The Gulfstream G650 sliced through the clouds above the Yellow Sea, a silver dart descending towards Incheon. Inside the whisper-quiet cabin, the world was one of polished wood, cream-colored leather, and silent, attentive service. Han Ji-young sat at a table, a lightweight carbon-fiber laptop open before her. The screen was not filled with fashion articles or messages from friends. It was a dense, complex spreadsheet detailing Aura Management's quarterly cash flow, project pipelines, and investor liabilities.
She looked every inch the powerful, modern CEO. Her suit was a sharp, tailored Dior, her watch a discreet but elegant Cartier. Her expression was focused, analytical, and completely unreadable. She was not coming home simply as a concerned sister rushing to her brother's side. She was a shark that had smelled blood in the water, and she was crossing an ocean to investigate.
Her mind was a swirl of conflicting emotions, a storm she kept carefully hidden behind a mask of cool competence. There was a flicker of genuine, familial concern. The single, broken phone call from her brother had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She had never, in her entire life, heard him sound so lost, so utterly defeated. It was like hearing a mountain crumble into the sea.
But woven through that concern was a decade's worth of bitterness and suppressed resentment. For years, she had been the failure, the one sidelined and forgotten while he ascended to godhood in the industry. He had saved her, yes, but he had also exiled her, giving her a kingdom to rule from a distance, far from the real seat of power.
And now, that seat was empty.
A surge of pure, undiluted ambition, an emotion she hadn't let herself feel so keenly in years, rose within her. This was her chance. Not just to help, not just to repay her debt, but to prove herself. To prove that she was more than just his sister, more than the head of a European subsidiary. To prove that she was his equal.
The jet touched down with a gentle bump. Within thirty minutes, she had cleared a private customs channel and was in the back of a black sedan, speeding towards the heart of Seoul.
She didn't go to the Aura building. The address Yoo-jin had sent her led to a non-descript, anonymous office rental in a boring glass tower, the kind of place used for shell companies and secret projects. When she walked in, her presence was like a sudden change in atmospheric pressure. The three people in the room—a young woman with fierce, intelligent eyes, a stoic, mountain-like man in a suit, and the soft-hearted Go Min-young she remembered from years ago—all stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
She gave them a brief, dismissive nod, her eyes already fixed on the single closed door at the end of the room. She knew he was in there. She walked across the room, her heels clicking with sharp authority on the cheap laminate flooring. She didn't knock so much as rap her knuckles once, firmly, on the door.
"Yoo-jin. It's me. Open the door."
A long, heavy silence followed. She waited, her patience absolute. Finally, she heard a faint shuffle from within, and the lock clicked. The door swung open.
The man who stood before her was a ghost. Her brother, Han Yoo-jin, the untouchable titan of the industry, looked like hell. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and a three-day-old stubble shadowed his gaunt cheeks. But the worst part was his eyes. The usual sharp, calculating fire in them was gone, replaced by a dull, vacant emptiness. The contrast between them was brutal: the broken, exiled king and the ascendant, conquering queen.
Her first instinct was a pang of sympathy, a sister's urge to comfort. She ruthlessly suppressed it. Pity was a luxury neither of them could afford right now.
"You look like hell," she said, her voice crisp and completely devoid of sentiment. "I've cleared my schedule for two weeks. I'm here now. Brief me. Everything."
He stared at her, his mouth opening as if to speak, but the words wouldn't come. He seemed overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the disaster. He gestured vaguely at the monitors behind him, at the mess of papers on his desk, a gesture of complete and utter defeat.
Ji-young's patience snapped. She was not here to manage a nervous breakdown. She was here to manage a crisis.
"Fine," she said, her tone shifting from brisk to commanding. "I'll get the briefing from your team. You," she said, pointing a finger at him, "are going to the safe house. You will shower. You will eat a real meal. And you will sleep for at least twelve hours. That is not a suggestion. It is an order. In your current state, you are not an asset. You are a liability."
She was treating him not as her younger brother, but as a compromised executive who needed to be taken off the board before he did any more damage. For a moment, she saw a flicker of the old Yoo-jin, a flash of pride and anger at being ordered around. But it died as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a profound, bone-deep weariness. He was too broken to argue. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod of surrender.
She turned to the mountain-like man, Kang. "See to it."
Kang nodded silently and gently but firmly guided Yoo-jin out of the room, leaving Ji-young alone with the two remaining women. She turned to face them, her demeanor all business. Her first priority was to assess and neutralize the biggest internal threat.
She pointed to the dark monitor that had previously hosted Nam Gyu-ri. "Patch him through. Now."
Min-ji, startled by the command, quickly re-established the secure video link. A moment later, Nam Gyu-ri's smug face appeared on the screen. He looked surprised to see Ji-young sitting in her brother's chair.
"Well, well," Gyu-ri began, a smirk playing on his lips. "To what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from the European branch?"
Ji-young did not waste time with pleasantries. "Mr. Nam," she began, her voice as cold and sharp as ice. "I am Han Ji-young. As of one minute ago, I am the acting head of Aura Management. I have been briefed on your… consultancy. I understand you've made a proposal to my brother to assume temporary operational control of this company."
Gyu-ri's smirk widened. "Your brother is a smart man. He understands the need for a certain… expertise…"
"That proposal," Ji-young cut him off, her voice leaving no room for negotiation, "is denied. Let me be perfectly clear. You will continue to act as a consultant. You will be compensated, very generously, for your insights into our mutual enemy. But you will not be given the keys to my brother's kingdom. You will not make a single operational decision without my express approval. You will report to me, and only to me. Is that understood?"
Nam Gyu-ri's face fell. He was stunned, furious at being so swiftly and decisively sidelined by this woman he had never even met. He opened his mouth to argue, to assert the authority he believed he had earned. But as he looked into her eyes on the screen, he saw the same ruthless, unyielding steel he had once seen in her brother's. He saw a woman who would not be bullied, who would not be manipulated, and who would cut him loose without a second thought if he became more trouble than he was worth.
With a barely concealed sneer, he gave a curt, bitter nod. "Understood… acting head-nim."
Han Ji-young had been in Seoul for less than an hour, and she had already deposed a king, quarantined a liability, and brought her most dangerous internal threat to heel. The game had a new player.