The helicopter hummed across the vast expanse of ocean, its steady drone a counterpoint to the chaos in Jin-woo's mind. Four hours into the flight, and still nothing but water stretched beneath them, visible on the cabin's screens like a moving painting of endless blue.
Jin-woo shifted in his seat, the luxury leather now uncomfortable despite its softness. His body, accustomed to hard surfaces and constant vigilance, couldn't relax into this foreign comfort.
"We're approximately two hours from Daehan airspace," Colonel Shin said, breaking a silence that had stretched for nearly an hour.
Jin-woo nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen. The emptiness of the ocean matched the hollow feeling inside him. A grandfather he'd never known. A father long dead. A mother he barely remembered, just fragments of a woman's voice, the scent of flowers, and a lullaby he couldn't quite recall.
"Your grandfather..." the colonel began, then paused as if reconsidering his words. "The Chairman is a complex man. The Cheonha family has shaped Daehan's history for generations."
Jin-woo's eyes shifted from the screen to the colonel's face. "And what am I supposed to do with that information?"
"Prepare yourself. You're entering a world where history and legacy matter. Where every word carries weight."
"My world was simpler," Jin-woo said, his voice flat. "Stay alive today. Plan for tomorrow. That's it."
Colonel Shin leaned forward slightly. "The Cheonha name dates back to the 1920s when your great-great-grandfather changed it from a common surname. 'Cheonha' means 'Under Heaven', everything under heaven belongs to them. That's how they see the world."
Jin-woo almost laughed. "Subtle."
"The family controls Cheonha Group, which holds influence over 85% of the world's capital. Your grandfather sits at the center of this empire."
Jin-woo's mind struggled to comprehend such scale. Eighty-five percent of anything seemed impossible, let alone global capital.
"And he's been looking for me for twenty-six years?"
"Without cessation. Billions spent on private investigators. Every orphanage, every hospital record searched."
Jin-woo's jaw tightened. "I was on the streets of Seobuk for eighteen years. Not exactly hiding."
"The search was... complicated by certain factors." The colonel's careful choice of words suggested depths he wasn't willing to explore.
Jin-woo turned back to the screen. "And now he's found me. Lucky him."
"Lucky you both," Colonel Shin corrected. "The Chairman is terminally ill. Pancreatic cancer."
This new information hit Jin-woo unexpectedly. A grandfather he'd never met was dying. Should he feel something? Grief? Loss? Instead, he felt only confusion, and perhaps a twinge of something like regret for a connection that would form only to be severed.
"How long?" Jin-woo asked.
"Six to eighteen months, according to his doctors."
Jin-woo nodded, absorbing this. "And he's what, expecting some tearful reunion?"
"He's expecting nothing. Hoping for everything." The colonel's voice softened slightly. "He lost your father, his only son. Then you disappeared. His grief has shaped the last twenty-six years of his life."
Jin-woo's hands curled into fists on his thighs. "What about my grief? My life? Eighteen years on the streets while he lived in, " He gestured around the opulent helicopter cabin. "This."
"Your anger is justified," Colonel Shin said simply. "The Chairman would be the first to agree."
Jin-woo fell silent. His anger felt childish in the face of the colonel's calm acceptance. This man had tracked him down, saved him from certain death in that alley, and was now delivering him to a new life. What was his role in all this?
"How do you fit into this story?" Jin-woo finally asked.
"I've served the Cheonha family for thirty years. I was there when your father died. I was there when you disappeared. Finding you was... personal."
Jin-woo studied the older man's face, looking for deception. Found none.
"Land," the colonel suddenly said, pointing to the screen.
Jin-woo looked. The endless blue had given way to a coastline, mountains rising dramatically from the sea, dense forests, and then the sprawl of a massive city that dwarfed Seoul in both size and grandeur.
"Shinhan Metropolitan City," Colonel Shin said. "Capital of Daehan. Population twelve million. And home of Cheonha Tower."
Jin-woo stared at the urban landscape spread below them. The city gleamed in the afternoon sun, dominated by a single black skyscraper that rose above all others. Even from this height, Jin-woo could make out its distinctive shape: sleek, powerful, topped with what looked like a modern interpretation of traditional Korean roof architecture.
"That's Cheonha Tower? The headquarters?" he asked.
The colonel nodded. "One hundred and fifty floors. The crown of the Cheonha empire. But we're not going there today. The Chairman is at the family estate."
The helicopter banked, turning away from the city toward a range of mountains to the north. As they flew over the urban sprawl, Jin-woo could see the stark divisions, gleaming financial districts, neat residential areas, and at the edges, slums that looked too familiar.
"Even paradise has its shadows," he murmured.
The colonel followed his gaze. "The Chairman sees the world as it is. Not as others wish to see it."
Jin-woo doubted that. Men of wealth rarely saw the world as it truly was.
The urban landscape gave way to forested mountains, and the helicopter flew along a ridge until a massive estate came into view. Jin-woo's breath caught despite himself.
Nestled against the mountainside was what could only be described as a private kingdom. Traditional Korean architecture blended with modern luxury across a property so vast Jin-woo couldn't see its boundaries. Gardens, pavilions, ponds, and multiple buildings sprawled across the landscape, all protected by a high stone wall that stretched into the distance.
"Dragon's Rest Estate," Colonel Shin said. "The Cheonha family home for the past century."
Jin-woo stared in disbelief. The main residence alone must have been the size of his entire apartment building in Seobuk. Cherry blossom trees lined long driveways. Water features glittered in the sun. Guards were visible at strategic points, their black uniforms stark against the colorful landscape.
"How big is this place?" he managed to ask.
"Forty-eight hectares. About sixty-seven football fields."
Jin-woo tried to process this and failed. The helicopter began its descent toward a helipad positioned on the eastern side of the property. As they lowered, Jin-woo could see people gathering, staff in formal uniforms, security personnel, and a single older man in traditional Korean clothing who stood apart from the others.
Fear twisted in Jin-woo's stomach. Not the familiar fear of physical danger, but something deeper. The fear of not belonging. Of being judged and found wanting. Of stepping into a world where his street skills and survival instincts counted for nothing.
What would they see when they looked at him? A street rat in dirty clothes? A thug with scars and callused hands? A nobody pretending to be somebody?
The helicopter touched down with barely a bump. Colonel Shin unstrapped his seatbelt and stood.
"Ready?" he asked.
Jin-woo remained seated, his eyes fixed on the gathering outside. "What if I'm not who they think I am?"
The colonel's expression softened marginally. "Those eyes. The tests we ran at the hospital. There's no doubt who you are, Jin-woo."
Jin-woo reached up unconsciously to touch the skin beside his eyes, the orange-gold irises that had marked him as different his entire life. A genetic quirk, he'd always thought. Now it seemed they were his birthright.
With a deep breath, he stood, smoothing his battered clothing as best he could. The soldier opened the door, and the sound of rotors winding down filled the cabin along with a rush of fresh mountain air, clean in a way Jin-woo had never experienced, fragrant with flowers and cut grass.
He stepped out onto the helipad, the breeze tugging at his clothes. After the recycled air of the helicopter, the freshness was almost overwhelming. Jin-woo inhaled deeply, noting the subtle differences from Seoul, less pollution, more plant life, a hint of water.
The staff watched him with naked curiosity. Some whispered behind hands. Others simply stared. Jin-woo met their gazes steadily, refusing to show discomfort despite the screaming instinct to put his back against a wall and assess the threats.
Colonel Shin led him toward a stone path that connected the helipad to the main compound. Jin-woo walked beside him, acutely aware of his dirty clothes, his unwashed hair, the street grime embedded in his skin.
"They're staring," he said quietly.
"They're curious," Colonel Shin replied. "The lost heir, returned after twenty-six years. You're already a legend, and you haven't said a word."
Jin-woo thought of Mrs. Park's small kindnesses, the food she shared, the respect she showed, her unwavering belief that he was worth helping. Here, surrounded by wealth and beauty, he felt more alone than he had in the squalor of Seobuk.
They approached the main residence, a sprawling building that blended traditional Korean architecture with modern elements. The roof curved gracefully in the traditional style, but floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek lines spoke of contemporary design. Two massive wooden doors stood open, revealing a grand entrance hall beyond.
Jin-woo hesitated at the threshold, his street instincts screaming that this was a trap, that he didn't belong, that danger waited inside.
"One step at a time," Colonel Shin said quietly. "That's all anyone can ask."
Jin-woo took a deep breath and stepped through the doors into a space that stole his breath. The entrance hall soared three stories high, dominated by a massive chandelier that looked like falling cherry blossoms frozen in crystal. The floors were polished wood so perfect they reflected like mirrors. Traditional Korean paintings and calligraphy adorned walls paneled in warm wood.
And at the far end, standing alone beneath a painting of a dragon ascending to heaven, was an elderly man.
Even from this distance, Jin-woo could see the power in his posture. Though clearly old, he stood straight, his shoulders squared, his chin lifted with the confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime being obeyed. He wore a traditional Korean hanbok in deep blue with gold embroidery, the fabric clearly expensive, the tailoring perfect.
Colonel Shin guided Jin-woo forward. With each step across the vast hall, Jin-woo's heart beat faster. The old man's eyes, pale gold, faded with age but unmistakably similar to his own, never left his face.
They stopped three paces from the old man. Colonel Shin bowed deeply, then stepped back, leaving Jin-woo alone before his grandfather.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Jin-woo refused to look away despite the intensity of the old man's gaze. He would not show weakness. Would not bow first. Would not break the silence that stretched between them, heavy with twenty-six years of absence.
Chairman Cheonha Kang-dae's face remained impassive, but his eyes, those eyes so like Jin-woo's own, filled with an emotion Jin-woo couldn't name. Recognition, perhaps. Or grief. Or something deeper that had no simple name.
"Jin-woo," the Chairman finally said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "My grandson."
Those three words hung in the air between them. Simple words that carried the weight of a lifetime. Jin-woo stood frozen, caught between the urge to turn and flee back to the familiar dangers of his old life and the pull of this new world that claimed him as its own.
The Chairman's eyes never left his, the pale gold irises locked on Jin-woo's vibrant orange-gold. In that gaze lay questions and answers, a past he'd never known and a future he couldn't imagine.
And somewhere, beneath the fear and anger and confusion, Jin-woo felt the faintest stirring of something he'd thought long dead.
Hope.