IDMPYU 18

18. Because the Butterfly Was Pitiful

When was it, again…?

A young Seungho once accompanied his father to a large glass greenhouse, managed personally by Executive Director Kim, a longtime friend and colleague of his father. It was there that Seungho first saw a living butterfly.

The butterflies in the greenhouse were different from the white or yellow ones he’d seen in picture books.

While his father and Executive Director Kim chatted, Seungho watched the butterflies flitting their wings and flying around. Then he pointed to one.

“Give me that one.”

His voice was as bright and cheerful as if he were picking out a toy at a mall. Executive Director Kim turned to see where Seungho was pointing.

There, fluttering its wings, was a large butterfly with dark wings that shimmered with a blue gloss. Smiling kindly, Director Kim explained what it was.

“That’s a swallowtail butterfly. It’s the largest butterfly in Korea.”

To show it to Seungho up close, he dabbed some honey on his finger and extended it toward the butterfly. The swallowtail soon perched on his finger, sipping the honey through its long proboscis.

“See? This is how butterflies eat.”

Surprised at first, Seungho soon grew curious and reached out impulsively to touch it. Startled by the unfamiliar presence, the butterfly flew away.

“Don’t be too upset. It just wasn’t used to your touch.”

Wiping the honey from his hand, Director Kim comforted Seungho.

“If it gets used to me, will it stop flying away?”

Director Kim looked down at Seungho’s cute but expressionless face, his gaze deepening. Seungho’s father, Chairman Shin, had once spoken frankly about his second son.

“Sometimes, when I look into those eyes, I’m reminded of my father—it gives me chills. I wonder if he even has emotions… compassion? But still, with that personality, he’ll run the company well someday.”

Just like Chairman Shin had said, Seungho’s questions about the butterfly didn’t sound like a typical child’s. The intense, unblinking stare he gave the butterfly drinking honey reminded Kim of the former chairman.

A man who had built the Shin-Young Group with ruthless efficiency, without blood or tears—praised as a hero, the best boss, but the worst father.

Kim shook his head.

‘He’s still just a child…’

Chairman Shin both trusted and feared his second son. To Kim, Seungho always looked lonely.

“Of course. Butterflies recognize the hands of those who care for them. If you treat it well, it won’t leave your hand.”

“Then give it to me.”

Instead of saying, “I’ll take care of it,” or “I’ll cherish it,” Seungho spoke as if it were a mere object. Kim chose not to scold him and gently patted his head, then called a staff member.

A swallowtail butterfly, placed in a small glass case resembling a mini-greenhouse, was soon in Seungho’s arms. Kim reminded him to take good care of it, seeing how Seungho couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Back home, Seungho spent much time with the butterfly.

He watched it for hours, motionless inside its glass case, and wrote about it in a journal. The butterfly grew accustomed to his honey-coated fingers, and Seungho delighted in watching it perch and flutter on his hand.

Though its thin legs and long proboscis tickled unbearably at times, the butterfly always came to his hand. He was satisfied.

Then one day, the Shin family gathered at Seungho’s house for a family event. The adults drank wine in the spacious garden, and the children gathered in Seungho’s room.

“What’s this?!”

A girl, exploring the room, cried out when she spotted the swallowtail butterfly fluttering peacefully in its glass case.

Seungho, who had been quietly reading among the noisy children, raised his eyebrows. The girl, seeing his cherished butterfly for the first time, shrieked, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Why is it in such a small space? The butterfly looks so pitiful!”

Normally indifferent about what happened in his room, Seungho dropped his book and rushed to the butterfly.

“This is mine. Don’t mess with it.”

His sharp tone made the girl flinch, but she raised her voice again.

“No! Butterflies are supposed to fly around in flower fields. They shouldn’t be kept here.”

“Says who?”

“I read it in a book! Butterflies are supposed to fly and carry pollen from place to place.”

He was about to argue that other butterflies might do that, but not his—but then his mother entered the room.

“Seungho, come greet the adults.”

He shot the girl a chilling glare, then left with his mother.

When he returned to his room, the butterfly was gone. It wasn’t in the glass case, nor anywhere else. The blue wings that once fluttered so gently were nowhere to be seen.

Staring blankly at the empty case like a broken machine, Seungho didn’t notice the girl approaching with a soft smile.

“What are you looking for? The butterfly from earlier?”

A bad feeling crept into his mind.

“Where is it? My butterfly.”

The girl smiled innocently despite his threatening tone.

“I let it go.”

“…What?”

“The butterfly. It looked pitiful. I opened the window so it could fly free.”

Her cheerful voice made everything go dark in his head.

When he came to, children were screaming. The girl, breathless and sobbing, was looking at him in terror.

Unable to contain his anger, Seungho had punched her. His fist struck the glass case, leaving it covered in wounds. He lost so much blood that he had to be taken to the hospital.

His parents, learning what had happened, promised to get him another butterfly. But Seungho flatly refused.

He never wanted to feel the pain of losing something precious again. That was when he began collecting taxidermy. A preserved butterfly looked lifelike—but never flew away. It would always stay with him.

Seungho’s eyelids slowly lifted. The unlit living room was steeped in twilight.

He must have dozed off after just sitting down. Frowning from a dull headache, he rubbed his temple.

He had dreamed of the only time he ever raised a butterfly. A terribly unpleasant dream.

Memories he never wanted to recall kept returning as dreams.

“Tch. Just my luck…”

He reached out toward the window glowing with crimson. His bandaged hand cast a shadow over his face. When Jihyun disappeared earlier—after bringing him so much joy—he’d thought of the swallowtail butterfly for the first time in ages.

Her white, delicate fingers brushing his slippers had reminded him of fluttering wings. Some fool might think she was pitiful and try to help her—so he’d stepped on her without even realizing it.

What he got in return were eyes full of shock and terror—but at least she wouldn’t try to fly far for a while. That was enough.

Ha-jun, who had been unable to take his eyes off Jihyun all afternoon, left with Min-woo. Seungho decided to be generous. He rose and picked up the intercom.

Meanwhile, Jihyun had returned to her room and was flipping through the notes Ha-jun had given her. From carefully organized textbook concepts to supplemental references from workbooks, the pages reflected his thoughtful personality.

She felt foolish for not even waving goodbye to Ha-jun, who couldn’t take his eyes off her even as he left the estate. The one small comfort was that she wouldn’t have to see him at school tomorrow.

With time, she thought, she could casually say, “Sorry about that back then.”

Then, like before, they could study together, go to cafes… like nothing had happened.

As she tried to lift her sunken mood with forced optimism, Chief Kim came to find her.

“Jihyun, hurry and head to the main house.”

At those words, Jihyun’s hands clenched instinctively. The faint hope that had just started to grow was instantly snuffed out. Seungho’s warning not to disappear without permission had been frighteningly cold. She was afraid.

She had no idea what he might do next if she disobeyed. Calming her trembling breath, she arrived at the second floor, now almost entirely dark. His face, shadowed in the gloom, was hard to see.

“How did it feel to reunite with an old friend?”

“……”

“You looked so happy, I almost felt bad.”

His unexpected apology made Jihyun’s eyes widen. Though there was no sincerity in his voice, the word “sorry” coming from the arrogant Shin Seungho was shocking.

“So anyway, my hand seems better now.”

As he spoke slowly, Jihyun swallowed dryly. Though she was the one being apologized to, it felt like walking a tightrope.

“You can go back to school starting tomorrow.”

It was something she had once wanted—but not now. She shook her head hard. After all that had happened, she wasn’t ready to face Ha-jun again. She needed time.

“No. Not yet—”

“If you’re worried about me, don’t be.”

He cut her off and raised his right hand. The bandage that had once been wrapped around it was gone.

Jihyun’s gaze lingered on his hand for a long time.

“Thanks to all your help, it’s healed completely. So, you’ll go to school starting tomorrow.”

In the thick darkness, Seungho was smiling.