Chapter 37

Yet the arrogant brat who had always held his head high was reading Choi Yook’s mood for the very first time. Sijin forced up the trembling corners of his tense mouth.

“Hyung-ah, I missed you.”

It was the first time he had ever acted charming toward Choi Yook. Exclamations of delight rippled through the courtyard.

Look how much the little one adores his older brother! How precious! His face is positively radiant—was he always this lovely…?

Choi Yook had looked down at Choi Sijin. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what had supposedly changed about the boy.

Choi Sijin was still Choi Sijin. He was as sickeningly arrogant, neurotic, and petulant as ever—so much so that Choi Yook had desperately wished the missing child were standing in his place instead.

Yet years spent walking on eggshells compelled Choi Yook to act. He wrapped his arms around Choi Sijin and stroked his hair. Even if it felt as though vermin were crawling over his hands, he knew he had no choice.

“You like me too, hyung,” Sijin had muttered softly, as if speaking only to himself. “Even you.”

When Sijin finally pulled back from the embrace, he was grinning triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with supreme confidence.

Fourteen years had slipped by like that. Their seemingly close brotherly bond had endured on the surface as well. Leaning back heavily against his chair, Choi Yook broke the silence.

“What could possibly have changed?” Choi Yook asked languidly. “I came because I’m less busy, that’s all. I always come check on you whenever I wrap up my backlog of work.”

“…” Choi Sijin fell silent.

“If you’re just going to keep making a fuss, I’m tired, so I might as well leave,” Choi Yook said flatly.

Choi Yook tapped his knuckles against the table. Choi Sijin’s pupils wavered.

“Why leave already?” Sijin whined, shifting in his seat. “I only asked because I was curious. Hyung, really nothing is wrong, right?”

Choi Yook scoffed dryly, “Not a fucking thing. Now can I drink this, or what?”

“…No, not yet,” Sijin replied, watching the wine. “You have to let it breathe a little longer to bring out the flavors.”

Choi Sijin forced an awkward chuckle. Choi Yook gave a careless nod, plucking a marinated olive from the dish before him with bare fingers and popping it into his mouth.

What Choi Sijin craved from him was not affection. In truth, Sijin had never wanted affection from anyone. What he desired were the achievements spawned by that affection.

Things like money, prestige, career milestones, and adoration. Savoring the salty tang blooming across his tongue, Choi Yook let out a low, pensive breath.

“We did spend a lot of time together when we were young,” Choi Yook remarked musingly. “At least until I was sent down to Mangcheon alone.” Fidgeting with his fingers, Choi Sijin knotted his brow fiercely. “After you came back from Mangcheon, hyung, we lived together and were practically joined at the hip!” Sijin flared defensively. “So what? Did you hate that? Did you?”

“After you came back from Mangcheon, hyung, we lived together and were practically joined at the hip!” Sijin flared defensively. “So what? Did you hate that? Did you?”

His round eyes contorted, flashing with a vicious glint. Choi Yook popped another marinated olive between his teeth and chewed slowly.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Sijin,” Choi Yook cautioned smoothly. “Living like that is only possible when you’re that young.”

“…” Sijin clamped his mouth shut.

Choi Yook shook his head. “We’re both about to turn thirty. How could I possibly hang around you every single day? And frankly, you only throw a fit telling me to cater to you because you’re selfish, but you’re far busier than I am. You act, shoot commercials, go on variety shows, and spend whatever spare time you have fucking around. What, am I supposed to sit by your bed eating olives while you get laid?”

The corners of Choi Sijin’s lips twitched. He even appeared somewhat gratified as his packed schedule was recited, before throwing his head back in a burst of wild laughter.

“Fuck, picturing that is hilarious!” Sijin cackled, clutching his stomach. “Still, you know you’re an even bigger slut than me, hyung, right? You don’t even care about gender.”

“I’ve never been picky,” Choi Yook agreed drily.

Listening to the crisp, restrained piano melody filling the apartment, Choi Yook took a breath. While their idle banter flowed, the deepening bouquet of wine spread across the table. Beaming with renewed pleasure, Choi Sijin poured the wine into their glasses.

“Drink it now,” Sijin urged enthusiastically. “It should be perfect right about now.”

He brought the wine glass to his nose, savoring the aroma. Choi Yook merely took a careless gulp and watched him over the rim.

Sijin’s temperament was growing increasingly erratic with time. Even while looking down on Choi Yook and demanding that Yook cater to his every whim, he would periodically betray a flash of deep-seated unease—especially whenever Yook grew distant and went out of contact.

Choi Yook could not fathom what it was that Sijin was so desperate to confirm from him. Yet because the onset of that change had coincided so precisely with the ‘surgery,’ the hypothesis Seo Mu-yeong had laid before him grew steadily sharper in his mind.

“What about you?” Choi Yook asked, eyeing him casually. “Feeling all right these days?”

Choi Yook asked the question with a casual glance toward him. The relaxed ease on Choi Sijin’s face froze instantly.

“What?” Sijin blurted out, stiffening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Choi Yook shrugged dismissively. “Why throw a fit? I just asked how you were feeling. As if I haven’t watched you fall sick since we were kids.”

“It’s been ages since I got healthy!” Sijin snapped, shuddering. “Don’t even bring up those days. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. Trapped in a hospital room doing nothing but playing video games all day, the food tasting like absolute shit… I feel like throwing up just hearing the word ‘hospital.’”

Choi Sijin visibly shuddered. Of course, this was a man who shuddered at the thought of sugary food, script pages crammed with dialogue, fan sign events, and concerts alike—yet Choi Yook could tell this particular reaction was anything but ordinary.

“Where was it that you had your last surgery again?”

Choi Yook drained his glass and cast a level gaze across the table. Pouring wine from the decanter into Choi Yook’s glass, Choi Sijin bristled with undisguised irritation.

“…I don’t know. I don’t remember,” Sijin muttered. “Do you know how many hospitals I’ve been to?”

Choi Yook swirled the fresh pour in his glass. “Still, you ought to remember the place you were discharged from. Was it Seoul National University Hospital?”

“No, I told you I don’t remember! Why are you interrogating me about that? Why does it even matter?”

Choi Sijin slammed the decanter onto the table with a harsh clatter. The delicate glass cracked, and blood-red wine seeped out in steady rivulets, staining the pristine white marble tabletop. The dripping liquid quickly formed a dark crimson pool upon the floor.

Fuck. Choi Sijin hissed the curse through clenched teeth. Any earlier trace of welcome had vanished completely, replaced by glittering eyes that glared venomously at Choi Yook.

“What, would you have preferred if my surgery went wrong and I dropped dead? Because then all the family money would belong to you? Ah, actually, no need to even go that far. Hyung, honestly, you fucking despise me, don’t you? You think your mother died because of me, and that your own life got fucked up like a dog, right? You just can’t stand seeing me walk around completely healthy and whole!” Hurling the wine bottle onto the floor, Sijin sent shards shattering violently in all directions, splattering reddish stains all the way across the ceiling.

Choi Yook watched the hysterical display without flinching in the slightest. He had witnessed such tantrums to the point of utter exhaustion; an outburst like this hardly registered as remarkable.

Yet this was the first time he had provoked Choi Sijin to such an extreme. Because of that, Choi Yook could clearly discern the raw emotion surfacing in Choi Sijin’s heaving, furious gaze.

It was the terror of loss—an overwhelming dread of the possibility that the gold clutched tightly in his fist might melt like ice and vanish into nothingness.

Choi Yook straightened his languid posture and rose to his feet. The glaring disparity in their physical builds became instantly apparent, casting a long, imposing shadow over Choi Sijin’s face.

While a startled Choi Sijin flinched and drew back, Choi Yook turned toward the wine cellar. Beneath his slippers, shards of broken glass crunched and rattled underfoot.

The cellar, humming with a soft, steady whir, was packed with rows of wine bottles. Among the countless labels, one indicated a vintage from fourteen years ago.

Choi Yook opened the cellar door, retrieved that specific bottle, and returned to the dining table. Uncorking it produced a crisp, buoyant pop that seemed to punctuate the ambient piano melody flowing in the background.

“Stop throwing a fit and just drink,” Choi Yook stated coolly.

He poured the vintage into his brother’s glass without waiting for an answer. Choi Sijin froze, his entire body stiffening.

“I… I asked you a question just now…” Sijin stammered weakly.

Choi Yook cut him off smoothly. “Your birthday.” He kept pouring the wine at an even pace.

“Your official birthday isn’t far off, so we should celebrate it,” Choi Yook noted. “It seems a lot of people do that nowadays.”

“…What?” Sijin blinked in bewilderment.

“Since we’re doing it, it’s best to tie it to something relevant to you,” Choi Yook continued.

Choi Yook drew the bottle back just as the wine threatened to spill over the rim, turning to face Choi Sijin, who was staring back in dazed silence.

“A donation,” Choi Yook clarified.

“…” Choi Sijin offered no immediate reply.

“I’ll send over an apple box of cash, so donate it under your own name and write off your taxes,” Choi Yook suggested. “You’ll polish your public image, and you’re already an expert at pretending to choke back tears during interviews.”

A crack fractured Choi Sijin’s frozen scowl. Before long, he flopped down into his chair, grinning widely enough to bare all his teeth.

“Fuck, hyung, that’s killer,” Sijin cheered enthusiastically. “How did you even come up with an idea like that?”

“I have never once failed to consider your interests, yet raising you yields so little gratitude,” Choi Yook murmured dryly.

“Ah, hyung. Are you sulking?” Sijin coaxed, leaning across the table. “Have a glass yourself and let it go. This one’s incredible, and you picked out the exact right vintage. Here, let me pour you one.”

Watching him take hold of the bottle, Choi Yook sank into his seat. Six years ago, Choi Hak-gyun had issued a directive that remained permanently etched in his memory.

“I need to find a girl. Nineteen years old. She lived with a shaman in Mangcheon until that house caught fire eight years ago, and she’s been missing ever since.”

The instant he heard those words, his blood felt as though it were rushing backward in his veins. Choi Yook had realized right then that the child’s disappearance was directly tied to his own family.

Could the child have come to harm because of me? Choi Yook had wondered, only to dismiss the thought at once. Had Choi Hak-gyun known the child could serve as a leash around his neck, there was no way he would have refrained from weaponizing them.

In that case, there must have been some underhanded collusion with the shaman, Kang Shim-soo. After all, she had never appeared to harbor the slightest affection for the child.

They had likely conducted some aberrant occult ritual—its purpose and execution undoubtedly crude and preposterous, yet serious enough to warrant murdering Kang Shim-soo to silence an accomplice. In the midst of that horror, the child had thankfully managed to flee unharmed.

Any further details were of little consequence to Choi Yook. Only one imperative mattered: Choi Hak-gyun would never seek out the child with benign intentions. Therefore, Yook had to locate the child first, shield them in secret, and neutralize the danger entirely by eliminating Choi Hak-gyun and every other perpetrator involved.

Woven into that conviction was not merely cold, rational calculation, but a seething fury that the culprits must pay dearly. They had sought to shatter the life of a young child whose eyes once sparkled with vivid innocence. In doing so, they had also robbed him of the only precious presence he had left in this world.

Should they not also be stripped of what was most precious to them, their lives reduced to ruined ash? That was what vengeance was meant to be. It was the lesson Choi Yook had learned from Lee Yeon-jae.