Chapter 4
Kwon Ha received Chairman Kang’s call right at the entrance to the orchard.
The moment he saw the name glowing on his phone, his jaw tightened.
Then, almost as if by habit, the corners of his lips lifted.
He must be getting desperate.
After all, his son and daughter had left chaos in their wake.
Because of their reckless attempts to negotiate and threaten using the name of Daeseong Judo, not only the brewery [Ihwado-ga] but the entire village now turned hostile at the mere mention of “Daeseong.”
Even the glances he’d received while walking around carried that same sentiment — suspicion first, rejection next.
Are you from Daesung Judo?
If yes, then leave. No conversation, no welcome.
He must’ve heard those reports already.
If the old man was fuming, that was fine — better yet, useful.
Desperation was leverage.
And right now, he was the only remaining option.
So he had the upper hand.
And when you had the upper hand, you didn’t rush.
You made them sweat.
Kwon Ha pressed the Reject Call button and resumed walking.
A moment later, Secretary Shin’s phone began to ring.
The moment he saw the caller ID, Shin froze like prey under a hawk’s shadow, and — against every survival instinct — answered.
“Y-yes, Chairman.”
“[Kwon Ha’s with you, isn’t he? Put him on.]”
Realizing his mistake too late, Shin looked at Kwon Ha with a face full of silent pleading.
Please, sir. Please just answer.
With a sigh and a glare sharp enough to make the man flinch, Kwon Ha extended his hand.
“You’re speaking to him now.”
“[I know you ignored my call on purpose.]”
“What an unfortunate misunderstanding, Chairman. I was merely touring Yehwari Village.”
“[Hmm…]”
“You sound worried.”
The sigh that drifted through the receiver sounded heavy — and oddly satisfying.
Because to Kwon Ha, it meant something else entirely:
He’s about to hand me the reins.
His smile deepened slightly.
“[I suppose you’ve already heard.]”
“I won’t pretend I haven’t.”
“[Because of my foolish children, the entire Daeseong name is being dragged through the mud. Shameful, isn’t it?]”
At least you admit it, old man.
He bit back the words, replying instead with just enough tact to pass.
“After what I’ve seen today, the villagers seem to loathe Daeseong more than the plague. One has to wonder how far your children went to earn that kind of hatred.”
A faint tsk came from the other end of the line.
Kwon Ha’s grin widened as he strolled through the orchard.
The pear blossoms around him filled the air with a sweet, heavy fragrance.
On impulse, he plucked one and held it under his nose.
A deep breath — sshhh. The scent flooded his senses, thick and intoxicating.
Cigarettes had nothing on this.
“[So, here’s what I want you to do. Keep Daeseong’s name completely hidden while you’re there.]”
“I was planning to, sir.”
Then, a pause.
Long. Heavy. Wrong.
That pause — that was the sound of a bomb being primed.
“[You’ve heard of the woman who brews Yehwari’s wine, haven’t you?]”
“Of course. The master brewer of Ihwado-ga, if I’m not mistaken.”
“[You’ll be working under her.]”
“Under her? Fine by me, but as what exactly— wait, assistant?”
“[That’s right.]”
The pear blossom slipped from his hand and tumbled to the dirt.
In all his thirty-two years, assistant was not a word that had ever applied to him.
At school, he’d always been class president, chairman, leader.
At Daeseong, even as an intern working incognito, nobody dared treat him as a subordinate.
And now this?
“When you say assistant, sir… you don’t mean, say, a servant? A menial helper? A—”
“[A farmhand, yes. That sounds about right.]”
His eyes shut tight. Then flew open.
A sharp pulse of disbelief surged through him — part outrage, part humiliation.
Sure, the old man had always been like a father. But this? This crossed a line.
You told me never to bow to anyone, Grandfather.
To never beg, never crawl.
And now you’re asking me to stoop like a servant?
The memory of his grandfather’s voice echoed in his mind:
“Remember, boy — this old man will always have your back.”
Back, he said.
And now he wanted him to break it.
He exhaled through his teeth.
“With respect, Chairman, Ihwado-ga doesn’t accept outsiders easily. Especially not during the brewing of Cheondo Ihwaju — the Heavenly Pear Blossom Wine. It’s a sacred process.”
“[Exactly. Which is why it’s the perfect test of your ability.]”
Ability?
You wanted to test this ability — the one that built entire campaigns, crushed competitors — by making me fetch rice water?
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
Then he laughed — short, sharp, mirthless.
“You think my skills are suited for farmhand labor, sir?”
“[Get in however you can. In return…]”
He could already feel the headache forming. He rubbed at his temples.
Then came the bait.
“[I’ll transfer three percent of my Daeseong Judo shares to you.]”
His eyes snapped open.
Three percent.
It was the kind of number that made people believe in divine revelation.
“[Go there. Learn everything you can. Earn their trust. And once they believe in you— bring back the brewing method.]”
“That sounds easy enough to say.”
“[Do it, and the entire Daeseong Group will be yours.]”
The world went still.
Every word hit him like a strike of a gavel — deliberate, final, irrevocable.
His rivals — if you could even call them that — had already fallen away.
No competition. No second choice.
But still…
“Just so you know, sir — this call is being recorded automatically.”
“[I’m aware, you brat.]”
“Then you understand I’ll hold you to it.”
“[And you’d better hold to your end, too.]”
“Fair enough.”
“[By the way, I hear Ihwado’s about to name their next successor. It wouldn’t hurt to get close to that person, hmm?]”
Kwon Ha’s brows rose.
Even that he knew? The old man’s information network really did live up to its legend.
“I’ll handle it.”
He ended the call with a faint smile — unaware of what awaited him just an hour later.
He started walking again, the phone still warm in his palm.
“Secretary Shin, find out who Ihwado’s next successor is—”
“Ah! Sir, watch out!”
The collision happened in an instant.
He barely managed to avoid the bicycle barreling toward him — but his phone didn’t survive.
Crack.
The sound made him flinch.
A jagged web of cracks spread across the screen.
For a man whose entire work life lived inside that device, it was practically a death sentence.
Sure, he had a backup phone, but still — infuriating.
And the cyclist? Nowhere to be seen.
“Unbelievable. What a damn day.”
He crouched, picking up the shattered phone.
The display flickered, unresponsive — an abstract painting of fractured light.
His expression darkened.
“This cursed countryside—”
“Excuse me.”
The voice cut through his muttering.
He looked up.
The woman standing before him had lifted her fallen bicycle and was staring straight at him — eyes clear, tone brisk.
He froze for a heartbeat.
The sunlight caught in her dark hair, and the pear blossoms swirled around her like snow.
A beautiful face — pale, calm, strangely cold.
“You realize this is private property, don’t you?”
Her voice was quiet but sharp, precise as a blade.
“Private property? I wasn’t aware.”
“Now you are. So please leave.”
That hostility again — the same kind that had shadowed him since he’d entered the village.
But this time, it felt more personal.
“My apologies. Did I cause you injury?”
“I’m fine.”
“At least allow me to pay for treatment.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Shin tried to step in, but Kwon Ha raised a hand behind his back — a silent command to stay out of it.
Then he turned back to the woman, softening his features into the kind of smile he reserved for delicate negotiations.
“As you can see, I’m not some suspicious outsider.”
“You certainly look like one.”
“Surely not.”
His tone was smooth — too smooth. It made her brow crease.
“Enough wordplay. Leave, please—”
“I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I was actually looking for Ihwado-ga, but it’s my first time here. Directions seem rather… elusive.”
The moment the name Ihwado-ga left his lips, the woman’s expression turned ice-cold.
Her eyes sharpened like drawn steel.
“You… you’re from Daeseong Judo, aren’t you?”
