chapter 23
“Y–Yoon Seo-ha? Why would you ask Intern Jo Seo-ha that?”
“I don’t know. The team leader asked what he said, so I just answered.”
Seo-ha’s eyes flicked briefly toward Jisoo’s feet, then returned to normal.
“I’ll be going now.”
Left alone in the empty conference room, Jisoo trembled.
She felt like she knew exactly why Ryu Kyung-joon asked the intern if he knew Yoon Seo-ha.
“I knew something was off from the start…”
He resembled him.
Not in looks—those were completely different.
But sometimes, in an unexplainable way, the atmosphere reminded her of Yoon Seo-ha.
“This is disgusting…”
An icy shiver ran down her spine.
Jisoo jumped to her feet, grabbed her bag at her desk, and made up her mind—
there was no way she could work for the rest of the day with this feeling.
“I’m leaving first.”
“Huh? Where are you going all of a sudden?”
“Something urgent came up.”
And the place she headed was the hospital.
Normally, she visited Hae-sun’s room, acting like she was Yoon Seo-ha and fussing sweetly.
But today, Jisoo’s steps went to Seo-ha’s hospital room.
—Knock, knock.
She knocked in case a caregiver was inside.
No sound came back.
Jisoo quietly pushed the door open and entered.
On the bed in the center of the room lay Yoon Seo-ha.
Even with oxygen tubes and IV lines all over his body, he was stubbornly clinging to life like a zombie.
The sight made her stomach twist with revulsion.
“Yoon Seo-ha.”
Half relieved he was still lying here like a corpse, half filled with spite, Jisoo spoke in a low voice:
“Just die already. Even if you wake up, you won’t accomplish anything.
Your mom’s gone insane, your brother’s selling the company.
If you die, so many people will have it easier—so why are you still hanging on?”
Of course, Seo-ha gave no reply—only the irritating beeps of the machines keeping his miserable life going.
Jisoo glared at the steady lines on the heart monitor, then stepped closer.
Seo-ha lay motionless, like he was asleep—or dead—oxygen mask covering half his face.
Jisoo’s hand touched the monitor.
She hesitated… then ripped it off in one motion.
At first, it was silent.
Then—
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—!
The heart monitor, which had been peaceful, spiked violently.
Startled, Jisoo hurriedly put the oxygen mask back on and fled the room.
“That was close…”
Watching doctors run toward Seo-ha’s room, Jisoo let out a shaky sigh of relief.
At that same moment, in the office—
“…Seo-ha? Are you okay?”
The voice calling her name made Seo-ha’s eyes snap open.
What…?
She had been working just a moment ago.
“What’s wrong? Feeling dizzy?”
Joo-hee asked anxiously. Seo-ha slowly lifted her head, rubbing an oddly numb forehead, and looked around.
She was still in the office, sitting beside Hwang Joo-hee at the workstation.
“What… happened?”
“You suddenly collapsed forward. Good thing you were sitting—are you anemic?”
“Oh. Right.”
Seo-ha casually lied about having anemia and stood up.
“I’ll get some water.”
Cold sweat drenched her back, her heart thumping wildly.
Rubbing at her chest, she tried to recall the scene that flashed like a hallucination.
“It was… definitely a hospital room.”
Her chest tightened, breath refusing to come.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
It was exactly like the moment she had briefly woken up in Seo-ha’s body inside the hospital.
For just a second—she had opened her eyes.
She remembered Lee Jisoo’s terrified face, her hand reaching toward her—
Then suddenly, she was back in the office.
What was that?
A hallucination?
Seo-ha sipped cold water, still dazed.
Wait.
Didn’t Lee Jisoo just leave with her bag?
Checking the clock—Jisoo had been gone almost an hour.
Exactly the time it took to get from here to the hospital.
Lee Sung-oh received Jisoo’s call and left work early.
Since Kyung-joon still had things to finish, he remained at the office—
and, for once, enjoyed a peaceful evening.
“With numbers like this, they sure don’t hesitate to pocket incentives…”
He muttered while flipping through documents.
He didn’t realize it himself, but Kyung-joon was genuinely devoted to protecting this company.
The excuse of “satisfying Chairman Ryu to sell it to Taeyang Group” had faded long ago.
BRRRR— BRRRR—
An unwelcome call lit up his phone.
He adjusted his voice and answered.
“Yes, Chairman.”
[Lower the acquisition price in the next negotiation. Cut it in half.]
The chairman ordered without preamble.
“Half of the original offer?”
[With their current performance, even that’s generous. It’s a chance to buy cheap.]
“They won’t sell for that price.”
[Do I have to explain every little thing to you?!]
Chairman Ryu snapped, voice sharp.
[Once second-half revenue drops and the financial statements go to hell, they’ll sell.
Make sure they can’t survive without selling—that’s your job, isn’t it?!]
The call ended just like that.
Kyung-joon stared silently at the phone on the table, then went back to the documents.
But this time, the words didn’t register.
He suddenly remembered Seo-ha, slurring through a drunken smile:
—Because I’m loved.
—I’m my mom and dad’s pride and treasure. I don’t need a husband.
I’ll live happily with Mom again, grow the company, and show my brand to the whole world.
Seo-ha always sparkled like that.
It was irritating. And enviable.
Ever since Kyung-joon was a little kid.
His mother had been a washed-up actress.
The money she’d earned was long gone, leaving only fading beauty and pride.
She met Chairman Ryu hoping to live as his mistress forever—
but businessmen aren’t that easy.
When she got pregnant, Chairman Ryu practically shipped her overseas and cut support entirely.
It took years for her to crawl back to Korea.
Kyung-joon had never known parental love.
He was skinny, small, always underfed.
“It’s your fault. My life is ruined because of YOU!
If it weren’t for you!”
His drunk mother screamed at him constantly.
And the men who hovered around her would chuckle and toss him a crumpled 10,000-won bill:
“Here, kid. Go buy tteokbokki.”
Even that—he never tasted.
“Where’s the money? Hand it over.”
It always ended up in his mother’s hands.
Yet somehow, he attended a prestigious school.
Maybe, he thought, that was a kind of love.
But his mother said,
“Your father will come for you eventually.
You need to look useful so I get compensated for giving birth to you.”
And there—he met Yoon Seo-ha.
While Kyung-joon was timid and alone, Seo-ha dragged groups of friends wherever he went.
Even teachers who avoided Kyung-joon lit up with smiles when they saw Seo-ha.
He was jealous—so jealous it turned into spite.
He deliberately splattered paint on Seo-ha’s beautiful clothes.
“What are you doing?!”
Seo-ha shrieked, shocked. Everyone stared.
Kyung-joon froze.
“This was a birthday present from my mom! How are you going to fix this?!”
It was the first time Seo-ha had ever raised his voice.
Kyung-joon felt fear… and a strange sense of satisfaction.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. I was just washing my brush…”
“Don’t lie! We made eye contact! Pay for it!”
The dress was obviously expensive.
Kyung-joon, in his shabby clothes, could only quiver.
Then—something miraculous happened.
“Seo-ha, that’s not nice. He apologized.”
The homeroom teacher defended him.
“Right. Don’t do that. Kyung-joon’s pitiful.”
“Be nice to him, Seo-ha.”
“You can buy another dress.”
Everyone chimed in.
Even Seo-ha looked apologetic.
“Sorry, Kyung-joon. I must’ve misunderstood. The paint will wash out, so don’t worry.”
“O-oh… okay…”
Instead of satisfaction, guilt gnawed at him.
For days, Kyung-joon hovered near Seo-ha, but catching him alone was impossible—he always had friends around.
Maybe Seo-ha noticed. One day, he approached first.
“You want to tell me something, right?”
He smelled really nice.
“Y-yeah…”
Kyung-joon’s small heart pounded so hard it hurt.
“A-about the dress… I did it on purpose. I wanted to apologize properly.”
“It’s okay. I knew.”
Then Seo-ha leaned in and whispered with a bright smile:
“Do something like that one more time?
And I’ll dunk your head in the paint bucket.”
“……?”
Kyung-joon blinked, unsure he heard correctly.
“Did… did you just say that?”
“Yep. Understood?”
Seo-ha smiled again, turned, and skipped away like a butterfly.
“Bye, Kyung-joon! See you tomorrow!”
Watching his back, Kyung-joon muttered,
“… He really was a brat. Yoon Seo-ha.”
Next semester, his mother couldn’t pay tuition.
He had to transfer.
The memory faded with time.
In high school, his mother passed away.
Only after the funeral did Chairman Ryu send someone to collect him.
As if he’d been waiting for her to die.
To prove he had value, Kyung-joon worked himself raw—
catching up on school like his life depended on it,
starting as a low-rank company employee, learning the business.
“If I just succeed with this acquisition…”
He closed the file and looked around the office.
He had worked himself to the bone here, using the acquisition as an excuse.
With a bitter exhale, he stood and left the office.
It was late.
Floor after floor was dark.
Except one.
“Who left the lights on? Don’t they know electricity costs money?”
Grumbling, he stepped out of the elevator.
The hallway lights were on—and deeper inside, an office glowed bright as daytime.
The design room.
His feet moved toward it, as if pulled by something.
