YEAR 2006
Min-jae knelt in front of Chairman Hwan's desk, the silence in the room pressing heavier than the polished oak table between them. His father's expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes scanning the report card in his hands.
A long exhale escaped before the paper was dropped onto the desk with a soft thud. Min-jae's stomach clenched.
"Second?" Chairman Hwan's voice was firm, low, but it carried the weight of thunder. "Is that the best you could do?"
"I—I'm sorry, sir," Min-jae stammered, his head still bowed, too afraid to meet those eyes.
Chairman Hwan pushed his chair back, standing slowly, his presence towering as he approached. He stopped just before Min-jae, the air between them suffocating.
"You can't have your head low," his father said coldly. "No matter how embarrassing the situation is."
"I'm sorry, sir."
A pause. Then, with chilling finality, his father turned. "You know what to do."
Without another word, he walked out, leaving Min-jae on his knees, already knowing what punishment awaited him.
Min-jae exhaled shakily and rose, his movements slow and deliberate. With the quiet obedience drilled into him, he walked outside and lowered himself to his knees again—this time in the middle of the compound. The weight of his father's command pressed heavier than the storm clouds gathering above.
Without warning, the skies split open. Rain poured down in sheets, drenching his thin clothes, soaking his hair until it clung to his forehead. He didn't move. He didn't dare. Every shiver, every breath was swallowed by the thunder overhead.
Hours passed. The rain eventually eased, but Min-jae remained, his lips blue, his body trembling on the edge of collapse.
The sound of soft footsteps broke the silence. Mrs. Hwan appeared, her face unreadable as she walked up to him, a folded blanket in her hands.
"You know how your father can be," she said quietly, crouching down, "yet you still did so poorly." She held the blanket out.
Min-jae lifted his head, his eyes desperate. "I'm sorry. Please… help me plead with him. I'm really cold. I can't stay here much longer."
Mrs. Hwan's sigh was long and heavy. She crouched lower, her voice gentler. "Your father loves you. That's why he's doing this."
"Love?" The word tore from Min-jae's throat, cracked and trembling. His voice broke as the dam inside him gave way. "Why do I have to be the one to suffer? Namjoon and Ji-uk are also your children. Why me? Why do I have to be perfect? Why not them? If this is love, I don't want it, Mother. I don't want this love."
For a moment, her expression flickered—pain, regret—but just as quickly it vanished. She stood, leaving the blanket in his lap. "Don't let those thoughts take root in your head. You must be perfect. And your father loves you. That's all that matters."
With that, she turned and walked back inside, leaving Min-jae still kneeling in the cold, his heart heavier than the storm that had just passed.
Back to present
The memory dissolved into darkness, the sound of rain still echoing in his ears.
Min-jae's eyes snapped open.
His chest rose and fell sharply as he sat up in bed, sweat dampening the sheets despite the cool air of the room. For a moment, he could still feel the sting of cold rain on his skin, the weight of his father's words pressing down on his chest.
He dragged a hand across his face, forcing a slow breath. Just a dream, he told himself. Just the past. But the ache in his bones and the tightness in his chest felt all too real.
Min-jae glanced toward the window where the night sky loomed, quiet and starless. Sleep wouldn't return easily—not when old ghosts still knew how to find him.
By morning, Min-jae sat motionless at his office desk, a mug of coffee cooling beside him, the thin curl of steam fading into the air. His gaze was fixed on some invisible point in the distance, so deep in thought he didn't stir when the door opened.
"Good morning, Mr. Min-jae," Ga-young greeted softly with a polite bow.
Silence. He didn't so much as blink.
"Mr. Min-jae," she tried again, stepping closer. Still nothing. Finally, she leaned forward, waving a hand. "Mr. Min—"
The sudden snap in his eyes startled her. He flinched so violently the mug toppled, shattering against the floor, dark liquid spreading across the tiles like spilled ink.
"Omo!!" Ga-young rushed forward, her expression tightening with concern. "Are you alright?"
Min-jae stared down at the fragments of porcelain, his voice low. "I'm fine. Did you get hurt?"
She shook her head. "Wait here."
In a hurry, she slipped out and returned moments later with a first aid kit. Kneeling by the desk, she reached for his hand. "Let me see."
"I told you, I'm fine," he said, exhaling through his nose.
"You can't be sure. It might scald. It's better to treat it before it gets worse." Her tone was firm but not forceful, laced with quiet worry.
His eyes flicked to hers—something unreadable in them, part shock, part emptiness—before he gently took the ointment from her hand. "I'll do it myself."
Ga-young nodded, stepping back as he dabbed the cream across his reddened skin. For a moment, the room was quiet save for the faint sound of his breath.
The words left her before she could stop them. "Is the insomnia back?"
Min-jae's hand stilled. He lifted his eyes, startled—then masked whatever had flashed there. "Have you finished planning the order of events for the trip?" His tone shifted, too quick, too sharp, steering the conversation away.
"Min-jae…" she said softly.
"I said I'm fine." His voice was calm, but final.
Ga-young exhaled, pressing her lips together. "…I've drafted the schedule. The extracurricular activities are slotted before the main project. The weekend should work best."
He gave a short nod. "Good. I'll need the full draft on my desk."
"Yes, sir."
Without another word, he rose from his chair and walked out, leaving behind the faint smell of coffee and the broken porcelain still glistening on the floor.
Ga-young watched him go, her brows drawing together slightly. She bent down to gather the shards, but her mind lingered elsewhere—on the distant look in his eyes, the way his composure had cracked for just a moment. Whatever it was that weighed on him, he clearly had no intention of sharing. Still, she couldn't help wondering what kind of thoughts kept him so restless.
"I just hope he gets better soon," she murmured under her breath, a sigh slipping past her lips as she brushed the last pieces into her hand.