A month later, Jinyong was crouched over a barrel, rifling it carefully. He was working on a long rifle, a custom design that hopefully would shoot accurately on a long range.
The rifle was built in sections. He started with the barrel. He had a homemade rifling machine, a simple electric press with a rotating mandrel and a set of cutting grooves. He fed a smooth metal tube into the machine. When he turned it on, the mandrel spun inside, and the cutters etched the grooves in a spiral pattern. Each groove had to be precise; one misstep and the bullet would wobble.
Next came the stock. He shaped it from a dense piece of hardwood, running it against a homemade sanding jig, smoothing it to exact curves that fit his hands perfectly.
The rifle was slowly coming together. He wiped sweat from his brow and leaned back, admiring the progress.
The door swung open, and a security guard stepped inside. Jinyong looked up, ready to tell him to leave. But before a word escaped his lips, he laughed lightly. "Let me guess… my father?"
The guard nodded. "Yes, sir. He said to call you immediately."
Jinyong sighed, setting the tools down. "Figures. Alright, I'm coming."
He wiped his hands, grabbed a cloth to clean the barrel one last time, and followed the guard out of the workshop, the half-finished rifle resting on the bench behind him.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Jinyong stepped in. The security guard pressed the top floor button. The hum of the elevator filled the silence.
The elevator stopped with a soft ding. He stepped out.
A few employees passed by, giving polite nods. He returned them with a curt one.
After that, he pushed his father's doors open without knocking.
Inside, sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Wonyong Keum stood behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the skyline.
Jinyong stopped a few steps in. "You called for me?"
His father turned. "Yes. Sit down, Jinyong. We need to talk."
Jinyong sighed and pulled out a chair. "About what this time?"
Wonyong didn't answer right away. He walked to his desk, placed both hands on the surface, and looked straight at him.
"You've been spending a lot of time in your workshop," he said slowly. "More than usual. And not all of it is related to the appliance line."
Jinyong raised his brow. "I work on a lot of things. You know that."
"I do," Wonyong said. "But I also know the difference between business and... hobbies that could draw unwanted attention."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Jinyong leaned back. "Then maybe you should tell me what kind of attention we're talking about."
Wonyong's eyes stayed sharp. "The materials you've been asking procurement for… they were for making explosives. My engineers said so."
Jinyong blinked once, then let out a quiet scoff. "Took them long enough to figure that out."
The older man frowned. "What exactly are you making, Jinyong?"
Jinyong leaned back, resting one arm on the chair. "Remember that talk we had a month ago? I told you I wanted to make weapons. And I did."
Wonyong's fingers twitched on the desk. "It's an explosive weapon."
Jinyong shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it. You wanted to talk just for that?"
"It's dangerous," his father said. "Your workshop is on the ground level. If something explodes, the entire building could collapse. Do you realize that?"
Jinyong hummed. "Relax. I don't make explosives that big. I'm careful. You know that."
"Careful or not, you're playing with volatile compounds."
"Then what do you want me to do?" Jinyong said. "Stop? You know I won't. It's a hobby. Something I might sell later if it works out. But right now, that's all it is. A hobby."
Wonyong's brow furrowed. He tapped his fingers on the polished desk, lost in thought. "The new line of appliances is entering the market soon," he said after a moment. "Your designs… the washer, the cleaner, they'll be in stores within a few weeks."
Jinyong tilted his head. "And?"
His father looked up. "Do you want to live by yourself?"
Jinyong blinked. "What?"
"A new place," Wonyong clarified. "Bigger workshop. More room for… whatever you're making. If you're experimenting with explosives, it's better you do it away from this tower."
Jinyong's brow arched. "You're buying me a house or something?"
"If that's what you want to call it," Wonyong said. "Think of it as a workspace. You'll have privacy. Less risk to the company."
Jinyong studied his father's face. "Have you told Mother yet?"
"No," Wonyong said. "I'll handle that later. She'll come around when she sees the logic in it. You'll have your own place. And with the money coming from your products, it's justified."
Jinyong gave a small nod. "Fine. Anything else?"
Wonyong let out a quiet sigh and leaned back in his chair. "You've gotten close to Hiroshi's daughter."
Jinyong frowned slightly. "And?"
"The cooperation with Future Industries was your idea," Wonyong said. "If we have to turn Hiroshi in later, she'll hate us for it."
"Let me deal with that."
His father raised a brow. "You think it'll be that easy?"
"If Hiroshi gets arrested, she becomes CEO," Jinyong said simply. "Right?"
"Yes," Wonyong replied. "A CEO who might despise us once she learns we were the ones who reported her father."
"Like I said," Jinyong murmured, "I'll deal with it." He let out a small sigh. "Speaking of the cooperation, how's it going?"
"I've sent a few engineers to work with him," Wonyong said. "They've already started constructing the new factory on our land."
Jinyong hummed. "You want me to help with that?"
His father's gaze hardened. "No. It's risky enough already. I don't want you involved."
"Suit yourself," Jinyong said, standing up. He brushed a speck of dust off his sleeve. "If that's all, I'll head back."
"Just… be careful, Jinyong," Wonyong said quietly.
Jinyong gave him a look. Half amusement. "When am I not?"
—
A few weeks later, Jinyong stood beside his father in the grand ballroom of Keum Tower. The place was packed. Investors, engineers, executives, even city officials mingled under the warm chandelier light.
Alcohol glasses clinked. Laughter filled the room. The banners of Keum Enterprise hung proudly across the marble walls.
The launch was a success. The new household appliance product line was selling faster than anyone expected. So fast the factory had to open another production line just to keep up.
His father couldn't stop smiling. "You've done well, son," Wonyong said for what felt like the tenth time. "You've made me proud."
Jinyong forced a polite smile. "Thanks, Father."
Every few minutes, someone came to shake his hand. Investors, workers, department heads. They all said the same thing: congratulations, brilliant work, impressive designs.
He nodded, smiled, and made small talk. It was exhausting.
A servant appeared quietly behind him and leaned close. "Sir, there's a call for you. At the telephone."
Jinyong glanced over his shoulder. "Who is it?"
"It's Miss Asami, sir."
He paused, then nodded. "Alright. I'll take it."
He excused himself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd toward the nearest telephone desk tucked near the wall.
He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Jin," came her voice, soft and teasing through the static.
He blinked. "Asami? Why are you calling?"
"Why?" she said, feigning offense. "Do I need a reason to call you now?"
He sighed lightly. "I'm at a party right now."
"Oh." Her tone shifted. "Sorry, I didn't know. I just wanted to say congratulations. Heard about the new Keum line. Everyone's talking about it. Saw the papers say you designed it."
He smiled, voice softer. "Thanks. That's nice of you to call."
"Yeah, my dad is non-stop calling everyone in the company to look at the design and see if they could make improvements and sell it as our own product."
"Wow, make sure your father pays me the royalty." He joked. "How have you been doing? The academy stuff going alright?"
"It's fine. Boring as always." she muttered. "So… when's our next date?"
He just chuckled, but didn't give her a direct answer. "I'll be busy this few weeks, but my father gave me a new place. Private one. Just outside the city. Pretty close to your estate, actually."
She laughed. "Really? Boys have it good, huh."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I asked my dad for one near the academy," she said, amused. "He said no. Apparently, I'm 'not ready to live alone yet.'"
Jinyong chuckled. "Yeah, well. I wasn't asking for your life story. Just telling you about mine."
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," she said, still laughing.
He smiled. "I'll tell you the address once I've moved in so we can hang out there if you want. You'll like the place. But for now, I'll see you later."
"See you, Jin," she said.
The line clicked.
He stood there for a moment, looking at the receiver before hanging it up. Then he straightened his suit, exhaled, and walked back into the ballroom, back to the noise, the lights, and the endless congratulations.
—
The car rolled to a stop.
Jinyong stepped out and looked around. The place was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt too clean.
The new house sat in the middle of a patch of green. Trees all around, a trimmed lawn, flowers planted neatly along the path. The property split into two buildings — a small, modest home and a larger one beside it. The workshop.
He glanced up at the windows. Everything was spotless. His father must've sent gardeners already. It wouldn't stay like that for long unless he continued to do so.
He opened the car trunk and started unloading the last boxes. Tools, notebooks, a few personal things. It didn't take long.
Once everything was inside, he stood in the middle of the living room. Bare walls, new furniture, nothing familiar yet. It smelled like varnish and cleaning spray.
He rubbed his neck. "Home, I guess."
Then he made his way to the workshop.
The metal door creaked open. Inside, the place looked perfect. His machines were already set up — the lathe, the milling table, the homemade press, all in their places. His modified automobile sat parked near the far wall, spotless and gleaming.
On the walls, tools lined in neat rows. Above them, racks and labeled drawers filled with spare parts, wires, bolts, anything he might need.
He spotted a smaller room tucked in the corner. Glass door. Stainless counters. The chemistry lab. Exactly how he asked for it.
Next to it, another room stacked with crates and barrels. His requested materials. Everything was here.
He stood there, hands on his hips, taking it all in.
For once, he didn't feel like talking.
Just a small, quiet sigh escaped him.
Satisfied.