Chapter 34

That night, Jaeha had wanted to ask whether there was something Taegeon wished to discuss. From the fragmented, hazy memories that had clung to him as he drifted into sleep, Taegeon had seemed displeased by how quickly he had fallen asleep.

Perhaps regretful was the more accurate word, though an expression so vulnerable hardly seemed suited to a man like him.

After that night, however, Taegeon became consumed by work. His schedule grew punishingly busy, and the days blurred into a long succession of nights when he did not return home at all.

On the rare nights he did come back, Jaeha would hold him firmly from behind and watch him sleep, Taegeon sunk deep beneath the weight of exhaustion.

In those quiet, liminal moments between wakefulness and dreams, Lee Jaeha would tenderly trace the man’s features with his gaze, lingering on the thick, striking sweep of his eyebrows. Even the lightest touch felt as though it might squander such a rare moment, so Jaeha merely watched, holding his breath for fear of disturbing Taegeon’s slumber.

Their perpetually misaligned schedules left them with no opportunity for a proper conversation, but Jaeha remained patient. He understood that he could not place his own longing above the needs of a man constantly burdened by responsibility.

Patience, after all, had always been one of his greatest strengths.

“Hey, why haven’t you been going to the gym lately?”

The casual address, wholly inappropriate for the professional atmosphere of the office, made one of Jaeha’s eyebrows twitch before his expression settled back into its customary composure.

It was exhausting enough to play the disciplinarian every time Lee Jaeho made a mistake.

And of all things, he had chosen to ask about the gym.

Jaeha did not actually visit the gym all that often. He preferred the convenience of having a coach come directly to his home. Since temporarily suspending his boxing training after the marriage, however, he had been left without a dedicated space for sparring at Director Jang’s residence.

Explaining the intricacies of his domestic arrangements sounded far too tedious, so he remained silent. Sensing that no answer was forthcoming, Jaeho awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re that busy. And the coach said you haven’t been working out at all…”

“You seem to be visiting the gym quite frequently yourself lately.”

Exercise forged the body, and a well-forged body fortified the mind. Lee Jaeho desperately needed that kind of discipline.

To begin with, he was a mediocre Alpha who lacked even the natural athletic ability Jaeha possessed. His underlying skeletal structure was most likely more fragile than Jaeha’s as well.

If nothing else, the boy needed to train. Unfortunately, Lee Jaeho had always loathed physical exertion.

Jaeha had hoped to develop his physical capabilities so that he might one day stand his ground against their father. Fortunately, Jaeho appeared to have developed a genuine fondness for boxing.

Finding that unexpected development rather amusing, Jaeha let out a small, rare laugh. The tips of Jaeho’s ears immediately flushed a vivid red.

“Damn it. Why are you laughing…?”

“Associate Director, mind your language in the office. Your manner of speech is one of the first things your subordinates will use to judge your character.”

“That’s not what I meant… No, I was just wondering why you’ve been avoiding the gym. Why? Is he keeping you cooped up? Has he locked you away somewhere?”

What did he even mean by locking him away?

Unimpressed by the childish phrasing, Jaeha shook his head.

Beside him, Jaeho continued stealing glances in his direction, clearly unwilling to retreat until he had squeezed an answer out of him.

At last, Jaeha gave him a proper response. “I’ve been occupied lately, but I should be available next time. When are you planning to go? If you need a sparring partner, we can coordinate our schedules.”

In truth, his workload had plummeted, leaving him with more free time than he knew what to do with. These days, Lee Jaeha’s personal schedule consisted primarily of his cooking classes.

The mothers in his class had showered him with peculiar praise, remarking on how impressive it was for an Alpha to be capable in the kitchen. They had even invited him to accompany them while they shopped for professional kitchen knives.

When he consulted Manager Lim about the matter, he was told that socializing with his classmates was perfectly natural. Consequently, his secretary arranged for a Yooshin vehicle to chauffeur the women on their outing.

Together, they had browsed through a kitchenware store and visited a Korean restaurant they had all been eager to try. Jaeha had even returned home carrying homemade tomato pickles and seasoned radish greens they had given him.

Apart from that, his only recent source of personal accomplishment was the purchase of a respectable enamel pot.

That was the full extent of his daily routine.

The irony was that Lee Jaeho was the one who had become genuinely busy. More than half of Lee Jaeha’s former professional responsibilities had been transferred onto his shoulders.

Lee Ik-hyeong did not appear especially pleased with the arrangement, yet he had raised no objection. He probably considered it preferable to allowing Lee Jaeha to retain meaningful authority after marrying Jang Taegeon.

Having spent years occupying a leadership position that was largely ceremonial, Ik-hyeong must have felt as though he were surviving on an allowance provided by his own child. Perhaps that was why he had not opposed Jaeho’s appointment as Associate Director.

Once those circumstances meshed together like interlocking gears, the entire process accelerated. The hurried transfer of duties was now entering its final stages, making it inevitable that Lee Jaeho, who had spent most of his life behaving like an idle loafer, would suddenly find himself overwhelmed.

“Oh, I’m free tomorrow evening!”

Jaeho brightened immediately when Jaeha suggested comparing their schedules.

Still perched on the edge of the desk, Lee Jaeha stared at him for a moment. Then he reached out, pressed the intercom button, and lifted the receiver.

“Yes, Executive Director.”

“Is Associate Director Lee Jaeho’s schedule clear tomorrow evening?”

“Ah, yes. That is correct.”

Manager Lim’s answer came in a crisp, professional tone. Jaeha replaced the receiver.

Beside him, Lee Jaeho looked deeply aggrieved before shouting, “Hey! Why couldn’t you just take my word for it? I told you I was free tomorrow evening!”

“If you were in my position, would you trust yourself?”

“…Probably not.”

Surprisingly, Lee Jaeho’s most admirable quality was his sharp sense of self-awareness. Watching him tuck his tail so quickly, Jaeha could not help chuckling again.

Encouraged by the reaction, Jaeho ventured another question. “…But is everything all right over there lately?”

“Over there?”

The phrasing was far too vague. Jaeha despised ambiguity, and a faint crease appeared between his brows. He stared at Jaeho in silence, making it clear that he expected greater specificity. Out of habit, Jaeho scratched the back of his head before continuing.

“I mean… ever since Myeongwon collapsed, it’s been a complete bloodbath among the corporate gangs. They’re all scrambling to rip the corpse apart. I was just wondering whether that hyung-nim of yours, or whatever he is, was doing all right…”

“…Is that what people are saying?”

Jaeha narrowed his eyes.

Now that he considered it, the rumors made perfect sense. Whenever a major organization collapsed, the resulting power vacuum was inevitably carved apart by rival corporate gangs.

These days, such organizations had grown large enough to disregard both the police and the prosecution. They waged open turf wars, swinging butcher knives at one another in the streets.

When brute force proved inconvenient, they simply flooded the local District Prosecutors’ Office and police departments with enough money to persuade everyone involved to look the other way.

A slight frown creased Lee Jaeha’s brow as he murmured, “So that’s why he’s been so busy…”

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Where, exactly, did you hear this?”

Rather than answer Jaeho’s question, Jaeha’s expression hardened as he pressed for information.

Jaeho’s pupils wavered, a telltale habit that surfaced whenever he attempted to conceal something. Beneath the pressure of Jaeha’s steady, unwavering stare, he finally buckled.

“No, I mean… I haven’t really felt like going out lately because I’ve been so busy, but that bastard Hyo-seok wouldn’t stop pestering me to hang out.”

“Get to the point.”

“Right, right. So I went to a club with him, but he said we should try somewhere different from his usual place. I used to go to that members-only club Myeongwon operated, so we headed over there, but all the lights were off. When I asked what happened, that prick Hyo-seok told me there was a turf war going on and said we’d be better off going somewhere else.”

“……”

“The whole neighborhood is packed with members-only clubs, but guys like us usually prefer the ones converted from private houses. Personally, I don’t mind hotel bars, but Hyo-seok practically lived for those kinds of places.

“When I asked one of the die-hard regulars why he’d stopped going, he told me I’d get picked clean the second I set foot there now. He said the whole neighborhood has turned into a war zone.”

Lee Jaeho’s account was entirely plausible. Even after transforming themselves into legitimate public corporations, these corporate-style mobsters had never managed to discard their old habits or abandon the nightlife industry.

Enormous amounts of money circulated through the underground economy, leaving them hopelessly addicted to the trade they had once mastered. They used such establishments to evade taxes or operated them entirely off the books while entertaining influential clients.

Myeongwon had been one such organization. They had devised an ingenious method of evading police raids by constructing an entire residential block and disguising every unit as a private home.

Each night, they rotated the particular house being used as the room salon. The floor manager would send a secure message to regular patrons, directing them to the unit selected for that evening.

The establishment catered primarily to politicians and celebrities, people terrified of the scandal that would erupt if they were ever discovered there.

Lee Jaeha despised places like that, regardless of whether he entered as the host or as a guest. In his view, there was only one true reason anyone frequented them.

They existed to forge a contract of lies, a mutual vow of silence born from shared depravity, ensuring that neither participant could betray the other without condemning himself as well.

As far as Jaeha was concerned, he occupied a position where he had absolutely no need to enter into such a pathetic arrangement.

With Myeongwon destroyed and leaving behind such succulent scraps, the packs of scavenging dogs circling the area would never remain idle. Jang Taegeon was likely no exception. Given his pride, however, Taegeon would have little interest in collecting leftovers that others had already pawed through.

Jang Changsik was another matter entirely.

Old men whose twilight years remained haunted by the brilliance of their youth never seemed capable of understanding that their golden age had become nothing more than a ghost, a relic buried in the past. They spent their remaining years chanting promises of return, desperately trying to reclaim what had once belonged to them.

Yet when they reached out with liver-spotted, withered hands, they no longer possessed the speed or strength of their prime. After failing again and again beneath the inevitable decay of age, desperation consumed them, and they began grasping for things far cruder and more pitiful than the refined glory they remembered.

It was therefore inevitable that Jang Changsik would attempt to manipulate Jang Taegeon.

“…Where is that neighborhood?”

“Huh? You mean the club?”

Lee Jaeho’s eyes widened.

Jaeha had inherited more of their mother’s features, whereas Jaeho bore a much stronger resemblance to Lee Ik-hyeong. Yet despite possessing so much of their father’s face, Jaeho somehow looked considerably softer.

Jaeha pressed the still-stunned man for an answer.

“No… It’s dangerous around there lately.”

“I’m not the one who’ll be going,” Jaeha replied coolly.

It was not as though he had any intention of visiting the neighborhood himself.

The personnel within the secretary’s office remained, for all practical purposes, under Lee Jaeha’s control. This was largely because Lee Jaeho, who was currently overseeing the transfer of power, had no intention of severing Jaeha’s influence and effectively cutting off his limbs.

Furthermore, headquarters had yet to fully accept Lee Jaeho’s appointment as director. Too many people at the home office still remembered and revered the prestige of Jaeha’s paternal and maternal grandfathers far more than they respected Lee Ik-hyeong’s legacy.

They knew precisely how Kim Ranhee had come to occupy the seat belonging to Yooshin’s principal family.

Their support for Jaeha was not born entirely from loyalty. It arose from a volatile mixture of contempt for Lee Ik-hyeong’s sordid collusion, particularly the way he had maintained a mistress while escaping the consequences, and the immense expectations placed upon Lee Jaeha, who had been protected and cultivated by both sides of his lineage.

After evaluating every variable with clinical precision, they had predicted that the true center of power would eventually shift toward Lee Jaeha rather than Kim Ranhee and her son.

They had been half correct.

In reality, Lee Jaeha had exercised nearly all meaningful authority within Yooshin up to that point.

His age alone had prevented him from formally assuming the titles of Managing Director or Executive Director, but he remained the true architect of Yooshin’s present structure. Even with aunts, uncles, and in-laws entrenched throughout the subsidiaries, not one of them could afford to disregard Lee Jaeha’s approval.

As a result, he continued to command an extensive network of loyal personnel.

He had no desire to let Taegeon catch him prying. More importantly, he did not want Taegeon to realize that he was paying attention to the situation at all.

Jaeha considered the matter in silence for a moment, then slid down from the edge of the desk. He could feel Jaeho’s gaze lingering on him, but he gave no indication that he had noticed.

***