The study was a sanctuary of dark oak, leather-bound books, and the hum of high-end servers hidden behind false walls. It was the "brain" of Lian's empire, a place where no one was allowed. Now, it felt violated.
Jin-Ho didn't sit. He wandered the room, his fingers trailing over the spines of medical journals and the sleek edges of Lian's custom computer rig. He stopped in front of a framed sketch—a minimalist drawing of a single, wilting lily.
"You have expensive taste for someone who likes the smell of rust and cheap medicine," Jin-Ho remarked, his back to the door.
Lian closed the door and locked it. The click of the bolt sounded like a starting gun. "You have sixty seconds to explain why I shouldn't have you erased from every database in this city before you leave this room."
Jin-Ho turned around. The playful "fox" smirk was still there, but his eyes were cold—as cold as Lian's. "Erased? That's a big word for a boy who is officially listed as a 'recovering trauma victim' in the Lian family records."
Jin-Ho stepped closer, ignoring the way Lian's posture stiffened into a defensive stance.
"I did some digging, Little Phoenix. It's amazing what you can find when you look at the digital footprints instead of the physical ones. Aether International? A ghost company that appeared the same week you woke up in the hospital. The secret acquisition of three tech startups? Signed with an encrypted key that matches the one used by the 'Silent King' of the racing circuits."
Jin-Ho paused, his gaze dropping to Lian's gloved hands.
"And then there's the 'Ghost Surgeon.' A man who performs miracles in a basement but can't stand the touch of his own mother. You're a walking contradiction, Lian. Or should I say... whoever you actually are?"
Lian's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The secret he had guarded with his life was being unraveled by a man who looked like he was enjoying a casual stroll. The Haphephobia flared, a cold sweat breaking out under his silk shirt. He felt the walls of the room closing in.
"You think you've won something?" Lian's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. He reached into his desk drawer, his fingers closing around the hilt of a ceramic blade—undetectable, silent, and lethal. "Knowledge is a death sentence in my world, Jin-Ho."
"Then let's make it a double execution," Jin-Ho countered, his voice dropping to a whisper. He pulled a small, translucent device from his pocket. On the screen, a series of codes scrolled by—codes that Lian recognized instantly. They were the backdoors to Aether's primary servers. "I didn't just find you, Lian. I'm already inside. If my heart stops, these servers self-destruct. Your empire, your secret identity, your 'hope' for the poor... it all goes up in digital smoke."
Lian froze. For the first time since his rebirth, he was outmaneuvered. He stared at Jin-Ho, seeing the "Cunning Fox" in his true form. This wasn't just an annoying businessman. This was an equal.
"What do you want?" Lian asked, his voice thick with a mixture of rage and a strange, terrifying spark of respect.
Jin-Ho tucked the device away and took a step forward, invading the last inch of Lian's safety zone. He could see the micro-tremors in Lian's jaw, the way his pupils dilated in panic.
"I don't want your money. I don't want your company," Jin-Ho said. He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch from Lian's cheek. He didn't touch him, but Lian could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I want to know how you do it. How you stay so cold while the world is burning around you. And mostly..."
Jin-Ho's eyes softened, a flash of genuine, piercing curiosity breaking through his mask.
"I want to see the person who is screaming behind those ice-cold eyes. I've spent my life reading people, Lian. I can see a lie from a mile away. But you... you're not a lie. You're a masterpiece of pain. And I've always had a weakness for art."
Lian's breath hitched. He felt a wave of "Extreme Loneliness" wash over him—not the hollow kind he was used to, but a sharp, stinging realization. This man saw him. Not the CEO, not the Omega, but the soul that was drowning in the dark.
"I am... not art," Lian managed to say, his voice trembling. "I am a ghost. And ghosts don't have hearts for you to play with."
"We'll see about that," Jin-Ho murmured. He pulled back, the playful smirk returning as if the heavy moment had never happened. "Now, about that merger. I've drafted a contract that gives you 60% control of the logistics software. Consider it a 'courting gift'."
"Courting?" Lian echoed, his brain temporarily short-circuiting.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Jin-Ho walked toward the door, whistling a cheerful tune. "I'm not just your business partner, Lian-ah. I'm the man who's going to make you fall in love with the world again. Even if I have to annoy you into it every single day."
He unlocked the door and stepped out, leaving Lian standing in the center of the room, clutching a ceramic blade and feeling more alive—and more frustrated—than he had in two lifetimes.
Lian looked at the closed door, then at his trembling hand.
"I'm going to kill him," Lian whispered to the empty room. But he didn't move to follow. He just stood there, the silence of the room finally feeling a little less like a tomb and a little more like a beginning.