The bedroom was silent save for the soft click of Daon's phone as he ended another call with a wedding planner. He sat at his desk, a mountain of lists and schedules before him, his posture rigid. He hadn't gone to work, choosing instead to bury himself in the logistics of his brother's forced marriage, a grim distraction from the chasm that had opened in his own.
Eunjae watched him from the doorway for a long time before gathering the courage to enter. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting silently until Daon finished his call.
When the room was quiet again, Eunjae took a shaky breath. "Daon," he began, his voice soft. "I... I'm sorry. For everything. For making you mad. For being selfish."
Daon didn't look up from the papers. He was quiet for so long Eunjae thought he might not answer at all. Then, he slowly turned his chair to face him. His eyes were tired, deeply troubled.
"Why," Daon asked, his voice low and hollow, "did you become so selfish?"
The question felt like a physical blow. Eunjae's breath hitched. He met Daon's gaze, his own eyes swimming with a sadness so profound it seemed to fill the room.
"Do you even love me, Daon?"
The question hung in the air, simple and devastating. Daon froze, his carefully controlled mask slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing pure, unguarded shock.
"Why are you suddenly asking that?" he deflected, his voice tighter now.
Eunjae's composure began to crack. A broken, watery smile touched his lips as unshed tears made his eyes glitter. "Because it's important," he whispered, his voice thick. "When you don't show it... when you never hold my hand in front of your family, when you never choose me over your duty, when you look at me with more frustration than warmth... then at least tell me. Do you even love me? Or are you just tolerating me? Being nice to me because we're married? Because of the curse? Because we're just... stuck with each other forever?"
He took a ragged breath, the dam finally breaking. "Because as far as I know, you're really, really good at just... settling. You settle for your father's demands. You settle for a life you never wanted. So, am I just another thing you've settled for?"
The raw vulnerability in Eunjae's voice, the direct challenge to the very foundation of their relationship, left Daon speechless. He could only stare into Eunjae's tear-filled eyes, the truth of the accusation—that he had never once voiced the most fundamental promise of their union—lodged in his throat like a stone. The silence that followed was an answer in itself, and it was more painful than any shouted argument.
Eunjae's voice trembled, but it gained strength with every painful truth he laid bare. The tears he had been holding back finally began to fall, tracing silent paths down his cheeks.
"You want to know why I became selfish? Why I said we should run away?" he continued, his words spilling out in a torrent of long-suppressed hurt. "It's because I don't even know what I'm fighting for anymore!"
He stood up, unable to stay still, his hands gesturing helplessly. "At first, I was fighting for Rinwoo. I saw how he was treated, and I decided I could tolerate our marriage if it meant I could protect him, if I could have a friend in this hell. But now Rinwoo is gone!"
He turned back to Daon, his eyes pleading for understanding. "So then I started fighting for us. For our love. But… do you even love me?" The question was a whisper now, filled with a devastating uncertainty. "Because I think I'm fighting for nothing. I'm tolerating your father's disgusting behavior, his hateful gaze, all of this mess… for what?"
He took a step closer, his voice cracking. "You have never, not once, said a sweet word to me. You've never held me just to hold me. You've never called me 'sweetheart' or 'darling' or… or anything. What are we, Daon? Are we partners? Or are we just two strangers sharing a bed because a piece of paper and a curse says we have to?"
He was openly sobbing now, the facade of the strong, defiant Eunjae completely gone, revealing the lonely, love-starved man beneath.
"Just… just say it," he begged, his body shaking. "At least say you love me. You've never said it. You've never said 'I love you, too'."
The room was silent except for Eunjae's ragged breaths. He had laid his heart, his deepest insecurities and his most fundamental need, bare on the floor between them. He was no longer asking for grand gestures or a life of freedom. He was asking for three simple words, the absence of which had made his entire world feel like a beautiful, empty shell. He was waiting, his entire being hanging on the precipice of Daon's next sentence, terrified that the silence itself was the only answer he would ever get.
The silence in the room was a physical weight, and Daon was buckling under it. He couldn't meet Eunjae's gaze, his own eyes fixed on a random point on the floor, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of duty, fear, and the devastating words still hanging in the air.
Then, Eunjae moved. He didn't shout or storm away. He stepped forward and slowly, deliberately, knelt on the floor directly in front of Daon's chair. The act of submission was more powerful than any anger.
"Look at me, Daon," Eunjae pleaded, his voice raw and broken. He reached out, his hands hovering just above Daon's knees, not quite touching. "Just look. Look what you've done. Look how miserable you've made me. Look how desperate you've made me for just a crumb of your love."
A sob escaped him, and he finally let his hands rest on Daon's legs, his grip desperate. "And what do you do? You work. You work and you work. Everything is about your father, or the company, or the curse. It's always about something else. It's never about us."
He looked up, his tear-streaked face a map of his exhaustion. "Daon, don't you think I have a life? Don't you think I have feelings that are being crushed every single day in this house? Don't you think I deserve... just a little? A single vacation, just the two of us, where you're not the heir and I'm not just your husband? Where we can just be... us?"
His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him, leaving only a profound, bone-deep weariness. He leaned his forehead against Daon's knees, his entire body trembling.
"I'm so tired, Daon," he whispered, the words muffled against the fabric of Daon's trousers. "I'm so tired of everything."
The sight of Eunjae—proud, fiery Eunjae—brought so low, kneeling and weeping at his feet, was the final crack in Daon's fortified walls. It wasn't a demand anymore; it was a surrender. And in that moment of utter vulnerability, Daon finally saw, with horrifying clarity, the true cost of his emotional neglect. He had been so focused on carrying the weight of his family's world that he had failed to notice the person he loved most crumbling to pieces right in front of him.
The sight of Eunjae, broken and kneeling before him, was a mirror reflecting back a truth Daon could no longer ignore. The carefully constructed walls of duty and control shattered.
He didn't speak. He simply pushed himself up from his chair and sank to his knees on the floor, meeting Eunjae on his level. In one fluid, desperate motion, he pulled Eunjae into his arms, wrapping him in a tight, almost crushing embrace.
He buried his face in Eunjae's neck, his own body beginning to tremble as the weight of his failures came crashing down.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words rough and choked. "Eunjae, I'm so sorry."
He held him tighter, as if he could fuse their broken pieces back together through sheer force. "I'm sorry for making you feel this way. I'm sorry for not seeing you. I'm sorry for every time I chose work over you. I'm sorry for never saying the words."
The apologies poured out of him, each one a confession. He wasn't just apologizing for the recent fight; he was apologizing for every silent dinner, every missed touch, every moment he had taken Eunjae's presence for granted while being consumed by the demands of his name.
He held his husband, the man he loved but had been too afraid and too blind to cherish properly, and for the first time, Daon let himself feel the full, terrifying depth of that love, and the even more terrifying fear of losing it. In the quiet of their bedroom, on the floor, with Eunjae sobbing in his arms, the mighty Lee Daon was finally, truly, humbly, present.
The air in Beom Seok's small bedroom was thick with the scent of antiseptic and unspoken emotions. Rinwoo sat on the edge of the bed, his movements gentle and precise as he dabbed at the cut on Beom Seok's forehead. His hands, which had been trembling before, were now steady with purpose.
Beom Seok watched him, his heart aching with a mixture of physical pain and overwhelming concern. "I'm sorry, Hyung," he murmured, wincing as the cotton swab touched a tender spot. "I should have just left the room after I dropped off the first aid kit. I shouldn't have let him provoke me."
Rinwoo shook his head, a soft, sad smile gracing his lips. It was a smile that held the weight of a thousand sorrows, but also a newfound resolve. "No, Beom Seok-ah. It's not your fault. It's mine."
He finished taping a clean bandage in place and sat back, his gaze dropping to his own hands. "It's my fault for forcing you to go to him. It's my fault for… for ever loving that beast. It's my fault for letting my guard down and thinking, even for a second, that things could be different." He looked up, and his eyes, though still shadowed, held a clear, hard light. "But I won't do that again. I've had enough. Truly."
The raw determination in Rinwoo's voice, the finality of it, struck Beom Seok deeply. He wasn't just saying the words; he meant them. He was drawing a line.
A wave of fierce, protective affection washed over Beom Seok. Without a second thought, he leaned forward and pulled Rinwoo into a tight, heartfelt hug, careful to avoid his own injuries.
"Hyung," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his arms holding Rinwoo securely. "Please. Just be happy. That's all I want. Forget about him. Forget all the pain. Just… please, be happy. Always."
In the quiet sanctuary of the small room, surrounded by the evidence of the day's violence, they held onto each other. One was vowing to let go of a poisonous past, and the other was silently vowing to be the shelter for his future. It was a promise, a new beginning forged from the wreckage of the old.
Rinwoo's soft chuckle was a fragile sound in the tense room. He pulled back from the hug, a gentle smile on his face as he looked at Beom Seok. "Yah, since when do you talk like such a grown-up man?" he teased lightly, reaching out to pinch Beom Seok's uninjured cheek with careful affection. He stood up, trying to inject a note of normalcy. "Let me make you something good to eat. You need your strength."
But as he turned to leave, Beom Seok's hand shot out, catching his wrist. The grip was firm, desperate.
Rinwoo stopped, looking down at the hand on his wrist, then back at Beom Seok's face. The younger man was looking up at him, his expression completely serious, devoid of its usual playful warmth.
"Hyung," Beom Seok said, his voice low and intense. "Can you give me a chance?"
Rinwoo froze. The casual smile he had forced onto his face slowly melted away. "Beom Seok-ah… stop joking around."
"I'm not joking." Beom Seok's gaze was unwavering, burning with a sincerity that made Rinwoo's heart stutter. "Last night… it wasn't just you who kissed me."
Rinwoo gulped, the hazy, alcohol-soaked memory of the kiss flooding back with embarrassing clarity. The feeling of being guided, of lips moving against his…
Beom Seok stood up, his eyes locked on Rinwoo's. "I love you, Hyung. Give me a chance. I'll make you so happy. I promise."
The direct confession hung between them, vast and terrifying. Rinwoo hesitated, his mind reeling. He slowly, carefully, withdrew his hand from Beom Seok's grasp, putting a small, deliberate distance between them.
"Beom Seok… we… we shouldn't think of it like that," Rinwoo stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Let's just be friends. Please, forget about that night. You know why I kissed you. It wasn't… it wasn't real. We are not meant to be. And we can't be together. Even if we are apart, I'm still Taekyun's husband. If we break that bond… the curse… he could die."
It was the practical, inescapable truth. Their lives were bound by a supernatural chain.
Beom Seok's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The earnest plea in his eyes hardened into something darker, more desperate. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, cold growl as he looked at Rinwoo, his gaze dropping to the slender, delicate hand he had just been holding.
"Let him die."
The words were uttered with a quiet, chilling finality. It wasn't a shout, but a stark, simple statement of a heart pushed past its limit. In that moment, Beom Seok's love wasn't gentle or patient; it was possessive and absolute, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone, even a man's life, to claim the one he adored. The room, once a place of healing, was now charged with a dangerous, forbidden desire.
The silence stretched, thin and sharp as a blade. Rinwoo stood with his back to Beom Seok, his shoulders tense. He could feel the weight of the younger man's gaze, heavy with hope and heartbreak.
"I'm sorry, Beom Seok," Rinwoo said again, his voice barely audible. "But we can't be together."
There was a beat of silence behind him. Then, a quiet, broken question. "Is it because of Taekyun?"
Rinwoo froze. The name was a key turning in a lock he had tried to seal shut. He didn't answer. He couldn't. Denying it would be a lie, but confirming it felt like a betrayal of the new resolve he had just declared.
Beom Seok let out a soft, bitter chuckle, the sound devoid of any real humor. He understood the silence. It was answer enough.
He looked up, his eyes tracing the line of Rinwoo's back, committing the sight to memory. "Then I'll wait for you, Hyung." His voice was steady now, filled with a terrifying, unwavering determination. "Even if I have to wait forever."
The words were a vow, a promise that stretched into an infinite, lonely future. They were more binding than any curse.
Rinwoo's breath hitched. He clenched his jaw, the muscles tight with a pain that was both for himself and for the boy he was leaving behind in the room. He couldn't turn around. He couldn't offer any more words that would only deepen the wound or fuel the dangerous hope.
Without another sound, he walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He left Beom Seok standing alone amidst the bandages and antiseptic, a soldier pledging his life to a war that might never be won, his love a patient, persistent shadow in the quiet shrine.
The hallway felt like a gauntlet. Rinwoo kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, intent on reaching the sanctuary of his room. But then he saw them. Master Hwang was carefully wrapping a bandage around Taekyun's bruised knuckles, the old monk's face a mask of weary patience. The sight of Taekyun—being cared for, being tended to—sent a fresh spike of irrational anger through him.
He clenched his jaw and quickly turned, hoping to slip away unseen.
"Rinwoo."
The sound of his name, spoken in that familiar, once-cherished voice, made him freeze. He heard footsteps behind him, and then a hand gently touched his arm.
The contact was like a spark to gasoline. Rinwoo violently yanked his arm away, spinning around to face Taekyun with a glare that could freeze fire.
"Don't," he seethed, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and pain. "Don't you ever touch me again."
Taekyun flinched as if struck, his hand falling limply to his side. The raw hatred in Rinwoo's eyes was a physical blow. He swallowed hard, his own face pale and pleading.
"I'm sorry," Taekyun whispered, the words rushing out. "Rinwoo, I know it's too late. I know I don't deserve it. But please… please, just give me one last chance. I'll try my best. I'll be a good husband, I swear it. I left Yuna. I left the company, my family… I left everything for you."
He was begging, laying his entire ruined life at Rinwoo's feet as if it were a grand offering.
Rinwoo stared at him, and then a sound escaped his lips—a short, sharp, utterly humorless laugh that echoed bitterly in the quiet hall.
"So what?" Rinwoo's voice was cold, each word a shard of ice. "What if you left everything? That was your choice. Not mine."
He took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a pain that had been festering for two long years.
"I never asked you to follow me here. I never asked you to be a 'good husband' after you spent years being a terrible one. I never asked for any of this. You don't get to drop your ruined life on my doorstep and expect me to clean it up for you. Your sacrifices mean nothing to me."
With that, he turned his back on Taekyun, on his apologies and his promises, and walked away, leaving the heir of the Lee family standing shattered in the hallway, his grand gesture of redemption utterly rejected and deemed worthless.
Taekyun stood frozen in the hallway, the sting of Rinwoo's rejection washing over him in cold, debilitating waves. He felt hollowed out, his grand apology and sacrifice thrown back in his face as worthless. He was nothing here. A nuisance. A ghost haunting the man he loved.
He didn't hear Master Hwang approach until the old monk was standing beside him. He expected condemnation, a order to leave. Instead, he felt a surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder.
Taekyun looked up, confused, into the ancient, knowing eyes.
Master Hwang was smiling, a small, subtle curve of his lips, and he shook his head slowly. "I knew it," the old man murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Letting you stay... it was the right decision."
Taekyun could only stare, bewildered.
"All this time," Master Hwang continued, his gaze drifting down the hall where Rinwoo had vanished, "the pain was trapped inside him, festering. He was smiling, pretending, burying it so deep it was starting to poison him from the inside out." He looked back at Taekyun, his expression unreadable. "But you... you are the key. Seeing you, hearing you, it unlocked everything. All that anger, that hurt... he's finally letting it out. He's aiming it at the person who caused it. This is how he heals."
The words were so unexpected they barely registered. "You... you hate me," Taekyun stammered, stating what he believed was an obvious fact.
"I do," Master Hwang agreed without a hint of malice. "I hate you for what you did to my grandson. With every fiber of my being." His grip on Taekyun's shoulder tightened slightly. "But I will not ask you to leave. Not yet. Because you are the reason the light is finally returning to his eyes. That fire, that defiance he just showed you? That is the real Rinwoo fighting his way back to the surface. For the first time since he arrived, I believe he will sleep peacefully tonight, because he has finally spoken his truth."
He gave Taekyun's shoulder a pat that was both dismissive and strangely encouraging. "So keep going. Don't stop. Endure his hatred. Absorb his pain. It is the only penance that has any meaning, and the only medicine that has any hope of curing him."
With that, Master Hwang turned and walked away, leaving Taekyun alone in the hallway, his mind reeling. He wasn't a guest; he was a tool. A blunt instrument being used to shatter the shell around Rinwoo's heart so the healing could begin. The path to forgiveness was not through grand gestures, but through willingly becoming the target for all the rage he had created. It was a brutal, heartbreaking purpose, but for the first time, Taekyun felt a sliver of something that wasn't pure despair. It was a purpose.
Eunjae closed the bedroom door behind him, the fragile warmth from his moment with Daon already cooling into a familiar, aching emptiness. Daon had held him, apologized, but the three words he desperately needed to hear had remained unspoken, lost somewhere between duty and fear. With a heavy sigh, he pushed his own heartache aside and went to check on Taemin.
He found his brother-in-law exactly as he feared. Taemin lay on his bed, still in his rumpled clothes from the night before, staring blankly at the ceiling. He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't crying. He was just… there. A beautiful, vibrant soul seemingly extinguished, his body a hollow shell.
A sharp pang of sympathy, sharp as a knife, cut through Eunjae. He walked over and sat gently on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"Hey," Eunjae said softly.
Taemin didn't respond. His eyes didn't even flicker.
"Taemin-ah," Eunjae tried again, reaching out to gently shake his leg. "You have to get up. You can't lie here like this."
"Like what?" Taemin's voice was a flat, hollow monotone, devoid of its usual playful lilt. "Like a corpse? That's what I feel like."
"Don't say that," Eunjae chided, his heart breaking.
"Why not? It's the truth." Taemin finally turned his head, and the emptiness in his eyes was terrifying. "He left, Eunjae. He looked me in the eye and told me to go marry Nayeon. He called what we had a 'mess'." A bitter, broken sound escaped him. "I was willing to die for him. And he just… walked away."
Eunjae didn't know what to say. He couldn't reveal the truth, that Juwon's cruelty was a desperate, twisted act of love. That secret wasn't his to tell.
"So, fine," Taemin continued, his voice gaining a shred of bitter energy. "I'll do it. I'll be the perfect son. I'll marry Nayeon. I'll wear the suit, I'll say the vows. What does it matter? The only part of me that was ever alive is already dead."
He looked back at the ceiling, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a path down his temple into his hair. "Just let me lie here. There's no point in getting up."
Eunjae watched him, the fight completely gone from the young man who had once been a whirlwind of defiant energy. He lay a comforting hand on Taemin's arm, a silent promise that even if he felt alone, he wasn't. But the words of comfort felt useless in the face of such profound surrender. The gilded cage of the Lee family had finally won, and its youngest songbird had stopped singing.
The shrine's kitchen was steeped in the quiet of the evening. Rinwoo, having mustered the energy to make dinner, expected to find the room empty, Beom Seok resting from his injuries. Instead, he found him standing at the counter, his posture slumped. Beom Seok was weakly attempting to chop vegetables, his movements slow and uncoordinated. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his face was flushed with the telltale signs of a fever.
"Beom Seok-ah!" Rinwoo exclaimed, rushing forward. He gently but firmly took the knife from Beom Seok's trembling hand. "What are you doing? You should be in bed."
Beom Seok tried to wave him off, his voice thin and strained. "It's okay, Hyung. Let me cook. I don't want you to get tired..."
Rinwoo's heart ached at the stubborn concern. Even in his own miserable state, Beom Seok's first thought was for him.
"Yah," Rinwoo said, his tone shifting to one of gentle but firm scolding. He placed his hands on Beom Seok's shoulders and turned him away from the counter. "It's cooking, not a battlefield. I can handle a pot of stew just fine." He gave him a small, purposeful push toward the door. "Now, go. Back to bed. Before I decide to hit you too."
It was a weak joke, a hollow echo of the day's violence, but it worked. A faint, tired smile touched Beom Seok's lips. He was too weak to argue further. He allowed Rinwoo to steer him out of the kitchen, leaning slightly on the doorframe for a moment before nodding and shuffling weakly back toward his room.
Left alone in the kitchen, Rinwoo let out a long sigh. The silence felt different now. It wasn't the oppressive silence of his own pain, but a protective one. He looked at the half-chopped vegetables, at the quiet, empty space where Beom Seok had been standing, and a new, clear purpose settled over him. He picked up the knife, his own hands steady. He would cook a good meal. He would make sure the person who kept getting hurt for his sake was cared for. In the simple act of preparing dinner, Rinwoo wasn't just feeding a body; he was tending to a heart, and in doing so, he was beginning to mend his own.
The rhythmic sound of Rinwoo chopping vegetables was the only noise in the kitchen, a peaceful cadence he was clinging to. The peace was shattered by the soft shuffle of footsteps.
He didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Leave," Rinwoo said, his voice cold and flat, his focus remaining on the carrot beneath his knife.
"I want to help," Taekyun's voice was quiet, hesitant, but persistent.
Rinwoo's knife stilled. He slowly turned his head, his eyes narrowed. "Help?" he repeated, the word dripping with skepticism. "Have you ever even held a kitchen knife before? Have you ever cut a single vegetable in your life?"
Taekyun stood frozen by the doorway, caught. His silence was answer enough. "I... I could try," he offered lamely. "It can't be that hard, right?"
A humorless, frustrated sound escaped Rinwoo. He turned fully away, dismissing him, and resumed chopping with more force than necessary. "Don't waste my time," he bit out, the words sharp and precise. "You couldn't even be bothered to clean the dust from the room you're sleeping in, and now you want to help me in the kitchen? Tsk. Just go."
The dismissal was absolute, grounded in a mundane, undeniable truth. Taekyun, the CEO who commanded billions, was being rejected over his inability to perform a basic domestic task. The humiliation was a cold splash of water. He opened his mouth to protest, to say something, anything, but no words came. The image of the dusty, filthy room he had passively inhabited was a stark testament to his uselessness here.
With a stiff nod, Taekyun turned and walked out of the kitchen, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Once he was gone, Rinwoo let out a long, weary sigh. He hadn't wanted to be cruel, but he needed the space. He needed to do this one simple thing—cook a meal—without the oppressive shadow of his past looming over him. He resumed his work, the steady chop-chop-chop of the knife a mantra, hoping against hope that this time, Taekyun would finally get the message and leave him alone.
Alright, let's dive into Taekyun's grand adventure in cleaning.
---
Back in the dusty, abandoned bedroom, Taekyun stood with his hands on his hips, staring at his new kingdom of grime. The room looked like it hadn't seen a broom since Master Hwang's grandfather was a young monk. Dust bunnies the size of actual bunnies huddled in the corners, and a single, sad-looking spider was leisurely adding another section to its web in the window frame. "Right," Taekyun muttered to himself, rolling up the sleeves of his ridiculously expensive shirt, now permanently smudged with dirt. "How hard can it be?" He spotted a old, wooden-handled broom leaning against the wall like a forgotten relic. He grabbed it with the confidence of a man who'd never held one before. His first sweep was less of a sweep and more of a violent, horizontal jab that sent a cloud of dust erupting into the air, directly into his face. He stumbled back, coughing and sputtering, waving a hand in front of his watering eyes. "Aish! Is this a broom or a weapon of mass destruction?!" he wheezed, his voice muffled by the dust cloud now clinging to his hair and clothes. Next, he found a bucket and decided to tackle the layers of grime on the floor. He filled the bucket with water, sloshing half of it onto his shoes in the process. "No matter," he declared, undeterred. He then proceeded to dump the entire bucket onto a single, central spot on the wooden floor, creating a small, murky lake. He stared at it, perplexed. "Now what? Does it... evaporate?" He looked around for a mop, but finding none, he resorted to trying to push the water around with his feet, which only succeeded in creating muddy streaks. "This is illogical! Why isn't there a machine for this?" He then noticed the cobwebs. Puffing out his chest, he approached the largest one with the broom, intending to heroically vanquish it. Instead of a clean swipe, he got the broom head tangled in the web, and when he pulled back, the resident spider landed squarely on his shoulder. Taekyun froze, his eyes wide with horror. He and the spider stared at each other for a long, tense moment. "Truce?" he whispered nervously. The spider, unimpressed, slowly ambled away. Defeated by arachnids and aqueous physics, Taekyun finally slumped onto the now-damp floor, surrounded by a half-swept pile of dust and a growing puddle. He looked at his dirty, wet hands and then at the barely-touched room. "I've negotiated multi-billion-dollar mergers that were less stressful than this," he groaned, wiping his forehead and leaving a new streak of dirt. "Rinwoo was right. I am completely, utterly useless."