“Aigoo, Captain. I didn’t expect you to take it like that….”
Min Sanghan, who had frozen momentarily, burst into a hearty laugh.
“It was just a joke. Why would I say something like that? Right, Suho?”
He gently gripped one of my arms as he asked.
But the remark wasn’t appropriate enough to be called a joke, and the atmosphere wasn’t light enough for that, either. He probably hoped I’d play along and smooth things over.
The way Min Sanghan stared straight into my face made the hairs on my arms stand on end. For the first time, I felt a sense of disconnect and repulsion from him.
I was standing there stiffly, facing him, when—
“Of course I knew.”
Yeo Wonjin pulled me close, wrapping his arm around my shoulder with a familiar ease. Min Sanghan, who had to naturally let go of me, shifted his gaze to Yeo Wonjin.
“If it hadn’t been a joke, that comment could’ve caused some serious trouble.”
Even with a smile on his face, there was an unmistakable chill in Yeo Wonjin’s voice.
“I only responded as a joke too, but it seems he was quite flustered.”
“…!”
Min Sanghan briefly furrowed his brow but quickly forced a smile as if nothing had happened.
“Haha. I just thought there’d been a misunderstanding.”
His eyes flicked down to Yeo Wonjin’s hand, still resting on my shoulder.
“That aside… Captain, you seem to be taking special care of Team Leader Seo.”
“Of course.”
Yeo Wonjin glanced at me and nodded.
“I intend to keep a close watch to ensure he never ends up in danger again.”
His slightly upturned eyes locked intently onto Min Sanghan.
“And to do that, catching the culprits comes first.”
“Naturally. I’m truly grateful to hear that.”
Min Sanghan responded with an affable smile, meeting Yeo Wonjin’s gaze without flinching.
But the current between them couldn’t be described as peaceful, not even out of politeness. Though their lips were curled into smiles, their eyes remained cold, each trying to see through the other’s true intentions. The tension in the air grew rapidly icy.
Ignoring the restless buzz in my head, I turned to Yeo Wonjin and spoke.
“What brings you here, Captain?”
“Ah. I came to see you, Researcher.”
He turned toward me with a bashful smile.
“How are you feeling today?”
“…I’m doing well.”
“If you haven’t eaten yet, would you like to join me? I brought some food from the place you said you liked.”
“Sure. But what about Director Min…?”
“I should head back to the lab now. Take care of yourself, Suho.”
At Min Sanghan’s words, two figures from the lab flashed across my mind. The beast—and the one who was practically a beast.
It had been a while since I’d told my team that I’d be away for a few days due to personal reasons, and assigned them their tasks. They were probably managing just fine. Still, even knowing the situation couldn’t be helped, I couldn’t stop worrying about Cat and Lee Shin. If not for the restrictions from the medical staff and Yeo Wonjin, I’d have been discharged already.
“Then I’ll be going.”
After a quick farewell, Min Sanghan walked off at a brisk pace. Watching his retreating back, I too began walking alongside Yeo Wonjin.
As we headed toward where the attendants were waiting, I suddenly realized Yeo Wonjin’s hand was still on my shoulder.
While it was true that his warmth had helped ground me during the mental freeze I experienced in that exchange with Min Sanghan, it felt like now was the right time to let go. When I glanced down at the back of Yeo Wonjin’s hand, he followed my gaze—and froze.
“…!”
Startled, he quickly pulled his hand away, lips parting as if to speak, hesitating.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
We’d had physical contact before, so I didn’t think an apology was necessary. I shook my head. Even so, his cheeks were already flushed red.
His usually pale face only returned to its natural color after quite some time.
Yeo Wonjin kept the conversation going with casual, everyday topics. He clearly understood that Min Sanghan hadn’t been joking, yet he didn’t say a single word about it. He could’ve at least acted a bit incredulous or warned me not to believe Min Sanghan’s words, but he didn’t.
Even so, thanks to that, I didn’t have the mental space to dwell on Min Sanghan. And slowly, I began to feel at ease.
***
Thud! Min Sanghan slammed his desk in a fit of rage. His flushed face was burning with fury, and the beard he had always kept neatly groomed was now a disheveled mess.
“That bastard Yeo Wonjin! Treating people like they’re nothing!”
He raged, hurling objects and kicking things around the room until he was too exhausted to continue, finally collapsing into his chair. Harsh, ragged breaths spilled from his lips.
A startled secretary knocked cautiously on the door, but Min Sanghan ignored it, forcing himself to take deep breaths. The uncontrollable anger continued to boil inside him.
He had tried to subtly coax Seo Suho into settling the matter quietly, but Yeo Wonjin’s interference had thrown everything off. The fury clawed at him from within.
The image of Yeo Wonjin’s seemingly kind smile, hiding such precise malice, made his stomach churn the more he thought about it.
“Got promoted to Captain and now he’s completely full of himself…”
That position should have been his to begin with.
A person needs ambition to reach greater heights. Whether society was broader or narrower than it is now, it wouldn’t have mattered—he would’ve still fought tooth and nail. The day Yeo Wonjin became Vice Captain simply because he was the Captain’s son, Min Sanghan had been utterly incensed.
But rationally, he couldn’t say he didn’t understand. Any parent would want to pass on what they had built to their own child.
The previous Captain had built the ship entirely with her own wealth and skills, saving countless lives in the process. Come to think of it, the entire ship practically belonged to her. It was only natural for that legacy to go to Yeo Wonjin.
Min Sanghan, too, had tried to do the same—when he eventually became Research Director, he wanted to hand the title down to Min Yugeon, which was why he’d pushed so hard to shape his path.
“Damn it.”
But that was their business. For Min Sanghan, his dreams were what mattered.
If only Yeo Wonjin had shown even the slightest lack of ambition, or had been even a little wicked or lazy.
But unfortunately, Yeo Wonjin was a meticulous man. Perhaps even more so than himself. He was more flexible than his own mother, charming in both looks and personality, and had long since earned a substantial following. His attention to detail and decisive nature—both critical traits for a Captain—were universally acknowledged.
If there had been even a single flaw, Min Sanghan would’ve exploited it to smear his name. If that had worked, one of the sycophantic officers he had so carefully cultivated might have taken the Captain’s seat instead. Then, using the secrets he had collected on them, he could have blackmailed his way into the role.
“Yugeon, that little shit…!”
His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he gnashed his teeth.
…Min Yugeon.
It was all because of that failure of a son.
Becoming Captain had been his ultimate goal, a dream he’d held for years. He had only recently succeeded in a separate plan to achieve it—only for his own flesh and blood, Min Yugeon, to ruin the future he had carved out.
“How was I supposed to hand Ji Chanwoo over? If Suho got hurt in that mess, then what the hell was I supposed to do?”
He had devised a plan to reclaim Ji Chanwoo and get rid of Seo Suho, who had grown increasingly suspicious after a few meetings with the Vice Captain. But then Yugeon had the gall to offer him a deal.
Still, believing that his own son wouldn’t push him off a cliff, he hadn’t thought too long before accepting. That had been the mistake.
He gave the coordinates that Min Yugeon had provided to the Disposal Unit, ordering them to retrieve Ji Chanwoo from the location and release Seo Suho afterward. Even if Yugeon went to where Seo Suho was, he couldn’t possibly outmatch the Disposal Unit in a fight. There was no risk of Seo Suho being snatched away before then.
But no matter how he looked at it… Min Yugeon needed to be punished.
The boy had always lived as he pleased, never once obeying his father’s words. Now he needed to lose something precious, to experience the kind of bitter regret that would leave a scar. The thought of defying his father should never have even crossed his mind.
That’s why Min Sanghan contacted the Disposal Unit midway through the operation and gave them a new order—to kill Seo Suho, as originally planned. And to do it right in front of Min Yugeon’s eyes.
He held no personal grudge against Seo Suho. The Military Beast Project Suho was working on represented a beacon of hope for humanity, and it had solidified Min Sanghan’s position as Research Director.
‘I had no choice.’
Min Yugeon knew everything. And it was only a matter of time before Seo Suho, who would continue working with Yugeon, learned the truth of the past.
There was also the risk that someone from the Disposal Unit, assuming Suho was a dead man anyway, might have flapped their damn mouth. Who knew what they might have said about him ordering Suho’s abduction?
Fortunately, Suho hadn’t claimed to have heard anything from them. He hadn’t said anything today at the hospital either. But still… better safe than sorry. Killing him was the cleanest option.
And yet…
“What a fucking idiot.”
The one who got stabbed by the Disposal Unit’s blade was Min Yugeon.
He must have tried to protect Seo Suho.
Not once did Min Sanghan feel sorry for him. He had been the one to break their promise first.
“I came to the location you gave me, but there’s no one here—urk!”
“Wh-What?! Who the hell are—!”
Some members of the Disposal Unit had gone to the coordinates he provided, only to be ambushed by someone. And that someone had spoken to Min Sanghan through the speaker.
“I wasn’t really living, but… you weren’t supposed to be like this.”
“…Ji Chanwoo?”
“But it’s over—for both of us.”
The line went dead.
It was then that Min Sanghan realized Ji Chanwoo—of all people—had joined hands with Min Yugeon and betrayed him.
The guilt—something he’d never truly experienced before—was far more terrifying than he had imagined.
