Chapter 36

Just in time, Lee Yeon-jae, a music student and the daughter of a ruined businessman, caught his eye. The transaction—one where the consent of the person involved mattered not in the least—was settled in haste.

Consequently, Choi Yook’s mother, Lee Yeon-jae, felt not an ounce of maternal affection for the son she had been forced to bear. She disregarded Choi Yook’s existence completely, leaving his upbringing split between the housekeeper and a daycare center.

Confined to the house, Lee Yeon-jae spent the majority of her days immersed in reading. It was only natural, then, that Choi Yook developed an interest in books as well. He could still vividly recall the first conversation he ever had with her.

He must have been seven or eight at the time. Choi Yook had struggled his way through a copy of Medea that she had cast aside. It was a tragedy of a woman facing abandonment by the husband to whom she had devoted everything, slaughtering the very children born of their union to strip away all he held dear in an act of vengeance.

Carrying the volume over, young Choi Yook handed it to her.

“Why don’t you ever hit me, Mother?” he asked. “Don’t you want to take revenge on Father?”

Lee Yeon-jae stared intently at him, as though just realizing that the little monster curled in the corner of her house was an intelligent being capable of thought.

“Even if I killed you, it wouldn’t be revenge,” she replied coldly. “You are nothing to your father.”

“…”

“Call me Ms. Lee Yeon-jae,” she added without emotion. “I am not your mother. Just a housemate.”

Even after that, Lee Yeon-jae continued to ignore Choi Yook. The only time she ever opened her mouth was when he read a book and stammered out a few thoughts about it.

And so, Choi Yook devoured every book he could get his hands on. Tailored entirely to her literary tastes, the texts were often punishingly difficult and painful for a boy his age, but he could not bring himself to abandon that desperate struggle.

Outside of those brief conversations with her, Choi Yook was hardly treated as human in that household. He was closer to a shadow—an accessory meant only to bolster the auspicious fortune of Choi Sijin, who had been hailed as the celestial star destined to dictate the family’s fate.

That was what Yang Ui-ju had hammered into their heads regarding the frail, sickly condition of Choi Sijin, who had been brought into the world through such ordeal. Whenever Sijin, barely out of the incubator, shuttled back and forth from the operating room, the shaman had bellowed with self-importance:

If not for me, this child would never even have been born! It was my prayers that pulled him back from death’s door this time too! Disobey my words, and I cannot guarantee the child’s life, let alone this family’s prosperity! I’ll funnel all the misfortune onto the eldest son, so follow the secret rites I prescribe to the letter…!

Whenever Choi Hak-gyun came home to the house where Lee Yeon-jae and Choi Yook stayed, he forced those occult rites onto the young Choi Yook. Lee Yeon-jae merely scoffed at the sight.

“Do you really think doing that will let you enjoy wealth and glory forever?” she sneered. “Ignorant brute.”

Without a word of reply, Choi Hak-gyun slapped her across the cheek. Choi Yook threw himself between them, silently repeating Lee Yeon-jae’s words like a mantra. Ignorant brute.

Secret talismans or whatever else—it was all useless, meaningless nonsense. There was no need to fear any of it. Choi Hak-gyun and Kim Jeong-seon were both utter fools.

Thinking that way made even the most grotesque rituals bearable. The knowledge that Lee Yeon-jae, who shared that conviction, resided under the very same roof brought him immense comfort.

Then, one day, Lee Yeon-jae packed her bags. When a terrified Choi Yook asked why, she gave no answer, before finally shoving the clinging boy away.

“Your father promised,” she announced, her voice stark and detached. “He said he’d set me free by the time your younger brother entered elementary school.”

“…Then what about me?”

Choi Yook had asked with a trembling voice. She had only looked down at him with an utterly blank countenance.

“You aren’t included in my freedom.”

Choi Hak-gyun had even placed a renewed passport into Lee Yeon-jae’s hands. No one knew just how tightly she had clutched that booklet. Yet the woman who climbed into the car believing she was bound for the airport found herself locked behind chilling iron bars instead.

Mangcheon Psychiatric Hospital. That was the name of the new prison that caged her.

Choi Yook, too, was sent down to Mangcheon alongside the housekeeper. The reason given was that Choi Yook needed to suppress Lee Yeon-jae’s spiritual energy.

Ignorant fools. Choi Yook had repeated the curse over and over in his mind. But a curse muttered alone, without anyone by his side to share it, only carved his heart emptier.

Ding. The elevator arrived with a crisp chime. Stepping inside, Choi Yook rode up and up. Before he could even press the doorbell, Choi Sijin swung the door wide open. A rich piano melody streaming through the apartment leaked out into the corridor.

“Hyung, what brings you here?”

Choi Sijin brightened instantly with delight. A broad, dazzling smile spread across his face, and he was draped in a pristine white lounge robe.

The garment made him feel like an extension of the white marble that lined the entire apartment. It stood in stark contrast to Choi Yook, who was clad in a dark suit. Shutting the door behind them, Sijin hummed a light tune.

“I was already missing you anyway, hyung,” Sijin grumbled, walking ahead. “My manager completely ruined my mood today. Fuck, getting paid that kind of money and showing up with a frappuccino? I told the idiot I loathe sweet drinks, but his fucking brain is completely fried. What, ‘You looked like you needed a sugar rush’? Give me a fucking break.”

“Just fire him,” Choi Yook said flatly.

“I’d love to, but they keep whining about how hard it is to find people,” Sijin muttered. “I might just complain to Dad next time. It’s an agency Dad set up for me anyway—if they can’t even replace a manager, maybe we should replace the Chairman instead.”

While Choi Yook slipped into a pair of house slippers, Sijin chuckled and sauntered ahead. Then, abruptly spinning around, he clapped his hands together.

“Ah, I should grab the wine! I bought a bottle specifically to drink with you, hyung.”

Choi Sijin strode over to the wine cellar in the kitchen. His continuous humming blended with the piano music drifting from the speakers.

Bach’s Goldberg Variations. A piece where dozens of distinct, seemingly disparate melodies were bound together under a single overarching theme. Lee Yeon-jae had listened to classical music endlessly—save for violin pieces—and Choi Yook had grown up steeped in that sound.

“Your taste in music is as refined as ever,” Choi Yook remarked.

Rather than mentioning the title of the piece, Choi Yook simply offered praise. Choi Sijin let out a gratified laugh as he set the wine bottle onto the dining table.

“A person ought to live listening to music like this, not cheap pop trash,” Sijin scoffed. “You know what the most ridiculous question was back when I was an idol? ‘Which senior artist do you respect the most?’ Crazy bastards. As if those clowns even qualify as seniors or musicians.”

Choi Yook eyed him as he asked, “So what did you tell them?”

Pulling out a chair at the table, Choi Yook sat down. Sijin flashed a triumphant grin.

“I just babbled about some has-been who debuted ten years ago and brushed it off. That’s the only way to sell the narrative that I grew up watching them and dreaming of the stage.”

“Quite clever of you,” Choi Yook remarked drily.

“You’ve got to be at least this smart to climb to the top in this industry,” Sijin boasted, tossing his head. “I really made it here purely on my own merit. But tell me, did something really happen, hyung?”

Choi Sijin poured the red wine into a decanter. Going through the motions right in front of Choi Yook when he could have easily prepared it beforehand was a deliberate display, a performance designed to flaunt his cultured sophistication. A way of drawing a line, distinguishing himself from an ignorant gangster thug.

“I’m just curious,” Sijin pressed, leaning in slightly. “Did anything change lately? Like your mood suddenly tanking, or on the flip side, feeling an overwhelming urge to see me?”

In contrast to the smile plastered across his face, Sijin’s wavering eyes bored into Choi Yook with relentless scrutiny. A razor-sharp anxiety was laced into that gaze, as though he were desperate to unearth some hidden truth.

Just when had Choi Sijin started looking at him like that? It had been more than a decade. Ten years and several more…

To be precise, from the very day Choi Sijin returned home after finishing his ‘surgery.’

Back then, Choi Yook had practically lost his mind. At school that morning, he had overheard his classmates whispering—a fire had erupted at the shaman’s house at the foot of the mountain, and someone claimed to have seen a corpse burned black as charcoal.

What kind of ridiculous nonsense is that? Choi Yook had bolted out immediately. He felt no pain even after misstepping and tumbling down the stairs, and he didn’t even register the teacher who tried to block him at the school gate. His mind was consumed by a single frantic thought—he had to get there right away.

Choi Yook sprinted toward the shaman’s house until his lungs felt on the verge of bursting. The reek of burning that drifted from afar made his vision swim. By the time he reached the scene, the strength bled from his legs, sending him crashing to his knees.

The house, built upon a wooden frame, had collapsed into a heap as its pillars caved in. Antique roof tiles, charred pitch-black, lay scattered across the yard, and the proud scholar tree had been reduced to a colossal pile of kindling. Fire was a force that horrific, that terrifying.

Choi Yook gagged on the acrid stench. His entire body trembled so violently that he could scarcely draw breath. His pristine white school uniform shirt was already a ruined mess, smeared with soot and dirt.

Even so, Choi Yook pushed against the scorched earth and dragged himself up, desperately grabbing onto anyone who passed by.

“Excuse me, a kid about this tall lived here… She’s okay, right? Which hospital is she at? She’s fine, isn’t she? She wasn’t hurt at all, was she? Her dream was to be a firefighter. There’s no way she couldn’t handle a fire…”

The adults, troubled by the boy’s hysteria, had nonetheless answered: they had seen no such child. Not even a body had been discovered.

Then she must be alive. Choi Yook was certain of it. That kid was merely hiding somewhere, waiting for the right moment to show herself.

Choi Yook tore the name tag pinned to his chest and gripped it so hard that the edges bit into his palm. When he met that kid again, he would hand it over and tell her his name—even if the child refused to share her own in return.

Yet Choi Yook, who had skipped school to wander endlessly around the ruins of the shaman’s house and the local library, was soon bundled into a car and hauled up to Seoul. The reason was brutally simple.

Choi Sijin was finally due to be discharged after completing a major ‘surgery.’ Yang Ui-ju had insisted that Choi Yook needed to stick close to his younger brother for Sijin’s fortune to flourish, and that only when Sijin thrived would the entire clan prosper.

Yet far stranger than that irrational logic was the bizarre atmosphere that hung over the family estate that day.

Not a single person could tear their eyes away from Choi Sijin as he walked across the lawn. Some had even wept in overwhelming emotion—all over a spoiled little tyrant who, at the slightest tantrum, would smash everything from cups and plates to game consoles and computer monitors.

Yet Choi Sijin had brushed past the fawning servants and doting family members with a haughty expression, marching straight toward Choi Yook. He had come before the half-brother he had bullied and looked down upon more than anyone else, the brother who surely hated him more than anyone in the world.

Until that moment, Choi Yook had considered living apart from Choi Sijin a blessing. Every time Choi Hak-gyun dragged him out to face Sijin, it had been sheer misery.

If Sijin whined a few poisonous words to their parents, Choi Yook would be hauled off to the shaman’s house to be pelted with raw red beans. Choi Sijin had affirmed his superior standing in the household through petty cruelty like that.