Sang-hwa, Seon-woo, and Seung-hyeon immediately rose from their seats. After offering a deep, respectful bow to the Chairman, they cautiously sat back down, gauging the mood.
Seon-woo subtly reached out and hooked his finger around Seung-hyeon’s left hand. It was partly an attempt to ease his own tension, partly an apology for making him sit in silence all this time, and partly a silent thank-you for stopping him just moments ago. He could feel Seung-hyeon looking his way, but kept his gaze fixed forward, pretending nothing was happening.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the Chairman and Sang-hwa fell silent. When Sang-hwa asked about his condition, the Chairman replied that he was fine. Her murmured, “Then who the hell…” trailed off into silence, swallowing her words mid-thought. An awkward hush settled over the room.
Though this was technically the second “family gathering,” nearly half the people from last time were absent. Even if those people didn’t really matter, their empty seats made the atmosphere feel that much hollower. It was enough to make one feel physically queasy. No one could quite figure out why the Chairman had summoned them the moment he regained enough strength to move. As a result, Seon-woo found himself sitting on pins and needles, barely touching the appetizers or the main course.
He wasn’t the only one. The only person seated with a calm expression was the Chairman himself. And unsurprisingly, he was also the first to break the silence.
“I’m sure you all have a lot to say.”
His tone was so neutral, it was hard to believe anything had even happened. And yes, there was a lot to say—too much, in fact—but everyone kept their mouths shut, precisely because that was obvious.
“But I’m still not in good enough shape to go over everything today, so I called you here to discuss only the important things.”
It was both worrying and curious—what could be so urgent? Still, it wasn’t enough to make anyone’s heart sink with dread. Even Seung-hyeon’s expression remained steady. The only one who looked like they were bracing for a death sentence was Gwak Sang-hwa.
“I’m stepping down from the frontlines of management.”
But the Chairman’s announcement veered off in a direction none of them had expected. Seon-woo dropped his carefully maintained poker face and lifted his head in surprise. If even he was reacting like that, Sang-hwa must have been completely blindsided.
“Chairman…”
Sang-hwa’s voice quivered with confusion, her body flinching slightly. She looked like she was barely restraining herself from leaping to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked with a shaken expression,
“Then who’s going to be chairman…?”
Biting her lip, she trailed off again. Clearly, her mind had gone straight to the worst-case scenario.
“I’ve called Sang-gyeong back. With the family in this state, I don’t care how important his face is—he needs to come home.”
The mention of a father he barely knew made Seon-woo flinch for just a second before quickly regaining his composure. A deep crease formed between Sang-hwa’s brows. She didn’t seem pleased, but didn’t react further—perhaps because she had expected it.
Though the Chairman framed it as temporarily entrusting Gwak Sang-gyeong with his responsibilities, it was obvious that “temporary” would soon become “permanent.” And it was a matter that directly involved Seon-woo himself, too. Strangely, it didn’t feel real.
So… does this mean he was finally going to meet the father he’d only ever heard about? That was the only thought that came to mind.
“As soon as he returns to Korea, I plan to hand over my responsibilities to him and begin preparing for a proper retirement. If I’m going to recuperate, maybe heading to the countryside entirely wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
The Chairman continued.
To be honest, Seon-woo couldn’t quite grasp the weight of those words.
True, he hadn’t expected the Chairman to step down, but after everything that had happened—being on the brink of death and somehow surviving—it made sense that he’d be exhausted and in need of rest.
Yet judging by the way even Seung-hyeon furrowed his brow alongside Gwak Sang-hwa, the idea that the Chairman was seriously considering retirement seemed to come as a genuine shock.
That was when the Chairman suddenly turned his head toward Seon-woo.
“What about you, Seon-woo? If you’d like, I’ll have your position moved. Just tell me where you want to go, and I’ll make it happen.”
Seeing Sang-hwa go pale, it was clear this was meant to be a generous—possibly even game-changing—offer.
But Seon-woo didn’t want any promotion or added responsibility. He was already struggling to keep things afloat without a proper system in place. The idea of a transfer at a time like this was absurd.
When he hesitated to answer, the Chairman seemed to pick up on his reluctance. He went on.
“I heard you went through something awful. That bastard Su-won, he…”
Being kidnapped certainly counted as “something awful.” Seon-woo silently lowered his head in acknowledgment, trying to maintain his composure.
The Chairman grimaced, his face clouded with frustration.
“What kind of disaster is this…? I heard you were hospitalized too.”
“It wasn’t serious enough for you to worry.”
He knew full well that saying this wouldn’t stop the Chairman from worrying.
As expected, the Chairman couldn’t let it go and kept his tone soft and understanding.
“If you’re still not fully recovered, or if your mind is still troubled by it, take your time. There’s no need to rush into anything.”
“Yes. I’m doing fine now. It hasn’t been long since I was discharged, so I’d just like to take it easy for a while.”
Seon-woo had intended to brush it off vaguely, but he ended up expressing himself with a surprising degree of clarity.
The Chairman looked visibly relieved by his desire to take it easy—almost as if he’d been secretly afraid Seon-woo might suddenly start thirsting for power.
“All right, if that’s how you feel.”
With that, his gaze drifted away, visibly content with the answer. Only then did Seon-woo allow himself to breathe.
But the Chairman didn’t leave much room to relax, immediately shifting his attention toward Gwak Sang-hwa.
“And you, Sang-hwa?”
She carefully composed her expression and waited for the Chairman to speak. Seon-woo felt himself tensing up right alongside her.
What would the Chairman say?
If things followed the original course of events, the moment Gwak Seon-woo exposed that her husband had been an accomplice, Gwak Sang-hwa would be destined to fall as well.
But unlike in the original version, it was Sang-hwa herself who had exposed her husband’s crimes. And yet, her expression showed absolute resignation—she looked convinced that she would have to take responsibility and step down.
But what came out of the Chairman’s mouth was nothing like what anyone expected.
“You’ll take the position of Vice President.”
“…What?”
No one looked more stunned than Sang-hwa herself. Her eyes shot open wide, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
KG’s current Vice President wasn’t a child or relative of owner Gwak Jun-gu. He was an elderly man who had once served as CEO for many years before stepping down from the frontlines. Seon-woo had never seen the man’s face, but had come across information about him while researching the company.
Though the position was largely honorary, the Chairman’s tone now suggested something far more serious.
“Why…”
Gwak Sang-hwa, who had barely regained her composure, whispered like she was out of breath, then finally managed to speak.
“But Chairman, why all of a sudden…?”
The Chairman slowly shook his head and replied.
“It’s all my fault. I was short-sighted. Age narrows your vision, your thoughts… and all I’ve done is stack up bad decisions. I shouldn’t have done what I did to those men… or to you.”
His voice was tinged with regret, and it sounded sincere.
It didn’t seem like he was handing her a hollow title out of formality—it sounded like he genuinely intended to pass on the position of second-in-command under Gwak Sang-gyeong, who would soon be acting Chairman.
Sang-hwa looked completely shaken, as though the shock had robbed her of her voice.
The words she finally managed to get out weren’t a thank-you, but another round of protest and refusal.
“Father, this is happening right after everything that’s just occurred.”
“Yes, Father. Good, I’m glad you said it. You’re my daughter. You really think it would be right for me to cast you out just because of that bastard?”
“…”
“It’s practically just you and Sang-gyeong left now. Rely on each other. Take care of one another.”
The Chairman’s firm tone made Sang-hwa bow her head in silence. To someone unfamiliar with the situation, it might have looked like she was overwhelmed with gratitude.
But Seon-woo saw it—saw the way her jaw clenched as she hid her expression.
Given how she had reacted when she brought up the words of her husband—no, now her ex-husband, Nam Jeong-dong—it was impossible to believe she was happy about this.
Seon-woo quietly sank into thought. If it hadn’t been for her, he would’ve had no choice but to roll up his sleeves and handle everything himself.
In novels or games, it might be summed up in a single line—“Gwak Seon-woo immediately launched an investigation and soon uncovered perfect evidence to bring down Nam Jeong-dong.”
But in real life, things didn’t work like that.
Maybe the original Gwak Seon-woo, or the current Gwak Sang-hwa, had the strength to pull it off, so it wasn’t completely impossible.
But for Seon-woo, an ordinary office worker with no prior experience in such things, it would’ve required much more time and effort.
And if something unexpected had happened during that process, he’d even considered the possibility of fleeing with Gwak Seung-hyeon.
It had never been a situation where optimism made sense.
So in a way, Seon-woo owed her.
If he were a Gwanggong, he might have welcomed her downfall with open arms.
But he wasn’t.
In the end, the fact that she’d been offered the Vice President position instead of being cast out was something he found genuinely reassuring.
…But did she feel the same?
That question gnawed at him.
Perhaps the Chairman had truly come to a good realization after going through so much.
After all, he’d been betrayed by the very children and grandchildren he’d trusted most. Maybe that had finally made him realize the worth of the daughter he’d always undervalued.
But still—how must it feel to her?
Would she be able to accept a position only offered after her brother, nephew, and husband had all fallen from grace?
Wouldn’t it make her wonder—Why now?
Wouldn’t she feel—So only now, after everything’s been lost?
Looking at the bigger picture, it was actually a good outcome.
If this had all played out simply as a scene from a game, the story would have gone like this: Gwak Seon-woo, who had been kidnapped and threatened by his vicious relatives’ schemes, joined forces with his aunt to defeat them. The repentant grandfather then handed the Vice President seat to that aunt, and Seon-woo, having been rescued by Gwak Seung-hyeon, confirmed their feelings for each other and lived happily ever after.
A simple, triumphant tale of Gwak Seon-woo overcoming emotional devastation thanks to love—just like the story of Seo Eun-jae, summarized neatly as him conquering hardship and defeating the villains with the help of his romance.
But how many layers existed beneath that story?
How many odd, ironic moments like this must have occurred?
A long silence followed. The Chairman looked increasingly uncomfortable in his seat, and the moment he finished speaking, he gave the impression that he was about to stand up.
He looked even older and wearier than when Seon-woo had first seen him again.
Given that, retiring to focus on recovery truly did seem like the right choice.
Just as the Chairman began to rise, Gwak Sang-hwa finally responded in a voice that had been carefully held back.
“I’ll do better than you expect.”
To a casual listener, it might have sounded like a loyal, dutiful reply.
But to Seon-woo, it sounded like she was steadying herself—anchoring her resolve.
And sure enough, her eyes were blazing with fierce determination.
Feeling overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the atmosphere, Seon-woo subtly reached under the table and gave the back of Seung-hyeon’s hand a light tap.
It was a quiet signal: Let’s get ready to leave too.
Whether Seung-hyeon understood the gesture that way was unclear.
Because in the next instant, he flipped his hand over and gently wrapped his palm around Seon-woo’s fingertips.
That hadn’t been the intention—he hadn’t meant hold my hand.
But the surprise only lasted a moment.
Seon-woo relaxed, letting go of the tension in his body, and laced his fingers with Seung-hyeon’s.
This was enough.
From their perspective, there was nothing more they could’ve asked for.
That sense of relief came quickly—but sank in deeply.
