Vol 7 Ch 3

A few months ago, Joo Hawon had moved into a penthouse villa overlooking the Han River. At the entrance, not only were private security guards stationed, but also white bodyguards employed by STA. The top floor penthouse could only be accessed by a private elevator through fingerprint recognition.

There was a fitness room inside the house, but to receive personal training, he had to go down to the first-floor fitness center. The doctor had warned that if he didn’t exercise consistently, his lung condition could deteriorate further.

One hour a day, he was more or less forced to exercise. Even Wagner, who could scarf down ten hot dogs in one sitting, came along to the fitness center and waited nearby as Hawon walked on the treadmill.

Even at a mild incline of three degrees and a speed of 5.5, Hawon felt his lungs swelling as if they might burst.

“Would you like me to increase the speed a little?”

The male trainer, dressed in a skin-tight rash guard, reached for the controls, but Hawon waved his hand to refuse. His face had already turned pale, whether from shortness of breath or strain. The trainer, realizing it was too much, slowed the treadmill to a stop.

“You’ve improved compared to before. You walked for thirty minutes today.”

“…Yes.”

As he stepped off the treadmill, he felt as though the floor quaked beneath him, but he managed not to stumble clumsily.

“Shall we stop here for today?”

The trainer, whose workload felt light compared to his salary, seemed eager to push him to do more. Since neither the gunshot injury nor other unnecessary details had been disclosed, the trainer simply assumed Hawon had been born with weak lungs—and that exercise alone would eventually strengthen them.

“Yes, thank you.”

Before the trainer could insist further, Hawon thanked him. For him, cardio was a higher priority than strength training, so he rarely used equipment beyond the treadmill. After finishing his stretches with the trainer’s help, Hawon sat in the central lounge of the fitness center and drank some water.

At this late hour, most of the people who frequented the place were celebrities who valued privacy or the wives of wealthy men—“madams,” as they were often called. They seemed more focused on chatting and strengthening social ties than actually working out. From their round sofa, they offered polite nods to Hawon.

“Hello.”

“Good evening.”

“You worked hard today, didn’t you?”

Knowing it was just empty courtesy, Hawon quietly replied, “Yes.”

Lately, he had become their favorite topic of gossip. One particularly sharp-eared and sharp-eyed woman had recognized who he was. She was in her late thirties, the wife of the president of Samho Shipbuilding. The so-called fitness “club” had about a dozen members.

With nineteen households in the building, one per floor, nearly half of them were part of this group. Hawon had even spotted a familiar celebrity among them, though he couldn’t recall her name.

They would occasionally smile at him with just their eyes and never mentioned him directly when he was nearby. But he could sense it well enough, once he left, their conversations would surely shift to him.

Just as he gathered his water bottle and prepared to leave with Wagner, the women, plus two men among them, approached him at his usual corner seat.

“We’re having a little party at my place later. Would you like to join us? I’m Yoo Jiho, from the thirteenth floor.”

The sudden invitation caught Hawon off guard.

“It’s nothing grand, really. Just a small gathering for some light conversation. We host it once a week, rotating between homes.”

In other words, they were inviting him to join their little club.

“If it’s inconvenient, you’re welcome to decline. Please don’t feel pressured.”

Hawon remembered what Kwon Taeha had told him: among academic background, wealth, family, and connections, what they sought most was connections. They’d spoken so quickly, giving him no chance to refuse—it was awkward.

“I…”

Just then, the woman’s phone rang. After a quick “Alright,” she ended the call and smiled.

“They say everything’s ready. What do you think?”

Her tone was calm and smooth, but her words came quickly.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“If you don’t have other plans, it would be wonderful if you joined us.”

Her look said it all, if he refused, they’d make him the subject of their gossip until nothing remained. It was exhausting. This was why he’d wanted to live in a small studio in the countryside, alone. But because of the distance from the airport and Taeha’s discomfort with cramped spaces, they had compromised on this luxury villa.

“I’ll take a shower and come by.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. The dress code is casual. Then, we’ll see you soon, Mr. Hawon.”

He had never once told her his name, yet she spoke it warmly. Hawon guessed she must have seen him on a TV program or heard about him from her husband, the president of Samho Shipbuilding.

Unlike Baek Jaetak’s fallen shipping company, Samho Shipbuilding was on the rise. Already strong in contracts and orders, it had absorbed deals from the fallen company, boosting its stock price by 120 percent compared to the previous year. She and her husband were, in a way, beneficiaries of WikiLeaks.

Hawon remembered seeing the president’s file in WikiLeaks. Aside from a reputation for womanizing, the man was surprisingly ethical as a businessman. Joo Sangkyung hadn’t found him worth much attention, but the world had its own ways of overturning assumptions.

After showering in his private room, Hawon changed into the comfortable clothes brought by staff. He wondered whether “casual” really meant what it sounded like—perhaps everyone else would arrive in suits. Either way, he only intended to show his face briefly.

Inside the elevator to the thirteenth floor, he spoke to Wagner.

“Want to rest first?”

“No.”

The man shook his head firmly. Wagner had always been overprotective, but ever since Macau, his suspicion toward others had only grown. He hadn’t expected Jade Miller to turn out that way either. Wagner himself had nearly been killed when a bullet grazed his heart.

The shock had been deep. Now, aside from Hawon and his boss, Wagner trusted no one. Every time Hawon grew easily fatigued, Wagner carried guilt for failing in his duties as a bodyguard.

“With this much security, nothing’s going to happen here.”

“No.”

Let him be, Hawon thought as they stepped off at the thirteenth floor.

The door was wide open, as if to welcome guests, and he walked down a long hallway that served as both entryway and lobby. The layout was similar to his own penthouse, but the thirteenth floor reflected a very different taste: antique to the core.

When Taeha had purchased his place, he had bought all the built-in furniture and rugs in one go, leaving the space in a sleek mix of dark wood and white—no one’s taste in particular.

Here, high ceilings and chandeliers cast a warm glow over the living room, where the assembled guests greeted him.

“Welcome! You’re early.”

The first to rise and come forward was the hostess, Yoo Jiho. A maid handed Joo Hawon a glass of champagne. Nodding slightly, he took only the champagne and walked toward the central table that had been prepared.

On the long rectangular buffet table, food was neatly arranged.

In the white porcelain dishes where sauces should have been, he instead found rolled salmon hors d’oeuvres. There were ricotta cheese salads, German-style Schweinshaxe, and Bratwurst sausages, dishes he had often seen back in Füssen.

“I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I had the staff prepare these in a hurry.”

It wasn’t freshly baked from the oven but seemed hastily brought in from somewhere else.

Looking down at the German cuisine, Hawon felt certain that Yoo Jiho knew more about him than she let on. He wasn’t even German. Still, he couldn’t pour cold water over her gesture.

“Thank you.”

On the plate she handed over, he placed some sausage and Schweinshaxe, which felt to him not too different from pig’s trotters. Warm, favorable gazes fell on him from all directions. The reason for their goodwill was only one, Kwon Taeha, whose background was practically tied to his own.

“Want some?”

When Hawon offered the plate to Wagner, the man shook his head grimly. It was his way of saying he wouldn’t let down his guard in a crowd.

“Please, come and sit here.”

“Yes.”

Around the circular table, single armchairs were arranged in a ring.

Hawon took one of the empty seats, which, by chance, turned out to be the place of honor. Four men and nine women. Perhaps because some had come with their spouses, the gathering seemed larger than the original group. They were all fairly young, ranging from their thirties to forties.

“It feels like you’ve lived here quite a while, but this is our first time meeting you like this. I hope we’ll see each other often from now on.”

One woman, seated with her husband, smiled kindly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome.”

“You live in the penthouse, don’t you?”

Another woman with long straight hair pointed upward with her hand.

“Yes.”

“I live on the fourth floor. You must come over sometime. I’ll be sure to invite you.”

“Thank you.”

The mood was so amiable he almost felt obliged to extend the same kind of empty invitation to his own home. But he didn’t. Instead, he wore his habitual faint smile and quietly observed the diverse faces around him.

From time to time, he gave brief answers to the questions they asked and eventually rose from his seat to circle the food table, easing his hunger. Conversations that began with trivial personal matters gradually broadened, until the ever-heated subject of WikiLeaks arose. Though a twinge of unease struck him, nothing of it showed on his smooth expression.

“You don’t know how satisfying it was. That woman behaved so rudely just because her husband was a minister. I’d love to see her face now.”

“Oh, really? I always found her so low-class, I hated dealing with her. And Minister Park, wasn’t he shameless? Pretending to be upright while taking money behind closed doors. This is why I love our little neighborhood circle—we can speak openly with each other.”

Hawon nearly let out a laugh but managed to restrain himself. They were elegantly gossiping about the former minister’s wife, but he wondered—would they have dared to say such things if the minister hadn’t fallen from power?

“Well, not everything revealed was pleasant news. Do you remember Mr. Jaekyung’s family from the eighth floor? I heard her husband had his ex-wife killed by a hired killer. How awful.”

“But is that really true? He always seemed like such a good man…”

“You can’t judge people by appearances.”

They spoke freely of the damage they themselves had suffered because of WikiLeaks, complaining that surely it was the work of a maladjusted misfit with a grudge against society—never mind that the very subject sat before them.

Then, suddenly—tap. Someone brushed his shoulder. Startled from his absent-minded sipping of champagne, Hawon looked up. One of the four men had gestured, giving him a thumbs-up toward the back. The direction of the study.

Reading the unspoken suggestion to move, Hawon stood and followed him. The man’s graying hair suggested age, but his appearance looked no older than his early forties.

Inside the study, three men had separated themselves from the women’s chatter and were speaking quietly among themselves. At Hawon’s arrival, they all greeted him with polite smiles and nods.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Moon Sungtaek of Samho Shipbuilding & Heavy Industries.”

The man who had brought him to the study took the lead in the introductions.

“I’m Joo Hawon.” That was all he said.

The man with graying hair was none other than Yoo Jiho’s husband, the president of Samho Shipbuilding & Heavy Industries. He was, in effect, the highest-ranking figure in this circle.

“I had hoped to greet you sooner, but I haven’t had much time at home. I’m very late in paying my respects.”

“Not at all.”

Moon Sungtaek set down the sandwich a maid had brought him onto his desk before continuing.

“I heard you’re diligent about exercise. You must be very disciplined about your health. I should learn from your example.”

Hawon only managed a thin, bitter smile. A brief silence fell. He wasn’t one to be particularly quiet, but here, he had no idea what to say. His mind was on how to excuse himself naturally and return to the main room.

“Does the food not suit your taste?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s very good.”

Still, a fair amount of food remained on his plate.

“Actually, it’s my first time at such a gathering. I feel a little out of place.”

“Ha ha, you’re refreshingly honest. My wife told me something about you… May I ask, if it’s not rude?”

“Go ahead.”

He was rather polite. Perhaps in their world, this was simply the norm.

“I heard you worked as a very skilled dealer in Macau.”

Very skilled, the kind of embellishment Moon Sungtaek had surely added himself. The other men’s eyes flickered briefly with surprise. From some, Hawon also caught the assessing gaze that ranked him alongside Jade Miller.

“Yes, that’s true. It was there I met STA’s CEO from Füssen.”

He had guessed right—this was the line Moon Sungtaek had been hoping to hear. But being the so-called Cinderella man was nothing worth boasting about.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. There’s a game room inside, and I hoped you might join us from time to time.”

So, he wanted him to play the role of dealer?

No, he could see it now. Moon Sungtaek was testing him. Measuring whether Kwon Taeha’s lover was someone he could look down on and push around—or not. Hawon smiled genially.

“My card game skills are almost as sharp as our CEO’s. Would that be all right with you?”

Moon Sungtaek sipped his champagne and smiled back.

“Then, shall we have a round?”

He had no intention of playing, and was just about to decline when—

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Startled, Hawon turned. He blinked.

“You’re… here? I didn’t get your call…”

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he suddenly remembered he had left it upstairs when he went down to the fitness center.

Kwon Taeha pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it firmly against the corner of Hawon’s lips.

“Careless, aren’t you. Doesn’t suit you.”

It was a light scold for letting something stain while eating.

“It’s been a while, CEO.”

Moon Sungtaek bowed, and Taeha glanced his way.

“Yes, it has, President Moon.”

The others, recognizing Taeha belatedly, also offered their greetings. Taeha returned them with nothing more than a polite smile.

“My lover seems to have been in your care.”

“Not at all. We only hoped he would join us, and he kindly accepted.”

Behind Taeha, Kwon Jaehee appeared. The unexpected sight startled Hawon enough to make him bow quickly. Savoring his champagne, Jaehee came closer.

“Hawon, it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed, it’s been a while.” Hawon answered warmly in return. Jaehee bent slightly, examining his face. His disregard for everyone else made Hawon feel all the more self-conscious.

“I came to get in the way. Will you let me crash at your place tonight?”

“You must have too much free time.”

“Hardly. Thanks to a certain someone, I’ve been incredibly busy. Ha ha.”

The easy banter between the two left even Moon Sungtaek unable to hide his surprise.

It had been publicly declared that Hawon was the lover of the German, Kwon Taeha, but deep down, he had looked down on him a little. From Moon Sungtaek’s perspective, it was not a relationship he could readily understand. Yet STA’s new CEO, Kwon Jaehee, showed not the slightest discomfort over his younger brother’s male partner. If anything, he was welcoming and kind.

Moon Sungtaek now wished he could take back the words with which he had tested Hawon, but it was too late.

All he could hope was that Hawon hadn’t noticed his conceited intent. But as if reading his thoughts, Hawon’s eyes curved into a smile in his direction. Of course, for Hawon, it was nothing more than a formal expression.

“We’ll head up first.”

“Ah? Leaving me with the cleanup, are you?”

At Taeha’s words, which seemed to saddle him with the aftermath, Jaehee frowned in mock protest. Taeha took Hawon by the arm.

“Let’s go.”

Hawon bowed slightly to the men and walked out of the study with Taeha. In the living room, the women’s gazes all converged on them at once.

They had known, and had expected to frown when they finally saw it, but the two men suited each other so strikingly that no words came.

When Hawon was alone, they had only thought him a handsome man. But with Taeha, more handsome still by far, at his side, the impression was magnified into sheer presence.

The two walked down the long hallway and entered the elevator leading straight to the penthouse. Hawon glanced down at the arm still clasping his.

“You know, I wasn’t about to run away.”

“I’m back.”

The elevator doors opened. Hawon murmured softly.

“Welcome home.”