Ch 1

Episode 1

Prologue

Just yesterday, Yoo Eunho, who had sat across the desk working feverishly to find new investment opportunities to overcome the liquidity crisis, turned his back on the world.

The familiar portrait photograph, his gentle smile framed by a spray of white chrysanthemums, felt discordant, out of place. Who could have imagined that the photo taken in the HR conference room for his employee ID card would end up used as his memorial portrait?

His parents, struck by the thunderclap of their son’s death notice, hurriedly booked a flight, but the distance was too great—they would not arrive until the following afternoon. They were second-generation immigrants, and all of Eunho’s family lived in the United States. Until they arrived, his colleagues from the same team took turns acting as chief mourners.

Yoonjae, feeling a crushing weight on his chest as though a boulder had been placed upon it, rose to his feet and stepped outside the funeral hall. Above the black night sky, gray clouds churned restlessly, swallowing and regurgitating the crescent moon over and over again.

It still felt like a terrible dream; his mind could not accept the fact that Eunho was gone. Again and again, he rubbed his dry face as if denying reality would change something, but nothing shifted. The surge of emotion was higher and rougher than ever before, and it was difficult to stay composed.

The brief span of eight months—short enough to feel fleeting—flashed before his eyes like a silent film.

Eunho had known more about the company than the long-serving secretaries, and beyond his secretary duties, he had a sharp grasp of strategic investment. Yoonjae had intended to keep him close and gradually teach him the ropes of investment work. But lately Eunho’s mistakes had increased; just that morning he had seemed absentminded, like a machine with a few screws missing. His pheromones had grown unstable, emotions slipping out of control. Unable to watch any longer, Yoonjae had reprimanded him in front of the other secretaries, and Eunho had ended up cutting off all contact right before an important meeting.

The last time Yoonjae saw him, he had looked overwhelmed, as if he were not in his right mind. After finishing an external meeting, Yoonjae was pulling into the company parking lot, checking his side mirror, when he saw Eunho rush out of the building, clutching his phone, and bolt straight into the street.

Like a scene from a film, his body was struck by a speeding truck, lifted into the air, and thrown forward several meters before crashing down in a crumpled heap. The grotesquely bent limbs and the stream of red blood trailing from his head etched themselves permanently into Yoonjae’s memory.

Eunho’s last attempted call had been to Yoonjae. While pulling his jacket aside to call for an ambulance, he found a single missed call waiting. Why hadn’t he answered? Why had he missed it? The instant he saw that missed call, guilt consumed him, making him feel as if Eunho’s death was somehow his fault.

“Executive Director.”

“……”

“This is Yoo Eunho’s phone.”

Sensing someone’s presence, Yoonjae turned. A secretary stepped closer and handed him the phone. Thanks to the bumper case, the device was mostly intact, bearing only a few scratches on the exterior.

“…I heard that just last week, his longtime partner suddenly broke up with him. And… he was pregnant, so it was especially hard on him.”

“…Pregnant?”

“A few days ago, he couldn’t eat at all, so I found out then. I heard it was close to three months.”

The secretary, speaking from a colleague’s standpoint, was trying to defend Eunho. He had been suffering from that breakup. Though his unprofessional behavior had angered Yoonjae, now that he was gone, the secretary seemed to be asking that he at least be remembered with compassion.

A sigh, damp with sorrow, slipped from Yoonjae before he realized it. He bit down hard on his lower lip and stared vacantly at the phone in his hand. The secretary, sensing his mood, took a step back.

Yoonjae touched the home screen, staring blankly down at it. He vaguely recalled watching Eunho unlock the phone a few times, and entered the pattern. The locked screen opened.

The call history was filled with names of company employees, with a few unfamiliar ones scattered throughout. Perhaps one of them belonged to the partner who had left him. Yoonjae opened the messages and checked the top thread from that same person. After a moment, he exhaled a long, heavy sigh and muttered a curse under his breath.

The last message had arrived at 1:26 p.m.

The accident had occurred around 1:40 p.m.

That final message was nothing more than a single-page wedding invitation image. A carefully designed card, and nowhere in it was Eunho’s name. What would it feel like to receive a wedding invitation announcing your ex’s marriage to someone else, barely a week after being abandoned—and when he was carrying your child?

Yoonjae dragged a hand over his forehead, his heart weighted as if crushed beneath an inherited debt.

Among the secretarial team, Eunho had been one of the few he had kept at arm’s length for personal reasons. Over time, though, as Eunho proved himself to be the most intelligent and bright, Yoonjae had found himself conversing more with him about work. But then a major investment had run into problems, requiring an emergency response, and Yoonjae had focused all his attention there, blind to his subordinate’s private struggles.

The further he read through the messages, the more absurd they became. Eunho’s partner, a civil service exam candidate, had shifted in tone once passing the state exam—his attitude toward Eunho changed as well. Even before that, though, his words often carried the undertone of someone treating him merely as a provider, a convenient mark.

The demands piled in the messages were met, one after another, only by Eunho’s acquiescence, making Yoonjae scoff bitterly. Near the end, Eunho had apparently discovered his infidelity, sending messages demanding an explanation about why his gifts were in someone else’s hands. The exchange read like the script of a tawdry third-rate drama.

Why had Eunho tried to call him at the very end? Yoonjae wanted to know, but found no answers in the phone—only the painful reminder of how he had cornered him with harsh words. The realization stung. He returned the phone to the secretary and left the funeral hall.

The accident had forced the postponement of that afternoon’s important meeting to two days later. Eunho had been scheduled to attend as well.

His body was worn from fatigue, but his mind, painfully clear, demanded something to blot it out. Yoonjae pulled a bottle of single malt whisky from the shelf and drank it straight. The heaviness in his chest refused to lift, as though an invisible hand were wringing his throat.

Dark shadows smeared beneath his exhausted eyes. Yoonjae stared at the mahogany-colored whisky with a vacant gaze, then gave a hollow laugh. What on earth had happened today?

The accident scene refused to leave his mind. The screech of the truck’s sudden brakes, the sharp crack echoing across the road, the body flung into the air. The stark red of the blood running over a pale face flickered before his eyes.

It was an accident that perhaps could have been prevented.

Yoonjae swept his fallen bangs back and drew in a rough, stifled breath.

***

Slivers of sunlight slipped through the blinds, settling quietly across his eyelids. The once-still room gradually filled with noise as the alarm grew louder. Yoonjae, moving on instinct, stretched out a hand to silence it and cracked his eyes open. The sunlight pouring through the window was so bright it stung.

“……?”

Had he misread the screen? He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and sat up, checking the time and date again on the phone’s home screen. Something was wrong.

Today should have been June 20th, yet the display showed October 20th of last year. The date and time weren’t functions that could malfunction. Alarmed, Yoonjae sprang to his feet and looked out the window. Where lush greenery should have filled the garden, leaves in shades of red and yellow lay scattered.

Was he still dreaming? Forcing himself to steady his breath, he stepped into the living room. The housekeeper—who had quit months ago—was there, handing him a warm cup of hydrangea tea.

“Excuse me… what’s today’s date?”

“It should be October 20th. I think.”

At the sudden answer, eight months out of place, Yoonjae quietly retreated to his room. Did this mean everything that had happened until yesterday was just a dream? Or… something else?

He unlocked his phone and pulled up the morning economic news. It was October of last year. What in the world was happening? He needed to check a few things. Swiftly, he opened his schedule.

9:00 a.m.: Executive meeting on third-quarter dividends
11:00 a.m.: Yuseong Funding Group 16th establishment meeting
1:40 p.m.: HB Bio conference call
4:00 p.m.: Secretary team hiring report

If his memory was correct, the dividend in the 9 a.m. meeting would be set at 1,200 won per share. The Yuseong Funding Group’s sixteenth fund at 11 a.m. would amount to about 26 billion won and pass without issue. He couldn’t quite recall the details of the HB Bio conference call scheduled for 1:40, but the secretary team’s hiring report at 4:00…

Yoo… Eunho?

In October of last year, the secretary team’s new hire had been none other than Yoo Eunho.

“……”

Had he been sent back from the future—or was it a prophetic dream? Still unable to believe what he was seeing, Yoonjae wore a hollow expression as he hurried through his morning routine.