Chapter 8
The negotiations with LJ Bio wrapped up more smoothly than expected. After some careful push and pull and a bit of compromise, they’d reached a mutually satisfying outcome — yet Kang Ryun’s expression wasn’t bright. Compromise always came with exhaustion.
The quiet hum of the black sedan’s engine mixed with the wind brushing against the windows. He loosened his tie and leaned his head back. The moment he closed his eyes, the fatigue washed over him.
At that moment, Secretary Yoon cautiously spoke up from the driver’s seat.
“Sir, I organized the documents you mentioned earlier. I also attached the latest meeting records with Director Inho.”
Kang Ryun’s eyelids slowly lifted. The events of the morning came to mind.
Chairman Cha Junseong, Cha Jin Taek, and in between them, Oh Seoyeon — it was a strange mix. Especially Cha Jin Taek — even with that embarrassed look on his face, he hadn’t been able to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Despite the serious atmosphere, he’d seemed overly at ease. Kang Ryun hadn’t missed that odd tension.
Kang Ryun gave a brief nod.
“Check the connections with Chairman Cha Junseong’s people — include every unofficial channel you can verify.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kang Ryun said nothing more.
He didn’t close his eyes again, nor did he chase the thoughts away.
Countless lights and people slipped past the car window.
The moment he arrived at his office, Kang Ryun put his hand on the door handle.
His secretary rushed up to him.
“Sir, there’s a guest waiting for you inside.”
“A guest?”
“It’s Oh Yeontaek.”
One of Kang Ryun’s eyebrows slowly rose. He glanced at his wristwatch. It was long past office hours.
Showing up at this hour without notice?
This made the second time today he’d crossed paths with the Oh family. An unsettling feeling crawled down his spine.
“All right. You can go ahead and leave for the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the brief exchange behind him, Kang Ryun opened the office door. Seated on the sofa was a middle-aged man — the last person he wanted to see right now.
At least for today.
Kang Ryun slipped off his coat and carelessly draped it over the sofa’s headrest.
“You came sooner than I expected. I thought it would take you at least a week.”
“…”
No answer came back. No eye contact, either.
Oh Yeontaek sat with his head lowered, staring at the contract spread out on the table in front of him. He looked at it as if it contained the answers to his entire life.
Kang Ryun calmly sat down across from him. Loosening his loosely knotted tie, he glanced at the yellow envelope next to Oh Yeontaek. The thick envelope was sealed meticulously with tape — overly careful, almost reverent.
As if it were that precious.
A detached tone slipped from Kang Ryun’s lips.
“It must have been a precious painting. You made a hard decision.”
“……”
“It was the right choice. If you’d refused out of old sentiments, your daughter would’ve been left with nothing but debt and no villa.”
Suddenly, Oh Seoyeon’s face from the hotel flashed through his mind.
Given the meeting’s formality, she’d dressed up a bit more than usual — the beige coat had suited her neat look.
The way her eyes had met his for that brief moment had left an oddly lingering feeling. In many ways, she was a woman who irritated him.
Her face, her family, and the way his own emotions had wavered at an unexpected moment.
It was all burned into his memory. None of it sat well with him.
A strange knot of emotion twisted inside him.
Kang Ryun’s gaze shifted back to Oh Yeontaek. The man’s fingers on his knee were trembling ever so slightly.
Oh Yeontaek was feeling what it meant for his blood to run cold — each word from Kang Ryun crushed the last scraps of emotion he had left, one thread at a time. It felt like the life he’d devoted to Lee Yooran was crumbling in front of just a few sheets of paper.
“You checked the entire contract, right?”
“…Yes.”
“Then let’s finish it up.”
Kang Ryun pulled a fountain pen from his suit pocket and set it in front of him. Oh Yeontaek reached out carefully and took it in hand. He stared at the blank signature line at the bottom right corner of the contract and forced his mouth to open.
“…I hope you’ll settle the debt as quickly as possible.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
At Kang Ryun’s firm reply, Oh Yeontaek uncapped the pen. The moment the nib appeared, that thin, sharp point felt like an awl digging straight into his heart.
That painting was Yooran to him. After she’d passed away, every last trace of her warmth had been contained in that single piece. Even when the fire took everything else from him, when his child had cried out for her mother, when debt collectors swarmed them — through it all, he’d protected that final warmth with his daughter.
Now, even that had to go.
His hand, gripping the pen, trembled uncontrollably. The once-proud artist, who’d thundered at Kang Ryun with icy defiance, was now completely broken. His vision blurred until the contract’s text was wiped away into a gray haze.
Kang Ryun quietly watched him.
Seeing a man shed tears over a painting — it was almost fascinating.
Lee Yooran — what kind of woman had she been, for both her husband and father to be driven to ruin like this?
He lifted his wrist and checked the time.
The time he’d generously given was already over ten minutes.
“Mr. Oh. Should we just cancel the contract?”
At Kang Ryun’s cold voice, Oh Yeontaek’s shoulders jolted.
“…I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Not at all.”
Yeontaek gripped the pen so tightly it looked like it might snap in half. Hoo. He let out a deep breath, then began to write his name, painstakingly slow.
As slowly as he could manage.
Black ink spread across the paper.
Kang Ryun let out a short laugh. The conflict was etched into every letter and the final period at the end of Yeontaek’s signature. Kang Ryun gathered the contract and signed his own name without a moment’s pause — it didn’t even take him a few seconds.
Rising instead of the hollowed-out artist, Kang Ryun picked up the yellow envelope. When he did, Oh Yeontaek’s hands twitched on his knees.
With no hesitation, Kang Ryun ripped the wrapping from the painting. Stripping away the layers of careful packing revealed the artwork inside.
A woman stood in a garden full of purple anemones, holding a bouquet and smiling shyly. In the lower right corner was a small signature: No. 11. It was unmistakably Oh Yeontaek’s eleventh painting.
Kang Ryun studied the painting for a long while, then dropped it carelessly onto the sofa.
Oh Yeontaek’s eyes flashed for a second at the reckless gesture — but it passed in an instant.
“Good work. The debt will be cleared immediately.”
“…All right.”
“Take a copy of the contract with you. And take care on your way home.”
Kang Ryun’s dismissal left no room for argument. Oh Yeontaek slowly rose, his head bowed, and shuffled toward the door like a man whose soul had drained away. He looked dangerously fragile.
Kang Ryun watched him for a moment, then pressed the intercom on his desk.
“Secretary Yoon, escort Mr. Oh home safely.”
‘Yes, sir.’
If anything happened to him after this deal — an injury, or worse — it would be a huge headache. Kang Ryun kept his eyes on Yeontaek’s retreating figure until it vanished.
A short while later, silence settled over the office. Kang Ryun lit a cigarette. With his Dunhill lighter, he drew in a deep breath of smoke. The tip of the cigarette glowed red as bitter smoke slowly filled the room.
Outside the window, Seoul’s night view stretched on endlessly. The headlights of cars split the roads without pause. Unlike the villa surrounded by nothing but trees, the city was dazzling and loud.
Kang Ryun looked at the painting carelessly tossed on the sofa.
It was a familiar face — the woman looked so much like Oh Seoyeon.
Even now, just like that first day he’d met her as a boy, she looked like sunshine inside that painting.
She was so different from his own mother, who’d always sat alone in the dark, bearing every shadow by herself.
“November 15, 20XX, 8:38 p.m. — Ms. Yoo Chaei has passed away.”
He could still remember how cold her skin had felt. On that day when his breath had come out white in the freezing air, he’d felt a chill beneath their clasped hands that cut deeper than any winter night.
Regret was pointless for a past that could never be changed. So this moment — being forced to recall it now — felt unbearably cruel.
Kang Ryun stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk and exhaled the smoke trapped in his mouth.
Through the haze that blurred his vision, Lee Yooran was still smiling brightly.
Of course.
He let out a dry laugh at himself.
He pictured Seoyeon’s eyes — clear, bright, full of warmth.
They said you couldn’t hide your blood.
Those two women, mother and daughter — so alike, in such different ways — scraped at his nerves in ways he couldn’t escape.
