The sky over the city hadn't yet brightened, but the darkness was beginning to recede. It was cool on the roof — the wind carried the scent of rain, wet concrete, and the start of the day. Seungho stood, leaning his palms against the railing, looking down at the city where the streetlights dissolved into the dawn haze.
Steps sounded behind him — light, but cautious. Do-jun came out barefoot, wrapped in a shirt too large to hold warmth. Underneath it — a quiet, steady breath, but in his eyes was something else: an awareness of the moment.
— You'll catch a chill, — Seungho said, not turning around.
— I won't catch a chill.
He walked closer, standing beside him, and for a while they just stood in silence. Down below, life was already waking up: car horns, the sound of tires on wet asphalt.
Do-jun ran his palm over his abdomen, as if checking if everything was alright, and suddenly froze.
— Seungho…
— What?
He shuddered — not from the cold, but from what he felt. Movement. Faint, but distinct. Like an internal response. Do-jun looked down, then smiled — softly, as if afraid to scare away this miracle.
— He… — his voice trembled. — He kicked.
Seungho froze, as if time had stopped. Slowly, he reached out his hand, uncertainly, almost afraid to touch. Do-jun took his palm and placed it on his belly. And again — a nudge. Barely perceptible, like a gentle response from the depths.
Seungho inhaled. He looked not at the belly — but at Do-jun. At the way he stood, how his lips trembled with emotion, and his eyes glowed with something greater than fear.
— I'm not afraid, — Do-jun said. — As long as you're by my side.
The words sounded simple, without drama, but Seungho felt them settle deep — to the place where promises hide, the ones you don't run from.
He nodded.
— And I won't let anyone take that away.
The light slowly rose above the city. The sun sliced the horizon with a thin strip of gold, and for a moment everything around them became clear — the sky, their faces, and even the shadow of the future that was relentlessly approaching.
⋆⋆⋆
The air in the boardroom was dry and cold. The air conditioner hummed overhead, and the blinds rattled at the window. The directors gathered in silence. Even Park — usually the first to be politely venomous — now sat with his fingers interlocked, his gaze darting across the table, avoiding Seungho's eyes.
Yun placed a folder on the table.
— One document, — he said calmly. — A contract between Park Jaehyun and the City Hall. Fictitious equipment purchase. The amount — 6.4 billion won.
Park didn't blink.
— Documents can be forged.
— They can, — Yun agreed. — But not the smell.
He took out the sheet and unfolded it. The paper, though it had been through fire, still carried the scent of smoke.
— I carried this sheet out of the burning warehouse. The place where the traces of your deals were stored. If it were a forgery — you wouldn't have tried to destroy the originals.
A spasm flickered across Park's face. An instant, trembling exhale that betrays one who feels the end approaching.
— You have no right to accuse without a court decision, — he said, but his voice wavered.
— Then go to court, — Yun sat back in his chair. — With evidence you no longer have.
A few seconds of silence. The pheromones in the room fluctuated, blending into a strange mix of fear, sweat, and authority. Even Oh-hwa, sitting slightly apart, couldn't help it — she looked up, met Yun's gaze, and nodded. A silent "I'm with you."
Park did not reply. He only wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and lowered his head.
The meeting ended without conclusion. Everyone left as if afraid that the cameras would record their breathing.
In the car, Do-jun remained silent. He looked out the window, where the city floated in reflections — glass, light, grey facades. Seungho gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension.
— He won't give up, — Do-jun said quietly. — Park. He's not the type to accept defeat.
— I know.
— Then… what now?
— Now we wait.
And they did wait. Only a few hours.
Precisely by evening, the news feed exploded. The first thing to appear was a short video — black background, white letters: "Tomorrow. The truth about Yun Seungho. The masks will be removed." The signature — Hwan Park. The brother Seungho never knew he had.
Do-jun stood by the table, looking at the phone screen.
— He's not just going against you, — he said quietly. — He wants you to become what they call you behind your back. A criminal.
Seungho didn't reply. He just walked closer, turned off the screen, and squeezed his hand.
— Let him try.
Their eyes met — a silent challenge to the world. Outside, the city was preparing for a new day, but inside them, the storm had already begun.