Realizing anew that such a devastatingly handsome man had been panting and crying beneath him day after day, Ji Haesu reached out and grabbed Choi Suho by the upper arm. Just as Choi Suho was about to move forward on his crutches, he frowned, his thick, well-shaped brows drawing together as he spoke.
“Why are you still here? Get lost.”
“If you go to the funeral hall, nothing good’s going to happen to you. Don’t go.”
The Jang family already knew Choi Suho would show up at the funeral. Especially Jang Yuguk’s wife—who harbored deep resentment toward Choi Suho—there was no telling what she might do. For the first time, Ji Haesu felt genuine worry creeping in.
“What does that have to do with you?”
Choi Suho said coldly. Ji Haesu didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he blurted out whatever came to mind.
“What good do you think will come of it if you go?”
Choi Suho sneered.
“Oh, what—so it’s fine if you fuck me up, but you don’t like it when other bastards do it?”
Ji Haesu was about to say that wasn’t what he meant, but Choi Suho shook his arm free, planted his crutches, and strode forward in long steps.
“You’re just like the rest of them. You want me ruined, so what’s with the sudden act of telling me not to go? If I get fucked over there, that’s good for you too, isn’t it?”
Clenching his fists, Ji Haesu shouted after him,
“Can’t you tell I’m worried about you?”
“Yes!”
Choi Suho answered immediately.
The moment his true feelings—shown for the first time—were kicked aside so mercilessly, Ji Haesu stopped trying to hold him back and walked straight ahead, eyes fixed forward.
Fuck, I don’t know either. I did tell him not to go.
The thought that Jang Jihyeok, Jang Jihun, and Jang Jihae might do something to Choi Suho made even the things he’d done behind the scenes feel ridiculous. With Jang Yuguk dead, the three brothers and their mother were in a position to kill Choi Suho and even seize whatever inheritance he’d receive—he’d only been trying to protect him…
His thoughts reached that point, but Ji Haesu stood there for a long time without moving, like someone who’d just been doused repeatedly with cold water.
Then he clenched his fist, turned around, and began striding briskly toward the funeral hall Choi Suho was heading to on his crutches.
***
As Choi Suho had expected, Jang Yuguk’s funeral hall was the largest room at the XXXX University Hospital funeral center—once owned by Jang Yuguk, and now belonging to Jang Jihyeok. The moment he stepped out of the elevator and painfully made his way forward on his crutches, Room 101 came into view, flanked by so many condolence wreaths that it looked as though there was no space left.
Even as he leaned on his crutches, he muttered to himself, It can’t be. Maybe not. Maybe someone’s playing an elaborate prank, but when he caught sight of the TV screen through the murmuring crowd, his eyes slowly blinked.
[Chief Mourner: Jang Jihyeok
Deceased: Jang Yuguk (Age 78)]
The deceased, Jang Yuguk.
The instant he saw his father’s name, his throat felt tightly constricted, and a savage pain tore through his lower abdomen.
Fuck, why the lower abdomen of all places. It’s like I really am an Omega…
Thinking that, he leaned heavily on his crutches and pressed a hand to his stiffly tucked-in abdomen—only to hear a low voice brush past his ear.
“Where does he think he’s coming…”
“He died at his own house, and look at the nerve on him…”
One, two—people who recognized him began whispering about him and his father’s death. Even relatives who had pretended not to notice his arrival started opening their mouths once one or two asked, “What kind of face does he think he has, coming here?”
“Look at him, acting like he’s actually the chairman’s son.”
I am the son of Jang Yuguk and Choi Juho.
I am the son of Jang Yuguk and Choi Juho.
I am the son of Jang Yuguk and Choi Juho.
Carving those words into his head and chest, he walked toward the funeral hall where he had come to mourn his father’s death.
“After killing both your parents, you’ve got some nerve.”
Biting his lip and gripping both crutches, Choi Suho stared straight ahead with blazing eyes. It was Jang Yujung—his father’s younger brother, now occupying the best executive position—charging out.
“Hey, you little shit! You’re not even a son listed on the family registry—why the hell are you here? Get the fuck out right now!”
He shouted as if he were about to scatter coarse salt on him at any moment. Maybe he should be grateful the man had at least called him “this bastard” instead of “this fucker,” given that it was a funeral. When Jang Yujung abruptly lunged to grab his collar, Choi Suho swung his crutch down hard against the man’s shin.
“Agh!”
“It’s my father’s funeral—could you keep it down, Uncle?”
At the word Uncle—a word Choi Suho had never once uttered—Jang Yujung froze, stammering.
“U-Uncle? Uncle?”
As the word spread openly in front of the funeral hall, the people who had been whispering covered their mouths or quietly dispersed, murmuring to each other. How dare he openly call Executive Director Jang Yujung ‘uncle’? With what right? Feeling their glares bore into him, Choi Suho recalled his dead father’s words.
—No matter what anyone says, you’re Jang Yuguk’s son too.
He hadn’t been entered into the family registry. The nanny who had protected him had died. And then, shamelessly, even the memory of her existence had been erased.
Because his father told him to erase it, he erased it—the siblings of the nanny who had treated him like family, too.
He shouldn’t have done that. But he’d been afraid, and so he’d hidden behind his father.
“Why the hell am I your uncle, you filthy bastard!”
“And why would he be your uncle?”
Now even his aunt stepped forward, helping her fallen husband up as she snapped at him.
Standing there on his crutches, Choi Suho hardened his resolve, gazing indifferently at the relatives on his father’s side who were emerging one by one.
For twenty-eight years, he’d lived hiding behind his father—but the father who had shielded him was no longer here. If so, didn’t he have no choice but to step forward? They could call him shameless. They could curse him as a bastard with no conscience.
It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to be born like this. Even if it meant enduring all this, he just wanted to see his father off on his final journey.
“I knew you’d come. A child who resembles that one would be brazen enough to show his face like this.”
The moment he saw her—wearing mourning clothes yet exuding the elegance of someone draped in luxury—his body went rigid. Her hair, meticulously dyed black without a single strand of gray, was neatly coiled, giving her the lofty, dignified air of a noblewoman from the Joseon era. Lightly smoothing the side of her hair as if to ensure not a single strand was out of place, she stepped out of the funeral hall and gazed at Choi Suho, standing on his crutches, with a doll-like beautiful face.
“It’s been a long time.”
Choi Suho greeted her politely, his voice low and subdued. She merely looked down at him, chin lifted, without saying a word.
That was when Jang Jihyeok and Jang Jihae, who were acting as chief mourners, came out and said, “Mother,” whispering in pretense but speaking openly,
“Don’t pay any attention to that bastard child—please go inside. The assemblyman has arrived.”
At Jang Jihyeok’s words, she lowered her gaze and replied, “Isn’t that why you’re standing as chief mourner?”
“Mother.”
The only person Jang Jihyeok ever showed emotion toward—his sole weakness—was his mother.
—I can’t forgive you!
Her hysterical scream still hadn’t faded from memory. Upon seeing young Choi Suho, she had collapsed to the floor, crying and clutching her son’s pant leg as she screamed.
—How could you do this too? Even you!
“Mother…”
Her eyes grew colder, sharper.
“Go inside and attend to the assemblyman and his wife.”
“…Yes.”
At her curt command, Jang Jihyeok couldn’t refuse any longer and went back inside. Seeing how utterly subdued he looked—so different from how he’d once laughed madly and rebelled against their deceased father—stirred a strange feeling in Choi Suho.
Is this what they call a parent-child relationship? A sticky, suffocating bond you can’t sever no matter how hard you try…?
If Choi Juho were still alive, would he have looked at me with that same disgust?
The thought made his chest drop, his heart lurch—yet at the same time, the contradiction of wishing the man who had died young and been frozen in time were still alive made Choi Suho’s eyes waver.
Then she adjusted her neatly coiled hair and spoke to him in a calm voice. Choi Suho’s trembling gaze locked onto her at once.
“You wouldn’t have received the funeral notice. You don’t have the right to be here.”
“I’m my father’s son too.”
Her finely shaped brows twitched. Knowing it was the line she despised most, Choi Suho hesitated, lips trembling as he continued.
“I’m also Jang Yuguk’s son. Just this once—just this last time—I want to see my father off…”
“My, how shameless. You’re just like the Omega who gave birth to you.”
Her tone was so flat it didn’t even sound like an insult—just a statement of fact.
Gripping his crutches, Choi Suho looked over the crowded funeral hall, then swallowed dryly as he took in the path that had parted around them like the parting of the Red Sea. Everyone was watching—pretending not to.
“Once I’ve seen my father off, I’ll never—”
“It’s not just that, is it?”
She interrupted, sounding bored.
“Our children have a lot to say about the will. You came because you wanted to ask about that too, didn’t you? About how you ended up excluded from it.”
“……”
Struck squarely at the core, Choi Suho fell silent. She curved her lips into a thin smile.
“It’s obvious, given your personality.”
“This is my father’s funeral. I don’t want to talk about anything else right now.”
He said, carefully steadying his heart. He hadn’t even begun to process his father’s death—he had no desire to argue about wills or forgery.
“Is that so? Did you really come because you wanted to attend his funeral?”
At her neat, composed question, Choi Suho answered without hesitation.
“Yes.”
“Then now that he’s gone, shouldn’t you apologize to me? The man who protected you is gone now.”
She placed a hand over her chest. When Choi Suho asked, “Pardon?” she released a deep breath filled with resentment accumulated over decades and said,
“Kneel in front of me. And say it so everyone can hear.”
