The weeks following the "Dinner Incident" were a blur of calculated silence and hidden storms.
Lian had claimed the top floor of the west wing as his personal sanctuary. He had the locks changed, the security cameras bypassed, and the servants barred from entry. The family—still reeling from the sight of their "fragile" son wielding a steak knife like a scalpel—watched him from a distance, hovering between awe and a growing, gnawing fear.
Inside his room, the atmosphere was vastly different.
The walls were covered in digital screens and sprawling whiteboards. The once-delicate hands of the young Omega were now flying across a keyboard, the blue light of the monitors reflecting in his obsidian eyes.
'The Lian Corporation is a rotting oak,' Lian thought, his mind processing data at a speed that would have baffled a supercomputer. 'Strong on the outside, hollowed out by parasites on the inside. If I am to build my own empire, I cannot use their tainted soil. I must build it in the shadows.'
He was creating Aether International. In the digital world, he was not a neglected son; he was a faceless titan. Through a series of complex shell companies and encrypted servers, he had already begun shorting the stocks of his father's rivals and acquiring distressed assets in the medical tech sector.
The Internal WarBut the transition wasn't seamless. The King's soul was powerful, but the vessel was broken.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on his screen. It was a simple request for a signature from a legal aide. Beside it was a photo of a hand pointing to a line.
Lian's breath hitched. His vision flickered.
The image of the hand triggered a violent flashback—a memory from the "Old Lian." He saw a crowd of faceless socialites reaching out to pat his shoulder, their "affectionate" touches feeling like slimy leeches on his skin. He saw his father's hand gripping his arm, forcing him to stand still for a portrait.
Don't touch me. Don't look at me. Leave me alone.
A cold sweat broke out on his neck. His lungs felt as though they were filled with dry sand. This was the Haphephobia—the psychological illness that the previous soul had cultivated through years of unwanted physical expectations.
"Control," Lian hissed through gritted teeth. He gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. "It's just a memory. You are the Sovereign. You do not bow to nerves."
He reached for a glass of ice water, but his hand shook so violently that the glass shattered against the floor.
Clatter.
The sound was too loud. It echoed in his ears like a gunshot. He slumped to the floor, his back against the mahogany desk, his chest heaving. The extreme loneliness of the old body flooded him—a desperate, aching void that cried out for warmth, while simultaneously being terrified of it.
'I am alone,' the thought drifted through his mind, unbidden. 'In two lives, I have been a king of nothing. A master of a desert.'
He stayed there in the dark for an hour, a god-level genius reduced to a trembling boy, battling the ghosts of a life he hadn't even lived.
The Uninvited GuestA soft knock at the door broke his trance.
"Lian? It's Ji-Min. I... I brought some tea. And the medical journals you asked for."
Lian took a deep, shuddering breath. He wiped his face, smoothed his hair, and stood up. The transformation back into the cold, untouchable prince was instantaneous, though his heart was still thundering.
"Leave them at the door," Lian said, his voice steady but distant.
"Can't I come in for just a moment?" Ji-Min's voice was laced with a sadness that felt genuine. "We haven't spoken in days. Mother is worried. She thinks... she thinks you hate us."
Lian walked to the door but didn't open it. He stared at the wood, imagining his brother on the other side. Ji-Min had always been the kindest, the one who tried to "save" him with soft smiles and gentle words. In the past life, that kindness had been useless. In this life, it was a distraction.
"Hate requires emotion, Ji-Min," Lian said coldly. "I don't hate you. I simply have no use for the drama of this family. Tell Mother I am fine. I am working on a project that will ensure the Lian name survives the coming market crash."
"Market crash? What are you talking about? The economy is booming."
"Enjoy the boom while it lasts," Lian replied. "And Ji-Min?"
"Yes?"
"The next time you bring something, don't knock. It disrupts my rhythm. Just leave it and go."
There was a long silence on the other side of the door. Then, the sound of footsteps fading away.
Lian closed his eyes. The rejection hurt—not his soul, but the body. The "Old Lian" was still there, a crying child trapped in the basement of his mind, mourning the brother he had just pushed away.
'Be quiet,' Lian commanded his own heart. 'Kindness is a luxury for the weak. We are building a throne.'
He turned back to his screens. He began to type, his fingers a blur. By dawn, he had successfully diverted three billion won into an untraceable offshore account. He had also mapped out a new surgical technique for neural repair—a gift he would eventually "leak" to the world under a pseudonym.
He was the CEO. He was the Surgeon. He was the Ghost.
But as the sun began to peek over the horizon, casting a lonely gold light across his room, Lian looked at his reflection in the dark monitor. He was the master of everything, yet he couldn't even stand the thought of his own brother's hand on his shoulder.
He was a king in a fortress of glass, waiting for a storm that hadn't yet arrived.