The conference room at the Shilla Hotel radiated formality and quiet tension.
A polished, almost sterile atmosphere hung in the air—every corner seemed to hum with unspoken authority. This was a space where power wasn't just present, it was palpable, and each person in the room carried weight in their own sector.
Seated around the long table were representatives from some of Korea's most powerful families—faces that rarely appeared in public together, now gathered in one place. Their expressions were unreadable, their postures rigid and controlled.
When Jihoon and Boojin stepped inside, four pairs of eyes immediately turned to meet them.
Cold, sharp gazes.
The kind that revealed nothing yet saw everything.
Jihoon immediately recognized two familiar faces among the group: Lee Mikyeong from CJ and Choi Yoonjung of SK.
They saw him too.
Mikyeong's expression didn't change. Not a flicker of surprise or emotion crossed her face as their eyes briefly met. She remained unreadable—coldly composed, as always.
But then again, that wasn't surprising.
The last time they had crossed paths, things had ended on a rather distant, if not chilly, note. Since then, their contact had been minimal. And truthfully, Jihoon had preferred it that way. He had been avoiding her—partly for business reasons, but mostly for personal ones.
Now, seeing her again in this kind of setting felt... strange. Unsettling, even. Not quite hostile, but certainly tense.
Yoonjung, on the other hand, gave him a gentle smile. It wasn't overly warm or emotional, but it was enough to acknowledge his presence—soft, sincere, and surprisingly comforting in a room thick with formality.
Jihoon gave a slight nod in return, appreciating the gesture more than he let on.
It was clear that whatever grudges or past tensions lingered, at least for now, they would have to be set aside.
They were here for something bigger.
The other two figures in the room also carried fascinating stories, each shaped by power, legacy, and rebellion in their own way.
Seated in the first chair on the left was Koo Kwangmo from the LG family.
Like Samseong, LG had its own complicated succession war brewing beneath the surface.
But in Koo's case, his bloodline was as direct as it could get—he was the biological son of Koo Bonneung, the younger brother of LG's chairman Koo Bonmoo. In 2004, after the tragic passing of Bonmoo's only son, Koo Kwangmo was officially adopted by his chairman uncle.
It was a quiet but strategic move that placed him directly in line for the top seat at LG empire.
Of course, when come to succession in a chaebol family is never simple.
Over the next decade, Koo would find himself entangled in a drawn-out internal struggle for leadership.
Many poeple questioned the legitimacy of his position, whispering that the adoption was more about dodging inheritance taxes than passing on true leadership.
Among the chaebol circles, especially the children of other powerful families, he was mockingly nicknamed as the "Paper Boy"—a jab at the paperwork that turned him into a legal heir overnight.
But Koo proved them wrong.
By 2018, after years of maneuvering through family politics and corporate complexity, he emerged victorious and officially took over as chairman of LG Group.
Under his leadership, LG would undergo one of its boldest transformations in company it's history. He decisively cut off the bleeding smartphone division, a move that many saw as risky, but ultimately wise.
Instead, he redirected the company's focus toward clean energy, battery technology, and artificial intelligence—areas he believed would define the next industrial revolution. Koo Kwangmo wasn't just holding on to a legacy; he was reinventing it.
And then there was Seo Jungjin, the man who didn't inherit an empire—he built one.
Unlike the others in this room, Seo came from humble beginnings.
He wasn't born into wealth or privilege, but he understood the system better than most. In the 80s, he began his career at Samseong just like Brian Kim. He quickly rising through the ranks with sharp instincts and unmatched work ethic.
Eventually, he became a vice president at Samsung Biologics, but his journey within the conglomerate wasn't a smooth one.
As he climbed higher, he encountered the harsh reality of corporate politics—unfair treatment, glass ceilings, and the suffocating weight of hierarchy.
Seo clashed with the company's upper management. He didn't play the game the way they expected. And eventually, Samseong forced him out.
But he didn't go quietly.
Instead, he gathered a handful of trusted colleagues—five ex-Samseong employees who shared his vision—and started a tiny biotech lab.
That lab would grow into Celltrion, a global biopharmaceutical powerhouse valued at over $30 billion.
Today, Celltrion stands shoulder-to-shoulder with industry giants like Pfizer, a symbol of what's possible when innovation and grit collide.
Seo became known as one of the few who defied the chaebol system and won.
Like Brian Kim of Kakao, Seo Jungjin was part of a new generation of Korean entrepreneurs—outsiders who didn't wait for the system's approval.
They didn't inherit power. They earned it.
Men like them believed that innovation could beat bloodline, that vision could outlast legacy, and that in a country dominated by chaebols, there was still room to build something from nothing.
They didn't just challenge the old rules—they rewrote them.
As Jihoon sat quietly in that room, surrounded by faces that history would one day remember, he understood something deeper.
Everyone in that room was a rebel in their own right.
Not because they were loud or radical, but because they chose not to be controlled. They refused to be caged by tradition, no matter how golden the bars is.
Each of them had tasted what it meant to be part of the system—the chaebol machine that promised riches, influence, and status.
But they also knew what came with it: sacrifice.
And not just of freedom, but of identity, of relationships, of peace. Nothing inside that system came for free.
Take Jihoon himself—the so-called orphaned heir of Samseong. He didn't ask for the name, and he certainly didn't want the throne. He spit on the legacy handed to him, choosing instead to carve his own path.
Then there was his aunt, Lee Boojin. To the world, she was the elegant "princess" of a corporate dynasty. But Jihoon knew the truth. She had burned down her carefully scripted fairy tale, and started writing her own ending—one where she held the pen.
And not far from her sat Lee Mikyeong, once dismissed as the "loser" in the inheritance wars of the Lee family. People mocked her for what she didn't get. They didn't see the empire she quietly built from the ashes—an empire she didn't inherit but earned, piece by piece.
Then there was Choi Yoojung—the nearly broken heiress of a shattered family. But Yoojung didn't break. She honed every wound, every betrayal, into a weapon, and turned her family's disgrace into strength.
And, of course, there was Seo Jungjin. The man exiled from Samseong. Once a brilliant executive, cast out for daring to challenge the hierarchy. And now? He had returned, not as a subordinate, but as the dominator of his own sector.
Even Koo Kwangmo, seated quietly at the end, didn't fit the mold. He was labeled as the "paper boy" by other chaebol heirs. But Jihoon knew better. When the time came, Koo Kwangmo would prove them all wrong. His actions would revolutionize LG—not because he inherited its future, but because he had the vision to reinvent it.
As Jihoon looked around the long table, a quiet realization settled in. This wasn't just a gathering of powerful names or corporate elites. It was something far more personal than that.
Everyone here—each person seated around him—had once stood at a crossroads.
They had power, wealth, and influence handed to them, but they had also faced moments that demanded a choice. And instead of staying inside the safe walls of the system, they had chosen to step outside. They had said no.
These weren't just survivors of the chaebol world. They were fighters—people who had risked everything to claim their own identities, to write their own stories on their own terms.
Lee Boojin sat at the head of the table, calm and composed as ever.
She didn't bother with pleasantries or formal introductions. Everyone here already knew one another—some as family, some as rivals, and some as silent allies in a world that rarely allowed friendships to bloom.
She glanced around, making brief eye contact with each person, then leaned forward slightly and spoke in a steady voice.
"I know none of you like being controlled," she said plainly. "And to be honest, neither do I."
That alone earned a few nods and faint smiles from the group. No truer words had ever been spoken in a room like this.
"That's what today is about," she continued. "Not about strategies or deals. Not about saving face or chasing power. Today is about drawing a line."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the room.
"This," she said, her voice firmer now, "is the beginning of our rebellion."
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Night_Adam, OS_PARCEIROS, BigBoobs and Daoistadj for bestowing the power stone!]