Eighteen years ago...…
A gentle knock echoed through the door at eight in the morning—the day after Youn-Jae had been left at the Chairman's mansion by his father. Mr. Kim stood outside, knocking softly to check on him. After receiving no response, he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open cautiously.
Youn-Jae was awake, sitting on the windowsill with his knees pulled close to his chest. His gaze lingered outside, fixed on the distant horizon, as if hoping to see familiar faces—his mother or perhaps his father. The air around him was thick with sadness and homesickness, his small frame dwarfed by the vast emptiness of the room.
"Young Master," Mr. Kim greeted gently, his voice careful not to startle him.
At the sound of the unfamiliar address, Youn-Jae turned his head, his brows furrowing in confusion. Slowly, he stood, his movements deliberate, and faced Mr. Kim. He offered a polite bow, his upbringing apparent despite the turmoil in his eyes.
"Why are you calling me 'Young Master,' sir? When will I go back to my mother?" Youn-Jae asked, his voice soft and trembling, a flicker of hope still clinging to his words. His wide, innocent eyes searched Mr. Kim for an answer.
Mr. Kim hesitated before responding, choosing his words with care. "From now on, Young Master, you will need to get used to being addressed this way. That is the Chairman's order," he explained, his tone steady but laced with sympathy. "And… you will not be going back to your house or your mother. This is your home now. The Chairman is now your family."
The words hit Youn-Jae like a blow. His lips parted slightly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and fear. "Huh? What are you saying, sir?" he stammered, stepping closer to Mr. Kim. Desperation etched into his every movement, he pleaded, "I still have my mother. She's probably waiting for me right now—with Ji-Won."
Mr. Kim's gaze softened, but his expression remained firm. "Young Master… I'm afraid you need to hear the truth." He drew a deep breath, steadying himself. "No one is waiting for you anymore—not your father, and not your mother. Myung-Hwa… your mother… was killed by Kwang-Seok last night."
Youn-Jae froze. "Huh? What are you talking about? That can't be true! You must be mistaken, sir!" he panicked, his voice rising as his knees began to buckle.
"I wish it wasn't true, Young Master," Mr. Kim continued solemnly. "But we received the report late last night. After leaving you here, your father—Kwang-Seok—murdered her."
The room seemed to spin around Youn-Jae. His small world, already fragile, shattered completely. His breath quickened, yet it felt as though no air reached his lungs. His legs gave way beneath him, but even as his body trembled, he was numb. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. It was as though the weight of the revelation had stolen his voice, his strength, and his very will to move.
"Young Master, please! Calm down!" Mr. Kim knelt quickly, his hands bracing Youn-Jae as the boy swayed dangerously. Alarmed, he called for help from the maids outside, his voice steady but urgent.
But Youn-Jae didn't respond. His world had collapsed, dragging him into a suffocating void. As his consciousness slipped away, his body collapsed into Mr. Kim's arms, limp and lifeless.
***
It had been two weeks since Youn-Jae learned of his mother's death. Most days, he spent hours sitting in the garden, a book resting in his hands. Mr. Kim stood nearby, always at a watchful distance, like a silent guardian observing a fragile child. Youn-Jae appeared engrossed in his reading, but it was only a mask—a thin veil to hide the storm of emotions churning inside him.
He still clung to the faint hope that everything was just a terrible dream, that he would wake up to find his mother alive, waiting for him with her warm smile. But when reality struck him—when the truth pierced through his fragile defenses—it felt as though the weight of the world slammed against his back. The burden of grief, pain, and fear was almost too much to bear.
He wasn't just mourning his mother's death. His thoughts constantly strayed to Ji-Won. What had happened to him? If his mother had been murdered by his father, as Mr. Kim had revealed, then what fate had befallen Ji-Won? Youn-Jae clung desperately to the hope that Ji-Won had survived, that somehow, his mother had ensured Ji-Won's safety before the end.
The questions tormented him endlessly. On the night of the tragedy, what horrors had his mother and Ji-Won faced? What cruelties had they endured in their final moments together? The images his mind conjured were unbearable, and yet, he couldn't stop imagining the worst.
He had tried asking Mr. Kim about it, his voice trembling with desperation, but Mr. Kim's answers were always evasive. The man's only reply was a promise: if Youn-Jae behaved and obeyed the Chairman's orders, he would be allowed to visit his mother's grave.
And so, Youn-Jae complied. He swallowed his questions, his pain, and his anger, obediently following every rule imposed upon him. It wasn't resignation—it was survival. He clung to the hope that keeping his end of the bargain would eventually bring him closer to the answers he desperately sought and, perhaps, a sliver of peace.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the stillness, snapping his focus. He looked up, startled, his expression shifting between hesitation and unease.
It was Seo-Joon, his tone sharp with irritation as he exchanged tense words with Mr. Kim, Youn-Jae could feel the weight of Seo-Joon's frustration, and it made him hesitate. His fingers tightened around the book as he debated whether to speak.
Despite the tension in the air, Youn-Jae reasoned that if he was truly to become part of this family, he needed to take the first step. He needed to try.
Mr. Kim eventually managed to pacify Seo-Joon, urging him to turn back toward the waiting car. Just as Seo-Joon began walking away, a voice broke the strained silence again—this time, softer, uncertain.
"Hyung, take care on your trip," Youn-Jae called, his tone hesitant but earnest.
For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Youn-Jae's voice hung in the air, vulnerable and full of hope. But Seo-Joon didn't stop. He didn't even glance back.
As the car doors closed and the engine roared to life, Youn-Jae lowered his head, his shoulders slumping. He returned to his seat, a sad smile ghosted across his face, though his eyes glistened with unspoken emotions.
His thoughts raced in turmoil, questioning if this world was truly where he belonged. Was this life, with all its unfamiliarity and suffocating expectations, even right for him? A deep ache settled in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to quell it, the yearning grew stronger.
All he wanted was to go home—to his mother to Ji-Won
***
Youn-Jae sat silently in front of his mother's grave, the crisp scent of pine in the air and the gentle rustling of leaves around him. He stared at the engraved name on the tombstone, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. The heavy silence seemed to weigh on him, a stark reminder of all that he had lost. Beside him, a single white chrysanthemum lay on the stone, trembling faintly in the cool breeze.
Mr. Kim stood a few steps behind, giving him space while keeping a watchful eye. Youn-Jae's hands trembled slightly as he traced imaginary patterns on the hem of his coat. His heart ached in a way he couldn't put into words.
"Mother, why did you leave me so soon? Was I not a good son to you?" he whispered, his voice trembling with sorrow. "I'm sorry... I wasn't there to protect you or Ji-Won. How much pain did you endure because of Father?" His hands balled into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms as guilt and helplessness overtook him. His cries grew louder, raw and unrestrained, like the wails of a lost child.
The moments stretched, his thoughts spiraling as he replayed the last words he had exchanged with her and the countless what-ifs that haunted him. Every breath felt heavy, as if the air around him shared in his grief.
Mr. Kim finally stepped forward, his tone firm yet gentle. "Young Master, I understand how much this moment means to you, but we have to leave now. The Chairman has arranged your flight to Germany, and we cannot afford to delay."
Youn-Jae looked up at Mr. Kim, his face etched with resistance and sorrow. He wanted to argue, to plead for more time, but the practicalities of his new reality bore down on him. This wasn't just a visit—this was goodbye. With one final look at the grave, he stood up slowly, brushing the dust off his knees.
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the grave. His breath caught in his chest as a surge of emotion overwhelmed him. "I'll come back when the time is right," he promised quietly, his voice filled with determination. "I will find Ji-Won, no matter what it takes. I won't forget."
With that vow etched into his heart, he turned away.
As he did, footsteps approached from the path behind. A man dressed impeccably in a sharp black suit appeared—his gait confident but not overbearing. His expression was calm, professional, and tinged with warmth.
"Secretary Min," Mr. Kim addressed him with a nod before turning to Youn-Jae. "Young Master, allow me to introduce Secretary Min. He will accompany you to Germany and serve as your assistant moving forward."
Youn-Jae blinked, his gaze shifting to Secretary Min. There was a moment of hesitation as he processed this new addition to his life, another stranger in a world that already felt so foreign.
Secretary Min stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "It is an honor to meet you, Young Master. I'll do my best to assist you and make your transition smooth in Germany."
Youn-Jae nodded weakly, his emotions too raw to muster much of a response. He cast one last glance at his mother's grave, the weight of his grief merging with the uncertainty of his future. Turning back to the waiting car, he followed Mr. Kim and Secretary Min, the path ahead shrouded in more questions than answers. But one thing remained clear—he would return. He would find Ji-Won. And when the time was right, he would make sure that his father paid for what he had done.
The story doesn't end here...
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