The very next day after Han Ki-taek was dragged out of Cheon Han-jo’s mansion, Chunwoo Group’s stock price closed with a 15% plunge compared to the day before. What had been circulating as hush-hush gossip among investors turned into official headlines within days, and the stock hit rock bottom.
On the trading screen, the chart was awash in blue, plunging downward. Economic news focused less on Chunwoo Group’s financial results and more on “The Owner Family’s Massive Illegal Gambling Operation and Allegations of Drug Distribution.” The situation spiraled further out of control when news of Han Ki-taek’s embezzlement broke.
One by one, even accounting fraud scandals involving several subsidiaries—excluding the holding company—were exposed, plastering news channels across public TV.
Dramatic headlines filled the screen with lines like The Dark Side of the Casino Business: Illegal Gambling Dens, Giant Foreign Capital, and Is Japan Behind It All? A reporter with a grim expression raised his voice in front of the camera, with Chunwoo Group’s logo emblazoned on the headquarters building in the background. Reporters were camped outside since early morning, and employees were seen entering with anxious faces.
A shot cut to the company spokesperson standing for an official interview.
“We clearly state that the company has no involvement in this matter. We will fully cooperate with the investigation and uncover the truth as quickly as possible.”
The explanation was clean, but it was no different from the typical empty excuse anyone could give. It couldn’t deflect the sharp criticism and cold stares.
Current affairs shows that mainly read and react to internet communities and social media had a field day with Chunwoo Group’s scandal.
Official channels blatantly used hashtags like #ChunwooGroupIllegalGambling and #ChunwooDrugScandal as video titles and gathered comments. The top comments were things like Is this the end for Chunwoo? Gambling with company funds and selling drugs too? Peddling Japanese drugs—what are they, new-age pro-Japanese traitors?
When Yushin, holding the remote, turned his head, Ha-jin cried out in alarm.
“Don’t move, dummy! You wanna go bald?”
He’d nearly carved a highway into Yushin’s scalp with the clippers. Everything the “butlers” in this house lent them worked too well. Ha-jin gently turned Yushin’s head back in place and resumed trimming with great care.
It kept bothering him—the hair that had been cut during the kidnapping. His amateur handiwork had left it almost chestnut-round short, but maybe because it was his little brother, it just looked adorably round.
When he pressed a bit harder with his fingertips holding Yushin’s head, Yushin grumbled.
“You keep sighing, that’s why.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Wanna change the channel?”
“No, I should at least know what’s going on.”
Ha-jin cast another glance toward the TV on the wall. Tae-seong’s face was flashing repeatedly on screen as the anchors talked about the Cheon family tree.
Tae-seong had spent the past week holed up in strategy meetings trying to restore the company’s image, but even that was being mocked. They called him a son quick to cut off his father, claiming “blood means nothing before money” and branding him as a “gold spoon raised on dirty money.”
On top of that, every detail of his credentials and achievements was dragged into the spotlight and torn apart.
“Hyung, are you okay?”
“Me? What’s there for me to be upset about?”
Ha-jin trimmed the stray hairs with scissors and finished the haircut. He sent Yushin off to the bathroom, then cleaned up the paper and hair on the floor.
But contrary to what he’d said to reassure Yushin, his heart wasn’t okay. He hadn’t expected things to escalate this fast—or for Tae-seong’s company to take such a devastating hit.
He hadn’t seen Tae-seong in a week due to how busy he was managing the aftermath, but even if he had, what could he have said? He was also curious about what had happened to Kang Sung-oh, but there was no way he could ask.
“Hyung, about that business trip… something went wrong then, right?”
Freshly showered and back from the bathroom, Yushin asked cautiously. Though he’d been bedridden all week, he had bounced back more resiliently than expected. The moment he felt better, he’d asked for a haircut—he really was tough.
“Yeah. Vice President Cheon Soo-young waking up was a major blow to that guy.”
Yushin knew exactly who that guy was—the one who had kidnapped Ha-jin. He gave a nod and slumped into the chair beside him in front of the TV.
“When the professor came by this morning for a house call, she said we might need to move soon.”
Ha-jin’s eyes, fixed on the TV, turned to Yushin.
“The professor?”
“Yeah. This house used to be Vice President Cheon Soo-young’s, right? She said there’s reporters camped out in front now. They’re trying to figure out who moved into the empty house. The professor’s personal info got leaked too, but the folks at her house are shielding her.”
“……Are you close with Professor Joo?”
“Hmm, I think I’m closer than you are.”
“You’re cracking jokes now—guess you’re feeling better.”
Ha-jin was both relieved and a little sad at the smile on Yushin’s face. It reminded him that the only “friends” his brother had were the medical staff he met during his hospital visits.
Cheon Soo-young’s house… he hadn’t realized. Which meant, this was the house where Tae-seong had lived with his mother ten years ago. It was also the place where he had found her collapsed. A house steeped in nothing but heavy, sorrowful memories.
“Yeah, Professor Joo’s right. It’d be best to move. For sure.”
Ha-jin gave Yushin’s shoulder a light pat. It was meant to reassure him, but it oddly felt like he was patting his own shoulder.
***
Late at night, Tae-seong stepped into the first-floor entrance of the mansion, body heavy like a waterlogged sponge. Just as one of the guards stationed near the entrance was about to greet him, Tae-seong raised a finger to his lips and softly shushed him.
He entered the house quietly. In the dimly lit living room, a flash of light caught his eye. As he walked closer, he saw a movie playing silently on a giant screen covering the wall. The details were unclear, but the dark blood splattered across the bluish tiles was so deep it looked black.
His eyes narrowed at the untimely bloodbath.
What the hell are you watching…
It was a movie about a serial killer who killed women by slitting their mouths open. The film was heading toward its climax, and the brutality was beyond description.
Tae-seong looked for the remote and turned the movie off. As he turned his head, he saw Ha-jin asleep on the couch. With the screen dark, the yellow glow of the room’s light softened the contours of his face.
Tae-seong crouched in front of him. The rustle of the bag and paper package in his hands made a small sound, and he tensed for a second, but Ha-jin didn’t even stir.
“……”
He began carefully tracing Ha-jin’s features. The face peeking out beneath his tousled bangs looked exhausted. His shoulders twitched now and then, and his eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids—he must’ve been dreaming.
Suppressing a chuckle, Tae-seong tilted his head slightly and continued observing. There was something deeply peaceful about listening to someone’s quiet breathing in the still of the night. It felt as though time itself had stopped.
Then Ha-jin’s eyelids trembled and slowly opened. He blinked several times, bringing his blurred vision into focus, then suddenly widened his eyes in surprise.
“When did you get here? What time is it?”
“Three o’clock. What kind of dream were you having? Your eyeballs were all over the place.”
Ha-jin replied slowly, trying to recall the dream.
“Ah… I was hitching a ride to escape… but the driver said they couldn’t see.”
Tae-seong burst out laughing.
“You probably dreamt that ‘cause you were watching a horror movie.”
“I just picked something random…”
Ha-jin pushed off the blanket draped over his shoulders and sat up. Now sitting upright, his gaze was slightly above Tae-seong, who was still kneeling on the floor. Tae-seong reached out and tugged at the open front of Ha-jin’s pajama top, gently pulling it together.
“You’re just born to be sexy, huh. Who you trying to seduce dressed like this?”
Ha-jin glanced down reflexively at the bear-printed pajamas, scoffing in disbelief. This was the same guy who had called his plain white T-shirt from the hospital “too provocative.” And he’d waited all week, desperately hoping to see his face again.
Rustling sounds came as Tae-seong opened the paper bag he’d brought. He pulled out a few small boxes, placing them neatly on the table and lifting the lids. A rich, savory scent of fried chicken spread instantly.
Sitting on the floor and leaning his back against the sofa, Tae-seong yanked off his tie and tossed it aside. Then he patted the floor beside him, motioning for Ha-jin to sit down.
“Even if you’re not hungry, just keep me company. I didn’t even have dinner. Don’t go to bed.”
When Ha-jin slid down from the couch and sat beside him, Tae-seong gave a pleased grin. It was the kind of smile that felt so familiar, as if they’d lived together for years—even though they hadn’t seen each other for days. Ha-jin found himself smiling back without thinking.
Well… with those two years in a past life, maybe it was familiar. As that odd thought crossed his mind, Tae-seong picked up a thick drumstick and pressed it gently to Ha-jin’s lips.
