Ficool

Chapter 55 - The Choi Family

Damien's chest swelled with a mix of emotions, his eyes fixed on the screen. Suddenly he recalled the memory fragment he'd witnessed. 

"I want to be like you. I want to move people. Make them feel something."

It wasn't his voice, not exactly. It was the voice of the original Damien—filled with hope and child-like wonder.

The memory dissolved, leaving present-day Damien in a slight daze. He still remembered feeling the other's emotions—the time he felt such clear, driven passion and desire.

"... If Damien saw himself right now, what would he think?"

He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.

"Since... he's about to stand on the same playing field with the person he used to look up to."

The question didn't hang in the air long. Damien exhaled through his nose and shut the laptop with a soft click. A quiet, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the edge of his lips—then vanished. 

...

Alpha Dorms (Building A1) near the Starlite Media company building.

Choi Hajoon lay on his bunk bed with only the pale glow of his phone illuminating his face. The other trainees were asleep or out somewhere, leaving the dorm quiet. Hajoon's scrolled through social media, mind elsewhere, until a notification popped up. He tapped it and immediately scowled.

Elder Brother: Father and Mother want you home this weekend. Luncheon this Saturday. Be there.

"Sh*t."

Hajoon muttered a curse under his breath. He tossed the phone aside.

"It's just one after another..."

He had managed to avoid seeing his parents for quite a while. Part of him had hoped they'd continue ignoring his existence. Being summoned out of the blue like this could only mean one thing—another f*cking meeting veiled in aggravating lectures and disappointment. 

Hajoon's jaw clenched. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he recalled the last conversation with his father. 

"If you walk out that door to chase that foolish dream of yours... don't expect any support from us."

Hajoon had left anyway. He'd rather sleep on a practice room floor than live under that roof as a prisoner of their expectations.

He exhaled slowly, trying to release the tension coiled in his chest. 

Calm down. Getting riled up now wouldn't help. 

Still, sleep refused to come easy that night. Hajoon lay awake listening to the soft hum of the air conditioner, turning his brother's message over and over in his mind. 

What could have prompted this family reunion? 

Whatever it was, he doubted it boded well for him. 

Eventually, in the early hours of morning, he drifted off into a light, restless sleep, dreading what tomorrow would bring.

...

It was the next morning and the heat radiated off the pavement as he stood outside of the gates of the Choi family estate.

He paused for a moment to gather himself, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. He had dressed formally in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, knowing his mother would expect proper attire. Appearance was everything to the Chois after all. With a final steadying breath, he pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.

Cool, conditioned air greeted him in the foyer, carrying the faint scent of polished wood. From the entryway he could see into the grand living room. Sure enough, his entire family was assembled there. 

The sight actually gave him pause. 

They're… all here? 

His father sat on the sofa, posture straight and commanding as ever. Dr. Choi Seungjoon—esteemed director of Seoul Central Hospital—looked up from his book at the sound of his son's footsteps. His expression remained unreadable behind his black rimmed glasses. 

On the loveseat to his right was Hajoon's mother, Dr. Choi Sayoung, a renowned cardiologist who helmed a private clinic. She offered Hajoon the barest of nods in greeting, her lips pressed into a polite, distant smile.

Near the marble fireplace stood Hajoon's eldest brother, Choi Kijoon, chatting quietly with their sister. Kijoon was the pride of the family, a star neurosurgeon who had made headlines last year for leading a groundbreaking surgery. He carried himself with the same confidence as their father, and when his sharp eyes flickered over Hajoon, there was a glint of cool acknowledgment. Nothing more. 

Beside him, Hajoon's eldest sister Choi Jiyoung, was pouring tea from a porcelain pot. Jiyoung had a poised, academic air. She managed a top research lab at a pharmaceutical company and already had a string of published papers to her name. Even she had taken time away from her packed schedule to be here, it seemed. 

Lastly, seated in an armchair with one leg crossed was Hajoon's younger brother, Choi Heejoon. He was one year younger than Hajoon and was currently preparing to enroll in medical school. He was absentmindedly twirling his phone in his hand and cast a singular disinterested glance at him.

Hajoon's chest constricted at the sight of his family. It was a rare occasion to see them all under one roof. The Chois were always busy, their calendars booked with surgeries, lectures, or meetings with hospital executives. Hajoon couldn't even recall the last time all six of them had been in the same room—perhaps a national holiday two years ago, before his fallout with his parents. 

For a fleeting moment, a naive hope fluttered in Hajoon's chest. Had they come together because of him? Because they missed him? But as he stepped hesitantly into the living room, that hope withered. 

"Well, you're here," his mother said coolly.

She set down her cup and smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her elegant blouse. "We won't need to wait any longer. Luncheon is ready." Her tone was polite, clipped—treating him more like a guest than a son.

"Hello, Mother," Hajoon managed softly. He dipped his head toward the rest. "Father. Hyung." A nod to Kijoon. Then he turned to Jiyoung. "Noona." And lastly, to his youngest brother. "Heejoon."

None of them rose to embrace him or even offered a handshake. Physical affection was not the Choi way. Instead, his father simply closed his book and stood, motioning everyone toward the dining room. Hajoon followed in uneasy silence.

They filed into the dining hall, a spacious room dominated by a long table that could easily seat a dozen. Only one end of the table was set for six with fine china and polished silverware. Lunch had already been laid out: a spread of colorful side dishes, a steaming pot of stew in the center, and neatly arranged cold noodles. It looked and smelled delicious, the kind of home-cooked feast Hajoon hadn't tasted in ages. Normally he might have salivated at the spread, but right now he felt too tense to feel hunger. 

Hajoon took a seat at the very end of the row of chairs, instinctively distancing himself a little from the rest. As they began to eat, an oppressive quiet blanketed the table. The only sounds were the clink of utensils against porcelain and the faint steps of staff as they moved dishes and glasses around.

Hajoon picked up his chopsticks and forced himself to nibble on a bit of rice, but he could barely swallow. The tension in the air ruined any appetite he might have had. It felt as if he were dining with executives rather than family.

Finally, after a few minutes of strained silence, his father cleared his throat. "Kijoon, how is work lately?" 

Hajoon's elder brother dabbed his mouth with his napkin before replying. "Very well, Father. The neurosurgery department successfully completed a high-profile operation last week. The patient made a full recovery." His tone was calm, professional—more like a report to a superior than a son talking to his dad. 

His father nodded approvingly. "I read about that in the news. Saving the chairman of Youngdae Group, was it? Excellent work. The hospital board is impressed." 

Kijoon inclined his head modestly, a faint smile of pride on his lips. 

Hajoon watched this exchange quietly, trying not to shrink into his chair. 

Of course it was in the f*cking news. He nearly rolled his eyes.

"And Jiyoung" his father continued, turning to Hajoon's sister, "how is the research division going?" 

Jiyoung straightened slightly, casting a quick glance at their father. "We just secured a major investor for our next project. I'm leading a team developing a new cardiac device. We'll begin clinical trials by the end of the year." 

Their mother beamed quietly at that, reaching over to pat Jiyoung's hand. "That's wonderful, dear." 

Another approving nod came from his father. "Impressive. Your work will save many lives."

Jiyoung smiled, pleased to have earned their parents' admiration.

"And Heejoon," his father addressed the youngest, who had been quietly eating. "You'll be starting your final semester soon. Still maintaining top of your class?" 

Heejoon swallowed and gave a small shrug, as if it were no big deal. "Yes. First in class, and I'm assisting Professor Lee with some lab research too." 

Their father allowed himself a rare small smile. "Good. Keep it up. Seoul National's medical school won't be able to refuse you." 

"Thank you, Father," Heejoon murmured, ducking his head in respect. 

A heavy silence fell. Hajoon knew what—or rather who—was coming next. He felt all eyes subtly shift toward him. He didn't dare look up. His hand under the table clenched into a fist so tight his nails bit his palm. 

Their father set down his spoon, the soft clink making Hajoon flinch. "Hajoon."

Hajoon's shoulders stiffened at his name. He slowly lifted his gaze. His father's face was cold.

"What about you? Have you finally come to your senses and decided to give up this… childish dream of becoming an idol?"

The words were spoken almost casually, but they sliced through the air. On reflex, Hajoon's jaw tightened. 

Kijoon let out a quiet sigh. Seeing this scenario over and over had become tedious. 

Hajoon's face burned with shame and anger, a familiar mix that he'd hoped time away from home would dull. It hadn't.

"I..." he began, but nothing else came. 

What could he say that he hadn't already argued a hundred times before? That being an idol was more than a dream—it was his passion? That he was so close now to debuting? That this was the path he had chosen for himself, even if it meant leaving the family's prestigious legacy behind? 

His father wouldn't hear it. 

He never did.

His father's eyes narrowed slightly at Hajoon's hesitation. He continued, tone growing harder. "How much longer do you intend to waste your life, Hajoon? Parading on stage in tacky outfits, dancing and singing for strangers—do you think that's a respectable career for a Choi?" He almost spat the name, as if Hajoon were tarnishing it by association.

"It's not wasting my life! Its—"

"Hajoon." His father didn't raise his voice, but somehow that made each word hit harder. "Our family has built a reputation in the medical field over decades. We save lives, we advance science. And you want to throw it all away to become some... pop star? The idol industry is a cesspool of gossip and scandals," he scoffed. "If you get yourself caught in some disgraceful scandal, do you realize our family's name will be dragged through the mud right along with you? One hint of dishonor, and all of us—your mother, your siblings—everything we've worked for could come crashing down. Is that what you want?"

Hajoon's nails dug into his palm. He dropped his gaze back to the table, unable to hold his father's fierce stare.

They act like I'm some ticking time bomb. He thought bitterly. Family this, Choi that! It's always about the family image!

When Hajoon didn't respond, his father let out a long, disappointed sigh. He looked to his wife as if to say 'see?'

"If only you were more like your brother or sister. All of them have made us proud. But you…" He trailed off, shaking his head in disdain. 

He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear: but you are a disappointment.

Hajoon's throat closed up. He stared at the uneaten food on his plate, his vision blurring slightly.

Memories flashed in his mind—him at sixteen, bursting with excitement after passing his first audition, rushing to tell his parents… only to be met with cold silence. His father had barely looked up from his computer then, simply stating that no son of his would waste time on "showbiz nonsense." His mother had pursed her lips and asked if he wasn't ashamed to be the only Choi not in medical school. The sting of that rejection, the crushing of his youthful hope, still hurt inside him. 

He remembered begging for just a little support, promising he'd make them proud in his own way. They had effectively shut him out after that day—making it clear he could do as he liked, but he'd do it alone. 

In the span of one conversation, Hajoon went from a beloved son of the Choi family to an outsider. 

He had left home soon after to live in the trainee dorms, carrying only the steely resolve that he would succeed.

Hajoon felt his anger billowing. He had worked himself to the bone for years—long, punishing days of training, singing until his throat was sore, dancing until his legs gave out—just for a shot at his dream. And here they were, still calling it childish, still acting like he was an embarrassment. They had never once acknowledged how far he'd come. To them, he was no longer their son the that moment he walked out the door.

Hajoon pushed back from the table abruptly, the wooden chair legs scraping loudly against the polished floor. The sudden movement caused all heads to turn in his direction, eyes wide in surprise. 

"I'm done eating."

He could barely get the words out past the lump in his throat. He wasn't hungry—he couldn't stomach another bite of this farce. 

His mother set down her glass sharply. "Hajoon—"

Whether she was about to scold him for his rudeness or plead for him to sit back down, he wasn't sure. And he didn't care. Without waiting for permission, Hajoon turned on his heel and left the dining room. He could feel five pairs of eyes drilling into his back as he strode away.

Once past the dining room, he quickened his pace, practically fleeing down the hallway toward the foyer. His vision tunneled. 

He just needed to get out of this house before he suffocated.

Now. Right now.

He pushed out through the front doors and into the glaring afternoon light. For a moment, he just stood on the front steps, breathing hard, as if he'd run a marathon. His hands were shaking.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Choi Seungjoon let out a heavy sigh of frustration. He looked at his wife and shook his head.

"I told you this would happen, Father. Why invite him at all? It just spoils the atmosphere," the youngest, Heejoon, said clearly annoyed.

Their mother stared softly at Hajoon's plate. "He barely touched his food..."

...

Hajoon gazed at the pristine front lawn. The roses were still trimmed perfectly. The lawn, too, exactly as he remembered. Hajoon stared at it from the front steps, remembering younger days—headphones in, dreaming of a stage and applause.

His lip curled. "What a joke."

There'd be no applause from his family. No proud smiles. Just the same silent judgment.

His throat tightened.

Fine. Let them think he was the villain.

After a few steadying breaths, Hajoon walked down the driveway, leaving the cage and all its suffocating expectations behind. Each step felt lighter than the last.

By the time he hit the sidewalk, the air tasted freer.

Then, his phone buzzed. The text caught his attention immediately.

[__]: See you tonight. Usual place at 11 PM. Don't be late.

No name, but he knew exactly who it was. It was the man who had been helping him—covering for him.

And that man wanted a meeting.

If he had to guess, it was about the situation that had been brewing at the company. Hajoon's mouth went dry. The last thing he needed was more trouble today, but he couldn't ignore this. If the text was any indication, something urgent was happening.

"It's one battle after another..."

More Chapters