The morning sun streamed into the shrine's kitchen, warming the rustic wooden counters. Rinwoo stood at the deep stone sink, methodically washing the breakfast bowls. His movements were calm, but there was a slight tremor in his hands that hadn't been there before, a fragility that made every motion seem deliberate.
Beom Seok wandered in, drying a pot with a cloth. He watched Rinwoo for a moment, his heart doing a familiar, fluttering squeeze. The way the light caught the curve of Rinwoo's neck as he bent over the sink, the quiet concentration on his face—it was enough to make Beom Seok's cheeks warm.
"Here, let me help," Beom Seok said, his voice a little too bright. He moved to stand beside Rinwoo at the sink, their shoulders almost brushing. The proximity sent a jolt through him.
Rinwoo smiled softly, not looking up from the soapy water. "You don't have to. I've got it."
"I want to," Beom Seok insisted, quickly rolling up his sleeves. "It's faster with two." It was a flimsy excuse, but it worked. He picked up a bowl to dry, his fingers accidentally brushing against Rinwoo's as he took it. A tiny, electric shock seemed to pass between them. Beom Seok flinched back slightly, nearly dropping the bowl, a blush instantly blooming across his face.
"Sorry!" he stammered.
Rinwoo just chuckled softly. "It's okay. It's just water." He seemed completely oblivious to Beom Seok's internal chaos.
They worked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the slosh of water and the clink of ceramics. Beom Seok sneaked glances at Rinwoo's profile. He noticed the way Rinwoo's breath hitched slightly sometimes, as if even the simple act of washing dishes was taking effort. He saw the delicate blue veins on the back of his hands, more prominent than they used to be.
"You... you seem like you're feeling better today," Beom Seok ventured, trying to keep his tone light, though his concern was a heavy weight in his chest.
Rinwoo nodded, still focused on a stubborn bit of dried rice. "The fresh air helps." He said it with a convincing cheerfulness, but Beom Seok wasn't fooled. He saw the slight sheen of sweat on Rinwoo's temple, the way he leaned a little too heavily against the sink.
"Good," Beom Seok murmured, his voice full of a tenderness he hoped Rinwoo would mistake for simple friendship. He wanted to reach out, to steady him, to ask what was really wrong. But he didn't dare.
Instead, he just stayed close, drying each dish with meticulous care, stealing moments of nearness, and silently admiring the strength it took for Rinwoo to keep standing there, pretending everything was fine. It was a small, quiet scene—two young men washing dishes in a sunlit kitchen—but for Beom Seok, it was everything. A secret world of unspoken affection and quiet worry, hidden in the simple, sudsy water.
The warm, soapy water swirled around Rinwoo's hands as he scrubbed a bowl. The rhythmic motion was soothing.
He glanced at Beom Seok, who was diligently drying a plate, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Rinwoo felt a pang of something—guilt, perhaps, or a sense of responsibility.
"You know, Beom Seok-ah," Rinwoo began, his voice soft. "You've been here at the shrine for so long now. Ever since you finished your studies in the city." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Master Hwang... he worries about your future. Maybe you should think about going back. Continuing your own life."
Beom Seok's drying stilled for a second. He let out a soft sigh, his gaze fixed on the plate. "I'm not planning to go," he said, his voice firm but gentle.
"But why?" Rinwoo pressed, a kind, concerned smile on his face. "Grandfather has me here now. I'll take care of him." The words, meant to be reassuring, carried a hollow weight. After all, I have nothing left to do anymore. The unspoken part of the sentence hung in the air between them.
Rinwoo continued, trying to sound bright. "You're still young. And smart. And handsome," he added with a light chuckle, completely unaware of the effect such a casual compliment had on the other man. "You should be out there, finding a partner, living a happy life. Not stuck up here on this mountain with two old men."
Beom Seok finally looked up from the plate, his eyes meeting Rinwoo's. The concern in them was so deep it was almost painful. He saw the self-sacrifice in Rinwoo's words, the way he was casually writing off his own future while trying to secure Beom Seok's.
He looked away quickly, focusing on a nonexistent spot on the counter, his cheeks flushing for a different reason now. "That's not it," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Master Hwang... he's so old. He forgets to take his medicine. He needs someone... I need to be by his side."
He took a shaky breath, finally voicing the vow he'd made to himself. "I'll never ever leave him again."
The declaration was fierce, absolute. It wasn't just about duty to the old monk. It was about duty to the man standing beside him, who believed he had "nothing left to do." Beom Seok wasn't staying for Master Hwang alone. He was staying for Rinwoo. He would be the one by his side, whether Rinwoo realized he needed someone or not. His own happy life, his own future, was right here, in this kitchen, washing dishes with the person he admired most in the world, even if that person saw him as nothing more than a devoted friend.
The silence in Taekyun's high-rise office was broken only by the low, pained groan that escaped his lips. He was slumped in his leather chair, but there was no power in the posture—only agony. His elbows were planted on the polished desk, his face buried in his hands, fingers gripping his hair so tightly his knuckles were white.
"Sir?" his assistant's voice was a timid, worried whisper from the doorway. "Is there... is there anything I can do? Perhaps some water?"
Taekyun didn't answer. He couldn't. Every time he squeezed his eyes shut against the jackhammer pain in his skull, he didn't see darkness. He saw Rinwoo.
Not the Rinwoo of the last two years—the quiet, ghost-like presence he'd ignored. He saw the Rinwoo from their wedding day, a flicker of hopeful light in his eyes before Taekyun had extinguished it. He saw Rinwoo carefully setting a cup of tea on his desk, the steam rising in a gentle curl. He saw the confused hurt in his eyes the few times Taekyun had actually bothered to look at him. The images were relentless, a torturous slideshow of his own neglect, each memory a fresh spike of pain behind his eyes.
He was a mess. His tie was loosened, his shirt wrinkled, his usually impeccable hair disheveled from his frantic gripping. An empty packet of strong painkillers lay discarded near his keyboard. He'd taken double, then triple the dose, but the medication had done nothing. It was as if the pain wasn't physical in a way pills could touch; it was a psychic wound, a punishment emanating from his own conscience.
His body was coiled like a spring, trembling with the effort of containing the scream building in his chest. It was a pressure cooker of regret, grief, and self-loathing, and the valve was about to blow. His assistant took a fearful step back, recognizing the dangerous, volatile energy radiating from the man who was usually the picture of controlled authority. Taekyun wasn't just in pain; he was coming apart at the seams, and the ghost of the husband he'd driven away was the instrument of his unraveling.
The pressure in Taekyun's head was no longer a throb; it was a white-hot vice, crushing his skull from the inside. The ghostly images of Rinwoo had morphed into a constant, screeching static that short-circuited his every thought. His control, once his most prized possession, had evaporated.
A junior executive had nervously entered the office to present a report. He'd barely gotten two sentences out before Taekyun erupted.
"Is this the best you can do? This is garbage! Get out! GET OUT!" he roared, sweeping the neatly bound papers off his desk in a furious arc. The man fled, white-faced, without another word.
The entire floor had fallen into a terrified hush. You could hear a pin drop. Every employee moved like they were walking on glass, flinching at every sound from behind the CEO's door.
His senior assistant, a woman who had worked for him for a decade and had never seen him raise his voice, bravely entered with a cup of black coffee, hoping the caffeine might somehow help.
"Sir, perhaps this will—"
"I don't want that!" Taekyun snarled, swatting the cup away. It shattered against the wall, spraying dark liquid like bloodstains on the pristine wallpaper. The assistant gasped, stumbling back.
And then, as quickly as the rage had flared, it collapsed. The fire in his eyes guttered out, replaced by a raw, desperate agony. He slumped forward, his body trembling violently. He looked up at his terrified assistant, his face a mask of utter helplessness.
"Please…" he whispered, the word a ragged, broken sound. It was almost a sob. "Please… make it stop. The headache… I can't… I can't think. Help me. Make it go away."
It was a plea. The mighty Lee Taekyun, who commanded boardrooms and billions, was reduced to begging his assistant for relief from a pain no medicine could touch. The sight was more frightening than his anger had been. It was the sound of a man breaking, completely and utterly, and everyone outside his door heard it, their fear now mingled with a chilling pity.
The sleek, modern interior of Mingyu's penthouse offered a stark contrast to the sterile hospital room, but the atmosphere was just as heavy. Juwon carefully helped Taemin lower himself onto the plush sofa, his movements gentle and full of a protective anxiety. Taemin leaned back with a soft groan, the painkillers starting to wear off.
A heavy silence descended upon the four of them—the two lovers, the best friend, and the bewildered brother-in-law. It was Mingyu who broke it, tossing a set of keys to Juwon. "Make yourselves at home. Kitchen's stocked. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, trying to lighten the mood with a weak grin.
The moment was shattered by the buzz of Eunjae's phone. He pulled it out, his face tightening as he saw Daon's name. He answered quietly, turning away. "Yes?... I know... He's with me... He's okay." He listened, his expression growing grimmer. "He wants to talk to him now? Daon, he just got out of the hospital..." A long pause. Eunjae sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll bring him."
He ended the call and turned back to the group, his gaze settling on Taemin. "We have to go back. Your father... he's furious. He's demanding to see you."
Taemin's carefree facade from the hospital finally cracked. A flicker of fear crossed his face before he masked it with resignation. He nodded slowly. He knew this was inevitable. There was no hiding from his father. "Okay," he said quietly.
Juwon's head snapped up. "No. You can't go back there. Not after what happened." His voice was laced with panic. He reached for Taemin's hand.
Taemin squeezed it reassuringly, offering a tired but brave smile. "I have to. It's okay. I'll be fine. I'll... I'll see you again soon, okay? Don't worry." He was trying to sound confident, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him.
As Eunjae moved to help him stand, Taemin turned his head, fixing a surprisingly fierce glare on Mingyu. "Yah, Mingyu-ah."
Mingyu looked up, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"You," Taemin said, his voice firm despite his weakness. "Take good care of him. And don't you dare touch him or get too near him. I'm serious."
Mingyu burst out laughing, the tension momentarily broken. "Ya! You're barely standing and you're still giving me threats? Who do you think carried your dramatic ass out of that cellar?"
Taemin scowled, a flicker of his old spirit returning. "I'll hit you—" he started, but the sudden movement to raise a hand sent a sharp pain through his ribs, making him wince and gasp, collapsing back against Eunjae.
"Okay, that's enough," Eunjae said firmly, slipping an arm around Taemin to support him. "Let's go."
With a final, longing look at Juwon—a look full of promise and fear—Taemin allowed Eunjae to lead him out of the penthouse, leaving Juwon standing alone in the middle of the room, his heart aching with a fresh wave of helplessness as the door closed behind them.
The grand living room of the Lee estate felt more like a courtroom. With Eunjae and Daon supporting him on either side, Taemin slowly made his way to the large velvet couch and sank into it with a barely suppressed wince. Daon's face was a picture of shock and concern as he took in the full extent of his younger brother's injuries.
Before Daon could form a question, the air in the room turned to ice. Mr. Lee stood in the doorway, his presence casting a long shadow. His eyes, cold and furious, were fixed solely on Taemin.
"Well?" Mr. Lee's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Care to explain yourself?"
Daon and Eunjae exchanged a worried glance. "Father, he's just returned, he's hurt—" Daon began, trying to intercede.
Mr. Lee cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I don't care about his scrapes. I care about the phone call I just received from the Jeon family." He took a menacing step forward. "Nayeon has refused the marriage. She told her father the wedding is off. What," he seethed, "did you say to her?"
Everyone froze. All eyes turned to Taemin.
Taemin gulped, the motion painful in his dry throat. The question triggered a flashback, vivid and clear.
He and Nayeon were in a quiet corner of a bridal boutique, surrounded by discarded gowns. The cheerful consultant had finally given them space. Taemin, looking at Nayeon's hopeful, trusting face—the face of his childhood friend—knew he couldn't lie anymore.
"Nayeon-ah… I can't do this," he'd said, his voice soft but firm. "There's someone else. His name is Juwon. I love him. I'm sorry… but I don't love you. Not like that. Not enough to marry you."
He saw the shock, then the heartbreak dawn in her eyes. But instead of anger, she had just nodded slowly, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "I… I had a feeling," she whispered. "I always hoped, but… I had a feeling. Okay, Taemin-ah. Okay. We'll end it."
The memory faded. Taemin looked up at his father's livid face. A hesitant, almost defiant chuckle escaped him. He shrugged his good shoulder, feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel.
"I don't know," Taemin said, his voice deliberately light. "Maybe she just… changed her mind. Maybe she doesn't want to get married anymore."
The lie was flimsy, an insult to his father's intelligence. But it was all the defense he had. He had chosen truth with Nayeon, but here, in the lion's den, he would hide behind a careless shrug. He had protected Juwon's name for now, but the storm in his father's eyes promised that the real confrontation was only just beginning.
The careless shrug was the final straw. Mr. Lee's controlled fury shattered into a blistering rage.
"You insolent boy!" he roared, his voice echoing through the vast living room. "You stand there—no, you sit there, battered and bruised, and you have the audacity to joke? This is not a game, Taemin! This is the curse!"
He took a threatening step closer, looming over the couch. "Have you learned nothing from your brothers? From the misery that follows this family? If you do not marry your fated match, the curse will claim you! It does not give you a choice! It will twist fate, it will create accidents, it will suck the very life from you until there is nothing left! Do you understand? You could die!"
Taemin, emboldened by pain and his own secret defiance, didn't flinch. He met his father's glare. "Compared to my brothers," he countered, his voice surprisingly steady, "if the curse is so real, then why am I still here? I haven't married Nayeon. I haven't been in a sudden, mysterious accident. Maybe it's not as powerful as you think."
It was a reckless challenge, throwing the family's deepest fear back in its face. Daon sucked in a sharp breath, and Eunjae's eyes widened in alarm.
Mr. Lee's face purpled with a mix of fury and something akin to superstitious terror. "You… you dare?" he hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You dare to treat our legacy, our burden, so lightly? You think because you are young and foolish you are immune?"
He leaned down, his face inches from Taemin's. "This is your final warning. You will stop this childish rebellion. I will speak to the Jeon family. I will convince Nayeon to reconsider. And you… you will marry her. You will fulfill your destiny."
He straightened up, his eyes sweeping over all of them, a king delivering an irrevocable decree. "Or else."
With that final, ominous threat hanging in the air, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving behind a silence thick with dread. Taemin's brave facade crumbled the moment his father was gone. He slumped back against the cushions, the weight of the ultimatum pressing down on him. He had escaped a beating at the Park estate, but the true battle for his future had just been declared within the walls of his own home.
The heavy thud of the door closing seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Daon waited a beat, ensuring their father was truly gone, before sinking onto the couch beside Taemin. The anger was gone from his face, replaced by a deep, weary concern.
"Taemin-ah," Daon began, his voice low and urgent. "You have to stop this. You can't keep messing around like this. You heard Father. You know how dangerous the curse is. It's not a legend; it's real. We've all seen what it does."
Taemin turned his head slowly, wincing at the pain the movement caused. A faint, tired smile touched his lips. "But Hyung, that's just it. I haven't seen it. Not on me. Look at me." He gestured weakly to his own battered body. "This wasn't a cursed accident. This was Park guards. I'm still here. Isn't that a good sign? Maybe it's not as bad for me."
He was trying to sound hopeful, to find a loophole in the family's grim destiny.
Daon's expression remained grave. He placed a hand on Taemin's uninjured shoulder, his grip firm. "Or maybe the curse is just being patient. Maybe it's giving you a chance to do the right thing before it's too late." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, pleading. "Just... just marry Nayeon. She's a good person. It's about survival. Please, Taemin. I don't want to watch you die."
The raw fear in his older brother's voice was a potent thing. For a moment, Taemin saw the little boy who used to protect him from scraped knees, now terrified of a much greater threat.
But the mention of survival versus betrayal solidified Taemin's resolve. The last vestiges of his playful defiance vanished, replaced by a calm, unshakable certainty. He looked Daon directly in the eyes.
"If the price of survival is betraying him," Taemin said, his voice quiet but clear as crystal, "then I'd rather die."
The words hung in the air, simple and absolute. There was no anger in them, no dramatics. It was just a statement of fact.
"That's it, Hyung," he finished, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. "There's nothing more to say."
Daon stared at his younger brother, seeing not a reckless child, but a man who had made a choice about what his life was worth. The argument was over. Taemin had drawn his line in the sand, and it was a line he was willing to die on. The curse, his father's wrath, even his own brother's fear—none of it mattered compared to the boy he loved. The room was silent again, but this time, the silence was filled with the terrifying weight of Taemin's finality.
The tension in the living room was suffocating. Eunjae watched the silent standoff between the brothers, seeing the unbridgeable chasm that had opened up. Seeing Daon's helpless frustration, he gently placed a hand on his husband's shoulder and gave a slight nod toward the door, a silent suggestion to retreat.
Daon, looking defeated and deeply worried, allowed himself to be led away. They left as a guard was carefully helping a weary Taemin up the grand staircase to his room.
Once inside the sanctuary of their own bedroom, the door closed firmly behind them, Daon turned to Eunjae, his face etched with confusion and anxiety. "What was that? What does he mean he'd rather die? This is about more than just not liking Nayeon, isn't it?"
Eunjae took a deep breath. The secret was too big to keep anymore, and Daon needed to understand the full scale of the disaster. "It is," Eunjae said, his voice low and serious. "Daon, the person Taemin is refusing to betray... it's Park Juwon."
Daon stared at him, his mind seemingly refusing to process the words. "What?"
"Park Juwon," Eunjae repeated. "The son of Father's biggest rival. That's who Taemin was with when he got hurt. He went to the Park estate to find him. Juwon's father had him beaten and locked in a cellar. That's where these injuries are from."
He watched as the information landed on Daon like a series of physical blows. Daon's eyes widened in dawning horror as the pieces clicked into place: Taemin's secretiveness, his defiance, his absolute refusal to marry Nayeon.
"If... if Father finds out..." Daon whispered, the blood draining from his face. The image wasn't just one of anger; it was one of catastrophic, violent retribution. The Lee-Park feud was a generational war. For a Lee son to be involved with the Park heir wasn't just a scandal; it was the ultimate betrayal in their father's eyes.
"He'll kill him," Daon finished, the words a hollow, terrified realization. It wasn't an exaggeration. The disgrace, the humiliation—it would be a fury beyond any curse. Their father would see it as a stain on the family honor that could only be cleansed with extreme punishment.
Eunjae nodded grimly. "That's why Taemin can't back down. And that's why we're in a bigger mess than either of us imagined." The room, which was supposed to be their escape, now felt like the center of a looming hurricane. The family curse was one thing. Their father's wrath over this secret was a much more immediate and terrifying threat.
The afternoon sun warmed the courtyard of the shrine as Rinwoo and Beom Seok folded the clean laundry, the scent of fresh cotton and mountain air mingling pleasantly. The peaceful rhythm of the task was interrupted by the sound of Master Hwang returning, his steps slow but steady.
In his hands, he carried two dark, earthenware bottles.
"Ah, look what I have!" Master Hwang announced, a little too cheerfully. He held up the bottles. "I was helping old man Kim fix his fence down in the village. His family makes this rice wine. He insisted I take it as a thank you. Handmade, very special."
Beom Seok's eyes lit up with immediate interest. He abandoned the sheet he was folding and bounded over. "Really? Let's taste it now! It's the perfect time." He reached for one of the bottles eagerly.
Smack! Master Hwang swiftly slapped Beom Seok's hand away, clutching the bottles to his chest like precious treasures. "Yah! Hands off! This isn't for you," he scolded, his voice theatrically stern. He then turned a dramatically doting smile toward Rinwoo. "This is for my beloved grandson. A treat, for all his hard work."
Beom Seok rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they stayed in his head. "Aigoo, Grandfather," he teased, hands on his hips. "Always choosing sides! What about my hard work? I swept the entire courtyard!"
Rinwoo chuckled softly at their familiar bickering. "It's okay, Grandfather. We can all share it later. There's plenty for everyone."
The reaction was instantaneous and strangely synchronized.
"NO!" both Master Hwang and Beom Seok exclaimed at the exact same time.
They froze, realizing their overreaction. They looked at each other with wide, panicked eyes before forcing out a pair of overly loud, nervous laughs.
"Ah, haha! No, no, it's fine!" Master Hwang said, waving a dismissive hand. "You should enjoy it, Rinwoo-ya. All of it."
"Yes! Yes, definitely!" Beom Seok chimed in, his voice an octave too high. "You deserve it! We, uh... we had some last week! Right, Master?"
Master Hwang nodded vigorously. "Yes! Very strong stuff. You enjoy it alone, Rinwoo. In your room. Very... relaxing."
Rinwoo watched the strange performance, his head tilting slightly. The energy was off. Their denial was too swift, their agreement too forceful. A faint flicker of suspicion crossed his mind, but he was too weary to pursue it. He simply didn't have the energy for puzzles.
He smiled, accepting one of the bottles. "Well, thank you, Grandfather. That's very kind. I'll put it inthe kitchen and have some later when I'm tired."
Master Hwang beamed, a genuine-looking smile that didn't quite reach his anxious eyes. "Good, good. You rest well."
As Rinwoo turned to carry the bottle to the kitchen, Master Hwang and Beom Seok exchanged a look of sheer relief, their secret plan—to get Rinwoo to drink alone and hopefully loosen his tongue—still intact, but having survived a much closer call than they'd anticipated.
The evening settled over the shrine with a gentle hush. Rinwoo, feeling the now-familiar wave of deep exhaustion earlier than usual, decided to forgo any evening tea or reading. The bottle of rice wine sat untouched on his small desk. With a soft sigh, he simply changed into his sleeping robes, extinguished the lamp, and slipped into bed, hoping sleep would offer a few hours of peace from the constant, draining effort of pretending.
Outside, Beom Seok paced nervously. He'd been waiting all evening, expecting to hear the telltale sound of a cork being popped from Rinwoo's room. But only silence greeted him. Peeking through the slightly open door, he saw Rinwoo already asleep, his breathing even but shallow. The plan had failed before it even began. Beom Seok sighed in frustration, his concern deepening. Rinwoo was retreating further inward, and they were losing their chance to reach him.
Meanwhile, at the Lee estate, a different kind of tension was brewing. The family was at the dinner table, the clinking of silverware the only sound in the oppressive silence. Taemin was absent, resting in his room, likely on the phone with Juwon, stealing moments of comfort in their secret world.
Taekyun, who had pushed his food around his plate without eating much, suddenly broke the quiet. He didn't look up from his plate, his voice flat, almost casual, as if announcing a business trip.
"I'm going to the mountain shrine tomorrow morning," he stated. "I need to see Rinwoo."
The effect was instantaneous.
The fork in Eunjae's hand froze halfway to his mouth. Daon, who was taking a sip of water, choked, coughing violently as he stared at his brother in disbelief. Even Mr. Lee, who had been eating in stern silence, paused, his eyes narrowing as they settled on his eldest son.
The air in the dining room became thick enough to choke on.
Mr. Lee's refusal was immediate and venomous. "Absolutely not," he snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "You have a mountain of work at the company! That ungrateful child made his choice. He walked out on this family, on his duties. He deserves nothing from us, least of all a visit from you!"
Eunjae's jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white around his fork. He opened his mouth, a fiery defense for his friend ready to erupt, but Daon, sensing the explosion, quickly placed a calming hand over his, squeezing it in a silent plea to stay silent.
It was Taekyun who responded, his voice low but cutting through his father's bluster. "This isn't about what he deserves from this family," he said, finally looking up from his plate. His eyes, though shadowed, held a strange, determined clarity. "This is about what I owe him. After everything I have done… Rinwoo deserves an apology. From me."
A stunned silence fell over the table. An apology? From Lee Taekyun? The words were so foreign, so utterly unexpected, that Daon and Eunjae could only stare, their disagreement momentarily forgotten in sheer disbelief.
Mr. Lee recovered first, his face contorting with a fresh wave of outrage. "Apology?" he spat the word as if it were poison. "A Lee does not apologize to someone like him! He is a nobody! A man with no name, no background, who should have been grateful for the life we gave him! You will not waste your time groveling to that worthless—"
"He is not worthless!"
The words erupted from Taekyun with a force that made everyone jump. He shoved his chair back, standing up, his body trembling not with pain this time, but with a long-suppressed fury. The dam had broken.
"You sit there and you insult him?" Taekyun's voice rose, shaking with emotion. "You, who never once looked at him as a person? He was kind, and patient, and he endured more disrespect in this house than any servant! And for what? For a family that treated him like a ghost!"
"Taekyun, that's enough!" Mr. Lee roared, rising to his feet as well.
"No, it's not enough!" Taekyun shot back, his eyes blazing. "You talk about the family name, about respect? Where was the respect for him? You called him a 'nobody'? He has more integrity in his little finger than this entire family has shown him! I drove away the best thing that ever happened to me because I was trying to live up to your impossible standards, and I will not let you insult him any longer!"
The dining hall echoed with their shouts, a father and son locked in a confrontation that was no longer about a simple visit, but about every buried resentment, every harsh word, and the ghost of the gentle man who had become the catalyst for the Lee family's final, explosive unraveling.
Mr. Lee's eyes narrowed, seeing the crack in Taekyun's defiance. He leaned forward, his voice dropping from a roar to a cold, precise dagger, each word aimed to maim.
"You stand there and blame me?" Mr. Lee hissed. "You speak of apologies? Remember your own worth, Taekyun. You are a Lee. You are the heir. I was not the one who locked him in the basement. I was not the one who made him eat his meals alone for a month because his presence 'disturbed your peace'."
Each accusation was a specific, brutal memory, dragging Taekyun's own sins into the light. Taekyun flinched as if struck, the color draining from his face. His father was right. The worst of the cruelty had been his own.
"And let us not forget the most egregious offense," Mr. Lee continued, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "I was not the one who cheated on him. I was not the one who paraded that woman, Yuna, around the city, humiliating him at every turn.
The mention of Yuna was the killing blow. Taekyun's arguments died in his throat. The image of Rinwoo's broken expression when he'd discovered the affair flashed before his eyes, followed by the memory of his own cold justification. His father was right. He was the architect of this ruin.
But as he stood there, shamed and cornered, a different kind of anger—a clearer, colder anger—began to rise. It wasn't an anger that excused his actions, but one that placed them in context.
"You're right," Taekyun said, his voice quiet but terrifyingly steady. The admission stunned the room into silence. "I did those things. Every single one of them. I was cruel. I was blind."
He took a step closer to his father, his gaze locking onto his.
"But who was the one," Taekyun asked, his voice gaining strength, "who taught me that love was a transaction? Who told me that a husband must 'tame' his wife, that respect is earned through fear? Who sat me down and said that Rinwoo was from a 'simple stock' and needed to be 'disciplined' into knowing his place?"
He was no longer defending himself; he was drawing a line from his father's teachings to his own actions.
"You didn't hold my hand and force me to be cruel, Father. But you created the world where that cruelty was not just acceptable, but expected. You demanded I be a certain kind of man—a Lee man. And I became him."
The confrontation had shifted. It was no longer about Rinwoo. It was a son holding his father accountable for the monster he had been raised to be. The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting, filled with the awful truth that the family's greatest curse wasn't a 400-year-old spell, but the poison passed down from one generation to the next.
Daon finally found his voice, stepping between his father and brother with his hands raised. "Father! Hyung! That's enough! This isn't solving anything!"
But the battle lines were drawn, and the point of no return had been crossed. Taekyun's gaze was fixed on his father, unwavering.
"No one is stopping me from going to that mountain tomorrow," Taekyun stated, his voice flat and final.
Mr. Lee's face contorted with a cold, final fury. This was the ultimate defiance. He drew himself up to his full height, delivering his trump card, the threat that had always worked before.
"Then understand this," Mr. Lee said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "If you walk out of this estate to go to that worthless boy, do not ever come back. You will be disinherited. Disowned. Every share, every title, every ounce of power and wealth that comes with the Lee name—it will be stripped from you as if you never existed. You will be nothing."
The ultimatum hung in the air, vast and terrifying. Daon's eyes widened in horror. "Father, you can't mean that!" He understood the true weight of it—it wasn't just about money; it was about identity, about being erased from the family legacy.
Even Eunjae, who held no love for Taekyun, felt a chill. This was too far. "Sir, please—" he started, a surprising urge to defend the man he despised rising in him.
But they were all silenced by Taekyun's response.
He didn't yell. He didn't plead. He simply looked at his father, and a strange, almost peaceful acceptance settled on his features. The struggle was over.
"Then," Taekyun said, his voice clear and resonant in the tense silence, "I, Lee Taekyun, will not be a Lee anymore."
The words were simple, but their impact was seismic. He was voluntarily cutting the cord that had both sustained and strangled him his entire life.
With that, he turned his back on his father, on the estate, on his birthright. He walked calmly out of the dining room and started up the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing with a finality that shook the house.
"Pack my things," he ordered a stunned servant who was hovering nearby. "Only the essentials. I will be leaving tonight."
He was walking away from everything—the wealth, the power, the curse, the name—for a chance, however slim, to apologize to the man he had wronged. The heir to the Lee empire was vanishing into the night, leaving behind a legacy of pain and a future that was utterly, terrifyingly unknown.