The next morning – Hotel Shilla, Lee Boojin's Office
Jihoon arrived at the sleek, glass-paneled office just after sunrise. The city was barely waking up, but the Shilla Hotel's executive floor was already humming with quiet efficiency.
He moved briskly down the hallway, nodding to a few familiar staff before reaching his aunt's office.
Without waiting for an assistant or knocking, he gently pushed open the door.
There she was.
Lee Boojin, elegant and poised as always, sat behind her massive mahogany desk, already deep in paperwork.
Her signature black blazer and low chignon hairstyle gave her the kind of sharp authority that didn't need words to command respect.
She didn't look up immediately, but Jihoon knew she was aware of his presence.
There was no need for pleasantries or forced greetings, he simply pulled out the chair across from her desk and sat down, crossing one leg over the other as he waited patiently.
He wasn't in a rush—he knew how she operated.
If she hadn't spoken yet, it meant she wasn't ready.
After a few more seconds of reviewing a document, Boojin finally placed the file down with deliberate care, looked up, and met his eyes with a calm but unreadable expression.
"Jihoon-ah," she said flatly, "do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused lately?"
Jihoon blinked, taken aback by the opening shot. His lips parted slightly, but no reply came out. He tilted his head slightly, signaling her to explain further.
She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose—something she rarely did unless genuinely irritated.
"Your trip to LA," she continued, her voice low but sharp, "wasn't exactly subtle."
"Do you think your name doesn't trigger any alarms the second it shows up on an airline manifest?"
"This is Korea, Jihoon-ah. A country where powerful families control the pulse of everything."
"Every move you make sends ripples—especially among those with deep ties to the entertainment business who don't take kindly to surprises."
"You're lucky you were born a Lee, because a naive move like this would've made an ordinary person disappear from the game before they even learned the rules."
Jihoon's brow furrowed as he listened to Boojin's explanation.
Of course. It made sense now.
The entertainment world—especially the higher-ups at CJ and others deeply entrenched in the industry—would've caught wind of his sudden disappearance almost immediately.
Leaving without notice would've set off alarms.
Especially after Jihoon had seemingly agreed to play along with their game—appearing on variety shows, performing like the obedient monkey they wanted.
At that point, it probably looked like he had finally fallen in line, ready to cook according to the receipe the have written.
And then came his next move—bringing Sunny to that so-called banquet.
To them, it was a calculated gesture.
A sign that he was returning to the Korean scene after Inception—a Hollywood project they had no stake in and no control over.
By showing up with Sunny and aligning himself with local distributors like CJ, he only deepened the impression that he was back and ready to cook up something special.
All of it painted a picture they were eager to believe: that Jihoon was now a reliable chef, preparing a lavish feast just for them.
So when his name appeared on an outbound flight to LA, the illusion shattered.
To them, Jihoon wasn't just going rogue.
He was a problem.
He had become a question mark they couldn't read. And in Korea, a world that is obsessed with control, he was the kind of variable they feared the most.
Which is exactly why Boojin had stepped in herself.
Because Lee Sooman had already tried talking to him previously, and that conversation hadn't gone well. Since their last meeting, the dynamic between them had grown tense—brittle, even.
So now the task had fallen to Boojin—the one person in the family who could speak to him with both authority and a touch of familiarity.
But Jihoon could see it clearly: she wasn't just here as his aunt.
She was here as a messenger for something much bigger—for the intersecting interests of the chaebol elite, family power structures, and the delicate ecosystem of Korea's entertainment industry.
Jihoon let out a slow breath through his nose.
Still, they had it all wrong.
His trip to LA had nothing to do with betrayal or arrogance.
He wasn't running from them—he was simply trying to move faster, to stay ahead before they could catch up.
He needed funding. He needed to build the next phase of JH Corp before anyone else saw or understand his blueprint.
But he wasn't about to explain that to Boojin.
She might've shared his blood, but Boojin represented something far bigger—and colder—than family. She was part of a system built on control, money, and power.
In that world, kinship didn't mean much.
Loyalty was conditional.
And information—especially something as explosive as the upcoming financial crisis he remembered from his past life—was never shared for free.
It was bartered, manipulated, and used as leverage.
Jihoon had no intention of handing that kind of advantage to them.
That knowledge was his shield—the foundation he needed to build his defenses, to raise walls high enough to keep the wolves at bay—especially when his own family was among the pack.
Because he knew exactly what kind of family he belonged to.
In this family, affection wasn't natural—it was rare, and when it did show up, it usually came with strings attached.
Feelings were performed, not truly felt.
And appealing to emotion? That wouldn't win him support. Not understanding. Not even a shred of trust.
Because in their world, everything boiled down to three things: profit, personal gain, and control.
So Jihoon had stopped expecting anything else a long time ago.
Especially after everything he'd lived through in his past life—climbing from nothing, step by step, as an orphan.
He had learned to survive without trust, and to never wait around hoping someone would lend him a hand.
That's why Jihoon wasn't surprised their attention had turned to him. In fact, he was pretty sure they'd already started digging into his company's every move over the past year.
He had expected it.
JH Corp had been growing quietly, but steadily—and people were starting to notice. There were new hires, a few overseas partnerships, and just enough buzz in the media to catch attention.
For those who came from families like his—where every move had a motive, and nothing happened by accident—it was more than enough to make them suspicious.
But what truly threw them off was how he moved.
He wasn't following the usual script.
There were land purchases in Mapo. Unexpected investments in food delivery apps, game development, and odd little tech startups that didn't seem to fit together.
To outsiders, it all seemed random—disorganized at best.
After all, the phrase "information age" was still more of a tech industry slogan than a concrete strategy, and while smartphones were starting to gaining traction, few truly grasped how mobile connectivity would soon redefine consumer behavior, disrupt entire markets, and reshape global commerce.
To them, it wasn't a business priority—it was a novelty.
And that was exactly what Jihoon wanted.
It was his version of a flashbang—loud, confusing, and designed to draw attention away from what really mattered: JH Investments, the spearhead of his plan, where he intended to draw first blood and secure the critical funds he needed during the financial crisis.
While they were busy trying to make sense of the chaos, he was already laying the foundation for something bigger—quietly, behind the scenes.
From the outside, JH Corp looked like a messy experiment.
Profits were mostly trickling in from the film division, and the rest of the company felt like a mystery no one could decode.
But Jihoon didn't mind the confusion.
He understood the game. Just like early Silicon Valley doubted Zuckerberg, the old families in Korea didn't trust him.
He was too new, too different, too unpredictable—and far too young for them to bother investing time or resources into figuring out what he was really planning.
In other words, he simply wasn't worth their damn time.
And that was exactly what Jihoon wanted.
Their arrogance, their need for control—it gave him just enough breathing room to grow.
Still, that didn't mean they were going to leave him alone.
They were watching—quietly, patiently. Not to strike just yet, but to wait. That's how people like them operated. They let things grow, mature... and when the timing suited them, they'd step in and take the fruit for themselves—Jihoon's fruit—without hesitation.
And Jihoon knew that game all too well.
That's why he had been laying his bricks quietly, one by one. And when the time came, he'd have the wall ready—high enough to keep them out.
The only question now was... how long could he keep them guessing?
Across the table, Boojin studied him. Her eyes narrowed just slightly—not enough to look hostile, but enough to say this isn't over.
Jihoon was still processing, piecing the conversation together in his head, when Boojin shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Calm. Unbothered. She took a slow sip of her coffee, letting the silence linger.
Then, without looking away, she finally asked, "So... do you want to explain yourself?"
[Author's Note: Heartfelt thanks to Wandererlithe, JiangXiu, Night_Adam, BigBoobs, OS_PARCEIROS, Daoistadj and Daoist098135 for bestowing the power stone!]