The black Maybach glided to a halt as if the asphalt itself had bowed. Outside the shimmering glass spire of the Satan Law Firm, two dozen employees stood ramrod straight in a flawless line. Whispers slithered through the crowd of onlookers cordoned behind velvet ropes.
"Who is that man?"
"And why is the chairman bowing like that?"
Chairman Lee, a man who commanded billions, was bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle, his forehead beaded with sweat not from the sun, but from the presence stepping out of the car.
He was young. Impossibly so. Tall, with dark hair that caught the wind, and features so perfectly sculpted he seemed less a man and more a fallen monument to beauty. He wasn't a scion of any known dynasty. He was an enigma wrapped in an Armani suit.
Chairman.
He acknowledged the chairman with a glance that held the warmth of a glacier, then strode inside. The procession followed, a wake of terrified reverence. In the boardroom, a sea of executives rose as one, their chairs scraping in unison. "Good morning, Chairman."
He didn't answer. He merely looked at them, then at the platinum Patek Philippe on his wrist. A faint, cold smirk touched his lips as he settled not into the head chair, but onto a single, incongruous red throne at the room's center.
"Chairman, the files you asked for," a senior vice-president, Mr. Han Ji-sung, stammered, laying a folder on the table.
The President, Mr. Gong bong-ki rushed into the room and knelt before him
"Chairman, I'm really sorry, I didn't—"
"Shuuuuuuuu,"
He hissed, the sound like a vent opening to the abyss.
"Did I ask you to speak?"
"No, it's just that the merger—"
"Mr. Han Ji-sung."
"Yes, Chairman?"
The Devil leaned forward, his angelic face a mask of polite concern.
"Get him out of my sign"
"And President Bonk-ki, you should start praying to your god and hope that he won't die. And if he does… well, then you know, I know, everybody knows. Tutu… ruru…"
He hummed a childish, tuneless rhyme. Gong Bong-ki's face dissolved into pure terror as the guards were dragging him out of the room
"No, no, please! I'll fix it! I'll get him to sign!"
"you better, and if he doesn't, you'll be the next in line."
For centuries, he had walked among the living and the dead. Empires had risen and fallen to his whispers. Some desperate souls called him a god. Those who knew better called him evil. He simply called himself The Devil. Business, after all, was hell.
Samael lived up to his name. He traded in desires, power, wealth, revenge, love—he granted them all, for a price written not on paper, but on the soul. His clients never understood they weren't entering a contract; they were stepping through a gate with no exit, only a descent into a cage of his own design. After their deaths, his two ever-smiling minions, dressed in impeccable suits, would collect the souls, welcoming them personally to their ever-new home, eternal fire of hell to be burned, buried, unbearable pain, and torture.
He enjoyed the torment. The screams were a pleasant background hum to eternity. But even the Devil had rules, chains older than time itself: He could not interfere in a human's life unless they made a deal. And if a human died as a direct result of that deal, the punishment was his to administer.
*
In a sterile white room, the scent of antiseptic choked the air. Kim Myung-ok clutched her sister's limp hand. "Doctor, what's happening? It's been two weeks. Why hasn't she woken up yet?"
The doctor scanned the stable charts. "
Physically, everything is normal. The coma is psychosomatic—perhaps a shock response to the accident. It will take time. Stay strong."
"Sister…" Kim Myung-ok whispered, brushing a strand of hair from the still face of her sister.
Her phone rang, a jarring slice of the outside world.
"Hello?"
"Mother! When are you coming home?"
Her daughter Sun-hee's voice is small and tired. Myung-ok's heart cracked.
"Ha! What time is it? I'm sorry, baby. I'll be home soon, okay?"
"Hmm. Come fast."
That night, the full moon hung like a polished coin, but its light seemed to shy away from a certain figure walking a lonely path. With every step the Chairman took, the shadows deepened, swallowing the glow. He stopped before a simple, weathered red door set into a nondescript wall. His minions, lingering far behind, exchanged glances.
"Where does he always go at midnight through that door?" one whispered. "Is it another door to Hell?" pondered the other. "Or to Heaven?"
The chairman opened the door and whispered, "This will be the last time we'll see."
Beyond the door was not a place, but a moment. A sun-dappled park path under a canopy of cherry blossoms. A single petal drifted into the palm of a woman sitting on a bench. She looked up at the blooming tree and smiled, a real, peaceful smile.
A familiar voice called her name, "Yeong-suk."
She turned. Her smile didn't vanish; it transformed. It became radiant, aching with joy. She ran, her feet soundless on the grass, and threw her arms around him, around the man who here was not the chairman, but simply him, Samael. He rested his chin on her head, holding her as if she were the only real thing in all creation.
"Why? Did I make you wait too long?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"No. I missed you already." He cupped her face.
"Look at me. I'm sorry for making you wait."
"It's okay. You are here with me now."
"Yeah," he said, his thumb tracing her cheek. "I'm here with you."
Kim Myung-ok returned home to find all the lights on. Her daughter was asleep on the couch, a textbook open on her chest. A wave of guilt washed over her. She tucked a blanket around Sun-hee and sat beside her. "Your mother is sorry. It won't happen again, my precious baby."
The morning alarm was a brutal siren. Myung-ok jerked awake. "What? It's already 6 AM! Hey, Sun-hee, wake up!"
Myung-ok blinked. "Ha! Mother, when did you come home?" "Last night." "You should have woken me up." "It's okay. Go freshen up." Sun-hee sat up. "What about Aunt? How is she now?" Myung-ok forced a bright tone. "Your aunt will wake up soon. Don't worry. You know your aunt, she's always been a little lazy about waking up." "Hmm," Sun-hee grinned, "like you." "What?" "I'm going to freshen up!"
As Sun-hee skipped away, the forced smile on Myung-ok's face crumpled. At the kitchen sink, the tears came silently, mingling with the dishwasher. She kept wiping them away, but they were a spring that wouldn't stop.
Back in the sunlit dream, Yeong-suk walked hand-in-hand with Samael. "Walking on this street with my hand in his… feeling the warmth of his touch. The cherry blossom petals fell around us like snow," she murmured, content.
"Did you have fun today?" he asked. "Hm," she nodded, leaning into him.
Suddenly, the park melted. The trees blurred and bled away, replaced by the vast, grey expanse of a sea at dawn. They stood on a quiet beach. She gasped, confused. But Samael simply offered his hand again. As she looked into his eyes, eyes that here held only tenderness, the confusion faded. She took his hand.
They sat on a bench, watching the sun bleed color into the horizon. It was perfect, peaceful.
"Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you? For what?" "For holding my hand." He turned to her, and his expression was a heartbreaking mix of love and sorrow. "But it's time."
Her joy froze. As she stared, his face began to fade, like a photograph left in the sun. She reached out, her fingers passing slightly through his cheek. He caught her hand, holding it solid for a moment longer.
"I'm selfish, I know, but I can't let you go," he whispered, his voice growing distant. "But it's time." Panic, cold and sharp, seized her. "What are you talking about? Time for what?" He gave her one last, lingering look, pouring centuries of silent yearning into it.
"Kang Yeong-suk," he said, his voice now the final, gentle note of a requiem. "It's time to wake up," and kissed her.
In the hospital room, the monotonous beep of the heart monitor hitched.
On the bed, Kang Yeong-suk's eyelids fluttered. A single tear traced a path from the corner of her eye into her hairline. Her lips parted, and she breathed a name so faint it was almost a thought.
His name.....