoughts.
“Think you can do my job?”
Seo Won’s twisted grin curled high, his expression now closer to a devil than a man. At least, that’s how Yoon Jeong-ho saw it.
“If you can’t, make your choice now.”
Like a devil offering a deal, Seo Won extended his hand in cooperation—to the very man who’d longed for his death.
“Help me screw over the Association and ruin the contract, or live until December, and deliver your heart to them instead.”
