Episode 2
“I’ll get straight to the point without any preamble. Master Oh, sell me your eleventh painting.”
Publicly, Oh Hwabaek was known to have painted a total of thirty-four works. Except for those already sold and the elusive eleventh painting he was still seeking, every single one of his works was displayed here in this study.
Oh Yeontaek firmly set the documents down on the table and answered with finality.
“That’s unfortunate. That painting is no longer with me.”
“That’s unfortunate for me, too. Because I came here fully aware that the painting is hanging in your late wife’s room. The eleventh painting is the one with your wife’s portrait, isn’t it?”
“Director Cha.”
“You know my father’s temperament very well.”
There was no question of How did you find out? The tension in the air tightened instantly. Oh Yeontaek’s gaze, fixed on Kang Ryun, was brimming with fear.
“What is this scheme? You’ve lived like a ghost all this time—nothing left to take, so now it’s that painting?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know what’s inside his head, even though I’m his son.”
Kang Ryun let out a smooth, relaxed laugh. The composure in his demeanor made Oh Yeontaek’s grip on the sofa armrest tighten until his knuckles whitened.
Silence fell between them. Neither man opened his mouth easily.
It was a one-sided stand-off, a moment of careful probing. Kang Ryun calmly watched Yeontaek’s mind spin furiously behind his eyes.
The painting—he’d take it one way or another.
Kang Ryun lifted his wrist and checked the time. He had no intention of wasting another second. He was just about to wrap this up when—
Knock knock.
Someone tapped at the study door. The sound wasn’t too loud or too soft. After it came a woman’s voice. Naturally, both men turned their heads toward the door.
“Forgive me for interrupting your conversation. I brought some tea. May I come in for a moment?”
Even to Kang Ryun, the woman’s voice sounded pleasing.
Kang Ryun looked down at the teacup placed before him, carrying a faint, crisp scent.
At the rim of the cup, Seoyeon’s fingertips were faintly stained with colors.
“There’s only mint tea in the house. I hope it suits your taste.”
Kang Ryun glanced at the small paper tag dangling at the rim. With its awkward handwriting, it plainly read Mint, swaying against the cup’s outdated floral pattern.
“The scent is nice. I’ll enjoy it.”
As if.
Kang Ryun offered the polite response while leaning back against the sofa. He lifted the cup, if only for form’s sake, and met Seoyeon’s eyes.
The corners of her eyes curved gently. Her eyes, so clear they seemed nearly transparent, drew in his gaze.
“Leave us now.”
Seeing the two of them, Oh Yeontaek hastily barked an order. He looked at Seoyeon and fidgeted uneasily, as if anxious about something. Kang Ryun let out a soft, mocking chuckle.
Though puzzled by her father’s unusually stern tone, Seoyeon simply rose from her seat without a word.
“Then, please enjoy the tea.”
With her small, tidy face, Seoyeon gave Kang Ryun a gentle smile—a look that held simple warmth and curiosity, like someone welcoming rare guests to this secluded mountain villa.
How amusing.
Completely unaware of the situation she had walked into.
Kang Ryun didn’t take his eyes off her face as he brought the cup to his lips. He disliked the taste, the scent, and the way it slid down his throat—except for one thing:
“Thanks to you, I think I’ll have a pleasant time here.”
The thrill that came with this situation—he liked that.
Would she ever realize that the man before her was threatening her father with thinly veiled blackmail? He silently mocked her innocent kindness behind his polite smile.
It was, in fact, an honest statement—one meant to agitate Oh Yeontaek further.
“What are you doing, lingering here? Get out at once!”
In the end, Oh Yeontaek raised his voice sharply. Startled, Seoyeon turned her gaze to her father. For a moment, uncomfortable silence weighed down the air. But without saying a word, she gave a small nod and quietly left the study.
Kang Ryun, watching Oh Yeontaek’s frayed nerves, casually brushed his fingers over his lips.
“Your daughter draws too, I see.”
“Nothing for you to know.”
“Hwabaek’s house has more interest than you might think in promising artists.”
“Embarrassing as it is to admit, my daughter isn’t skilled enough to be called an artist.”
“I doubt that. Her piece, Memory, left quite an impression on me.”
Oh Yeontaek’s face froze at once.
Memory was Seoyeon’s first piece, painted while recalling her mother, Yuran. In his mind, the words Seoyeon had once said echoed back to him:
“Maybe I’ll try drawing Mom. Don’t worry about me anymore, Dad. I’m over it now. I’m too old to cry just because Mom’s gone. From now on, I’ll take care of this house—and the money too.”
Fourteen years ago, when his wife died of early-onset dementia, Seoyeon had been only thirteen. The shock had silenced her for a long time—she would just sit, blank and listless all day, with no will to live. Oh Yeontaek, terrified for her, had gathered all of Yuran’s keepsakes and placed them in the study she had loved, so Seoyeon wouldn’t wander the house desperately seeking her mother’s scent.
But back then, he hadn’t known—
That gathering those mementos for Seoyeon would turn out to be a fatal mistake.
Misfortune, they say, never comes alone.
On the second anniversary of his wife’s death, the villa had caught fire—Yuran’s study.
On that single day, both father and daughter lost every trace of Yuran—
Her photos, her beloved clothes and belongings, the countless handwritten letters she’d left for them.
For Oh Yeontaek and Seoyeon, only one thing remained to show her face—
The eleventh painting, hanging in his study.
Just one painting.
That one painting was what let his young daughter keep living.
Oh Yeontaek stifled a sigh as he looked at Kang Ryun’s handsome, smiling face.
If Kang Ryun knew about Seoyeon’s painting, then there was no way Cha Junseong didn’t know as well. Now he understood why Hwabaek’s house had suddenly come looking for his work…
“It was Seoyeon’s painting that drew them in…”
Kang Ryun, watching Oh Yeontaek’s heavy expression, slowly savored the mint tea. The tea Seoyeon had kindly served him slid down his throat as he pressed this man into a corner—he found the moment unexpectedly enjoyable. So much so that he could drink a tea he would normally never even touch.
“Why do you want the eleventh painting so badly?”
Breaking the heavy silence, Oh Yeontaek finally spoke.
Kang Ryun gently set the now-empty cup down. It was perfectly drained.
“You’re asking the wrong question. You should first ask what price I’m willing to offer for it.”
“No. I want to know the filthy truth inside you.”
At that, Kang Ryun let out a low, short laugh.
“Is it my truth you want to know, or the Chairman’s? Or perhaps both?”
“…Maybe both.”
At that reply, Kang Ryun simply studied Oh Yeontaek’s face. His smile was graceful—so much so that even an artist like Oh Yeontaek found himself silently admiring it. Yet the dark gleam buried deep in his eyes made him seem less like a living man and more like a beautifully carved statue. Oh Yeontaek shivered faintly. Being so thoroughly overpowered by a man young enough to be his son, he swallowed dryly.
“You can’t possibly not know why the Chairman wants the eleventh painting.”
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m asking.”
Kang Ryun let out a thin, cold laugh through his nose.
Oh Yeontaek’s proud defiance, despite not grasping how cornered he was, struck him as pitiful.
Leaning back against the sofa, Kang Ryun tapped the armrest a few times with his fingers at regular intervals. After quietly watching Oh Yeontaek’s face, he finally spoke.
“You have the villa mortgaged for a sizable debt, don’t you, Master Oh?”
“What are you implying now?”
“You’re due to repay it by the end of this month, aren’t you? Is this really the time to act so composed?”
“……”
The words fell from his lips in a calm, steady tone—but Oh Yeontaek’s face hardened instantly.
Here’s the full continuation and completion of Episode 2, translated with correct grammar and all requested names unchanged:
Oh Yeontaek’s face hardened at once.
Kang Ryun tilted his head slightly, as if studying his reaction with mild amusement.
“I’m sure you know this, but my father hates having his time wasted more than anything else. Especially over trivial obstacles like unpaid debts.”
Yeontaek clenched his jaw so tightly that the veins at his temples twitched. Kang Ryun went on, his tone casual, almost gentle.
“Of course, if you sell the eleventh painting to me now, that debt will disappear overnight. I’ll even throw in an amount generous enough for you and Seoyeon to live comfortably for the rest of your lives.”
“You’re threatening me.”
Yeontaek’s voice trembled with rage.
“It’s a suggestion, Master Oh. A fair one, I’d say. You get money, I get the painting—no one loses.”
“That painting is my wife.”
Yeontaek slammed his palm on the armrest. A dry, cracking sound echoed through the room.
“That’s all I have left of her! I already lost her once. I won’t lose her again—especially not to vultures like you!”
A flicker of irritation crossed Kang Ryun’s eyes, but it vanished quickly behind his cold smile.
“That’s quite moving. Truly. But your sentimentality won’t pay the bank back when they come for this villa. Nor will it put food on the table for Seoyeon.”
Yeontaek’s eyes flinched at the mention of his daughter.
Kang Ryun leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low.
“You think Seoyeon wants to lose her home—again? Do you think she wants to see her father thrown out, humiliated? You know better than anyone what kind of man Cha Junseong is. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
“Get out.”
Yeontaek’s voice came out hoarse, like something was tearing at his throat.
“Get out of my house—right now.”
But Kang Ryun didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned back again and crossed one leg over the other, utterly at ease.
“I’ll give you time. Three days. Enough to think it over. Talk to Seoyeon if you must—though I doubt you’d want her involved.”
He stood up, brushing invisible dust from his trousers.
“Oh, and Master Oh.”
Yeontaek looked up at him, eyes blazing.
“Don’t do anything foolish. You know how my father deals with people who waste his goodwill.”
Kang Ryun’s lips curved into that faint, cutting smile again.
“I’ll see myself out.”
He gave a small nod to Yoon, who had been standing silently by the door the entire time. Yoon opened the door, and Kang Ryun stepped out without another glance at the man slumped in the chair.
The frigid mountain air slapped Kang Ryun’s face as he stepped outside. He paused for a moment on the porch, looking out at the snow-dusted trees.
Inside, he could almost feel Yeontaek’s despair pressing against the windows.
Beside him, Yoon asked quietly,
“Shall I prepare the car, sir?”
Kang Ryun didn’t answer right away. He lit a cigarette instead, the flame from his Dunhill lighter briefly illuminating his sharp features.
He took a drag, exhaled a thin trail of smoke into the cold.
“Where’s Seoyeon?”
“She’s tending the greenhouse, sir.”
Kang Ryun smiled faintly, smoke curling around his lips.
“How sweet.”
He flicked the ash from his cigarette and strode down the steps. Yoon followed without a word.
At the edge of the property, near the old greenhouse, Seoyeon’s figure was visible through the glass—kneeling, hands buried in the soil, carefully tending to something fragile and green amid the winter.
Kang Ryun watched her for a moment, eyes dark and unreadable.
He took another drag from his cigarette, then flicked it away into the snow.
“Let’s go.”
Yoon opened the car door for him. Kang Ryun got in without another word, the door shutting with a quiet finality.
Behind him, the villa stood cold and still, the snow falling softly onto the red log cabin and its lonely master inside.
