"Park Jin-woo has shown signs of waking up."
Jin-hyun delivered the news with the exact same casual, unbothered cadence he used when asking for a drumstick key during rehearsals. He smoothed down the cuffs of his dark sweater, checked his reflection briefly in the floor-length mirror, and turned to look at me.
"Do you actually understand what that means, Mountain?" Jin-hyun asked, tilting his head.
I stood anchored to the floorboards, my brain rapidly connecting the dots across the family board.
I slowly nodded.
'So that's why...' I realized, a cold wave of clarity washing over my chest. 'That's why Chairman Park Jin-ho was in such an unnaturally good mood in the hallway.'
His son—the prodigal trainee whose sudden coma had fractured W-Naut, shattered Jun-seo's leadership, and triggered the entire multi-school war—was finally showing signs of consciousness.
'Not that I could know what was natural for Chairman Park...'
For the Chairman, it wasn't just a medical miracle; it was the restoration of his primary bloodline legacy.
"So..." I cleared my throat, my deep voice quiet against the hum of Jin-hyun's audio equipment. "Is that why your grandfather is organizing this formal family dinner tonight? To celebrate?"
Jin-hyun merely shrugged a single shoulder, sliding a simple silver ring onto his index finger.
"I can never guess what Grandfather is actually thinking. He operates on a completely different metric from the rest of us. Though... my father used to tell me that I took after him, not my dad. The same unpredictable baseline, apparently."
I remained silent for a long moment, staring at the polished dark wood of his desk.
Jin-hyun snapped his fingers in front of my face, breaking my daze.
"Hey. Sloth. Are you coming or what? The catering doesn't wait."
'Why does veryone from this family call me a Sloth?'
"Ah... yes," I stuttered, shaking my head to clear the static. "Let's go."
As we stepped back out into the long, carpeted corridor, I suddenly paused, looking down at my casual attire. I was wearing my dark, slightly oversized hoodie over denim jeans.
"Hey, Jin-hyun-ah..." I whispered, tugging at the hem of my sweater. "Do I look okay? Isn't it way too informal to just wear a hoodie to a formal gathering with the head of the foundation?"
Jin-hyun turned his head, letting out a loud, flashing laugh that echoed off the high ceiling.
"San-ah, what on earth do you mean? We aren't some kind of ancient European royalty, you know. It's just dinner."
I lampooned him violently in my own head.
'We aren't royalty,' he says! That is literally the most obnoxious thing extremely wealthy, generational royalty always says!
We turned left down a sweeping, grand hallway lined with framed historical photographs of the Seoul Academy of Arts' inaugural classes from the mid-20th century. Up ahead, double mahogany doors stood wide open, soft amber light pouring onto the runner rug.
"Wow," I muttered, looking around at the architecture. "You guys actually have a completely separate, dedicated dining pavilion?"
"Of course," Jin-hyun chuckled, nudging my elbow. "Come on, let's step lively. We need to secure the seats right next to Grandfather before the rest of the sharks arrive."
My internal alarms instantly went off. Sit right next to the legendary founder?! I didn't particularly like that idea in the slightest—standing next to the Chairman had been stressful enough—but Jin-hyun was already gliding through the entrance with zero hesitation.
I had no choice but to follow his silver fringe into the room.
The dining hall was magnificent.
A massive, polished dark-oak table stretched through the center of the room, practically groaning under the weight of an elaborate, top-tier feast. Dozens of steaming porcelain dishes, marbled cuts of uncooked hanwoo beef, fresh seafood platters, and traditional side dishes were arranged in flawless geometric symmetry.
The rest of the Park family had not yet arrived at the table.
Sitting alone at the absolute head of the long oak table, bathed in the soft glow of the central chandelier, was a solitary, lonesome figure.
He was sitting in an unpretentious, dark-leather wheelchair. He wore a simple, traditional dark vest over a crisp white shirt, his hands—gnarled, weathered, but holding an undeniable, lingering strength—resting calmly on his lap. His hair was completely snow-white, pulled back neatly, and his dark eyes, though aged, held a piercing, terrifying clarity.
The founder of the Seoul Academy of Arts.
The patriarch who built the educational fortress, father of the two warring brothers, and grandfather to Jin-hyun, Min-ah, and Jin-woo.
He slowly turned his head as our sneakers clicked against the hardwood floor.