CHAPTER 2
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Chung-Hee’s modern, minimalist apartment.
At five in the morning, the sky burned orange and red.
He woke abruptly to the sharp sound of his alarm.
There was a brief moment that lasted no more than a breath, when his chest tightened for no clear reason.
He sat up at once, pushing the sensation away before it could form into a thought.
As always, he followed the same routine: bathroom, teeth brushed, training clothes and sneakers on, then straight into a series of rigorous strength exercises in the apartment’s private gym. His movements were rigid, punishing, and deliberate.
Chung-Hee did not respond. He finished his last set, wiped the sweat from his face, and stood still for a moment, his hands resting on his knees.
His heartbeat slowed. He showered, dressed in an elegant designer suit, and ate oatmeal with berries and chia seeds while reviewing financial reports on his iPad.
San was waiting downstairs beside the striking red sports car.
“Good morning, Mr. Lee. How are you today?” he asked briskly, opening the door.
“Good morning,” Chung-Hee replied coolly, already scanning his tablet. “We’re running behind.”
San hesitated, then nodded, slipping into the driver’s seat.
“Traffic alert. A ten-minute delay is expected on your route,” the AI announced.
“Take the usual route,” Chung-Hee said flatly. He adjusted his schedule with precise movements, shaving minutes from meals, transitions, rest. The delay irritated him more than it should have.
They arrived at NovaTech’s headquarters at 7:40. Late, but with enough time.
Chung-Hee walked into the conference room already reviewing the final report. By the time the other executives had taken their seats, he had found two figures he wanted checked again and sent a message to the finance team.
When the presentation began, he spoke without notes. The new chip had consumed years of his life. He knew every weakness, every improvement, every failed prototype that had come before it.
One board member raised concerns about production costs. “I’ve reviewed the latest financial data, and frankly, the manufacturing costs are alarming.”
“They are high,” Chung-Hee said. “That doesn’t make the project unviable.”
“But hasn’t the prototype shown signs of instability?”
Chung-Hee looked at him. “Earlier versions did. This one hasn’t.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“My team will continue testing until I’m satisfied.”
By two in the afternoon, the prototype test was underway. Min-Seo briefed the room while data streamed across the screens.
“Performance under stress has been excellent,” she said. “Multiple tests confirm reliability.”
“Any weaknesses?”
“User interface and energy efficiency. We’re working on both.”
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and froze. “Mr. Lee… Zenith Corp is holding a press conference.”
A feed appeared on the main screen. Chung-Hee watched in silence. The similarities were obvious.
“They moved faster than I expected,” he said.
No one answered.
He looked around the room. “Run the tests again. All of them. I want a full comparison with Zenith’s specifications by tomorrow morning.”
Min-Seo nodded.
“And nobody stays past nine.” Several people looked surprised. “Tired employees make mistakes,” Chung-Hee said. “I need accurate results, not exhausted people pretending they’re productive.”
The room immediately came back to life.
By evening, the office had emptied, and San gave Chung-Hee a final briefing before leaving for the day.
“Tomorrow morning remains clear, as requested. The cemetery visit will be earlier this year; at eleven you have a meeting with the CISO of XLA Bank. I’ll bring the bouquet and offerings for your brother. Your mother will visit later.”
Chung-Hee’s expression tightened, just briefly. “You know what day it is,” he said.
San nodded. “It was unavoidable. Mr. Jacobs is leaving on a business trip tomorrow afternoon. He specifically made room in his schedule for you, boss. I can always reschedule after he returns, but that would be three weeks from now. And with the latest news about Zenith Corp…”
After a brief pause, Chung-Hee nodded. “Proceed as planned.”
San drove him home.
When they arrived at the modern building where his luxurious penthouse was located, Chung-Hee noticed more activity than usual. Boxes were stacked in the lobby and outside the private elevator.
He asked the concierge whether the second penthouse had been sold.
The concierge nodded. “A lovely lady in her early forties bought it. She has a son, but he’ll arrive later. He’s still in school.”
“Mr. Lee,” the concierge said hesitantly, “you seem a little down today. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Chung-Hee pressed his lips together, despite trying to keep his composure. “Everything is perfect. Thank you.”
He stepped into the elevator.
Just as the doors were about to close, a hand stopped them. His gaze shifted toward it, then slowly traveled upward until it settled on the woman standing before him.
“Good evening! You must be Mr. Lee.” She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Kang Yujin, your new neighbor,” she added when he failed to respond.
He took her hand almost immediately. “Where are my manners?” A faint smile touched his lips. “I apologize. Welcome to the neighborhood, Ms. Kang. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me through the concierge.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence until the elevator reached the top floor.
At home, the silence collapsed in on him.
His brother’s birthday, once a day of laughter and noise, had become unbearable.
Empty bottles littered the coffee table.
A half-filled glass of whiskey trembled in his hand as he stared out at the city lights.
He hadn’t planned to drink this much. He never did.
A framed photograph caught his eye. Two boys, Chung-Hee and Haneul, grinning, arms slung around each other. His grip tightened around the glass and he drank.
Memories surged. Model airplanes scattered across the floor, arguments over nothing, pride, annoyance, love he never knew how to say aloud. And then the morgue and Haneul’s stillness.
“Another year,” he whispered. “Why did it have to be you?”
A notification from Haneul’s phone, which Chung-Hee had kept charged and switched on all these years, drew his attention. Who would send a message to this phone?
He rose slowly, his head hazy and his legs unsteady, then picked it up. For a moment, he thought he was imagining things. He didn’t read the message. He couldn’t. He never would.
But he recognized the name. Noeul.
His grip tightened around the phone. Without another glance, he deleted the message, then emptied the whiskey glass in a single swallow. Tears blurred the city lights. He opened his nightstand drawer and pulled out the note. The paper trembled in his hands, creased and worn from years of rereading.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he would go to the cemetery. Tomorrow he would stand in front of the stone and speak to something silent, something gone, something that still ruled his life.
Tomorrow, he would be composed again.