Four days passed in a heartbeat.
The mansion was a soft storm of movement and whispers that morning. Maids hurried in and out of the hall with trays, chefs barked quiet orders in the kitchen, and in the main parlor, streamers hung like falling stars from the high ceiling. Tae-Hyun's birthday had arrived.
It wasn't an extravagant event—not one of those opulent, overstuffed banquets that the wealthy sometimes threw to show their affluence. Min-Jae, Tae-Hyun's father, was too careful for that. He knew better than to stir the waters. Especially now, with old bloodlines simmering beneath the surface.
So the guest list was short. Tight.
A few of Min-Jae's most trusted business companions. A handful of close family friends. But none of the uncles. Not one. No wolves in sheep's clothing were allowed today.
The sun outside was warm, casting the gardens in amber light. Inside, the birthday table was laden with a modest cake, presents neatly stacked beside it. Balloons bobbed gently in the air, tied to chair-backs like watchful sentinels.
Tae-Hyun, in a crisp cream-colored shirt and black suspenders, played his role perfectly. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the running, the laughing. A polite child. An innocent child.
But under that sweet smile was a mind sharper than ever.
He had scanned every gift, every gesture. Calculated who had come, who had not. Who was pretending to be kind and who was genuinely so. All of it stored. All of it logged.
And then, as laughter floated through the air and the scent of sugar and jasmine mingled, the front doorbell rang.
It was a calm, singular chime. But it hit like thunder in Tae-Hyun's spine.
He froze for half a second, eyes narrowing. Min-Jae looked toward the door, puzzled. The butler moved first, his footsteps brisk and practiced.
The door opened.
And there he stood.
Cheon Yeon.
A titan in a tailored charcoal suit, his silver hair swept back immaculately. Beside him stood Kwon Mi-rae, his loyal right-hand man—tall, lean, with eyes like black glass.
The room stilled.
Min-Jae was the first to rise. "Father... You're here?"
Cheon Yeon offered a rare smile. "I told you I had a meeting overseas. I rescheduled."
The tension in the room dropped like a veil.
Tae-Hyun ran forward as any child would.
"Grandfather!" he exclaimed, arms wide.
Cheon Yeon chuckled deeply, bending down to embrace the boy. "My grandson. Growing taller every time I see you."
"I didn't think you'd come!"
"Me? miss my grandson's birthday? Never."
Mi-rae stepped forward, gesturing to a case being carried in by a man behind them. Long, black, sleek.
"A birthday gift," Cheon Yeon said.
The case was opened with a soft click.
Inside lay a grand, lacquered piano keyboard—midnight black, with gold etchings on the lid. An actual grand piano was already being unloaded in the driveway.
The guests gasped in awe. Even Cheon Min-Jae looked surprised.
Tae-Hyun blinked, then turned with a practiced innocence.
"Grandfather," he said gently, "this is beautiful. But… it's not what I need right now."
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful," Tae-Hyun continued. "I'll cherish it. I'll start lessons tomorrow, I promise. I'll play it every day."
He bowed deeply.
Cheon Yeon stared at him for a long moment, visibly moved.
"You've grown… wiser than your age, child."
Then, in a softened voice: "What is it you do want, Tae-Hyun?"
The room quieted.
Tae-Hyun looked up, face innocent and curious. "A playground."
"A… playground?"
"Yes! A big one! So I can play with my friends."
Cheon Yeon laughed. "You could have a palace and you ask for a playground."
"I want it near a lake," Tae-Hyun added. "So it's cool in summer. And peaceful."
The room shifted. Mi-rae flinched—barely—but it was enough.
Cheon Yeon's eyes sharpened for a moment.
"Near a lake?" he repeated slowly.
Tae-Hyun nodded eagerly. "They're pretty."
Something flickered in the old man's eyes—an ancient memory perhaps, or a buried calculation. But then, he smiled.
"I see," he said simply.
He pulled out a sleek phone from his coat pocket and dialed a number.
"Mr. Baek? Yes. I want a plot near the lakeside. No, not a few acres. Something proper. Large."
He turned to Tae-Hyun and winked.
"How much land do you want, Hyun-ah?"
Tae-Hyun shrugged with a giggle. "Enough to run a lot."
Cheon Yeon chuckled into the phone. "108"
"108,000 acres. Yes. Make it clean. I want full rights by tomorrow."
There was a gasp.
Even Min-Jae stood up abruptly. "Father… That's—"
"I know what it is," Cheon Yeon said, cutting him off.
He hung up.
"108,000 acres," he repeated with satisfaction. "I wish Tae-Hyun a Happy Birthday."
It was a Happy Birthday Indeed .
Tae-Hyun stared at him.
"Grandfather…"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
And he meant it. Not for the land.
But for the leash.
Cheon Yeon had just handed him a key. A gift so large, so symbolic, it would become a pillar of his hidden empire.
Tae-Hyun bowed deeply, eyes closed.
Cheon Yeon walked forward, placing a hand on his head.
"You'll build something great one day," the old man whispered.
Tae-Hyun didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He already had.