Secretary Min raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usually composed demeanor. "Are you certain about this, President? This isn’t within your jurisdiction. If your father catches wind of this, you could end up dead—or worse, exiled to some remote island prison. And are you sure you’re satisfied with the information we have on the building? There’s not much to go on—just that it’s been sold, and Mr. Baek Kang is listed as a long-term tenant." His tone was light, almost teasing, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

Youn-Jae leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of confidence and nonchalance. His lips curved into a playful smirk, his fingers idly tapping the armrest as though he were entertaining a minor inconvenience rather than a potential disaster. He waved a dismissive hand, the gesture slow and deliberate. "I don’t see the need to waste time digging any further when I’m only toying with him," he said, his voice smooth, tinged with cool indifference. His dark eyes flickered with a glint of defiance as he added, "And as for Father, I’ll handle him like I always do."

Secretary Min studied him for a moment longer, his cautious gaze scanning Youn-Jae’s expression for a trace of hesitation. Finding none, he sighed softly, his hands clasping behind his back in a gesture of resigned professionalism. “Very well, President. But do keep in mind, your time here is limited. You need to return soon. It might be wise to avoid... entanglements like this.”

Youn-Jae’s smirk deepened, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he swiveled his chair slightly, his gaze shifting toward the city skyline outside the window. The weight of his decisions lingered in the air, but his composed exterior betrayed no hint of uncertainty, only the quiet resolve of a man used to navigating dangerous games.

Youn-Jae clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. "I know, I know," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, as if even the thought of responsibility was tedious. His gaze flickered to the side, impatient. "Just focus on what I told you. I’ve got it under control."

Youn-Jae leaned back into his chair, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn,” he muttered, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I wasn’t looking for anything serious. It was just a bit of fun, you know? Flirting with him, those brown, mesmerizing eyes... when he looks at you, it’s like they’re pulling you in. I thought it’d be a good way to pass the time while I’m stuck here. Nothing more, just to keep myself entertained.” He chuckled, his tone light, as if the whole thing were a game to him.

With a resigned nod, Secretary Min turned to leave, though the tension in his posture revealed his unease. "Alright, I’ll proceed with your instructions." Without further hesitation, he exited the office, leaving Youn-Jae alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Youn-Jae let out a long, frustrated sigh, his cool facade dropping for just a second. He raked a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it slightly as his expression darkened. He reclined back once more, this time with a lazy arrogance, crossing his arms over his chest as if the weight of his decisions meant nothing to him. The thrill of playing with fire—flirting with trouble—was more appealing than any looming threat from his father.

***

Uncle Baek held the letter, his brow furrowing as he read the update. “Looks like there’s a delay in the building’s construction,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. He glanced up, meeting Ji-Won’s distant gaze across the counter. “They’ve given us six more months to stay.”

Ji-Won rushed to Uncle Baek, his heart pounding with a blend of hope and uncertainty as he peered at the letter. “We got the extension... It must be Sir Kyle’s help,” he murmured, half to himself, his voice barely rising above a whisper. Memories of his conversation with Youn-Jae flooded his mind—a reminder of the support he hadn’t yet shared with Uncle Baek. Clutching the letter tightly, Ji-Won’s thoughts drifted, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “Should I expect a call from him now? Or would it be better if I reached out first to thank him?” The weight of the decision settled heavily on his chest, a mix of gratitude and hesitation swirling within him.

“Ji-Won… Ji-Won!” Uncle Baek called out, waving a hand to capture his attention.

Startled, Ji-Won blinked rapidly, pulling himself from his reverie. “Sorry, Uncle,” he replied, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Uncle Baek frowned, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, no, Uncle. Nothing to worry about,” Ji-Won insisted, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can I leave you for a bit and go upstairs?”

Uncle Baek nodded, giving Ji-Won a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Sure, sure. Go ahead.”

Just then, Byeong-Ho appeared, curiosity shining in his eyes as he glanced toward the stairs where Ji-Won had just disappeared. “What happened to Hyung, Uncle?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Uncle Baek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Beats me, I don’t know either.” He turned to Byeong-Ho, his expression softening. “Are you done with your packing?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle. I’ve packed up the things we don’t need,” Byeong-Ho replied, dusting off his hands.

Uncle Baek smiled faintly, though a hint of sadness lingered in his eyes. “Ji-Won must be really upset about having to move out so suddenly. Even with the extra time, this place has been his home for eighteen years. Saying goodbye isn’t easy.”

Byeong-Ho nodded, casting a sympathetic glance up the stairs. “Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. I hope he’s okay.”

Uncle Baek folded his arms, eyeing Byeong-Ho with a concerned look. “And you? What’s your plan? You should get back to school. Isn’t it your last year in senior high? You need to prioritize that.”

Byeong-Ho hesitated, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Actually, Uncle... I wanted to ask, if the extension is due, can I go with you and Hyung? I’ve been staying here, and I’d like to leave with you guys. Is that okay?”

“But you still have parents. I know they’ve done wrong by you, but she’s still your mother,” Uncle Baek exclaimed, disbelief and concern flickering in his gaze as he gently slapped Byeong-Ho's shoulder. “You stubborn kid! Shouldn’t you at least go back to school while you still can?” His voice held a mix of exasperation and care, as if he were trying to reach through Byeong-Ho’s stubbornness to help him see the bigger picture.

“Ouch! Uncle, please,” Byeong-Ho winced, rubbing his shoulder but unable to suppress a sheepish grin. “I just want to go wherever you and Hyung go.”

“And then what? We all starve to death, the three of us?” Uncle Baek scolded, though his tone softened with concern.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“But Uncle, I really don’t want to go back to my mother and stepfather. You know they always beat me,” Byeong-Ho pleaded, his voice trembling slightly, eyes wide with desperation. “Please, Uncle.”

Uncle Baek’s expression softened, his brows furrowing in contemplation. “Okay, okay. But what if they come looking for you? I could end up in jail if they claim I kidnapped you. You’re still a minor.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll handle that. They won’t cause any trouble,” Byeong-Ho assured him, determination igniting a spark in his eyes.

Byeong-Ho grew up without knowing his real father, his childhood overshadowed by the chaos of his mother’s struggles with addiction. She had sought refuge in a man who mirrored her demons, leaving Byeong-Ho trapped in a home that felt more like a prison. Each night, the walls echoed with the sounds of violence, fear curling around him like a suffocating blanket. He often returned from school, only to find it empty, too afraid to seek comfort from the very people who were supposed to protect him. The beatings became a grim routine, their impact etching deep scars on his soul, driving him to drop out entirely—a painful decision born from desperation.

With nowhere else to turn and no direction in life, he found a semblance of control in the chaotic streets that beckoned him with their allure of rebellion. Each punch he threw was not just a release but also a misguided attempt to assert himself among the wrong crowd, drawing him deeper into a world of troublemakers and danger. That’s where Ji-Won found him—and approached with an understanding that transcended words, a reflection of sympathy in Byeong-Ho’s haunted eyes, clouded by the choices he had made and the dark influences that surrounded him.

***

The bar thrums with life, its usual energy palpable as the bass reverberates through the walls, a heartbeat of sound that mingles with the soft hum of laughter and flirtation. In a secluded corner, the VIP room boasts a lavish decor, plush velvet drapes framing the space like a secret embrace. Opulent couches cradle their guests, while low, glass-topped tables reflect the dim, seductive lighting that casts long, inviting shadows. It’s a sanctuary for indulgence, a playground for those seeking both pleasure and privacy.

Youn-Jae occupies one corner of this opulent enclave, an alluring figure amidst a swirl of glamorous women and a few curious men. His usually immaculate appearance has taken on a disheveled charm tonight; the tailored jacket of his suit is carelessly tossed over the back of a couch, while the top buttons of his dress shirt hang open, exposing a hint of his toned chest. His controlled demeanor has given way to a more carefree, reckless abandon, a side of him that sparkles with mischief and allure.

As the night unfolds, Youn-Jae’s drinking spirals; he’s now on his second bottle of premium whiskey, the empty glass vessel lying amidst a sea of half-filled glasses. He lounges back on the couch, his posture relaxed yet slightly unruly, laughter spilling from his lips as he engages with his admirers, their flirtations swirling around him like a siren's song. A few of the girls lean against him, their playful touches lingering, fingers tracing the contours of his arm as they giggle at his drunken antics.

At one point, Youn-Jae rises unsteadily, swaying slightly as he attempts to pour another round. His movements, once smooth and confident, are now clumsy, a stark departure from his usual grace. “Hey, hey, let me get this!” he declares, his voice a mix of bravado and slurred words. The girls laugh, delighting in his state, their eyes sparkling with playful mischief.

“Careful there, Baby! Don’t spill it!” one girl teases, her hand brushing against his shoulder, causing him to grin widely, the moment igniting a spark of reckless excitement in the air.

Feeling the weight of the alcohol pressing down on him, Youn-Jae waves a hand dismissively at the group. “I’m going to step outside for a smoke break,” he announces, his smile weary but charming, a facade of confidence masking his fatigue. He stumbles slightly on his way to the door, each step reflecting a blend of exhaustion and resignation, as though the weight of the world has settled onto his shoulders.

Once outside, the cool night air envelops him like a soothing balm, a brief escape from the oppressive heat of the crowd. He leans heavily against the wall, his back pressing against the rough surface, grounding himself as he fumbles for a cigarette. With a shaky hand, he finally manages to light it, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke curl around him like a fleeting escape. As he exhales, the tension of the night dissipates into the darkness, leaving behind only the echo of laughter and the faint hum of music from inside the bar.

***

Ji-Won walked briskly down the street, his face a mask of worry and irritation. “Where the hell is Byeong-Ho? He’s not with Hye-Rin!” he muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his voice as his jaw clenched. His eyes darted around the dimly lit alleyways, searching for any sign of Byeong-Ho. “If I find you hanging out here again, I swear I’ll kill you.” His words trailed off, the anger palpable as he struggled to keep his growing anxiety in check, his fists balling at his sides.

As he turned a corner, Ji-Won spotted a familiar figure leaning against a graffiti-covered wall. “Sir Kyle?” His voice wavered, a mix of surprise and concern washing over him as he neared Youn-Jae.

Youn-Jae, his eyes bleary and unfocused, took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the night air. His expression shifted from confusion to recognition as he blinked at Ji-Won. “You? What are you doing in a place like this?” His voice was thick, slurred with alcohol and disbelief.

“I was just looking for someone… Um, by the—” Ji-Won began, but before he could finish his sentence, Youn-Jae swayed dangerously and suddenly collapsed against him. “What the—” Ji-Won gasped, his heart racing as he instinctively caught Youn-Jae, the weight of him pressing heavily against Ji-Won’s shoulder.

“Sir, hey! Wake up!” Ji-Won shook Youn-Jae urgently, panic rising in his voice as he felt a swell of desperation. “I need to find someone. Don’t just pass out here!”

“Come on, Sir Kyle!” he muttered, feeling his anxiety surge. In a moment of hesitation, Ji-Won reached into Youn-Jae’s pants pocket and felt the familiar shape of a phone. He pulled it out, only to be met with a password screen. “Really?” he groaned, glancing at Youn-Jae, whose head lolled uselessly. “Wake up, I need your password!”

Youn-Jae remained unresponsive, his drunken stupor rendering him dead weight against Ji-Won’s side. Ji-Won felt his patience wearing thin, the heaviness of Youn-Jae pressing into him like an anchor pulling him down.

“Fuck! I have no choice,” Ji-Won grumbled under his breath, exhaling sharply as he adjusted Youn-Jae’s weight, slinging the man’s arm over his own shoulder to support him. They staggered toward the nearest taxi stand, Ji-Won’s heart pounding in rhythm with his frantic thoughts. “What a mess.”

Once they were inside the taxi, Ji-Won directed the driver to a nearby hotel, his mind racing as he contemplated his limited options. As he searched Youn-Jae’s wallet for cash, desperation gnawed at him. Instead, he pulled out a gleaming black credit card—an object of wealth and privilege that felt foreign in his hands. “This is how rich people live, huh?” Ji-Won muttered to himself, a mix of irritation and slight awe in his voice as he glanced over at the sleeping Youn-Jae, whose head lolled to the side. “No cash, just this tiny card that can buy anything.” He rolled his eyes, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on him.

He sighed deeply, realizing he hadn’t messaged Uncle Baek. “Crap, I need to text Uncle. I’ll have to explain this tomorrow. It’s all your fault, Byeong-Ho. Get ready for tomorrow,” Ji-Won grumbled, annoyance bubbling up inside him as the taxi lurched forward.

After a short drive, they reached the hotel. Ji-Won struggled to pull Youn-Jae out of the taxi, nearly toppling over under the other man’s weight as they made their way through the lobby. The process was clumsy and awkward; Youn-Jae swayed dangerously, nearly slipping from Ji-Won’s grasp multiple times. “What a scene we’re making.” Finally managing to get to their room, Ji-Won practically collapsed from the effort, laying Youn-Jae down on the bed before sinking onto the couch with a long, exhausted breath.

As Ji-Won watched Youn-Jae sleeping deeply, a crease of concern formed on his brow. He murmured under his breath, "Does he even know where he is right now? Is this how rich people live?" Rising from the couch, he sighed and added, "I should get some cold water and clean him up. He reeks of alcohol."

Glancing back at Youn-Jae sprawled across the bed, Ji-Won shook his head, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “I should wipe him down with cold water to clean him,” he decided, determination flickering in his chest.

Ji-Won grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom, his thoughts swirling as he prepared to take care of the unconscious Youn-Jae. “What a night.”

The story doesn't end here......