The black notebook felt heavy in Son Oh-gong's backpack, weighted not by paper but by the sheer gravity of what he'd learned. Inside, scribbled in fierce, neat handwriting, were the names: Jeong Hae-kyung (Gyeolsa), Director Lee, and the chilling, impersonal name of the shell corporation, Kyung-In Holdings. He also had a few key clauses from his mother's trust documentation—the clauses that granted the beneficiary, him, the right to audit and halt any administrative review of Portfolio 14-A if improper external influence was suspected.
The threat against Jin Seon-mi—the surveillance photographs—was the cold catalyst that drove him. His father, Gyeong-cheon, hadn't moved against the inheritance yet, but against the emotion that protected it. He was trying to push Oh-gong back into isolation, hoping that if the anchor was threatened, the boy would retreat entirely.
He miscalculates, Oh-gong thought, tightening his grip on the straps of his bag. He thinks loneliness is my weakness. It used to be. Now, she is my strength, and defending her is my purpose.
He arrived downtown at precisely 6:50 PM. The K-I building was a colossal spike of glass and steel, soaring into the bruised evening sky. He was twelve minutes early for the 7:00 PM meeting. He approached the lobby concierge, a woman encased in polished marble and indifference.
"I am Son Oh-gong," he stated, his voice calm, projecting the cold confidence he had practiced in the mirror all afternoon. "I am here for the Trust Portfolio 14-A administrative review on the 48th floor."
The concierge looked him up and down—a boy in a slightly too-large school uniform—then consulted her tablet with a dismissive air. "There is no record of an appointment for you, sir. Only invited board members and legal counsel."
"I am the beneficiary of Portfolio 14-A," Oh-gong countered, maintaining eye contact. "And I have the right to observe and halt any review concerning my assets under clause 3-C of the trust's charter. If you refuse me entry, you will be liable for obstructing a legal audit. Now, which elevator?"
The threat was audacious, delivered with a maturity that shattered her practiced indifference. She stammered, then frantically checked a hidden screen beneath her desk. A moment later, a small, clipped voice came over her earpiece, too low for Oh-gong to hear the words, but the tone was clearly an instruction.
The concierge's expression shifted from skepticism to sudden, grave respect. "Apologies, young master. The private elevator to the executive floor is to your left."
Oh-gong walked toward the elevator bank, the small victory providing a rush of cold, strategic adrenaline. Someone inside—Jeong Hae-kyung—had paved the way, ensuring his demand would be met once he stated his rights. She was testing him, waiting to see if he would arrive and how hard he would push.
The 48th floor was silent and oppressively modern. He was directed to a conference room where four men sat around a sleek, black table, illuminated by a strip of blinding white light. They were the proxies: the director, Lee, two lawyers, and a man who looked like an accountant, all polished and predatory.
And in the corner, seated slightly apart at a small side table, observing the proceedings with an unblinking intensity, was a woman.
Jeong Hae-kyung. Gyeolsa.
She was dressed impeccably in a dark, charcoal suit—the material catching the light with the subtle metallic sheen he recognized from the thread. She was older than in the photograph, her hair pulled back tightly, emphasizing the sharp, analytical precision of her face. She looked directly at Oh-gong, her eyes betraying nothing, a challenge and a silent acknowledgment all in one.
"Mr. Son," Director Lee said, rising stiffly. He was a man with a perpetually damp forehead. "I was not informed you would be joining. This is merely an administrative consultation."
Oh-gong took a seat at the far end of the table, his posture mirroring his father's cold formality. He didn't waste time on pleasantries.
"It ceases to be merely administrative when my father, Son Gyeong-cheon, uses corporate resources to launch a campaign of intimidation against persons associated with me," Oh-gong stated, placing the black notebook on the table. "As the beneficiary, I am exercising my right under clause 3-C to suspend this review until I have received a full accounting of all K-I funds used for non-corporate activities in the last forty-eight hours."
The statement was a calculated bomb. He hadn't just objected; he had accused them of financial misconduct and implied knowledge of their actions against Seon-mi.
Director Lee's face paled further. "We have no knowledge of any such activities. That is an extremely serious—"
"It is," Oh-gong cut him off, leaning forward just enough to project authority. He kept his voice level, drawing on the loneliness that had taught him self-control. "And I have reason to suspect my father is attempting to influence the outcome of this review to pressure me into ceding control. I believe the funds used to conduct personal surveillance, including unauthorized photography of minors, originated from an escrow managed by K-I."
The two lawyers exchanged a horrified glance. They were used to dealing with their boss, Gyeong-cheon, who fought dirty. They were not used to being challenged by a child who sounded like a young, cold-blooded prosecutor.
Oh-gong then turned his attention, briefly, to Jeong Hae-kyung in the corner. He didn't address her, but he knew his next words were specifically for her.
"If any attempt is made to retaliate against my associate, Miss Jin Seon-mi, or any other student at my school, I will release the complete archived shareholder log of Kyung-In Holdings to the regulatory board tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM, detailing the true ownership structure. Director Lee, you understand the implications of revealing the identity of J.H.K. and the subsequent dissolution of your shell corporation."
The subtle threat hit its mark perfectly. He had just confirmed he knew Gyeolsa's true identity and role, effectively giving the woman in the corner the option to either support his play or risk exposure herself.
Gyeolsa finally moved. She slowly reached into her pocket, pulled out a small, metallic silver pen, and tapped it once, sharply, on the glass top of her side table. It was the only sound in the room.
Director Lee saw the gesture, and his damp face registered pure terror. It was a silent command from the true power in the room.
"Mr. Son," Lee stammered, adjusting his tie. "Given your... understandable concerns, we will immediately comply with the audit request. The review of Portfolio 14-A is officially suspended until further notice." He rushed to gather his papers. "We will contact your legal representative in the morning."
Oh-gong remained seated, allowing the fear and the silence to linger, cementing his victory. The meeting dissolved rapidly. The lawyers, the accountant, and Director Lee fled the room as if escaping a condemned building.
Only Oh-gong and Gyeolsa remained.
She rose and walked toward him, her footsteps silent on the marble floor. She stood opposite him across the vast table.
"An impressive performance," she said, her voice a low, gravelly alto—the first time he had heard it. It held no approval, only assessment. "You found the name and the legal loophole in one night. You chose to use the threat of exposure on my identity to save your girl's reputation. Risky. Foolish."
"I am not foolish," Oh-gong said, his own voice slightly shaking now that the adrenaline was fading. "If my father touches her, I have nothing left to fight for. You want me to be strong, you want me to inherit, but I will not be the cold, lonely man he is. She is my connection to humanity."
"Humanity is a weakness," Gyeolsa stated flatly. "Your mother gave me the task of protecting you until you could protect yourself. I have done so by leaving the clues. You were meant to follow them alone, without distraction." She gestured to the egg roll wrapper that was still in his bag. "This Jin Seon-mi complicates the equation."
"Then you must include her in the equation," Oh-gong challenged, meeting her severe gaze. "Or I will dissolve this company and handle Gyeong-cheon my own way. The photographs stop, or the company falls. Which is more valuable to you, Jeong Hae-kyung?"
A faint, almost imperceptible curve appeared on her lips. It wasn't a smile, but a mark of grudging acknowledgement.
"The photographs will cease," she conceded. "Consider it a reward for demonstrating resourcefulness. But you must understand the cost of carrying an anchor. It will make you stronger, but it will also make you slower."
"I accept the terms," Oh-gong said.
"Good. Now go. You should not have been here. Do not contact me. I will find you when you are ready for the next phase. Now you have bought time, young master. Use it."
Oh-gong gathered his notebook and left the conference room. He did not look back. He had faced the watcher, used her resources against her, and secured a temporary peace for the one person who mattered.
He emerged from the cold glass tower into the relative warmth of the city night. He walked straight toward the bakery he knew Jin Seon-mi frequented. He bought her favorite vanilla cake—the small one, the one his mother used to make—and carried it carefully in its white box.
He found her sitting alone in the school's courtyard, looking up at the sky, her posture small and slumped.
He sat beside her, placing the box in her lap.
She looked at him, then at the cake, and finally, her eyes welled up. "You didn't have to get me this, Oh-gong. I was just—"
"You are not a distraction," he interrupted, his voice rough with exhaustion and sincerity. "You are the only reason I went to the meeting tonight. You are my anchor. I need you to stay safe and stay strong. Just stay near, Seon-mi."
He had never spoken so many truthful, exposed words to her. She didn't press him about the meeting or the strange warning. She only opened the box and offered him the first bite of the cake.
He took it. It tasted like vanilla, safety, and a future he was now determined to fight for.