Minho stepped into the stark formality of his father's office, the air thick with the scent of old paper and unspoken expectations. He offered a respectful bow, the words "Hi, Dad" a practiced formality. But the moment his father's gaze landed on him, the man surged forward, a whirlwind of emotion. "Minho!" he roared, and the next moment, Minho was enveloped in a crushing embrace. "Oh, I missed you, my boy! Months it's been. How is the mission going?"
Minho returned the hug, a knot of unease twisting in his gut. He pulled back, his gaze skittering away. "Well... I need to talk to you about it..."
Confusion clouded his father's face as they settled into the leather chairs, the silence heavy with unspoken anxieties.
Minho explained his plan, the audacious idea of merging the two teams, a gamble that could bring unity. When he finished, his father sighed, the sound a weight in the room. "I see... Are you certain he operates within the law?"
Minho met his father's gaze, his voice firm. "Yes, I'm certain. I've investigated thoroughly, and... he kind of told me he doesn't do anything illegal..." A furrow creased his father's brow. "He told you?"
Minho hesitated, the truth a dangerous precipice. Finally, he confessed, "Well... he apparently knew from the start that I was a spy from Phoenix..." The father's eyes widened, a flash of fury igniting within them. He leapt to his feet, voice a thunderclap. "WHAT?! Did Jin know about this? If he knew and still let you go there all alone, I will kill him right now!"
Minho rose to his feet as well, his voice sharp with defiance. "No, Dad! He knew, but it wasn't his decision! I volunteered. It was my choice."
His father deflated, the fight draining from him as he struggled to regain his composure, the thought of retribution against Jin warring in his mind. "I will deal with that punk later." he muttered under his breath.
The air in the room crackled with unspoken tension, thick enough to choke on. Minho's father exhaled a heavy sigh, the sound a prelude to the storm gathering in his eyes. His movements were deliberate, each step measured as he closed the distance to Minho, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow. His hand gently but firmly grasped Minho's chin, tilting his face up to the light. "Did he do this to you?" The question, a low growl barely contained, hung in the air, a silent accusation aimed at the faint bruise blossoming on Minho's cheek and the angry, crimson gash above his eyebrow.
Minho flinched, an involuntary reaction to the intensity of his father's gaze and the implied threat. His voice, usually steady, cracked slightly as he deflected, "Who, Seo-Jun? No, it wasn't him. Actually... if it wasn't for him, I would probably have ended up much worse..." The words were a shield, a desperate attempt to protect himself, or perhaps, to protect someone else.
A flicker of genuine surprise, quickly masked by a simmering anger, crossed his father's face. His grip on Minho's chin tightened almost imperceptibly. "He helped you?" The words were a low rumble, a mixture of disbelief and a grudging respect that he clearly didn't want to feel. Minho's cheeks flushed, a blush of embarrassment and something else, something akin to pride, painting his features as he averted his gaze, unable to meet his father's scrutinising stare. He mumbled, "You can say that..." The confession was barely audible, a fragile thread of vulnerability in the face of his father's disapproval.
His father closed his eyes, the struggles of their business seemed to press down on him. He released Minho's chin, the touch lingering in the air. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of their shared history, of unspoken expectations and silent sacrifices, he retreated to his seat, the leather creaking softly under his weight. "Well, if I have to be honest... your idea is not bad."
The words, unexpected and laced with a grudging acceptance, hung in the air, a stark contrast to the previous tension. They jolted Minho, his eyes widening in disbelief.
His father, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, continued, his voice gaining a newfound resolve, a steely glint returning to his eyes. "It is getting harder and harder in this industry to keep the business going. Especially not so big ones like ours... we need a partner... a stable one, to say the least. And Bloodline could really be helpful to us..." The unspoken words, the sacrifices they'd both made, hung between them, a bridge built on unspoken understanding.
A genuine smile, a rare and precious thing, bloomed on Minho's face, chasing away the shadows of doubt and fear. "Really?!" he breathed, the word a mix of surprise, relief, and a burgeoning hope.
Minho's father, his face a mask of contemplation, nodded slowly. "But does Seo-Jun know about this plan of yours?" The question hung in the air, a sudden obstacle in Minho's carefully laid plans. Frustration, a familiar unwelcome guest, coiled in his gut. "Why can't I just plan things to their very end?!" he silently raged, the thought a bitter pill to swallow. With a sigh that betrayed his inner turmoil, he admitted, "I haven't talked to him about this yet..."
His father's response was immediate. "Well, you better talk to him about this if you really want him to be our partner." The words were a command, laced with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to making decisions. He rose, his movements deliberate, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I agree to work with his team. And I will talk with everyone else about this as well."
A smile, bright with newfound resolve, bloomed on Minho's face. "I will convince him! To work with us!" he declared, his voice firm with determination. A rare, almost imperceptible smile touched his father's lips. He moved closer, a hand landing on Minho's shoulder in a gesture of affection and pride. "That's my boy! Keep me in touch, okay? If he doesn't agree to this deal and do something to you, I will kill this bastard myself." The threat, delivered with a smile, held a chilling undercurrent of steel.
Minho bowed, a mixture of gratitude and affection flooding his heart. "Okay, Dad. Thank you!"
As Minho turned to leave, his father stopped him, the suddenness of the gesture making him pause. "And Minho..." The man's face was etched with worry, an unfamiliar expression that seemed to soften the harsh lines of his features. "Be careful. Please..."
Minho saw the worry etched on his father's face, a worry that went beyond the present situation. He knew that look. "He must have thought about Mom again..." he thought, a wave of empathy washing over him. He forced a smile, trying to dispel the shadows that had gathered in the room. "I will be fine, Dad! I have your body and strength! I will be just fine!" he declared, flexing his bicep with a boyish grin. His father's smile returned, a genuine one this time. "Okay, you can go now."
Minho bowed once more, then turned and left the room, the weight of his father's unspoken fears settling on his shoulders as he stepped out into the hallway. He stared at the door, his gaze lingering as if trying to capture a fleeting moment. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the edges of the world, yet a painful smile played upon his lips. "He looks so much like his mother..." he thought, the words a whisper in the silent room, a poignant echo of a love lost.
The weight of the memory settled upon him, a familiar ache in his heart. He shook his head, as if to physically dislodge the sorrow, the gesture a small act of defiance against the tide of grief. With a sigh, he turned away from the door, the phantom of his son's presence still lingering in the air. He walked towards his desk, each step a deliberate act of returning to the present.