YEAR 2006
Rain hammered the glass like a verdict. Namjoon sat by the window, the city blurred into watery grief beneath the downpour. Down below, Min-jae knelt in the courtyard like some character in a story Namjoon hadn't been invited to read. The sight lodged in his chest like a splinter — small, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
Why wasn't it me? The question looped in his head until it became a chant.
Mrs. Hwan closed the curtains with the soft click of someone who believes silence is diplomacy. Her shadow fell across him like a final-judgment hand.
"What are you staring at?" she asked, voice careful.
Namjoon didn't answer. He watched the rain score the glass. "Why aren't I the one in the rain?" he said finally, words thrown out like a challenge and a prayer at once.
Mrs. Hwan tilted her head, puzzled. "What?"
His voice tore out of him. "Why does it have to be Min-jae? I was supposed to be the one. I earned that spot — I was the rightful heir. Why does no one seem to notice? Why am I invisible? Why am I not punished? My grades dropped too, Why does no one bat an eye? Tell me, Mother. Tell me why."
Her face folded with a sympathy that could not reach him. She saw the green-inked edges of jealousy curling at the corners of her son's eyes — the heat of it, the humiliation. But what could she say? How do you mend a hunger that has learned to bite?
"Come out for dinner when you're done," she said at last, the invitation a brittle, helpless thing. She locked the door behind her as she walked out.
He flung himself against the door, voice shredding into the wood. "Why won't you answer me? You know the answer — why do you treat me like this? Why does Father hate me? Why? Why? Why?"
The door absorbed his blows. A stinging pain climbed his knuckles; blood glazed his skin. When the fury wore thin he slid down to the floor and let the sobs come, the same question still burning: why?
---
PRESENT DAY
The Hwan dining room was a painting of restraint: cutlery arranged like soldiers, faces carved to statue-stillness, even Chairman Hwan's presence a quiet that filled the room. It should have been a battlefield of barbs and glassed-over smiles, but tonight the silence was louder than any argument.
Then the front doors wrenched open.
Seo-ra arrived like an omen. Her dress bled red the color of defiance and the color of accusation heels clicking like a metronome counting down someone's undoing. Heads turned; the air shifted.
Namjoon's jaw tightened until the vein at his temple stood out. He surged up and seized her wrist before she could make a theatrically poisoned step.
"What? You want to throw me out now?" she purred, venom in satin. "I'm still part of this household. I haven't signed the papers, remember?"
"You've done enough," Namjoon said, his voice low and cold.
She laughed a brittle, cruel sound and then, like a viper baring fangs, declared, "I'm here to take my daughter."
A hush cracked. "She isn't going anywhere," Namjoon said, stone-faced.
Seo-ra's smile widened to something repellant. "I haven't seen her. Did you hide her? Afraid I'll kidnap her?"
Namjoon's hand rose before logic could catch him — the room inhaled with him — but Mrs. Hwan caught his wrist mid-air as if steadying a runaway ship.
"Told you this would be fun," Ji-uk whispered to Min-jae, the two of them leaning into the spectacle like kids at a fireworks show.
Mrs. Hwan's calm snapped like a fragile bone. "What do you think you're doing? Slapping a woman?" she said, horror feigned, authority rehearsed.
Before the sentence could be finished, Ye-seul — glass of wine poised like a chalice — rose as if pulled by a string. She glided to Seo-ra with the smile of someone who enjoys the clean line between reputation and ruin.
"Yah! Jang Seo-ra!!" She called out intentionally disrespectful.
"You seem to lack respect every day," Seo-ra hissed.
Then — a sound like a clap of thunder — Ye-seul's hand met Seo-ra's cheek. The slap was precise and cinematic; bloodless, but scorching. Seo-ra's cheek flamed red.
"Ye-seul!" Mrs. Hwan gasped, nostrils flaring.
Ye-seul didn't flinch. "I'm a woman," she said, voice silk over steel. "There's nothing wrong with slapping another woman." She turned toward Namjoon with a conspiratorial tilt. "For tonight, I'll be your alias, Oppa. Tell me what to do and I'll do it." Her eyes glittered. "Should I hit her again?"
Chairman Hwan rose and, without a word, exited. The move spoke louder than any reprimand — a withdrawal of oxygen. Mrs. Hwan followed, her face a mask made of disappointment and calculation.
Seo-ra shrieked, fury and humiliation braided into one. "How dare you hit me?"
Ye-seul's smile was almost proud. "And I would do it again."
Namjoon hauled Seo-ra by the arm and pushed her outside, the smooth inside turning to gravel underfoot. She toppled in a flurry of silk and scorn, palms kissing the earth.
"Ouch!" she crooned theatrically as Namjoon stood over her like a judge issuing sentences.
"Don't overdo it," he said, voice soft and dangerous. "It would be a shame if I had to see to your end myself."
Seo-ra's breath came sharp. "Are you scared?" she spat. "You called me useless, never trusted me — now look. I ruined you in a day. One day."
Namjoon crouched, close enough that his shadow swallowed hers. His voice was a blade wrapped in velvet. "You think your little game ruined me?" He smiled with a slow, dangerous pleasure. "I only gave you a head start. Watch your life crumble before your eyes, Seo-ra." He rose and left her on the ground like an unpaid debt.
Inside, the aftermath crackled like embers.
Min-jae reclined as if in a study pose, thumb scrolling his phone, face unreadable. Ji-uk leaned in, hungry for gossip. "So — what do you think, Ye-seul? An alias for Namjoon? You two aren't even close."
Ye-seul sipped her wine, savoring the metallic tang of power. "I wanted to strike while the moment burned. Her cheeks were just too tempting." She regarded Seo-ra with delicious disgust. "I wish I could have hit her again. I despise that woman."
Ji-uk chuckled like a man scoring tickets to the front row. "I'm just here for drama."
"You hypocrite," Ye-seul mocked, but her eyes danced. Ji-uk lifted his glass in a toast of shared cruelty.
Mrs. Hwan re-entered, composed in a way that made the air around her colder. "You two" she pointed at Ji-uk and Ye-seul briefly "Making fun out of a moment like this? Instead why don't you use this time to tend to your relationships. Min-jae, you can understand him better than most; step in."
Then she turned, the ruler weighing Ye-seul with a look that could strip titles. "As for you," she told Ye-seul, "your behavior is unacceptable. Until you understand your mistake, I'm withholding your credit card."
Ye-seul blanched. "Mother! You can't—"
"Give it," Mrs. Hwan said, the word final as a gavel.
Ye-seul stomped, lips trembling between a curse and a plea. She shoved the leather wallet forward with a theatrical flourish.
Min-jae rose. "I'd be leaving." he said, bowing with a sliver of a smile that had nothing like warmth.
Mrs. Hwan nodded once, porcelain and precise. "Take care."
Ye-seul lunged for one last argument. "But—"
"That's enough," Mrs. Hwan cut her off and glided from the room, dignity enveloping her like a cape.
Ji-uk sipped his wine and arched an amused brow. "So—the rich daughter of Chairman Hwan is now broke," he said, voice syrupy.
Ye-seul's face blossomed crimson-hot. "I will bite your ear off," she threatened and stormed out, heels an angry percussion.
Ji-uk laughed, a low sound that soaked up the chaos. "So much drama," he said and sipped his wine "I love it."