Desires Chapter 1.2 - A’ S Y U T

— Assemblyman Kwon Hyuk and 2 others, please guide them to F zone, number 3.

— Yes, proceeding now.

The transmission came through the earpiece microphone. The elegant black uniform, which handsomely revealed the lines of the body, particularly captured the attention of others.

The sight of Song Yeongin formally dressed in uniform, rather than looking skilled and sharp, looked somehow precarious and utterly risky, due to the contrast with his fair and neat face.

The elevator, having gone through the security personnel’s verification process at the entrance to the platform, opened. Song Yeongin, who had checked the list, greeted the VVIPs with a respectful 90-degree bow.

The highest-ranking individuals, led by their entourages, followed behind Song Yeongin and entered the lower levels of the maze-like Gallery A’syut. In that time, he had to quickly recall the difficult and complex map of A’syut’s interior in his mind.

A week had already passed. However, Song Yeongin was still just a newcomer who had barely shed his awkwardness.

‘A ’ S Y U T.’

Gallery A’syut was not a simple art gallery. This secretive fortress that chose isolation was an exhibition and social space for the upper class who bought and sold high-priced works of art, including fine art.

It was an underground black market where rare artworks and collectibles brought in from all over the world were traded at high prices, and also a clandestine hub for secret dealings among upper-class collectors, where unofficial auctions not sanctioned by the state were rampant in private rooms.

The flow of the times was irrelevant to A’syut’s will. The pretext of collecting artworks had long since become something more than simple financial technology for the upper echelons of society.

Artworks were capably fulfilling their function as a means for the upper class of the political and financial worlds to launder money and create illegal funds. The advantage that the sale and purchase of artworks were free from taxes provided them with a suitable excuse of enjoying art, while at the same time establishing itself as a convenient means of managing funds.

The desire to possess artworks was also a refined method of display for second and third-generation upper-class individuals, who had long lost interest in things like making more money, allowing them to show off their aesthetic tastes and artistic vanity. Gallery A’syut was a hotbed for the invisible hands that moved between the shadows and the light, controlling the domestic art world.

This colossal secret fortress had been designed from the outset with a difficult and complex maze-like structure to facilitate secret dealings and concealment. And, deep in the lower part of the building, there were private rooms for the super-special VVIPs, hidden by thorough security.

‘Jimil (至密)’

A members-only secret chamber that could only be used by the very top core members, handpicked from among the upper class.

The people here referred to that extremely secret and concealed space as ‘Jimil.’ The meaning of Jimil, which signifies something so august and important that not a single word can leak out, was no different from the name referring to the king’s bedchamber within the nine-fold palace.

The secret chamber of A’syut, which only the core figures of the pyramid’s highest class could enter and exit. Right here in this Jimil, when night fell, the secret talks of rebels [反骨] trying to play king and the clandestine meetings of foxes trying to play tiger came and went.

The very fact of being a member allowed entry to Jimil was, for them, a privilege that acknowledged their superiority, and an irresistible crown that determined the hierarchy of power.

🌫️

When Director Yoon Jioh first brought Song Yeongin to Jimil, the general manager of Jimil, Madame Jeong, had to confirm once again the director’s intention in bringing that young man before her.

“Shouldn’t he be sent to the gyobang?”

“Just teach him and use him as a simple staff member.”

Madame Jeong was a woman in her late 40s with a commanding presence. A low-saturation, dark lip color particularly accentuated her alluring impression. Her elegant appearance, reminiscent of a classic actress from a silent film, and her unique, refined, and dignified way of speaking, which suited that image, were exquisitely trained, showing traces of having been polished and refined over many long years.

She whispered with a sensual smile.

“It’s too much of a waste to leave him as a simple staff member.”

When Madame Jeong retorted sarcastically, Yoon Jioh gave a faint, unreadable smile without reply.

“How about a haeeohwa? If this young man is willing, he could earn money with just simple companionship.”

“…”

“What a shame. With just light companionship, he could have in his hands an amount of money that can’t even be compared to the meager salary of a staff member…”

Madame Jeong was trying to sound out Yoon Jioh’s true intentions for bringing this neat, beautiful man before her. At her persistent suggestions that knew no surrender, Director Yoon looked at Song Yeongin as if he found it amusing, yet he only stepped back with his hands behind his back and let out an irresponsible smirk.

“Regrettably, the Father will not permit such a thing. Isn’t that right?”

A graceful intelligence was present in Song Yeongin’s eyes, but he was still far too ill-equipped to understand all of their words.

However, later on, he would come to learn that the gyobang Madame Jeong referred to was a space for high-class entertainers who catered to the VVIPs of Jimil.

When he learned that the term haeeohwa—a flower that understands words—was the local slang for those who acted as flowers of the drinking party, becoming a designated person’s conversation partner or drinking companion without physical contact… Song Yeongin could only laugh sardonically at their rudeness.

They had brought him here and, without even asking his opinion, were discussing him becoming a courtesan for the highest echelons of society.

🌫️

The task given to Song Yeongin was simple. The A’syut gallery with its unusually complex structure. And within it, the collection of the most concealed private rooms. In this maze-like Jimil, he was to perform the role of a ‘front door boy,’ guiding VVIPs to their designated locations. In addition, simple customer service as per instructions was a secondary task.

The work, which ran from late afternoon to early dawn, did not particularly interfere with his spending the daytime, when he had no work, painting.

For Song Yeongin, who had no education, career, or social experience to satisfy any requirements, and whose background and circumstances were not questioned, this job that paid an excessively high salary might have been a surprising stroke of luck.

It was not a lie that he did not even have money to buy paint right now. At this very moment, Song Yeongin’s immediate livelihood was bleak.

Until his sister-in-law, who could not do any work because she was taking care of a newborn baby, could find a job again, it was no exaggeration to say that their livelihood rested in Song Yeongin’s hands.

It was not that his sister-in-law had directly asked him for help. However, for her, who had grown up an orphan, there was nowhere to entrust this bundle of flesh and blood.

When his sister-in-law had clung to him, weeping and saying that she would have to send Song Yoon to a daycare facility for the time being in order to work, Song Yeongin had earnestly persuaded her that he would help with their living expenses.

The sponsorship for his younger sister’s tuition for the school for the deaf had been cut off for some reason, and he had to cover a considerable amount of tuition during the period before her graduation. If possible, Song Yeongin wanted to give his younger sister all the support he could. So that the weight of the life that lay ahead of her would not crush her. He intended to shoulder his younger sister’s future in any way he could.

There was no guarantee that the painting could be sold. There was no knowing when that would be. He could not rely solely on the painting. If he could sustain his immediate, bleak livelihood, Song Yeongin was not in a position to be picky about any kind of work.

🌫️

The high-quality black uniform that revealed the silhouette just so was one of the cunning elements meticulously calculated by the upper management to make the members of Jimil stand out.

The sophisticated and elegant design, said to have been personally conceived by a famous LV designer, had no qualms about making the members of Jimil who dealt with VVIPs look like high-class palace attendants. The effect this flimsy designer uniform had in elevating them brought about an efficiency beyond imagination.

The male and female staff, all with strikingly beautiful appearances as if gathered from who knows where, were another visual device that differentiated Jimil.

A perfect soundproofing system that made communication impossible without an earpiece microphone, and a complex maze-like building structure that protected privacy by inducing cross-interception between visitors. And, the astonishingly meticulous method of operation were the biggest contributors that allowed this place to establish itself as a venue for the secret talks and clandestine meetings of political and financial figures.

No one would be able to smell the scent of collusion and pleasure from those who frequented the gallery.

The guarantee of secret privilege and perfect privacy. That was precisely the slogan that Jimil publicly advertised to its VVIPs.

“The first thing you have to do is memorize this complex maze structure. You must accurately grasp the location of the secret auction house, the passages leading from the lounge, the location and route connected to the secret parking lot, and move accordingly. All communication during work is done through the earpiece microphone. No matter what loud noises or sounds of destruction come and go in the guest rooms, they cannot be heard at all from the outside.”

“Yes.”

“And the most important thing.”

The manager handed Song Yeongin a piece of paper on which was written ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement.’

“No matter what you hear or what secrets you come to know in this place, you must not carelessly run your mouth outside.”

“…”

“As you know, Jimil pays a salary that is incomparably and outstandingly high. I see that you, Mr. Song Yeongin, were assigned to Jimil by the director’s direct order.”

“…”

“The reason we only hire those whose personal information can be perfectly identified is so that, when a problem arises, we can root out those who carelessly ran their mouths and make them pay a fitting price.”

Song Yeongin held his breath at the manager’s solemn voice.

“Keep a tight rein on your mouth. We cannot be held responsible for the consequences.”

🌫️

Among the staff of Jimil, Song Yeongin was the center of conversation for a while. Even in Jimil, where only those with neat and handsome appearances were gathered, Song Yeongin was particularly eye-catching, to the point that anyone would turn around to look at him at least once.

It was not flamboyance. Song Yeongin’s appearance was closer to simplicity than flamboyance. His characteristically sharp and neat features created a sense of sacredness, so orderly was it to behold.

Though he seemed slender under the fitted uniform, his body with its straight lines and sense of balance was, as one could easily guess, extremely delicate and beautiful to the eyes of both women and men. His eyes, with their unusually wet and tear-glistened ends, were imbued with countless stories beyond comprehension.

To those who had become accustomed to the flamboyant beauty scattered all over the pleasure-filled grounds of Jimil, the existence of Song Yeongin, who had a blank-paper-like clean appearance, came as a different kind of freshness.

His full lips and low gaze were so disparate as to betray that sacredness, giving the beholder an unsettling feeling. It was precisely because of that precariousness. That precarious precariousness, where opposites were tangled together, added to it.

And so, they came to harbor the same question as Madame Jeong. That dark and envious, flimsy suspicion that arose from the bottom of their hearts, that the place that young man should be did not seem to be here.

However, since Song Yeongin himself had sacredly clear and innocent eyes, there was no one who brought up that story in front of him.

🌫️

— Please guide them to F zone, number 3.

The people greeted by the staff with a respectful bow would be chaebol, politicians, prominent figures from the social and cultural spheres, or their one-night playthings. If not that, then they would be famous celebrities enjoying a clandestine meeting with them.

“Jo Yuri of GN?”

“Is it true she went into the same room as the second son of Daemyeong Group?”

In the internal locker rooms separated by gender, and again in the waiting room where all the staff met, everyone was hell-bent on consuming the gossip of the VVIPs.

‘All the floating rumors can be confirmed with one’s own eyes in Jimil.’

That was the biggest reason they all gathered information in this place, speaking in unison.

The staff waiting room, completely separated from the private chambers of Jimil, served as a rest stop where they could ease their intense tension. The staff were always in a state of extreme tension, lest they offend the sensibilities of the upper class. Thanks to that, they were this lax here, cut off from the VVIPs.

The hottest topic among them was by far Cha Woojin, the youngest son of Woosung Group. There was a hidden rumor that Woosung Construction, a subsidiary of Woosung Group, was in charge of the architecture and construction of A’syut. The staff, hushing each other, all agreed in the waiting room that this was a secret that should not be divulged anywhere.

Starting with the rumor that perhaps the actual owner of this art gallery was Cha Woojin, the talented youngest son of Woosung Group, the staff’s stories branched out.

— Cha Woojin is first in line for the succession of Woosung Group?!

— But Cha Woojin isn’t even the eldest son?

— I think I heard that the eldest son of that family has a major disqualifying reason… well, we wouldn’t know the detailed family circumstances.

The excited staff’s fuss continued.

— Do you know that the VVIPs consume talk about that man in their rooms as if he were a celebrity? If you secretly eavesdrop from the side, it feels like Cha Woojin is some kind of idol or celebrity to those arrogant upper-class people.

— Isn’t it funny? When they themselves use actual celebrities like their own rags…

— It’s not just Jimil. In the lounge or the gallery, in all of A’syut, all they talk about is that man. It seems like Cha Woojin is something special to the upper-class people here.

— Well, it’s true… Cha Woojin is a noble among nobles, and the king of chaebols.

— Woosung is the top conglomerate in South Korea. And besides, Cha Woojin is on a different level. From his looks alone, he’s an unapproachable aristocrat.

— Isn’t that why the young ladies from good families are frequenting this lounge like it’s on fire? They have to at least see the back of Cha Woojin’s head to have a chance at catching a star, you know.

— Do you know the gyobang entertainers lobby to get him to designate them when Cha Woojin comes? Begging to be seated with him somehow.

— I heard Cha Woojin never designates the gyobang girls? He must be seeing someone else separately.

— What’s the point. It’s obvious with chaebols. Even if they date peerless beauties for a hundred days, they’ll end up in an arranged marriage with a partner decided by their family.

The waiting staff, even after chattering on for a good while, would put on a mask as if nothing had happened once they put their earpiece microphones back on.

They would return to their expressionless faces, interested in nothing in the world, and receive transmissions to carry out their assigned tasks.

The useless gossip that he couldn’t help but overhear, unable to block his ears, made Song Yeongin’s mind dizzy several times.

🌫️

Finally, the only break time, taken in shifts, was given. It was the only time he could catch his breath.

Song Yeongin, avoiding the noises he had no choice but to hear even if he did not want to, turned his steps toward his own secret space.

Strictly speaking, it might not be permitted. But it was a space he had secretly learned because he was unusually good with directions.

He could memorize the entire map in his head without looking at it more than a few times. His excellent perception of space and structure was like a small inheritance gained from painting since he was young.

Spaces and forms he had seen once, he could memorize like a photo in his head, as in a photo memory. He would then transfer them back onto paper. After reviewing them in that way, as if drawing a picture, it was as if they were engraved in his mind and would never be forgotten.

For several days, Song Yeongin had wandered around A’syut and Jimil, and finished the task of transferring dozens of floor plans and maps onto paper. Entry to some spaces was controlled and they were thoroughly locked. However, the location and purpose of most could be identified.

Among them, the place where Song Yeongin spent his short, infrequent break time was this ‘Hidden Gallery,’ where his painting was hung.

When Director Yoon Jioh had guided him and he first entered this space where his painting was hung, Song Yeongin still could not forget the overwhelming thrill he had felt for the first time.

This place, strictly speaking, was not a public gallery. He had heard that it was a space opened only to a few key clients for the purpose of sales.

Of course, the reason Song Yeongin could secretly and stealthily enter and exit the gallery in this way was that he had carefully noted the internal secret passage of Jimil that connected directly to this gallery.

He had secretly entered this place several times without the security team knowing, but he had never once encountered anyone inside the gallery during that time. In fact, this gallery was deserted late at night.

He had never even imagined that his painting could be hung in a place like this. It was a relic of suffering that he had thought would forever rot away in that small room. He had thought it would only be discovered as debris along with a corpse in a stinking pile of garbage.

Though completely unexpected, now that he was working as an affiliate of A’syut through the consideration of Director Yoon Jioh for the sake of his livelihood, that alone had relieved him of some worry.

He did not harbor any such vain expectations like being an uncut gem or a great jewel, as Director Yoon Jioh had said. He knew better than anyone that if you get intoxicated with illusions, misfortune would quickly smell it and rush in.

Every time he entered the gallery, he liked the distinctive cold marble smell that he felt at the tip of his nose. The secret silence that became unusually distant like the dawn at this hour made his heart pound with excitement.

‘I’m not getting intoxicated with an illusion. So, this much affection should be alright.’

Thus, Song Yeongin soothed his trembling heart.

In this space where only a few paintings were displayed, a soft halogen light was lit until late at night.

It was when he had quietly tiptoed in and turned around a large fresco stone pillar. Song Yeongin’s feet, having turned the pillar, froze solid as if they had taken root in that spot.

There was another person besides himself in this space.

From the spot where he had turned, Song Yeongin witnessed a man looking at his painting. A strange man was looking at Song Yeongin’s painting as if in contemplation.

The man was the first viewer he had met inside this gallery.

It felt as if time and space had stopped. The straight side profile of the man looking at his painting hanging in the gallery was like a single work of art possessing sculptural beauty.

It was a straight-laced dignity that seemed sharp enough to cut even one standing at his feet. His large frame, the perfect male skeleton, was so intensely unrealistic as to evoke a sense of awe in others.

The suit, tailored without a single error to fit the imposing and sensual male frame, seemed to be asserting the authority that flowed through his body.

Song Yeongin saw, in that man standing there, a different world completely separated from his own. It was an unfamiliar thrill he had not felt even while guiding the so-called highest upper-class, the noble power-holders and men of wealth, all week.

It was then.

The man, as if sensing a presence, turned his head toward Song Yeongin. The two people’s gazes collided at once, like meteors crashing.

The man’s face, met head-on, was another dimension of overwhelming presence. A linear masculine bone structure without a single flaw. The dignified and sharp straightness that flowed from the bridge of his nose to his jawline was looking directly at Song Yeongin with a gaze that pierced through as if interrogating him.

He had a presence that stole the gaze of others in an instant. The sharp, straight lines of the dignified man were a masterful entanglement of the dynamic and the static.

Song Yeongin looked at the strange man as if he were appreciating a work of art. He thought that the strange gap and the cold-blooded otherness he gave to others was intensely agonizing.

The two people, who met in the silence, stared at each other for a very short, yet long moment. The colliding gazes presented a shimmering that endlessly fell, as if driven to a cliff’s edge.

The man narrowed his knife-like eyes. It was a gesture meant to question the identity of the strange intruder. It was because of that piercingly intense sense of pressure.

Without realizing it, Song Yeongin ended up stepping back as if to flee. As the uninvited guest fled from the spot, the man no longer sent a meaningless, questioning gaze.

Instinctively, he turned back around the marble pillar and retraced the path he had walked.

He hurriedly exited the gallery. Song Yeongin ran quickly for no reason. This way, it was as if he had been stealing a glance at the man, like a thief.

Song Yeongin’s flushed red cheeks and his cells urged him to flee from this place faster. Song Yeongin quickened his pace even more.

He had only wanted to see his painting hanging there. He had only wanted to get a moment of respite to catch his breath. How far and distant a story had respite been for him all this time.

He could not understand. He tried hard to find it in his memory, but it was a sensation so unfamiliar that it could not be found anywhere. It was not pain or anguish. It was not an escape from the things that cruelly devoured him alive.

It was the first time.

To be seized by such an explosive desire to, so purely, so completely, so thirstily… steal a stranger and transfer him to his canvas to paint.

🌫️

He escaped the gallery as if fleeing. In the restroom attached to the waiting room, Song Yeongin repeatedly washed his hotly flushed face with ice-cold water.

The encounter with that strange man still had not faded from his mind. The pounding heart and the dizzying sense of déjà vu, like falling, clung tightly to the back of the fleeing Song Yeongin like a shadow.

Song Yeongin simply could not concentrate at all. It was an unfamiliar and impulsive sensation he had never once experienced in his life. It felt as if those things were continuously poking at each and every one of Song Yeongin’s cells. He felt as if he had been stripped bare and rummaged through by the man’s pitch-black eyes.

As he was staring blankly into the mirror, a call came through Song Yeongin’s earpiece microphone.

— Please guide Mr. Cha Woojin to H zone, number 1.

“Yes, proceeding now.”

While moving breathlessly to the elevator platform, Song Yeongin had to keep repeating that familiar, not-unfamiliar name in his mouth.

“Cha Woojin…”

Only then, did Song Yeongin remember that familiar name.

Cha Woojin was the subject of conversation that the staff always chattered about in the waiting room. For the past several days, how many times had he been forced to hear the name of that man, Cha Woojin, from the employees until it was drilled into him.

The daily routine for some of the staff began with checking whether Cha Woojin’s name was on the reservation list for that day. His latest movements became the biggest issue in the waiting room.

The rumor that he was the real owner of Jimil seemed to solidify their fantasy even further. It felt like the desperate struggle of servants who were dying to declare that the king of Jimil was Cha Woojin. The influence that the man named Cha Woojin had on this place was exceedingly immense and extraordinary.

He arrived at the hidden, secret elevator that led only to Jimil. The image of Song Yeongin waiting to greet the VVIP was reflected just so on the mirrored elevator platform gate.

From washing his face with ice-cold water, water droplets that failed to fall away had left traces all over his face. An indifferent wetness dampened his bangs. His face, tinged with a cold dampness, was deathly white and pale, and at the same time, looked exceedingly poignant.

Finally, the elevator doors opened.

Song Yeongin bent from the waist at a 90-degree angle to greet the VVIP. When he straightened his bent waist and raised his head, another strong ripple spread through Song Yeongin’s eyes.

The person Song Yeongin greeted as the elevator opened was none other than the very man he had just encountered in the gallery.

Song Yeongin once again met the eyes of the contemplator, whose depth could not be fathomed. It was a nameless fear. Enduring that oppressive gaze that pierced through a person felt like an unbearable ordeal.

However, the man who got off the elevator responded with a coldness that showed no agitation, in direct contrast to the deep ripple felt in Song Yeongin’s eyes.

It felt like a one-sided dismissal of his own insignificant existence. He belatedly became aware of reality due to that drastic difference in temperature.

Like the members of the waiting room who put on masks after gossiping, Song Yeongin tried relentlessly to have eyes that contained nothing. Whether that would be a remote possibility was something no one could know.

“Welcome. I will guide you to your room.”

What he felt from the man who approached was an unapproachable, oppressive masculinity. The man’s overwhelming height and frame at close range, his sensual body.

The man was dressed in the best of everything from head to toe. However, the dignity felt in every step he took far surpassed the value of the things he wore.

Song Yeongin walked ahead of the man with the chillingly indifferent expression. He guided him to the assigned room.

The sound of the man’s leisurely and relaxed leather shoes followed behind, quite different from Song Yeongin’s hasty footsteps. His heart began to beat fast, following the sound of the man’s leather shoes.

Song Yeongin, pointedly ignoring Cha Woojin’s blatant gaze that was sizing him up from behind, opened the door to the guided private room.

The myriad rooms, which could also be used as party or banquet halls depending on their size, were inadequately described by simply being called private chambers. Jimil was composed of countless independent internal spaces with various interior facilities and decorations according to the customer’s purpose.

When he opened the door of the perfectly soundproofed private room, this time a sensual bar, the kind one might see in a movie, appeared.

A single malt bar like a castle wall stacked high up to the lofty ceiling, and a whiskey sommelier on standby. On one side, a master’s installation artwork was on display for appreciation, solely for the VVIPs.

Cha Woojin headed straight for the bar. The movement was a familiar one, as if he were stepping not into a strange space, but into a hideout made for himself.

From the man who passed by him indifferently, he could smell the scent of a cold, dreary forest right after the rain. A forest on a winter night, so pitch black that even a scream would be buried in the darkness.

Cha Woojin, who sat nonchalantly at the bar, gazed at Song Yeongin again. However, Song Yeongin deliberately did not even make eye contact with him. No, he could not.

Just as Song Yeongin was about to turn away as if fleeing after a nod of the head, it was the man’s low voice that stopped him.

“…The security is a mess.”

“…”

“Since when did Jimil affiliates get to stroll around inside the gallery like back-alley stray cats?”

A heavy voice, along with a faint, fog-like smirk, echoed inside the private room.

The unusually refined low resonance contained an authority that could make others bow their heads in an instant. The tone of one accustomed to commanding, and the voice of a person of power for whom reigning over the heads of others is a given.

Song Yeongin’s face, which had been wearing a mask and acting expressionless, turned to one of dismay. His artless, neat eyes were shaking shabbily.

The man’s calm and composed gaze fixed unhesitatingly on Song Yeongin, whose shoulders were trembling. It was a dense gaze that foretold a storm.

Once again, Song Yeongin could not breathe. The shimmering sensation of falling endlessly as if driven to a cliff, and the feverish sense of déjà vu that stirred his cells.

The suffocating air and silence were unbearably overwhelming. He rebuked his own foolish gaze that could not even look away.

Should I just close my eyes?

The man had brought up the subject. However, Song Yeongin could not bring himself to open his mouth. He could not say that he had come to the gallery to see the painting he had drawn. Song Yeongin was not foolish enough to babble on about such a thing so fussily.

It was that unsettling silence, repeating itself once again.

The man was observing the poignantly trembling face with calm and composed eyes.

Sacred and clear eyes. Conversely, red and full lips that brought to mind impiety. That conflicting precariousness was perversely stimulating the man’s peripheral nerves.

Cha Woojin was a man who did not hide his instincts. The innate arrogance he possessed might have stemmed from the needlessness of feeling the need to hide. That leisurely attitude was, rather, close to a violent domination.

Song Yeongin tried to put on a mask, but foolishly, he kept flinching. He was a man with eyes that stripped a person bare and stood them up. That was the reason why the pretenses Song Yeongin was forcibly wearing kept threatening to come off.

It was when Cha Woojin was quietly looking at the heavy metal watch at the end of his suit sleeve. Only after a long while did Song Yeongin belatedly make a strained excuse.

“…I apologize. I haven’t been working for many days, so I took a wrong turn.”

The calm and beautiful voice was accompanied by an inexperienced tremor. Song Yeongin once again bent his waist politely at a right angle. It was a gesture of apology.

The arrogant man, who spoke of hierarchy merely by muttering, showed a very faint smirk. There would be no meaning contained in the evaporating laughter. The time to be allotted to a mere rank-and-file employee had already exceeded Cha Woojin’s patience.

Once again, the voice of the man accustomed to reigning filled the entire private room.

“Summon Yoon Jioh.”

Song Yeongin looked at Cha Woojin with puzzled eyes.

The man handsomely downed a sip of whiskey. The sliding Adam’s apple bulged to its fullest, standing out eagerly to quench a thirst. That sight, due to the contrast with his dignified appearance, left an exceedingly primal impression.

“Go and tell him Cha Woojin is here.”

“…”

“That we won, so I came to raise a toast for <Four Horses>…”

🌫️

The attachment of his father, Chairman Cha Seungtaek, to Woosung Construction, the parent company of Woosung Group, was special and profound. Chairman Cha, who had grown the company that started as a construction firm inherited from his great-grandfather into a leading conglomerate in the country, showed an attachment and tenacity for Woosung Construction, the root of Woosung, that was close to an obsession.

However, in the last six years, the construction contract amounts, both domestic and foreign, which were renewing their lowest records, were nothing short of disastrous, as if foretelling the end of the construction industry. The downfall of the construction industry was not simply a crisis for Woosung alone. The adventurous dreams of the development dictatorship era had long since been relegated to the heroic tales of old men in the back rooms, out of touch with the times.

As a last resort, Chairman Cha established a new business promotion headquarters and installed Director Cha Woojin in the position of its head.

It was Director Cha Woojin of Woosung Electronics, who had already achieved remarkable results in the semiconductor sector on the world stage.

The abrupt placement of such an innovative talent into the new construction business headquarters, whose future was unknown, gave rise to internal voices questioning whether it was not Chairman Cha’s intention to put Director Cha Woojin on a test bed for the succession of management rights.

At a time when construction companies were bowing their heads not only in domestic but also in overseas business, this disastrous personnel change looked, in a way, like the exile of a capable, up-and-coming manager. However, if he overcame this crisis, this test bed would, conversely, be a golden opportunity for Cha Woojin’s management ability to be recognized not only internally but also externally. There was no more certain opportunity than this to solidify and prove the justification and groundwork for succession.

Director Cha Woojin, who had recently successfully led an investment project in artificial intelligence architectural design technology through AI, turned his eyes to the Chinese market, where all construction companies were struggling.

At the news that CSCEC, China’s largest construction company, was looking for a Korean joint venture partner, not only Cha Woojin but all of the country’s leading construction companies were putting forth their full efforts.

It was no exaggeration to say that Cha Woojin, too, had staked his entire life on this game. Chairman Cha also showed keen interest in this contract, on which the fate of Woosung Construction depended. It was safe to say that Cha Woojin’s succession depended on the contract with CSCEC.

If Woosung Construction were to secure the contract, its sales channels in the Chinese market would take flight. The situation for other large domestic construction companies, which were in a similar position to Woosung, was no different. Domestic construction companies vied with each other to lobby swiftly.

The principle of familiarity and the tradition of sworn brotherhood were the actual corporate system and driving force that moved Chinese society. A swift response strategy was needed to penetrate China’s corporate culture, represented by Guanxi (關係).

In order to successfully conclude the contract with CSCEC, Cha Woojin proposed a contract with the best conditions, while at the same time obtaining intelligence through a high-level informant he had bought off locally that the largest shareholder, Chairman Huang Kesi, was crazy about collecting horses (馬).

To obtain Zhang Daqian’s <Four Horses Painting (四馬圖)>, which Huang Kesi wanted to get his hands on, Cha Woojin went all out, going back and forth between China and Taiwan to procure the painting. Yoon Jioh’s information network and connections, which were in charge of tracking the routes of smuggled contraband and overseas artworks, contributed greatly to this.

It did not matter how much money was poured into it. With this contract, Cha Woojin would monopolize the first position in Chairman Cha Seungtaek’s succession and seize the throne.

Crucially, what Chairman Cha cherished most was Cha Woojin, who was a spitting image of himself, from his fearless, belligerent nature to his cool-headed magnanimity. Therefore, this test bed was no different from a final approval confirming Chairman Cha’s conviction once again.

When he got his hands on Zhang Daqian’s <Four Horses Painting (四馬圖)>, which captured four black horses with heavy, rich ink (濃墨), Cha Woojin had a gut feeling that the value of the huge sum he had invested in this painting would return as a profit that could not be measured by price. And, Cha Woojin’s prediction hit the mark exactly.

Woosung Construction officially signed the contract with CSCEC. No one could deny that the reason Woosung was able to clinch the contract from among several large corporate partners that had proposed similar conditions was not due to the influence of <Four Horses>. In the end, the final winner of this game was Cha Woojin.

The reason he sought out Yoon Jioh without any notice as soon as he landed at the airport was to deliver this hard-won victory in person, and to raise a toast first with Yoon Jioh, the one who deserved the most credit.

The reason he had arranged the gathering today was to praise the achievements of Yoon Jioh, who had accomplished a great feat behind the scenes, and his right-hand man, Park Sungjae. They were all fully qualified to be remembered as the protagonists raising a toast for this decisive battle tonight.

🌫️

“Congratulations.”

Yoon Jioh was Cha Woojin’s man.

He trusted Cha Woojin’s eyes. Not only was he cold and level-headed, but he was also adept even at Machiavellian schemes if it was to achieve what he wanted.

However, in the eyes of this spirited victor, who, though reckless and arrogant, was not imbued with baseness or despicability, Yoon Jioh saw a bigger picture. That, too, was surely the disposition of a born master strategist who knew how to make an opponent an ally.

Inside the coldly and solidly forged shell, boiling aspirations were writhing. But the cool-headed reason that knew how to control those aspirations would lead him to the highest position.

Yoon Jioh was a staunch intuitionist, and in his life, his predictions had never once been wrong.

Cha Woojin also handed a champagne glass to Director Park Sungjae, who was attending to him, standing by the door. A greater reward would be waiting for this one who had served with all his heart as a loyal confidant and shadow.

“The succession will become Director Cha’s, I see.”

“My back is going to break from upholding my older sister’s regency.”

Yoon Jioh let out a low laugh at Cha Woojin’s remark.

“The ambition is not mine, but that woman’s. I am just a puppet, after all.”

“If so, you are a truly capable puppet. What kind of puppet is above its master’s head?”

Cha Woojin was close enough to Yoon Jioh to share private jokes about their relatives. Yoon Jioh was one of the few figures who knew why Cha Woojin could not refuse his one and only older sister.

Yoon Jioh was related by blood on the maternal side of Cha Woojin’s mother and maternal grandfather’s Hajeong Group. Strictly speaking, he was Cha Woojin’s maternal cousin. However, he was using respectful language as if Cha Woojin were his superior.

It was none other than Yoon Jioh’s own will to serve Cha Woojin, who was younger than him. Yoon Jioh had recognized his extraordinary potential and had bowed his head first.

“In the end, the one who is desperate will have it. <Four Horses Painting (四馬圖)>. Just as those, those four horses, eventually came into the Director’s hands.”

“If so, then I am disqualified. The one who is desperate is my older sister, and I just hate losing more than dying.”

A pitch-black glint flashed in his belligerent eyes.

“Cha Seokhyeon. If Woosung were to fall into the hands of that wretched person, it would be no different from everyone’s self-destruction and a losing move. Isn’t that right?”

“…”

“I don’t want to play a losing game.”

The heir’s voice, as firm and solitary as a sword, echoed in the private room. Yoon Jioh let out a dry laugh toward his young lord.

Cha Woojin must have never once experienced failure or loss by someone who opposed him. That might be Cha Woojin’s greatest weapon, and also his greatest losing move that would split his own back and stab him with a knife.

The man accustomed to victory raised a champagne glass above his head.

“Well now, let’s forget everything today… and just raise a toast.”

He held a mouthful of the best victory toast prepared for today. Yoon Jioh had a gut feeling. A fierce storm would blow.

For the era of Cha Woojin had now dawned.

🌫️

Though they knew they should not get drunk yet, it was a night where everyone was intoxicated with self-congratulation. Cha Woojin’s lips, which had poured out a toast of joy without restraint several times, quivered to say something.

What prelude was that hesitation for.

“That kid, from before…”

Yoon Jioh was silent, as if he could not believe the words that flowed from Cha Woojin’s lips. Because even from that vague appellation, he knew at once who the kid he was talking about was.

“If you use a kid like that as staff, you’ll run into some troublesome business.”

Yoon Jioh, who had been groaning inwardly, smiled faintly.

“How unusual. For Director Cha Woojin, who has absolutely no interest in others, to be concerned about such an insignificant child…”

“You’re not unaware of the fact that those who enter and exit this place will, in the end… have it in their hands, even if it means causing a rupture, causing a scene, right?”

“…”

“Just as I got my hands on <Four Horses>.”

A small light flickered rapidly in Yoon Jioh’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you an interesting story.”

“…”

“That child is one sent by Father Kang Hajong.”

Yoon Jioh was hell-bent on gauging the subtle expression of the cool-headed victor. Cha Woojin could not hide the subtle heat simmering beneath his perfect, cold face. Thanks to that, Yoon Jioh was able to chatter on so easily.

“The Father. No, my uncle, made a request. He said to please refrain from doing things like tempting an angel. It seems he cherishes that child dearly. He told me to help that child in the most appropriate way.”

“…”

“I haven’t done a background check, but who knows. Perhaps he is the hidden child of a priest well past middle age…”

“How interesting.”

“Though he has already left the family, the predecessor of A’syut belongs to my uncle. So, I was in the process of slowly thinking about what that appropriate method would be.”

Cha Woojin’s maternal uncle, who had left the family long ago at a young age, declaring he would become a priest.

‘Kang Hajong’.

This place was far too unsuitable for the two of them to suddenly be consuming stories about Kang Hajong. No, what was even more unsuitable was the story of that wicked child.

In the first place, what was the reason for the story of that child to flow out of the mouth of none other than that cold-blooded Cha Woojin?

Yoon Jioh realized that Cha Woojin, like a victorious soldier returned from the battlefield intoxicated with the victory of tonight… was unusually, deeply drunk on the heat of this night, on the alcohol, or perhaps on the ghost of someone.